Tall Tales

Do you ever just wake up one morning birthing completely different convictions from the day before? Last night, after watching the movie "August Rush" on my Continental flight into Houston, TX, I decided right then and there, that I was going to follow what practicality has always feared: becoming the next Kandinsky. And then I woke up this morning and I was a wannabe hard-core advertising exec once again.

What a tale it is, to be spoiled by options. I once met a megalomaniac at a bar on 35th Street and he told me that his only vice was being spoiled by options.

What kind of options, I asked.

"Oh you know. Brunettes from my job. Brunettes in the apartment above mine. And now, you."

I snorted and took a sip of my rum. And then I glared. At this physically flawed, blue-eyed man in the expensive Dior shirt. How is it, that YOU, have that many options, I thought. Maybe it was New York that produced him, this megalomanic, walking around in circles and circles thinking he had all the time in the world to hunt for whatever and whoever it was, that was worthy of him "giving up his freedom," that one thing that makes him say "i do. now and forever." not caring whose heart he trampled on.

But...maybe I'm one of him too. Because I've dabbled Here and There. Explored some of those options. All for my self-gratification...because for once, I wanted to live and live only for me. Not what my southern family wanted, not what my love wanted. Because once I started living for me, it was sooo damn hard to stop....

Mr. Chimney,
Where has your house gone?

Smiles on the Street

Last week, while shlepping through Soho in my 3 inch corporate black pumps on my way to a job interview, I took a turn on Greene Street hoping I could find a private nook to pull up my annoying thigh-length pantyhose (it was 40 degrees outside and I could not not wear them). Despite the cold air, it was a gorgeous sunny day in Manhattan and usually, I'd feel an uplift, but today I was thinking of home and crawfish season and how much I missed it.

Drinking my Starbucks passion tea, I scanned the storefronts, trying to walk normally as if the pantyhose wasn't already around my ankles, when I see a man in a baseball cap bursting out of a building with luggage, with a leggy blonde in tow. He puts the luggage in the trunk of his car, which is conveniently parked right in front of the building and when he turned, he looked up at me. He smiled. It was such an effortless, warm smile. I smiled right back and realized that it was HANK AZARIA. The crazy girl inside of me screamed "are you freaking stupid, go up to him and say something, get a photograph with him, do something, don't just NOT do anything! It's freakin Hank Azaria!!" But the jaded New Yorker in me won...I just gave him a glance of recognition ("well helloooo tha, Ha-ank") and let him go on about his day without interruption from a nutty fan.

Those little moments, exchanging smiles with a stranger (who happens to be a famous actor), is why i love this city. This city that wants to keep me so far away from my family. Far from my little cherub godson whose feet is growing exponentially every week, and whose favorite word is "bubbles."