The State of "Eh" Chapter 8

Chapter 8 - Convenience


"I am not a convenience! I am a PRIVILEGE!" I yelled.

This is, by far, one of my favorite sentences I have ever uttered. It would have been legendary, classic, echoed in the halls of relationship statements... had I not felt the need to add more shit to it and make it sarcastic.

Had I known then, what I know now and still refuse to implement.

Just shut up at the end of saying good shit. Put a fucking period on that shit. A cap. Don't be all BP about it. Yet, no.

"I am not a convenience! I am a PRIVILEGE!" I yelled.

It was so remarkably timed, dramatic pause betwixt the two statements. A single hard tear dropped EXACTLY at the moment I said "PRIVILEGE!" I had my hand vertically to my heart...had smacked my chest with it....clenched my teeth when I said "PRIVILEGE!" Held my hand for about 5 seconds, then dropped it slowly. Didn't bother to wipe those tears. Then I stood there, as 4 other HARD tears hit the floor. I breathed heavily, shoulders heaving. A single throat gulp.

"I am not a convenience! I am a PRIVILEGE!"

Award worthy. It was the scene they would play when I was nominated. People would gasp, feeling moved. As they moved to the shots of the other actresses nominated, after I won, they would be crying...shaking their heads and slow clapping my brilliance.

Yes.

"I am not a convenience! I am a PRIVILEGE!"

He stood there, wide eyed. Still. Eyes dropping to the floor as I dropped my hand. Went to reach out to me. I gave the "NO!" hand and backed up with the "NO!" finger. Complete with lip quivering and all.

Then...

My sarcasm kicked in.

OK, look. I really don't have control over this shit. Countless times I have ruined a completely serious situation with my involuntary sarcasm reflex. I'm sure it's infuriating. In fact, I KNOW it's infuriating. I just can't stop. I can't stop the stupid continuous joke prompt in my head. It doesn't shut off. I've never found the button for it and I'm not sure that I want to. In retrospect, there are tons of times it probably would have changed the direction my life took. Only, I'm not sure I would want to live in that life. It's not real for me. It's not tangible.

So.

"I am not a convenience! I am a PRIVILEGE!"

Hand drop, back off, "NO!" hand, his eye drop, reach out....

Then, the ruination.

I breathed heavily for about 10 more seconds. It was silent. Heavy. Hot. Feeling of the ceiling lowering in and the room wet, humid with passion.

Still. Thick.

I opened my stupid mouth and completely changed tones.

See, what had just happened in my head, is that although I was SO serious about what I was saying... I mean, shit... this was a serious fucking argument. I meant it. I was just proud of myself for saying it the way I did.

I saw the entire award show in the 10 seconds of silence. This is my problem. I had already extricated myself from the moment. I was doing my acceptance speech at that point. I tend to immerse myself quickly into my imagination. Especially when it's cued by.. ok.. no.. just all the time. It's a problem.

Ok.. so.... I opened my stupid mouth and completely changed tones.

Hand drop.... turn, then turn around quickly.... (this is a different movie for me now.)

"...because.. If I was a CONVENIENCE.... do I... do I have a fucking neon sign on me? Do I look like I sell slurpees? I have fucking AISLES??? You think I stock motherfucking SLIM JIMS??? Am I open 24 hours for you? Do you want me to sell you a mother.....fucking...LOOSIE??? That's it? My name is BODEGA??? BODEGA? You see an awning??? The word SANDWICH is spelled incorrectly on me? Huh MOTHERFUCKER??? You want a turkey and cheese on a fucking hero??? You don't want mustard?? WHAT??? HUH? HUH? I'm a MART? Oh.. NOW I'M A FUCKING MART??? FUCK... YOU.."

I turned and stormed out of the room, then out of the apartment. I got to about the corner and called my friend. I was laughing hysterically.

"I'm such a dick..." I spit out between laughs, "I don't even... hahahahahaaa..." I was laughing so hard that my face hurt.
"Ahhhh I fucking ruined it. RUINED MY MOMENT!"

She agreed, told me I was "a fucking fool."

It wasn't an important enough relationship for me to even want to have a discussion about it afterwards. He chalked it up to me being a loon. I chalked it up to... well.. let's be real. The real point of this is that... yes.. I had a valid point. I was most certainly NOT a convenience... I didn't like being treated as such. I chalked it up to the fact that he didn't know what he had. Loon or not.

I am not... a privilege.


I would sell you a loosie though.

The State of "Eh" Chapter 7

Chapter 7 - Miami (pt 10)


Miami...

I'm sorry New York, as much as I love you, Miami became my favorite city a few years ago.
If it helps your feelings at all, NY, part of it is the flying time between the two of you. I can be in Miami for breakfast and still get to Brooklyn for, well....BREAKFAST.
If I was a cheating, double life leading woman, this would come in very handy indeed...to thwart my two families from ever finding out the horrible truth and destroying everyones lives.

Not that I've thought about doing that.

At all.

I only use the short distance for good. The beach, the food, the nightlife, the general Miaminess of it all.
I love that I don't have to be a driver to enjoy the city.
That I can lead a 24 hour life (us New Yorkers are so spoiled) and not have to readjust my tempo.
That I can go sit on the beach at 3am and walk back home, kicking sand all the way.
That I don't really have to put on any damn clothes.

