The Comfy Corner

This is what I see every morning when I walk out of my door. Isn't that a nice way to start the day?

So I was recently balled up into a pile of plush pillows in the corner of my bed when my mind began to reach back to a time long ago when my fascination with comfy corners began. If you all want to know how I originally came up with the title for my blog, you can find it here. But, I just realized that the history goes back much farther.

When I was a kid, I wanted to live underground. I envied animals that burrowed, like mice and groundhogs, because I imagined them to be so incredibly comfy in their little underground nooks, storing away nuts and decorating with leaves and small twigs. I stared longingly at my hamsters in their cages (I loved hamsters) as they burrowed their little bodies into the bedding and napped all day. I think, if memory serves me correctly, I even started to dig a hole in my back yard (a hole...to live in?) but I quickly hit a bunch of rocks and I was too fat and lazy to continue. So alas, all I could do was dream.

Also, I had two blankies growing up and two stuffed animals named Smooch and Snuggles. I had others, but they were the only two that mattered. Every night I would curl into bed with Smooch, Snuggles, and my blankies and I would ball up my yellow blankie and burrow my hand into the folds of the fabric. I just liked the way it felt. So cool and soft on my hand. Today, I no longer sleep with those old friends (I sleep with new friends!), but I never pass up an opportunity to feel a soft fabric, or curl up into a ball in a corner with pillows. I crave winter just so that I can where my hoodie. So, I suppose the moral of the story is that while we can change what we do quite drastically, we can never change who we are at our core.

So I had a strug today that probably out-strugged my struggest strugs all summer. My friend Anthony left a bottle of whiskey in my car (we had made a trip to New Hampshire where there is no sales tax on liquor, and when in Rome, right?) so, like a good friend, I thought that I would get it out of my trunk and bring it to him. Only trouble was, I was going to have to carry it while I was biking. I have a basket on the back of my bike, so I thought, "No problem, I'll just put it in the basket."

At first, there wasn't any problem. I successfully biked to the diner where I had a lovely strug-free breakfast (with this giant bottle of whiskey sitting right next to my chair. After all, I couldn't leave it with my bike! Homeless people don't mess around with free alcohol.), and then, after I left the diner, I attempted to re-mount my bicycle. I put the bottle in the basket, I threw my bag over my shoulder, I threw my leg over my bike and then the worst thing happened - the basket fell off the back of my bike and the whiskey fell to the concrete. All of this happened in front of Toro, the most hoppin', people-packed tapas restaurant in town. Everyone was pointing at me and staring at me and laughing cruel laughs (that's how I remembered it anyways). I could see there eyes just judging and questioning my every move "Why is the young man carrying around a big bottle of whiskey at noon?" Amazingly, the bottle didn't break, but the cork did come out and as I was struggling to get off my bike and run around it to put down the kick stand, expensive liquor was pouring out onto the hot pavement. All I can hope is that some dog or some desperate homeless man was able to drink it up before it evaporated.

I finally got the bottle up, corked it, and put it more securely in the basket and successfully mounted the bike without another spill. As soon as I biked a few meters, however, I realized that I left my bike lock lying on the ground of the crime scene. I went back to whiskey puddle and the cruel laughter and picked up the lock. When I looked at the patio of Toro, everyone was looking at me. The air reeked of hot whiskey, my hands reeked of hot whiskey, my face...reeked of shame. I got the bottle to campus only to realize that I wasn't allowed to bring a huge bottle of whiskey into the dorms (I stupidly forgot that was a rule...) I handed off the bottle to Vanessa who was heading back to her apartment and I accepted my defeat...I had failed. Anthony, if he ever gets his whiskey back, will not be getting much back.

So, it is common knowledge in the restaurant business that the foreigners who walk in probably won't tip. As a result, we have taken to racially profiling people as soon as they walk through the door. If they speak English fluently, then odds are probably in our favor. If they seat themselves and look around the restaurant confused and then order one glass of water to share between the four of them - things are looking bad.

That is all preface to the story of this one woman who walked in alone. Her name was Cecilia. She spoke about as much English as I speak Spanish (which is to say, very very little). She ordered a pasta and didn't want anything to drink (always a bad sign). After I said one tiny little thing in Spanish to her (Esta bien?), I was trapped. She rattled away all of this Spanish that I didn't understand and before I knew it I was holding her iPhone taking pictures of her. I took one candid shot of her eating her pasta (it was for her mother...I think), and then I took another picture sitting down at an adjacent booth (all at her very specific request). In the middle of the photo shoot she stopped our busser, Milena, and said something along the lines of "I saw you last night, I was eating at the bar." Milena had never seen this woman before, ever. And then, before I could stop her, she took the camera and insisted that she take a picture of me. I posed super-awkwardly and she snapped the pic. She said something along the lines of me being more attractive in person than I am in the picture. She wanted to take more pictures of me but I insisted that the one picture was good enough and then she insisted that she email the picture to me (!). I put in my email address and now I have immortalized the memory. Perhaps I should have put in a fake email, but I kinda wanted the picture and the memory. Cecilia, the strange woman that came in and acted like she was my best friend and then walked away without tipping, I will never forget you.

Things that hurt, but we do them anyway. Oftentimes we do these things because the aftereffects are totally worth it. Or we do them because it's pleasureful at the time but we know we'll have to suffer the consequences later. Warning: some of these may apply only to me.

