Date Night - Thunderstorms and Hyperbole

The boy and I have decided to defy the constraints of an impossible work schedule and try to make Wednesday our midweek date night.  Woohoo!!

After reaching what I can only assume was 627 degrees we had one of those storms that I so love in the city.  Here's an Instagram picture captured by Dhani Jones showing how cool this one was.  That's over my hood, y'all.

In light of such an intense downpour, I had to rush home after work to change out of my peep toes and silk shirt and into a tank top, fedora, and messy bun before heading to Ali's Kebab Cafe.  So weird, but I went here literally a year ago today with my friend Jared.  Such a strange little factoid.  The food was still to die for (even if a bit experimental for me), and Ali was still just as charmingly amazing as he was a year ago.

Sometimes dates are lovey-dovey, sometimes they're passionate, sometimes they're hysterical fun.  This one was just us chatting about work, chatting about family, chatting about friends, and most importantly discussing the intricacies of our newest obsession - The Astoria Penetrator.  Don't ask for details from either of us unless you want a serious earful.  Just know it involves Astoria, a ninja, racism, and exaggerated implausibilities at their finest... what isn't worthy of hours of discussion about any of that*?!

Happy Date Day, gentle readers.  I've missed you...

*For those who don't know me extremely well, I'm known to get on controversial soapboxes, on occasion, and not get off them for days (or longer).  This ranges from injustices being done to serious issues in the community to simple annoying pet peeves that crawl all over me.  Who knew I'd locate someone who feels the same way and also likes to discuss ad nauseum WITH me?!

Stressful Summer

Summer is half over and needless to say it's been a little stressful.  Some things at work changed and change is always awkward.  My health has been... well, it's been stupid.  I had a little setback on the neuro front, and now I'm on some dumb new meds that are taking some getting used to.  Being in a romantic relationship is definitely challenging when dealing with summer schedules.  Heat waves suck.

HOWEVER...

Here are some awesome things about the summer of 2012 that allow for de-stressing:

Including a Hantz, a Boogie, a Jani, a Razorback, a Coach, and a Chen-Bot

Including Mia Michaels, which is sure to produce tears

Including an Altar Boy, a Greek goddess, 2 Taylors, and John Carter

Sun flares at the Frying Pan (and their signature sangria)

Including a Phelps, a Lochte, and 2.5 weeks of awesome

And a beautiful city

When those de-stressors take hold, I realize that I have a great job that I truly love.  I have amazing progressive doctors who give me meds that suck just to make me better.  Being in love is wonderful (who knew?!) especially when the dude is pretty awesome (and hilarious to boot).  And the heat wave has periodic breaks...like the upcoming weekend.

Here's the rest of the summer being all downhill, less stressful, and just all around easier.

The Running Life of a New Yorker

This song speaks to me.  I think it could to a lot of New Yorkers.  I think it could to anyone who desires to have their bills paid by their creativity.  I know my loves who have chosen the grueling life as a performer will.  This is for you... you know who you are.

Adam Gwon: brilliant lyricist/composer.

Andrew Keenan-Bolger: multi-talented guy (currently seen 8 times a week at Newsies)

Maddy Trumble: lovely interpreter with a gorgeous voice

What a Lady

A year ago I had just returned from a trip to Arkansas, where I was so fortunate to be able to spend some time with my great grandmother, my Mamaw B. My dad had forewarned me that she may not recognize me, but when I got to 36th Street, it was as if nothing was wrong at all -- family in and out of the kitchen, on and off the porch, and back and forth between boisterous and thoughtful. At one point Mamaw got tired and said she was ready for a nap but told us to not let her departure keep us from visiting. I helped walk her into the bedroom where she took my face in her hands and said, "I pray for you and your happiness every day. I just want you to know that." These are words that I have cherished for the past year more than you can fathom.

(Remember when I was blonde??)

There was a moment at her funeral that hit me hard. She never really traveled, she was never loaded with money, she was never defined by her career, she only loved one man, but her legacy was extraordinary. The overflowing room where her life was celebrated, filled with flowers and laughter and friends, was beautiful. And I wondered, will I have that? Am I on a track to touch that many lives for the good? Is my playful life really making a difference? Or am I just flitting about from moment to moment as life hits me? And I realized that’s what she meant… “I pray for your happiness every day.” An unsettled life can be loads of fun, but it’s not truly and deeply happy.

