Sticking to the Point

What I did this weekend by Kiki

I arrive in Bear Mountain, NY early. A change in plans due to weather,

I pick Nina and HPD up Friday morning before work. Depositing them at home, I'm back hours later, someone small in tow, and we hang until M gets home.

As is our way, we have shopping to do, so Nina, HPD and I take off Friday evening for the mall. Planning to meet in one hour, we split ditch HPD and head off to Nordstrom. Nina and I are good at shopping together, something I don't take for granted. Normally I prefer to shop alone, (Nina's probably saying, of course she does), but we have similar shopping styles. Somewhat determined and focused, without a lot of lingering or waffling.

After working for a few hours Saturday morning, we take an afternoon train into Manhattan. I have a haircut appointment and we have plans later that evening for dinner. Leaving HPD on a corner, we head off for the East Village and a couple hours HPD-free.

We stop for a photo,

make-up,

and then we tried to meet-up with HPD, who allegedly had "cell phone issues" and was unavailable for almost 2 hours. Here's Neen annoyed, trying yet again to reach HPD on the phone.

We managed to entertain ourselves with coffee and a trip to the bookstore, eventually locating him in one of two bars M recommended.

Dinner reservations at 6pm turned into three rounds of margaritas with a little food. One might say, I drank my dinner. 

Drunk dialing began in earnest, as did bad decision-making, when I decided I too needed a nightcap.

It's a little fuzzy from the time we left the bar I have no idea where that bar actually is to us sitting on the train, but that's when my troubles began.

A happy drunk, I quickly realized I was in trouble.

"I need to get off the train. Right. Now."

"You'll be fine, Kiki"

"No, we need to take a car, I can't be on this train."

I have no recollection of how Nina convinced me to stay on the train, but we do.

At some point I began to feel hot and claustrophobic and decided the only solution was to remove my long-sleeved t-shirt. In my seat. There was a lot of shimming and I heard threads breaking as I removed a tight shirt, from the neck down.

Happy again, I decide we need photos, the last three photos my camera takes. In repose with a color issue, my camera is packed and ready to be sent to Nikon, in hopes that she can be fixed.

This photo is totally staged, although the level of intoxication is not. Just look at Nina's gaze drunken haze.

As you can see, the focus becomes unstable, so that the last photo, the best one, is a hand-shaking blur. That's HPD in the background. This picture sums it all up.

The rest of the evening quickly deteriorated. I began an earnest search for the train toilet so I can vomit, mumbling down the aisle that I'd reached a low-point as the only passenger on the train wearing a tank top in 40 degree weather. There are repeated visits to the skankiest bathroom imaginable, vomiting on the train tracks and also, at home.

The most remarkable thing about the whole evening? Waking up Sunday morning hang-over free. Really? How is that even possible?

The end.

Sacred Life Sunday :: sister

Because our family is small, I whole-heartedly embrace and believe, that family doesn't have to be blood. Assuaging my guilt about raising an only child, perhaps. Feelings aside, the families that we're born to aren't always the family members we'd choose, given the choice.

How lovely that we're given the opportunity in this life to choose the friends that become your family; sisters who you connect to instantly. A friend that gets it about you from the start.

'we get to see each other more now because of derby, than we ever have...'

Lucky me.

shitty picture with the point and shoot but it makes me smile.

Monday mash-up

I thought I'd try something new; a way to catch up on the random. A mash-up for Monday's, because lord knows I love a good mash-up.

• The coffee-tea party on Sunday was a lot of fun. Rachel, Susanna and Bella made it; U.U. and Mo, you were missed! Strawberry cupcakes and fiber bars aka f-bombs; cucumber sandwiches and a  good cream Gorgonzola. We had other delicious nibbles, good conversation on a wide array of topics and an easy, creative spirit that circled us. I felt inspired after they left, I rushed them out the door because I had practice, leaving me  with a desire to get together again. Very soon.

