10 posts tagged “john”
I finished reading Magical Thinking by Augusten Burroughs yesterday. I've read everything else he's written, but I misplaced Magical Thinking shortly after I bought it, and didn't find it again until Friday night. Once I started I, of course, couldn't stop, as with most of his work, and finished it in less than 24 hours.
Since the James Frey incident, a lot of people have questioned Mr. Burroughs, especially Vanity Fair who interviewed the Turcottes [The Finches from Running with Scissors] and wrote a scathing article trying to debunk the entire body of Mr. Burroughs' work. Maybe it's not all true, maybe it is - either way, he's been through some sort of hell, and I love his writing. [I still think David Sedaris is the best in that specific genre, but Augusten Burroughs is a close second.]
At any rate, I loved the book. But one of the things I loved most about it was the way he wrote about Dennis, his longtime partner. [Please forgive me, but I want to quote him verbatim now, so that you understand what I mean.]
"I think of how much it hurts to love somebody. How deep the hurt is, how almost unbearable. It's not the love that hurts; it's the possibility of anything happening to the object of your love. Like, I would not want Dennis to lose his mind. But I'd be much more fearful of me losing my mind, because then he'd be the one left alone.
Just like I want him to die first, so that he doesn't have to lose me and then be alone. Or if I do have to die first, I want to find him another boyfriend beforehand, I want to hand-pick somebody and then get to know this person and make sure he's up to the task. I imagine there would be paperwork involved, with serious consequences if he breached the contract in any way. Love, unconditional. Or else you will lose your 401(k) plan, and your credit report will be forever destroyed, and there will be prison time.
...
Unconditional love. That's what this is. I love him, as is, fully. I've had to stop arm wrestling with the facts. Why me? ... I've had to stop trying to look for cracks and flaws to prove that it's not as good as it seems. Because it's as good as it seems. Even when we fight, we fight inside the container of good.
Somehow, through a flip of the coin, I ended up here. Feeling like somebody at the top of the heart-lung transplant recipient list. Damaged but invigorated and fucking lucky."
I love that. Because that is the way I feel about John, my Russian assassin. But I could never convey those feelings in the eloquent way that Mr. Burroughs does. So I'm momentarily stealing those lines from him.
John and I had a pretty rocky start. I was coy and shallow and extremely self-centered when we met. A notorious party-girl, incapable of dealing with any man for longer than a month, two if they were lucky. And I strung him along, because I like that he liked me, but didn't think he was my "type". He is incredibly tall, six-foot-six and solid, like a football player. He has long hair and a beard and earrings and tattoos. He played in metal bands, drinks Guinness, and watches sports. But he has a lot of direction and is a graduate of Virginia Tech and is an actual real-life genius who loves programming. He could crush just about anyone, but he's the most gentle person, and he laughs easily.
And I always went for more sensitive types, who were super skinny and wrote poetry and were usually unemployed, and certainly not actual college graduates. I don't know why, and cannot even explain it to myself. It's that weird starving artist attraction thing. I don't know. It's stupid. And I recognize this now. But it took me a while.
But John is incredibly wise, and saw through my games. And long story short, here we are and I cannot for a moment imagine my life without him. The thought of anything ever happening to him or to our relationship literally makes me feel like I'm going to be violently ill. He's a grown up, and this is this first actual "grown up" relationship I've ever had. Before I tended to be in very destructive, co-dependent relationships. And this has never been like that. It's amazing.
I am so thankful that he didn't give up on me when I was being so silly and confused. I thought giving up the party life for a relationship would be so boring, but... it's not. It's so much better. I love everyday with him; coming home to him, and eating dinner with him and doing nothing at all with him. And, of course, we fight. But even when we fight I am so aware of how much I love him. I am incapable of holding a grudge or being angry at him for any length of time. [And anyway, I'm usually the one who is just being grumpy and picks a fight for no reason.]
At any rate, I have never been able to properly express this love that I have for him. Because "love" just doesn't capture the way I feel. Like whenever anyone says anything mean or whenever John has a bad day, I want to punch whoever was mean to him or destroy the thing that caused him to have a bad day. I want him to always be happy. It's cheesy, I know.
