I asked the love of my life, with warning but no real urgency, that if he were to pick just one song… for me, what would it be- in his beautiful mind. He chose a song that was already on my short list of Bob songs. That random selection was so overwhelmingly emotional AND spot on that I have difficulty expressing the extreme magnitude of it all.
“There’s only one step down from here, baby… It’s called the land of permanent bliss”.
This is the current (although it does change frequently) refrain of choice from one of my favourite Bob Dylan songs. Because that IS where I am headed: permanent bliss. Ha, whatever that means. It has definitely been an interesting intro to 2014. I love, more than anything, that I somehow managed to rescue the control of my own life. It had been a bit of a sinking ship since the 40th. Focusing on the victorious reclamation of my very own crazy, I have decided to flip the world as I know it upside-down. To be honest, I could not give a rat’s ass how my future actions ‘appear’ to others… at least on a personal level. What the hell does ‘not giving a rat’s ass’ even mean anyway? Do rats even have asses? I suppose they do. Where else do the pellet poops and disease come from? Umm… sidetracked.
So, I’ve contrived all my strength, and am totally capitalizing on the relationships I have nurtured over the years. I’ve always wanted to be a waif, ever since Natalie Portman described herself as one in the brilliant film: ‘Closer’. A weird thing to want, perhaps… but when this girl makes her mind up, it’s kind of a done-deal. People keep asking me, “what is a waif?” Here’s the definition along with a bit of advice to watch more independent films: 1) a piece of property found (as washed up by the sea) but unclaimed; 2) stolen goods thrown away by a thief in flight; 3) something found without an owner and especially by chance. And, oddly… I cannot wait, I am truly elated.
I will leave my ‘starter’ NYC apartment on April 30th, 2014. In my 40th year. Just seven days after one of my most favourite anniversaries. I think it is no shock that I’ve been keen on an upgrade. I am tired of the dingy, smelly elevator that fits maybe 5 humans tops, and the inexplicable inconsistency of heat. Especially through this polar vortex that seems as though it might never dissipate! Seriously: what’s a sweetheart like you doing in a dump like this.
Don’t get me wrong, I ADORE my neighbourhood and will not end up much further than a 5 short-block, 3rd-to-5th Avenue radius. My Red Bull guy, Duane Reade guy and Bistro Le Steak would be devastated otherwise! Nor can I ever stray too far from ‘the palace’. The one on 76th, not Madison and 51st. Though I have enjoyed my time at the Palace on 51st. One of the most relieving and articulate things I have done on so many levels, is give up this cozy apartment. I am a waif-in-waiting and may as well get that out of my system, before I turn 41 years old. Having stayed put another year just sounded so depressing. And really… how much longer could anyone tolerate my ‘freezing cold’ complaints? Thinking like a legitimate businesswoman, I figured I ought to embrace the move and storage of my beautiful flat, by living out my Natalie Portman waif-dream for a few months. No, you won’t find me pole-dancing at Scores in a light pink wig. But a week (or so) at my AJ and Renea’s, then Kath’s, my momma’s, Kelly in SF, Bangkok, Le Toiny in St. Barth’s, Dubai, Denver, Lucerne for an NYC water-tower tattoo, London and Washington State to meet my doppelgänger of a grand-niece… well being a waif never sounded more fun! Eat your heart out Natalie and Jude! I will have plenty of stopovers in my beloved upper east side palace between the drifting. And a permanent return to the ‘hood like you’ve never seen before! Come August, I will have touched (a.k.a. inconvenienced) several loves, traveled, and will select my new upper east side apartment intelligently. I am still a bit ambivalent on a doorman though. But I turned my confused bus-struck, freezing cold, 40-year old situation into a positive. “You can be known as the most beautiful woman who ever crawled across cut glass to make a deal”. Yes. That, I can do. It’s nearly impossible to describe the precipitations of 2013, though I absolutely loved every minute of it. I am looking forward to my impending vagabond adventures and then even more so to the refined Manhattan accession this summer. Meanwhile, “you can hear them tires squeal” (not that I drive, except when really ‘high’ at Taco Bell in Ventura) as I embark on what I believe to be the most viable utilization of age 40 there ever was.
I am feeling rather special, sipping on some randomly delivered Vueve Clicquot, a kind attempt to sedate the reality I put into motion with my love-bus just last night. Fuck Gwenyth and her conscious uncoupling, it was ME who coined the phrase ‘cognitive heartbreak’ in December. The bigger picture of life, though mine seems a tad bit unconventional, is fascinating and fucking fabulous. Never let me slip, cause if I slip then I’m slipping. I am no Taurus, but I DO enjoy being somewhat in control of my future, whilst cognitively learning what makes a bus find peace, run smoothly, and how to support its journey.
“And so it depends.” Please go see Grand Budapest, immediately. It’s brilliant. It’s like a fucking fairy-tale.
