The Ride's More Fun After The Wheels Come Off

Well, hi there!  I know you've started wondering if I've forgotten you.  Nope, I think of you, my reader(s), often.  Time is marching and I'm doing my best to keep up!

Because it's going to take too long to catch you up on the specifics of the last two months, I'm just going to say, it's good; so, so, so good!  The story isn't written.  It's still playing out, but it will be worth the wait, I promise.  For now, here's a snap-shot of my internal life this week:

"Sufficient" is the word of the week.  Well, no, really it all started with "Insufficient" beating me up in the private thoughts of my quiet moments.

If you know anything about me, by now you've come to understand that I am a recovering perfectionist.  Since God is good, he only allowed people like me 24 hours in one day.  In a weird, twisted, beauty-for-ashes kind of way, the goodness of God allowed me to absolutely crash and burn three or four years ago.  The wheels of perfection flew off in a dramatic way and, long story short, the 24 hour days were simply not enough to maintain the "perfect" pace I was trying to maintain in life.

Most of the time, in recent months, I'm good with that.  Actually, lately, I'm thankful more than ever that I am living a slower paced mental life (although the busy lifestyle of a single mother/solo income provider continues it's break-neck speed in the midst of it all). However, because my mind is increasingly less restless, I am starting to be able to grasp the "be still and know that I am God" concept of Psalm 46:10.  This is no small feat, mind you... but those details are for the book I have yet to write and I'm rabbit-trailing now...

Anyway, "am I sufficient" is everyone's question, in one way or another.  I realize I am not unique.  However, I haven't had SUCH doubts about my own sufficiency since my break-neck journey down the mountain of demise, in the vehicle of perfectionism, until this week.

Thankfully, the question was finally answered, within the context of my specific situation, with a resounding "NO".  I am completely insufficient.  The person that I would need to be to master all that I face in the next five weeks- not to mention the lifetime beyond, doesn't exist (excepting One, of course)...

I am insufficient.

Good Lord, that's freeing.  I was reminded of Isaiah 43 this week and I am now finding comfort in my insufficiency as well as the freedom to actually enjoy it!

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
    I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
When you pass through the waters,
    I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
    they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
    you will not be burned;
    the flames will not set you ablaze.
 For I am the Lord your God...

...“Forget the former things;
    do not dwell on the past.
 See, I am doing a new thing!
    Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
    and streams in the wasteland.
 The wild animals honor me,
    the jackals and the owls,
because I provide water in the wilderness
    and streams in the wasteland,
to give drink to my people, my chosen,
    the people I formed for myself
    that they may proclaim my praise... (Excerpts from Isaiah 43)

Well, that's enough!  This story I'm living is bigger than me.  I am insufficient, but I am willing and excited to see what's next.  This is just starting to get good.

P.S.  Might I just add one after-thought that has been lacing through my heart this month?  I am soooooo thankful I didn't get what I asked for.  God IS good, especially in the midst of the chaos and pain.  So many, many things make sense and what doesn't yet, doesn't matter so much anymore...

Canvas of Love

"Let me see redemption win. Let me know the struggle ends, that You can mend a heart that's frail and torn.  I want to know a song can rise out of the ashes of a broken life, that all that's dead inside can be reborn..."

Months ago, these lyrics slammed me like a two-by-four.  That day, I had literally JUST written something similar in my blue tattered journal-  along with many of the other lyrics found in this song.  I was sitting in the front row of a Tenth Avenue North concert and Mike Donehey, their lead singer, had just changed his set to play this, a then-unreleased, song.The words had become my deepest heart's desire.  Now "Worn" is played on radio and video channels everywhere, hourly, causing my heart to skip a beat every time I hear it... That night, and this morning, I am convinced that song was written for me.

***

He was a dirty thug.  No, he was THE Dirty Thug.  The harsh part of life had created in him the desire for evil.  While most boys were avoiding their pre-algebra homework and trying to get the courage up to make eye-contact with the girl of their dreams- between video games, he was making connections for his next high.  

He was smart, good looking, driven, and possessed an incredibly charming personality. He had absolutely every tool for success at his disposal.

Successful he was.

Although his career as a local criminal had taken off by the time he could legally vote, his potential for something greater, darker, had not yet been reached...

The ingredients assembled: Rejection, Pain, Steel bars, Fear, Death, Hatred, Pride and Talent led him to the stage.  In the darkness of the lights he spewed his rhyming rage.  He spoke to the broken hearted masses.  They listened.  They cheered.

Money, women, fame, loyalty, death.

The wake of destruction became a tsunami of despair.  Death became the dream, this life had become a nightmare.

Then, the death of death!  Redemption won!  Jesus himself, pursued this evil and godless creation, meeting up with him and capturing him hours before he planned to enter through the gates of hell.  He had purchased this wreck of a life with His own blood- the ultimate, as far as death stories go...

All this evil guy had to do was humbly accept this loving gift of life.  He did.

He is new.  All that was dead inside was reborn.  His heart's desires instantly changed.  The struggle, at least those in the darkest places, ended.  He rhymes of life.  He speaks of love.  He models freedom and he spreads this hope...

I'm a sucker for a heart-warming, tear-jerker story.  If I were watching his story on TV, reading it in the paper, attending one of his new concerts, hearing the lyrics of his new CD, or sitting in an audience- or his classroom- while he shared the details- of course I would be deeply moved.  I would be warmed to the core of my heart and I would thank God for this extravagant example of LOVE.  I would high five a few friends, tell a few clients and move on- all the while secretly hoping for God to show up in some sort of half-way amazing way in my life personally...

But, I'm not watching this story from the sidelines!  I'm PART of this story and now, he is part of mine.  THIS is the tattooed canvas that God is using to paint a glimpse of the extravagant LOVE He has for me.  THIS is the answer to the raw mustard-seed-faith prayers I have poured into the pages of my tattered journals, wept into the grain of my wood floors and shouted into the silence of my favorite places...

I can hardly wait to tell you more.

And That's A Wrap

I've thought of a dozen different ways to end the story of this adventure we've been on together.  However, I've had two distinct themes weaving through conversations about my trip this week, both equally important to me.  So, I gave it a couple of days to simmer in my mind and tonight it became clear what direction I should take the wrap up:

Back at Laguardia on Wednesday morning, I drug my feet all the way through check in. Heightened security, following the Boston bombing, made me feel even more restless and uneasy.  I didn't want to leave- I already missed my brother and the brunch we should be having.  We boarded the plane, late, then sat on the runway forever.  We were nearly 45 minutes late taking off for Denver.  I knew that my connection in Denver was going to be very tight.  I had no phone, I hoped it would go well...

In Denver I raced off the plane to find that my flight was, not delayed, but cancelled altogether. Snow and fog and ice had covered the Mile High city in chaos. The line for customer service was wrapped around the United terminal.  As I stood in line peace washed over me- or was it shock?  Either way, I was in a good mood. There was absolutely nothing that I, nor any of these people can do to change the raging snowstorm outside. Panic and rudeness fixes nothing.  The girl in line ahead of me offered to let me use her phone.  That be GREAT!  Except, I don't know anyone's number, not even my children's. It seems that this girl also has and on-again-off-again relationship with Google, she offered to let me consult him for a phone number.  I looked up the salon and called the girls. Perfect!  Except that I got the voice mail...

