Jirrmanda in NYC

Saturday April 10th at 6h22 pm:


Before we even got off the train a rogue hustler attempted to swindle me and Amanda out of $20. It didn’t work out so well for him. Once I saw him reach for his pocket to take out money my instant reaction was to sternly say, “no way,” but his eyes was n the woman sitting next to me. Even so, my assertiveness was enough to dissuade any real advances. As we got off the train, he followed Amanda, who was trying to be nice enough to the guy, but still retain her air of lacking interest. I rushed around a small throng of people, with gliding suitcases lingering behind them, in an attempt to give us some distance, but Amanda lost me for a few seconds. After spotting me again, she rushed away from the swindler-in-training and attached herself to my arm. We chuckled shortly about the instance, fully aware of what his intentions had been.
Next, we find ourselves four minutes away—by car—to the MoMA, where we were to explore the fascinating world of Tim Burton’s amazing creations, sketches, videos, and character figurines (both play-sized and real-sized). Being a Saturday, it was inevitable that the crowds would play their roles in irritating the crap out of us from time to time, but it was worth every drop of sweat, every unapologetic nudge and push; every cry of the babes that should not have been there, just to bear witness to such a great, intriguing mind of dark mysterious, artistic genius.
“If I could have my absolute dream wedding…” I said at one point to my sexy partner in crime, “I swear I would have Dave Tuterra and Tim Burton design my masquerade wedding.”
Oh yeah, and did I mention that I had almost paid $84 for the 5 minute cab-ride there? Yeah, this is why one MUST pay attention to every detail that is the great, fabulous, and never-resting New York City. I thought the number key pad that thrust itself upon the taxi-cab screen was for my PIN number, because I paid with my debit card…but OH NO! it was for the tip, which I had intended to pay with the $3 in my hand. The excitement and thrill of being in the city had completely engorged my sense of commonness and flung it out the window, into the chilled air of New England’s spring-time. Luckily, I was caught before any damage was done and had plenty to spend on interesting, fun things; including the pomegranate mojito and margarita I had at Sinigual, a Contemporary Mexican Cuisine restaurant on THRID STREET NOT 42nd St. Amanda and I were slightly misguided by googlemaps.
We had not eaten all day, took too long for us women to get ready and our train schedule was out of synch with reality, but we made it safe and sound and strutted through the crowds that wouldn’t move, crossed streets where we shouldn’t have and dodged incoherent cat calls, even though we were slightly amused and took them for compliments.
Our gaydars were off like car horns on the busy streets of the rumbling city, and we wanted to take them all home for pets. Big gay pets, that would crack the best jokes until our abs burned so much we’d have a six-pack in a week. Pets that would shop with us, as they have a better sense of fashion than I. Pets what would party and make drama that served a purpose for entertainment rather than agitation. They were all so adorable, even the ones we didn’t talk to could still be pegged as gay. Like the one who may have had a bad day previously, until smiling like a child after having home-made cookies for lunch, instead of desert. He strut down the sidewalk carrying more than enough shopping bags for three. Who can’t be cured with retail therapy?
And now we sit on the train, facing the city we never really want to leave, can never visit enough, but only rarely visit due to financial difficulties. Stamford or New Haven? Which is the one we have to be on? Information told us three minutes we had to get to track 105 for New Haven. Damnit, I knew that was the one. Like the scene in Home Along “run run Rudolf” ran through both our minds as we partially sprinted across Grand Central station, down the stairs, through the good court and onto platforms…hm, something and 105. One more cat-call of the simplest courtesy: “beautiful…” and a quick attentive and appreciative reply of: “thank you!” escaped my lips, as I scuttled behind Amanda and onto the train home. There was no time for hesitation, only now can I think to imagine my reluctance to leave this excitingly busy landscape. Back to a home where my heart lives not, back to a reality where my mind is constricted by unhappy responsibilities and riddled with a select few persons who help maintain my sanity. I can only be thankful for the contentions I do find scarcely from day to day, and hope, tentatively, that my life will become far more interesting and fulfilling than now.