A Tragic Flaw, Charcoal Tears

11 May 2013

At times I miss who I was so much my face grows warm and tingly.

Lines near my lips and jaw pull away and reach for my heart.

There is a short attempt to see the surrounding world despite the sting in my eyes and

A warm black rain rolls down my cheek and drips from my chin.

Charcoal drawing, I must remind myself to breathe.  IMG_2657

Things like that matter.

If I pull down my hat no one will see.

She’s a fraud!

Assuming anyone would look at me,

Would give a shit—

Just some chick sporting the mask of a tragedian…

I don’t own a mask.

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Why Texting Destroys Relationships

There is someone I completely adore. He is aware of the fact he is adorable because I told him flat-out when we met.  The dates and weekends we spent together this summer were the highlights of the season–a time of year I absolutely abhor in New York City.  He quickly became one of my closest friends and we exchanged close to 10,000 texts/gchat/whatsapp messages in a matter of weeks (impressive considering we were attached at the hip on weekends).

July bowling

July bowling

This man and I learned to make pasta together, locked ourselves out of his house together, went bowling together, suffered minor crises together, walked all over the East Village and Midtown together.  He inspired me to really pursue finding a new job, take care of myself…even watch “Avatar” in 3D.  No one has ever made me laugh harder or enjoy doing absolutely nothing more than him.  We have never had a fight when we are together. Our cell phones destroyed everything.

Texting is the most efficient method of miscommunication.  When one texts, there is very little editing involved–these stupid contraptions are tiny receptacles of visual/verbal diarrhea.  Not only does one forget that some thoughts should remain unspoken/unseen, the intention behind the text is completely lost on the recipient. Every word, emoticon, and time lapse between exchanges is over-analyzed and often becomes entirely misconstrued.

So, what happened with the guy?  We misread texts one night and decided to work on our

texting is a no-no

texting is a no-no

friendship and communication first.  Unfortunately, 90% of that is via text.  So…things aren’t great in that respect…but chilling together (in person)…all things are peachy.

Word to the wise (and stupid, I guess): focus on spending time together–turn off the phones.  And when you are apart, don’t discuss anything important via text message. It can only send your relationship (whether you are friends or more) down the sh*tter.

Ode to My Bestie

before the east village halloween parade concert at Theater for the New City circa 2009

before the east village halloween parade concert at Theater for the New City circa 2009

For eight and a half years, my dear friend Peter and I have had a very unusual on and off again best friendship.

Peter is the most talented person I have ever met.–he is also one of the most generous.  No matter how terribly I f*ck up my life, he welcomes me back into the fold.  A few years ago, I was very upset I was not cast in his latest musical after killing my performance (in a good way) during the audition.  He reincarnated the show a few months later and added two character who, coincidentally, resemble my (now) ex boyfriend and myself.  Our duet is a showstopper.

ever the risk taker.  we took a trip to Connecticut and hopped train tracks circa 2008

ever the risk taker. we took a trip to Connecticut and hopped train tracks (circa 2008)

Peter Dizozza is kind of a legend in the East Village experimental theater scene, and I am proud to call him family and my dog’s godfather.  This blog is short, but there isn’t much more I can say that will make sense to anyone who doesn’t know him.  He introduced me to people who have changed my life and I love him with all my heart.

Oh, btw…if you are in New York this September, come see our show at Theater for the New City’s “Dream Up Festival”…see http://bit.ly/1J98zil

Throwing Out the Trash…On Your Phone

IMG_2060There comes a point in everyone’s post-breakup life where you will be filming something kind of important on your smartphone and you receive a notice indicating you forgot to properly clean your phone of the last d**che you dated.  One is forced to make a very difficult decision when a situation like this happens: “What is more important?–the pictures of your dogter’s latest canine romp in your laundry basket…or avoiding horrible reminders of your breakup for another six months…”  Last night, I was forced to confront the latter…Delilah is just too adorable to erase.

Going in, I assumed this task would be cathartic: I was erasing reminders of a very negative experience with someone who caused so much pain, but I had to take a break midway.  The reaction was not due to sentiment.  I was only angry for wasting my time and phone space on someone who had stopped caring about me or the life we were creating together five days prior to my ending the relationship.  These photos, the first batch, were easily discarded.

Pictures of a man I dated previously (2 1/2 years of pictures), are the ones I continue to struggleIMG_0065 with.  My best friend whose hugs I miss (the first man who really mattered) remains a daily presence in my mind.  I’ve never stopped grieving the feeling of safety, eagerly awaiting nonsensical ranting, laughing so hard I would fall off the couch, and freely admitting he made me pee my pants with a simple story about the traffic.  I miss knowing there was always someone who thought I was beautiful at my absolute worst.  With staples in my head from falling, puffy joints post-surgery, chemo drugs for Rheumatoid Arthritis treatments…I still always wanted to make myself look beautiful for him–because he deserved someone beautiful.

No one ever gets over the first person they love with their entire soul…but they can move on and love someone else equally– possibly more.  You learn to trust again; you learn to love again; you learn to value yourself again, eventually.  It just really sucks having to sort through and delete the pictures on your phone.

The Incident with the Firemen and Skittles

I have a super adorable boyfriend named Paul.  What’s interesting about this is the fact that Paul is only three years older than me (technically 3 years and 4 months older). You saw that correctly–Paul is 34.  If you have ever read this blog, you know that I tend to date men from a different generation, but I figured I’d give Paul a chance…and he is rocking it.

Anyway, I have spent my last three weekends at Paul’s house in Jersey.  Delilah romps around the yard and betrays her loyalty by running to Paul whenever we make her choose.  We spend 50% of our time wrapped up like pretzels while watching tv, 30% napping or just asleep,10% cooking or buying dinner, and the other 10% getting into trouble.  This blog is about that last 10%.

Paul blames me for the incident, but he knows it was his fault…he knows.

I was taking Delilah for a potty walk in the yard and, because he adores me so much (as he should), Paul soon followed me out the door.  It was only when I attempted to reenter the house that we realized Paul did not unlock the automatic lock on the door handle.  Sometimes boys are stupid and, as adorable as he is, Paul is no exception (he is smart, but he has a Y chromosome). He thinks I should have remembered to unlock it when I left the house, but I’ve never left without Paul so he needs to accept the error was his and also accept that he is a dummy for not hiding a spare key somewhere.

IMG_2489Borrowing ladders from two separate neighbors, we climbed onto the roof in an attempt to break into the unlocked third floor window–however, after nearly sliding off the ledge, I refused to go further.  Paul called his parents to come over with a spare key, but instead of driving 2 1/2 hours, his mother called the local fire department…and they came (your tax dollars hard at work)!  Four firemen with a fire truck brought a 35 foot ladder and broke in through the attic….no window damage except to the screen.  By the time we got in, my hot bagel and schmear was cold and my cold diet coke was hot.  We wrapped up like pretzels for a few hours and napped.

After my second meal of the day and Paul’s fifth or sixth, we saw a Skittles commercial.  Checking store hours we discovered Shoprite was our only option…so we went on a 9:45pm Skittles and junk food/soda run.

Moral of the story: Skittles make everything better.

Second Moral: Paul’s hot.