Her presence in my life, even from 1200 miles away, through the hustle and bustle of NYC is profoundly missed. It's funny. After I returned from her funeral (which was a trip I debated whether to make and am so glad I did... those few days were some of my best memories), I kept thinking about just how lucky I am to have had such a force to follow. I'll never be a mother to 4, grandmother to 16, great grandmother to 32, or great-great grandmother to 26. I’ll never be a pillar in a small community. I'll never be able to say I lived in the same house for 73 years. I'll never sit on my porch swing while telling my granddaughter from NYC that I've figured out the drug-dealers’ signs across the street (plant on the porch = open for business; no plant = keep driving). I can, however, show care for my family and friends the way she did. I can strive to make the world a better place and hope to succeed if only a fraction of the way she did. I can stand up for what I believe in while never making people with differing opinions feel bad or stupid or less. I can sing at a moment's notice just because the mood strikes me. I can make peanut butter cookies. I can wear fun hats and endless smiles. I can love.

One year ago the world lost the best person I ever knew, but we’re somehow still celebrating her life. I went on Facebook this morning, and was taken aback at just how many people had written about their love for this woman, funny stories about her, and just how much they miss having her in their lives day-to-day. What a life! What a lady…

(One of my favorite places with one of my favorite people)

**Click here for a copy of her obituary.  And here for my thoughts last year.**

Welcomed Predicament

I’ve been in a predicament. Granted it’s a predicament that I am not remotely complaining about. The past few months my calendar has been full of guests, opening nights, and RuPaul’s Drag Race (yay, Sharon!!), but a decent chunk of my down time has been occupied by a new and unexpected adventure as well. This blog is entitled “EnJOYing Life, Love, and Adventures in NYC,” but I’ve been in a quandary about sharing any of those three for fear of jinxing things, for fear of over-thinking things, for fear of pushing this adventure to its limit, for fear of "Being Alive."

I mentioned him here. He’s a version of George Bailey meets Roger Sterling (and I do so need a Roger in my efforts to morph into Joan Holloway). He cheered me on at a race in the snow.  He created a dessert based on my favorite foods with no recipe. He had food delivered the day after I had to make a trip to the ER for over-swollen tonsils (I know, I know, I need to have those removed). He takes me to the opera. He buys me macarons and braves Times Square to bring me coffee. He lassoed the moon. He makes me laugh.

So I’m ending this predicament today. I’m choosing to share this unplanned, exciting, and whole new portion of my adventures with you, gentle readers.

Like… next week. We’re going to this little piece of paradise, and I can’t wait to tell you all about it:

Welcome to the next chapter…

Cracking Wrists

There’s a preacher in North Carolina who gave a sermon this past Sunday admonishing his congregation to crack the wrists of their male toddlers who might show signs of too much femininity. He gives them a special dispensation to punch the boys in order to man them up. He also allows for girls to play sports as long as they are pretty some of time too.

Those who know me well know I’m no fighter. In fact I lean toward pacifism more often than not. I will make an exception in the case of Mr. Sean Harris. My prayer for him is that this fear provoking his hatred and violence be personified and paid back to him ten-fold.  I'll provide a special dispensation... because apparently we can just do that.

The rage that is surging within me is fueled by a mixture of fury that in 2012 we still deal with this, disgust that the congregation heard in the above clip finds it both funny and agreeable, and mostly intense sadness. I’m terribly sad that close personal friends of mine had to hear this kind of tripe growing up. I’m heavy-hearted knowing that this clip might send them back into painful memories of families who don’t accept the way God or the Universe or whatever you believe in made them. I’m tearful at the plausibility that these people who have changed my life for the better just by being amazing don’t get to share that with their families fully, if at all.

And with that, I share this. I’m putting my southern, lady-like sensibilities to the side for 3 minutes, 36 seconds. To Sean Harris and all the other hateful, sad, disillusioned, so-called Christians, this is for you.  Sometimes a girl just has to let the bluntness of music speak for her.

Hey. I Did It.

I finished a half marathon.

I’m not sure where to begin or how many details to give you, gentle readers.  So I’ll start from the beginning.

Remember this?  That was the day I wanted to run away, but I had no idea where to go.  So I dug into the back of my closet and found some sneakers.  I put on a winter hat to keep out the cold.  I gave myself some pigtails, and I went out in the heart of Washington Heights.  I disregarded doctors who said I couldn’t do too much cardio.  I didn’t care that medical professionals said I should constantly mind my heart rate and blood pressure to avoid having seizures.  I had to run.  So I did.  I ran until I couldn’t breathe.  I ran until I didn’t feel anger or pain or anything.  I just ran.  I got about a mile and thoughts started creeping in,

(This was me that first run back in 2006.  My tweezers were clearly packed away...)

