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The Night a Feminist Fell in Love with Machismo

Date: July 16, 2012
Author: julietjeske
Categories: New York City, Uncategorized
Comments: 1 Reply
D train, led by car #2590, entering Bay Parkwa...

D train, led by car #2590, entering Bay Parkway on the West End Line. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

When it comes to living in the big city, I have a bit of a fear problem.  I don’t have a valid driver’s license in part because driving a car freaks me out, I lose all confidence when I am lost in a tiny town or village, and I have a strange fear of getting stranded in the middle of nowhere.  All of my fears of life in the country are totally irrational, but in the big, bad, scary city of Gotham, absolutely nothing freaks me out.  I have seen people publicly having sex, been flashed by men on the subway, grabbed on the street, nearly pick-pocketed, had many screaming matches, and I couldn’t even begin to count the times I have witnessed public urination and even defecation on my neighborhood streets.  None of this makes me flinch.  When a man grabs my arm on the street, I immediately unleash a torrid of obscenities.  A would be mugger doesn’t want to deal with a screaming woman shouting at him especially a woman with my kind of volume.  When threatened, I am not exactly demure and I am not exactly quiet.

I have what some would call a reckless habit.  I like to go see shows late at night in places like the East Village, Williamsburg, Bushwick and the Lower East Side.  I am a bit of a loner, and I don’t enjoy the stress of having to coordinate a “Let’s go see a show” buddy, so 99% of the time I attend most late night events by myself.   I also usually know performers in the shows I go to, so attending shows by myself is not a lonely endeavor. My mode of transportation is almost always the New York City subway system.  I have lived in a metropolitan area for nearly 20 years, 8 years in Chicago and 11 in New York City.  I take public transportation daily, but I have yet to file a police report or get in an actual physical altercation with anyone.

The other night I did my usual and hopped on the Q train to see a show at Coney Island USA.  I went to see my buddy Fisherman and his orchestra of sorts – a lighthearted burlesque show with live music, my usual fix.   After the show I hung out with some friends and around 1 am I left to take the subway home by myself.

As usual when the train is in the station, only one car has its doors open.  I decide to sit in the air-conditioned car and not on the muggy platform.  A dozen or so people are already in the car, including a rather strange-looking fellow.  He has shabby white hair and a raggedy beard.  His outfit looks like a twisted throw back to the swinging sixties.  He sports a brightly colored tie-dyed t-shirt, a denim vest and jeans covered in political buttons.  He is colorful yet filthy.  The raggedy hippie is either flying drunk, on drugs or mentally ill and is probably a combination of all three.   I chose a seat as far away from him as possible.  He is loudly muttering and getting into fights with people on his end of the train.  I couldn’t tell what exactly what he is blathering on about, but I knew that the rest of the car is completely annoyed with him.  He isn’t just sitting there being a drunken idiot, but actively upsetting others while engaging in fairly hostile language.

By the time the car starts moving, he is subdued.   My mind goes elsewhere, he is just one of many crazy people I will encounter on any given day in New York.  The train only moves a few stops from Coney Island and all of sudden I look up and the crazy hippie is nearly right on top of me, muttering incomprehensible drivel.  Standing on a few feet from where I am sitting he reaches out an arm in my direction to grab me.  I immediately stand up and shout

“Get away from me…Don’t touch me”

Instead of backing off he lunges for me, getting angrier, he tries to explain himself.  I jump back a couple of feet and stand my ground.  I am alone, in low heels and a dress with long blonde hair and my huge blue eyes.  Even though I feel unstoppable, I know I look like one big target to someone mentally deranged.  I am often pointed out by a crazy person on a train car, even when I am not looking up.  Call it a doll syndrome or a Barbie complex, the mentally unhinged always love picking on the baby-faced blonde.  As I stand there waiting for what to do next, I hear a non-verbal threat from a seat near me.  Two young men, in their early twenties with thick Brooklyn accents immediately jump up and threaten the man to sit back down.

“Hey Buddy”

The hippie slumps back into his seat and immediately begins to antagonize the young men.  I can’t make out what he is saying as he is muttering nonsense.  I debate going to another car, but I figure the crazy old man could follow me, and at least in this car the two young Brooklyn thug types have my back.  Yet at the same time I worry that they would end up getting in an actual fight with the man, and as much as he is scaring me I don’t want to witness a full out subway brawl.

The two Brooklyn boys are both a tsunami of testosterone, loud, aggressive and fearless.  Things immediately escalate and the Brooklyn boys, threaten the hippie by pounding on the wall of the train car, just above his head.  The deranged hippie just keeps riling them up.  The moment things would calm down, the hippie would look at me as if I was a big juicy steak and he was a dog without a meal.  This is not lost on the two Brooklyn boys, who would then return to intimidating him.  At ear-splitting volume they shout

“Don’t you know what I could do to you?  Why are you giving me a hard time?  Why would you continue to disrespect us like that?  I could wipe you out old man!”

