Xmas and New Year

Just enough time to post this because I am one ambien away from falling asleep.

Xmas was, well, y'know how Xmas is. You don't expect much and not much ever happens. I keep expecting Keanu to show up as my Christmas present and obviously that hasn't happened. But Xmas was a little adventurous this year because I got to travel on Xmas eve and take a whiff of all the Xmas panic at the airport. Luckily for me, mine was a tad before all the chaos, quite at dawn, so I didn't experience all the delays and the terrorist scare, but we shall not speak of that. The unlucky part was that I had to do some mad shopping the night before I left and had to book a cab to the airport, worse off, I had to miss a Xmas party bash at Door 44 lounge while I finished my packing. I hated missing that.

But all is well.

Spent a few boring days in Houston. We have recently relocated to Austin, TX. A place I've always wanted to visit. And I trust a place I will visit again. It is awesome. Just quaint, historic, culturally rich, awesome. If I ever move to Texas, or give another southern  city a shot this would be the place to go. It reminds me of Philadelphia (because we are so close to the town hall and the museum) and London (because of the cobble stone streets) all rolled into one. A little bit of San Francisco mixed into it, because of the alternative lifestyle. Their slogan here is Keep Austin Weird. I love that. As long as you don't think I am weird for loving it.

Will try to update but hotel charges a ton for wifi and my laptop is super old but all in all, so it is. At this point, all I can hope is that I have an awesome New Year, filled with lots of alcohol and debauchery.

Muah!!!

Wait Out The First Hour

Going out. Solo.

Daring out into the Wild. Alone.

The first hour is always the worst. Sometimes the first couple of hours depending on how long you resolve to stay there.

In going out solo, it's the dressing up, the psyching yourself up to leave the TV, tear yourself from the comfort of the couch, get all dolled up, decide what to wear, what to squeeze into, drive to some god-awful place (probably in bad weather) and look for parking, and deal with stepping out of the car by yourself. All the thoughts that go through your head at this time - why am I doing this again?

Then, you get there and you either deal with the people at the door, or you deal with the people you see closest to the door, and they, realizing that you're there on your own, are immediately put aback and then it causes them to stare. This immediately sets you off kilter, puts you on pins and needles, making the butterflies that you had wrestled with to get there and suppressed successfully suddenly start to resuscitate. Then, to ease the tension you order a drink, what to order, what to order that would make this night go off faster, somewhat easier. The choice of drink is key, especially if you're on a budget (since you're the one sponsoring this gig), you have to drive yourself and you have to make it count. The drink is either good or bad but you have to drink it. So you order a sexy drink no less and pick a spot with your mediocre drink, you stand there and contemplate, "So how long can I stand this before I realize I would have been better off in front of the TV? You peruse the crowd and come to your conclusion. One hour tops, and if the music continues like this, then you add or subtract 30 minutes.

Until some fun thing starts  -- The people lighten up and either strike a conversation with you or you strike a conversation with them and they end up being quite an intelligent/fun crowd -- you inevitably have to stick to that timer. Until then, it's usually a 50/50 toss up. Sometimes you strike dirt, sometimes you strike gold, and with the places that have lightened up, I often or not always go home with a smile on my face. But it's the first hour that's always the hardest. Once you get past that hour, the stares and the discomfort of being away from your comfort zone, once you conquer that you just might be in for a fun evening.

The same for network events, music, art (restaurant, wine, clothing store), launches, dinner/wine tasting events, any sort of event where you find yourself having to maneuver a room alone.

The first hour is the Magic Hour. Just wait it out - and you'll be fine. 

A tale of Two Aphy's

As the year draws to a close you can't help but feel like you failed yourself somehow. 

In more ways than you care to count. I can't help but feel as if there are some things I often promise to do differently but never actually do, some traps I inevitably just lay for myself. Then, of course there are the things that you hope, wish and pray on that never seem to come to fruition.

One of the former is the fact that I let my real life persona merge with my online persona and even after the Yelp debacle last year you would think I would know better, but naah, I just kept on going with my big fat mouth. So much so that I had to change domains. I lost some of those friendships because of that and worse off, I had to face people, judgmental people, and deal with their judging hypocritical eyes. They can judge me because they know me, as transparent as I am in my journal, but I don't know them, their secrets are locked away safe and sound and never have to deal with me, or my judging eyes at any point in time.

This is especially hurtful because in real life I am very secretive. People ask me about my weekend plans and I flinch, then give them some cookie cutter language. Ask me about the future anything, plans for Christmas and I feel uncomfortable discussing it with you. So for me to have people that I interact with in real life know not only my plans but my hopes, dreams, disappointments and frustrations is just quite invasive and intrusive and then, they have the nerve to judge me on my assertions. Every time I think about it, I think what a fool I was!

So that along with a few things here and there comprise some of my disappointments for this year. Let's enjoy the new domain and hopefully we will not be sought out and stalked like we were on the last one.

Red Tie Soiree

Just got back from the 2009 edition of the Red Tie Soiree.

Why do I do this to myself? This time it was even worse than last year.

Any party that is predominated with black people is not really my thing. That is dominated by any race. Period. Why can't we all get along, including party together? This year I had second thoughts because last year it was the epitome of men standing around with their dicks in their hand, afraid to chat up the ladies. So I thought of boycotting it this year. But I went to it for 2 reasons:

1) A chance to see black men dressed in suits. The only other time you get to see that is in church.

2) I had nothing better going and it's the holidays.

This time it was more of a coming out to a dinner party with your girlfriend kind of gig for a lot of the people. And then the few of us that were not with our "fellas" were gathered in female groups taking pictures of themselves as if this was the prom. Then, there is the solo dude who stands by himself thinking you want to ask him out when you ask a simple question like, are you enjoying yourself? He just steps back and goes "Oh-er, she's trying to hit on me."

What on earth for, Atlanta? And then he stands in the corner all night buying drinks for himself and texting God knows who? And insists he is having a good time when you ask him.

Then, there was the photographer who had an aversion to taking pictures of: 1) women who are covered up and not showing any cleavage (how dare you not show any skin in 30 degree weather), or 2) women who are standing by themselves seemingly enjoying themselves. If you are not with a guy, or with snickering groups of girls, he really had no business taking your picture. You see photographers even hate the soloists!

The only redeeming quality was the DJ. But he messed it up when he moved from the old school classics like SWV and Aaliyah to this new school shit where they swear every second word. So with that I left. I will not attempt this again. And please if you are by yourself, next Christmas, do not attempt it either, not unless you went to Moorehouse, Spelling, GA Tech or some shit like that.