“Maybe the doctors are right.  Maybe I shouldn’t do this.”

I turned around and walked home.  On that mile walk back down Fort Washington Avenue from Fort Tryon Park, those thoughts changed,

“Stop it.  You can do anything you want.  If you want to run, then run.  You are in control for once.  Don’t let that go.”

This became my motto:

I decided I was going to eventually work up to running a half marathon.  I had no idea how long it would take.  I didn’t care.  I needed a long-term goal in the back of my mind.  I needed something just for me that only I could work toward.  I knew I would have a number of impediments along the way, and I didn’t care.

I went to the doctor for one of my many check-ups.  Dr. Rein is a former runner herself.  She was supportive but echoed my realistic fears that this just might be too much.  She gave me signs to watch for, and gave me words of caution that unlike 100% healthy people, I would need to hold off on overly stressful days.  When life caved in, I wouldn’t be able to relieve the stress with a nice run in the park.  I would have to take those days off and keep my heart and brain in check.  My other two doctors were not completely in agreement with Dr. Rein.  The neurologist (who I find to be a imbecile with a God complex anyway… and I subsequently no longer see) said I needed to stay on the meds I was on which would not work with a training schedule necessary to complete a goal of running a half marathon.  My gynecologist said it would be ok on some fronts but that overall it might not be a great idea on others that I won’t go into here… (TMI, Joy)

I went online and downloaded the Chubby Jones podcast for Couch-to-5K runners from iTunes.  I can’t say enough what a believer I am in this system.  If any of you want to run a 5k, or a 10k, or just get your butt off the couch, do.this.program.  Start tomorrow.  Start next weekend.  But do it.  It’s a 9-week to prep you for a 5k. 

My 9-week program took 9 months.  And I still had to walk some of the race.  There were days of stress I had to take off… in fact there were weeks here and there of stress.  There were days of seizures as I weaned off the meds.  There were also days of frustration at my progress, or lack thereof.

Shortly after I did that first 5k in Central Park, I had a gyno check-up like I too often do.  I didn’t get great news.  She (and her horrific bedside manner) told me I’d need to stop running for awhile while I went through a little treatment plan to rid my bizness of some bad cells and polyps and cysts.  I was disheartened.  She saw my face fall and assured me I’d be able to pick it up again once we got this taken care of.  Of course she also told me that my lacking sex life was not helping the situation and I needed to get a boyfriend.  (See? Horrific bedside manner... again, TMI, Joy)

I left her office upset on a number of levels.  But the biggest disappointment was that I had become accustomed to running in the evenings.  I felt good about doing something for myself for the first time ever.  So I planned a trip to Paris in the meantime.

A few months later I was able to resume the running.  However, I was nearly back to square one.  So I picked up my trusty ipod and downloaded Chubby’s newest C25K podcast.  This time it only took about 4 months to get back to a 5k status.

Fast forward to the summer of 2011.

I started training for a half marathon scheduled for the end of September.  I used Jeff Galloway’s program.  Then I got an awful case of strep throat.  I lost some training time and went to the doctor in August.  She said I couldn’t do the half.  It was going to be just a bit too much to push in the coming weeks.

Trying to do what I was told, Katie and I ran a 5k through Animal Kingdom, and I vowed to myself to continue the half training.

Needless to say, when I posted this, I was more than a little terrified.  And in the two months following, my life was consumed with running.  When I went to Arkansas in January, I ran.  When I had opportunities to go see Oscar nominated double-features with my peeps, I ran.  When I had the chance to go out on dates (which I'll fill you all in on that area of the ole life soon), I ran.  I ran when I hurt, I ran when I was tired, I ran when I had fever.  I even hurt my back in December and ran against the pain with the help of my physical therapist.

And on February 26th, I finished a half marathon.  It was hard.  I was in a lot of pain throughout.  I wanted to quit a couple of times.  But when I crossed that finish line, I said "Hey.  I did it."  And then I cried.  With Selby and Sal on the sidelines, Katie at my side, and a number of you in my ears through my iPod playlist, I finished a half marathon.  Me.  The girl who's sometimes physically broken.  I finished 13.1 miles.  If I can do it, anyone can.

Seriously.  I have the best friends on the planet.

*To read Katie's take on the weekend and see a few more pics, go here