Eventually, my salon girl called me on my new friend's phone, and helped me get in touch with my ride.  The customer service people were able to get me on a flight out that night; I wouldn't have to sleep at the airport.  Once I landed, I waited for my 45,000 pounds of luggage for what seemed like months.  It became sickeningly obvious, my luggage wasn't coming.  

Whatever.

I got home, before midnight, to discover that the boiler in my house had gone out while I was gone.  The interior of my house was a horrifying 46 degrees.  Still, I didn't let it shake me.  I heated a rice bag and gratefully welcomed my stinkin' cat in my bed with me.  We survived the night.

The morning was rude... I was cold! The hot shower was great, but by the time I combed through my wet hair my hands were tingling and frozen.  Additionally, I had no phone.  I had no way of calling or receiving calls from clients.  The luggage was who-knows-where and I was at the mercy borrowed phones and a friend to figure out a boiler guy for me.  Everything else had to wait, I had a ten hour day, with no breaks, to get to. (My boss sucks, btw...)

Friends rallied.  One brought an old phone that, get this, pretty much only made phone calls.  It wasn't even update-able with my contacts, so it was a fun little game of "Guess Who" when it rang.    Welcome back to the dark ages!  Still, I was soooo appreciative to have great friends, and communication and patient clients...

Another friend found a friend-of-a-friend to agree to come over after work to look at the little heat issue.  He would come around 8:00 p.m.  When I got home from work I found that my house plants had been frozen and were dying a horrible death on my counter.  Still, I tried to smile and look for the good news.  Who needs flowers?  It was actually noticeably warmer outside, than inside.  The good news here is that I have excellent insulation.

By 9:00 the bad news was available for consumption:  there would be no heat again tonight.  The parts store would open in the morning and the boiler guy would come here first. I briefly considered setting up a tent outside, I think it was about four degrees less cold outside, than inside...Wait, I don't own a tent.  That second night trying to sleep in the low forties about caused me to crack.

On day two of the Great Freeze of April 2013, I left the door unlocked to let the friend, of a friend, of a friend in on his own.  I was pretty confident that I had nothing worth stealing- if he was that kind of guy. (It turns out he wasn't that kind of guy.)  Yesssssss!  I returned, after another 10 hour day, to 66 degrees!  Oh, aaaaaand, my luggage would be delivered sometime before midnight...

Aside from the fact that the stupid boiler went out again the next day (a different control box needs replacing this time and I have yet to get it done- we're crossing our fingers that it's really spring here now...) and the phone I had would be $800 to replace, and the older, much smaller, used version with glitches would still be $250- the weekend conversations, thoughts and wrestling emotions reinforced the theme that has been building in me for this whole year:

Relationships are the ONLY thing that really matters in this life.

My friends, the ones that are in the mire slogging through it all with me, are invaluable. Boilers, phones and luggage are not.

My brother- our time together building memories and having conversations of depth and the working out of the differences in our personalities and perspectives-  even without the beautiful pictures to prove it- will forever be engraved in my mind, soul and spirit.

The brief encounters with people at the airport, the sausage bar, the comedy club, the subway platforms, the streets and the homes, really do impact me.  I am changed, ever-so-slightly, by each of those moments. People matter- especially the ones that are different than me. 

In closing this little chapter of life I will share a bit of today:

A beautiful acquaintance of mine found out, just hours ago, that her hero daddy likely will only have 2-4 weeks of inhaling and exhaling the sweet aroma of this life.  The lump has returned to my own chest.  I remember what "Diagnosis Day" feels like.  It has been so easy to pretend October never happened.  Tonight, whether it's two hours or two decades we have together, I pray I focus on the priceless and let the merely expensive blur just a bit.

Is This How It Ends?

I took today off from work.  It was my 29thish birthday, again, and I decided to set up at a table at my local coffee shop to finish telling you my tale.  This is a place that I possess a love/hate relationship with and all of the usual suspects are here...  I'm not sure why, but I've seen these same people day after day for months and yet have been unable to have a conversation with them.  I made an attempt to chat with one of God's most beautifully created male specimens here a few months ago, but as it turns out he's engaged to a 18 year old (? I'm guessing here...) diva princess.  Of course he is.  So, I mostly sit silently sipping my almond/marshmallow/cinnamon, quad shot latte, watching and wondering about these people's lives...

If you've missed the story up to now, catch up here and here- I'm well into the early hours of Monday morning already...

Monday

Because the sun was yawning and stretching and showing off her bright golden halo over the horizon as my brother and I slipped into bed, we missed having an early morning case of the Monday's.  We, as a society, should really consider starting every Monday hopscotching and swinging before sunrise.  Consider it, will you?

Sometime after 1:00 the brother and I grabbed our cameras and a coffee and headed west toward the Williamsburg bridge.  The day was perfectly warm with a light breeze.  The sun decided to shine-bright-like-a-diamond on the water, reflecting off the skyline of Manhattan.  (If you don't now have that song stuck in your head, like me, you're missing out...)  Meandering through the blocks of Hipster Central, the brother and I stumbled upon some fabulous graffiti, perfectly lit metal artwork, delightfully unique people... we shot everything.  Our favorite location was the backside of a brick bistro.  There were garbage cans and cardboard littering the sidewalk in front of the most fantastic American flag mural.  We moved the trash, apologized to the Italian man that came to chase us away, and stayed anyway.  We spent and embarrassing amount of time on this wall.  Eventually, I got the courage to ask a waiter, who had stepped out for a smoke break, to take our picture together...  When it seemed we had well outstayed our welcome, we replaced the trash bins and cardboard then moved on...

Next we took the train across the Williamsburg bridge to catch a new view.  We took reflection shots, motion shots, skyline shots, each other shots.  We acted like we were that train's only passengers and people tolerated us.  Once in Manhattan we headed for Central Park.  Trump Tower, St. Patrick's Cathedral, cherry blossoms, stone bridges, kickball games, lakes... nothing missed our fine-tooth combing lens'.  Eventually my battery died, the sun set and the temperature dropped.  We stayed.  The brother has an incredible eye, ridiculous equipment, and we had night shots to capture.  Finally my wimpy girliness won out and we made our way to yet another Starbucks to warm up and recharge.  

From the warmth of our cozy coffee shop chairs we planned our next move.  The night was still young and we were hungry.  I had yet to meet the brother's gorgeous girlfriend.  We chose a classy French restaurant and were quickly seated.  At the mercy of our sweet waitress, we ordered a perfect bottle of red and several appetizers.  Things were perfect.  Almost.  As soon as we started sipping the $64 bottle I knew it was about to get awkward.  

