castaway

May finished off strong with 8 days all alone on my favorite island.

 

I did not have a plan except to (not listen to any talking) hang out in the deep, deep bathtub (regular + delicious, none of those gnarly jets) in the hotel room & quarantine myself from sugar's long looks.  I had not packed anything except an eyeliner, one lipstick, a bottle of sunscreen (natch), mani/pedi tools, sheet masks, and hair pins.  Then I was double-crossed by the weather forecast, leaving me with nothing to wear of the few things I brought to wear except a cap-sleeved rayon jersey dress, over-the-knee socks, and boots.    

 

me & Anthony Weiner lol

 

I went to the 7a.m. Mass at St Patrick's every single day, except Saturday, when Mass was at 8 but I just skulked around, piously, for an hour, waiting. The hour was not so much due to my crepuscular devotion as the looming high temperature however I did discover how 7a.m. Mass is same as 5a.m. gym.  So I was able to reconnect with my people in our same machine of devout rigor.  Love.

 

 

The other upside was there is nothing in the whole world quite as restful as early-morning Manhattan bc you know what it looks like the rest of the time.  Every morning there would be hardly anyone within 20 feet of me, except the guy hosing down his sidewalk segment. Good mornings were exchanged. I worked on my sashay.  I blame our recent screening of How to Marry a Millionaire, bc seriously, walk langorously. Why not? It's just me, this whole block! And it's a tad too warm for these knee-high boots! 

 

If you need to know: all over the island, girls are just killing it in the nude-shoe trend. Crushing it, honestly.

 

At the hour of 7a.m., many, many gentlemen are getting ready to fire up this machine or that at about a million construction sites.  If I had a quarter for every foreman I saw changing out of the trunk of his Chrysler, I would have the cost to light two votive candles on the St Jude's altar.  Also: that is four dollars I would frame to remember forever the sly aurora's ogling from behind my Oakleys.

 

 

St Patrick's edifice is under a great constructive effort.  I think it was Tuesday, I was leaving the cathedral, a guy who was obviously one of the crew, oncoming to me, greeted me civilly, formally.

I returned his greeting & he said, never stopping, "You look beautiful today."

It all happened so fast, everyone walking on from each other, that I had to call out the, "Thank you, sir," over my shoulder.  When I got to the stoplight, at Madison Ave, I stopped to think of how that was different.  It seemed so in-the-moment, like You look beautiful right now.  It was just a totally different flavor of compliment from a stranger.  Normally, it's more Hey, beautiful, etc, more permanently affixing me to some judgment but that was more appreciating of my effort, like a good grade. 

 

(You knew I was this fucked-up so just hush)

 

I thought, still waiting for the light, of how Fish recently told me she would receive compliments in her 20s by saying, "I'm mostly water!" And it made me laugh & laugh, glad to know her, happy to have her with me even when we are apart.  But I would never say such a thing.  For me, it's just my fifth decade of smiling & waving graciously from the parade float I have ridden before I could walk, lol.

 

If you don't know me (get a life & stop reading LOLOL), know this: false modesty is a sin, so don't hate me bc I'm beautiful. I talk abt the entitlements & privileges received for looking like I (we, when Fifille & I are out there together) do. It's inevitable, in a true rendering of our daily lives, that I would have to admit to being a beneficiary of the world's lookism.  Look at it, hold it up to the light, look away.  I do, mostly, at least until I'm out with everyone & we watch how all the people, everywhere, do whatever we want, ahahaha!

 

After mass, I went back to my room, every day, put the do not disturb me tag on the door, and ate a breakfast of stewed rhubarb with plain coconut yogurt (my new jam).  I read this book, then took a hot bath.

 

One day, instead of reading, I flitted out to get on the 6 (like J.Lo) at turn up at the Housing Works Thrift on 77th.  It was worth the trip -- BCBG sleeveless rayon jersey dress + stupidly vanity-sized Donna Karan silk skirt: $35

 

After my bath, I reheated the dal left from the previous night's dinner, then took a nap. 

 

Day after day, I woke up from my nap to do yoga podcasts in my room.  Then I would make + eat a stupidly early-bird dinner of dal.

 

What if this were all the kitchen I ever needed?

 

Monday and Tuesday/Thursday, after dinner, I went back to the cathedral at 6 to pray a novena and the rosary, respectively.  No one talked to me in either direction in the evening. 

