Sunday, February 23, 2003
I am sitting at my computer in my bedroom and typing in the notepad of microsoft. You see, my wonderful computer came with "Windows XP", but there was no "word" program downloaded onto it. I know, sounds crazy. But it's true. Since my internet connection in my room is dial-up, I get knocked off every time someone calls. So I am forced to type in the lame notepad cuz I don't wanna lose the shit I type.
You understand.
And what a lame way to start this entry.
I'm not sure what I want to write. I just knew that I wanted to sit and get some shit out of my head. With so much going on in my life these days, it's hard to pick a topic and focus in on it. I could write about the move to Times Square, I could write about Rita leaving for Syracuse, I could write about Paul's lack of support throughout this whole thing...really I could write about any of these. But I don't want to. I am already feeling pretty stressed and dwelling on any of these issues might send my emotions reeling.
I will try to work up the nerve to wax philosophic about this depressing shit in a minute.
But for now...
For now, I start with the
TOP 5 PET PEEVES I HAVE ABOUT RIDING THE NYC SUBWAY:
1) The subway system has no real schedule to follow. Sure, there IS a schedule, but actually seeing a train pull up at the exact minute it's supposed to is like waiting for Usher to admit he's gay. Every morning I try to leave the house at the exact same time. It takes me about 10 minutes to walk to the subway platform (an estimated 11 blocks). I leave at 8:05am and know that I need to make the 8:15am train in order to be exactly on time for work. I am not one for leaving early as I am a slave to routine. No matter what I do I am guaranteed to miss the train. Then I must wait another 5-10 minutes for the next train to arrive. At this point I am late for work no matter how fast the train speeds along. I fucking hate that there is no true subway schedule.
2) As a gentleman, I am usually left standing on the subway. I always give my seat to an elderly person or a woman that is seemingly pregnant. I say "seemingly" because I have had that moment of offering my seat to a very pregnant woman who has in turn looked at me as though I was criticizing the baby made of donuts sleeping in her belly. Yet I still try to offer my seat to someone that needs it more than me. Fine, so I stand. Even when I feel like shit from drinking the night before or even when I haven't slept well and would just about kill someone for their little space of bench, I offer them the seat and stand clutching the "straphanger" (aka the handgrip that runs along the top of the train). Now, my pet peeve comes in when we are pulling into another train station. No matter who it is: old lady, man with one leg, teenager with a coke problem, they are SURE to stand up and ask ME to get out of the way so that they can get to the door first. This infuriates me! My theory is: "If you are lucky enough to get a seat on the subway, then you accept the fact that you will be one of the last people off the train." Sounds fair, right? NO! I am constantly shoved out of the way by self-absorbed people who think that we must not only give them a seat, but get out of their blessed way when the train is slowing to a stop. Truth is...I am not getting out of your way, cuz I have to get off too. Can you wait five fucking seconds so I can just turn my body and inch towards the door? Oh no, you can't? Then enjoy my book bag in your face while you wait for me to get off the train. I fucking hate people who tell you to get out of their way when you are getting off at the same stop as them.
3) If it is rush hour and there are about 100 people crammed into a subway car, do whatever you can to not rip an egg smelling fart. I can't tell you how many times I have been stuck riding 90 blocks on a subway train smelling someone else's rotting insides.
Yes, I have let a couple go myself, but I have also held that beast in until I grew nautious, doing my best to spare my fellow commuters from this nasty gas. It makes me physically angry to stand, smooshed in like caviar, and smell with each breath, the breakfast, lunch and midday snack that your body is slowly and angrily digesting. I fucking hate people that deliver horrible fart babies on the subway during rush hour.
4) Since I commute mostly during rush hour, every time I get off the train, I am forced to barrel through a crowd of anxious subway users. It's like I'm invisible. If I am unlucky enough to get off the train last, I get knocked around like a pin ball trying to escape before I am stuck on and forced to go to the next stop. You've got to be a fucking asshole in order to commute successfully in NYC. After being shoved around for 2 years like I don't matter, I have now started to pretend I am the biggest football player in the city. I walk with determination and force and give men, women, and children alike, my shoulders to their face. Hi. Nice to meet you. Did you like my shoulder being shoved into your douchebag face? Then WAIT until I can get my poor white ass off the subway. For lack of a better thing to write: "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore". I fucking hate people that don't let you off the subway before they barrel through the entrance door.
5) I think that, subconciously, this last pet peeve bothers me the most.
I have done the same commute so many times that when I arrive at the subway platform, I know exactly where to stand in order for the door to open right in front of me. As I previously mentioned, I arrive at the subway platform just in time for the doors to close right in my face, each day. Therefore, I am stuck waiting awhile for the next train to come. Now, since I have been waiting for what has been up to 20 minutes for a train to come, is it fair that you walk right up to the subway as the doors are opening and shove me aside so you can get in first?
My god, asians are the worst. I don't have a true problem with asians per se, but why is it that when I am waiting patiently for a subway, I am constantly shoved aside by a little asian woman who somehow knows that she is to be the first person onto the train. I just don't get it. Any asshole that would walk up to a subway door and shove aside all those that have been waiting in line, deserve to get slapped swiftly in their ignorant, "I am the only person on the planet of course I go first" face.