After a few more stops and screaming on the part of my younger protectors, one approaches me and asks when I am planning on getting off the train.  Then he walks over and asks the hippie what stop he was getting off on, the hippie replies.

“Whatever stop moves me man”

And with that the hippie looks over at me again.  Even though he is older, he is a huge and he probably could overtake me just based on his size.  I am stone-cold sober and have my phone out ready to call 911.  But it will be difficult to dial if he knocks me unconscious, or throws my phone onto the tracks.  Despite his claims of being a peace-loving “hippie” the look in his eyes screams predator.  The younger men discuss among themselves what they were going to do and wait until we got to another stop.  They then lure the man over to the doors, and when the doors open the younger and larger of the two position the hippie right in front of the open doors and scream

“You are getting out here!”

And with enough force to knock over three men, he takes the hippie by his shoulders and shoves him onto the platform.  The doors shut and the train moves out of the station.  The second the doors close a palatable release is felt throughout the subway car, the psycho is no longer a threat to anyone.   I slowly walk over to the two young men and thank them.

“Hey it’s no big deal, that guy was a monster, you could see it on his face, he won’t mess with you lady”

I ask what neighborhood they live in, because they remind me of a friend from Bensonhurst, a somewhat notorious old school neighborhood in Brooklyn.

“Kings Highway” “I am Irish and my buddy here is Italian, we grew up in Brooklyn, and we aren’t going to put up with some fool like that asshole, and don’t worry we weren’t gonna hit him, he wasn’t even worth that, we just wanted to scare him and get him off the train!”

His Italian friend responds

“And don’t worry we aren’t teenagers, I am 22 and he is 23 years old, we have seen more crap in our day…anyway have a nice night lady and get home safe”

I return to my seat across from a young black man and woman.  The young man has his jeans rolled up to his knees exposing his calves and his female friend is making fun of him

“Rolling your jeans up like that makes no sense, and your legs are ashy!  You can’t go around like that…you look crazy”

“Leave me alone girl, don’t you know my bunions are killing me!”

And with that I fall over laughing.  The couple looks over to me and we all starting laughing, about the crazy hippie, the tough Brooklyn boys, bunions and ashy legs.

Even though I know I am taking a risk riding the subway alone at all hours of the night, I don’t feel that scared.  Statistically I am more likely to die in a car wreck on a highway than murdered in a subway car in New York City.  When I first moved to New York I witnessed almost identical situation only less extreme.  A drunk man was causing quite a commotion on a subway car, and at after 15-20 minutes of putting up with him, three large men calmly walked up to him and pushed him out on the next station.  They didn’t even exchange words with the drunk man, the men just did what they thought they needed to do.

One of the most amazing things about living in New York City is the feeling that you are never really alone.  The lives of 8 million are constantly intersecting with each other, worlds colliding every day.  Our proximity gives us opportunities to connect with people of totally different backgrounds.  We can’t get in our cars and shut out the rest of the universe, we have no choice but to interact with one another, bound together whether we like it or not.  In a city that prides itself on its dog eat dog mentality and survival of the fittest philosophy situations like the Brooklyn boys and the hippie remind me that were are all in this together.

As Manhattan slowly becomes sanitized and gentrified the outer boroughs still feel much more authentic.  One of the things I love about Brooklyn, is that the old school tough guy mentality isn’t completely lost.   As Starbucks invade nearly every corner and mom & pop stores disappear, replaced by Dunkin Donuts it is nice to know that Brooklyn still produces some badass young men who are willing to get involved to help out a complete stranger.   Private school boys raised in luxury probably wouldn’t have thrown a threatening hippie off the train like that.  I was thankful for their lack of fear and street smarts.  I don’t want to live in the false safety of homogenized suburbs.  I want to live in a city with rough edges, and among people who won’t just sit back and take the world at face value.  New York City constantly surprises me and that is why I love this city so much.  Normally two super macho young guys would intimidate me, I never thought in a million years I would fall in love with brute male energy late at night on a subway car.

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Dating After Divorce: When will you be ready to date again?

Date: July 2, 2012
Author: julietjeske
Categories: Dating - NYC, Depression, Divorce, Gay Husband, Relationships, Straight Spouse, Uncategorized
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The Dating Game

The Dating Game (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So since I started this blog I have gotten amazing email from people all over the country and people all over the world about their own personal struggles of living a post-divorce life.  Most of the questions and concerns are about dating.  And I certainly don’t have all the answers as I am a bit of a mess in that department myself.  But the question I get a lot is

When will I be ready?

