Some friends of mine are going to New York tomorrow for a holiday. It is very good of me not to hate them because I’m actually vomiting in my mouth a little bit from jealousy.
This jealousy lead me to a fit of nostalgia and I’ve spent the last hour obsessively looking at photos and re-reading all the emails I sent back home when I lived in NY in 2006. And so I thought I would share some of the magical moments I wrote home about.
Getting the suitcase up my the five flights of stairs to my new apartment was fun. What was even funner was watching Julie – the girl who’s room I’m staying in – throw her even larger suitcase down these stairs after smoking some very potent marijuana, and then realising half way down the stairs that she has to go through customs. Apparently the sniffer dogs were going to attack her. Hilarious. Meanwhile, throughout these thoughts, her suitcase is falling down on it’s own accord making one hell of a noise. I explain that I have to deal with her neighbours now, so maybe we better catch it, but she replies: ‘if the noise bothers them they shouldn’t live in New York. Fuckers.’
On my first night here I managed to drop a glass and break it, walk in it, then have to fish out a bit of glass from my foot with tweezers, and then accidentally press a button on the TV so now all of the channels are static. I now have to wait for my roommate to come home from Miami so she can fix it.
Okay so I think I’m getting fat, because I’ve been wearing my tight tight jeans all day and they were beginning to hurt. Not just hurt – completely cane my hip. I’m walking down Lexington thinking, I can’t believe it. I AM FAT ALREADY! My jeans have never hurt me before in my life! Well no more then usual anyway. And so I currently have a piece of tissue wedged between my jeans and my hip. It’s actually not that comfortable, or in fact effective.
So I’m out this evening at some random bar in the East Village. I’m out with the German girls who I like to call collectively ‘Germany’ and Rachel. I’m sitting in a little booth with Heika (a German – can you tell?) and this crazy very, very odd looking guy who could have been aged anywhere between 30 and 100, starts giving what I can only call a lap dance, but not in our laps. We had to keep ducking so he’s flailing arms wouldn’t hit us as he danced, completely mute, for about 45 minutes in this crazy ghetto style that would not look out of place in a music video had he not looked like Morgan Freeman’s love child gone to seed. He was also about 100 kilos. A young man named Tim then decided to come to our rescue. After giving the kind of shield only a weedy, pasty, white boy can give from a crazy dancing man, Tim decides to show off:
Tim: you’re from Australia!!
Tim: I just met a guy from Australia in the toilet! Do you know him?
Me: Um… yeah sure. Australia’s really small. We know everybody.
Tim: I know! It’s like tiny!
Can someone please explain this. All over the subway carriages are signs that say that in case of an emergency (and they list helpful examples of what that emergency might be, i.e.: fire, someone trying to kill you, etc) please DO NOT pull the emergency cord, but ask for assistance from a subway employee. Now this does not make sense to me. Number one: why would they have an emergency cord if you’re not allowed to pull it? and two: if there was an emergency, how in the world are you supposed to alert an employee? It is not as though they are sitting in the carriage with you. They are in the front of the train driving the damn thing. And if you can delay death until the next stop is reached, can’t you just get off and run away? But what if you can’t? WHAT IS THE EMERGENCY CORD THERE FOR AND WHAT ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO DO IF YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO PULL IT? I am sooo confused. Let’s say there is a man trying to kill you, are you seriously going to think, hmm, I am NOT ALLOWED to stop this train, I am UNABLE to alert anyone because no one else is here except crazy man and myself, so do you just keep him talking until you reach the next stop, and then stick your head out, yell help, and hope someone can hear you? So I am very much hoping I do not run into an emergency, because I’m honestly not sure how I would deal with it without breaking the rules.
The other night I go to meet Jess in SoHo. To do this I can take the N, R, or W train. MAH HA HA! They LIED! So I’m on the subway – it’s like two stops from Union Square to Prince St and I’m going la la la, hmmm, this is taking longer then it usually does and then all of a sudden I’m in Canal St, which is about four blocks down from Prince. I do not know this however, because I haven’t lived here for very long and they lied to me about where this was supposed to be going to anyway. So then I speak to some random people who just say, get on THIS train, it will take you to Spring St, leave the station at THIS exit and then you just walk straight ahead for like two seconds and you hit Prince. Coool. So I do that. Walk out the exit they said, walk for two seconds… a few more seconds… and all of a sudden I’m at The Bowery. Now the Bowery is a mother of a long street, WHO KNOWS where I came out? I sure as hell didn’t and it was dark which made me even more confused. I’m thinking, I am probably about 2 seconds away but who knows in which direction those 2 seconds are. I’m running late now, screw it, I’ll just jump in a cab. So I do. Then I realise I have exactly $6 and I don’t know where I am and there’s that whole crazy tipping thing they’ve got here and I’m like, this is sooo fun, I’m about to be beaten up by a cab driver somewhere because I only have $6 and for all I know Prince and Broadway are about a squillion miles away. It wasn’t. Prince and Broadway was $4.20 away, the cab driver is looking at me like I’m the laziest person in the world and I was just so happy I gave him the $6 and said THANK YOU!
I miss New York. It was really fun.