Scratching waffles...

As readers of my former blog (I’m With Stupid) already know, I was, for a span of about five months, networking within the NYC entertainment industry with such vigor that I hardly occupied my own apartment beyond the realm of sleep. Every night was a dinner, a showcase, a movie premiere, something, anything and everything that helped me ignore what was going on in my personal life. I believed if I kept going at full force the pain would disperse without me ever realizing it was there in the first place. But, pain, like my two year old goddaughter, refuses to be ignored for too long before it yanks at your sleeve and reminds you that it exists and wants attention. When I could no longer outrun the inevitable, it hit me with such momentum that as I recover, the memory of what brought it on in the first place is completely jumbled.

As it soaked through, my presence on the scene of what’s hot and new began to fade and I had all but given up on New York in general. The congestion, the rudeness, the fakeness, the despair of feeling like you’ll never get to where you want to go because a million people are aiming for your same goal. I had reached a boiling point and my only solace was lying on the couch of my cozy apartment which I had neglected for so long. Maybe the fast life wasn’t the one I wanted after all. Maybe it was a phase and I was done with it. My 25th year is around the corner, but as I’ve been told by many, my “old soul” brings me to a ripened age of 29ish. Time moves so fast that I’m convinced I’ll be 30 if I blink ten times and what will I have to show for it? Where will I be in my life? Will I be happy?

Yesterday, a Monday of all days, I was forced by the power of camaraderie to get my fat ass off the couch and out the door to the birthday event of a fast friend we’ll call DJ Waffle. His big 40th birthday on a Monday night in the Meat Packing District of NYC, and I was called to attend. I couldn’t go in it alone so I invited my ever sophisticated and trendy friends Chris and Fred, better known as FnkSqd, to follow suit. Coming from different areas of the tri-state, me from Staten Island and them from Baruch on 23rd, we decided to just meet up at the spot.

At 9:45pm I was still sitting at the edge of my couch watching the last few minutes of Heroes, the new sci-fi Xmen-ish type show on NBC that I swear I could have written had I just given more time to my imagination as a teenager.

“You realize you’re going to be late if you don’t leave now, right?” Mr. Man said to me through my cheesy headset. I wear it because holding my ridiculously small phone to my ear for long periods of time gives me cramps.

“Yea, but I need to know if Peter can fly.”

Mr. Man laughed at me.

It turned out Peter may or may not be able to fly, but his brother sure can. Very cool.

“Ok, I’m out. Off to industry night.”

“Good luck.”

With quickness I wasn’t sure I still possessed, I grabbed all the necessary items (lip gloss, ID, dinero) and headed out to the city. Arriving in the MPD only twenty minutes later, I wrestled with the thought of parking my car in a secluded area of the West Side Highway. Furthermore, I contemplated giving a homeless dude $10 to watch my car for the night then thought better against it, figuring he might get too excited with the money and leave to use it. I said a small prayer for my car then ran across the non-lit street towards the lounge. I passed an open fish market and nearly gagged. I hate NYC!

A few moments later I was inside the lounge meeting up with Chris and Fred. A thin brunette with a British accent who out-dressed me by a 1000 asked for our last names. I started to sweat. I didn’t realize this was an invite only party and was suddenly scared Waffle would have forgotten to include me. I blurted out my last name and to my delight my ass was saved! I was on the list, and C&F were allowed to follow. We clambered down the steps to the lower level and on his was up was Waffle.

“Yo! There’s the birthday boy!” I shouted above the music with a smile.

“Elle J!” he returned with a big hug. That’s one of the things about Waffle that I love, he looks genuinely happy to see anyone and everyone, he could care less who the media says you are or aren’t. He thanked me and the boys for showing up and invited us to chow down on some home made waffles being served at the bar. It doesn’t get better than that.

The three of us found our niche at the bar, ordered some beers and scanned the crowd. Chris spotted Dr Dre, radio DJ and TV show host. I spotted Judy Marte, female lead in Raising Victor Vargas, one of my fav independent films ever. And Fred spotted Rosie Perez.

“I want to ask Rosie to dance,” Fred said, then proceeded to pump his pelvis the way only Fred can.

“Um, you do that and I’m going to pretend I don’t know you,” I said. Chris nodded his head in agreement.

Waffle luckily interrupted Fred’s ambitions with a speech thanking everyone for attending. I reached into my purse to whip out my camera, the one I take everywhere, the one that has captured every moment of fun I’ve experienced over the last few years. It’s also, apparently, the one I left at home! I was so tight at myself that I believe I turned four shades of red.

Fred sighed at the news of my absentee camera, “Now we’ll never have proof we experienced this.”
Carajo! I took a deep breath and then forgot about it. The three of us dove into a conversation about sex and orgasms, typical, while we downed a couple of more beers and watched the crowd. When the boys took a cigarette break, I sat at the bar alone and people watched.

The atmosphere, the vibe, the sounds, they were all very distinct. Distinct to New York City. They are irreplaceable. Even in a place like Miami where I’m contemplating to relocate. This is what I’ll miss about New York, these small communities of people that are genuine, who embrace you with love even if they don’t know your last name (or real one if you constantly go by an alias like myself). I’m not sure I’ll find that outside of these dirty streets.

A few hours later the old lady bug was biting me and I started to yawn. The guys agreed it was time to head out and prepare for the long work day to follow. We were probably the only 9-5ers there. I waved goodbye to Waffle and lead the way to the cool autumn evening. I parted from the boys and walked to my car smelling the crisp air. A thin line was being drawn between my love and disgust of NYC, but on what side of that line do I finally fall?