And all I can say is that the answer is different for every person.  It has been three years for me, and I am not even sure of the answer for myself.   One of the problems of a newly divorced person is that nearly every waking thought is about your divorce and about your ex.  Of course this isn’t the case with everyone, but I have found it is more the norm than it is the exception.  A potential partner can and will pick up on this, and it will be a huge warning sign to them that you aren’t ready.  For instance if everything the other person says on the date leads you to say in response…

  • That is just like my ex
  • I can relate because of my divorce
  • Do you know what my ex did?
  • I had the same thing with my ex

Basically the more times you bring your ex up, the crazier you are going to sound.   And you are a little crazy as divorce is an extremely traumatic event in any adults life.  So, here is a trick that my therapist gave to me, and I recently repeated to a friend that will help.

Stop referring to your ex by their first name, instead reduce them to simply…”my ex”

You don’t have to do this with people who know your ex well, or family members.  In fact doing that might read as insensitive.  But if you are meeting a potential date, mention your ex as little as possible, and if you do don’t use their first name.  You will find in time this will become effortless, and you won’t find yourself even having to think about it.   Also try like hell not to talk about your divorce, your settlement, custody agreement, or the reason why you got divorced to a new potential partner.  Again much easier said than done, as I know I still have this problem.  I am worlds away from where I was a year ago, or two years ago but my divorce is a huge part of my life.  It doesn’t help that I am currently working on my memoir.  Writing a book isn’t exactly a casual affair as it tends to take up most of my thoughts, most of the time.  So I am in an especially strange situation of working for hours on something I shouldn’t talk about when meeting someone new.  Hopefully you aren’t writing a book about your divorce!  So talk about anything and everything else!

Also try getting your feet wet without plunging into the pool.  Don’t set out to have a committed relationship right off the bat, and do NOT think of terms of replacing your ex.  Try to date multiple people casually, maybe even without much of a sexual component to the relationships.  Go on group dates with your friends instead of forcing yourself to sit across the table from a virtual stranger before you are ready.  Surround yourself with people who love and support you, rather than putting yourself out in a dating pool full of sharks.  Some men and women seem like the answer to your prayers at first, only to drop you like a hot rock when they find a less complicated mate.  Some are just player types who want to bed as many people as they can and care little about your feelings.  Others might be just as screwed up as you are after a divorce and you could find yourself in a co-dependent nightmare.  You don’t want to be a burden on someone, you want a balanced healthy relationship.  In order to have a healthy relationship you have to be able to stand on your own two feet before involving another person.

I really don’t have a definitive answer on the exact length of time post-divorce and anyone who gives you an exact time frame should be viewed as suspect.  You will know when your divorce and your ex does not consume your every thought.  You will know when you are not so desperate for a replacement for what you thought you had with your ex.  You will know when you are comfortable and happy on your own, and it could take a few months or maybe a few years before that happens.  Again I say this from experience, as a very deeply flawed person that I am myself.

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Dating After Divorce: The Man-Child

Date: May 4, 2012
Author: julietjeske
Categories: Dating - NYC, New York City, Uncategorized
Comments: 16 Replies
The Xbox "S" controller.

The Xbox “S” controller. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Trying to date men who are age appropriate in the roughly 35-45 age bracket it shocks me how many men in this category still exist.  We know them well, by their habits and ways…but what exactly is a “Man-Child?”

  • Age – at least over thirty
  • Occupation – usually something with no real career advancement but flexible hours
  • Economic Background – Any level but a man with a large trust fund can live like this indefinitely
  • Wardrobe – Dress like they are at least 10 years younger than their actual age – Aging Hipster
  • Bad habits – smoking, frequent heavy drinking, drug use
  • Almost always promiscuous – avoid commitment
  • No real plans for the future
  • Emotionally unavailable
  • Lives cheaply or barely within his means – has no savings

Now if the man who I just described is 25 years old, it is no real cause for concern.  As a man under the age of thirty is trying to work things out.  The exception being an aspiring actor, writer, musician, or artist.  Anyone pursing a creative profession might have one or more lower paying flexible dead-end jobs while they pursue their greater passion.  But a man who does not have these ambitions, and is this unfocused past a certain age, one has to wonder about.

The typical pad of a Man-Child is either a tiny filthy studio or a large sprawling space with multiple roommates.  A large flat screen TV and Xbox will be the centerpiece, some secondhand furniture, while used take out containers line the room along with various porn DVDs.  The refrigerator will contain nothing but alcohol, and a bong filled with ashes will be strewn about the floor along with some smokey one-hitters.  Again, an apartment like this is not too alarming if the man in question is under 30 years of age, but once over 35 its a huge red flag.   The Man-Child usually doesn’t want to “tie themselves” down to one woman, so they are constantly on the hunt for new conquests.  I met a great example of this type the other day who said within five minutes of meeting me.

