The Secret

Sunday afternoon started out innocently enough - but it soon became the most crazy/random night of our lives so far in New York.

Aries & I met at 6pm for a drink at The Standard Biergarten. We had a few weak mojitos and decided to grab a quick bite at the new Gansevoort restaurant, Carte Blanche. Over chicken meatballs and cucumber martinis, a plan was formed. Maybe it was the balmy summer evening or a sense of a life without consequence, but soon Aries & I had that mischevious sparkle in our eyes. Our very obviously impared waiter regaled us with stories from his first years in New York for over 45 minutes, while I texted my contacts to see if we could find a little herbal refreshment.

The texts came back - they couldn't help us. Aries, being the more charming of the two of us, sweetly asked our waiter for guidance. Unfortunately, he was fresh out. (His tip did a nosedive after that!) Determined, we pressed on.

Aries and I tried six places including The Spotted Pig, The Jane, Employee's Only... we thought the bartenders might be able to help, but no luck. Soon, we had made our way from Meatpacking down to Greenwich. We stopped in a dive bar for a fortifying shot of Seagrams Sweet Tea Vodka (yum!) and continued our quest. While walking down a random street, we spoke loudly of our dashed dreams. No sooner than I had said defeatedly, "Guess I'll have to take a Xanex instead" did our knights in shining armour appear.

"Xanex?" the man said. He was standing on the streetcorner outside of a shop with his friends. We explained our predicament. Their eyes lit up; they could totally help us. Giving each other a glance of solidarity, Aries and I entered the shop. We both felt at ease with these guys and as we passed it around, we got to chatting. One guy told me he was raised by an adventure junkie - he swam with jellyfish at age 7, sharks at 9. His father was always pushing him to be tougher, and as a result he very rarely feels afraid. The owner of the shop and I chatted about what a great feeling it must be to be your own boss. It was a lovely, relaxed evening. I kept thinking it was like that book, The Secret, that I never read. We believed it would happen - and we reached our (albeit minor) goal.

Aries & I decided to go around 11, after all - it was a school night. After being sworn to secrecy, we started to leave. I looked over at Aries and realized that her face had gone totally pale, even her lips were white. As we were walking out, I turned around to talk to her and see if she was ok, and I realized she wasn't responding. Suddenly, she sank to the floor and completely passed out.

My mind went blank. We all hunched down over her, completely silent. I remember thinking to myself that I should wait before I began to panic. I looked up and locked eyes with the owner; we shared a calm stare. Within five seconds, she was awake again. She sat up slowly and I told her not to worry, she was only out for a few seconds. She kept saying that she'd never passed out before - I'd never seen someone pass out before! We both went outside to get some fresh air and gather ourselves. The men were really helpful, bringing us water and making sure she was feeling better. We figured out that it was probably a mix of the insane amount of walking we did, combined with heat, dehydration, and a little too much of a good thing.

When Aries felt stronger, we thanked the guys profusely and I put her in a cab.

At least now, they'll never forget us!


*scorpio*

Response to reader Annalee

Annalee commented on my Stranger Danger post, requesting tips for young women in the city. My thoughts -

+ At night, when walking home, I glance at the reflections in shop windows to see if anyone is following me. I turn my iPod off. There's been a rash of crime recently on Christopher street - pedestrians are thumped in the back of the head & robbed.

+ I always check around the area before entering my building. The vestibule between the two entry doors can become an easy place for a targeted attack - it happened to a college girlfriend once in Brooklyn.

+ I never have men I am casually dating meet me at my apartment, in fact I never even tell them the cross streets until I feel very comfortable. I once had a stalker; I stand by my right to be discreet.

+ When in doubt, do not engage. I make it a point to not make eye contact while commuting as some men view this as an invitation. (See: Pink Cadillac)

+ I often ignore men who try to get my attention, especially when alone - perhaps they are just asking directions or the time... or perhaps they are preparing to rob/assault me. I'd rather be wrong than wronged.



If any of these sound harsh or rude or unkind, may I remind you that young ladies are socialized to always be likeable, polite, and accomodating. Ted Bundy played masterfully on this socialization, often pretending to be handicapped so the victim would help him into his van, or offering to assist her with her groceries up the stairs. Those women were not rewarded for their good grooming.

In summation, New York is a pretty safe place... but for women, a heightened sense of what's happening around us is necessary.

Listen to your gut, not your friends.