I thought so much about what Augusten Burroughs wrote about his partner, and was incredibly moved by it, because I know exactly what he means. I know where he's coming from. Because I am so unbelievably blessed to be coming from the same place.
What are you thankful for?
I wasn't on my computer at all yesterday as I was having a pumpkin fudge crisis, and then went to John's aunts house for the rest of the day.
Sadly, the pumpkin fudge crisis, which began on Wednesday night, has not come a peaceful end as of yet. Right now both the fudge and I are taking a time out to think about what we've done, but what the fudge doesn't know is that I am formulating a plan to whip it's soft ass into shape. One way or another. [I've cooked it twice, it just won't get hard, although it's definitely more "fudge-like" after that last cooking. So maybe one more time?] In case you couldn't tell, I've never made fudge. I'm pretty annoyed that the fudge wasn't ready in time for Thanksgiving dinner, which was kind of the point. But I'm not giving up so easily.
...So, as you can see, I'm not very thankful for this pumpkin fudge catastrophe. Here are some things I am thankful for, however:
- My wonderful, brilliant boyfriend, John. I love coming home to him everyday; we have so much fun together. He makes me laugh, cooks me delicious food, is completely silly with me, makes me tea, humors me when I'm being difficult, and is basically the greatest guy I've ever known. I hope we have many more Thanksgivings together.
- My family. We all drive one another crazy, but we have a lot of fun too. We're a pretty silly bunch, and I love and miss them and wouldn't want any other family than the one I have. [I especially miss playing video games all day with my brother - a Thanksgiving tradition!]
- My friends: Chaundra, Hilary, Kate, Kenny, Josh, Michael, Maya, Lily, John, and everyone else. I love you guys; I miss those of you that are in Wilmington. I am the luckiest person in the world to have you all in my life.
- John's family, who always make me feel like I am one of them, since I am so far away from my own family.
- My animals back in Wilmington: Sylvester, Cassie, Princess and Felix.
- My amazing co-workers; and the animals at work who I love hanging out with everyday.
- New York: I have made lots of new friends and had lots of incredible experiences since I moved here in May. Sometimes I hate it, and want to go back home, but overall, I'm happy I moved.
- All the music I have gotten to see this year. My favorite part of New York is the fact every musician I love comes through here. So I'm thankful for Sufjan Stevens, Neko Case, Jesse Malin, The Decemberists, Lucero and all the other incredible bands I've been able to see live.
I'm thankful for a lot more than that, but those are the basics; the important things.
I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving!
Yesterday was the most beautiful day. It was warm and sunny and just absolutely gorgeous. Yes, I should have stayed in and worked on my NaNoWriMo, but how could I be expected to stay inside on the first warm day we've had in weeks?! So John and I headed uptown to Central Park to enjoy the afternoon. After fighting off bands of bicycle taxi drivers - one of whom asked us if we wanted to buy a used car when we declined a tour of the park - we roamed the paths, taking pictures along the way. The park was full of people; everyone seemed to have the same idea as us.
I can't get over how beautiful New York is in the fall. It's spectacular. Lately I've had no remorse in moving here, and with plans in the works to abandon Avenue C for the Upper West Side come spring, I'm downright thrilled to be living in New York.
Some pictures from our walk yesterday:
I have a strong beginning. A beginning I felt so confident about that I actually let John read it. He was extremely kind. I never let him read my work; he's the only one who's judgement really matters to me, and thus I fear and avoid it. But I was feeling pretty good about my opening scene and thought, what the hell. And either he legitimately loved it, or he's a much better liar than I suspected.
Either way, I feel ready to make a huge leap tonight. John's going to see some old friends who are playing music in town, and I plan to spend the evening with my novel, pounding out the words.
++++++++++++++++++
Day: 5
Word Count: 811 [Disappointing, I know. I spent too much time revising and lost sight of the task at hand. Will catch up this week.]
Chapters: 1.5
Characters: 4
Number of Displaced Southerners: 2
Number of Dead Girls in the Bathtub: 1
Number of Albinos: 1
My clothes were a hot topic of conversation yesterday for one reason or another:
- "Did you get dressed in a John Hughes' movie this morning?" -My co-worker, Joe, in response to the ribbon in my hair, my oversized sweater, and the fact I wore hot pink heels with ankle socks.