My whole childhood I was plagued with daily nose bleeds.  As a teen I even had surgery to fix the issue.  As an adult they are less frequent and usually associated with climate or stress.  Since landing in New York I had dealt with the issue every morning.  Obviously stress was not an issue, sooooo I'm blaming air pressure or something equally lame.  

Anywooooooo, I spent the next 45 minutes gushing in the most beautiful bathroom, in the classiest location of my vacation.  Furthermore, I had literally only spoken to this gorgeous girl, that is important to my brother, for a whole 15 minutes.  I had no cell coverage to let them know what was up.  Agghhhhhh, great first impression Collene!  The worst part is that we all knew she had only about an hour before she had to get home for a deadline.  I rejoined the table as she was saying good-bye...

By the time the brother and I savored the remainder of the red and mosied our way to the subway, it was nearing midnight.  Neither of us were ready for Bachelor Kingdom by the time we reached Brooklyn so we dropped of the massive lens' and camera and headed back out.  Armed with only my camera/phone we made our way along Bedford Ave, this time on the far side of the street.  I had not even begun to scratch the surface of unique businesses here and my brother was eager to show me more of his places...

We settled in at a turn of the century themed oyster bar.  The decor was flawless, the staff impeccably dressed, the menu absolutely perfect.  We started with juleps and chatted up the mixologist and his barback.  They were knowledgeable  professional and kind. This place could be dangerous!  The sippers are smooth, maybe too smooth.  The atmosphere is fun, but refined.  The men are dapper.  Sixty dollars got us each two beverages- well worth every cent.  In unrelated news, I can see why everyone walks everywhere around here...

Tuesday

Once again the bottle sorting in the alley woke me up.  Because the view from the window in the guest wing of Bachelor Kingdom allows little to no daylight in, I had no idea what time of day it was, nor what the weather would be.  By the time I mustered up the energy to put my feet to work again, it was late morning.  I haven't slept in like this since... well, high school?  It feels guilty and fabulous.  I made enough noise to make sleeping impossible for the brother- this was my last full day here and I had already wasted almost half of it!

We chose a new place for brunch. Our waiter was eager and extremely attentive.  I like that.  Over coffee, mimosas, eggs and biscuits we people-watched from our corner window booth.   Weekdays are bustling on the streets of Williamsburg.  Who are these people?  Where are they going?  There were a dozen firemen in their dress blues crossing the street out my window.  There were beards and mustaches galore.  The tall ginger man and his messy bearded side-kick that just sat down across from us have to be musicians, we decided.  We high-fived each other as we overheard them discussing sound-checks.  I know for a fact that we are not sitting behind a one-way mirrored window, so I have no idea how to explain the elderly man that stood for literally 45-50 seconds, shading his eyes, as he peered at our table from outside.  We could not stop giggling.  I think it was my snapping a picture of him that broke his gaze and sent him on his way.

As we left the cafe, we passed a "girlie" boutique.  Earlier in the week the window display had caught my eye.  "That dress is fantastic!"  I had exclaimed on that day.  Today my brother asked, "aren't you going to at least go in and look at that?"  Uh, okay!  As I browsed clothing and jewelry I suddenly realized, he's a dude.  Dudes are not patient when it comes to this stuff.  I apologized for being selfish and said we should leave.  "Nope, shop," he replied, "I have nothing to do but be with you today."  Wow.  That literally is the first time I've ever heard those words cross the lips of a man.  My little brother is quite a catch.  I bought myself a token ring to remind me of my time in Hipster Central and bought my daughter a gift too... we continued on.

Over brunch we had decided we needed to be more organized with our touring today.  There were specific places we wanted to shoot- the light had been wrong yesterday and there were still locations unseen.  Again we hopped a train into Manhattan.  Central Park would dominate our day, but we would shoot Grand Central Station, the Chrysler Building, Washington Square Park, a boathouse... Oh, and canolis, there would be amazing canolis and coffee, New York style pizza and hot dogs from a cart...

For hours we silently, together, wandered.  Individually we worked, framing both the macro and the micro things that caught our eye.  "Ooooooh, look!" I would point.  "I LOVE leading lines," he would reply.  "Even better is softly lit leading lines," he would laugh as he directed me towards a row of benches.  More than once, one of us caught the other rolling around on the ground to get the perfect angle...  We bobbed and weaved our way, criss-crossing the city.  Taxis, musicians, flowers, carriages, water, boats, a Tuesday wedding (It's not so weird, mine was on a Tuesday too...), clouds, reflections, buildings, panoramas... We shot. It. All.

Today was different than the other days in Manhattan.  The Boston Marathon had just been bombed and the police presence had been majorly stepped up.  Every major intersection, subway platform and landmark building had teams of police milling around.  That part of life seemed surreal.  We had been very disconnected from the news for days.  It wasn't until I returned to Montana that I really understood what had happened.  Crowds of people simply do not exist where I live.  Blissfully, I was ignorant enough not to fear the threat.

As the day turned into early evening my brother's girlfriend called with a plan.  Thoughtfully, she knew my feet and legs were absolutely aching, so she booked us all massages.  Furthermore, she knew that I had wanted to see a comedy show- she did some research and had a plan.  Would we meet her in Chinatown?  The twisting of my arm was nearly unbearable...  The answer in a case like this, is always YES!!!

The brother and I cut our itinerary short and worked our way toward the narrowing, uneven streets of Chinatown.  The address we had been given looked iffy.  The spa was apparently located through a narrow, littered hall and up the steep, peeling stairs.  I wonder what kind of massage we ordered.  Well, what's the worst that can happen, right?  The brother and I did a shot of coffee with a piece Chinese cake in the shop below before heading up.  As we reached the landing at the top of the stairs, we turned to see the cutest, coziest little spa!  I think both of us finally exhaled.  We would wait for the rest of our party there, while uncomfortably answering Chineglish questions to the best of our ignorant ability.  I had no idea what we ordered before it all started, but it turned out to be a 90 minute-ish hot rock massage.  FABULOUS.

We finished our green tea, got our bearings and headed to the Lower East Side for our next adventure.  Every Tuesday night the Slipper Room hosts Seth Herzog's "Sweet".  Seth writes for Jimmy Fallon and uses his show, Sweet, as a dry run/comedian hang-out/talent search.  The show is flexibly booked- comedians may be added to the line-up minutes before going on stage.  The cost?  Seven whole dollars.

As we climbed the creaking, narrow stairs, it became obvious that there would be little room inside the club.  There was a tiny balcony and less than a dozen small tables on the main floor.  If you're late, you might find a place to stand at the back of the room.  We easily found a table and chatted as we waited for the show to start.  

My brother and I have developed a new game over the course of the day.  I think it's called "Find Collene a Boyfriend".  It has gotten downright ridiculous as the day has progressed, but I am amused by my brother's interest in "my type".  He's actually getting very good and picking them, although he's not incredibly discrete.  Have I mentioned yet: New York is the land of the beautiful people.  Seriously, even the "average" looking people are beautiful, unique, put together- not in a snobby kind of way, just in a "I still care" kind of way.  