To illustrate just how sad this event was, as soon as I got there I did a quick peruse and then, ordered a glass of wine hoping it would ease me into the evening. Usually that always works, the alcohol always helps ease the nerves and helps you loosen up. But a horrible $8 glass of Chardonnay later, this could not be helped. No amount of alcohol would have redeemed this place. I was better off going to Smiths Olde Bar throwing down cheap shots and listening to some aspiring songwriters play an acoustic set. I would have been overdressed but I would have had some good unpretentious fun and had fewer women flash their boobs in my face too.

Do you go it alone?

I think life is best when experienced whether with people or alone. It's even more fun with people, loved ones, family, name it, a special someone. But who am I kidding, we can't all have that luxury of friends and even family, but we all need to experience it even if it means by ourselves. Certain cities are best experienced with people, I am certain Atlanta is one of those cities. In that case, what do I do....I choose to experience it nonetheless...

Tips for the soloist

That is not to say, going out alone doesn't present it's own set of challenges. 

Trying to plan my social life is always an uphill battle. It's almost like a full-time research job. It takes a lot of hours to research what I feel like doing, where I feel like driving to, what venues present the type of event that I like, what type of parking do they have, are they making the event sound more interesting/exciting than it really is, will I feel like going to this event on the day of, or will I chicken out at the last minute? And this research begins as early as Tuesday. 

Full-time job. 

Will it be a mixed crowd, an older crowd, an older but not "mature" crowd, will it be a fun crowd, will there be kids as in College students, will it be an urban only crowd, or pastel flavored only, or most of all, will there even be a crowd? 

Hmmm...stay tuned...

Anita Writes is Launched!

I thought of writing today.

In fact, I thought of writing all weekend. I woke up with uncontrollable urges to write. But then, I sat in bed for a little longer contemplating why I woke up early, and then the urge was gone and overtaken by holiday tasks. Oh, the holidays. I keep thinking how different this year's events are from last years. Last year I was living with my mum and destined that it would be my last Christmas in Atlanta. And here I am a year later, with fewer activities to keep me busy, practically bored out of my mind and still living in Atlanta.

But that is not what I meant to write about. It was something more poignant.

I've been transitioning my efforts to the new, "Anita Writes" site where I write about my solo adventures. It's sad that I am finally shaking off my wings to launch that site at a time when:

1) I do not feel like writing; and

2) There are fewer events to go to or just not enough gusto to attend them.

The site is up. It's just not as filled with updates as one would expect. In the last few weeks, I have been out. Some of my outings have been quite memorable too but I just have not felt like writing about them. Need to stop being lazy, girl.

What do I envision for the #AnitaWrites site?

I envision that it would be so popular that people would instantly invite me to their events. That I wouldn't have to scan the Internet looking for events that are either free or cost little or nothing that I can attend and hence, write about. That I can encourage people to go out alone, not with a group or waiting on their best pal, alone. That most importantly, I can remove the stigma that accompanies venturing out on your own. So people can stop staring at me like I've lost my damn mind.

So with all that said, can I just sit down and write?

What do you do when there's silence on the other end?

If you had met me 2 years ago...

I woke up to myself - 2 years later and this is me, and nothing's different from me 2 years ago. Except I live in a somewhat boring part of town (Buckhead is boring and inconvenient, I don't care what anyone says), I make less money, have somewhat smaller boobs and thighs and an awful lot of ghastly tattoos. In certain terms, I am a little different.

This is me, 2 years later, unable to move from the spot life has put me in. It's somewhat unsettling when you confine yourself to a cubed life. I almost abruptly uprooted myself from it this year, except I lacked the cajones. Why? And here I am making fond of everyone who doesn't go after their dream. I've settled for normalcy and hide my radical self underneath all these tattoos.

I'd like to believe me, 2 years into the future will be a little less predictable, would be me a lot more exciting, happier in herself and how far she's come. 2 years seems like such a long time to not have accomplished anything.

Tongue and Groove

What makes a great evening: when you anticipate not necessarily having a good time but eventually you often do. You end the evening with loads of hugs and kisses from practical strangers, you dance until your feet hurt, you score several free drinks from said strangers and you round out the night by leaving 15 mins before the club shuts down.

If that is not a recipe for partying, I don't know what is. This place surprised me immensely. I thought, 1 hour tops and I'll be out of there. I spent 4 and a half. So much fun it had elements of Miami in it, literally and figuratively. It was just one non-stop train wreck after the other. Stuff that keeps you entertained at a low, low price.

What's not to love?

To dysfunction

I always try to stir away from dysfunction or from things, people or places that cause me to be upset. So far I've identified these items as driving, my job and of course, my family. Don't get me wrong I love my family. But we are 2 different people. They have one mind and I have another, and I dare say it is a more refined mind but I would be cheating in this complaint. It is just different. And at my age I would rather not have someone dictate to me how to live my life, even if I have lived it wrongly or rightly, I am just too old to be doctored into living the life they want. And they can't seem to understand that that doctored feeling is not working. It has never worked and it is not working right now. I prefer to make my own mistakes and lie with them. I would hate myself more if my mistakes appear to be someone else's.

So since I clearly identified them as my source of certain unhappiness I just try to keep my distance from them. You go here and I go there. No hard feelings but that's just the way it is. But here come the holidays. Isn't it hard?

After 4 days in Houston you can tell it's not been a happy time. Dysfunction non-plus.

We'll talk about this some more. I promise.

temporary sojourn

Everything in my life is currently set up as if this is a temporary stop for me. I do not decorate my flat with permanent fixtures, I do not have pictures hanging on my cubicle wall in the office and my car is currently leased so is my flat. It's like it's set up to be temporary, like this is temporary until I get somewhere and in there, it will be permanent. Where this place is, I don't know. I haven't known where this place is for quite some time and still, I still live on the edge, like I'm getting ready to quit my life in 30 seconds flat.

Today I remembered another happy time in my life. When you get older some of your memories fade, you remember things in bits and even when you do remember it all seems like those events occurred to someone else. A better, happier, much younger version of you. But today I remembered a good and giddy feeling. I remembered my law school days. The days I was in love with this certain 25 year old boy and I was 24. Everything seemed to rise and set with his appearance. It was a good time.

I remembered spending one weekend spontaneously at Nicon-Noga Hilton Hotel in Abuja. I went in on the Thursday to see my girlfriend who was visiting one of her aspiring boyfriends. He had sent a car to pick me so I could keep my friend company while he left town on business. And in the elevator this man saw me and said, Hi, he asked me my name and we just exchanged casual greetings, as short as can be exchanged in an elevator ride. And then, I bumped into him again and told him what room I was in but my friend's boyfriend had only paid for the night. Just as we were about to check out, the hotel informed us that we could stay courtesy of someone. He, my elevator pal, had eventually paid to have us stay in the room all weekend, he took care of all our meals and paid for the cab back to school. My friends thought I was the shit. I remember how good it felt to wake up in the comfy hotel bed, with their luxurious sheets instead of in school in my twin mattress uncomfortable bed and to order room service all weekend. All this because he fancied me in the elevator.