- "Quit trying to look pretty and put some damn clothes on." -My boyfriend, John, in response to my chattering teeth and the capri jeans I insisted upon wearing despite the fact it was about 35 degrees last night.
Thanks guys. You really make me feel good about myself. [I still think I looked pretty awesome.]
We saw the Decemberists at Hammerstein Ballroom last night, which I will write a more detailed post upon later. I expected nothing short of brilliance, and was not disappointed.
My NaNoWriMo has gotten off to a somewhat slow and disappointing start, due to a lack of time and a silly need for sleep. I am nipping this need in the bud, however, and should be caught up by Sunday. I do have an idea, however, and a fantastic character: Amos. He came to me just about fully formed the other night while passing a crazy man on the way home from the bus. Thanks crazy man!
Finally, tonight is the grand opening of The Williamsburg White Room, a new gallery in Brooklyn. The whole event is being orchestrated by my dear friend Lily, and I am quite looking forward to the evening. Great art, music and people. I will no doubt have photographic evidence of the event tomorrow.
A quick update; more to follow...
I was always more in love with the idea of New York than New York itself.
I imagined something quite different than what I have been living in for the past five months. I watched reruns of Sex and the City and Friends and thought we'd be living in a two bedroom in Greenwich Village or in a cozy brownstone on the Upper East Side. Not a cave on Avenue C. This is what happens when you only visit a city twice before you actually move there and rely on sitcoms to paint an accurate picture of New York. Perhaps I should have spent more time in the city before relocating my entire life, but there wasn't time or money. John and I made a decision, closed our eyes and jumped...
...And I hated New York. I hate the subways in July. I hate that if I want to go to a really good grocery store [which "Associated Supermarkets" is not] I have to travel all the way to Union Square; which is a pain when you just want a decent avocado. I hate the squatters next door, always begging for cigarettes, and on one memorable occasion, pizza. I hate that I can't find PBR in a bottle or smoke in a bar... and don't even get me started on the lack of sweet tea. I hate the remoteness of Avenue C. I hate that my friends are 12 hours away. I hate the buildings everywhere, going to the laundromat, and our apartment which is roughly the size of my closet back home.
Of course, John loves New York.
I thought, surely I'll have to leave him. There's no way I'm going to be able to stick this out, especially considering my Southern blood is cold when it's 75, and winter is quickly headed our way. I love John, but love can only sustain a person so long.
But now autumn has settled in. It's cold and grey, but the leaves are orange and red and incredible. We walked through Central Park on Sunday afternoon, the chomp-chomp of dead leaves under our feet and that sweet fall smell in the air. It's a kind of autumn I've never experienced in the South. The skate rink is open, and I want to go even though I haven't gone ice skating in probably eight years. I love being bundled up in my new coat and hat and gloves. I love the pumpkins in all the windows all over the city. I love walking into my warm apartment, which suddently seems almost... cozy. I - dare I say - love New York in the autumn, and even find myself excitedly anticipating the snow. I want to go to the park and build a snowman; I want to have a snowball fight.
This autumn, this impending winter... these are newfound things to me. It's a different kind of cold. The seasons actually change here, and it's beautiful and something I am not at all accustomed to. The New Yorkers laugh at me when I tell them how excited I am for winter - a season that usually depresses me to no end. "Wait, just wait. You'll hate it soon." But I am imagining the Christmas lights strung all over the city, and the quiet the snow will bring. I am a snow bird in reverse, happily staying North for the winter.
New York, just when I think I can't stand another second... New York, ever surprising and ever changing.
A relationship like most relationships in my life.
It's been a strange week. I am either getting a terrible chest cold or my allergies are getting worse as the seasons change. Either way, I'm miserable. The good news: I haven't smoked in days. I made the decision to quit before I started feeling ill, but as soon as I quit smoking I started having trouble breathing and got a sore throat. I never had breathing problems the whole time I was a smoker and now this. I, ever the pessimist, announced I'd be dead by morning, however John has a more positive outlook and continues to try and shake some sense in me. He says I'll be fine, but what does he know. He's not a doctor. Damn him and his realism.
