My Notes on New York City: 2011 Edition

Visits to New York City seem to always come equipped with insane moments and/or people, captured by my inability to ignore ANYTHING (which is why I walk way too slow to ever be a New Yorker, they would trample me like a herd of elephants as I made sweet love to my thoughts!).

So here is the February 2011 edition:

That murderer-Wallstreet-guy on the plane

Just when I thought there would be no one beside me and my arms could stretch out freely…he arrived. All beige suit, stressed-out face, no hair, small teeth, sensible tie and piercing blue eyes, he was an older businessman and I was fit to be his concubine (but this isn’t a Continental Airlines version of “Memoirs of a Geisha” so let’s move along…). I was impressed by his bitchy phone call to a business associate, and doubly impressed that he was juggling between a Blackberry AND an iPhone. When he pulled out that morning’s copy of the Wallstreet Journal, I was at serious risk of unzipping my jeans in his honour (a true New York businessman just for me , how exciting!).

I gazed at the window with a mischievous smile on my face; perhaps I would abandon my original plan and follow this epic man all the way to Manhattan? Hmm??? Surely.

Until of course, I turned back around in his direction. There he was, with a ballpoint pen and his crazy blue eyes, not READING the Wall Street Journal, but frantically colouring in the letters and any white spaces he could find. My GOD the colouring, it was a beautiful madness.

So he’s an obsessive colouring serial killer. I bet he colours in his victims with ink. I wonder how many people he’s offed since February 18th…

That murderer-guy in Central Park

So it’s a beautiful warm evening in Central Park, and a man in short-shorts runs past me (yes they were short-shorts, and yes he had muscular thighs. A very relevant fact to the tale).  “Where did he come from?” I wondered. “I didn’t even hear his approach!”

Of course I didn’t hear his approach, because before he ran too far ahead of me, I noticed that he wasn’t wearing shoes. Barefoot on the pavement, barely making a sound. For those of us with sensitive ear drums who still might hear the rhythm of his feet, his shoeless strategy was aided by the muddy padding on the pavement. I’m quite certain all that sound-softening mud didn’t get there on its own. He must’ve been there the night before, with buckets upon buckets of mud, creating the most silent serial-killer run he could manufacture.

As night fell, I shuddered and wondered if he’d double back around in silence and strangle me from behind. But his sprint into the Central Park Zoo was the last I ever saw of him. I bet he’s still there in the sea otter reservoir as we speak; crouched behind a rock…waiting for you.

The barefoot Central Park killer.

That guy who needs to pick up a girl…badly

Imagine thinning hair, too much hair gel, big eyeglasses, inadequate height and a massive erection. That last part I made up, but the “erection of his mind” was growing strong as last call approached. As time ticked down his desperation grew; first he was dancing with some girl and holding both her hands, swinging them to and fro. He must’ve thought the hand-to-hand contact would seal the deal but she turned away. The sweat beads began to gather on his forehead, and eventually he just started humping the stale club air, hoping for a woman’s ass to unwittingly back into his growing erection (I’m still making that last part up). I myself became a little distracted by the end of the night, so I’m unsure of what became of him. I can only suspect that his trustworthy hand and a pool of tears are what carried him through to sunrise…

That guy in the red t-shirt who can dance like no one’s watching

I admire him. I want to be him. No one danced with him all night, but would he ever have even noticed? His eyes were always closed and the music was his mistress. At one point he began to clap fiercely, like the way those wind-up monkey toys from the 1980′s with the clapping cymbals would do.

He is my inspiration in life and I want to be him.

That guy in Harlem who undressed me with his eyes

I think the title says it all. I’m not sure how many Indian-Canadian women frequent Harlem, but I strongly suspect he’d never seen one of me before. So there I was, on a sunny cool day in Harlem at three p.m., as this seventy-year-old man carrying a grocery bag sauntered towards me, licking his lips and giving me the “eye fuck” of my life.

The world may end in 2012, but I will never be cleansed of the Harlem “eye fuck” man.

***

There may have also been some crazy WOMEN in New York city, but I was singularly focused on this trip…you know what I mean?

Until next time and my next location…

Love Letter to New York: Insane Edition

Dear New York City,

Thanks for letting me inside your pleasure center, for a fabulous four-day jaunt. Some crazy things happened, which as you know is the juiciest dinner for my readers. It’s like when pigs in a farm get that extra-special feed, the kind that makes them grow three times as large (probably because the grains are packed with steroids). That way the pigs can produce a lot more ham and bacon for the world’s enjoyment. I too want my blog to grow large like a piggy’s round bottom, to be devoured by my readers worldwide.  So…if you’ll be so gracious New York, allow me to publish this romance letter that I wrote…

…I loved Giovanni or whatever his name was. He worked at the hotel and told us if we waited two hours to check in, he would offer up a corner room with a view of Central Park. I was so enthused that in exchange I offered to be his best friend forever. He accepted the terms with glee, but after that I never went back to find him. I hope he wasn’t too upset. Maybe he quit his job and is busily building a “Romi shrine”, hoping I will one day return. Or maybe he hates me for dangling the fake friendship. In that case, maybe he made a voodoo doll of me that he will stab. I don’t look forward to that.

