Confessions.of.a.NYC.Lezie

Everyone is aware (from what I've written) of how I feel about love. But lately, I’ve wanted to write a piece on it but unfortunately have not had the opportunity to sit down and revise what I had previously written. And so now, my fingers are thirsty for the keyboard and perfectly glued to each key as I stroke them to form the perfect sentences. Or perhaps not.

I think I may have taken a slap or two by love. I think I’ve turn around and accepted it as if it was the best thing to do – right now. It is almost something that I need to reinvent in my life. Somehow I have lost, along the course of my life, the true meaning of being in love.

There once was a time when I knew what love meant. Loving the person at the time came naturally like a common summer breeze gently caressing the top of my skin. Nonetheless, love was something I began to experience and believe in. Not that I didn’t believe in love before, but knowing and experiencing love was a complete and utterly new form of life – a new beginning as some may say.

Before, love meant that I would care deeply for someone else and whatever I felt was surreal and magical and I would care about that person more than I cared about myself. True happiness began, love took its seat and lounged in my heart and I began to feel its power.

I knew that love meant that I would spend the rest of your life with the same person, share each other in ways that I have never done before, wake up next to one another and finding everything beautiful about the person, accepting flaws with good intentions, laying in bed for hours after making love and keeping each other safe in our arms – talking for hours and giggling like little children.

Love is that. But love is also a lot of things which I cannot explain and will not so until I have come across them (again) in my lifetime.

Everyone I suppose has their own definition of what love is all about. Mine may be different from my neighbor or as close and exact as my friends. Whatever I have experienced in my past I will take with me to my next chapter. You learn as you go, you love as you learn.

At 25, I wonder about the choices I’ve made in my life regarding love. There are no regrets of course. Though sometimes, I believe regrets are necessary because they help you understand what you have done. And so regrets, like love are more unalterable then you think.

I am no expert at love, I am not a love connoisseur and I truly believe that it is all in the heart and allowing to open up and accept the love potion. Though I’d love to believe that my heart is open but I know deep inside that it isn’t completely.

I am not cold hearted. Like the majority of you I am afraid. I am so afraid to fall so deeply for someone and so afraid to get hurt. Nevertheless, only two people have hurt me in my life, I just wouldn’t want a repetition of the aftermath. It was something so dark and cold and wish to never step foot in that world again.

So what does it mean to truly love another?

Is it total happiness? Fairy tale like world, where birds chirp their lovely tunes, the sun in shining and glowing, the trees are a magnificent shade of green and the sky is as blue as the Caribbean sea? And waking up next to the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, finding something beautiful everyday about that person?

Accepting flaws?

Making love until the sunrise/sunset?

I’d like to think love equals happiness. But really, what’s love gotta do with it?

As I am sitting at my desk, I thought, hmm….I need to confess to something. Before I say it, it is something absolutely secretive. Not a single soul knows this except for its creator – me.

Moving on, I have a guilty pleasure. No, it isn’t the silver bullet. Get your mind out of there. Ok ok, come back….go south and never look up. Good. Circles. Nice circles.

Got it?

Never mind


You know, my guilty pleasure has gotten me in a lot of trouble in the past with my non-fanatical-non-addicted soul to its competitors.

It gets harder and harder to restrain my hand from reaching, deep…. deep in the black cave…

…to find my wallet and pull out three shiny quarters and hand them over to my Greek gentleman.

There. It takes quarters – three to be exact to satisfy my lust for that delicious wet essence.

It satisfies me like no other. It runs through my veins, pumping energy and leaving me breathless, wanting more…craving even more.

I am addicted to coffee.

Not just any coffee. The one on 57th and 8th. The one my Greek Gentleman serves me.

For only three shiny quarters.

I’ve been a victim for years now. The big corporation called Starbucks will never have my soul.

Never.

Lately, I have nothing to write about…really, how often do you have to read about my drinking problems, my insane dating scene, love affairs and such…

Maybe, the reason I've had nothing to write is because it is the end of this story. The character has become developed, I’ve found my purpose, gave up my drinking and self-exploitative ways, and has settled down.