Then, you move to this country and age considerably and no one fancies you. Not even a little bit. You become congealed lard.

Let us pray for happier days ahead.

On a certain Friday night, I had fun.

You know I hate to use the words "given up" but that is how I feel - defeated. Like I've been running for quite a long time with no finish line in sight. And in some ways I am hopeful but it is just not panning out. So I'm exhausted. Extremely exhausted. But something keeps me running, why?

On a certain Friday night, I had fun with a certain stranger. Strange becomes the fact that I can never see him again, and I hate that I even think about him 48 hours later. Think about him immensely.

You always think if you meet someone and you have great conversation and they make you laugh and you make them laugh, that it's a good sign. That surely there was a spark in there, you didn't just imagine it, and certainly they would like to do this again sometime, to sit and laugh with you again. Just like in the movies. That's my stupid heart speaking. But as my luck would have it, we just happen to be passing ships, and even if I instigate an opportunity to meet them again, they don't want to. Maybe the spark was nonexistent for them. Or maybe I just say something in the whole hullaballoo that ruins everything. Maybe they don't even give me a second thought after the evening is over. Maybe I just imagined it all.

Hey stranger, if I was 10 years younger (30 pounds lighter) and you were single, maybe, just maybe. But for now, I'll leave it up to chance and a whole lot of hope. We could laugh and enjoy life, even if momentarily. Gah, dear God why tempt me with stuff I can't have?

Fuck me too.

Door 44

How can I adequately describe the Door 44 experience?

This took a lot from me, all the female cajones in the world but I made it through it. In the end, I thought see, it really wasn't that difficult.

Sometime in April, I received free passes to Door 44 from some very reluctant girls parading Crescent Avenue. I guess they sent them on the prowl because they were upset that Opera was getting all the action yet again. Reluctant, because I may not have particularly looked like their target audience. But never fear, I kept the passes in a safe place. Read the final print carefully, while checking for their expiration and I was good to go.

Several months and rainy Friday nights later, it finally came to me. But the night didn't actually start as a night to be spent at Door 44, there was this little event by my friends at Blackout Productions.

Bubble Gum Bash at Whiskey Park. It sounded great but was really a dud. And anyone who decides to throw a launch party of some sort at Whiskey Park knowing that their parking is iffy, has got another thing coming. The invite said arrive early, but as I drove through, with the lack of parking and the multiple hours it takes me to decide on what to wear, I was certainly not early. As I walked up to it, I saw some patrons leaving. Not a good sign. Never a good sign. It was barely 10.30. Worse off, we got only one free drink ticket from the sponsors, Three Olives Vodka. The night was doomed. I had walked about 2 blocks from 15th street to 14th street and they needed me to pay $15 for a martini. You have got to be kidding me?!!! I perused the crowd. Good DJ. But homegirl was thirsty and I had worn my good dress, the pink one with my Kate Spade shoes. The night must turn out okay. I am not having it. Especially as Buckhead is 10 miles away.

So I walked to Door 44. This is when the Door 44 plan was hatched. If I got there before 11 I could use the passes, or pass, considering I was the only one using it. So off my little legs went. It was about 10.45 at this time.

As I got there, passing the long line of people in front of Opera, walking on the faux red carpet to the entrance, the chick at the door gave me this look. Like, Girl did you forget your way. Sort of that look that the guy gave those two mature ladies in that movie, "Knocked Up." Right before he burst into the you are butt old speech. But this Door 44 chick didn't as much as say it as she implied it.  Then, I said, wait, I have a free pass. I rummaged through my stack of passes and then, voila, there it was. She was speechless. At this point, she gave me a look as if, I will see in 10 minutes on your way out. I was like, "Don't bet on it, missy!"

So I went in. Empty as shit. Crowd was very vanilla flavored. DJ was doing his thing. But the stage was small. Whatever happened to all the scantily clad girls they promised me would be dancing on the stages, etc. What happened to all the alternative type people? I quickly ordered a drink and thought of what next to do. I needed to sit down. I had walked about 4 blocks to get there.

This is the thing. Only in a tame city such as Atlanta can you walk 4 blocks in a club type dress and high heels and no one would look at you. They wouldn't even cast you a second glance. I walked 4 blocks n the city, a busy city albeit in the south at 10.45pm and no one gave me a 2nd look. How is that for making you think your value has diminished?

I digress.

Back to me sipping on an $8 awful glass of Chardonnay. I know my Chardonnay's. This wasn't a very good one. A glass  for $8. You are kidding me, right?

A very, very long hour later, I finally found a seat and was about to call it a night, when I decided to speak to the young man beside me. Mind you, he didn't speak to me. He looked at me. A lot of times. He must have been wondering, what gives, what the fuck? So I asked him if this was it, and if the place would get any better than the drunk white chick who was dancing all over this black dude. He said, to my surprise, "Yes." At 11.45pm, this is a little early for this place. So I thought, okay. I'd get another drink then. This time a beer for $5 and then I'll wait it out.

Then, it started slamming. Like the party heavens had opened up. The crowd got better (insert mixed crowd reference in here), much friendlier, rowdier and just alive. I could hardly remember that I came to this joint on my own. I didn't want to leave. There was so much dancing, drinking, laughing, groping and talking amidst the loud music, that I had to tear myself away from it. I even had a chance to toast to "Cajones" and to everyone, men and women having them, because Lord knows we all need them. In the end, I hitched a ride back to my car and an escort from the young man who advised me to stay and advisably so, because I wasn't about to walk 4 blocks in my aching feet back to my car.

So that was it. Door 44 at its best.

Will I try it again? Probably. Hopefully, this wasn't a fluke.

employers have got the leg up

Because of the recession employers have an even bigger leg up over job applicants than they did before. Now, it's not just because of the power of the command vested in the employer that makes the employment relationship nothing like a contract (lack of equal bargaining powers such as exists in a contract) but the recession has come to give them an upper hand in the intense uneven handed negotiation. So now, not only do they have employees by the balls, they gut you even before they get to see the balls. Rightful baggers.


About a month ago, a recruiter called me to ask me if I would be interested in some god-awful project manager position, wherein they needed someone with business experience, an MBA, etc. (Mind you I don't have an MBA) She sent me the link to their website and there I identified a position I thought I was better suited for. Bad idea. The position is the same rank as my current position and in a company located about 35 miles from where I live. So already I wasn't really interested but I applied anyway. Why would I do that, you might ask? Just to get my feet wet apparently.

