Less Talk, More Walk: Surviving NYC one lesson at a time

A couple of weekends ago I was feeling very anti New York City. Everything and everyone annoyed me. According to the locals, this was normal. The fact that I live at the mouth of the Lincoln Tunnel, surrounded by the calming sounds of jack hammers and cranes, and that I’m often tripping over hordes of tourists sprinting to secure their place on the Circle Line, does not help my mood. Let’s just say that I do not live in an ideal location. 

I’m several long blocks from the nearest subway station, which happens to be the luxurious and fragrant Port Authority bus terminal on the infamous 42nd Street. Just once I’d like to walk to the subway and not have to step over the man with no right foot, who’s sprawled out in the middle of the sidewalk, or inhale an odoriferous bouquet of urine and roasted peanuts. Is that too much to ask? But you say, “That’s the city. It’s gritty and alive”. No. No, it’s not. It’s gross.

My relentless bemoaning of my decision to move back to the Big Apple during this particular weekend drove me into the arms of my loyal and trusted friend, Ms. Laptop. I decided to go to my off-site office, Starwich, a lovely café a couple of blocks from my apartment. They offered free Wi-Fi and everyone knew my name. 

I walked in and saw that every single chair was occupied. It was standing room only. I had never seen it so packed. I threw up my hands and stormed out. Now where? I didn’t know where because there wasn’t anywhere else in my stupid neighborhood to go! I walked around the block and decided on a park along the West Side Highway that had a few tables and a respectable amount of lawn. But as I walked west, the streets became more and more crowded with people (read tourists). I couldn’t deal. I needed real estate that wasn’t occupied by camera toting, Birkenstock wearing (with socks), fanny pack holding, foreigners.

Wait, my building has a sundeck on the third floor that overlooks the Hudson River. That didn’t sound so bad. When I got to the sundeck, I had the whole place to myself. Ahhh. That’s what I wanted, a little piece and quiet away from humanity. I booted up my computer and started creating.

A few minutes later I was interrupted by the sounds of a cheering crowd. I walked over to the edge of the sundeck and saw a sea of pink in the park along the West Side Highway. There must have been hundreds of people wearing pink t-shirts and pink baseball hats. A banner read, “Avon Breast Cancer Walk”. It was the closing ceremonies to the two-day, 39-mile cancer walk. 

I sat back down and as I listened to the President of the organization thank the walkers for their hard work, and tireless efforts, I thought about the bitching session that I had partaken in over the weekend. Bitching! I should’ve been walking! I could’ve bitched while I walked, and then at least I would’ve been doing something productive.

I felt ashamed especially after listening to a few breast cancer survivors tell the throngs of people uplifting and inspirational stories. It felt as if they were speaking directly to me. “Thank you for taking action and not wallowing in self pity like that Dani girl. If we had to wait until she stopped complaining about icky New York City, we might never have walked today, and as a result, wouldn’t have raised enough money to find a cure.” 

The event was over but I wanted to support the women in pink. I wanted to do something in deference to their struggles, so I lay back on my chaise, slipped my hand under my shirt, and gave myself a breast exam on my sundeck. 

Ghosts of Blogging Past

I am linking up with Mommy 2 Cents and Chosen Chaos for a Ghosts of Blogging Past party. All the cool kids will be attending, and they’ll be linking up one of their earliest posts.

 http://www.mommytwocents.com/

Here's mine:



NO MORE SEX
Before anyone reads the title of this article and thinks that I’m refusing sex, let me explain. 

I love sex. I mean I really love sex, and as much as I’d like to write about the sex that I love, I’m actually talking about Sex and the City, the movie, that’s currently filming on the streets of Danitown. Someone apparently asked for this movie because Sex is back.

Sweet baby Jesus people, I do not need nor want to see Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha, now in their 40’s, and do I dare say it out loud, 50’s, still kvetching about their high class problems, and glorifying women as materialistic, Martini chugging, bed-hopping sex addicts, in Manolo Blahniks. And my feelings have nothing to do with the fact that I don’t know a Blahnik from a Choo. Unless you’re talking about the Beatles song, I am The Walrus, coo coo ca choo.

We had eight seasons, 94 episodes, a jump in Cosmo sales at bars throughout the world, and Kim Catrall’s books, educating novices about sexual intelligence, and the female orgasm. Isn’t that enough? I’m not sure that I see the point in a SATC movie. Then again, I don’t see the point in showering everyday either. 

The movie was supposed to begin filming right after the series ended in 1998, but since the money wasn’t talking, some of the ladies went walking. And I’m embarrassed that I know that.

According to the website I found chronicling the New York City shoot, fans have been chomping at the bit for a SATC movie. Really, because when I logged on, there were only three different postings expressing dire love and devotion for Carrie and the crew. 

There are some set photos of the ladies on the website as well, and from what I can see, the Annie Hall look just might be coming back to haunt us, complete with vest, loose tie and button down shirts.

And the shoe on those bitches? Let me tell you something, I can’t walk outside my building and to the bus stop, a hundred feet away, in anything higher than sneakers, let alone traipsing along Fifth avenue in stilettos. Who does that? It’s not like I wouldn’t want the sexy high end fuck me pumps, but with my bunions, it’s a nice Merrell walking sandal for me. I marvel at the SATC gals and those like them, who are able to clickity clack around New York City without falling and breaking something.

It’s been three years since last we saw our ladies and according to reports, the movie will not be picking up where the series left off in 2004 because of the slight aging of the actresses. Slight aging? I’ll tell you what slight aging has meant to me in the last three years. 

That pesky little thing called gravity is a f’in she-bitch. It attacked me from above and from behind. And just when I thought I’d be able to get away with five simple Botox injections twice a year, my nasolabial fold now needs filling. Note to self: make an appointment with Dr. Gottlieb. But that’s just me. I’m curious to see what slight aging has meant to the gals.

So, do these characters now or have they ever represented a cross section of contemporary women? No. Although in the movie version Jennifer Hudson, a woman of color, will be playing Carrie’s assistant. I hope that she’ll be a singing assistant, because that sista’s got pipes.

The SATC way of life was never my way of life- mainly because the last time I lived in NYC I was in my 20’s. But now that I’ve moved back and I’m in my early 40’s, which is the new 30’s, and in a relationship, maybe, just maybe, I’ll finally be able to relate to the SATC ladies. 

And maybe, just maybe, I will get myself a pair of wood Flaminia brown strap pumps, a black Filth Mart floral print dress, a black Club Monaco saddle bag, and sashay my ass over to the bus stop. A girl can dream.