We had the climax of the story at the height of my depression/hating my job/being a homo, and now we have resolution. I got in the fab world, am in the midst of preparing for my journey. My life reflects this contentment now. My indulgence at the moment is cheap wine (bottles under $15), BYOB restaurants, and my $3,000 apt in Murray Hill that I hate.

so what’s next?

So this is resolution time.

And this year, I am determined to live a more reasonable life. To save more and spend less. To eat less and exercise more. To listen more and talk less. To be more adventurous and nest less. To praise more and complain less. To give more and take less

I will not elaborate on any of these but rather leave them as they are.

I always seem to fail at keeping my resolutions. This year though, it is different.




Cheers to you and yours. May 2008 be a year full of balance, gratitude and truthfulness

Happy New Year Folks!

Sometimes I wonder if cutting all my ties with the Pearl was a mistake. Sometimes I sit and wonder if I had given all my time to her that perhaps I could have taken another chance with her. Sometimes though, I wonder if I should have thought with my heart and not my head. Sometimes I just wonder you know?

So many chances were taken, so many time I’ve felt like I was at the end of my rope and other times I wanted to give more of myself. Even knowing I would have gotten my heart broken way too much. The Pearl wasn’t a great person to be in a relationship with. Everyone around me knew that. I was so drawn to her and I couldn’t escape what I felt for her.

Sometimes it is too late to take chances.

And sometimes you have to take them. Even when you know in the end that there might be a slight hint that it wouldn’t work.

I haven’t spoken to her in months. I cut all ties. Occasionally she texts me and asks me how things are or why things happen or why I refuse to negotiate some sort of speaking or friendship terms. And my reply : “I cant”.

I cant talk to someone who will manipulate what we had. One day its cold and the next time its hot. You can never tell with her. I don’t need someone like that in my life. I am not into games. I am not (again) in the mind set to do so. I’ve done my part and played along and pretended that everything was okay and I believed her every time when she told me that it is me that she wanted. I took in her countless apologies. I chewed them, swallowed her mistake and walked with pride.

In fact it wasn’t pride.

It was shame.

I will never say that I wasted three years of my life with her. But I will say this: I should have known what I was getting myself into. I never knew then what I knew now. I never knew that I would have fallen in love with a woman, got my heart broken and took her back many times. It was a cycle. In my mind at the time it was what it was. I chose that path as some would say. I chose her. I dealt with her and managed to succumbed to her ways.

In a way it is my fault. Also hers.

Now, I can’t get her out of my head. Part of me needs her. Still. The other part thinks that it is too late.

I don’t know if I still love her. I don’t know if the same feelings I had are still there…hidden somewhere. I don’t want to see her because of that. I am afraid the feelings I once had will resurface.

I am sure many of you have been in situations like mine and didn’t know how to deal. Perhaps some of you have managed to control those awful feelings.

Perhaps you are what I need right now. My answers can be found right in front of me.

I am waiting.

I grew up Catholic. My mother is somewhat religious and my father doesn’t believe in anything. My surroundings growing up in the catholic faith seemed natural to me. I went to church on Saturdays and bowed my head and held my hands tightly and prayed for forgiveness. I also grew up knowing that being a good catholic is the best way to reach the pearly gates and play in heaven among the good people of the earth, bouncing on snowy clouds.

Then I go older.

The people who surrounded me were Catholics. Die hard Catholics. The kind of religious folks in this part of the country who have trouble comprehending other issues concerning other religions and not theirs, the kind not allowed to be fags. They were the kind of religious you see in documentaries, railing against homosexuality and abortion. One of the hard-faced tiny warriors lined up on pews being filled with a boiling rage larger than our own small frames.

I believed unreservedly that my lord and savior had died for me to cleanse me of my sins. That the end of the world was coming and that I must spread the gospel of Jesus Christ to save those I cared about from an eternity spent in hell. God could see inside my very mind and heart, I was taught and that God is everywhere even when you are doing naughty things. And he knew when I was tempted by the devil, who would speak to me through secular music (Michael Jackson), friends (the one who smoked cigarettes in the school bathrooms) and television (MTV). I asked Jesus into my heart at an early age, was baptized in front of the congregation, and swallowed down the bitter intolerance they taught as easily as the cheap wine that was supposed to symbolize Christ’s blood.

