Walk A Mile in Our Shoes (Granted they will be fabulous shoes)

In the sweltering dog days of August everything about the city begins to turn my stomach. The ever swelling mobs of tourists on holiday, the smell of piss on every block, the craziest of the crazy roaming the warm streets before being forced into winter hibernation, the cab drivers who refuse to use the AC, and the longer days of being trapped in the office knowing the sun is shining until 8pm. My body aches for a break as my mind begins to boil over with the stress of city life. I fear if I don't hop on a plane to a tropical island tomorrow, I may end up having a JetBlue moment. It is not normal for a sane person to have to remind yourself not to body check that ever present person who always seems to be in the way! It is not just me. In the past month, I have seen more angry outbursts from local New Yorkers: cab drivers cursing at everyone, pedestrians running after cabs who cut them off beating the hood like a steel drum, a simple statement to the passerby turning into a face off or fist fight, and it only continues.

The city heat waves have lead to mirages of what I should really be doing with my life. How do I actually spend hundreds and thousands of dollars on a single pair of shoes and have no remorse? How many more assholes will I have to meet before settling down? How many more years will I be able to withstand another New York summer? City life is hard, like the steel colored concrete and glass that surrounds us. Expectations are at their highest while the quality of life is hopefully at the lowest. I never thought a private, rodent free laundry room and bathroom would become such a long lost luxury. I begin to wonder what life will look like for my friends and I in our forties. I already cannot think of one girlfriend who is not numb with medication for symptoms of anxiety, depression, raging PMS, or just a coping mechanism.

We are young, beautiful, and successful in terms of surviving one of the toughest most expensive cities in the world. People gasp in awe when we say we work in fashion (gasp), live in New York (gasp), travel to some of the greatest cities around the world (gasp), and when they see we must be 3/4 of legs (gasp). We are incredibly fortunate, so why can we not escape the feelings of wanting more or life just being inadequate? The city has made us greedy and even more selective in terms of fashion, love, our surroundings, and expectations. We interact with some of the richest people in the world and somehow have to fit into that society and work our lives away just to live above the superficial "poverty" line. In any other city, Scorpio and I would probably be married to amazing men (who think we are goddesses), have a happy family, much less stress, a new house, big yard with a dog, and possibly a healthy lifestyle. Wow, seems so brunette?

Where do you go after New York? How do you leave a city that puts everything you could ever want at your fingertips. Are we really willing to give up the beautiful contents of our closets for the local Gap? I mean there is always ShopBop and Net-A-Porter, but those outfits are not condusive to a local BBQ. What about the salary, the thrill of never knowing what each day will bring, and the game we have learned to play in dating? I mean Scorpio used the term "LTR" recently and I had to ask what that meant. When she said "long term relationship" my only response was "no wonder I had no idea what that stood for." Our goals and emotions fluctuate more than the New York Stock Exchange as women trying to have it all in a city that demands more than you know how to give.

It's another August in New York! Luckily, Fall is just around the corner to cool things off.

*aries*

Poker Face

I took the day off on Friday in order to find my sanity on a beach...somewhere....anywhere! I decided to turn it into a fun fling with this man I have been seeing. So he picks me up and we head out of the city. This man is someone I assumed would be the picture perfect New York player, but he actually is very sweet and romantic. It has been my middle school dream to have a boy show his affection by making a mixed cd for me. My wish finally came true as he literally mixed an amazing cd of meaningful songs with actual recorded shot outs to me. It was really so amazing (as he is an important New York DJ) and thoughtful. It made me even more excited and relaxed, until about an hour in when we stopped at a gas station that looked like a scene from the movie "Juice". I was with my man, so I felt protected and more at ease. I was standing between the coffee cups and candy aisle when this gruff customer said "what's wrong with you? Why are you talking to someone like that?" I couldn't hear the cashier, but the customer (carrying a giant cane) replied "come outside and let's settle this". I found myself at arms length from being on an episode of "The First 48"! They were in each others' faces yelling things like "go back to the third world country that you came from! You heard me, the one I just bombed the shit out of!" When I heard those fighting words, I started counting the seconds until guns were going to be drawn. In the A&E episode, I would be examined by detectives drinking black coffee from styrofoam cups saying "she was just at the wrong place at the wrong time." Luckily, my man finally came out of the bathroom and we left the madness. This was just another reminder to watch what you say to people. The high August heat has made everyone a little feverish.