Two weeks later, they asked me to schedule a phone interview as I had been shortlisted for this position. So I did. The phone interview was awful. Already I didn't prepare my anecdotes and brush up on my interviewing skills because I kept thinking, this is not really a position I want. It represents no upward move, just a move to pretty much the same scenario. And it didn't help that the interviewer turned out to be the cockiest muthafucker this side of the earth. I bet in his mind he thought, unemployment is at an all time high, no one is hiring right now, and the rest of the world is unemployed, so you better bow down and be grateful that we have this position available. Then, he started mentioning a whole bunch of administrative tasks that I had specifically run away from in my prior positions. He hinted that it may be required of me in the current position. At that point I knew we both wanted different things. And there's always this pause anytime you tell them you have a Master's degree, like "didn't you read my resume?" I did say my highest degree is Master's. Were you expecting me to say high school?

The power of command reinforced.

Needless to say it didn't take them two weeks to send me the "Thank you but no Thanks" email. Like it really matters. You called me first, I didn't call you and then, you give me the Thanks but no Thanks.

Well, Fuck you Too.

nightmares and all

I had one of those dreams again. Dream premonitions, so vivid that you force yourself to wake up. I had something similar the morning of my accident. But I failed to tell anyone about it. Beause in the dream I saw the accident. It didn't happen to me. So I thought I was not at risk. Big mistake. In this dream there was a sign on the front of my car that revealed some bad news and inevitably they said they wouldn't let my car be released because of that bad news. That scared me. I was like, not again. I woke up and I prayed and condemned the evil that brought me such a dream. Since this acident it's been one clusterfuck after another, and at this point I just want my car fixed, is that too much to ask? I keep playing that day over in my head and wondering, if I could have avoided it, why didn't I? Why didn't God shoo me away from the evil and lead me to safety but instead I just played myself right into its arms.

So here I am telling someone. Anyone. I can't risk another one coming true on me.

New York, I love you

Success means...having a job in New York City.

I saw this at the mall yesterday. On a cardboard cutout of some product from Andy Warhol. I bet he said that. And I couldn't agree more. In my search for the type of city in the US I would love to live in, I've narrowed it down to New York and San Francisco, as a close second. Both have shitty weather, but both are so awesomely rich in culture and artsy stuff to do, see and be a part of. Now, I know why Madonna sang that song, "I Love New York.". 

Plus all the other, New York show tunes....Come spreading the news on Carnegie Hall, I'll make a brand new start of it, in all New York.."

For me, success means having a job in a city that I love. I won't narrow it down to New York, but a city I love. Better even, if it's a job that I love.

A little angrier

So on Friday, 09-25-09 at approximately 12.45 pm, I was in a car accident. I was on my way to the hospital for a check up and took a slight detour to buy something, got a little lost and decided to head back to the doctor. Just before my exit we all stopped suddenly and there it was. The guy behind couldn't stop quick enough or was moving way too fast and then, he rammed into me. He rammed into me so hard that I rammed into the guy in front of me. Double whammy. His car was totaled. It ricocheted across the highway and was in smoke. Mine was not so good. It had to be towed out of there.

So here I am without a car all weekend. It was the Atlanta Classic weekend at that. So many parties, so many events that I wanted to force myself to go to, just to get some fresh air. Instead I had to sit home grounded unable to get anywhere tangible and sulk completely, entirely.

The car is still not fixed and I don't know when it will get fixed. I am still being given the run around by the insurance company. They've let me rent a car but a much smaller one at that and it is not even comparable to the car that got semi-totaled. The entire thing is just a nightmare that makes you wish it happened to someone else.

The scary part of this whole thing was that I had a nightmare about that morning. I dreamt that I had let a friend of mine drive back from somewhere. On our way the cars in front of us piled up and I told her to stop immediately. She did, a good distance from them and soon enough, their cars blew up. And we were thankful that we were not that close to the flame. I just remember the horror of seeing human lives burn in front of me. Freaky nightmare. Thankfully, the reality that occurred hours later was not that horrorful. But it still was not a welcome call.

People wonder why I am so sad. Because shit keeps happenning to me. I see some people and all they have is good news to report. They always have a smile on their faces, their lives just keep going according to plan. But for me, it's always the opposite. Like some nightmare. This lends itself to why I am so negative. There's really actually nothing to be positive about.

So this explains the lack of inspiration to keep plowing away at this journal. I know I have a lot to say but I don't even know where to start. How do I start? What do I say that I haven't elaborated on before.

Been on the Shelf

For the love of a Manhattan I went to this first drink free event at the W. Nothing is good about this place but for the free drink which I virtually for by having to sit there bored to death while I sipped my drink, even the waitress seemed like she'd rather be doing something else. And I thought no shit, me lady me too. But for the love of a Manhattan.

Reminisce on "attorney guy"

I can't believe it's been a year since I loved you so completely, hopelessly, unnecessarily. I can't believe so much time has passed. I can't believe it's been a year since you charmed me so needlessly, inscrutably, effortlessly. I can't believe it's been a year since I had to deal with heartbreak as an adult, pain that hurt so much, it caused me to cut my hair off. I can't believe that type of hurt would eventually subside.

I can't (won't) believe I've aged a whole year in that time. I can't believe I actually still remember loving you. I can't believe that I may have changed? And do I regret wasting my time, hoping for you, needing you, wanting ...anything, thinking I would never get over you.

In that time what is new, I have fallen deeper in love with myself. I've realized that me is in this for the long haul so let's get used to us. I've realized that what hurts so much will eventually hurt less.

I can't believe a year has passed. I can't

Happiness is transient

There have been days that I've been happy.

I can remember those days.

Is it sad that in the last five years I can remember the few days that I've ever truly been in total bliss?

Friends have come and gone. Toasters (aka suitors) have come and gone. It's almost like a revolving door. Not that I don't show interest, with some of them I don't. It's that, I don't know how they can fit into this sole journey I've carved out for myself. So in the end, they are just passing ships in the stuff that is me, they just come and go. I almost expect them to leave at some point. If they last a month, I get weary, knowing that something is surely going to happen, some type of unforeseen fallout, some type of get-out-of-my-face event and that will just be it. I can't stand them and surely they can't stand me and I get upset just thinking about them. It's been this way. So, I remember the few times I've been happy. I remember them and I laugh and try to replay what it was that made me that happy. No baggage. No enemies. Bills, but chose not to think about them. Just something in the air, chose the right movie and went to it and enjoyed it. Chose the right event and went to it and had an awesome time. Something. A combination of things, a subtraction of ills. Something was in the air and it made me happy. Most of all, surprisingly, it's not been love. Few times I've been with someone and been truly happy, but we are talking about the last five years, remember.

