Salsa and ice skating!

Salsa

Last night I went to my third NYC salsa club. The first was LQ, followed by Plumm and Columbus 72 (formerly the coco cabana place). Columbus 72 was amazing! The kinda place where you get to dance to every song, because everyone knows how and no one minds asking.

I was afraid to dance "on 2" since it was mentioned in my Phoenix salsa class. "New York style" was what they called it. I never quite figured it out, but it sounded hard.

We checked our coats, I put on my shoes and we walked out to the floor, where guys asked us to dance. The floor was still somewhat open and bare and he didn't go to the back of the floor (where I prefer to hide), but instead stayed in front where people were watching.

He takes a step. I notice he's dancing "on 2."

"I don't know how to dance on two," I said.

"Forget the feet! Just follow and let me lead," he said. I could tell he wasn't going to make me feel like an idiot if I was off (unlike some dancers), so I was open to it. He said I was doing well, even though I kinda suspected I was off. Eventually it kinda clicked, which is strange because normally these things don't click with me. But somehow I knew which counts to dance on, as if by magic. I'm not normally good at such things so it was super fun.

Of course, there were a variety of guys, some great, some bad. One guy spun me too much and then leaned against a column to look cool, like a cartoon character or something. This was a bit too showy for my taste, especially since I don't like to draw that much attention to my beginning/intermediate level salsa.

A few old guys were pretty good. Then a few were bad. One shorter old guy didn't move his feet. "is that on 1 or 2?" I said. "Don't look at my feet!" He said. So, basically, he didn't know salsa. Instead of teling me that, he criticized everything I did and "instructed" me. Step back. Step forward. Step back. Step forward. Now we are going to turn. Are you ready? I cringed with his condenscening-ness. Ick. I tried to get away and he insisted we dance to another song. I cringed with every muscle that can cringe, which makes me look like an even worse dancer.

But then there were some good dancers again. A very short guy with a swing hat and jacket who was pretty darn good. I missed a couple of leads, but he didn't make me feel bad about it, which I appreciated. Many guys make you feel like crap if you miss a lead and say condescending things.

It's all about the people who make you happy. The rest, just forget them and avoid dancing with them again.

ice skating

A few days ago, I went iceskating at rockefeller center. At that moment, on the white ice, gliding along without any fear of falling, for the first time in my life I was purely, completely happy, with nothing else in mind.

I have never felt so free. Suddenly, there was nothing holding me back. Not all those expectations I had for what I was suppose to do with my life. The 9 to 5. Jobs, conference rooms, and that feeling, like I was being broken into a thousand pieces. Crying on highways and in bathroom stalls. Ethical dillemas. The clear knowledge that I wasn't happy and wouldn't be for a long, long time, or maybe never would be. And not being sure what would make me happy.

Passing tourists taking pictures and moving towards something, I wasn't sure what, but it was coming on fast and was something very good.

Good tread is hard to find

I decided to try to find snow boots. I figured it'd be easy. This is a cold place. It was even starting to flurry a bit when I got to Union Square, so I imagined the stores would be packed with snow boots.

Nothing is that easy.

I wanted something black, fashionable, water-proof, warm, no heel. Something I could wear out to a restaurant or nice place if need be. But also trudge through snow.

There are lots of very cute fashionable boots that are not waterproof or warm.
There are some water-proof boots that are not warm or fashionable.
There are water-proof boots that are warm, but are not fashionable. And so on...

I don't know why they make snowboots that are not waterproof. Snow is frozen water. It melts.

I kept thinking I must be missing something, so I went back to Strawberry three times, DSW twice, and assorted random shoe stores several times. Nuthin'.

The DSW girl told me not to wear rain boots instead of snow boots, because they won't be warm. She showed me really ugly clunky black doc-martin-ish shoes that she liked. And then picked up a much cuter style and was like "these are warm, but obviously not very fashionable.

I clearly do NOT underststand the fashion yet ;)

She said Uggs (or however you spell that) are very popular, but they are suede and so not waterproof. I've always wondered if Uggs stands for "ugly shoes?"

Finally, I found a sporting goods store that sold snowboarding type stuff. They had four or five pairs of boots. One of them was black, fashionable, warm with fur inside, had good tread. Would they have my size? I had been denied my size at two other stores. The woman next to me was trying on the same boots in 7.5 and 8 -- the two sizes I am also between! Would the pair that didn't fit her, fit me?