“New York City is all about getting as much pussy as possible”

He claimed he was 36 years old but I suspected he was older.  His co-workers informed me that he has claimed 36 as his age for several years now.  They also told me to run, not walk away from him.  I obliged as I could practically feel the slime oozing off of him.   So what becomes of an aging Man-Child?  As I have entered my late thirties myself the prognosis is not so great.  The lifestyle of constant detached hook-ups, late night drinking binges and drug fulled parties gets more and more difficult to sustain.  A somewhat out-of-shape man over forty is not going to attract the same amount of women he did in his twenties, no matter how charming he might be, and especially if he is broke.  What I find most amusing about these men is their overwhelming fear of commitment.   As if they commit to one woman surely someone better will be just around the corner.  Even though with each passing day the likelihood of someone better showing up gets less and less.

So what is a gal to do if you encounter a man-child?  If you see a diamond in the rough, good luck to you.  Personally haven’t had the best of luck in transforming anyone but occasionally a dyed in the wool man-child will have a change of heart and turn into a full-fledged man.  But chances are you will just end up taking care of him, emotionally and possibly financially as long as you are with him.

Of course there is the female equivalent.  A woman who lives for the day, has no savings, no plan and spends all their time, money and effort trying to snag a man who will take care of them.  She might get lucky, but once past a certain age, her prospects will diminish.  Or maybe she is simply on the hunt for multiple sexual partners and wild times.  Not so surprising if in their early twenties, but rather sad once past a certain age.

New York city enables this behavior well past its appropriateness because the lifestyle here feeds off of the myth that living like a twenty year old is always sustainable.  In very few parts of the country can a person make the income off of a dead-end job as they can in New York.  Plus the New York City nightlife is dominated by others looking for a cheap thrill and those who make a profit promoting that lifestyle.  Unfortunately for those us who want to grow up, as the more stable and grounded people get married, the dating pool becomes filled with Man-Child types.  If you don’t want to end up being a surrogate parent to a man or woman who just wants to perpetually live like a child, then avoid these people like the plague.  After all, our late thirties should be a time of personal growth and professional advancement, not the time to take care of a deadbeat loser.

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Everyone seems to be getting worked up over HBO’s “Girls”

Date: April 18, 2012
Author: julietjeske
Categories: Dating - NYC, New York City, Relationships, Uncategorized, Women and Feminism
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I don’t normally write reviews, but since I tend to write about women’s issues sometimes I felt compelled after seeing the highly anticipated “Girls“

HBO decided to green light a new program starring written and directed by a 25-year-old woman, Lena Dunham, called “Girls”   I think that might be too much to expect from a 25-year-old, despite her exclusive and expensive education at St. Ann’s in New York and Oberlin.  There is no substitute for life after all and most 25-year-old simply haven’t lived enough of it to fully understand its many complexities.  Reviews of the show have been glowing to scathing, and several writers have gotten worked up over the awkward and depressing sex scene in the pilot.

It breaks my heart to say it, as I should be championing a show written and created by a woman especially one that produced and set in Brooklyn.  However the show made my skin crawl.  I don’t think I am its intended audience as I am nearly 15 years older than the main character.  But I am a single woman struggling to make it in New York, why do I hate it so much?  I guess because the lead character comes across as an entitled whiny brat completely dependent on her parent’s allowance.  When her parents cut her off abruptly she flips out, quits her unpaid internship and ends up high on opium pod tea.  Her roommate complains of a boyfriend that is “too nice” and her roommate’s visiting relative from England discovers she is pregnant.

I do not come from a privileged background not even close, so I guess it might be why I can’t relate to these characters.  Not only is the creator, Lena Dunham from a certain level of privilege but one of her co-stars is the daughter of NBC reporter Brian Williams.  So two privileged girls created their little slice of New York that only they might find interesting.  I would love to see reviews of this show written by poor struggling New Yorkers, not well off reporters.  I didn’t find these characters sympathetic at all.  Dealing with real adversity actually makes people more interesting, and the obstacles these women are up against don’t seem that insurmountable.  I don’t think the creator of this program has experienced much outside of her privileged sheltered upbringing.  For example the roommate that complains about the boyfriend who is too nice, and has a proverbial vagina…comes across as completely unlikable.  What does she expect?  And how frequently is this really a problem for young women, especially in New York?  I have heard tales of both men and women treating each other horribly, not being too sweet or too nice.  Hook-ups, one night stands, sexually transmitted diseases and rude texts and emails are the norm, not overly dotting super committed boyfriends, especially at that young age.   I know a lot of women much younger than myself and I don’t think any of them has the “boyfriend that is just too nice problem”.  Not one in fact.

