531. NO MORE TAKING ADVANTAGE OF DESI GIRL

Meera and I are eating at Meridana. The Upper West Side Italian place we dined at just before her daughter was born. Unlike last time, this time nothing I order seems to be available. All the specials are no longer available. The pasta dishes that I want are no longer available either.

“Okay, well then I need a minute,” I tell the waiter. If you can believe he SIGHS at me, then makes a face. Excuse me? Is he for real? Nothing I want to eat is available, and I am not that fussy. I just don’t eat beef and I am not in the mood for one of the fish dishes that he trying to shove down my gullet. I am sure the fish dishes are over $30 too, which is probably why he is pushing them. After he leaves, darkness cascades across my face. I can feel it and see it in Meera’s face. “Don’t let him ruin our night,” she says. “It’s just, well, he…” I mutter. I know she is right. Why I am letting someone who just lost their tip get under my skin is unknown to me.

“So tell me about dating. Have you heard from Town and Country?” Meera asks. Ugh. Because it was embarrassing and slightly humiliating to be yelled at via text message by a guy who I clearly liked and lusted after more than he for me. I sort of just tucked the Town and Country Finale away.  I just didn’t want to think about it or deal with it anymore so I just didn’t really tell anyone right away.  And since he had exited stage right, or left, or just exited out. What did it matter?

And now that I have had some time with my thoughts, I wonder what was so attractive about him that he was like an obsession, like a drug. I mean sure he was smart, funny, witty, self-deprecating. And there was something sexy about him and physically attractive. He had a decent body. He did have hairy knuckles, which never bothered me. But he could also be a jerk. A total a-hole when he felt like it. I know it was not his money. If I wanted to be with him because he was rich I know I would have done insane things to catch his attention. Maybe it was as simple (and sad) as wanting what I could not have. I don’t know. I don’t know how this happened.

I really have to stop throwing myself under a bus and vow that this will never happen to me again. No more taking advantage of Desi Girl. Maybe I should take every opportunity I have to disclose what transpired between Town and Country and I. Maybe having to hear how dumb I was will shake me back into my senses.

530. RUSH SEATS FOR CARMEN

I think aliens have removed a lobe of my brain and replaced it with spicy mango achar. I am in a LOOOONG line at 3 pm for rush seats for the Opera Carmen. A friend of mine who is an Opera buff recommended this as a way to see great shows at an inexpensive price. And based on the line that is wrapping around the concrete catacombs of the Metropolitan Opera lower level, I am not the only one in search of discounted culture.

As I stand in this line that does not move, it strikes me that I am living in one of the most vibrant, energetic cities in the world and not taking advantage of it. There are not many places in the world where you can shop Bergdorf’s, Tom Ford, Gucci, Pucci, and Barneys (not that I shop at these places) by day; and then eat street-side halal food after a concert, show or sporting event or at 3:00 am. While Times Square is totally annoying, it has a primal pulse, a corner where the world comes together.

What about all the other things that this City has to offer? Ballet. Jazz. Mary Poppins. Lion King. Wicked. The list of theatre shows I want to see seems to multiple each year, except sadly, when I tally count the productions I have seen, it is a sad three shows.

I have not dined on Italian on Arthur Street. It has been months since I went to the temple or shopped at Patel Brothers in Queens. When was the last time I lounged in Williamsburg? I went to Coney Island once, but I didn't skip along the boardwalk or ride the ferris wheel.

I think I need to add dating Manhattan to my resolutions list. Who knows where life takes you. And if the day comes when I leave New York, I don’t want to have missed something amazing because I was busy doing something mundane.

529. SOMETIMES GIRLS NEED TO BE GIRLS WITH THEIR GIRLS

I get to Harry’s Café and Steak. The warm bar is a nice reprieve from the January wind licking my cheeks. The bar’s ambience is as warm as the heat, wood panel walls, faux leather booths, deep, rich wood and floors. I feel certain back in the 1920’s fancy and elegant New Yorkers dined the night away here.