As we waited for the show to start, my brother started checking out the men in the room.  He'd elbow me and ask about this one or that one...  Now there were two men standing to the left of the stage.  "Which one would you take home Collene?" he asked.   "Ummmmmm, both," I joked.  I'm not sure if they were reading lips or what, but the one on the right was definitely starring at me.  I didn't bother to look away, so he winked.  I started smiling, so he did.  Then I laughed.  He laughed and half-waved then turned away and went back stage.  As my brother and I giggled about the exchange I told him that I'd probably have to pick the guy on the left instead... The brother's girlfriend joins the discussion: "That's the guy!" she says.  He's the host.  "Wellllll, he's mine tonight," I joked.  I'm not sure my brother's girlfriend knows when I'm joking, but she'll learn... I hope!

Anywhooooooo, the curtain goes up.  Sure enough, the guys by the stage are Seth and his pal, the winker, Josh Charles (from The Good Wife on CBS).  Seth introduces the line-up tonight: Josh Charles, Mike Doughty (Indie Rock Musician/Writer), Kate McKinnon (SNL), Zach Galifianakis (The Hangover), Tom Shillue (Comedy Central), Jordan Carlos (The Colbert Report), and Sean Patton (Comedy Central).  Oh, and his own mom, Kera, too!

We. Laughed.

I laughed and slobbered and snorted and cried.  My abs may still be sore.  I'm not a pretty laugher any more than I'm a pretty crier...

After the show, we took turns in the restroom.  As I waited for us to regather our group, Mrs. H walked by.  During her set she had made some comments about her hair and the current hair trends she's been seeing.  I was dying through her whole set- she's freaking hilarious... but I was the only one laughing a time or two, and they knew it.  Sooo, I took a minute to tell her how much I loved her set.  She was dang cute.  Somehow my comments turned into a full on hair consultation right there in the back of the Slipper Room.  

As we spoke Sean wandered over.  He asked me a few questions about where I'm from, I commented on a few of his jokes, he bought me a beer.  Now my brother has rejoined the group, as well as two men from the audience.  They kept trying to talk to Sean, but he kept his answers short and directed his attention to the brother and I, with Mrs. H joining in the conversation too.  Eventually Seth moved over to our group.  He told his mom he had called her a car and it was time for her to leave.  She thanked me for my advice and left.  Now our group is fully assembled, the two audience men have left and Seth is looking to us for where to go next.

"Wellllllllllllll, you guys decide, I'm in," I told them.  Sadly the brother's girlfriend had to get home, so Seth, Sean, the brother and I headed out to the street to figure out a plan and let Sean take a smoke break.  As we stood there making decisions a black SUV pulled up next to us, let out its passenger and sat there idling.  The driver had his window down and was becoming irritated with a taxi that had stopped in the middle of the street in front of him.  He shouted something racist at the men in the cab and included the word "bomb".  THAT was a bad decision.  Simultaneously all four doors of the taxi opened and out stepped four of the biggest men I've ever seen in person.  They just so happened to be undercover NYPD officers.  The had the guy out of his vehicle and up against the building before I could blink.  Then they proceeded to dismantle the SUV.  Our little group was roughly 10 feet away, soooooo I took a few discreet pictures.  After the officers hopped back in their cab and left, we headed to a nearby arcade bar.

I really have no way to accurately describe the conversations that ensued over games of Pac-man and Frogger.  Two professional comedians, my little brother, and me.  What happened next, I will not likely forget:  Somehow we got on the topic of me dating.  I mayyyyy have told them, jokingly, that I plan to write a how-not-to book and base a chapter on each of the failures I've dated since my divorce.  (As a side note, my book will be very short, but verrrrrry entertaining).  As I told horror stories these two guys were rolling.  Apparently, I've "arrived" and can die satisfied now that I've been on a date with the guy that BOTH Letterman and Leno used in their monologues.  Oh, good.  That's a relief.  But, it sure felt good to make them laugh.  We wrapped up the dating conversation by turning our attention to my brother and his girlfriend.  Seth is incredulous, "Why is a woman that hot dating you?" he asked.  My brother laughed and told them he constantly asks himself the same thing.  I see why... my brother is amazing.

At the arcade Seth asked for my business card.  He would be bringing his mom by for her new style he said.  He had assumed I was a stylist on set somewhere and was confused as to how we even found the comedy show when I told him I wasn't.  I have no idea, but give him my card anyway- because you just never know when Mrs. H would have a desire to visit MT.  He didn't stop there, she's obviously going to need my email address too- she can't text.  As I re-zipped my purse, Sean pretended to be offended.  "How come Seth gets your number and I don't?"  I obliged and we finished our beverages.

We managed to close the arcade down and were back on the street in search of the next adventure when Seth decided to head home.  In dramatic, goof-ball, NYC style he grabbed me by the waist and said "baby, I gotta go" and kissed me- before I even turned all the way toward him.  He waved and jumped in the cab, leaving us all giggling on the corner.

Next we headed to a quieter club with a cozy window booth down the street.  As we walked in we all recognized the two audience men from the Slipper Room that had tried to strike up a conversation with Sean after the show.  They invited us to join them, we happily obliged.  As it turned out, both were in the industry- one being a director who seemed very interested in my little brother's cinematography.  Information was exchanged and I sat listening as these four men discussed pitching show ideas to networks in L.A.  Actually, although our conversation was goofy and loud, they've got some great ideas... I can't wait to see what comes of them.  

I had spent the last hour or so quietly taking pictures and editing while Sean interrupted his conversation with the guys to flirt with me in a ridiculous over-the-top way.  I have never had that many hours in a row of such hilarity and laughter.  I was exhausted, my phone battery was almost dead- I switched it to airplane mode to preserve what little life it had, and I was conscious of the fact that I had to be at the airport in five hours.  After "last call" we spent another half-hour on the sidewalk wrapping up conversations.  Sean was determined to get the brother and I home safely, so he grabbed a cab for us and we all headed to Brooklyn.

As the cab drove away I reached in the outside pocket of my purse for my phone to check the time.  Not there.  Weird, it's where I keep it.  I checked pockets, nope.  Inside zippers of my purse... NO!  I left it, along with over 3,000 pictures, in that cab.  My heart is siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick.  My flight information is on that phone.  My alarm clock is on that phone.   I. AM. SICK.  I beg my brother to get it back, knowing he can't- at least not at this hour.

Morning doesn't make anything better.  In a panic, I pack the 45,000 pounds of hair show stuff- in the checked luggage bags, of course.  It seems that TSA is still not keen on us carrying on precisely sharpened, miniature, hinged, ninja swords- no matter how much they cost or how convincing we are that they're just for haircuts.  They're also not super amped about containers of aldehydes being stuffed under the seat in front of us- even if our trays remain in the upright and locked position during take-off.  I'm frazzled.  I have the nagging feeling I'm forgetting or overlooking something MAJOR.  Oh, yeah, I am.  My phone, and its 1,076 business and personal contacts.  My 7,000, give or take a few, music choices.  Don't underestimate the loss of my love, Google.  I no longer have reading materials, reminders, schedules.... pictures- 3,000 from this week alone.