Last week, I was waiting for the 1/9 train at Times Square. I was waiting a while. Let's say 10 minutes. 10 LONG Monday morning minutes. When the subway finally arrived, there must have been 30 people waiting to get into one door. This little foreign woman (I will explain how I know she was foreign in a minute) literally shoves through the crowd, waltzes into the train and grabs the first seat she sees. This black man who was waiting in line yelled: "Hey! What are you doing? Chill out!" Eventually we all boarded the train, and this black guy sits in the seat across from me. About halfway through the ride, that little bitch foreign woman gets out of her seat and walks up to the black guy. She starts in with: "How dare you tell me chill out. I am woman and deserve respect that all women deserve." The black man retorts with: "I don't care if you're a woman or not, you don't shove people aside that have been waiting for a train." In her foreign, broken English voice, she starts freaking out. "Fuck you! Woman should always get in train before man. It's how things get done here. Are you new to this country?!?!" The black man sat silent while the woman freaked out on him for a good 3 stops. Eventually this man had enough and the two engaged in an argument so intense that it made me want to slink away into another subway car. "Go back to your country you stupid bitch. Take your crazy poor ass out of here and go back to where you belong." "Go back to what country? You black! This isn't your country. How dare you raise voice! I belong in country and you don't!" Blah blah blah. It carried on this way until I finally got off the train. To be honest, I wanted that black guy to rip that self-centered bitch's face off. I fucking hate people that believe that they are to be the FIRST person on the subway regardless of anyone else's time or position in line.
And I don't hate asians. It's just that they have green blood and are from a planet I like to call "Chinese".
You see.
And that's that. There are so many other reasons as to why I hate entering the NYC subway, but this listing is a good start. We won't even get into the people that WORK for the subway system. That would take me three days to get off my chest.
------------------------------------------SHIFTING GEARS--------------------------------------------------
THIS FOLLOWING ENTRY IS PRETTY MUCH DRAMA. IF YOU READ THIS YOU WILL EITHER BE BORED TO DEATH AT HOW MUCH OF A SILLY LITTLE GIRL I AM OR YOU WILL CRY LIKE A SHIT BABY. CUTTHESHIT BABY THAT IS.
On Thursday night, Kelly and I got together (Rita came too) to measure the dimensions of our new apartment. It was pretty exciting to look at the space again knowing that this is our new home. We realized during the process that our current furniture set would not fit into the new apartment. I was pretty upset considering that it is my furniture and I am still not ready to dump it. Cuz I mean, even the couch has reclining seats in it! And cup holders! How could we get rid of it?? But I finally accepted the fact that not only would they not fit into the apartment, the dimensions of the hallway leading up the stairs would not allow it either. Kelly decided to save the day and purchase a futon. I was very skeptical of having a futon in our new "classy" apartment, but after seeing what she purchased today, I took a huge sigh of relief and realize once again that I can trust Kelly's decorating skills. She picked a beauty. And it gives us more sleeping space for any spontaneious visitors.
We tested the shower, the stove, and picked up the largest dead roach any of us have seen off the floor. Kelly and I are going to be happy in this apartment. - No. For real. Ignore the roach comment. It was a nuclear fluke. There are no such things as roaches that big. - And Rita shit herself when she saw the location. (I loved her excitement at that) I wasn't kidding folks, we live IN Times Square. Not near it. IN it. And I am very proud of it. And no, it's not LOUD. Everyone keeps telling me that it is "too loud" and I always wonder how they know that. It's not like any of them have lived in this area. But after being there on Thursday, all of us were in fact relieved that it is NOT loud at all. In fact, all you can hear is a very faint "hum". The place is perfect for us.
After the visit to our new pad, the three of us went to have a few drinks at Siberia. This bar is where Kelly will be putting up her show in April. On first site of the bar, I grew extremely uptight. It is what I like to call "slummin". Not slammin. Slummin. There is graffiti and garbage all over the place. AND. And, there is a toilet hanging over the bar by way of chain. It's hanging from the ceiling from a very large chain. For real.
After the first vodka tonic, the place started to grow on me. Although everyone in the place was dressed like a skater (me in dress pants and a button down shirt), I felt ironically safe and comfortable. After the 3rd vodka tonic, I started to fall in love with the place. And by the 5th vodka tonic, I realized that there is not a place in the world I would rather be, than in Siberia. Kelly found the PERFECT space for her show. Conversation between the three of us was incredibly strained in the beginning. We were talking about the move, but it was all logistics and nothing personal. I remember just sitting there wanting to crawl out of my skin. As the alcohol started to settle in, the talk shifted from business to reality. Kelly was unbelievably upbeat during the evening and truthfully rescued the evening from spiraling down the tubes. Before the measuring of the apartment, Rita and I had just come from her goodbye party at work. Just so you know how down Rita and I were feeling...during Rita's "final words" at the party , sobs took over my body and I stood there in front of all of my co-workers with my chest heaving and my nose running out of my face. It was hella sad.
We were spent.
So when Kelly confronted the situation during our drink session, it was a chance for Rita and I to open up about how this move has been affecting us. Kelly acknowledged the fact that although Rita leaving NYC upsets her, she understands that for the two of us, this move is virtually impossible to bear. It is the first time that I felt like someone got it. I am constantly having conversations with people who say: "I want Rita to stay. I am going to miss her so much." While I am overwhemlingly happy that Rita has formed relationships with these people in order for them to feel this bad, I walk away each time choking back my sadness and end up feeling incredibly alone. Like no one understands how hard this is for us.