The apartment they live in looks to be in the Park Slope neighborhood of Brooklyn which is actually quite posh.  Their place is huge and for the most part well furnished. The rent is unbelievably low at $2100 a month as it appears to have at least three bedrooms. The furniture is beat up, cheap and secondhand…but at least they have furniture.   When I was just out of college in Chicago I slept on the floor because I couldn’t afford a bed, and I have met several New Yorkers who have little more than a mattress, yet these women have large and comfy queens with bed frames, matching bedspreads and cute little lamps, even framed art on the walls.   The characters are also obsessed with the television series “Sex in the City“ which is to be expected as the whole endeavor appears to be some type of younger homage to the characters.  I want to inform them that “Sex in the City” is more myth than reality as most single women in New York spend the majority of their time working, the rest alone.   We can’t afford weekly brunches, constant lunches out, trips to the Hamptons and $400 shoes.  And even the characters on “Sex in the City” saw themselves as fully flawed people, not as perpetual victims.

When the lead character quits her unpaid internship she protests about another intern who was then hired as a paid employee.  Her boss responds that the former intern turned employee knows Photoshop.  Most enterprising young women would then, try to learn Photoshop or other advanced software to better their chances in the highly competitive workplace.   Instead the lead character wanders off defeated.  As a person who taught myself numerous software programs and how to type after college, how to build a website, and various other office skills,  I just felt like sitting down with this young woman and giving her a lecture on growing up.   Then there is that sex scene that everyone is worked up about.  The way her boyfriend treats her and their awkward sex scene is just flat-out depressing.  He is disrespectful and cruel yet she doesn’t seem to notice and puts up with his poor behavior.

What drives this young woman?  She is trying to publish her memoir, that is the memoir of a 25-year-old woman.  Not a 25-year-old who got back from the Peace Corps, or volunteered with orphans in Africa, is a cancer survivor, traveled around the world, or is recovering from working as a street-walker or high paid escort.  No, just a 25-year-old that went to a prestigious prep school, elitist college  and worked as an unpaid intern.  I can’t imagine no matter how skilled a writer that the fictional memoir would be all that interesting.  I know we all think we are fascinating when we are 25 but we are really just pups waiting for life to knock us around a bit and make us into more complicated adults.  Unless of course we are truly exceptional in our early twenties, but most of us aren’t.  I think I might have more sympathy if she was writing a novel, historical fiction or even poetry something less self-obsessed.

Of course there are some issues that do face young adults are addressed in this show, overwhelming student debt, a poor job market, exploitative internships and complicated dating lives.  But I can’t help but grabbing the lead character by both shoulders and say…

Try being a kid who couldn’t afford to even work at an unpaid internship because their parents couldn’t afford to subsidize them – then try to apply for jobs that require intern experience.  Try having to suck it up and take any job, even jobs you don’t want but you know you need to pay your rent.  Try living in a crappy neighborhood in a barely furnished hell hole with broken plumbing and spotty electricity.  Try living next door to a drug dealer.  Try living without health insurance for years because you simply can’t afford the coverage.  Try being the kid with a high GPA from a state college who has to compete with graduates from Oberlin whose parents subsidize them.   Try having your phone shut off or not being able to pay your rent because you are working but not making enough.  Try living next to neighbors who can’t stop fighting morning, noon and night.  Try almost getting mugged in your elevator or grabbed on the street.

Would a truly realistic portrayal of young artists trying to make it in New York be a watchable program?  Perhaps?  I don’t know.  But let’s not create a fake harshness and call it compelling.  When entitled wealthy young women make art, this is what we get.  The day mommy and daddy finally cut you off, should be the first day of the rest of your life, not the end of it.  If Dunham is the “voice of her generation” I shudder for our nation.  If we have managed to produce a bunch of helpless, entitled whining self-obsessed dolts we really are in trouble.  Eating cupcakes in the bathtub of a huge apartment in Park Slope is not struggling.  Just stop by a trailer park in Missouri or a housing project in the Bronx if you want to see a real young woman fighting against the odds.

I really wanted to like this show, I really did…but I hated it.  Here is a link to the pilot episode, maybe you will love it and if you do, it’s all good.  We don’t have to agree upon everything, and again I don’t think I am the intended audience for the show.  I am sure there are many 25-year-old women who would hate the brilliant, nuanced, dark and surreal dramatic/comedy about a divorced man in his early forties “Louie” which is one of my favorites.  But then I am a 39-year-old divorcee who has been to hell and back, so “Louie” speaks to me in ways they would never understand.

Girls – Pilot Episode

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Life After Divorce: Dealing with Loneliness

Date: February 29, 2012
Author: julietjeske
Categories: Dating, Dating - NYC, Dating After 35, Dating After Divorce, Dating Online, Depression, Divorce, New York City, Relationships, Straight Spouse, Uncategorized
Comments: 15 Replies
English: Lower Manhattan at late dusk.

Image via Wikipedia

I wish I could write snappy little sentences on this topic, compile a top ten list of things to combat the sense of being utterly alone.  I could give obvious tips like surround yourself with friends, or don’t hide up in your apartment by yourself.  But it would be disingenuous of me to give advice because I don’t have any answers.  I didn’t sign up for being alone in my late thirties: no children, no spouse and very little hope of change.  Someone from my distant past who I don’t know well, put the following on my facebook wall

“Why don’t you just learn to be happy without a man?”