We stopped at his friend's pad in East Hampton and enjoyed a few lovely hours lounging in the sun with fresh fruit and a bottle of Patron. The ocean seemed to instantly wash away the stress and city grime. As the sun began to set, we continued on to our spot in Montauk with the plan of a nap, some cocktails, skinny dipping, and hot sex. Then it was like the record stopped with that sudden ear splitting scratch as we were about to have sex on the beach when he casually stated that he was sleeping with other people. UMMMM....(cut to tears and a drunken, dramatic, Ortho Lo meltdown)

Granted I am dating other people, but that does not mean I am sleeping with more than one person! It turned into the argument that anyone who hasn't experienced dating in a big city would find insane. There we were, two people who are into each other, but won't allow themselves to release the city dating strategy. You both want to find love, but can't be exclusive out of fear, trust issues, or the hope of something better coming along? I started our first date by saying I was dating other people. He pursued me even harder and made me feel like I was the only woman and really meant something. He never mentioned anyone else and was calling me so much I never assumed I wasn't the only one.

It was my first trip in a long time with a man that I actually wanted to be with and it could have been one of those moments when you cut the bullshit and really start something, but....ALAS. It became an emotional, yet expected disappointment. This is the root of my fear of commitment, too many stories from the past few years flashed through my head. The car ride home was an initial disaster. I wouldn't even look at him much less respond to his affection. It was painful and obnoxious to listen to the cd that I found so romantic on the drive up. The irony was that he ended up putting in another cd that had the same shout outs, but to a different name. Everything that I thought meant something now meant nothing. I couldn't be the pot calling the kettle black. We were both placing our bets on the same table, but not willing to lose it all on one hand. Once I realized it is still all a game I sucked it up, kissed him goodbye, and stepped back into life as a player in the city. In this love game, we all have poker faces sometimes placing a bet and showing all of our cards, other times we lose by the surprise ace up the sleeve. We keep shuffling, dealing, strategizing until it becomes too much of a gamble.

My Queen of Hearts is off the table for now.

*aries*

MGMT!!

Scorpio and Aries using their blonde charm to sneak to better seats at MGMT @ Radio City!

Snapped!

Obviously the fashion world can be difficult. I mean, just imagine pumping a room full of queens and divas with big egos and little intelligence (and zero promising sexual partners). Things are bound to get a bit... dramatic.

I just started working at a new office in the super-lux handbag market. The office is small. Like, five-employees-in-one-open-plan-space small. Having come from a massive corporate enterprise, I welcomed the change. Sure, I was forewarned that the owner was a bit of a (self-proclaimed) diva. But, I've handled difficult personalities for years now, and I've developed quite the thick skin. The other employees seemed nice, though a bit zaftig... a rarity in the fashion world. Still, being the aesthete that I am, I was swayed by the showroom. In a word- breathtaking. Priceless art from all over the world, everywhere you looked. There's a freaking Rauchenberg in the bathroom! I knew I would nail the interview with my Art History minor, and the second I mentioned that Yves Klein blue was my favorite color, I saw his eyes light up and considered the deal sealed.

Two days later, I took my place in the showroom, behind a sleek widescreen Mac in the chicest office I'd ever seen, overlooking Central Park. We have a waiter and maid who attend to us all day long, and no HR department to regulate our computer usage (or language usage!). However, the luster soon faded when I realized with whom I was sharing this lux life.

Directly across from me sits the worlds most annoying man. I kid you not. He's incapable of maintaining silence for longer than five minutes. He has a penchant for such esteemed singers as Lindsay Lohan and that woman from The Real Housewives of New Jersey. I now- rather painfully- have had the chorus' drilled into my head. I once timed him, and he breaks into some semblance of a song (or creatively ad-libbed chorus) at least once every five minutes. FIVE MINUTES! It's enough to drive anyone stark raving mad. But that's not the least of it. He is quite the food fanatic, and eats at least six times a day. I don't even need to look up to know that he's snacking, as the symphonic sounds of his smacking lips and heavy nose breathing alert me to his every craving. On top of all of this, the man only speaks in cliches. He's like a wind-up-gay. "Tranny-chic!" "Did you love it?" "Hey, troll!" I hear variations of these words all day every day. I never knew how many words could have 'chic' tacked on to them. At night, after I've escaped the daily verbal barrage, I can still hear his words/song lyrics looping though my head. I knew I'd have to kill him once I caught myself accidentally referring to someone as a troll. It was just too much- he'd begun to brainwash me.