It's not that I want to sit around and cry with everyone about this.
and
It's not that anyone is doing anything wrong.
But OUCH. This hurts bad. SO bad.
Any time I have a good moment in my day, a moment that makes me feel genuinely happy, it's cut short with the reminder that Rita has to leave NYC in less than a week.
Let me explain a bit better.
Rita and I have been best friends, in different ways, since the day I met her back at the beginning of our sophomore year of college. We immediately understood eachother. Friends like this are so rare to find, but so cherished once you realize you have finally found them. Through circumstances out of our control, I moved into the apartment she was living in, during our senior year of college. During this year, Rita and I discovered why we were destined to be best friends. We have a million memories from that year. It was like fate slapping you right in the face. During the peak of its intensity, Rita and I dealt with the feelings of "love" that were developing between us. Now, memble...I'm gay. And Rita was the first person that I fully disclosed this to. It was all very crazy, but very sane at the same time. When the entire situation exploded around us, Rita and I spent a week not speaking to eachother. And it tore our worlds up to the core.
At the time, Rita and I were living with 4 other girls all crammed into the same apartment. (but we all had our own rooms ironically enough) Because of it being our senior year and because she and I were surrounded by 4 of our best friends, there was never really a chance for us to spend the real time together that we wanted to. There was never a chance for us to fully discuss and digest everything about our friendship. At the end of the year, everyone graduated with the exception of me. (I decided half-way through the year to chuck everything that I worked for into the garbage and to follow my dream as an actor. I stayed for one more year and finished the entire major in 3 semesters. All while juggling about 15 shows and becoming the theater club president. Okay, yes I am tooting my own pathetic horn) I stayed at school with two of the girls I lived with, but Rita moved back to DC. There she lived with her parents and got a job teaching at a ballet school. RANDOM. But a time period that changed her life.
During my SUPER-Senior year (that's what we 5-year plan losers called it), Rita and I kept in touch and I basically begged her to move back to where I was going to school. At the time, she was broken up with her boyfriend. The same boyfriend that she is moving back to Syracuse next week to be with. Rita, for many different reasons, did in fact move back to where I was going to school. During the second semester of my senior year, we became incredibly close again, and I even directed her in a scene I was doing for school. It was another wonderful chapter in our relationship.
In May of that year, I once again said goodbye to Rita and I moved to Boston to be with my newly found boyfriend, Paul.
I stopped speaking to everyone then. Including Rita.
That's how I used to do things. If I moved to a new place, you could consider yourself out of my life. I couldn't deal with keeping up with friendships that were long distance. It was too much effort and then it always ended up hurting intensely in the end. While I was in Boston, Rita sent numerous letters to me. After never hearing back, she sent the letter that changed our friendship forever.
I remember coming home from work (TGIFriday's) and finding this random envelope in the mailbox. I saw that it was from Rita and sat down on my bed to read it. The opening of the letter went something like this: "I know you aren't going to write back. I've given up on expecting that. Instead, what I am going to do is just write what is going on in my life and tell you what I am up to." There were little comic strips in the letter and cut-outs of magazine pictures asking "Where has Joe gone?" and "Why won't Joe ever give me a call?" When I got done with the letter, I did what I knew was right. I called Rita.
From that point on, Rita and I have stayed heavily in touch. We used to talk about once every couple of weeks until I moved to NYC. Once there, she and I began to talk about once a week, we visited eachother a couple of times, and then, towards the end of my first year in NYC, I had convinced Rita that she needed to move into my apartment in Queens. Once again, I had asked Rita to come to where I was. I knew we needed eachother.
At this point, Rita was back with her boyfriend and she had made a full life for herself in Syracuse.
Rita moved in on December 28th, 2001. It was the day that changed our relationship, yet again.
Rita got a job at my current place of employment and we began building a little life for ourselves. We commuted together, we worked together, we went out of the house everywhere together, we were co-joined twins that slept in separate beds at night. You understand how that works. Through the year, we have gotten a chance to know eachother in a way that I've never known anyone. Even with my own boyfriend, we spend most of the day doing other things. But with Rita, everything we did was together.
This girl understands me so completely. I can talk about anything and she sees exactly where I am coming from. She has been there for me during each emotional roller coaster ride I took this year. I cried to her. I laughed with her. I fought with her. We got a chance, for the first time since I've known her, to see what our friendship could really be if given the chance. And come to find out, it's everything we hoped it would be.
Rita and I have always been very good at putting on an act when we are with other people. We inherently act as though we are merely just "friends" and go on with our business. This is why we spend most of our time together alone. Or with Kelly. It works best for us when we can truly let go and be ourselves with the other person. Neither one of us get what we want from our boyfriends, and find that we get that other part from eachother. I listen to her and she listens to me. That is something so rare in a person that it should be considered diamond studded gold.
Rita has confronted quite a few of her personal demons while in NYC.
I wanted Rita to move to NYC to live the life that I was living. Get a shit job in the city and pursue your creative talents. Drop everything you've been taught and live the bohemian life the best way you know how. And she did. She did her absolute best at working the shit job and living as though we have the world at our fingertips. But eventually, the honeymoon period wears off and Rita was forced to confront one of her biggest life challenges. "What was her passion in life?" Being someone that has talents across the board, Rita had a million choices as to which creative direction to go in. She can sing. She can act. She can write. She is book smart. She's amazing on a computer. She knows more about music than anyone I have ever met. Rita could go with any of these and be successful given her desire to be so. But it turns out....Rita's passion wasn't being the next Pulitzer Prize winner. Rita was not to be the next Greta Garbo. Rita didn't want the fast paced, overly aggressive life of NYC.