• Roller derby. I'm helping out with H-girl's game on Saturday,  and Sunday, my own league has its season opener.
• Speaking of rollerskating, I figured out the cause of last Fall's sciatic-ass. It's not skating. It's the standing around in skates as opposed to rolling around, that causes the pain. The too-small speed skates that I wore last season, because I thought my cheapo-s weren't good enough, didn't help. 
• Skating has always been a favorite outdoor activity. Growing up, I had roller skates and skated my way up and down the strand, year round. When roller skates were no longer fashionable and blades were the way to roll, I got myself a pair and enjoyed many years of skating the loop in Central Park. Closed to traffic on the weekend and after 10am weekdays, the loop is a little slice of paradise in the most urban of environments. I'd have my music (at the time it was a walkman), and I'd be transported.
• Finally, finally, cleaning up my work space. It's far from perfect but enough already! I'm done with procrastination and the mind-set that it needs to be the 'right' environment. As if I'd even know what the right set-up is, I haven't even worked there yet.

• Working the Artist Way. Doing this for a second time, directly on the heels of the first round, has been so good for me. I still have no definition of myself as an artist, but I'm cool with being unclear and riding the ride until I figure it out.

Fun Finale

I've been ribbed recently that our home is like a B&B. I love having house guests and our close proximity to Manhattan, makes our home an easy destination.

On the heels of Nicole, Holli and Faith came to visit, (I can't believe  over a week has passed already), to celebrate miss A's seventh birthday and a special birthday trip to the American Girl store.

We have a tradition for A's birthday. She gets to miss school on her birthday (or close to), we go into the city and we do anything she wants. So far its always been the American Girl store, but someday I'm hoping it will be a Broadway show.

Beating the morning rush on the train into the city wasn't a problem. In the city however, it was ridiculous how many people were on the streets and in the subways at 10:30am. Doesn't anyone have to work?

The store was as crowded as you'd expect. Holli heard a sales person on a walkie talkie describing the first floor as, a mob scene and it wasn't an exaggeration. Mia came home with us and Samantha went home with Holli and Faith.

Instead of trying to navigate the city on the weekend, we decided to drive down the coast to Seaside Heights for a little photobooth-ing and shooting on the early, spring beach.  Seaside Heights probably wasn't the best choice in hindsight; most of the arcade fun is geared towards adults (read slot machines). The only kiddie fun were those machines with the grabbing hands that are weighted so you'll never grab the fucking webkinz and you throw your money down the drain while your kid bursts into tears because you will never, not ever win.

Looking around, I didn't see the vintage photobooth that was there in the fall. Turns out, the booth is put away for the winter; it's too cold for the chemicals and the crap digital booth wasn't working.

We still had fun. I got to cross a portion of #12 off my list and Holli and I got the money jump shot; consolation for no boothing.

House Quake

It has been a whirlwind 10 days. House guests and Miss A's seventh birthday, a busy work schedule with little time to check in, my space here has felt quiet.

Having Nicole come visit was delightful. She arrived on a Friday, and later that evening, we were in the city for dinner and boothing.  Our first stop was a bar in the East Village, full of dudes with serious fugly style.  We watched 2 euro-looking men as they mauled one another posing, their arms and legs shooting out from the sides and bottom of the flimsy curtain. Next up was the craggy-looking actor and his friend. I really wanted their strip and half-jokingly, I devised a plan that would have me grabbing their strip as we bolted. It would have been really embarrassing if we were caught and it wasn't a sure thing; instead we took our strips and headed over to this place, for a few more.

On Sunday we roamed the city for a day of shooting our way through Soho and various flea markets; eventually making our way to B&H Photo, an unforgettable experience.

See more photos from our day here.

5 good things and a little love

wind and sea beach, san diego.

In the spirit of Liz Elayne's lovely project, 5 good things, I thought I'd post 5 really good things in my life right now.

1. Looking into the morning sky and spying the downy white under belly of a hawk right above my head. Gliding low, almost hovering, seeking.
2. Spring has arrived. I can't get enough of it.
3. B & H photo for camera accessories that make all the difference.
4. A visit from holli and faith for A's birthday this sunday.
5. #86 on the list.