I will tell you the rest of the story later.  I'm tired now, and a little sad.  The pictures I have shared with you up to this point are the only ones that I have now.  Thanks to Instagram, the ability to take a screen shot, and an app that lets me crop out the nonsense- I have tried to salvage them.  Also, I have great friends- who re-texted me photos I had sent throughout the week.

Today my amazing little brother  sent me a couple hundred of the pictures he took with his camera on these two days.  He invited me to share a few with you.  Some are raw/unedited, but you get the drift:  It was an amazing, irreplaceable, perfect vacation.  It may take a few days, but I'll likely feel compelled to share more of his work...

Playing around with, but not quite mastering, backlit shooting.

My Hipster Central token ring

Getting his shot.

Shooting the shooter

He's #nevergoingtocallback

Shooting strangers is almost never awkward.  Nope, I'm a liar.  This guy was a good sport and he took one of us.

The view from my bed, were all the bottle sorting was carried out.

Possibly our favorite Monday photo shoot location

Our favorite Tuesday shoot.  Somehow people thought we were legit.  We had hopped a fence and shot with confidence, as if we belonged there... A small crowd gathered.  A couple of men offered their dog for the shoot.  Absolutely the most ridiculous hour of the week!

We easily spent 45 minutes at this tree.  There was a domestic disturbance issue unfolding a few feet from us the entire time.  I am very easily entertained. 

Grand Central Station

Central Park

Washington Square Park

Canoli break.

This is normal, right?

I got the shot though...

The awkward brunch Peeping Tom

My favorite.

Because I'm cool with pimping my brother's talent, check him out here.

It's Only Sundayish

Gooood Lord, you people are supportive! Thanks for continually reading my drivel, and for sitting on the edge of your seat for the weekend story.  THIS will not disappoint, I promise!

As I was researching my memory for the next phase of the story, I realized: I forgot to finish Friday night!  If you missed it, you can catch up here.

As the brother and I were high-fiving and figuring out Saturday, we decided it would be prudent to feed him.  During one of my outings in the rain earlier that day I had seen an authentic looking Indian restaurant a few blocks away.  Upon investigation, it was revealed that the poor guy had never actually had authentic Indian food and he was up for the adventure.

Although it was late, well past traditional dinnertime, the place was packed.  My brother exercised explicit trust in me by allowing me to order our meal... (It was later confirmed, that this was not a mistake!)  As we sat, nearly on the laps of the people next to our table, my brother and I had our first conversation, of depth, in months.  He is very much like me, only in some ways, nearly the exact opposite.  We have had very similar frustrations and struggles.  Both of us are questioners.  Both of us are passionate.  Both of us have big hearts and "soft spots".  We've gone about protecting ourselves very differently.  I love him.  I am proud of him for his questions and proud of him for being one of the few men his age that has thought through a few of his convictions.  Although we have polar opposite views on some things, I looooooooove that we are able to discuss our reasons over a dish of Aloo Gobi and a pint of Flying Horse Lager.  I'm not even sorry that the tables next to us were forced to listen...

As we finished up dinner, we both were energized enough to catch a train and head back into Manhattan.  It turns out that a friend of a friend is a comedian from L.A.  He has been on the East Coast for a few shows this weekend and, somehow, we were invited to attend the now-traditional vinyl party that ensues whenever he is in NYC.  Ummmm, okay, I'm in!  I told you, I'm not about to waste time sleeping in the fantastic city!

Sooooo, we met up with Jessica.  She is a published author, blogger, columnist, and NYU professor who is now working for MTV.

I. Like. Her.

Jessica's friend Chris is the host of the party and Kurt is the friend of honor visiting Chris.  There are also about a half a dozen other friends littering couches and kitchen counters...  The music is perfect, there's always a vinyl on cue. If I had days to dig, a couple of record stores, and a turn table I would recreate this night every single weekend, forever.  Alas, all good things must come to an end.  We caught a cab back to Bedford Ave. in Hipster Central and grabbed a few hours of rest.

Saturday

I awoke to someone sorting beer bottles from the alley garbage cans.  Goshhhhhhhhh the city is loud.  And I love it.  The brother and I decided to grab brunch before he headed off for 42 or so hours of solid work.  Over a mimosa, an egg sandwich and a french press, we revisited a few of the deeper conversations that had been left un-delved the night before over dinner.  I am so appreciative of this man across from me.  We have developed a lighter side to our relationship over the last few years too.  The inside jokes started mounting by the dozens and breakfast reluctantly ended too soon- with giggling and dragging feet.

As my brother headed to work I decided that today would be my "touristy" day.  I was confident enough with the train schedules and had my main man, Google, as backup.  I headed first to the harbor.  Obviously, I'd need to see the Statue of Liberty.  Because of the damage caused by Hurricane Sandy a few months ago, it was unclear whether it would be open or not, but it didn't matter much to me.

Now is probably a good time to let you in on a little-known fact about myself: As a kid, statues terrified me- specifically, the Statue of Liberty.  The same heart-racing, sweaty-palmed, surprised-by-fear jolt that would overtake my little-girl body when I saw an up-close picture of a shark in National Geographic, was the response I had EVERY time I saw a picture of Lady Liberty.  I think.... I've outgrown it...

I'm blaming this unreasonable fear on the Our Lady Of The Rockies, Mother Mary, statue that FINALLY stands on the mountain above Butte, MT.  For months, while she was being sculpted and assembled, her head- only her massive head- was stored next to the on ramp near I-90.  As a family, living in a rural community not far from Butte, we would weekly make the trip and pass her massive stony gaze.  I started hiding under blankets before we'd take the exit, to avoid the terror...

I smiled at my little girl self as I approached the subway platform.  Once I was underground, it only took a half hour of waiting to realize that on the weekends the trains run differently.  The route I had planned would be closed for track maintenance.  That was great, actually.  I took the subway to the end of the Saturday line and boarded a free shuttle bus to the harbor.  It was nice to see the city above ground for a change!  As I exited the shuttle at the Staton Island Ferry Terminal, I chose to take a harbor cruise.  The familiar Manhattan skyline glistened like a perfect photograph as we rounded the point.  Lady Liberty wasn't even scary!  The bridges were AMAZING.  The docks were fascinating and the piers were beautiful.  I took dozens of pictures in each of a hundred angles.  I cannot wait to edit these.  Being solo on a trip like this was actually nice.  I was able to move around, unnoticed, and get my shots without bugging anyone.

After docking my first priority was to charge the ever dying battery.  I easily found a Starbucks where I edited a few shots while I juiced up.  As I looked out the window, my mood clouded over and went a little dark.  I was right there.  Only steps away was the Financial District's Charging Bull.  These buildings, that bull, are the images I see in my mind's eye when I remember the 9/11 attacks.  In my memory I see video after video of these very streets covered in chaos and dust.  Crying, running, screaming and terror echo the video looping my memory.  On this day there are potted pansies on the sidewalks.  People are smiling and lolly-gagging and laughing as the make their way to climb around on the bull.  English is just one of the languages I hear, and not the most prevalent one either.  I am overwhelmed with love of my country.  I am plagued with the thoughts and images seared in my mind.  I wonder: do the tiny cracks and crevices of this building, this street, that soil still bear the DNA and grime of that day?

