When I lived in New York City, I used to self medicate with melted cheese.
......and it didn't stop at cheese; it was mammoth sized black and white cookies, spicy chorizo, anything drenched in butter, thick slices of bacon and maple syrup-Marsala sauce, 24 hr doughnuts and Hollandaise. Truffled toast, lavender creme brulee, copious amounts of sweet Sangria and fried mushrooms.
New York City gave me anonymity. Anonymity to be BOLD, or brash, snarky or FAT. Fearless, or completely inadequate and green. Whatever the fuck I wanted, New York let me be it. If it mean eating myself into oblivion while crying over ex-musician, staring at his phone number in my cell, waiting for the courage to press send and beg, one. last. time. to come back to me- then, I was allowed to wallow. I was allowed to be pathetic and then wake up the next morning without having to justify my pitiful actions, or convince someone that I didn't need meds. Or a fucking slap in the face and some big girl panties.
If I wanted to be mediocre I could. I could lose myself in a sea of people and surrender into my plain, uninspired self- or I could call up an editor, completely unqualified and brazenly ask for a job, while sitting in my apartment wearing sequined leggings, eating a pb&j, watching The History Channel with my 6inch platforms kicked up on the couch- looking unnecessarily Club Kid fierce.
When you're home- where you're accountable, and watched- where people are asking questions and making judgements, it's a lot harder to keep that sense of invisibility where you can FEEL IT ALL, do it all- in some cases, EAT it all.
Because I was allowed to explore anonymity, unabashedly......
New York gave me balls.
Balls to argue, to fight when I didn't agree, to own my words, to get lost, or soft. Balls to admit that I knew nothing, but was as ferocious as a piranha and ready to learn- fast. Balls to tell myself that I was WORTH being adored and to turn down a date with a super.famous.musician. (all for the sake of my own vagina not wanting herpes and deciding being number #267 on his list of chicks didn't validate my WORTH) and to say:
"No one else cares what you're doing- so why not do EVERYTHING YOU WANT and do it FULL. OUT." I wavered between extremes and that was OK, because I started to figure shit out. Or at least started to figure out what doesn't work for me.
I ordered glasses of champagne by myself, I talked with strangers at bars and sometimes even joined them for dessert and an awkward full-bellied walk to our respective subway stops.
If we want something, we need enough BALLS to try and get it.....we need enough balls to ASK, to fall and to laugh at ourselves we do try and end up ass-up with a crowd full of people pointing and laughing at your hysterical failure. And to operate from a inconspicuous place of "Well, FUCK IT."
Next week, my balls and I are returning to New York for a little week long vacation and ohhhh do we have so much catching up to do.....
DO YOU HAVE BALLS??? And how did you get them.....?