Now, I can see how people get themselves into emotional messes. End up strung up in love with the wrong dude and don't know how to get out of it. Now I see how people make love mistakes. You'd meet a girl, professional, educated, good head on her shoulders and most of all, independent. She really does not need a man. Then, why is she with some no good loser of a dude. Now I see. I can't judge them anymore. Because it is quite easy. Something in their swagger, their being, the fact that they are after all male and also the lack thereof that keeps us hooked. He could be broke out of his mind, lazy, have one too many baby mamas, he could be the epitome of everything that's wrong but we would still want him or want a part of him.

I am starting to like my friend. I can do without sleeping with him but I would want him to be my friend. My sense of friendship is very tasking. I hold friendships to the highest standards and not many people meet those standards. I want my friend to appreciate our friendship. I don't want him to show up and disappear like the others. I like him too much for that. I just started liking him. I want him to respect our friendship, cherish our friendship, and respect me. I am starting to get used to him. To making fond of him, laughing at him and talking to him. I think of our conversations and I laugh, those are the things that make me happy. Our conversations. Is it still a friendship when you laugh and reminisce fondly on the conversations? I don't know. That's how people get into messes, emotional messes and then they wonder, what happened? Where was I when my heart fell into this? I just don't understand this. I wish I could but I don't. Two Fridays ago, he called me about 10 times. But yet, he is in love with his girlfriend. How do people get into these messes? Now, I know. Bit by bit, one friendly call after another. No doubt I could use someone to take care of the manly things around my life, my house. Yes, I won't lie. I am tired of going it alone. This is something I need at this point. That's all these women need and we pick the first available beat up guy that fits the bill. But this is not me. It is the stickiest situation yet and I would hate my heart to have to drag me into it.

So I think back on the times when I was happy, without emotional baggage, dealing with my lonesome self and loving it. I think back to those times and I miss it.

So the Thrill is Gone

My friends, so it seems that the thrill is gone.

And tomorrow I move out of this urban cultural melting pot into a suburban mesh that I am none too thrilled about it. But with all good things, they must come to an end, and the end is here. I had imagined the end will not come too soon. That I will not be ripped from this daydream into reality so soon. Sometime in between my search I thought fate would stop me, knock me into my senses, ask me, what are you doing? How can you even think of leaving this place? That was not to be.

It all comes to a head tomorrow. I would miss many things. Little things but they add up to a lot. Having to walk home after one too many drinks. Driving home knowing I am not the only car on the highway. The view from the 17th street bridge at night. The admiration you get from people when you tell them your coveted address. The smirk with a slight hint of envy that follows their next sentence. And then, they immediately delve into a host of questions, riddles that have been puzzling them about this place, hoping you have some type of answers. It's so predictably interesting. In between that envy and admiration, I always think that perhaps some thought with far too much envy and some how willed this day to be. But let's not think negative, shall we?

That is not to say this place is perfect. I hate having my office in my bedroom. I hate how tiny my closet is. I hate the moldy grout in the bathroom stall. I hate waking up to the sun that causes me to be cheery even when I don't mean to be. I hate some little things about this place. But overall, I can stand it. I stood it for 2 years. And out of everything that would have changed, I didn't think this would be the one. But it did.

The thrill is gone. The loft has driven off. I am glad I got to see this dream come to fruition. one down, a million more to go.

excerpts

Smoke screens circled around her head in the dimly-lit room. She gazed off into the distance, holding the filterless cigarette between her fingers. Her mind escaped to the places she wished her body could go and in a few minutes, she covered several miles of beautiful happiness, carefree people and bright blue skies that yielded to a warm sun.

However this was not to be as she was seated here in this confined space with a half empty glass of water and the stench of her cigarette suffocating the refreshing air.

She stared at the clock for the last time and only a minute had passed since she last gazed on it. It was now 8.31. It is not time yet, she thought. What time? What was she waiting on? Nothing. Except for that imagined place to be here and that time to be now.

I like myself now

So I decided to switch things up a bit and thanks to the good folks at Blogger, I can. So here you have it, new website link. And now, I like myself some more.

There was a time after about 2 years of keeping this journal, it was somewhat important to me to have someone read this. To me, I suppose, I wanted people to empathize with me and my "issues." I used to get so bummed that others would keep online journals and get loads of comments, hits and in some ways some type of sponsorship deal, or at least a writing deal out of it. The latter I really wanted. I thought, maybe the UN would find me and would want me to stop whining about a job with them, and actually offer me one, even if it is a provisional one as I try to prove myself. I just thought that would be the case so it was important to me to have people read me. And I took time out to read articles on "How to get your Blog Noticed," and such other "Get Your Blog Published" articles that may be floating on the web. And I even implemented some of the tips that I found. It was important to me to get something out of this daily whine. Yes, I know I whine, but seriously who doesn't. The world isn't perfect and my life isn't. It was important to me to make something out of it and not just use it to entertain the privileged, life-is-but-a-dreamboat few.

However, with everything there are mistakes. And I made them starting from last year when I decided to associate my real life self with my online self. You always want to stay mysterious just so the people you are writing about don't feel violated. That was a grave mistake on my part and even though I thought that I had rectified it by making certain assertions addressed to the perpetrators, it got worse and the "leak" so to speak had already been made and my identity was now compromised.

And since then, I made it worse by putting up personal pictures of myself, and letting people see me and know me. They didn't need to know all that, they already know enough about me from all these entries. Needless to say, things have been going downhill. It's been some accusation or judgmental comment or the other. I don't need people to judge me in my own domain! I don't need that. This is my domain. Blogger gives away this stuff for free. If you want to judge me, go start your own domain with Blogger and use it to whine, judge, criticize whoever the fuck you want. I cannot allow that in my own domain. This is my space to be, be me, be me with my mistakes, my missteps, my joys, my triumphs, my prayers, my religion, my negatives, my positives, my ambition, my progression and most of all, my obsession. This is my space to be...

So I felt an overhaul and re-direction was absolutely necessary. That's why the domain name has changed. As I said, Blogger gives away this stuff for free. And due to the power of the Internet, no one who's bookmarked the other site can find me on this one. Hopefully not anytime soon. And I am writing this for their benefit. If they luckily find this blog again, oh ye, of the privileged never-make-a-mistake-life, I have declared this my domain to be.

Be me. Bring in the era of the Be Me Chronicles.

Wow, what a weekend

Wow, what a weekend! I spent it getting tattoos and drinking margaritas.

True story. Life plan not worked on at all. But had a good 'ole time with the tattoos and margaritas though. Awesome stuff.