Luckily, there were enough sizes. I tried on the black pair and a girl walking by (who was wearing Uggs) said "cute shoes!" So they passed the fashion test. They were comfy. Warm. Good tread. Yes! I'm sold!

Then the guys tells me to make sure I don't get them wet.

"What!?" I say. "These are snow boots!"

"Yes, just avoid slush or rain. Snow is fine," he said.

Now, I'm under the impression that snow rarely stays that way. It's always melting, or turning to rain, or doing other unpredictable, weather-ish things. It's kinda what snow does. It's "thing."

So he says to spray them, because they're suede. Do they have the spray? Nope. They have every other possible type of spray, including suede cleaning stuff.

Luckily, some guy in the camping section found fabric spray to waterproof clothing that happened to apply to suede also! woo hoo.

I walk home from Union Square, as the rain slows down and turns white.

"Just in time!" I think.

Then I get home, read the spray instructions. It says to let dry for 48 hours. And absolutely, under no circumstances, to wear them earlier than that as it will basically ruin your life, and your boots.

So I wear the same old boots I was wearing before. Sigh. At least in a couple of days I will have snow boots!

Ar-i-zona

I went to Strawberry in Union Square to buy sweat pants. I handed the guy my ID as I checked out and he said, “Ar-i-zona!” The way he accentuated the syllables made it sound far away. He asked what it’s like there and I said “It’s nice, but I like this better since I moved here.” And he said it must be so hot there. And I said, “You know when your baking something in your oven? Well try living in there.” “It’s like Texas,” he said. “It be steamin’ there.” He wanted to go there. I only want to be here.

I think I'm getting more used to things. I no longer freak out when I walk in the subway. Everyone looks calmer to me and I'm calmer too. Which is not to say I have things figured out.

But it rained a lot tonight and I noticed I didn't think much of it. A month ago it was a big deal. "Oh! Rain! What do I do about this? Where can I get an umbrella? etc." And this time, I knew how to carry my bags so they didn't get wet, where to step, and how to hold my umbrella so it wouldn't blow inside out. I got home before I realized I hadn't even given it a thought. It was kinda strange, to not care.

The insults of strangers

There is a new trend sweeping the dating/bar scene. Insecure guys who have read online that they should insult women, to make the ladies interested. The idea is that pretty girls get hit on a lot, so to stand out, you need to inject compliments with subtle insults. The problem is, it ends up reeking of insecurity. Perhaps some girls like it? But personally, life is hard enough without the insults of strangers.

There is a reason that Rhett didn’t say, “Scarlet, you look gorgeous in that dress – did you find it at the good will?” and Scarlet replies, “Oh Rhett! I always have depended on the insults of strangers.”

A few of the backhanded compliments I’ve received:

“You have a great smile. So you must bleach your teeth, right?”

“I like your shoes. They look like someone who just moved here would buy.”

“So you’re a life coach? How impressive! So are you one of those 'out there' psycho people?"

This internet craze is sweeping the nation, and pissing me off. All I have to say is – ick.

That is all.

Here is a link to a funny spoof on this. It's become such a common trend, they're even making fun of it: http://youtube.com/watch?v=tgsHV9FEJdU

Fun!

Last night I went to a reinactment of a famous Bob Dylan concert. Various bands played the songs in the same order. Was down at the very southern tip of the island at the World Financial Center, in an indoor mall with stairs.

It was right next to where they are building the Freedom Towers. It was strange to be there. It seemed so normal to see construction and a building going up, and also so very strange to know what used to be there. They've built a pedestrian bridge over the construction and you can see down into the site. I couldn't quite identify how I felt walking over that.

Then we wandered the West Village.

Today, down the street was a Hispanic art event I went to with a friend. They had poems, theatre, music, dance, etc. It made me jealous I don't speak Spanish, but was still way cool. It was only a few blocks from my apartment and I just can't get over that. I absolutely love being able to walk places. There were three or four little theatres randomly there tucked away in buildings on the way back.

My roomate gave me a pair of boots that were too small for her. Brown cowboy boots. I stared at them. I would die before wearing these in Arizona. I would seriously only wear them to a silly theme party or on a dare. But here, I actually thought "cool boots." I never in my life thought I would be happy to wear brown cowboy boots (except when I was 5 of course). This is technically the first pair of cowboy boots I have worn since I was 5. And those were also brown. They even look kinda similar.