My battery charged, I move with purpose towards the Tower Memorial.  I haven't reserved a ticket to get in, which doesn't bother me.  I just want to see the surrounding area.  In some way I need to be able to understand the lay of the land in order to connect with the weird emotions I'm having.  It is Saturday, which means busloads of people from all over the world are milling around the, still somewhat chaotic, neighborhood.  Uniformed police direct traffic, there is still the plastic orange construction fencing and cones everywhere.  I walk.  And walk.  I need something else to focus on.  As I head back to where the city shuttle dropped me off, I buy my kids knit stocking caps that say "NYC".  (I am "awesome" for that, apparently.  I have great kids, who are simple to please.)  Finally someone speaks to me.  I have spent hours in silence with brooding, emotional thoughts.  This man is a flirt.  He plans to join me very soon in Montana, he says.  "Yeah buddy, I've heard that before," I tell him.  Still, it's nice to smile.

Next, I made my way to Times Square.  I have only one real goal here:  I've gotta see the Letterman studio.  The thought of Mr. Letterman always makes me hear my dad's laugh in my mind's ear.  Golly, I love my daddy.  I think he'd approve of my afternoon adventure.  I easily found the studio, which makes the next logical stop: Rupert Jee's Hello Deli.  The deli is less obvious.  In fact there is scaffolding in front and an hand written "Hello Deli" sign hanging above the sidewalk.  I almost miss it.  I recklessly enter the deli.  Oooops, is it closed?  I almost left, but then, there he is! On a Saturday?  Rupert says "hello", in his familiar way.  I am the only customer.  His wife is there too and I recognize her as well.  She apologizes, "we're not able to make sandwiches today" she glances up at the electrician standing on the deli counter.  I tell her that I'm starving!  Rupert offers me potato salad from the cooler.  I thank them and ask for a picture.  These people are so gracious!  Rupert and I chatted about "Dave's Montana" and the cost of a good, thick steak at a nice restaurant. I corrected him, It's MY Montana- Dave visits...   I invite the couple to my place, since "Dave never has..."

After I had harassed them long enough, I continued my wandering.  Of course The Rockefeller Center, Radio City Music Hall, another Starbucks to charge the phone, are all on my agenda.  I take hundreds of pictures.  As I passed a few NYPD officers I offered to let one have his picture with me.  He was pretty excited at the opportunity, I'm certain.  Next I asked to photograph a couple of girls in costume on Broadway.  Well, that turned into them photographing me, while we were photo-bombed by more of their feathery friends...

I.  Love.  New York.

I shot and shot.  It got dark.  I shot some more.  I recharged.  I shot.  THIS is why I'm here.  Reluctantly, I decided it was time to heed the warnings of my feet.  I would have another full day on my feet tomorrow, it was time to find a train back to Brooklyn.  Besides, there was a pint of Anchor Steam calling my name at the sausage bar around the corner...

The place was slammed and I felt no rush to wait in line for a sausage and salad.  I chose a tiny table at the far end of the bar where I could sit alone and watch people.  Almost as soon as I sat, a couple of awkward, intoxicated, men made their way over.  They quickly made it very well known that this was an uncle/nephew wing-man sitch and I was free to choose whichever one I wanted.  "Wellllll, that's sooo sweet," I told them, "but I'm here to visit my friend behind the bar".  I thanked them for the chat and forced my way onto a stool at the counter.  I called the bartender over, the same beautiful one from the previous nights, and told him he was now a very close friend.  He agreed with a wink and asked me to call him Matt.

As Matt became less busy, we started conversation where we had left off the night before.  He is alumni of my older brother's Alma Mater and, as a former basketball player, is passionate about the OKC Thunder.  We went on an on about sports, debating teams and players and loyalties.  On this day in particular, Matt was celebrating.  He had just wrapped his first movie, an independent film in which he co-starred.  Earlier in the day he had gotten the news that it was picked up for the 2013 Cannes Film Festival.  I find myself rooting for the stranger I'm turning into a friend.  Fascinating, this little world my brother lives in...

I went home brother-less.  I hoped he wasn't too tired or stressed, but I didn't worry at all for me,  I had a big day planned tomorrow...

Sunday

This isn't all fun and games, remember?!  It's a working vacation and I've got a fire hose to drink from today.  International Beauty Show- New York is one of the industry's largest trade shows.  There are hundreds of educators, stages, vendors, contestants, models, djs, classes, products, tools and exhibits. Everyone has a microphone. Everyone has a technique.  Everyone has a business plan.  Everyone has a bag and a brochure.  If you get bored, there's jewelry or apparel shopping, competitions, music, and hands-on classes.  If I had signed up for all three days, I still wouldn't have seen it all.  I focused my attention on a few key areas: natural curl treatments and techniques (I've got your back fellow curly-girls), up-styles (weddings, proms, formal events), make-up (to build my wedding business) and tools.  (Can a girl have too many tools?)

A couple of thousand dollars into my day (Yup, Japanese Steel can be pricey), my head and feet were ready for a break.  I meandered on over to the classrooms.  Because I was exhausted, I relied heavily on my phone's video feature.  The salon girls back home would appreciate the class and the educator was gracious enough to allow photos/video.

Mildly rejuvenated, I headed back to the trade-show floor to catch some main-stage presentations.  Gooooooood gravy these people are talented!  I am surrounded by artists and boundless energy. I love my job.  Eventually, as the day wound down, I reluctantly and with mild guilt at not having crammed more useful education into my teeny brain, began the 4,000 mile journey on foot to the subway station.  It was no easy task, schlepping the spoils of the day from train to train.  I am inspired and can hardly wait to get home and tell co-workers and clients about this day!

After a quick nap, I headed out in search of food.  The Thai place on the corner just past the sausage bar looked inviting.  It was great, for me.  Unfortunately for the rest of the customers, there was some kitchen drama and the cook left the building shortly after I was served.  Ummmmm, people are pretty serious about their Cashew Chicken and the patrons were getting upset.  I quickly paid and left.

As I wandered Bedford Ave., I found a vintage clothing store where I amused myself with trying on shoes and boots and belts for what must have been an hour.  I settled on a pair of Puma's in excellent condition and continued on.  Next door was a pet store.  I wondered at the inconvenience of having a dog in this city.  There are some big dogs walking these streets, and from what I can tell, very small apartments.  I continued on.  A corner drug store with rows and rows of fresh flowers on the street.  I've seen more than one man grab a bunch on his way out of the subway as he heads towards home.  Lucky girls...