He couldn’t understand that this ridiculously dismissive statement upset me.  Needless to say we are no longer friends. His declaration just seemed like a death sentence.  I should just resign myself to being alone the rest of my life, that somehow wanting a relationship is a weakness.  I can’t imagine someone going up to a man who had ended his marriage and telling him

Who needs a woman?  You should be happy on your own!

I guess some might, but it seems socially more acceptable to espouse this sentiment to a woman instead of a man.  Up until recently women had fewer choices in life than men, it was either get married or struggle on your own.  Now we have a myriad of variations of a healthy adult life.  I am not searching for a partner for a sense of financial stability or cultural acceptance.  I just prefer to live in a committed relationship and not have a series of short-lived affairs.  Not everyone likes the same flavor ice cream and not everyone likes the same lifestyle.  I don’t know how it is a weakness on my part to want to share my life with another.

There is some truth in his statement:  I should learn to love living on my own and I shouldn’t need a partner in my life.  But I am hardly 80 years old.  I don’t think I should accept my fate of a permanently single woman bereft of any romantic endeavors.  Some people tell me I am trying too hard, and I should just let nature take its course.  Well even though I keep trying to convince people otherwise; I really don’t meet anyone in my daily routine.  I work with children in my day job so I meet a lot of married dads, and at night I host burlesque and comedy shows.  Any men that I seem to attract from my performances are not attracted to me in a healthy way, in fact some of them have acted more like stalkers.  They aren’t seeing me, but a fragment of my personality heightened for the stage. These men tend to put me on such a high pedestal; I would have no way to go but down, if I actually tried to have a relationship with any of them.  I have no desire to end up with another comic and further complicate any professional ambitions in that field.  Online dating has been a bit of a fiasco for me, yet I still keep trying with no luck.  I feel entirely stuck.

I also get the criticism that I am not trying hard enough.  I should force myself to go out with nearly any man within reason, including men I have no attraction towards or are much older or younger than me.  I don’t know why I should have to put myself through that hell.  Even going out with age appropriate men I am reasonably attracted to is difficult enough.  Occasionally I will get my hopes up on someone only to quickly give up as they don’t feel the same way towards me, or I discover huge compatibility problems.  As I watch nearly everyone in my social group “couple up” at least temporarily I wonder –  What is it about me that is preventing this from happening?  Is that the trauma of my divorce and subsequent depression too glaring to hide?  Is it due to my lack of trust in other people I read as suspicious?  Do I just seem desperate?  Is it this blog? (So far at least one man has blamed it for changing his mind about a second date).  I don’t know.  I go through periods of not caring at all and then waves of feeling like it is never going to change.

The loneliness is stifling.  I am envious of women with children because at least they have someone in their life who is a part of them forever.  My marriage was little more than lies and deception, but at least I had someone to come home to every night.   My spouse was someone I thought was supporting me and with whom I could share my life.  Now it is just endless nights wondering if this is just the new normal.  I didn’t sign up for this when I committed my life to my husband.   As I watch my fellow single friends start dating people they care about, I know I won’t get to talk to them as often or see them as much.  I am happy for them, but it just makes me feel that much more alone.  I wish I had some sort of pep talk for myself and for readers of this blog.  I don’t.  I continue to hang out with friends who love and support me and reach out to loving family members, but the elusive romantic partnership seems lost to me forever.  The most searched for phrase for this blog is the following.

Why is it so difficult to date in your late thirties?

Although I might be lonely, I am definitely not alone.

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Dating Online – Why you get ignored

Date: January 23, 2012
Author: julietjeske
Categories: Dating, Dating - NYC, Dating Online, New York City, Relationships, Uncategorized
Comments: 34 Replies
Question mark

Image via Wikipedia

This post is more for the men out there than the women.  But if you have spent a lot of time on dating websites you will totally relate to these suggestions.  So thanks to the handy features on WordPress, I can tell what people search for when they stumble upon this blog.  One of the saddest things that comes up a few times a week is something along the following.

“Men on dating websites, Why do my emails get ignored?”

or

“Why do women ignore me on online dating sites”

Well if it makes you feel better, everyone I know gets ignored on dating websites.  From extremely attractive young women to grandfathers looking for age appropriate sweethearts.   EVERYONE GETS IGNORED!

I tend to ignore most obvious inappropriate matches that end up in my inbox because I have found that when I respond, even in an extremely polite manner….the responses I get back are snide, angry or filled with venom.   And I get it, as no one likes rejection even if it is over something like having an allergy to cats.  So don’t sweat it, here are some common reasons why you may not hear from a lovely lady after you have sent her an email.  And think about it, would you really want the reason spelled out?  How would it help you?  The blow-off is just part of the game, don’t take it personally.