I unwrap a hot pink scarf from around my neck and peer around the bar. No sign of Siobhan. Her friend Olivia is supposed to join us. I have never met Olivia. Nor do I know what she looks like. I am just hedging a chance that the woman sitting alone in the booth to the left is Olivia.

“Olivia?” I ask. “Yes,” she replies. “I am Siobhan’s friend. Desi Girl,” I say and slide into the booth. “Oh good to meet you. I was worried how I would find you. Siobhan said you were Indian. But you don’t look like I thought you would,” Olivia shares. Okay. Whatever that means, I think and wave a waitress over to order a glass of red wine. It is WAY too cold for sauvignon blanc tonight.

Olivia and I are chatting making small talk when Siobhan arrives and slides into the booth next to us. “How did you find her?” Siobhan asks Olivia about me. “She found me,” Olivia says. “Of course she did,” Siobhan says and gives me a sassy look. Siobhan orders wine and we continue talking. We order food. More talking. Cost of living in New York. Clothes. Shoes. Bags. Shake Shack (Siobhan LOVE LOVE LOVES this place). Then suddenly sports. Hockey to be exact. Olivia shares that she and Siobhan have recently been to a Rangers game. An excellent place to meet men. “We are going next week, again, you should come with us,” Siobhan says. “I am not into sports. But I am into stadium food. Nachos. Yum,” I say.

They nod and continue. The arena is loud, fun and filled with an electric air. They are gushing, beer, gushing, boys, gushing until I speak. “I don’t know. I much prefer collegiate hockey. I think the kids skate with more passion. The games are cleaner, smoother, better refs. Less violence…” I am saying when I stop. Siobhan and Olivia are staring at me. “What?” I ask. Siobhan shakes her head at me. “You just said you are not into sports,” Siobhan says. “I am not. However, some times I know stuff and that allows me to share a nice and appropriate and accurate, sports reference out of my as,” I reply. Also SUPER helpful, Desi Brother is a major University of Minnesota Golden Gopher fan, and he has taken me to games as his guest.

“Clearly!” Siobhan says.

We end up spending the whole night in Harry’s talking and laughing and being fabulous on a Friday night. We don’t stop to take notice of one single man. And that is okay. Sometimes girls just need to be girls with their girls.

528. DESI GIRL AND HER RESOLUTIONS

I have made some progress thus far in reference to my resolutions.

For my mind and body, over the course of the past four days, I have taken one spin class, two zumba classes (both zumba classes confirm that I can’t perform any dance other than bhangra --- unrelatedly, while fun, zumba is a major workout!), and one pilates class.I take a ballet class on Saturday. God help me, grace I ain't got. And I doubt my tippy toes want to support my body weight, but alas we will see! I looked into a yoga studio too, but that monthly membership costs more than my gym membership. Since I have made no progress on the job front yet, I am in no position to bandy about with my money.

It has been weeks, three I would guess since I have heard from Town and Country. No longer do the sharp edges and daggers of his words sting,  “Yes you can be honest. You know. I do lots of nice things for people. No one has ever done this to me. I don’t need this from you. I don’t need friends like you. If you need thank you then you can go.”

Getting into a friendship/relationship/whatever the hell that was over text messages was a first. And I think he absolutely over-reacted. He went ape shit over "thank you"? Don't normal people say thank you, please adn you're welcome? Maybe it was good to see the un-hinged side of Mr. Successful Businessman. I mean there was the smart, funny, witty, generous side. And the physical attraction. But this was good, letting my attraction for him roll around in the ugly and jaggedness of his darkness. And you know what, I doubt I would ever really be ready to meet someone else with the lingering possibility of Town and Country lurking. Now that that door is shut, maybe a new door is opening to the possibilities.