1) Listerine - It burns oh so good and the refreshing aftereffect is totally worth the pain.

2) Scratching bug bites - We know that scratching only makes it worse, but we do it anyway because it feels orgasmic.

3) Going to the gym - For some reason we like to torture ourselves. We sweat and burn and our heart hurts and we get pains in our sides and we get cramps and we are sore for the next week, but our doctor tells us we should do this 5 times a week. And we do it and we get addicted.

4) Plucking hair - We pluck because we care. We care so much in fact that we will rip the protein out of our bodies, making us tear up a bit and leaving a red mark (and sometimes drawing blood).

5) Popping pimples - It hurts, research shows it isn't good, but we do it anyway.

6) Holding in pee just to feel the release - Sometimes when I'm at work and I have to pee, I'll wait until the last possible moment just so I can feel the release. Just me?

7) Anal sex - ouch.

8) Poking bruises and injuries - We know it'll hurt, but for some reason we are fascinated with our wounds. Perhaps it is our way of making sure everything is still working correctly.

9) Going to see bad musical theatre - Probably one of the most painful/fulfilling things on this list thus far. Sometimes you just crave meaningless belting, Andrew Lloyd Webber awfulness, and sparkly costumes.

10) Drinking heavily - Despite the horrible hangover, the puking, the poor decisions, the black outs, the accidental skull and cross-bones tattoos on our faces, we still get drunk the next night.

Blogging to you live from New York City folks! I always seem to end up back in this city, and every time I visit, I am filled with inspiration and renewed vigor for life and art. It's like the collective creativity and talent crammed onto this little island is just seeping into my pores. I can't wait to move here after I graduate (that is, as long as I do actually graduate).

So, the best thing about having a large network of friends in NYC is that I never have to find a hotel when I visit. I can always just crash on someone's couch. So for this particular trip, Chris and I decided to crash on his friend Drew's couch. It was a very kind gesture on Drew's part, so naturally I felt obligated to get him some sort of gift, although I didn't have a clue what it would be (me being on a very tight budget and all). But, as Chris and I were walking toward his apartment, my prayers were answered. Sitting on the side of the street was a knee-high, stuffed horse mounted on a wooden stand with wheels - and there was a sign attached to it that said "Take Me!" So, naturally, I took him and decided that this would be the perfect "Thanks for letting me stay in your apartment" gift.

As I was walking down the street with my new horse, however, the worst possible thing that could have happened, happened. We passed by a mother sitting on a stoop with her little girl and her little boy. The little girl took one look at my new horse, dropped her jaw and looked directly into my eyes with the most pitiful, disgusted and horrified look I have ever seen on a human face. The look said "That was supposed to be my horse! You bastard..." Sure enough, after we passed her, I looked back and saw her running up the sidewalk to look at the empty spot where the horse had previously been. Now, I have a little knot of guilt growing in my stomach. We had taken this toy, that could have been enjoyed by this little girl for the rest of her childhood, perhaps she would have passed it down through the generations as a family heirloom, it would have a permanent spot in the playroom next to the fireplace, all of her kids would have pictures with it, and we used it as a joke thank-you (we ended up putting the horse in his bathtub with a bottle of beer. Drew found it this morning). I feel despicable, but it was so worth the laughs.

Okay, comfy cornerers, I know that I try to keep posts light and fun, but sometimes, life is serious (very rarely, though). I have a couple pearls of wisdom I have come upon due to recent experiences that I thought I might share with all of you so that you may take it out into the world and make some changes for the better. Hopefully Heidi Montag is reading this (through her tears of sorrow over the death of her plastic surgeon, aka a death in the family...too soon?).

So I have come to realize that everything happens for a reason and thus we should never take anything for granted. Inspiration can come from the most unexpected of places. For instance, I sometimes get inspired to eat a healthy salad and go to the gym after watching an overweight man order two butter cakes for himself. Or I am inspired (or guilt tripped) into going to more dance classes after seeing an amazing dancer. Sometimes, however, it is difficult to find the good in certain situations. For example, I have been working at the this gym in Boston for about a year now. I opened the gym three times a week promptly at 5:30am. It is early, it is boring, I hate it. And today, I was folding the 578th towel of the day thinking mixed thoughts of suicide and quitting the job for good, when the fitness manager came up to chat. He asked me what I did and I told him that I went to Emerson College for musical theatre. He replied, "Stop, drop and roll!" An odd response, but I decided to hear him out. Turns out he graduated with a BFA in Musical Theatre from Carnegie Mellon, one of the most prestigious MT conservatories in the country. He went to school with Sutton Foster and Billy Porter! He did a European tour of "42nd Street" and did the West Coast premiere of "This is our Youth." So we ended up having a two hour conversation about the business and my plans post graduation. The conversation ended with him saying "We are not finished here. We have a year to get you in shape. I wanna see your material, we need to get you working out and we are going to get you a job in NYC. No excuses." So after a year of opening this gym with bleary eyes, drinking lots of coffee and folding lots of towels, I finally found out the reason why I was there. I found a mentor of sorts!

So comfy cornerers, I have this to say: sometimes it is worth suffering the bad to reap the benefits that result. The good will eventually reveal itself. After all, we can't truly appreciate the pleasures in life without first being without them. As that dude says in "Eat, Pray, Love" - "Why won't you give me the chance to miss you?"