So deeply did the hellfire and the hate lodge themselves inside me that on a trip back home, just pulling the car up to the church where I spent my formative years was enough to make my heart flap in my chest like a trapped bird. The conviction that I am a worthless sinner is the very deepest layer of my low self-esteem, and the unrealistically rigid morality I learned imbues the very sexuality that became my livelihood with guilt and fear. The church was not good to me.

But for all the fucked up things about the religion of my childhood, faith itself is a beautiful thing. The people I went to church with weren’t bad people, they just believed in a concept so fervently that it grew bent and warped in the fire of their fanaticism. In the beginning, God was good. And when I look back at the Christmases of my childhood, I remember the best parts of Christianity. I remember joy to the world. I remember peace and goodwill (of course Santa Claus and the Christmas carols).

The next time I talked to God, it was in a room filled people crying and a casket suspended on two pillars gracefully gazing at the sobbing witnesses. When I tried to reach out this loving higher power, all I saw was the stern father of my youth, as oppressive as a suburb. The God I knew damned you to hell; he didn’t pull you out of it.

As many of you have noted, I am not a perfect person. I have made mistakes, over and over again. And sometimes the only way to get back up after you’ve fallen so far is to rely on something bigger than yourself, to pull your head out of your ass and notice that there even IS anything bigger than yourself. And it’s awfully sincere, but when I went looking for God, I found a whole big world out there that saved me from myself. Whether it’s the love of friends and family, the talent that comes and faithfully offers me the right word, the potential for kindness between people, or the ability to tell a story that comforts others. These things can be holy too.

I will not call myself a devoted Catholic. But this year I approach happiness. And in those creeping moments when I walk down the street and look to the tops of the buildings that skim an endless skyline, when joy unexpectedly fills up my lungs like crisp winter air, until even my blood is sweetly singing. Then I am feeling God.

Happy Holidays

When most people are blinded by things that are inevitably materialistic, some are mesmerize by things aren’t so much of a fad but in fact are rarely recognizable by many. Love at first sight.

I personally don’t believe in love at first sight. Then again, not so much of a believer of our dear ole love cherub - cupid. But really, love at first sight is only witnessed by so few people that sometimes I wonder if it really was love that they encountered or simply an attraction more so - lust. How about this, is love a one way street? The connection you get with someone which some may describe as pure and everlasting love is somewhat a joke to me and Or the whole soul mate thing is a really a myth. Attack me now. Please.

I do though, believe in love. I think everyone on this planet who feel a heartbeat on their left upper peck is aware that love is there somewhere. Again, very few experience it and very few lose faith. Doesn’t mean at some point they didn’t believe in love.

I have fallen in love twice. I have been with many - many people and yet what I felt the first time I fell in love was nowhere close to any of the women I had after. I came close though to finding my ideal lady. But my first impressions weren’t the ones I gotten to like after a few weeks.

Have you ever gotten a chance to talk to your crush only to find that you actually had nothing in common and so whatever you felt before you had the balls to talk to her/him has gone down the toilet faster than the toilet suction on a cruise? Yep. It happens to me all the time - no really, all the time.

I have three options there :
1. I can either keep talking in hopes of finding something - one thing good about them
2. I can walk away and pretend I got a call on my cell and never look back
3. Smile, offer a drink, walk away and say thank you ma’am.

Truthfully I go for option 2 or 3 depends on my mood. My time limit is 10 minutes. If my eyes are wandering and I start to nod it means that I am not interested and I just staying there because I feel bad. But otherwise, I am nice to those who are pretty.

Maybe that’s what my problem is, I don’t give chances. Life isn’t about wasting time. I don’t like to waste my time and the precious time of others. Trust me, I have gotten rejected once or twice. But you know, I just move on and hopefully the next one will be the love of my life.

I don’t know. I am one tough cookie when it comes to letting myself love again.

I am cursed.

I’ve realized you can have an intimate relationship with someone you've never touched. Souls can find a home with a person that you only share words with, that you know you'll never share a physical space with, that you know this life isn't to be, it's only going to be those words, that sense of safety, that knowledge they are there for you in that deepest meaning of the words safe and home.