I checked in on the brother.  They are nearing their midnight deadline.  It's possible they'll make it, barely;  he'll be there until then, at least.  I feel awful for him, but am completely relishing this alone time.  I'm surprised at me- I've never really like being alone with myself.  This weekend I have nothing to solve.  Some things just are, and I don't have to understand why.  Maybe I'm growing up.  My broken heart is still broken, but the edges feel less sharp here, I discover.

Because I feel uncomfortable hanging out with guys who don't even seem to talk to each other at Bachelor Kingdom, without my brother, I head back to the sausage bar to wait for him.  Tonight's bartender is the one that was just getting off shift as I arrived last night.  She seems like the kind of girl that easily makes friends with guys, but not necessarily with girls.  She is the adult, heavily tattooed, version of my daughter, it seems.  I intend to learn her...

The bar is relatively slow on this late Sunday evening.  There are a few couples here and there at tables at the front of the bar and a single guy with his cap pulled low over his eyes behind me.  As the hours pass, I have managed to learn the bartender's name: Hanna.  Funny!  I had already associated her personality with my own Hannah...  She is new to Brooklyn, having moved from Detroit to San Diego to follow a man.  That man, stole her heart, made promises, then gave in to the status-quo expected of him- being an accountant and all... She has run here to heal her shattered heart.  I guess accountants can't marry girls with tattoos.  She is beautiful.  I love that her rough, harsh exterior is melting like butter next to the flame of my genuine interest in her.  She just wants to be seen, understood, known.  Her words echo my own heartbroken thoughts.  People fascinate me.  Have I said that a time or two?

As Hanna and I chat, I learn that her "real" job is as a tattoo apprentice somewhere across the river.  She is SUCH an artist, and easily shares a few of her recent drawings.  We talked about art, which led to photography, which led to me taking pictures of her ink.  Eventually I ended up behind the bar with her, taking shots of various bar fixtures in a variety of angles as well as capturing my new friend.  I am her "new favorite regular" she tells me.  As we laughed and chatted, the lone guy with the pulled low cap came to the counter and offered to take a picture of the two of us.  Ummmm, okay, he seems nice.  We laughed at the horrible picture he took and told him that we'd obviously have to Instagram that and tag him in it... he agreed.

He grabbed his beer and pulled up a stool next to me to help me find him online. "J...." he said.  Then he spelled his last name R-I-T-T-E-R.  "Really", I asked, "like John?"  Yup.  "John is my dad... was my dad," he replied.  A cloud of sadness passed through his eyes as he corrected himself.  I remember well, the death of his father.  I also remember watching a few family interviews after the sudden event.  I remember thinking "that is a really cool, close-knit family.  It must take intentional effort to be so close and grounded in the entertainment industry kind of environment- for multiple generations..."  Actually, I've since learned, it takes intentional effort to be close-knit and grounded in any environment.

As J, Hanna and I talked and laughed and teased we got closer to the time of my brother's arrival.  Eventually J asked me where we could get breakfast at this time of night.  He had just flown in from L.A. about an hour before coming to the bar and had not eaten.  He was going to be staying in a loft apartment above the bar and had no idea where he even was in the city.  Could I help?  Welllllllll, with that kind of smile, I will figure this out!  I told him that I know nothing, but that my little brother knows everything.  Then I, without his knowledge and after 40+ hours of solid editing, volunteered my still-absent brother to take us to breakfast as soon as he arrived.

My brother is awesome.  He didn't even groan at the thought!  As we started out, at 2:30ish in the morning, for an all night diner, I linked arms with J.  Eventually he put my hand in his sweatshirt pocket and laced his fingers with mine.  Is this real?  This guy is freakin' sweet!  The diner was, not specifically, but very much like, the diner on Seinfeld. Over french toast, bacon, eggs and coffee we shared current and historical stories of siblings and parents.  J told us about the movie he'd start shooting tomorrow, including the twist and the ending.  I thanked him for saving me the two hours, I'd not be watching it now- I joked.  He begged us to see it anyway.  Mmmmmmmm, maybe...

As the only patrons at the diner that night, we were randomly selected to take part in a survey.  The cook was mixing up three different recipes of sangria, would we be the taste testers?  Sure!  This night could not get any more interesting....

Wrong!  As we left the diner, we passed a neighborhood playground.  J made the mistake of mentioning just how long it had been since he went down a slide.  "Come on!"  I grabbed his hand and pulled him through the gate.  I barely heard his concerns about the park being closed.  It's only closed if they tell us to leave, I assured him.  We spent a good half hour sliding, swinging, playing hopscotch and climbing the jungle gym.  Finally, exhaustion set in.  J needed to get home, his car would be picking him up in 3 1/2 hours.  He begged us to show him where he was living and we (sorta) willingly obliged.  As we again walked hand in hand through Brooklyn, I could barely wrap my head around this day.  A-M-A-Z-I-N-G!  We dropped him off at his door around 5:30 a.m., I invited him to call us if he got bored in-between shooting scenes, then I accepted a couple of quick kisses on the lips and the brother and I trudged on towards Bachelor Kingdom.

I happen to like this working vacation, and it's only Sundayish...

This is Chris, host of the Vinyl Party

The brother and Jessica A

Kurt B.  His stand-up on Comedy Central got me through more than one dark day in the early months of my divorce.  He doesn't know that, don't tell him- it'd probably just go to his head.

Brooklyn Bridge

Looking towards the Charging Bull

Manhattan

It's very important to be properly educated before making a blow-dryer purchase.

Just one of dozens of the simultaneous small stage presentations...

This hairy man is also just the teensiest bit handsy.

J and Hanna discussing possible tattoo placement.

He's looking good for two days of solid work, right?!

With a grin like that...

And It's Only Friday

I had grand plans.  I usually do, actually.  This time, despite my best intentions, I couldn't figure out how to write the things I have been planning for a month or more- we can refer to that nonsense as Plan A...

So, I took a vacation.  Although I had no intentions of telling you about any of it, the vacation of a lifetime has turned out to be my Plan B topic tonight- nope, we're calling this Plan C...  (I should also make a little disclaimer here:  This is for me.  It will be loooooooong, as has become my habit recently, and probably incredibly un-interesting. However, it must be documented because it matters to me, so no apologies...)

Plan B would have been a photo blog post of my little working vacation, but life sometimes SUCKS and circumstances made that a virtual impossibility.  I'll tell you about that in a minute- but only because Kristin, in her sweet, meek and humble way, strongly forced me to- right in the midst of my hissy-fit.  (I prefer to call it grief, it seems a so much more valid display of emotion to classify it that way.)

Back in January I spent a considerable time day-dreaming about the kind of life in which a girl like me could flit off to amazing places, spend time with people I love and, without the distraction of mothering responsibility, take photographs of people, places and things outside of Montana... all to my hearts content.  The day-dreams turned into a bit of a flirtation- Google and Travelocity reciprocating a flirty response in return.  Since my birthday is in a couple of days... I batted my eyelashes, smiled coyly and suggested to Google that I gift myself with a birthday trip to New York City to see one of my amazing little brothers...

