Classic NYC Story

This New-York-on-an-early-autumn-night scene could have been painted by an artist with a curious imagination, and here I am surrounded by it, living it, breathing it.

I enjoyed the show. I let the bartender make me a mystery drink and enjoyed the hell out of it. I’m an adult. I’ve done more than one and more than two foolish things in my life. But… maybe the past isn’t so scary as I thought it was?

I choose to be alone tonight. I am damn good company all by myself, am I not? When I am done with my coffee, I’ll take a walk. I have not decided whether I will walk uptown or downtown or west…

I wish I’d had a weapon, or that I’d had longer nails. I wish I’d had a stick or a broken bottle. I wish I’d thought to poke his eyes out. I would have gone to jail, but it would have been worth it.

I took the last one down off the mannequin… and it was my size! I haven’t tried it on yet… but if it fits… I’m so absolutely wearing it to my next show. Just. So. Absolutely. Wearing it.

It’s Saturday now and I have not been home yet. I’ve been back and forth between midtown and Harlem wondering in what direction I should be headed, sometimes walking, sometimes on a train (wasting money I don’t have to spare). No, seriously, I think I’m physically sick…

It was just some days ago that I ran into a street vendor on the south side of Herald Square. He was selling women’s overcoats. Actually, maybe I shouldn’t call him a street vendor… he was more of a hawker. I am almost certain that the coats were stolen. I was with my friend in [...]

I had a million reasons why this encounter was not a bad idea. He had a body like an Adonis and a member like a rock. I was drunk nearly out of my mind and I had no husband to cheat on. He was an Out-of-Towner whom I will likely never see again. Technically it had been months since the last time I got any pleasure… and yet my pervasive thought became “why am I doing this?”

Situation: I’ve just arrived in Harlem after walking about a hundred or so blocks up from midtown. I’ve been at my friend’s house for about twenty minutes or so. Me: So what are you cooking? Him: Man I had a horrible day today … the landlord stole my pots and pans! [insert long explanation here] [...]

And since I think so much of you, ladies and gentlemen, I plead your advice on this decision. On the one hand I want to avoid the situation of having people whom I see on a semi-regular basis making the connection between me and some of the frighteningly candid details I include in my writing. I want to avoid having discussions (or having to dodge discussions) about my private life, my ex husband, my bellevue stay, etc. I want to avoid having people look at me once and already feel like they know me in and out. That’s dangerous in New York. And so perhaps I should delete this blog while I’m still semi-anonymous…