I was cordially greeted with "Table for one?" Normally, that wouldn't sting. But, it did. Yes, table for one... for the last friggin' six years of my life, thank you very much! "Yes" I responded, with an equally cordial (but strained) smile and took my seat, quickly noticing that I was the only one dining alone. Thank god it was happy hour and Nero Doro has a delicious Montepulciano.
As much as I hate to admit it, my lifestyle seems to have become purely pragmatic and devoid of any feminine frill. All traces of girlishness seem to have sadly disappeared. I mean, what happened to the days of perusing NYC boutiques and creatively piecing outfits together as a form of personal expression? What happened to my fascination with glossy magazines to lap up the latest trends in fashion and beauty?
As I sat in the tiny black box theater at The Producer's Club watching my old friend, Lori Sommer, perform her one-woman show for an intimate crowd, I realized this: You can sometimes know someone for years without ever fully knowing their "story"; the volume of life experiences that shape their character, personality, fears and dreams. Sometimes the success you see has been molded by adversity and their own resilience after deep hurt or trauma.
Who knew that Extra Fancy Memphis Fried Chicken and a plate of greens at Marietta's would bring me to this epiphany: I need to add a little Southern drawl to my life and stop trying to accomplish everything in a New York minute!
I woke up recently with an aversion to coffee. I have no idea what suddenly turned my taste buds against one of my all-time favorite vices. I wondered if that's what happened with my EX. Did he wake up one day, look at me and go "meh!". Because now I finally get it!
Some might consider it the most intrusive first date ever. Others, the foundation for intimacy. We'd barely even introduced ourselves before probing deeply into each other's lives with questions like: What's working versus not working in your relationships, career, lifestyle or health and fitness goals?
When my mind feels scattered and my body feels depleted, it's a startling wake-up call that I'm spreading myself way too thin and I needed to replenish my resources. It was time to come back to my senses; all five of them. So I stepped into Gobo with that intention.
I was PMSing and quickly getting sucked into a "woe-is-me" attitude. All I wanted was a pity party for one, complete with red wine, dark chocolate and freshly popped popcorn to soothe my soul. The thought of putting on an emotional mask to go out into public felt exhausting. But I'd already purchased a ticket to see "Break Through" presented by Pole Speak at Body & Pole.
It had admittedly been a long time so maybe my expectations were too high. But it's hard to settle for anything less than ecstasy after knowing what real heat and pure chemistry feels like. The kind that permeates your body and transports your mind far beyone reality and into the ethereal. The kind that has you sweatin' and jonesin' for more.
If Brene Brown lived in my head, perfectionism would no longer hinder my productivity, stifle my creativity or inhibit my vulnerability. The little voices in my head that insist "I'm still not good enough" would miraculously disappear.
This Indie Girl needed a bat cave. A sexy hideaway to swirl whiskey around my tongue, rendezvous with my thoughts and avail myself to coy flirtation. An unpretentious spot to reminisce over the curated sounds of old school hip-hop, soul and R&B; the unforgettable hits that served as the soundtrack of my life.
Sometimes you need a hole in the wall Cuban spot with Celia Cruz wailing "Guantanamera" like you need a big ol' hug from a barrel chested man. Lonely times call for community tables and comfort food to soothe the soul.
It was like walking into an industrial forrest; polished steel and shiny glass cohabiting with natural woods and serving pre-industrial food (PIF) in the heart of Union Square. I was intrigued by Hu's honest philosophies and aversion to gimmick, gluten, sugars and GMOs.
Six fearless and powerful dancers articulated my story with unflinching emotion through ingeniously conceived weavings of contemporary dance and the added element of four vertical poles which became animate representations of the dancer's own personal struggles, their source of longing, or their hope.
“Sorry, we’re staring at your taco” he said apologetically. “No apologies needed, my taco is delicious.” I responded with a wink. I only wish it had been a flirtatious come-on by some tall, dark and handsome dude but, just my singleitis-suffering IndieGirl luck, it was a gay couple salivating over my double decker broccoli taco.
I kindly and gently pushed my way through the Union Square crowd with a deceptively friendly smile while muttering expletives under my breath at the aimless pedestrians creating sidewalk congestion. I was gonna be pissed if they made me late for yoga!
For me, meditating is like having bad sex. It fulfills a need but I'm bored, my mind wanders and I can't stop wondering how soon it'll be over. But unlike bad sex, I know that meditation is a good and necessary evil. Why? Well, I've noticed that I've got these preconceived, new-agey ideals about appropriate emotional responses to life's experiences and traumas.
I'm attracted to talent. Especially raw, uninhibited talent. In fact, there's no greater turn-on for me than to observe an artist completely absorbed in the process of their own creativity. And after watching MeShell Ndegeocello do her thaaang at the Highline Ballroom which borders NYC's pulsating Meatpacking District, I think I'm in love.
In a shamefully libidinous call for attention, I chose whorish purple as the color of choice for my mani-pedi at Avanti Nails & Spa. Unfortunately, just two days later, the deep purple proceeded to peel, reducing my allure to cheap slut. Why is it that no matter how hard I try, I look like a hot mess?
I’ve sadly learned that the Law of Attraction isn’t some metaphysical magic trick that ushers abundance into our lives just because we rip out colorful magazine images representing our wildest dreams and glue them to a vision board. Or because we repeat positive affirmations in the mirror daily. That’s just a labor intensive version of wishful thinking.