Google is a fabulous wing-man.  Travelocity offered his hand and led me to the dance floor... $405?!  You barely can get to Seattle from here for that!  Oh, but after that dance I got bashful.  With my chin fallen, I asked Google for an excuse.  I'm a self employed, single mother.  I cannot be frivolous or foolish in any aspect of my life.  I simply cannot afford to be selfish with my time or money yet.

It's almost like Google was waiting for my objections- precisely at the same exact time as my mommy-free week and the ridiculous airfare during my birthday month, Google was now offering me THE trade show of all beauty shows-  International Beauty Show- the NYC edition.  Sold.  Say no more, I'm your girl... (Google and I continue to enjoy and on-again-off-again relationship, but that's for a different blog.)

Thursday

I flew into Laguardia a couple dozen minutes before midnight, NY time, on a Thursday. The story begins this night, believe it or not.  I'm not about to waste time on the ground in this adventure- besides, it's only roughly 10:00 p.m. at home.

The brother and I grabbed a cab to Williamsburg in Brooklyn, also fondly known as Hipster Central in my heart.  After a brief meeting of one of the room-mates, we dropped my luggage at the bachelor pad he recently moved into.  I do mean "bachelor" in every "sense" of the word- all five senses were on high alert at all times.  God bless you little brother, for cleaning a bit of the manliness off things before I arrived- you deserve a medal of some kind, I'm still working on that...

Food was the next order of business.  We linked arms and mosied through Hipster Central for a few blocks.  My heart swelled with pride, marvel and excitement to be in this- his city- and to hear him tell me about his favorite places and the experiences he has had on this street since moving here a few months ago.  We turned into a busy little sausage bar, ordered a pint and a plate, and squeezed in at the counter.

I looooove watching people.  Even better than watching, is getting to know them.  The bartender that night was as delightful to talk to as he was delicious to look at.  As we chatted, the little brother informed me that he would not be able to take the weekend off as he originally had planned.  At work they were up against a tight, moved-up, deadline and would be likely working around the clock to meet it.

Friday

Friday came early.  The brother had given me a choice: hang with the quiet strangers in his house and figure out my own entertainment all day, or follow him into New Jersey, to his job, and figure out my own entertainment there.  Oh, and it would be a cold, windy, pouring-sheets-of-rain kind of day.  I chose to follow him like an annoying little sister tag-along.  As we cuddled under the teeny umbrella, he introduced me to the first of many, amazing, unique, neighborhood coffee shops.  No time to linger, we had a train to catch...

As we shoved ourselves onto the crowded train, my brother did his best to describe where we were going and how to get back, if I needed to without him.  I didn't listen.  My plan was to wander, photograph, meet him for lunch, and wander more until he got off- then we would head home together.  Plans, schmanns.

On our walk from the train to his office, through the streets of Hoboken, he showed me interesting things.  We passed the bakery belonging to The Cake Boss.  Lame, tourists were already outside taking pictures and lining up for it to open.  I decided right then: I am not going to do touristy stuff. Well, as little as possible, while still experiencing this place. I love the un-ordinary, I do not love cliche.  I love the un-expected places, I do not love the prescribed agenda.

As the little brother introduced me to a co-worker, it became obvious that there was a great deal of pressure and stress at the work-place. Leaving them with their videos to edit, I took the umbrella and set out.  If Umbrella Wrangling was a sport, I'd only make the blooper reel.  I absolutely destroyed that ridiculous thing.  The handle fell off, the spines stripped, it easily blew in and out of inversion.  My previously straightened hair was now an absolutely sopping wet mess of curls- I'm not even going to try to describe the discomfort of my soaking wet jeans and pleather jacket.  I. WAS. FREEZING.

I'm nothing, if not a survivor.  I found a CVS, bought a new $6 umbrella, and nearly ran to the Starbucks I had seen on my way in from the train station.  I'm ashamed... Starbucks?  With all of these crazy-cool coffee shops?  Whatever, Starbucks was well lit, warm and, best of all, had outlets galore.  The phone/camera I had planned to shoot with all day was roaming like crazy and had been draining its battery like it had a siphon.

I guzzled coffee, thawed my wet fingers, and ventured out again.  This time, down to the water.  Manhattan was barely visible with the clouds and rain.  Beautiful.  I enjoyed the sounds- I'm not sure which was louder, the busyness of the city or the thoughts in my head.  Very rarely have I been so miserable, yet so at peace.  I would love this day- come hell or high water.

I met the brother for lunch, briefly.  He scarfed his curry chicken, a fancy dessert and and $8 pear juice (yuuuuum) before hustling, minus his umbrella, back into the rain to work.  I was exhausted. Why hadn't I payed better attention to the "getting home" instructions?  I'm hopelessly soaked and ridiculously cold.  My hair is literally drip, drip, dripping down my back.  Water is collecting on my forehead and, in rivers, running off my nose.  I down-loaded a $4 NYC public transit app onto my phone and headed west... or was it south... no, northeast...?... To the nearest subway platform.  I am not sure how long it took me to figure out my route once I got back into the city, but I will say I must have appeared to have it all together.  More than one lost-looking person asked me for directions.  I resisted the urge to confidently send them off on some unknown train to Neverneverland and instead admitted to being just as new to this underground puzzle.

I made it back to Bedford Ave. in Hipster Central without even once boarding the wrong train.  I only had about 45,000 more blocks to walk until I reached the bachelor kingdom I'm now calling home.  My spirits were high, but my water-logged pants were doing their best to ruin my day...

After a change of clothes and a late evening nap, another rain-pelted adventure to a different fabulous coffee shop, and a whole lot of people watching- I got word that the brother would be reallllllllly late coming home.  I was on my own for dinner.  Well, no biggie. I knew where that sausage bar is now and I wasn't in the mood for sitting alone at a nice restaurant.  At the bar the gorgeous bartender remembered my name and the details of where I'm from/why I'm here.  (Let me just say guys, listening is a skill that will get you serious bonus points with the ladies.  Oh, and asking meaningful questions too, THAT is a whole blog topic in itself and I feel myself about to digress- I apologize.)

Anywhoooooo, it felt a little like my very own Cheers episode!  Mr. Bartender was busy all night, but managed to find a reason to lean my direction, often, to refill my water.  Eventually I was joined at the bar by a skinny roofer from Italy.  That man-child (yes, I checked his passport, he turned 21 the week before) taught me Italian, I helped him with his English.  He looked as much like a roofer as I do a lumberjack.   He, not surprisingly, is a "very famous actor- in his country"... NY has fascinating people!

I left the bar in time to introduce myself to the second roommate at the pad.  Eventually, as I drifted in and out of sleep, the brother returned.  We high-fived and made plans for Saturday... It seems he won't be coming home again until this project is wrapped. Okay with me, I've got places to go and people to meet...

Ahhhhhh, I have so much to tell you!  I'm tired now, and it's only Friday... Stay tuned.

The sausage bar around the corner in Hipster Central

Still usable at this point... not for long!

Manhattan from Hoboken, NJ

The Hoboken Terminal

Refueling, recharging and regrouping

The Train