I would go to a doctor, of course, except that they terrify me, so as long as I am still able to breathe somewhat normally, I'm not going. When I start turning blue I'll think about going, but not a moment sooner.
Have I mentioned that I'm a hypochondriac? No? Well, I am.
Fall is here, and today was one of those days I really loved living in New York. After I got home from work I put on my brand new coat and took a walk through Tompkins Square Park. The leaves are changing; the skies were slate grey, but the trees are turning bright orange and red. It was cold, but not too cold. The streets were full of people, and I was happy to be here. I walked down St. Mark's and bought John some jazz records - Theolonius Monk and John Coltrane - and had a long discussion with Kate on the phone about Lost and the lack of gossip coming from back home.
This change in seasons is a new event for me, and thus far I like it. I can't wait until the city is white and snowy and decorated with Christmas lights. I'm sure I'll get sick of it soon enough, but winter will be quite the novelty for me.
I have so much to do, so much weighing over me. I feel like I have no time whatsoever. I need to do laundry, finish my work for Clay, go get my paycheck, clean the apartment, buy a new tea pot - the old one is two seconds from breaking. Wednesday night I have to go to a fund raiser for work in SoHo. Thursday night we're going to see Minus the Bear. John and I are also going to buy a new down comforter and sheets this weekend. Our anniversary present to one another. Which is Monday, by the way. One year. I am so excited about new sheets. There's a phrase I never thought I'd type. What have I become?
Now I am going to down some vitamin C pills, forget about everything I need to get done, make a pot of tea and curl up in bed with either David Sedaris or Augusten Burroughs - my literary equivalent to chicken soup.
Happy Friday.
There is a fact that has been made abundantly clear in recent weeks: my party days are over. I have been hesistant to accept this fate as, once upon a time, I made a name for myself as the girl who was still dancing long after everyone had gone home or passed out. There was a time when Chaundra and I ventured out every single night of the week, even if no one else was out. We created a party for ourselves at all times. These were good, but obviously fleeting, times. A person cannot maintain that kind of lifestyle after a certain point. The cut off date varies, I'm sure, but for me, things began declining midway through 22, and last night - not even a month into 23 - things pretty much came to a halt.
John, Chaundra and I ventured out for the Continental's final throwdown last night. I switched my shifts around at work so that I would have today off, assuming last evening would be epic, like the days of yore. The Continental is a legendary East Village punk club that is closing its doors this weekend for good. Now, let's face facts, I am not and have never been punk rock. Yes, like most girls I know I went through a "punk" stage in high school, but that really really doesn't count. I have a lot of friends, however, who are into punk and live that strange lifestyle. God bless them, but it's not for me. The closest I get is The Clash, The Stooges and Velvet Underground. [Would VU even count? I have no idea what the strict definitions are.]
So what was I doing at the Continental last night? Jesse Malin was playing. Former DGeneration member who has gone solo and showing a whole new side. It was my second time seeing him; the first was last May at the Mercury Lounge on Houston, right after we moved to the city. I guess because he's kind of a punk rock guy, the Continental asked him to help them go out in style, and had this been a year ago, I would have appreciated last night a lot more.
Immediately it was made clear when we walked in that we were clearly not cool enough to be in the Continental. Brooklyn and East Village hipsters mingled with aging gutter punks. Two groups of people I have a deep and passionate loathing for. But we weren't there to make friends, we were there to hear Jesse Malin, which is always a good time. By 11 or so, Chaundra and I had pushed our way to the front. Despite prominant no-smoking signs, the air was thick with smoke. Everyone was rude and pushy; someone spilled whiskey on Chaundra and my back was covered with vodka. We were not happy. A year ago, these things wouldn't have bothered me; we would have been giddy to see Jesse Malin. Now, I just wanted him to get on the damn stage already so I could go home and go to bed.