Rita was to a wife and mother. Rita wanted a family.
Being someone that grew up in a military family, Rita has always struggled with the concept of settling down. She is accustomed to moving and starting over. When things get boring or they get too tough, move and start a new life. She does physically what I do emotionally. You run away. So, one night in Mid-November, Rita and I sit around after work and had a couple glasses of wine. (We are notorious for talking serious AND have also been known to spend three nights a week in front of the television while never turning it on. Hours spent talking ourselves hoarse) During our discussion that night, Rita discloses that she has found her passion. She wants to start her family and at 25 years old, doesn't want to wait any longer. She is in love with her boyfriend, unconditionally, and she knows that he is the one that she needs to be with.
After discussing this with her, we came to the conclusion that she needed to live NYC and move back to be with him. It was a beautiful talk and one that neither she nor I will never forget. We kept the secret for a couple of weeks, only telling Kelly at one point. Rita was giving herself time to settle with the decision and didn't want to have to re-tell everyone that she was staying instead of moving. You know how it is.
As last year came to a close, it was set in stone that Rita was leaving.
AND THIS IS HOW I REALLY FEEL. (although incredibly long winded. my bad. snore. read it or don't read it. i don't give a shit)
As the weeks have gotten closer to Rita's departure, all of us have had moments of emotional insanity. Kelly had the first breakdown a week or so ago and it was then that I realized that it was all really happening. Since that Sunday night, I have not felt okay. I find that I am suprisingly strong on the outside. It seems as though I am just going about my business. Yet, deep down, I find myself losing my shit hardcore style. I don't want Rita to leave. I felt so positive and unselfish about it before, but now I am panicking. I've spent the last year of my life married to someone and now they are leaving. I am so accustomed to the way we do things and the thought of always having her around. No matter what...Rita was ALWAYS there. She is the epitomy of "being able to count on someone". And now...she moves 5 hours away.
I'm scared to be alone. I'm scared not to have her here to ask every little thing to. I have become so dependent on her for everything. She IS my self-esteem. She IS the clarity to every crisis I have. She IS my foundation. I'm not saying that what I have with my other close people isn't wonderful, cuz without it, I would truly be lost. The point of this beast of an entry is to clearly show for once and for all why Rita's leaving is making everything around me change so drastically that I feel like I am starting over.
And I am doing it on my own.
We will never live together again. I will never hear her puttering around the house before I get out of bed again. There will be no more random glasses of water forgotten around the house. I won't see those red sneakers every day. No more pizza fridays. No more 6:30-7:30pm Simpson viewings. No more falling asleep on the couch at the same time. No more sitting on the couch together for hours at an end crying and sharing and laughing together. (yes, everything we did involved the couch)
The only thing that gives me comfort throughout this whole thing, is knowing that she feels exactly the same way.
There is no doubt in my mind that she is struggling mind, body, and soul with the decision she has made.
Rita loves me and I know that this distance kills her insides just as much as it kills mine.
This was our last weekend together. Last night we did our Friday ritual of renting movies and buying groceries and vegging out in front of the television. We went to bed around 10pm and I spent a good majority of my remaining evening staring at my bedroom wall. Today we watched like 3 more movies together and had plans to go out drinking. We layed around all weekend and although completely unspoken, so many emotions ran through our hearts. At one point Rita informed me that she didn't want to go out anymore. I panicked. I told her that I still wanted to go out. That I couldn't stay in the house for the whole weekend. She was amazingly cool with it and explained "I am bugging out. I can't go out tonight." I responded with "Well, okay, but I still gotta get out of the house."
About 10 minutes later, Rita apologizes again for not wanting to go out and all I say back is "I totally understand. But I still want to get out of the house." She again handles it wonderfully and turns back to the television. We sit quietly and finish the movie we are watching. I get in the shower and think about what is happening. She doesn't want to go out because this whole thing is hitting her hard today. I feel myself start to lose my cool and I begin to lose it in the shower. I don't know how to help her with this. I hurt too bad to ask her to talk about it. For the first time since I have known her, I can't ask her to tell me how she is feeling because I am afraid that I will lose my defense and break entirely. I stay in the shower until I feel like I have regained control. I decide to ask her to play "Boggle" and then maybe bring up why she is feeling so bad.
I come out of the bathroom and go into my room to dress. About 15 minutes later I emerge and Rita has gone to bed.
Over the next hour I debated what to do. I knew that I didn't want to go out anywhere with her feeling like this. I stood in front of her door and just listened. I walked around and played with the cat. I even sat and had a cigarette or three on the couch and thought "if she comes out, I will catch her and sit her down to talk." But she didn't come out and I didn't go in.
Gosh, this is hard.
Almost impossible.
I feel just as bad as her and instead of confronting it so that we both could release a bit, I run away to my bedroom and get onto the computer to type this entry.
I have been typing for over two hours now and while I thought that it would help, it hasn't. I still want to go into her room, climb in bed with her and just let her cry to me.
But I don't know if I can.