At least then I understood how the other women in the office could stand him. They'd already crossed the threshold and were now drinking the Kool-Aid. They had become completely immune to his grating habits. I envied them a little bit. I tried all sorts of tricks to keep myself from lunging over the table and strangling that last heavy breath/snort out of him. I brought in my iPod, I took walks, I practiced my deep breathing. Sometimes my mother would call and ask where I was... "A construction site?" she'd guess. "No, Mom" I'd sigh, "And this is actually a quiet day."

Now don't get me wrong, the other women in the office are no treat either. Something about an open-plan office makes everyone feel as if their lives should be an open book. I am intimately familiar with the VP's musings about whether or not she should divorce her hard-partying husband. Another just recently became engaged and sprouted into a full-scale Bridezilla seemingly overnight. All day long I am treated her her pet names for her soon-to-be husband, including the crowd-pleaser, "Cock Meat Sandwich".

But all of this was nothing, NOTHING compared to the owner of the company. The owner who, on my interview day, kept me waiting for three and a half hours, because he refused to leave his house when it was raining. I should've walked then, but my Chanel booties had already survived one too many puddles (as I had, of course, sprinted through the rain to make it on time). He comes from an ungodly amount of family money- old money- which you would think would make him humble and casual. Oh dear god, no. Everything is name-dropping this, price-dropping that. "I bought this yacht, I'm sleeping with this Abercrombie model, I closed down the Great Wall of China (true!)". It's enough to make this middle-wage girl more than a little put-off. He was traveling the first month of my employ, so my contact with him was limited to his late night drunken phone calls telling me how fabulous I was, and that he had hired me for my looks. ahem. Still I tried not to think too much of it, after all, he was a braggart and a blowhard...surely nothing he said was serious.

Then, he returned. I was warned that he was a perfectionist. I am as well, and I've worked for some pretty notorious personalities, so I was confident I would impress him. And I did. I curated his apartment with his new purchases, and prepped it for a profile in the New York Times Style section. I single-handedly secured him an almost-impossible Visa to Japan, Korea and Russia in only six days. I was on top of everything and I knew it. Unfortunately, some others in the office were not as on top of their jobs as myself, and I quickly learned that the office MO for survival was blame-shifting. They passed around responsibility like a hot potato, constantly in fear of the famed wrath of our owner.

I soon saw the crazed rage first-hand. Upon his return, his Blackberry stopped updating his schedule to the office computer. Rather than call our IT guy and explain the problem, he screamed at him-in public- for two hours, calling him crazy, whining about the problem, telling him not to touch the Blackberry, and accusing him of stealing from the company. It was full on insanity, and it was embarrassing for all involved.

Not two days later, he called me from the Four Seasons where he was having his afternoon cocktail. "You don't know the difference between a Euro and a dollar!" he accused. I calmly told him that he needed to re-read the email I had just sent as it rather clearly stated that I had used both currencies correctly in my correspondence with him. He denied, and refused. Several times. He then told me that I didn't understand that there were different forms of money in different countries and that I myself must be "crazy". I was literally shaking with rage, but I managed to keep my voice even and calm, as if speaking to an insolent child. I assured him that all was correct and if he could just re-read the email, he would be reassured. Finally, after ten minutes of this verbal volley, he acquiesced. Not five minutes later, I received a meek email in my inbox. "You are right".

But that mea culpa was too little, too late. I had snapped. Exhausted from years of being assumed to be stupid, I called my parents and told them I was going back to school. I was officially done with fashion.

Not ten minutes later, my phone rang. Like a siren song, it was [Major Fashion House] offering me my dream position.

School can wait

*scorpio*

SO not Vogue worthy

As Scorpio and I become more involved in supporting a cause that means a lot to both of us, I reflect back to stories that many other women unfortunately share. We will go into more detail this Fall, so keep following Knockout Blondes!

***

I became friends with a group of Italian men back in 2006, so when I finally made the move to New York they were my tour guides to the hottest clubs around town.