I finally joined a gym. I need it, with all the pizza and Indian food here. Not that I'm complaining!
I had Mexican food tonight, which was a bit strange. I got a Chimichange. The waiter says "It's not fried, is that okay?" And I say, "So, it's a burrito?" And he says "yeah." I wondered why they didn't just call it a burrito.

Someone said "ah, you're just ordering that so you get to say it! chi-mi-chan-ga!" I realized, saying Chimichanga to someone from Arizona, is about as exciting as saying "potato" or "pasta salad." Really not so exciting.

I hear I should buy snow boots, just in case.

Trash and music

So I wake up to hear that 80's song "Please don't go" : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RKITQ4qhXII . I figure someone is getting serenaded Jon Cusak style. I look out, expecting to see a boom box and some guy in a trench coat.

But it turns out, the garbage truck is blasting music today. Wow. It backs up and beeps! It picks up trash! It plays music! This is a multi-tasking truck.

Sitting here in this coffee shop, with my un-hip laptop

They look so tortured and it makes me laugh. But I only laugh because really, as much as I try to buy converse and what not, I have no idea how to dress. New York style could take years to cultivate. This place is much hipper than me, and they write on notepads, instead of laptops, for the same reasons they play record players and buy only vinyl.

Outside are golden brown leaves on dark gray pavement, next to wooden folding chairs and little square tables that are chained down, because, after all, this is New York. And new Yorkers steal whatever is not chained down.

I kinda wish he’d talk to me with all that curly brown hair and all, but he’s too obsessed with his note pad to notice anything at all. Perhaps we are making notes about each other? Now that would be a very pretentious beginning, wouldn’t it?

I’m lucky to sit here, in the East Village, even though I can’t always afford it. I swear he’s making notes about me. Or perhaps he isn’t. And has a wife or boyfriend. That would be more likely. Looking up, writing down. Looking up, hunched over writing down. Look up. Why does he never look vertically, over at me?

I’m guessing it’s a poem and each word he chooses is like a piece of fruit at a supermarket, turning it over and making sure its perfect. I’d like to think he’s scribbling a poem about me. But he’s not. If anything, he’s writing something for his girlfriend (or boyfriend) in preparation for Valentine’s day.

Well I’ll be late for yoga if I don’t go now. So I guess I’ll never know.

As I get up and really look at him, I can see he's younger than I had thought and bit self-conscious actually. People always look more mysterious when you've only glanced at them for a few seconds from a flattering angle.

woo hoo!

Today was a day in which I thought to myself "woo hoo!" several times.

I a new client. Then I walked outside and it was strangely warm. Like, really warm. During the last two months I've gotten really used to wearing a big coat and honestly, I really like it. It's like getting used to wearing a watch or carrying a bag. You feel strange without it.

So, to see guys walking around in white "T" shirts, and a girl wearing flip flops, a spaghetti strap sundress with a cardigan -- well, it really freaked me out. I saw a girl wearing boots without leggings. No leggings! I've only seen them worn with leggings!

I panicked slightly, as I realized I have only figured out how to dress in New York in the winter. I've never been here in the summer, so would have no clue what to wear. Then I saw a few people in the distance still wearing down coats, pea coats, etc. I remembered there is still a long winter ahead. These people are just thrilled to break out their Summer clothes for a few hours.

I went to the gym and it is a tiny, tiny little gym. They have maybe a total of 10 eliptical machines on either side. And it gets crowded so they have a 30 minute limit. People actually wait for the machines.

Walking home, there was a little girl with white tights with red hearts on them sitting on an older man's shoulders. I wasn't sure if it was her dad or grandfather, but he was telling her, "You have to work hard to build a bright future for yourself." It made me smile. She must have been three or four and he was talking to her like an adult. But I liked the message and I wish more girls got to hear that sort of thing at that age.

random notes

I went to DC, since my mom was there visiting my sister. I made some random notes on trains and other places. Not edited and a bit rambly...:)

1) I'm on a train through Newark, New Jersey. I hadn't seen the uninterrupted sky in two months. Can't say I missed it, but it's strange to see trees. So much space reminds me of Arizona. Highways and streets I knew so well. I don't recognize a single one of these. It didn't quite sink in, until I saw the sun from the train window.