*scorpio*

Stranger Danger

On Sunday night, I was leaving my apartment with my boyfriend & best friend to see Bridesmaids. As we rounded the stairs, I saw a delivery guy on the landing. He was staring up at me with this really creepy look. I averted my eyes and kept moving down the stairs. He said, "Kristen?" I kept walking as I am not Kristen nor do I know one in the building.

Outside, Jason told me that ignoring the creepy man in my building was rude. Now, seeing as Jason has lived in the bucolic, mild-mannered town of Princeton for the past five years, I decided to educate him. "Dear, it's generally my policy not to engage with skeevy strangers in my stairwell," I said, "as both a woman and a New Yorker, you're going to have to trust me."

I wish that were the end of the conversation. Jason said it upset him to see me being rude as I was such a warm, loving person. I said, "Do you really want me to be warm and loving with strange men!?"

And then he did something totally out of the ordinary - he pouted. He pouted all the way to the movie theater, in front of my best friend. It was quite strenuous for me to carry the conversation and attempt to work around his mood. Finally, midway through the movie, he gave me a squeeze.

After the film, my best friend (wisely) departed, and Jason and I made our way home. The first thing out of his mouth: I'm sorry I called you rude.

Thank you!

I explained to him that I don't want to have the type of relationship where we correct each other's behavior. We are two individuals, operating in two separate spheres, and we can't attempt to control one another's actions. I'm going to act in a manner that makes me feel comfortable as a single woman living in Manhattan. He's going to need to understand that - especially as I am moving UP UPtown in a few months to an area that is decidedly less safe. Excuse me if I don't embrace the random men who call out women's names as I pass.

This also makes me a bit nervous for Italy. The last time I was there, I was sixteen. While packed on a bus in Rome, an old man shoved his hand up my shorts and into my underwear. To say I have misgivings about going back to Rome is an understatement. I've mollified myself with the knowledge that I am a seasoned New Yorker now, and I can take care of myself. I don't know how I'll react if Jason isn't supportive of the lengths I take for a feeling of security.

While Jason feels better after talking with me, I'm still a bit peeved. He brought it up again this morning. That makes the third time we've discussed this in as many days. I knew dating the son of therapists would have it's special challenges, but this feels a bit excessive. It feels as if he's undermining my intelligence and experience level. Why not trust my actions and give me the benefit of the doubt?

I called the one woman I knew would understand - my mother. She was a model in the city when she was a bit younger than me, and when she was my age, she put her long, shiny blonde hair in a high ponytail on top of her head, and cut it off just below the elastic. She dyed it brown. Anything to stop the attentions of men, she said.

While I won't go to those extremes, I certainly dress in my version of armour. Only recently have I felt assertive enough to wear sweeter pieces. I don't want that power subverted by my boyfriend's idea of 'manners'.

My mother said to tell him, "Pretty women have walls. They have to."

I hope he understands - because I won't say it again.

*scorpio*

Religion is the Punchline

This past week, I went to The Book of Mormon broadway play with a bunch of friends. I knew nothing about it prior to attending, save for the fact that tickets are sold out indefinitely. Obviously, I had to go.

I grew up in Arizona, which has a large Mormon population (trickled down from Salt Lake). Some of my best friend were Mormon. (Some of my best friends were also nerds, jocks, party girls, etc) I remmeber being recruited by a classmate in third grade. I was on the phone with her and she asked me to come to church with her. I was excited about hanging out with her, but before I could eagerly say yes, my mom intervened. She explained to me that the girl was Mormon and trying to convert me. I was surprised and confused.

Later, in high school my best male friend was Mormon. I remember having lengthy discussions on morality and religion with him. All the Mormons I knew were strict - no caffeine, nothing more than kissing, and of course no alcohol/drugs. It's hard to be a teenager and adhere to that mandate. Mitch was actually pretty great at it. After his mission, he married a nice girl at the age of 20, and now they have children.

I grew up knowing Mormonism wasn't for me (I mean, obviously!) but I respected their commitment.... until I dated a Mormon guy and he frustrated me endlessly by feeling guilty every time we kissed. That did not last long.

Suffice it to say, the play was wildly entertaining. My background in Mormonism only served to make it funnier. It's definitely a bit racy - there's a song called, "Fuck You, God" and they say the word clitoris about 50 times (in reference to FGM, commonly practiced in some African religions/cultures).

Go see it, if you're lucky enough to score a ticket.

BTW, Cameron Diaz, Steve Martin and Whoopi Goldberg were in the audience the night I went!