 

It was like one of those vow-of-silence retreats, except all the good-morninging & graciousness of the mornings.  Only child, running wild.  I had some idea of how quiet I wanted it to be, but once it was quiet, oh, man. Never let it end. I didn't even get my eyebrows done!

 

I was in kind of a mood & it showed, even out in the crepuscular midtown.  There will always be the guys who see me peeking through my fingers so I can stay invisible.  One morning, I was walking away from the cathedral, completely lost in thought about Mk 10, when a different guy oncoming to me -- different but the same -- asked, "Miss, are you going to be ok?" 

"What? Oh, yes! Good morning." Then in each our own forward motion, we departed from one another, endlessly, like Lawrence wrote about.

 

I didn't tell anyone I was coming to NYC & only exchanged texts with the Israeli once there, mainly to say, "You'll find out I was here, but I don't want to do anything, unless you're going to be a baby."

 

Well, who could say yes to that?! Ahahaha!

 

 

I spent a lot of time on the return trip thinking about the congregational history of St Patrick's.

 

 

It is gorgeous, beyond beautiful, everything all over (say) Holy Name, and I wondered what it was like as a parish church.  Before it was completely full of rubberneckers, usually, like I am sure the lady slurping & licking the host from her sweaty palm before she sat down in the pew to record some video on her phone at Saturday's Mass, during the liturgy (!) was not officially cleared to receive the Sacrament of the Eucharist, but ok omg, Pope Francis says we should all just pray.

 

 

Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night, I lay on the bed or the sofa to read my book and looked at the television until I was convinced there was nothing to watch and/or got the schedule for the evening's possibly-watchable teevee.

 

 

Nights I had determined there was watchable television, I turned it on after the day's second bath.  I watched a lot of Pitch Perfect 2, most of The Fast & The Furious 8, a little bit of one of the late Harry Potter movies, and some reality/competition television show I didn't pay attention to at all.

 

Speaking of not paying attention: one day, I listened to part of the Hamilton soundtrack, like maybe 40% of it?  I turned it off eventually bc Jesus that's a lot of singing.

 

I went to bed every night by 10, if not before, mostly feeling like a genius for having my Fresh Direct grocery order include my bath salts & baking soda.

 

 why is this closet so deep?

 

Every day, I had a back & forth -- Do I ride a Citibike? Do I not? -- yk, just to try it.  Then, also every day, after a one-way trip's observance of the nitwit pedestrians not looking & the cabs in the bike lane, I took a pass. It seemed dangerous or at least annoying. But every day was new, the openness to consideration.  I mean, it would have interfered with my slow-walking, Sicilian widow presentation, at a minimum.

 

Speaking of annoying, which I just was, I stopped into the Juice Press on 3rd Ave for a looky-loo.  It bothered me, how they were shameless and proud to have a whole menu of smoothies none of which had a base cost of less than $10.  Ok, I have a stupid crush on the Equinox Juice Bar's turmeric smoothie, but I only drank it once in October and once in January, and also it's yk, a health-club smoothie & there are five of them or whatever, but one of those 2 dozen Juice Press smoothies is $15!  Fifteen! 

 

I did have a sample-sized, half-full Dixie cup of their "Cold Brew Almond Latte."  It was yummy but if I had it in the 9-oz size, I would never be able to sleep again and be out $11 plus a tip.

 

However!  I nicked the paper menu & now I can make my own smoothies from their ingredient lists. Yes. Good ideas.

 

 

There was a day, I forget which one, when after Mass, I stopped to browse the farmers' market at Dag Hammerskjold Plaza, and then went to the 8a.m. service at Holy Family Church, right there.  A liturgical double-header!

 

Mari texted me, in reply to this alert, "Are you going to become a nun?"

 

Well I don't have to become one! Look how I can live just like one! Mass, simple food, bathing!  Like my own convent in my own spa!  And yoga!  I could get one of those Buddhist-nun masks so I don't inhale bugs & that would cut down on useless chatter!  People would probably still want to talk about my hair, though, but in that case, I would totally call out (muffled bc mask), "It's mostly protein!"

 

Hahaha.  I'm super-relaxed by now like the girl in the book I was reading ("Whaa-aat?").  Only three more days of B-school till summer (& the month until summer B-school, yk).  I finished that Tana French mystery & feel like some Frank O'Hara, no surprise. Be good, xoxox

  

Comments

[samantha]

you are funny. and that sounds like an excellent trip.