**Two years later** I walk up to one of the Italian stallion's apartments for his housewarming party. I see Riccardo (another member of the Italian Stallions) in front of the building wearing an ensemble made entirely of white denim with skinny jeans that out do J Brand and a bedazzled eagle flying on the back of the jacket. It was truly outrageous, even for Riccardo who was a straight man working at Italian Vogue. The intimate party was full of other pencil legged Italian men and hipster models. The beautiful space was full of wine, cheese, interesting conversations, and beautiful people. Riccardo and I had been completely platonic friends now for over two years so we would occasionally check in with each other, but mostly socialized with other guests. The crowd began to dwindle down as everyone moved the party to PM. Riccardo asked me if I would like a tour of the apartment before we had to leave. We walked through the rooms and discussed various details before finally reaching the master bathroom. He opened the door to the most amazing spa bathroom I have seen in a private residence. He said "it's ok, you can go in and look". My blood red patent Prada pumps took two big strides while my eyes remained fixated on the jaccuzzi tub nestled in blue opal tiles. Before I could even mutter words of praise, the door shut and Riccardo was standing behind me. He grabbed my shoulders and spun me so I was now pressed against the door. He continued to try to force himself on me, his hands violently groped me and pulled at my clothes. I focused on his eyes for a brief second and there was an eerie glaze over his dark dilated pupils. Suddenly, I realized he had turned back into the animal that men have barely evolved from. I was doing my best to intercept his hands and push him away with my body while repeating "stop!" and "what are you doing?" He grabbed my arms and pulled me towards the sleek polished sink and pushed my hands down to feel his erect penis. I ripped them away, but his grip made it feel like I was trying to move my arms through peanut butter. The force made me fall backwards into the far wall. I regained my balance and looked over at him jacking off into that pristine sink as he stared at me with a look that I will never forget. Fight or flight kicked in and I grabbed the door knob, flung the door open, and rushed to the elevator. I finally took a breath when I reached the sidewalk. I ran two blocks, hailed a cab, and left a trail of tears back to my apartment.

Weeks later, I had grieved the loss of his friendship with overwhelming disgust, but as my luck would have it I ran into him walking between my office and Conde Nast. He stopped me and acted like we are old friends catching up, then said "I'm sorry if I upset you at the party, but you were so sexy." His smirk made my skin crawl and I just walked away, speechless. Where is Anna Wintour when you need her to put some fashion prick's ass in his place!

*Aries*

Repent. Rent. Repeat.

Every New Yorker knows what an exquisite hell moving day can become. Last year, I somehow managed to get away with having my (still-drunk) boyfriend and a few Russian movers take me from a six-story walk up in the EV to a one-story walk up in the WV. My boyfriend was still drunk because it was his birthday, and we had been up until six AM the night before, celebrating with his out-of-town friends. The poor guy was literally sweating vodka.

But that was nothing compared to that sweet summer day in late July when my new roommate descended from Boston. Having never lived in New York before, she unsuspectingly brought her normal-person sized furniture. It was midday on a Wednesday when I received the call. The couch wouldn't fit in the apartment. This would've been fine had I saved our previous couch, but at her urging, I sold it to make room for her better one... which she assured me would fit.

Fortunately, she had hired the World's Best Movers and they patiently, and painstakingly held the couch in mid-air for over twenty minutes as they whispered prayers that it would fit through my narrow WV doorways. I can still hear one mover, under his breath, "Come on, baby... oh come on... work for me!" It was pretty entertaining had I not been watching the paint being scraped off the doorjamb. Through a mind-bending feat of geometry & luck, we were able to get one piece of the sectional into the room after removing the door from the frame!

At this point, my roommate naively suggests that we try to fit the second part of the sectional in the room. It is apparent to anyone with eyes that there is no feasible way this would fit. But we can't just leave it on the street... so she suggests that we keep it in the room and she will take a chainsaw to it, and throw the pieces out the window.

I looked at her in stunned silence and immediately called my office to tell them I wouldn't be returning for the day. My sweet young roommate has obviously cracked from stress & exhaustion and lost her damn mind.

A few tactful negotiations - and a few more beers - later, we were able to rid ourselves of the second part of the sectional and rationalize that we were ok with only half a couch.

The price we pay for a place below Houston...

*scorpio*

Wall of Shame

This is what the typical rude NY man looks like right after he cuts you off.....walking.....come on!