She and I have handled this whole thing very maturely. But we haven't confronted it with eachother because we are both afraid that it will debilitate us when we know we have so much to do. To get this move done successfully.
I guess this is all I have to say.
This is where Rita and I are at now with the big change that is happening.
I had to lay some of it down.
There's just so much...
You understand.
And what a lame way to start this entry.
I'm not sure what I want to write. I just knew that I wanted to sit and get some shit out of my head. With so much going on in my life these days, it's hard to pick a topic and focus in on it. I could write about the move to Times Square, I could write about Rita leaving for Syracuse, I could write about Paul's lack of support throughout this whole thing...really I could write about any of these. But I don't want to. I am already feeling pretty stressed and dwelling on any of these issues might send my emotions reeling.
I will try to work up the nerve to wax philosophic about this depressing shit in a minute.
But for now...
For now, I start with the
TOP 5 PET PEEVES I HAVE ABOUT RIDING THE NYC SUBWAY:
1) The subway system has no real schedule to follow. Sure, there IS a schedule, but actually seeing a train pull up at the exact minute it's supposed to is like waiting for Usher to admit he's gay. Every morning I try to leave the house at the exact same time. It takes me about 10 minutes to walk to the subway platform (an estimated 11 blocks). I leave at 8:05am and know that I need to make the 8:15am train in order to be exactly on time for work. I am not one for leaving early as I am a slave to routine. No matter what I do I am guaranteed to miss the train. Then I must wait another 5-10 minutes for the next train to arrive. At this point I am late for work no matter how fast the train speeds along. I fucking hate that there is no true subway schedule.
2) As a gentleman, I am usually left standing on the subway. I always give my seat to an elderly person or a woman that is seemingly pregnant. I say "seemingly" because I have had that moment of offering my seat to a very pregnant woman who has in turn looked at me as though I was criticizing the baby made of donuts sleeping in her belly. Yet I still try to offer my seat to someone that needs it more than me. Fine, so I stand. Even when I feel like shit from drinking the night before or even when I haven't slept well and would just about kill someone for their little space of bench, I offer them the seat and stand clutching the "straphanger" (aka the handgrip that runs along the top of the train). Now, my pet peeve comes in when we are pulling into another train station. No matter who it is: old lady, man with one leg, teenager with a coke problem, they are SURE to stand up and ask ME to get out of the way so that they can get to the door first. This infuriates me! My theory is: "If you are lucky enough to get a seat on the subway, then you accept the fact that you will be one of the last people off the train." Sounds fair, right? NO! I am constantly shoved out of the way by self-absorbed people who think that we must not only give them a seat, but get out of their blessed way when the train is slowing to a stop. Truth is...I am not getting out of your way, cuz I have to get off too. Can you wait five fucking seconds so I can just turn my body and inch towards the door? Oh no, you can't? Then enjoy my book bag in your face while you wait for me to get off the train. I fucking hate people who tell you to get out of their way when you are getting off at the same stop as them.
3) If it is rush hour and there are about 100 people crammed into a subway car, do whatever you can to not rip an egg smelling fart. I can't tell you how many times I have been stuck riding 90 blocks on a subway train smelling someone else's rotting insides.
Yes, I have let a couple go myself, but I have also held that beast in until I grew nautious, doing my best to spare my fellow commuters from this nasty gas. It makes me physically angry to stand, smooshed in like caviar, and smell with each breath, the breakfast, lunch and midday snack that your body is slowly and angrily digesting. I fucking hate people that deliver horrible fart babies on the subway during rush hour.
4) Since I commute mostly during rush hour, every time I get off the train, I am forced to barrel through a crowd of anxious subway users. It's like I'm invisible. If I am unlucky enough to get off the train last, I get knocked around like a pin ball trying to escape before I am stuck on and forced to go to the next stop. You've got to be a fucking asshole in order to commute successfully in NYC. After being shoved around for 2 years like I don't matter, I have now started to pretend I am the biggest football player in the city. I walk with determination and force and give men, women, and children alike, my shoulders to their face. Hi. Nice to meet you. Did you like my shoulder being shoved into your douchebag face? Then WAIT until I can get my poor white ass off the subway. For lack of a better thing to write: "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore". I fucking hate people that don't let you off the subway before they barrel through the entrance door.
5) I think that, subconciously, this last pet peeve bothers me the most.
I have done the same commute so many times that when I arrive at the subway platform, I know exactly where to stand in order for the door to open right in front of me. As I previously mentioned, I arrive at the subway platform just in time for the doors to close right in my face, each day. Therefore, I am stuck waiting awhile for the next train to come. Now, since I have been waiting for what has been up to 20 minutes for a train to come, is it fair that you walk right up to the subway as the doors are opening and shove me aside so you can get in first?
My god, asians are the worst. I don't have a true problem with asians per se, but why is it that when I am waiting patiently for a subway, I am constantly shoved aside by a little asian woman who somehow knows that she is to be the first person onto the train. I just don't get it. Any asshole that would walk up to a subway door and shove aside all those that have been waiting in line, deserve to get slapped swiftly in their ignorant, "I am the only person on the planet of course I go first" face.