I also loved my best friend (read: Internet BFF who I randomly decided to meet in a big scary city), and we christened our new affection with a tour of NBC studios. We quickly became the most awesome people on the tour, which wasn’t hard to do, since the rest of the people were old and boring. We soon went from being awesome to being scorned by the NBC Pages. This happened when we cheered in delight as they described Sinead O’Connor’s bad-ass desecration of the Pope,  during a Saturday Night Live performance from many years ago.  I think we are now banned from NBC studios (just like Sinead is banned for life, true story).

Feeling energized by our misbehaviour, we went out later that night, for five-dollar cokes with no alcohol (ahem). There we met some cool cats working for MTV. They claimed to be producers but were probably only interns. If they were interns then I really feel sorry for them, because the leader of their pack ended up buying us two whole rounds, without ever telling his friends. Then he skipped the bill, leaving his friends kind of drunkenly scratching their head. I loved that. I also loved that one of the dudes thought his cell phone was SO damn cool, that he proceeded to play with it all night long. Did I mention it was a flip phone from 2002? I don’t think he scored any ass that night. The evening ended without any sickly incident, and that is all I will say on the record.

What I loved about Day Two was going to FAO Schwarz and visiting the Muppet Workshop. I actually got to stick my hand up a sexy male muppet, which was as close to any action I would get on the entire trip. I will always remember it. I also loved a second day of lunch with my other awesome Internet bestest friend (who I also met for the first time in a scary big city), and from her I made ANOTHER new friend who works with her, which I assumed was assurance that he isn’t a serial killer. These new special friends were starting to pile up, right around the time I remembered I hadn’t given anyone at home my contact info…

The day turned into night and after a wonderful dinner in the East Village, my original bestie and I went to Webster Hall. Though renowned for youngsters and unsavoury clientele, there was a one-dollar cover charge that night, plus a very cool DJ set to play. And what I loved about that? Staying sober, watching the trashy individuals try to score with each other, and making fun of them at every turn. I talked for three straight hours and lost my voice. I loved that too, because the dudes seemed to like my raspy tone of talk.

The next day I met ANOTHER new Internet friend for the very first time (inside YOU, New York, you loveable scary city!). He I’d known for two years via email, and he was my second Internet BFF’s husband (another form of assurance that there wasn’t a serial killer in my midst). We all banded together and headed for Central Park. What I loved about that (aside from the beautiful day), was the delightful assortment of freaks:

-A couple making out, but not moving their faces at all (leading us to believe they were either the worst kissers on earth…or the best)

-This rollerblading lady who skated around like a pro, sat down on the bench for a rest, then exclaimed “Fuck yeah!“, when a big beefcake dude in a tank top walked by. I lost track of her after that, but I assume she hid behind a tree to pleasure herself

-Some three-year-old girl strutting around all arrogant, thinking she was hotter than me (umm, I don’t think so)

-A girl in a white face mask, but the mask didn’t have a face. She was moving around in a shaky fashion and some dudes were recording it all. I’m pretty sure it was a third installment of THE RING, and it freaked me the hell out. But I didn’t have any nightmares, and I loved that

After we strolled out of Central Park, I noticed a dirty Persian cat, sitting underneath a homeless man and woman’s shopping cart. I love cats, so I naturally exclaimed “Aww…poor homeless cat!” The homeless woman must’ve misheard what I said for “Eww, dirty homeless people!“, because she started to chase me down 6th Avenue. Then she said the following and I quote: “You think I’m homeless? I have a big house in Jersey! And who are you? Just some bitch on vacation with no money?!” The only thing I loved during this was that even though she was carrying a giant wooden stick, she opted NOT to beat me with it. Crisis averted.

The evening turned into an amazing boat cruise, which traveled past all the New York City landmarks. The stellar cruise was followed by a night on my new friend’s (read: NOT serial killer) rooftop, with a spectacular view plus oodles of ice cream and booze…what’s not to love? I am trying to remember if there were any freaks that night, but mostly it was Internet friends plus new friends turned into amazing friends…all turned into people that I now really love. People who made me feel like…whatever I already am, is actually more than enough. I haven’t felt that way in a long time, and it’s because of you, New York. You put all these freaks in one place just for me, and I was crazy enough to go meet them on a whim. So YAY for you, New York, you sexy bitch!

At the risk of sounding cheesy, which is the same as throwing piles of New York garbage on this so NOT cheesy blog, I’ll quickly switch topics to the last day in the city. We went to Brooklyn for brunch, and I loved this because I had two whole meals at once (because I ordered two, and I ordered two because I said so). I also got to almost step in a pile of dog shit (but I didn’t, and I loved that).

I did NOT love heading back to the airport to leave Manhattan behind. Nor did I love the brat sitting behind me on the plane, who kicked my seat as a professional sport.

But everything else? It all makes me want to sloppily make out with you, New York.

So pop in a breath-mint, won’t you? I’ll be back…

With love,