AM New York

6:25 AM - Walk through a tranny drug deal

6:45 AM - Spin Class

7:50 AM - Check out cute guy in line at Starbucks

8:50 AM - Headed to the office. A man accidentally bumps into a woman handing out newspapers. She yells to him, "You fucking bum!"

Without skipping a beat, she then turns and smiles politely, saying "Good Morning, AM New York"

*aries*

When it rains, it pours...

So many of our ex boyfriends/ old flames have been popping out of the woodwork lately. Must be the heat...

ARIES:
"P" [6:25PM]: Just thought of it... Remember the day you ran into me and {my new fiancee who shares your name}, and I called you right after you left to tell you we got engaged? It was kinda awkward, right?

ARIES [6:40PM]: I thought it was hilarious! Why didn't you tell me when I was right in front of you?? That was sooo long ago, what made you think of that?

"P" [6:45PM]: I needed to call because she thought I was hiding the engagement from you.

ARIES [thinking]: It's obviously because she could sense that you're not genuine. After all, you practically proposed to me one month prior!


-same day, different guy-

"J" [9:19PM]: Hey, how are you?

Aries is busy making out and being serenaded on the Westside Highway

ARIES [10:55PM]: Sorry, who is this?

"J" [10:58PM]: It's [me], I poked you with skewers at The Jane.

"J" [11:44PM]: Do you wanna hang out?

ARIES [11:50PM]: I am trying to remember who you are... I haven't been to Jane Hotel in ages.

"J" [11:51PM]: We made out on your roof! I had to leave town for a film...

ARIES [12:04AM]: Crazy, surprised to hear from you now. Hope filming went well.

"J" [12:08AM]: It actually was canceled. I've been good, though.

ARIES: ...

*Needless to say, I didn't respond. I'm a little too wise to fall for the desperate-booty-text move.


SCORPIO:
Background- my abusive ex-boyfriend from college sends me a Facebook message. The last time we interacted, I was 19 years old. I had already moved out of our apartment but returned- during his workday- to pick up my final presentation (ironically, for my Feminist Film class). He came home early and tried to physically prevent me from getting my final and leaving. A former boxer, he was a formidable opponent but I managed to (barely) land a right hook after three attempts. I surprised him enough that he hesitated and I managed to run out of the apartment -final in hand! I returned to the safety of my college campus, and never saw him again...

Six Years Later:
"SCORPIO, I believe we could be friends- what we had... is gone but u [sic] will always hold a special place in my heart. I believe our love was truly authentic (tho [sic] dysfunctional)- I'm glad ur [sic] in NYC and happy- Cheers, Jon"

I just about died laughing as I recounted this message to my BFF (who was intimately familiar with the relationship) Hilariously, when he sent me the friend request a week prior, his profile photo was of him with a blonde in a bikini top. When he sent me the emotional email, it was of him... shirtless... flexing.

Sigh. Obviously I had horrifying taste in men at age 19, but do I really need to be reminded of my dismal dating choices all these years later?

Two words: Fucking Facebook!

Can't have it all...

Love Game

Aries & I spent Saturday evening toasting our new color (ice-white blonde for me, champagne highlights for her), and my amazing new nOir studded bracelet(courtesy of Vie Society!). I debuted the bracelet with an Iosselliani necklace wrapped around the wrist, an eggplant purple ruched AWang dress, and my most comfortable Giambattista Valli patent platforms. We started with Prosecco at Da Silvano, and then got an invite from our favorite NY Brit to join him & his friends at SoHo House. We curled up on the couches and gabbed for hours. (Update on the too-generous man & his out-of-work actress lover: She went running once he cut off the card... Shocker.)

His sad story got me thinking about love in this town... It seems that the old adage is true: playing hard to get is the only game in town. Le Sigh.

But I can't be too dramatic, as I am guilty of this cliche as well. In looking at my love life, there are two men who seem to be convinced that I am the girl for them. They call when they should (and sometimes when they shouldn't) and do incredibly sweet (and slightly nauseating) things like come over to help me paint my apartment & wait for me for a half hour while I wait on a CL find to come pick up my couch. One gets really happy when he hears my voice... and makes it well known how excited he is to hear from me. The other tells me that he thinks about me when I am not around. Both of them use the world 'cuddle' far too often. All of these things are very sweet... if not for the fact that I've only been on TWO dates with each of them! I'm just not one of those girls that gets swept up in the moment... I'm a slow burn.