Last week, I was waiting for the 1/9 train at Times Square. I was waiting a while. Let's say 10 minutes. 10 LONG Monday morning minutes. When the subway finally arrived, there must have been 30 people waiting to get into one door. This little foreign woman (I will explain how I know she was foreign in a minute) literally shoves through the crowd, waltzes into the train and grabs the first seat she sees. This black man who was waiting in line yelled: "Hey! What are you doing? Chill out!" Eventually we all boarded the train, and this black guy sits in the seat across from me. About halfway through the ride, that little bitch foreign woman gets out of her seat and walks up to the black guy. She starts in with: "How dare you tell me chill out. I am woman and deserve respect that all women deserve." The black man retorts with: "I don't care if you're a woman or not, you don't shove people aside that have been waiting for a train." In her foreign, broken English voice, she starts freaking out. "Fuck you! Woman should always get in train before man. It's how things get done here. Are you new to this country?!?!" The black man sat silent while the woman freaked out on him for a good 3 stops. Eventually this man had enough and the two engaged in an argument so intense that it made me want to slink away into another subway car. "Go back to your country you stupid bitch. Take your crazy poor ass out of here and go back to where you belong." "Go back to what country? You black! This isn't your country. How dare you raise voice! I belong in country and you don't!" Blah blah blah. It carried on this way until I finally got off the train. To be honest, I wanted that black guy to rip that self-centered bitch's face off. I fucking hate people that believe that they are to be the FIRST person on the subway regardless of anyone else's time or position in line.
And I don't hate asians. It's just that they have green blood and are from a planet I like to call "Chinese".
You see.
And that's that. There are so many other reasons as to why I hate entering the NYC subway, but this listing is a good start. We won't even get into the people that WORK for the subway system. That would take me three days to get off my chest.
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THIS FOLLOWING ENTRY IS PRETTY MUCH DRAMA. IF YOU READ THIS YOU WILL EITHER BE BORED TO DEATH AT HOW MUCH OF A SILLY LITTLE GIRL I AM OR YOU WILL CRY LIKE A SHIT BABY. CUTTHESHIT BABY THAT IS.
On Thursday night, Kelly and I got together (Rita came too) to measure the dimensions of our new apartment. It was pretty exciting to look at the space again knowing that this is our new home. We realized during the process that our current furniture set would not fit into the new apartment. I was pretty upset considering that it is my furniture and I am still not ready to dump it. Cuz I mean, even the couch has reclining seats in it! And cup holders! How could we get rid of it?? But I finally accepted the fact that not only would they not fit into the apartment, the dimensions of the hallway leading up the stairs would not allow it either. Kelly decided to save the day and purchase a futon. I was very skeptical of having a futon in our new "classy" apartment, but after seeing what she purchased today, I took a huge sigh of relief and realize once again that I can trust Kelly's decorating skills. She picked a beauty. And it gives us more sleeping space for any spontaneious visitors.
We tested the shower, the stove, and picked up the largest dead roach any of us have seen off the floor. Kelly and I are going to be happy in this apartment. - No. For real. Ignore the roach comment. It was a nuclear fluke. There are no such things as roaches that big. - And Rita shit herself when she saw the location. (I loved her excitement at that) I wasn't kidding folks, we live IN Times Square. Not near it. IN it. And I am very proud of it. And no, it's not LOUD. Everyone keeps telling me that it is "too loud" and I always wonder how they know that. It's not like any of them have lived in this area. But after being there on Thursday, all of us were in fact relieved that it is NOT loud at all. In fact, all you can hear is a very faint "hum". The place is perfect for us.
After the visit to our new pad, the three of us went to have a few drinks at Siberia. This bar is where Kelly will be putting up her show in April. On first site of the bar, I grew extremely uptight. It is what I like to call "slummin". Not slammin. Slummin. There is graffiti and garbage all over the place. AND. And, there is a toilet hanging over the bar by way of chain. It's hanging from the ceiling from a very large chain. For real.
After the first vodka tonic, the place started to grow on me. Although everyone in the place was dressed like a skater (me in dress pants and a button down shirt), I felt ironically safe and comfortable. After the 3rd vodka tonic, I started to fall in love with the place. And by the 5th vodka tonic, I realized that there is not a place in the world I would rather be, than in Siberia. Kelly found the PERFECT space for her show. Conversation between the three of us was incredibly strained in the beginning. We were talking about the move, but it was all logistics and nothing personal. I remember just sitting there wanting to crawl out of my skin. As the alcohol started to settle in, the talk shifted from business to reality. Kelly was unbelievably upbeat during the evening and truthfully rescued the evening from spiraling down the tubes. Before the measuring of the apartment, Rita and I had just come from her goodbye party at work. Just so you know how down Rita and I were feeling...during Rita's "final words" at the party , sobs took over my body and I stood there in front of all of my co-workers with my chest heaving and my nose running out of my face. It was hella sad.
We were spent.
So when Kelly confronted the situation during our drink session, it was a chance for Rita and I to open up about how this move has been affecting us. Kelly acknowledged the fact that although Rita leaving NYC upsets her, she understands that for the two of us, this move is virtually impossible to bear. It is the first time that I felt like someone got it. I am constantly having conversations with people who say: "I want Rita to stay. I am going to miss her so much." While I am overwhemlingly happy that Rita has formed relationships with these people in order for them to feel this bad, I walk away each time choking back my sadness and end up feeling incredibly alone. Like no one understands how hard this is for us.
It's not that I want to sit around and cry with everyone about this.
and
It's not that anyone is doing anything wrong.
But OUCH. This hurts bad. SO bad.