Reason #1 – You live too far away (And in NYC it might mean no more than 10-20 miles)

Typical responses – What do you mean I live to far away?  Come on I could drive to your place in 20 minutes, why are you so uptight.  Think outside of the box, Long Island to Brooklyn is really no big deal….and it can go on and on from there with increasing venom.  Look not everyone in NYC drives a car or has access to a car and they may not want to rely on a significant other to get back and forth from their place.  They might also never want to relocate, so you are better off looking locally for your dream woman.  About half of my mail comes from men in other countries and other states, I don’t get it as most men and women aren’t looking for a long-distance relationship with a total stranger.

Reason #2 – You are too old/young

Typical responses – What are you some type of ageist?  Lighten up!  You shouldn’t discriminate on age, I am a great guy and everyone who knows me knows that. (typical from an older guy) or I like older women!  I don’t care if you are 13 years older than me, we can make something happen!  You are so hot baby why do have a thing against younger guys?  And this goes on and on and on….Most women just want to date someone relatively close to their age, as most people do.  It is really not that unreasonable an expectation.

Reason #3 – They are just not attracted to you

I don’t have the heart to tell someone this.  Even though I could in most cases, and I am sure a lot of men look at my profile and think the same thing.  It is just part of dating, some guys don’t like blondes or they don’t like women who are taller than them or they like curvier women.  Personally I never want to know when this is the case, because physical attraction is never the same for two people.  I love to wear makeup, heels, skirts, dresses and sometimes curl and spray my hair.  Some men prefer an all natural woman, so they are not the men for me.  If a woman is just not flat-out attracted to your photos, you really don’t want a response.  Trust me you don’t.

Reason #4 – Lifestyle

A woman reads your profile and thinks to herself, we have nothing in common and seem to have completely different lifestyles I can’t imagine this will work out. If you work 9-5 and the woman you sent an email to works at night just arranging a first date could be hard enough much less trying to see them often.

Reason #5 – General compatibility

This could be anything from pets, religion, having children, never wanting children, political beliefs…anything could scream deal breaker to a potential partner, and they may not know how to tell you.  We are all puzzle pieces just trying to see what fits, don’t take any of this personally.  Would you really want to get a list from a woman of all the reasons she doesn’t think you will be a compatible partner?  I wouldn’t want to get that in my inbox.  Don’t worry about it and move on.

Reason #6 – Your profile is overly negative or nearly blank

Putting a list of what you don’t want or don’t like in a profile might seem productive, but it usually just turns women off.  I think the same goes for everyone.  Ranting and raving about how much dating sucks, or how horrible dating websites are is better to put on a blog than a dating profile…much like THIS blog!  HA!  Just keep your profile simple and positive.  When in doubt have a friend look over what you have written, a female friend is best, before you publish it.  Also some guys have extremely sarcastic profiles and they might work for some, but I know many women who are immediately turned off by them.  But this is no hard rule as I am sure some women love a goofy or sarcastic profile.  And if you haven’t filled out your profile don’t expect a ton of email responses, if you are getting a lot then it is just based on what you look like and you might just waste a bunch of time on dates only to then discover your date isn’t kosher with half of the things that make you, the wonderful and unique person that you are, such as political beliefs, pets, children, work schedules, hobbies….etc.

Reason #7 – Your profile photo is too overtly sexual or revealing

This one freaks out a lot of women, I don’t know what to tell you guys but men and women are generally wired very differently.  A man might find a photo of a gal in a bikini absolutely what they are looking for in a profile.  Yet when a woman looks at a man’s profile and find nearly every photo of a half-naked guy it is sometimes a huge turn-off.  I have no idea how this is for men seeking men, or women seeking women, but generally speaking if you are a straight man looking for a straight woman you are better off with more clothing on than less.  Of course there are always exceptions, some women want to see as much as possible before they meet you.  And if you are just looking for casual sex the half-naked or nearly naked photo could be EXACTLY what you need to find appropriate partners.

Reason #8 – You only have one photo or no photo

This particular one drives me crazy because most of the time, the one photo is partially obscured or taken form a weird angle.  It just makes me think that the guy is married or hiding something.  I never trust a profile that only gives me a sliver of a man’s face.  And any profile with no photo is extremely suspect…it is basically how to look married on an online dating website!  HA!

Reason #9 – The woman you emailed isn’t that active on the site

I don’t really know why I do this but I just get burnt out by the whole thing and stop bothering to check emails, winks and quiver matches etc.  So you might feel dissed, but that woman might be ignoring her entire profile for months and it has nothing to do with you.  Or she might have just entered into a new relationship and isn’t sure where it is going so her profile is still up, but not really active.  There is a huge gray area when it comes to dating.  Again, don’t sweat it.