Rave-ON

I've lived in the NYC metropolitan area for 15 years and it's a little shocking to me, that I have never been to Maxwell's. As a Manhattanite, it's perfectly justifiable to not cross the river into Jersey when you've got terrific venues just a subway away.

Foolish girl! Maxwell's just might be my favorite East Coast venue, (although I have to wait and see The Bowery Ballroom) to be certain.

Small and intimate, there is no shitty spot at Maxwell's. The capacity is  around 300 people and watching a band in that environment feels like you've been invited to an amazing house party that everyone wants to be at.

Nicole and I had the great pleasure of meeting Rachel, her lovely husband two of their friends, the wonder twins (who really are wonderous), for the show.

We decided to meet for dinner in the restaurant part of Maxwell's so we could chat before the show, (which didn't seem like enough time), and once inside we all went to our respective spots. Rachel and her sweetie pushed to the front while claustro me stood on a little bench-thing which turned out to be brilliant, I could see everything.

The first band, Black Acid, had too much distortion and a singer that looked as though he would hurl any moment. Their short set took for-eva and finally, with much anticipation, it was time for the Raveonettes.

I was so impressed. Much better than I'd expected, the Raveonettes rocked the house with distortion of the best possible kind. Even the songs I wasn't familiar with were terrific - the sound is great and their stage presence was captivating.

(too bad I didn't get a photo with Rachel too.)

Shitty quality photos of the band but still.

   

The ghost

The ghost was one of the chuppah holders at our wedding; one half of a couple that were our closest, couple friends.  M met T.M. and N at the symphony years before we'd started dating, a mutual friend introducing them.

The first time we all met was a sticky summer day; our destination Lollapalooza out on Randall's Island. 10 hours in the hot sun allows for a lot of time to get to know one another and we quickly began to spend time regularly with them, always as a couple.

T.M. was and probably still is, demonstrative; the hugger and kisser of both men and women. He was also an avid listener, always asking questions and really tuning in to what you were saying. And he was complimentary; always a kind word offered, always encouraging.

I don't even remember the first time I started feeling uncomfortable when T.M. and I would talk. We were always with his wife and the mister in the room or at the very least, within ear shot.

A comment. A remark. Here and there, words that made me uncomfortable, were slipped into seemingly innocent conversations. I'd mention it to M and he always defended T.M., believing he didn't mean to be anything but complimentary, because he was that touchy-feely kind of guy.

And, they were close friends.

Having been around the block, and back, I know when a man is making comments he shouldn't be. I've had a life time of 'comments' professionally, (a story for another time), and personally, and I think there's a huge karmic lesson in all of that that is being missed by me. Seriously.

Lest you think I might have been reading into what was being said, I'll share a couple of particularly awkward moments:

"you're going to be on the beach in italy, are you going to be topless? i never get to see anyone good topless, too bad we're not going."

So was this one, whispered across the dinner table with M sitting right by my side:

"you're an incredibly sexy pregnant woman"

um, ew.

I'm so lame in moments like this. I come up with the best comebacks after the fact. Instead I stand or sit in place, letting the crickets chirp while I try to get myself out of the hole.

Usually, I'd pretend as though I hadn't just heard what he said and I'd change the subject.

I know I should have said something, but the workings of his compliments were subtle and fucked with my head. What if I was just reading into his very metro-sexual way of talking to the ladies? Some men have the M.O. of 'sensitive, complimentary, listening guy'... It would have been a suck-ass situation to call a friend out like that and then be wrong, so I didn't.

I always felt a strain with N, like she knew her husband was saying things he shouldn't, and that I should have been standing up for myself, when I wasn't.

When we moved to Brooklyn we didn't see T.M. and N as much. Our lives didn't intersect once we moved across the river; the effort too great to be spontaneous.