2) It's been raining in Baltimore, so they ask passengers to use cauting when stepping off the train. The heavy black woman hits her head on the ceiling, getting up from the seat. The girl in the next isle is blonde with black boots and her voice is low like these New Yorker girls. All much toughter than me and they probably don't burst into tears as easily.

Before

I left them standing
there
after I got my metro card
wandered away like a dog

becomming lost

but my mind stays there
in the corner of smiles
and hands in pockets
I in the other direction
to a place that
doesn't have a name yet

but I hope to call it something

familiar soon

Washington
DC isn't messy
enough for me
though I must admit
their waffle cone metro ceilings
are quite nice
I think that I could
lick the seats
to test if they are
plastic
because
unlike the subway
everything here is
sanitized

City
The black sky
is for stars and buildings
gleaming at night
I'm on the first of the
trains home
metro to amtrack to subway
to endless pavement
black boots
strike the ground
like a match

I don't really care
for ones like him
a tree in winter
all year round

the young ones shine like a brand
new city
I grow old like a brick

but I'll hold it together
yellow sun sinks back
and must cry when it pours
cities blurring by
train stops, people leave
with bags and tickets
children calmly play
next to me
everyone going somewhere else

Sitting room
I eat stale
gummy bears
train station
been here for a while
stringing out
hopes to dry
heavy clothespins hold them down
but they seem to always get caught up
in the breeze
the few that stay
end up drenched
in daily rain and opinions
highlighting
the few patterns
I should sew
out of my life
when I'd rather design
something new
these tracks
hit the middle of me
every time I stand
again

Next
the next train comes around
I remeber sitting on the side
of that bed with gray thoughts
like a fire smoking
up my brain
she said I'd been pushed down
one time too many
but it was up to me
whether or not I stood
like a porch light turned off for good
no one might ever find you
but keep it on
and they'll come like a ship
like pouring hopes out on the sidewalk
to watch them rise back up to
the clouds
giving up in a choice, she said
I wrapped my arms around
I must admit
to being nothing
and no one can claim any more

Waiting
I wait for the train
as it rains
and think of things I waited for before
I might pass out
or make a pass at that marine dressed up
for the capital
I'm not sure if I should throw up or fall asleep
drinking in all the uncertainty
I remember on new years
he said I looked so bored standing there
I said he was right, noticed he was just
the right height
he collects match books from
restaurants
I'm tired of collecting things
so I gave them all away
now I live in the heart of the world
I feel it beating
wraps around me, this city
and holds me like a womb
but it's still agonizing to be born
original thoughts are damn expensive
and as rare are real love
couples under umbrellas look pretty
but you never know the story
until you stand right there
I remember that night in the east village
when he asked for a list of what
I read
I said nothing
then how do you know what to write?
I don't know, I said, whatever comes
to mind
he wasn't as nice as he pretended to be
and everyone in this city is a writer
or says they are

Happy New Year!

New York has been the hardest and the best thing I've ever done. Everything is an extreme. It's amazing, or it's worse than your definition of the word "worse." The streets are gorgeous and glistening with the glitter of lights left on at night in tall buildings, or there is puke on the sidewalk. The people are kind, friendly, warm and instant friends. Or, they are bastards trying to rip you off.

The sidewalks are full of endless potential -- and at other times, they are full of trash, rubber gloves, dog crap, urine and condoms. But you don't see those things often. And the potential always stays glowing off of the sidewalk, even at night. Around every block, the entire scene changes, and the place you were is gone. And the place up ahead remains to be seen. Walking gives you time to take it all in. All of those things that fly by in a blur when you drive.

It was really strange to watch the ball drop on TV and know it was only several subway stops away, instead of across the country.

New Year's Eve was awesome. Forty-five minutes before the ball dropped, we found an Irish bar that was packed and fun. Everyone in the bar said it was one of the best places and they were impressed we'd found it. Good intuition Nina! We wore pretty dresses. We met nice people. We got grilled cheese sandwiches.

"Well why don't you go and fuck all your other co-workers then?"

The girl outside just repeated that about ten times, as she sat on the stairs that are inches from my window. I don't know what this girl's problem is, but she needs to fix it -- quickly -- as I have heard far too much of her relationship drama. She certainly gets around. And then the guys show up and everyone yells at everyone. Seriously. I want to tell her, for my sake, and for the sake of me getting enough sleep -- please just stop dating.

I haven't slept well in so long, that I think I have forgotten what it's like.