I think underneath what I can say in this journal are things that I cannot say. Or things I choose not to say. And to an extent I feel like maybe I've over shared but then, as I said sometime before, that's what artists do, we feel the need to express ourselves so we do it with whatever medium. However, underneath the written words are quiet frustrations, everything I say I am going to do, or that I've thought of doing, I have taken steps towards doing and was hit with one obstacle or the other, some that I have spoken of, whined about and some that I have not. And then, there are things that I am working on that I would much rather not speak about to anyone, not even my journal as I'd prefer to work on them privately, as I toy with the fine details.

So once again, I say, if you bump into this and feel like you can judge my life based on what I've written and not on the quiet frustrations I face, then maybe I asked for it but it is so not your place. Just read it and keep it moving. Not unless you have a place for me to stay in New York, plus a job in this stiff job market.

If you do then we can talk.

An Artists Haven

I want to move to New York so bad, it's almost overwhelming.

I know no place is ever as great as you imagine it to be - look at America. I just think it'd be wonderful. As an artist where else will you live and feel inspired and nurtured by the environment. It's overwhelming, I say. I suppose there are people in New York that are just dying to move to Atlanta and enjoy the cheap housing, the easy commute and the slow, hush-puppy lifestyle. I actually sat next to one of them at lunch. "I just wanted to get away from the hustle and bustle." I felt like slapping her. Hustle and bustle keeps you moving, invigorates you, lets you know that you're alive. How can you want to step back from that?

I wish I had a best friend who shared my same yearn for life in New York, so we could move there together and keep each other company as we find our feet. This is unfortunately one adventure I cannot embark on by myself. Even though I was able to muster 2 days in New York by myself, living there on my own seems so daunting. Plus, there is the evil shadow of unemployment and constant recession. How can you battle that on your own? How can anyone? But I must often remind myself of how old I am. I am not but a child. There are people my age who are not only responsible for themselves, but the lives of others, their children. Imagine if I were a mother of 2, with no husband who had to relocate to New York. What would happen then?

I have worked in the same place, lived in the same place and driven the same car for 2 years. All that sameness is wearing me out and I am about to burst. I don't know how people deal with sameness. The life of the same, not the ordinary, just the same is underwhelming. How do married people cope?

Every time I read the New York Times or the poets weekly and there's an announcement about another great event in Brooklyn and the rest I would always think, so what am I waiting for? What are you waiting for Anita?

I just need the God of all things prosperous, of tremendous opportunity, and most of all hope, to have pity on me and let me muster enough courage to move to New York, with all things being equal.

For my 900th review

I looked at properties all weekend.

From last week through the weekend, which was extended because I took Friday off from work. I spent my 3 day weekend, getting my hair done and looking at properties, searching online at property ads and touring them in person. This has been by far the most arduous property hunt in my 6 years of renting. Usually, I find one and I toy with it as I look at others to try to dissuade me from the one I want. I consistently go back to the one I want to reassure myself that I like it and it's the one in comparison to all the others I've seen in the interim. Nothing quite compares. And in the end, I sign up for it. There's always that breathtaking moment when I see that one. It's just superb. Like it speaks to me and says this is where you should be, how dare you go anywhere else. With each time I view it, it's still the same feeling.

This year not so much.

There is one. But since then, there have been many others. Some too expensive, some too remote, some I like the bathrooms but hate the kitchen, some I like the kitchen but hate everything else, bedrooms too small, living space too small, location, location, location doesn't quite work out, nothing quite plugs in place. Then, there's the preponderance of thoughts.

I am not sure I want to live here in Atlanta for another year. Another year of nothingness, because that's exactly what my life is like. Nothingness. I do not advance in my career or my personal life, or any of my life goals, I only advance in age. So, it's another year of nothingness. Swell nothingness. Sometimes I think I should make a bold move and take myself out of this nothingness into something else. But what exactly. I feel rooted to this by the overwhelming situation called the economy. I have options in my mind but those options will involve a lot. One being, leave my job. And I am not too sure now is the time to do that. Or maybe I should take a gamble anyway and do it because the timing is never right and you spend all your life waiting for that timing to work out. Maybe that's what all the empty apartment hunts are trying to tell me...this is not the place, try something else. I don't know what to make of anything anymore. I am pulling up empty ideas. Nothing is speaking to me, not even my thoughts.

The Year of Gay Liberation

You know what I hate? I hate it when you accidentally bump into a gay bar, walk in and they start staring at you like you lost your way. It's a bar, isn't it? And they have drinks, preferably the good, strong kind. So, why can't I drink here?"

Yesterday night, after enduring 5 hours on a chair to get my hair braided, I wanted food, drink, anything...a nice shot of something to numb the pain just before my food arrives. And I bump into this "restaurant", right beside the Thai restaurant I actually intended to go to. So I think, how about a shot of something to numb the pain as I wait for my food to arrive, or better yet, bar food, even more filling and satisfying. As I walk towards it, immediately the guy at the door stops me with a "Yes, can I help you?"

"This is a restaurant, right," I ask naively.

"It's actually a bar." He replies, omitting the gay part. And very well, I didn't know such a subcategory existed, like is there a "straight" bar, maybe that's what I've been going to since, straight bars, and alas, here's the gay one.

So I respond, not even detecting the tone in his voice as he inspects me with his gaydar, my freshly minted braids begged to differ. So, okay she's not gay, just hungry, stupid and in need of a drink.

In my mind I am thinking, it's late they are probably about to shut down shop, or at least the kitchen aspect of it. "Okay, so do you have food?" "Yes but the kitchen is closed."

I look at my watch, certainly it can't be that late. So he mellows out and says, "Oh, no, not actually closed. You have 30 minutes, but we don't have that much." So I walk in, still very hungry and irritated with this conversation. I couldn't quite understand why he was policing me at the door, you either ask me for the cover charge or my ID, but if I am a paying customer (or I seem like one), there really is no need to stop me at the door to play twenty questions.

So I walk in. Bar top one. Gay couple caressing. Bar top two, other gay couple whispering, giggling and smoking. And the rest of the servers were hanging some kind of disc glitter from the roof. Surely this is a gay bar. I contemplate, I am so thirsty it really doesn't matter, the drinks will still taste the same. But then, the smoke and that glitter, and they don't even have wings on the menu, what decent bar skips wings from their menu...the gay bar that's what. So I pass. No shot, no food. I keep it simple. Police guard at the door is ever so pleased as I walk out, like he says almost with a smirk, Okay, see you later. Like he knew I would walk out. It was only a matter of time. He was lucky I was hungrier than I was thirsty, if not, I would have stayed, with the smoke, the glitter and all.

In summary, why can't we straight people not crash gay bars, why is there even such a subcategory? What is wrong with this world, what's with all the subsets. I can understand rich and poor, but if we can help the subsets why create them? Just give me a drink please, and hold the glitter and the smoking for outside. I just need my shot, dammit.