Time too has been good for me. I have gone through the cycle of emotions. Heartbreak, sadness, some denial, loss, grief, acceptance, hope and finally being able to force myself back into the world of dating. Which is what Siobhan and I are doing tomorrow. We are going down to Wall Street, to Harry’s and maybe Ulysses Folk House on Stone Street.  Ulysses is not of my fave places, but if that is where the men are I will give it a go. I am willing to try anything once (as long as it is not illegal or maims me).

527. A NEW AND RESOLVED DESI GIRL

Okay. It is a new year; it is a new and resolved me. And here are my resolutions.

1. Find a job: One that can sustain a lifestyle in New York. No I am not looking to be a cake eating Park Avenue silicone Barbie Doll. But I’d like to own an apartment in the City, put some money into savings, and take a vacation or two each year. Enjoy food and wine with good friends. Not worry about living paycheck to paycheck.  I don’t want a car. I don’t need a car. I don’t want a boat.  I don’t need a boat. Or kids. Or a dog. Just my version of the Indo-American dream.
2. Find a man: Nice segue into, I have not heard from Town and Country since the hat debacle. No Merry Christmas wishes (fine we’re Hindu). No Happy New Year wishes either. If I can be honest, I am kinda relieved that he put an end to what I would not. What I could not end. So once and for all I can move on and find THE ONE. Town and Country’s birthday went by and I decided this year, not to wish him. Not to be petty. But not to be pathetic. Who wishes happy birthday to someone who just screamed at you via text message two weeks ago? And told you they don’t want to be friends (nice to see our inner seventh grader is alive and well). Only a truly insane or unstable person. And you know what; I’m not right for him. Nor he for me. So this is all for the best.
3. Find my inner voice: Okay, I moved to New York to find a man and write novels. Just because I ain’t got no man, doesn’t mean my pen (or in this case PC) doesn’t work. I signed up for memoir, and blogging classes, and yes finally, this month I will establish my public blog.  I will put it all out there and if only person reads it and enjoys it --- then all the work and effort will be worth it.
4. Beverages: I should cut back on the coffee, cut out the Diet Coke and stop drinking --- hhhmm, okay, I will leave those for next year!

Ah. Big sigh. 2010. I am ready for you.

526. I AM HOME

Out of nowhere. Out of the clouds. All of a sudden. Lights. Lights. Lights and lights. From my aisle seat I look to the left and then I look to the right and in the distance thousands of yellow and white lights litter the landscape below. As the plane descends, the lights intensify. Nothing but lights, lights, lights. Then to the left, the bottom of Manhattan appears, the buildings of Wall Street give way to the buildings of Midtown. My heart beats a little faster. The sight of the isle of Manhattan sometimes takes my breath away.

When you are living tightly against millions of people, fighting to get on the 6 train, dragging bags of groceries up four flights of steps, wondering who stole your newspaper, wondering why people don’t curb their dogs, wondering why trash is piling up on the sidewalk --- you don’t stop to take in the urban beauty. It is from 10,000 feet above that the city looks inviting, amazing, tantalizing, breath-taking, possible. No one really appreciates or realizes what it takes to live in this City, much less “make it”. That saying, “if you can make here (NYC) you can make it anywhere” is VERY true. The City is relentless and unforgiving. But at the same time it is exhilarating and exciting. I love this City.

From above the water, the plane swoops in and tires hit the tarmac. The jet roars and slows, taxiing to from the runway to the gate. I deplane, drag my carry-on to the bus stop, wait for the bus, get on the bus, get off the bus in Harlem, get on the 6 train, get off the 6 train, drag my bags to the apartment building, carry them up 4 flights of stairs, unlock my apartment, drop my bags in the corner and flop onto my bed.

I lay there for a few minutes and then get up. I look at my bags and consider unpacking. I really should get dinner. But it is late and I am tired. So I change into my jam-jams, brush my teeth, remove my contacts, wash my face and get into bed. I pull the covers over my body and under my chin. Even with the apartment lights off the apartment is not dark. There is always light in this City. It is never dark. Then I hear it. Honking. Sirens. And ahhhh. Like that, I am home. This is home. I am home.