These Are The Things...

...the actual physical, tangible stuff that mark the big events in life.  People always debate back and forth in my circle, I feel, about who spends how much and on what.  How do you decide what's worth the additional buck?  Is it the name brand?  The nutrition in the food?  The additional TV on the plane?  Possibly the hope that your dollars are helping teenagers exploited in California rather than children in China.  Whatever one's priorities, people are usually very attached to their ideas on what differentiates the dollars they decide to spend and the ones they decide to put away. 

Had you asked me this question at this time last week, I would have been clear.  No shoes are worth $700, I can't really tell one airline from another, and my mother insists that organic veggies are a hoax.  I would have been even clearer on the following point - things like penis straws and clip-in veils are never, ever worth their weight in plastic.

This time this week I know better, however.  I repent.  All of those silly ladies that poured into my casinos while I lived in Vegas, button-adorned, usually much too drunk, hitting on every man in every bar were constant subjects of my internal judge-ometer.  I take it all back.  I have been to the mountain. 

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I give you exhibits A, B, and C:

When my good LA friend produced the above items from her suitcase, I cringed.  "We talked about this," was the look I shot SisterFriend.  I always lumped women with their fallic headbands into a group I assumed was really just looking for additional male attention, despite the fact they were celebrating that at least one was about to say publicly that she had found all the attention she would ever need in one man.  What woman would blow into a whistle shaped like a pair of boobs unless she wanted the world (i.e. the men in bars) to look at her?  I would not stoop to that level.

What I did learn as one of the most magical weekends of my life unfolded was that the silliness, the boas, the tiaras are an easy trade for what I reaped.  (And for clarity, I did none of the more aggressive things.  No penis straws were in public.  I did no hitting on anyone, nor did any of my friends - just in case you were wondering.)  I have always been excessively blessed with amazing friends, specifically women friends in my life.  I was ready to have a lovely time with them - yet I had no idea how often I would be literally moved to tears I after spending a full weekend with some of my favorite people from so many different times in my life.  Suddenly TFA friends were meeting rowers, who were meeting Brownsville warriors, all of whom were hanging out with SisterFriend - it was all I could do to keep my tiny, extra-super-lucky head on straight.  So many times over the weekend I had to stop myself and say, "Yes.  My friends are the most perfect people ever.  Yes, they are all in this place together.  Yes.  I literally have all I could ever ask for."

So now as I return to the day-to-day and clean through the remnants of the weekend, I find that the veils, beads, and straws have to stay.  I want to wear and use them all the time, not for the attention, but for the feeling of warmth and closeness that I felt and still feel about how truly wonderful, in that moment, it was to be me - surrounded by quite literally some of the best people ever to grace the planet. 

And for that, I say:

True story - this Mountaintop Weekend has also flipped me on my wedding planning thoughts, but perhaps that's for another day...

Our First Fight

Some of the most epic couples also have the largest arguments.  Elizabeth Taylor received  letters from Richard Burton verbalizing that "... the precious potential of [her] in the next room is the only thing in the world worth living for."  And yet they were tossed from countless hotels for their brawls.  Now my relationship seems to be following suit.  I am sad to say that after an initial 18 months of blind, complete adoration and obsession on a level I had only dreamed of, New York and I are in the throngs of our first fight.

But, as in all fights, I truly believe I'm right here.  I'm the victim, my love under-appreciated and my value in the relationship under-valued.  First, Exhibit A:

Leaving my Long Island City friend's home, I passed this.  Sure, we got a snow day after Snowpocalypse #2, but this was a solid 4 days after the sky opened and dumped upwards of 19 inches on my great city.  And how does New York respond?  Does he comfort me, apologize for the sudden change in climate?  Nope, he does things like this - buries cars to the point where they're unrecognizable.  Someone's shirking their responsibility, here...

Exhibit B:

Not a week later, New York sensed my unhappiness and warmed - just enough to cover itself in a sheet of ice 1/4 inch thick.  This photo was taken in Brownsville on my 6AM walk to school.  How many times did I slip?  5.  Did my coworkers fall?  They did.  And yet New York refused to respond, or truly make the changes I so desired.  Like a small child, taunting their friend with their finger mere inches from their face with "I'm not touching you, I'm not touching you..." New York responded with a slight increase in temperature, just enough to literally ice me out.

Even this morning, with no Saturday school, no tutoring in sight, I spent a luxurious morning in my favorite coffee shop (88 Orchard) on the Lower East Side, armed with my Times, an omelet, and no need to budge for hours.  And yet to what did I emerge?  Rain, rain, and more rain, in another half-hearted attempt to give me what I'm asking for.  I was quite literally out in the cold.   

So this is me, waving the white flag.  New York, I love you like none other, and will of course continue to endure any anger you would like to display, by any means you see fit.  I believe that ours is the love of the ages.  However, don't you agree that we were so much better when the winter looked more like this? 

(photo from here.)

Dear  New York, I love you.  I'm sure it's my fault, and I'll fix it.  Just please, please, stop!