The flip side is- of course- that there is one man that I wish called more often, that I think about when he's not around, and that I'm always excited to hear from. Obviously, it's another banker (M & A), who works his cute Aussie butt off most nights & weekends. He flew overseas for the deal he's been put on, so it's rather important that he excels. It's sexy that he loves his job and his ambition is intoxicating. I just wish I got to see that raw ambition more than once a week. Of course, I wonder if I would still feel this way if he were more available. Am I just creating my own drama? Am I such a commitment-phobe that it's easier to want what I know I can't have rather than risk being in an actual relationship? I've tried to force it before; tell myself to stop being so neurotic and just fall-- but I am literally nauseated by sentiment. My heart twists and my breath shortens and I feel a clamoring need to Just. Get. Out.

Obviously, the only 'One' I'm meant for is... this town.

*scorpio*

Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world...

You would think on an island of 8 million people, you could go a lifetime without seeing the same person twice. I have the notorious reputation with my friends that when you walk with me it is inevitable that your most recent heartbreak, asshole, or one night stand will reappear.

Fate's Practical Jokes
It was 9:00am on a crisp Sunday morning and I was doing what all New Yorkers dread, searching for a new apartment. The Soho streets were eerily quiet as I strutted down Prince Street without a soul in sight. A lone figure suddenly appeared in the distance. I was hidden under layers of cashmere and leather with my typical oversized blackout shades. I was in the zone with my moody indie iPod playlist wondering if the open house would be worth waking up so early on a Sunday. I came out of the mental fog just as the runner was in my reach. From 6 feet away: I realized he was actually tall! At 5 feet: I realized he was really cute, 3 feet: I thought he looked familiar and at 2 feet past me: I realized it was Jason! Jason was a friend of a friend, whom I met a couple of times, went out with a couple of times, slept with a couple of times and then ruined because I have a commitment problem & always want the BBD (Bigger, Better Deal). It ended awkwardly yet amicably over text and had been a year since we crossed paths. He was that guy that you always think…”what if” ...like The One Who Got Away- because you decided to be an idiot. As the shock wore off, I fumbled through my phone contacts to see if I still had his number. I sent him a text- like a paper airplane into the sky- having no idea if it would reach him or if he would respond. Seconds later, I received a really sweet text from him saying he realized it was me about 5 paces after he ran by. He ended the text with “You looked great, BTW”. Suddenly my early rising on that morning was all worth it. I sent back another friendly and mildly flirtatious text that he looked great too. We continued flirting for 3 more texts before he stopped responding. I decided to continue to test the waters and friend him on Facebook.

A month passed. I was now in a fantastic new apartment right by the Westside Highway. One afternoon I decided to go for a long run and enjoy the new hood. On my way back, about 2.5 miles in, as the sweat became a steady flow out of every pore, I see Jason, running…again! This time we literally ran straight towards each other. I flagged him down and we exchanged an awkward half-tap, half-sweaty hug. I was still trying to catch my breathe and almost tripped as my legs started to feel like noodles. So there I was, wobbling, sweating, and breathing like I was in labor, trying to look attractive, yet failing miserably. This actual face-to-face exchange had more tension than necessary or maybe we were both feeling really self-conscious. He ended the conversation with “I will keep an eye out for you running” as he actually mimed running with his arms! Not the reaction I hoped for.

Two days later, I agreed to go to watch a basketball game with a group of people that I rarely ever see, at a bar that I had never been to, in a part of town that I never enter: Murray Hill. It was packed wall-to-wall with frat guys and stocky Southern girls. I was just approaching the table when I saw Jason! He looked to be saying goodbye to a group and walked down the sidewalk. I stared through the window as he walked past me, but could not move to get outside to stop him, so I sent him a text. He was just as shocked because he said that he had never been to the bar or that part of town either. He then joked that I must be stalking him and that it would “awesome” if I was. He said that he was going to go home and sleep, so I sat and pretended to be interested in the game for another 30 minutes before calling it a night as well.

I now hear that he just moved into an apartment two blocks away from me but I haven’t run into him again. For an optimistic moment, I thought the universe was trying to tell us something by throwing us together over and over again in the most random places. Why else would you run into someone so many times in New York? But, in the end it's just fate laughing as it continues to fuck with me.

*aries*