Any time I have a good moment in my day, a moment that makes me feel genuinely happy, it's cut short with the reminder that Rita has to leave NYC in less than a week.
Let me explain a bit better.
Rita and I have been best friends, in different ways, since the day I met her back at the beginning of our sophomore year of college. We immediately understood eachother. Friends like this are so rare to find, but so cherished once you realize you have finally found them. Through circumstances out of our control, I moved into the apartment she was living in, during our senior year of college. During this year, Rita and I discovered why we were destined to be best friends. We have a million memories from that year. It was like fate slapping you right in the face. During the peak of its intensity, Rita and I dealt with the feelings of "love" that were developing between us. Now, memble...I'm gay. And Rita was the first person that I fully disclosed this to. It was all very crazy, but very sane at the same time. When the entire situation exploded around us, Rita and I spent a week not speaking to eachother. And it tore our worlds up to the core.
At the time, Rita and I were living with 4 other girls all crammed into the same apartment. (but we all had our own rooms ironically enough) Because of it being our senior year and because she and I were surrounded by 4 of our best friends, there was never really a chance for us to spend the real time together that we wanted to. There was never a chance for us to fully discuss and digest everything about our friendship. At the end of the year, everyone graduated with the exception of me. (I decided half-way through the year to chuck everything that I worked for into the garbage and to follow my dream as an actor. I stayed for one more year and finished the entire major in 3 semesters. All while juggling about 15 shows and becoming the theater club president. Okay, yes I am tooting my own pathetic horn) I stayed at school with two of the girls I lived with, but Rita moved back to DC. There she lived with her parents and got a job teaching at a ballet school. RANDOM. But a time period that changed her life.
During my SUPER-Senior year (that's what we 5-year plan losers called it), Rita and I kept in touch and I basically begged her to move back to where I was going to school. At the time, she was broken up with her boyfriend. The same boyfriend that she is moving back to Syracuse next week to be with. Rita, for many different reasons, did in fact move back to where I was going to school. During the second semester of my senior year, we became incredibly close again, and I even directed her in a scene I was doing for school. It was another wonderful chapter in our relationship.
In May of that year, I once again said goodbye to Rita and I moved to Boston to be with my newly found boyfriend, Paul.
I stopped speaking to everyone then. Including Rita.
That's how I used to do things. If I moved to a new place, you could consider yourself out of my life. I couldn't deal with keeping up with friendships that were long distance. It was too much effort and then it always ended up hurting intensely in the end. While I was in Boston, Rita sent numerous letters to me. After never hearing back, she sent the letter that changed our friendship forever.
I remember coming home from work (TGIFriday's) and finding this random envelope in the mailbox. I saw that it was from Rita and sat down on my bed to read it. The opening of the letter went something like this: "I know you aren't going to write back. I've given up on expecting that. Instead, what I am going to do is just write what is going on in my life and tell you what I am up to." There were little comic strips in the letter and cut-outs of magazine pictures asking "Where has Joe gone?" and "Why won't Joe ever give me a call?" When I got done with the letter, I did what I knew was right. I called Rita.
From that point on, Rita and I have stayed heavily in touch. We used to talk about once every couple of weeks until I moved to NYC. Once there, she and I began to talk about once a week, we visited eachother a couple of times, and then, towards the end of my first year in NYC, I had convinced Rita that she needed to move into my apartment in Queens. Once again, I had asked Rita to come to where I was. I knew we needed eachother.
At this point, Rita was back with her boyfriend and she had made a full life for herself in Syracuse.
Rita moved in on December 28th, 2001. It was the day that changed our relationship, yet again.
Rita got a job at my current place of employment and we began building a little life for ourselves. We commuted together, we worked together, we went out of the house everywhere together, we were co-joined twins that slept in separate beds at night. You understand how that works. Through the year, we have gotten a chance to know eachother in a way that I've never known anyone. Even with my own boyfriend, we spend most of the day doing other things. But with Rita, everything we did was together.
This girl understands me so completely. I can talk about anything and she sees exactly where I am coming from. She has been there for me during each emotional roller coaster ride I took this year. I cried to her. I laughed with her. I fought with her. We got a chance, for the first time since I've known her, to see what our friendship could really be if given the chance. And come to find out, it's everything we hoped it would be.
Rita and I have always been very good at putting on an act when we are with other people. We inherently act as though we are merely just "friends" and go on with our business. This is why we spend most of our time together alone. Or with Kelly. It works best for us when we can truly let go and be ourselves with the other person. Neither one of us get what we want from our boyfriends, and find that we get that other part from eachother. I listen to her and she listens to me. That is something so rare in a person that it should be considered diamond studded gold.
Rita has confronted quite a few of her personal demons while in NYC.
I wanted Rita to move to NYC to live the life that I was living. Get a shit job in the city and pursue your creative talents. Drop everything you've been taught and live the bohemian life the best way you know how. And she did. She did her absolute best at working the shit job and living as though we have the world at our fingertips. But eventually, the honeymoon period wears off and Rita was forced to confront one of her biggest life challenges. "What was her passion in life?" Being someone that has talents across the board, Rita had a million choices as to which creative direction to go in. She can sing. She can act. She can write. She is book smart. She's amazing on a computer. She knows more about music than anyone I have ever met. Rita could go with any of these and be successful given her desire to be so. But it turns out....Rita's passion wasn't being the next Pulitzer Prize winner. Rita was not to be the next Greta Garbo. Rita didn't want the fast paced, overly aggressive life of NYC.