When he finally came on, things got much better. People were slightly - SLIGHTLY - less pushy, and the music was good enough to distract from any annoyances. He and his band rocked it, and as per usual was full of stories. One of the major highlights of seeing Jesse Malin is that he is known for telling really funny stories in between songs. He opened with "Brooklyn" which might be my favorite song. After about an hour and a half, however, my feet were killing me and John and I were ready to go; tired of being the only sober one in a sea of drunk punks. It wasn't even 1am. Jesse vowed to make it a long night, and as much as I wanted to, there was no way I could stick it out until 4am, so we left.
Sometimes I am sad that this crazy party-girl phase is coming to an end. Sometimes I am happy. I have no regrets, of course. I have relished every late night with my friends that I've ever had, even those that sometimes ended in tears or vomit or both. It's part of being a kid. You do it now, so that you don't do it when you're forty. Nobody wants to be "that guy." And you know who I mean; everyone knows one. It amazes me that I would rather hang out at home or go to dinner with friends and then call it a night. The Katie of three years ago wouldn't even be friends with this Katie. Go figure. I am happy for who I am, and I am happy for who I was.
At any rate, I am getting old. I am not punk rock. And my party days are officially over. But I can still have a good time; the good times just end a lot earlier now.
The secret to getting lots of presents on your birthday: move far far away from home. Apparently.
I had a great birthday, and not because I was showered with presents, but because of the fact I have such good friends and family.
I arrived home Friday afternoon to find a huge box waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Inside were many presents from my co-workers [and surrogate mothers + real mother] at Vida: a garden gnome, lots of make-up, a pedicure kit, tarot cards, a book, earrings, nail polish and lots of silly notes and cards from everyone. I couldn't believe they did that; it was so sweet. My mother also sent me a gift certificate to Barnes & Noble
At midnight John let me open one of the presents he got me: beautiful silver and green earrings. He made me wait until yesterday morning for the others, however: a Chinese horoscope book and much to my
Apparently John, being the sneak he is, contacted my entire family, and everyone chipped in a little, so the camera was from John, my mom, dad and grandparents. It's a beautiful Olympus E-500 with with two lenses, lens hoods and all kinds of amazing features. I have a Fuji FinePix, but this Olympus blows my Fuji out of the water. I was really really surprised, but John's like that. He's good at keeping secrets. He got tickets to the Daily Show and was able to keep it a secret for two months before I finally wrestled it out of him.
My birthday was mostly quiet. John cooked a huge breakfast and made me tea. I played with my camera and read my new book. It was just a nice day. Around 8 we went to dinner with our friends
After dinner we headed to my favorite bar: Niagara. We sat in the back and I took lots of pictures. Lily and I went outside to smoke after a while, and when we were walking back in the bouncer claimed he didn't remember us. Luckily I had my cell, so I called John who brought us our purses. I showed the bouncer my ID and he claimed it was
John came outside and told me not to worry about it, we'd just go someplace else. He walked inside to pay his tab, while I continued to look for something else to prove my age, and the bouncer followed John inside and tried to pick a fight for no reason. John told him to just leave him alone, and explained the situation to the bartender, who knows us, and asked us not to leave, that he would straighten this out. Finally I found my passport and the bouncer reluctantly let me back in. We gathered our things and left. The funny thing is that when Lily and I walked outside, we spoke to the bouncer.
Afterwards we went to 7B, just down the street, more amused by the ordeal than anything else at this point. The bouncer had called John a "hardass." John, who rarely isn't smiling. It was actually rather funny.
Lily and I found a table and sat down. There was a pitcher and two glasses on the table, but we just assumed it was old. Apparently not, however. After we were all sitting down two blonde girls came over and demanded we move. We wouldn't. They got mad and I seriously thought they were going to dump the pitcher on our heads,
Elan met us at 7B, and we recounted our various run-ins. They pretty much dominated the conversation the rest of the evening as we all found the whole ordeal hilarious.
Unfortunately the evening did not end well for Elan, as he was mugged while walking to the train on 11th and 2nd after he left 7B. Luckily he wasn't hurt, but three huge guys made off with his cell phone and wallet. We
All in all - aside from Elan's mugging - it was a really really great birthday. I missed my Wilmington friends and family a lot, but my New York friends did it up right.
My birthday was pretty tame as far as my birthdays usually go, which I think is a positive sign that I really am growing up.
Thanks for giving birth to me mom. I really appreciate it.