*scorpio*


FGM= Female Genital Mutilation, or Female Circumcision. The young girl's clitoris is cut off and her labia is stiched together. This happens between the ages of 8 - 13, and depending on the economic situation, it can be administered brutally, with a shard of glass and no painkiller. A little different than Western Male Circumcision, if you ask me.

O.M.Gyn

The problem with being in a new relationship is that you both have to get tested. This is a rather simple procedure for a man, I believe it involves urinating in a cup (tough) and getting a finger pricked. They suffer so much, these guys.

For a woman, it's an hour long process, involving stirrups and scraping. Yay. I dutifully made my way to my new gyno this week like the good girlfriend I am. My new doc is a man - it just makes more sense for a guy to be down there poking about, you know?

Before we got started, he sat me down and we had a chat about my history, concerns, etc. I loved that he did this while I was still fully dressed - most of the time in New York you're lucky if they ask you your name; they're in and out in ten minutes flat.

Then came the hard questions - lobbed so casually at me. "How many partners have you had in the past six months?"

Now I've gone on and on about how I've been so celibate and reserved this past year. But when thinking back over the past six months I realized what a freaking liar I was, even to myself!

I forgot about my fuck buddy (necessity!) and the New Year's glitch with my asshole ex. Adding in my new boyfriend, of course...EEK. That's a lot of dick.

So I did what any responsible 28 year old woman would do: I lied.

Yep, I guess I'm not as enlightened a feminist as I pretend to be. Any single, good looking Manhattan man with a passable amount of game has had more partners than that in one month, and yet I still felt ashamed by my sexual forays.

After all, I have a few friends who have had that many partners in their lifetime!

(they're all married, of course.)

*scorpio*

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*

A Dangerous Woman

Money has always been my problem.

If people actually had an Achilles heel, this would be mine. I live in one of the most expensive cities in the world. And I work in one of the most notoriously underpaid professions. I’ve wanted both of these things, desperately, since I was a little girl, but I never really got around to figuring out how it would exactly work out…

I just know that ever since my father took me to New York City at the age of 15, I found exactly what I wanted. And I’m the type of girl who goes after what she wants.

Dad booked a room at a chain hotel in the center of Times Square, with floor to ceiling windows. I would stand at those windows in the middle of the night, wedged in between the curtains and the glass and feel the coolness of the city on my face. Looking down, I would imagine the lives of the people so far below me, living every day in this pulsing, magic town. But most of all, I would look across the windows, to the office buildings. I’d find the lights that were still on, and I’d search for the tiny workers, hunched over their laptops; anonymous cubes of light in this grid of a town, with the whole world swirling around them… and I’d tell myself that someday I would be that lucky.

The next day, awaking to the sounds of taxicabs blaring, I put on two pair of pants and the warmest hat I owned, and set out on what I imagined would be a great adventure. New York was achingly cold and I was unprepared, having lived in Arizona most of my life. I remember my head feeling as if it would split open from one more gust of punishing air whipping around the buildings. I couldn’t find the sun anywhere, and every building looked the same. It felt as if the city was folding in on me. Dad and I stopped in the nearest shop to warm up, and while he made a phone call, I wandered around.

We were in one of the quietest stores I had ever seen. Wood hangers were spaced apart at two-inch intervals. A heavy round table held squares of cashmere sweaters. A lithe mannequin showed me what was possible. I felt as if I was somewhere I should not be, like in my mother’s closet at home. I snuck around while Dad spoke to his colleague, following the oak staircase to the second level, eveningwear.

I will never forget this dress. Black silk, cut along the bias, with the thinnest silk straps I had ever seen. It was practically backless and floor-length and I longed to wear it. I longed to be the woman who could wear it. Dad waited as I took it into the dressing room. My hands trembled a bit as I examined the dress up close. The material was so fine, the stitching so perfect, I knew I would never look at my clothes the same way again. This is what ‘clothing’ meant. This was Plato’s perfect dress.

I inhaled and lifted the slinky straps from the hanger. Carefully, carefully, I lifted it over my head and wove my arms through the straps. I held it up for a second, and then… whoosh. I heard the silk settle to my feet. I opened my eyes. Exhaled. In those moments, tracing the silk over my coltish figure, watching it drape down the curve of my back, I no longer was the too-tall girl that boys somehow still missed whenever a slow song came on. I realized my full potential. I was a woman. And not just any woman- I was a dangerous woman. I saw my future life: with this dress, I could do anything.

This kind of thinking, of course, was to be my downfall.

*scorpio*