The year of Gay Liberation...really?

You know what I hate? I hate it when you accidentally bump into a gay bar, walk in and they start staring at you like you lost your way. It's a bar, isn't it? And they have drinks, preferably the good, strong kind. So, why can't I drink here?"

Yesterday night, after enduring 5 hours on a chair to get my hair braided, I wanted food, drink, anything...a nice shot of something to numb the pain just before my food arrives. And I bump into this "restaurant", right beside the Thai restaurant I actually intended to go to. So I think, how about a shot of something to numb the pain as I wait for my food to arrive, or better yet, bar food, even more filling and satisfying. As I walk towards it, immediately the guy at the door stops me with a "Yes, can I help you?"

"This is a restaurant, right," I ask naively.

"It's actually a bar." He replies, omitting the gay part. And very well, I didn't know such a subcategory existed, like is there a "straight" bar, maybe that's what I've been going to since, straight bars, and alas, here's the gay one.

So I respond, not even detecting the tone in his voice as he inspects me with his gaydar, my freshly minted braids begged to differ. So, okay she's not gay, just hungry, stupid and in need of a drink.

In my mind I am thinking, it's late they are probably about to shut down shop, or at least the kitchen aspect of it. "Okay, so do you have food?" "Yes but the kitchen is closed."

I look at my watch, certainly it can't be that late. So he mellows out and says, "Oh, no, not actually closed. You have 30 minutes, but we don't have that much." So I walk in, still very hungry and irritated with this conversation. I couldn't quite understand why he was policing me at the door, you either ask me for the cover charge or my ID, but if I am a paying customer (or I seem like one), there really is no need to stop me at the door to play twenty questions.

So I walk in. Bar top one. Gay couple caressing. Bar top two, other gay couple whispering, giggling and smoking. And the rest of the servers were hanging some kind of disc glitter from the roof. Surely this is a gay bar. I contemplate, I am so thirsty it really doesn't matter, the drinks will still taste the same. But then, the smoke and that glitter, and they don't even have wings on the menu, what decent bar skips wings from their menu...the gay bar that's what. So I pass. No shot, no food. I keep it simple. Police guard at the door is ever so pleased as I walk out, like he says almost with a smirk, Okay, see you later. Like he knew I would walk out. It was only a matter of time. He was lucky I was hungrier than I was thirsty, if not, I would have stayed, with the smoke, the glitter and all.

In summary, why can't we straight people not crash gay bars, why is there even such a subcategory? What is wrong with this world, what's with all the subsets. I can understand rich and poor, but if we can help the subsets why create them? Just give me a drink please, and hold the glitter and the smoking for outside. I just need my shot, dammit.

we're half way there, we're living in a prayer

I went to the July 4th fireworks display at Lenox for the first time in my 9 years of living in Atlanta. And it was all fitting since this may be my last year here. On the 5th, I celebrate my 9th year in this country and on the 4th I took in the greatest celebration of all things American by taking in the fireworks. It only took 9 years to get me to do that but I did. And it was quite emotional for me too. I sobbed so sweetly, little tears trickling down my face. I almost wish I hadn't because it took me to that brink of tears, just over the edge, where you feel pain but you don't know why and tears just swell in your eyes and you can't stop them. That's how it felt.

I went from dancing hysterically at the live band that was offering us very good entertainment to crying hysterically at little stars exploding in the air. What does that say about me?

Have to be in the mood for July

It takes a while to gather up the mood to write.

I have to be in the right mood to write, especially assignment pieces. For my journal, it's almost getting to be that way.

All day, I constantly have poignant thoughts randomly flash through my mind but I have to be in the mood to put them down in some coherent fashion because once you sit to write, the coherence floats away - the computer screen steals it and you start to mumble all the details, this and that, but its all jumbled. It does not read quite as coherent as when you thought it. Except maybe if you were drunk when you had those thoughts. Needless to say, that I actually do have very deep thought provoking A-ha moments when I am drunk, it's like the alcohol places those emotions you had long suppressed into the forefront and gives you some armor to confront them with a sense of conviction.

I remember when I used to write for a living, this was some time after law school before America. Yes, I actually had a chance to make my big break but I thought I would have a better opportunity here. Yep, sometime in that phase when I was trying to run away and make a fresh start, I used to write for a living. We had one week to complete a radio screenplay with a theme which was chosen for you. Hence, an assignment piece. Assignment pieces are different from "free for all"s because, there is a theme and the theme is not at your discretion. That just ruins the flexibility and creativity involved in writing by setting some type of boundaries.

For me for those 7 days, nothing would come to my head until day 5. And even then, I would try so hard to tap into that part of me that feels. Don't get me wrong, I feel everyday. But there's a part of you that hurts and feels every pain, that listens and dwells and that aches and is in touch with you, that part is the part that produces the best dialogue, the most heart-wrenching stories, it's best part of your creativity. It's your A-Ha part. It's like being "on" at all times. And that part would take 5 days for me to tap into. So 2 days to deadline, I would have to drink, eat, sit in a dark room, everything to tap into it. Finally, it would come. And my script supervisor always got a good chuckle whenever she read one of mine.

Now, I don't know. I don't think I've found my A-ha moment. I would like to be a given a chance, a permanent opportunity to try to tap into it, day after day after day. I would like that to be my occupation.

That's my July 1st prayer.

tongue tied over the loss of MJ

I've been tongue-tied over the loss of Michael Jackson. Much like the rest of the world.

It's been one of those events that has hit me emotionally much like Heath Ledger's death. And it happened in somewhat similar circumstances. One minute they were fine and next minute, their hearts just gave up and left this world. You gotta think maybe they don't want any part of this world, with its craziness, stupidity and selfishness. Maybe they just don't. Maybe they just came to play their part and their part is done, so it's time to leave. But then they leave you with this lump in your throat, this constant longing, this "gone too soon" trauma, and its always at the pinnacle of when it would have made all the difference. MJ was on his way to getting back in the game and showing the youngsters how it's done. For people like my 14 year old niece, she does not know who he is or how big he is, the tour would have changed all that. But now, we'll never know.

MJ represented the reason why a girl in Africa would want to move to America. You think, it's a great place, it's the home of such talented people as Michael Jackson. And everyone is just as nice and multi-talented like he is, and giving and loving and just generally sweet, and there's sweet music flowing everywhere. He represented all these attributes in the remotest parts of the world, I am telling you the remotest parts of Africa, where there are huts and no electricity, they've heard of Michael Jackson. I don't think any artist has permeated through the world the way that he has. And on a seemingly normal Thursday, he leaves. Without even waiting for the world to heal, or for the man in mirror to change his ways.