Rita was to a wife and mother. Rita wanted a family.
Being someone that grew up in a military family, Rita has always struggled with the concept of settling down. She is accustomed to moving and starting over. When things get boring or they get too tough, move and start a new life. She does physically what I do emotionally. You run away. So, one night in Mid-November, Rita and I sit around after work and had a couple glasses of wine. (We are notorious for talking serious AND have also been known to spend three nights a week in front of the television while never turning it on. Hours spent talking ourselves hoarse) During our discussion that night, Rita discloses that she has found her passion. She wants to start her family and at 25 years old, doesn't want to wait any longer. She is in love with her boyfriend, unconditionally, and she knows that he is the one that she needs to be with.
After discussing this with her, we came to the conclusion that she needed to live NYC and move back to be with him. It was a beautiful talk and one that neither she nor I will never forget. We kept the secret for a couple of weeks, only telling Kelly at one point. Rita was giving herself time to settle with the decision and didn't want to have to re-tell everyone that she was staying instead of moving. You know how it is.
As last year came to a close, it was set in stone that Rita was leaving.
AND THIS IS HOW I REALLY FEEL. (although incredibly long winded. my bad. snore. read it or don't read it. i don't give a shit)
As the weeks have gotten closer to Rita's departure, all of us have had moments of emotional insanity. Kelly had the first breakdown a week or so ago and it was then that I realized that it was all really happening. Since that Sunday night, I have not felt okay. I find that I am suprisingly strong on the outside. It seems as though I am just going about my business. Yet, deep down, I find myself losing my shit hardcore style. I don't want Rita to leave. I felt so positive and unselfish about it before, but now I am panicking. I've spent the last year of my life married to someone and now they are leaving. I am so accustomed to the way we do things and the thought of always having her around. No matter what...Rita was ALWAYS there. She is the epitomy of "being able to count on someone". And now...she moves 5 hours away.
I'm scared to be alone. I'm scared not to have her here to ask every little thing to. I have become so dependent on her for everything. She IS my self-esteem. She IS the clarity to every crisis I have. She IS my foundation. I'm not saying that what I have with my other close people isn't wonderful, cuz without it, I would truly be lost. The point of this beast of an entry is to clearly show for once and for all why Rita's leaving is making everything around me change so drastically that I feel like I am starting over.
And I am doing it on my own.
We will never live together again. I will never hear her puttering around the house before I get out of bed again. There will be no more random glasses of water forgotten around the house. I won't see those red sneakers every day. No more pizza fridays. No more 6:30-7:30pm Simpson viewings. No more falling asleep on the couch at the same time. No more sitting on the couch together for hours at an end crying and sharing and laughing together. (yes, everything we did involved the couch)
The only thing that gives me comfort throughout this whole thing, is knowing that she feels exactly the same way.
There is no doubt in my mind that she is struggling mind, body, and soul with the decision she has made.
Rita loves me and I know that this distance kills her insides just as much as it kills mine.
This was our last weekend together. Last night we did our Friday ritual of renting movies and buying groceries and vegging out in front of the television. We went to bed around 10pm and I spent a good majority of my remaining evening staring at my bedroom wall. Today we watched like 3 more movies together and had plans to go out drinking. We layed around all weekend and although completely unspoken, so many emotions ran through our hearts. At one point Rita informed me that she didn't want to go out anymore. I panicked. I told her that I still wanted to go out. That I couldn't stay in the house for the whole weekend. She was amazingly cool with it and explained "I am bugging out. I can't go out tonight." I responded with "Well, okay, but I still gotta get out of the house."
About 10 minutes later, Rita apologizes again for not wanting to go out and all I say back is "I totally understand. But I still want to get out of the house." She again handles it wonderfully and turns back to the television. We sit quietly and finish the movie we are watching. I get in the shower and think about what is happening. She doesn't want to go out because this whole thing is hitting her hard today. I feel myself start to lose my cool and I begin to lose it in the shower. I don't know how to help her with this. I hurt too bad to ask her to talk about it. For the first time since I have known her, I can't ask her to tell me how she is feeling because I am afraid that I will lose my defense and break entirely. I stay in the shower until I feel like I have regained control. I decide to ask her to play "Boggle" and then maybe bring up why she is feeling so bad.
I come out of the bathroom and go into my room to dress. About 15 minutes later I emerge and Rita has gone to bed.
Over the next hour I debated what to do. I knew that I didn't want to go out anywhere with her feeling like this. I stood in front of her door and just listened. I walked around and played with the cat. I even sat and had a cigarette or three on the couch and thought "if she comes out, I will catch her and sit her down to talk." But she didn't come out and I didn't go in.
Gosh, this is hard.
Almost impossible.
I feel just as bad as her and instead of confronting it so that we both could release a bit, I run away to my bedroom and get onto the computer to type this entry.
I have been typing for over two hours now and while I thought that it would help, it hasn't. I still want to go into her room, climb in bed with her and just let her cry to me.
But I don't know if I can.
She and I have handled this whole thing very maturely. But we haven't confronted it with eachother because we are both afraid that it will debilitate us when we know we have so much to do. To get this move done successfully.
I guess this is all I have to say.
This is where Rita and I are at now with the big change that is happening.
I had to lay some of it down.
There's just so much...