I love Miami.

I've taken countless last minute flights out. The 9:45 to Fort Lauderdale and then the short, gorgeous ride in.
Did my round of the boutique hotels, The Raleigh becoming my favorite, but the Shore Clubs penthouse bonanza was exquisite.
Rented condos, stayed a while...rented delicious townhouses...

This story fell on an eve where the townhouse I had rented, suddenly seemed not as exciting as crashing a hotel.
Had I only just gone the 8 extra blocks...this wouldn't have happened.

I blame the mojitos.
I blame Tyson (not the actual Tyson, Tyson...)

This starts with people watching. As I always did, making my way to a different restaurant every night, kicking back at a street table, having a dinner, drinks, scrawling in my giant notepad.
I got to know all the waiters because they all asked me the same question, "What do you do?'
Always in the same terribly confused sweet tone.
"I see you come here all the time, never with anyone, you're so quiet! You just. Write!"

Maybe I write stuff.

"I write stuff". I would answer.
"Are you writing a book?"
"I hope so, otherwise all these extra pages are just completely useless" I would lick back quickly with a smile.

I didn't really pay for much. I really liked that. I'm pretty sure no one spit in my food either. That's a good thing. I used to work as a waitress and I used to--- that's another chapter...

One of those writing nights, I was enjoying an amazing salad at ..(I won't say the name of the place, but it rhymes with, "Shmews Shafay"...) when a God, made of God like material, walked up, pulled out the chair next to me, sat down and lit my cigarette.

Incidentally, I always have a cigarette hanging out of my mouth when writing. Like a truck driver. Or a moll (thanks for the vocab, Guy.)

I did what normal people would do (I've met some of them and picked up their habits.)
I jumped back, alarmed at first, then, upon looking up and seeing Jesus' halo, lean in and accept the flame. Of my new burning desire.

"You're jumpy." he said, laughing.

"I'm not-ack, ack, ack, ju-hum-ack--" I responded. His presence had made me forget the importance of separating the inhalation of smoke from talking. I just mashed them together with crap results.

"First cigarette?" said Black Jesus.

Oh, he's quick. This was going to be a problem. Too quick. I don't know how to... wait...yes I do.

I threw a side glance combined with a quick head nudge towards the cigarette burial grounds in the ashtray before replying, "Yes. Firsteen thousand cigarette. I almost got it down. Almost."

Ha, ha! POW! Right back at you! BAM! BAM! Whaaaataaaw! Take that joke! Take it! Uh, uh, uhhhhhhhhh....

He smiled. No verbal response. Just a smile. Oh, yeah. He's really good. If you can't defeat a joke, OR you know you could dismantle it's vertebrae, that's the right response. I had a feeling he was a joke chiropractor. Oooh. Chills.

I smiled back.

"I'm Tyson," he said.

"Jean." I held out my hand to meet his, happy to not receive the "kiss on the hand" crap, or the "limp fish" handshake. He greeted me like a normal person, with normal hand and arm muscles, that you would shake hands with. This is a big deal to me. Especially in my business, men tend to freak out at the introduction segment. 90% of them have no idea what's offensive or lame. He was spot on.

Good job Tyson.

"Can I sit?" he asked, touching the chair back gently.

"I don't know. Can you? How's your flexibility? I hope you don't have trouble sitting. I can't really.... we could ask for some sort of assistance, if you can--"

He was already sitting by the time I got to "flexibility."

Super impressed.

We talked.

We talked for hours...drank...talked... talked some more...drank some more...talked less...

The best part of it was the non awkward silence. We sat...and drank...and smiled. I smoked. He lit my cigarettes.

As romantic as this seems, let me say this...

We were fucked... up.. FUCKED. UP.

There is "fucked up" and then there is "fucked....UP." In that state, you're far beyond flashing people in a spring break moment. You're far beyond throwing up on a strangers shoes. Well, if you are a professional drinker. I consider myself a professional drinker. I know that I'm right in this sentiment, because other people consider me a professional drinker. It's not an actual job, but if it were, I would get hired and head up The Drinking Company. I would be The Drinking CEO. I would have board meetings and arrive late. They would understand. It was, after all, The Drinking Company.

I considered him a professional drinker. We were about 17 drinks in. Neither of us were sloppy. Again, impressed.

Around 4 hours later we came up with a terrific idea. We should go get a hotel room.

Now, like I said, I HAD a place I was staying. I had rented my regular townhouse. It had three separate floors. With three bedrooms. Clearly this was not enough space for us to stay in.

Duh.

We should go to the... errr. It rhymes with "Shmagamore."

I chose this place for the poolside rooms. I would normally say something else, like the Delano, with great bungalows as well... but I was drunk. I didn't normally stay at the SHMAGAMORE. I think the one brain cell that may have been left, playing singular non ending "Pong" in my head, had come up with this idea. It figured that something stupid was going to happen and suggested a place I didn't necessarily have a need to go back to. Good job, lonely cell. Good. Job.

It was the only good decision I made that night.


to be continued.....