Every summer, Brooklyn has a great movies series, a classic film shown outside under the stars. One such evening, N decided to come to Brooklyn on a whim.

On the walk over to the venue, she shared that she'd left T.M., divorce was imminent.  She began a long story of T.M.'s alter-ego; a narcissist with a mission to seduce N's friends and any woman he crossed paths with. Apparently, T.M. had been dropping innuendos and whispered compliments all around town, finally finding a taker in a good friend of N's, finding out all the sordid details through gossip.

Vindication! Except I felt dirty afterwards. I did a lot of wondering about my own actions; what was it that gave him the idea that I might be interested? As I said before, this wasn't unfamiliar territory for me.  I felt  guilty and responsible.

You can imagine my reticence to engage in conversation, let alone the first conversation since the last time we'd seen one another,  (the night of the sexy pregnant woman comment), when we ran into one another a few weeks ago.

A ghost from the past, reinvented.  A new wife and name (he dropped the T), a new life.  With enough of the narcissist intact, to reminisce about the past, while I cringed.

Self Portrait Challenge - politics.3

The politics of being a girl are less complicated and solitary when you have good friends.

A soul sister who understands and accepts you; good, bad and in between.

Shoulder to shoulder, your experience of this world is richer because of your affinity.

more self portraits here.

The long walk

Neen had plans late on Saturday evening in Manhattan so we planned our day backwards; from drop-off, to the time we'd start our adventure.

We took the train to Brooklyn Heights, our home and neighborhood for three years prior to life in the suburban oasis. Walking along the promenade, I was reminded yet again, why I should not rely on the mister for weather-related clothing advice. Cold and without hats, we walked quickly towards the bridge, hoping to warm ourselves with exertion.

The view is stunning from the promenade. Lower Manhattan with its skyscrapers and docking boats. The Statue of Liberty in the harbor and the Brooklyn Bridge; our foot path back into Manhattan.

We paid tribute at the WTC site and we began our walk back up to Union Square, Mexican food awaiting.

Stopping for caffeine and a pee, we head into a small espresso bar on a corner in Tribeca; we need to relax and warm ourselves. How a cafe can survive without a bathroom, even if only for patrons, alludes me.

"if it's an emergency, you can go to starbuck's on the corner."

Perfect cappucinos aside,

the cafe quickly lost its charm when I glanced towards the open door and in walks a ghost.

"is that dude looking at me?"  I ask Neen, my whisper almost a hiss.

"i really don't want to be here anymore..." 

I mumble as  T. M turns towards my direction.

"Kristen?" he asks, walking up to the table and calling his wife over.

We talk as though we're friends. Technically we are, we were the last time we saw one another. Introductions are made. Chit-chat. I'm babbling like a fool, keeping a stream of words coming out of my mouth, trying to mask my nervousness. 

Once it's over, we quickly head out the door, me frantically dialing the mister to relay my freak encounter. I tell Neen the story, one that I'll share here another time. Good grief.

On our way to dinner, we stop again at Sephora, experimenting with bronzer, something I didn't know how to use and this is the one I buy. We also go back here, me walking out with two new eye shadows, better neutrals than the wrong for my skin tone one,  (chambord), I've been using. 

An hour wait here, we camp at the bar with made-to-order guacamole and frozen pomegranate margaritas. Neen drunk dials Jen,

and I counter-dial, relaying my side of the story, (which wasn't even a story, just two drunk girls being clever).

After dinner we walk South again to Soho, where Neen has plans. We have a drink across the street from the meeting place; a restaurant/bar institution, crowded for 20 years.

We have a nightcap before my train back home, having a good time in the crowded, restaurant bar. Neen spies a barstool holding all the coats of a party of three and she kindly inquires about the use of it. One of the men in the group, (the only tool I might add), mutters,

"they've been humping my leg all evening for the stool..."

I hug my friend goodbye, tell Mr. Fugly he wishes someone, anyone would hump his leg, let alone him. As if.

Instead rochambeau.2 would have been my style. It's a good thing I had a train to catch.