Kisses are magic, and what can make or break a relationship. They are that intimate bit of self-sharing we hope for. They are special, beyond sex. It’s that push beyond into the private boundary, the area we hold sacred. We hand over kisses, playful, passion-filled, the fast peck on the cheek...but the ones on the mouth, they are a gift.They do inspire the belief that love is possible... the dream, the hope.Sex... it is something handed out in an easier way by many. That fast connection, that hope of becoming one with a person, if only for a short time… The need to be cherished, if for a short time, the hope it will let you click and build on the physical to an emotional level.I know couples who, met, slept together, and are still locked in their couple Dom years later.It can work, it appears.A kiss gives us the belief we can be cherished, beloved... sex adds the senses to the flavor of that belief.

Almost like the fairy tales, all it took was that gentle kiss on the lips to fall madly in love and live happily ever after.


Fairy tales can come true, right?

Along the deep constricted path of life, it allows us to meet, appreciate and love a lot of people. It obliges us also, to develop relationships with others. They either grow along the way or fall like rotten fruits.

Nothing is lost; all is used at one point.

Sometimes after many years, we find ourselves either misplaced or astonish and happy to have grown in parallels.

So…

I have the impressions that I have to fight to keep the friends I had during my college years. Our paths have separated inexorably.

What is left of them (for me)? And here I am alone…alone in this situation.

I also have the impression that I have done a lot of things wrong and I deserve what is happening to me today. But in fact, I have an extraordinary Family and other friends I have made throughout my years of existence…but…well…

Am I responsible for the things that are changing?

Should I continue to get hurt whenever I hear from them when in fact they hurt me even more without even knowing? How about not bringing up the “hurt” subject because it makes us both uncomfortable?

Should I, in contrary try to make amends, or try to reconcile my relationship with them?

These are questions I often ask myself. Somehow, I can’t even answer my own questions.

Pathetic.

As I am typing this, I am beating myself up because I really don’t want to finish the “It all began” chapters.

See, that is my problem. I get bored.

I get bored with people; hence the short terms relationships and so lack of commitment. I hate repetition. Other attractive ladies effortlessly distract me and my mind wanders while the person I am theoretically “getting to know better,” chats my ears off.

I hate hurting people; I hate to lead women on. I hate not being able to tell them that I am not interested. I don’t even know the best approach for these kinds of situations – so I shun them.

I know there may be a few people I’ve dated or hooked up with in the past who are avid readers of this confession space. Knowing that, sometimes limits the stories I want to write about; either they involve something that they did or it involves how I felt about them. I was serious I when I said I would not date any of my readers.

How can I when they would know all about me and judge me before I even got a chance to explain my Barbie experiments, the many girls I slept with, my social life, the parties I have to go to, the elaborate relationships I had in the past. How can I date someone who knows all about it?

Trust me, I am all about being truthful in a relationship. Sometimes, secrets are meant to be secrets. I like being anonymous. I like that some of my readers don’t know who I am. I like the anonymity.

I’d like to keep it that way.

There were times when I wanted to start all over, a new blog, a new mystery lady. But I just couldn’t retire Confessions of a NYC lezie. This is who I am. Some of you judge my life and others compliment my writing style. Thank you to both.

And so, if you know me – either you are my friend, and ex-lover or someone I was “getting to know better”; it is your choice to stop reading. My quest to confess will thrive.

Get ready. This is a carte blanche. No mercy.

My mom and I had a long conversation about my new view on life the other night after we saw The Skin of Our Teeth. Now I admit I get overly emotional to these kinds of things but my mother has an uncanny ability to sharpen every blow to hit you at the very deepest and most vulnerable place. It makes you want to fight her even if she's right. But then you are left so bruised and dazed that you don't know what to think. You start seeing all your behavior laid out before you in glaring burning letters: selfishness, thoughtlessness, disregard for the feelings of others again and again and again. And I start to doubt my own emotional responses - what is my subconscious agenda? I end up feeling so helpless and worthless and looking at her heart so raw in the face that I become incredibly depressed. It’s hard to get perspective, to grab hold of anything constructive from a place like that. But the other night, I saw another woman – it was not my mother.