I've grown up believing that there is a reason for everything, for the good and the bad. And as I've gotten older, it has dwindled somewhat, to a belief that there's a reason for some things, not all. Some things just don't make sense. There are some things, some inevitably unfortunate circumstances that occur in your life, that just have no plausible reason whatsoever. Maybe it's God fucking with you, trying to make sure you're paying attention, or maybe it's the rolling of time, going from the point that is good and landing on the point that is bad. But there are just some inherently evil, unfortunate circumstances that don't seem to have any fathomable reason for their occurrence whatsoever. Hence, the phrase, "WTF?!!" And Michael dying, it just hits you in the gut, like, "Holy Shit, Man, What the fuck, why are we even talking about this, we should be talking about how rad his new concert is, not his death."

But it is. We continue with our lives. We feel blessed that we were a part of that era and we would always be touched by his music, his time, and his voice and all that was genuine and true for that time. Most of all, we hope that we would be touched in just the same way again.

Michael, some girl from Africa, who rarely loves, surprisingly loved you and it is sad, so sad but I have to believe that there is a reason underneath it all and I have to... continue. I know the Lord has better plans for you.

prior engagements

So...apparently, Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson had some kind of prior engagement that they had to attend on the same fucking day. And I am told Heath Ledger had already RSVP'ed to that one.

It's so sad that the icons that you know and love just suddenly up and quit this life, like they're telling you, it's your turn now to make a difference. And then, you ask, "Me? I don't know shit about making a difference." But then, you turn to the other people who have been having a go at it, and they are just a mess, a big fucking mess. They don't even try to be iconic.

I'm not making any sense. I knew I wouldn't.

Last night I had a dream that my car got stolen and I saw them drive away with it, and the rest of the robbers watched me panic to call the cops and they just laughed. They didn't mind that I saw their faces, they just laughed to my face, like they were mocking me. I was so fucking happy when I woke up from that one.

And then today, a seemingly normal Thursday in June, the King of Pop dies, just like that. Disappeared just like my car did in that dream.

Oh, it hurts so much I cannot even put it into words.

it's unheard of

People are often envious when you return from a vacation. Co-workers, bosses especially, they start to think so we pay you enough for you to go spoil yourself by going to 2 cities. Superiors, the attorneys often think, this type of vacation is only meant for them. Them, the 100K upwards salary maker, not us, the peons who do all the work and make half as much as they do. It's just bogus hogwash that never fails to occur no matter where I work. This is my first multi-city vacation at this job so I thought they'd act different than the others.

As for me. It's always a crash from a high you thought would last forever. You think can I just hold this moment, this particular moment and let it repeat itself, over and over, can I? But nothing lasts forever. The good things are always ever so fleeting. After partying in Miami, not really partying but taking in a sliver of the nightlife (I didn't pack for clubbing, etc), I tried to go out last night and everything in Atlanta pales in comparison. Sometimes I think, am I the only one who seems irritated with this city. Or maybe my irritation with all things about me, my job, my city, my apartment always gets to a feverish pitch whenever I visit other places and see how others are living. If you can have a little bit more of whatever it is, better food at the mall, better sun, better museums, nicer people, why can't you? Why should I stay rooted to anything less?

I met 2 people in Miami. One I hoped to see again. Nothing fantastic, he's just a boy really, but maybe it was his positive naivety about life that made him so endearing, and I had to open my big mouth and say something and that was the end of that conversation. The other, well, that's a whole other story. Sometimes we build attractions for the wrong people. At least I do.

Sometimes, I think is it unheard of to move out of Atlanta, because everyone thinks of it as a place to move inwards. People leave all these wonderful culturally rich cities and come dwell in this significantly lacking city. Is it unheard of to move to New York city now, now with the economy, with the aftermath of 9/11 still in effect, is it unheard of?

slight update of Mummy's adventures

Slight update since I am still woozy from being awake for 24 hours straight. Miami party goers woohooo....they put the N in Night Owl and the P in Party.

Where do I begin?

First off, one thing I noticed in New York is that everyone's good looking. Not the greasy good looking like we have in Atlanta but the refined healthy handsome, pretty modern and trendy looks. Even if they're not expensively dressed, they at least look trendy, a chic hobo look that's very put together yet unintentional. And they are always either talking on the phone or plugged into their iPods. No eye contact at all. For the first time I didn't feel like I was the only outsider. Almost everyone has a tinge of the international in them. My accent just fit right in, nary a question of where my accent was from. Shame it's so expensive and the subway is filthy. I liked it almost as much as San Francisco. And Times Square day or night never gets old, no matter how many times you see it, it's still amazing. I could look at it everyday.

But Miami on the other hand. The people look good but it is a baked cheesy look. Everyone is either dripping with jewelry or silicon, or overly toned thighs and feel the need to show it off. It was a different look, of the trophy wife look. And everyone is international, a tourist or live-in, they still hardly ever speak English. Their fashion taste not so great, very flashy and gawdy but still expensive. They don't do understated there. Everyone's weaving in and out of the shops with their dogs, whatever size, from little chihuahuas to large drippy breeds. It's the kind of place that you plan ahead for, at least a year in advance, and then you go loose a whole bunch of weight, suck the fat out whatever, fix your silicon, and prepare to be treated like meat for the men who are out to prey. It's that intensely materialistic.

My birthday was so amazing, not a second to dwell on my age. It was flawless. I couldn't have designed it better. So filled with life, and wonderful stops along the way. I felt so blessed. I am glad I treated myself.

Miami...in summary

Stopped by the infamous Newscafe on my last night in Miami. I was already overspent but I thought what the hell, let's go out in a blaze of glory. 

So when it's all done I want it said that I had a blast and I am proud of it, and I came out head held high and proud of myself. It turned out wonderful. Their eggs benedict was just marvelous. Superb, even with cream cheese sauce that I normally hate, at midnight, I ate it all up. What a wicked way to serve it and interesting concept, let's serve breakfast 24 hours because literally the city never sleeps. I just wish I had had it sooner, all those days I had skipped out on breakfast and jumped straight to lunch. But no worries. I had a blast! It's the only reason to want to go back to that city, just to try that dish. 

Needless to say Miami was rough. The hotel was rough. The public transportation was rough and expensive just to go a distance of 2 miles, and worst of all dirty. Every single restaurant had gratuity percentage added to the total check. Service good or bad, there's that gratuity factored in. Some of them give you a chance to change it, but some especially those with dicey service, don't have that option. It made things a little expensive after New York had taken all my cash. But it was a spectacle to behold. Every block, every corner, there was a spectacle, a rich foreign kid, or a half baked trophy wife, or a bunch of girls out for trouble, or guys just wanting to get laid and they hit on everything that moves. 

Spectacle.