I was deeply shaken by Mrs. Antrobus' announcement that "life is never how you hoped it would be, but somehow you go on". I was almost scared to, but I asked my mom if that was true. How horrible if that is true. I do hope I might get SOME of the things I hope for. I'm not asking for fame or fortune, I would just like to curl up at night with a partner who loves me and feel good. I don't see why that wouldn't be possible, it’s not a lot to ask. And to do something that means something to me. That's all I really want. I want it to MEAN SOMETHING and feel good about it. There are people who get that sort of thing. Aren't there?Anyhow it all feeds into my new realization: that you cannot live your life for the end result. It is the journey of life that makes life worth anything. Because you should never quite get there maybe - maybe death should interrupt it all, and then you should say, "Oh I was almost there, but look how far I came!" I don't know.

I saw 'Away From Her' with Julie Christie, who I imagine is the most beautiful woman who ever lived. She has the most profound and untarnishable beauty and grace. I would like to be a woman like that. Her beauty is pervasive, it spreads around her and splashes and spills away from each footstep she makes. Loveliness is a halo around her head and she makes everything lovely by shining upon it.

I would love to be a woman like that.

Its ok if I'm not, but I aspire to that. I suppose you are born with it or you aren't. She was probably that beautiful from birth. I am normally beautiful I suppose, but no more than normal. I am not extraordinary.

I would like to be, but if my exterior is never extraordinary that would be fine.

Everyone knows how much I hate Tim Gunn. I only watch 'Project Runway' because I love Heidi Klum and Nina Garcia's opinions of what constitutes "fashion". NO, I do not love Tim Gunn and his quiet stoicism and fake enthusiastic voice with the contestants. But funny enough, as much as I hate him I have gone out of my way to watch his new show 'Tim Gunn's Guide to Style'.

I caught the show while eating lunch and within 10 minutes I was shocking on my food, vomiting and crying in disgust. On this show everything I hate about Gunn is multiplied to the 10th power. He's an ass and tough and is never encouraging. I decided then and there that if I had my own personal Tim Gunn, kind of like a cross between Jeeves and a really great gay roommate it would be something like this:

I picture us in a couple different scenarios:

1. It's a Sunday night. I'm knitting and Tim's reading. No, Tim's knitting too. As he reaches for his cup of tea he catches my profile. Very nonchalantly he says:

- "NYC.Lezie? I think you may be due for a facial."
- "Am I, Tim?"- "Yes, your pores are starting to resemble the Con Ed midtown sinkhole. I'll call Svetlana tomorrow."
I reach over and squeeze his hand.
"Thanks Tim – I fucking hate you."

2. It's a Tuesday morning. I'm getting ready for work. Tim wanders in and sits on the bed. Crosses his legs and says:

- "You're not seriously wearing that."
- "Oh, okay. How about with these pants?"
- "45-year old soccer moms are more stylish."
- "What about this?"
- "No. Just - no."
- "I'm running out of ideas here, Tim."

He walks over and grabs a dress out of the closet, puts his hand on his chin while considering what shoes to pair with it, then points to the box while plucking one of my Chanel scarves out obscurity.

- "Fucking A. How do you do that?"
- "It's a gift."


3. It's Wednesday at 3:30. I'm just about to eat a Snickers bar when the phone rings.

- "Hello?"
- "Put the Snickers bar down and get a yogurt."
-Click-

4. It's early Saturday morning. We're on a Hampton Jitney to The Springs so crowded we're forced not to sit together. My cell phone beeps I have a text message.

- "Christ, I can see your roots from the back of the bus."
- "I can't help it! My stylist is on vacation!"
- "Get some Clairol or something. Just...make it work."


I hate you, Tim.
Xoxoxoxo

PS: I am assuming The German is a fan, so I apologize.

Magazine Editor-In-Chief

Ambitious. Driven. Valedictorian. Do these words sound familiar? Calling you an over-achiever would be a huge understatement. Besides, you've probably known what you've wanted to do since you were like twelve and were the first person in your class to get a PalmPilot. Someone like you would
never waste their time in a dead-end field. You need a fast-paced environment with lots of room for advancement and personal recognition. And what better way to show everyone just how much you rock than with your own byline and eventually your own magazine. You could so rule the world of publishing, that is.

---first of all I was totally bored and took this career test and look what I got...seriously...can it be any more a slap in the face??

then again, it was from that 13 going on 30 website.