Reason #10 – The profile you emailed might be phony

I do know of people who put profiles out there as jokes, just to see what they would get.  I am also pretty sure that some dating sites use phony profiles as I have written before about eHarmony sending me “icebreakers” from users when my profile had been shutdown for over a year.  So either the profile contacting me was fake, or they were using my profile without my consent and either tactic is sleazy as hell.

So overall don’t worry about it.  The woman is probably ignoring you to spare your feelings.  No one wants a list of things that are wrong with them when all they sent was a simple “I would love to have a drink” or “Your pretty I would love to hear from you”.  Just let it go, they are not trying to hurt you.  It is hard for everyone and just hang in there.  🙂

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Dating After Divorce – Bad Boys and Psycho Bitches

Date: October 9, 2011
Author: julietjeske
Categories: Dating, Dating - NYC, Dating After 35, Dating After Divorce, New York City, Relationships, Straight Spouse, Uncategorized
Comments: 7 Replies
English: The American actress Tara Reid. Franç...

English: The American actress Tara Reid. Français : Actrice américaine Tara Reid. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

One subject that comes up a lot in the comments section of my articles run along the following lines.

“Well logically most men wouldn’t be as interested in dating a divorced woman in her late thirties for a number of reasons”

Something about the words logic and dating together didn’t sit well with me.  Sure, I understand that generally speaking men might be attracted to younger women with less baggage.  And in theory, both men and women seek out mates that are healthy, mentally stable, and kind.  Logically a potential partner should make us feel good about ourselves, make our lives easier or improve it in some way.   This is all true, but I tend to find many adults don’t always use logic when looking for a partner.

And since dating since my divorce baffles me, I can’t help but think of the following two categories of people who always seem to attract mates–Bad Boys, and Psycho Bitches.

The Bad Boy – Has more than one of the following qualities, if not all of them

  • Unstable income or no income – sometimes wealthy
  • Criminal history
  • Serial Cheater
  • Physically Attractive – although not always
  • Initially charming
  • Children with multiple partners or unknown children
  • Engages in reckless behavior, drug or alcohol abuse, dangerous hobbies, sports
  • Brooding, mysterious and or emotionally unavailable
  • Example – Kevin Federline, ultimate bad boy – Charlie Sheen

The Psycho Bitch – The female equivalent of the Bad Boy

  • Unstable or no income
  • Criminal history
  • Serial Cheater
  • Physically attractive – although not always
  • Children with multiple partners possibly with unknown paternity
  • Engage in Reckless Behavior, drug or alcohol abuse, dangerous hobbies, sports
  • Hyper emotional, dramatic and wild
  • Example – Tara Reid, ultimate psycho bitch – Casey Anthony

Of course a person can have one or more of those traits and be emotionally balanced and healthy, but to have several probably indicates they are a hot mess.   And yet both bad boys and psycho bitches are rarely alone.  What is so attractive about either?  Logically the craziest and cruelest among us should be the least desirable partners, but that isn’t often the case.

I know of one woman who I would put in the “psycho bitch” camp.  She tells somewhat unbelievable tales of her former relationships to anyone and everyone.  Her past couplings have included physical and emotional abuse, police intervention and even attempted murder.  She will also freely admit to past drug addiction, being institutionalized, mental problems, and medical issues so severe that she survives in part, on disability.  She openly advertises her craziness to the universe and yet she hasn’t gone for more than a few months without a boyfriend or husband.  She is not young and beautiful and she is hardly charming.  I don’t get it.  Do these men not see the multiple red flags flying in the breeze as they approach her?  How much louder could she scream “I am a train wreck”

And then there are the ultimate bad boys, men on death row, convicted of horrible vicious crimes finding sympathetic female pen pals.   One of the most disturbing and prolific serial killers of our time, Ted Bundy even had one admirer relocate to Florida to be closer to him during his trial.  She eventually married him and gave birth to his child, while in full knowledge of his stunningly horrific crimes.  And she was only one of many, apparently Bundy received loads of fan mail from adoring women.

I read about a theory into the evolutionary reason to why some women are attracted to “bad boys”.  It was along the lines of bad boys are risk takers, and risk takers were advantageous during the time of hunting and gathering.   Once humans developed agriculture, stable and secure men, were more advantageous and won the upper hand.  I didn’t really buy into this theory since most bad boys I have known, usually lived off of a woman, either a girlfriend, wife or mother — not exactly risk takers.   And so far as I can tell no one has bothered to study why men would be attracted to such volatile women.   Mommy issues?  Masochism?  Love of drama?  I have no idea.

Is it the sex?  Are bad boys and crazy bitches great in bed?  From my own experience and from that of my friends I don’t think that is always the case.  I have heard many tales of seemingly passionate bad boys being a snooze fest and of crazy bitches who just lie there.   So although sex might play a factor in some of the bad boy, psycho bitch success, they are not always incredible lovers.

Does any of this make any logical sense?  For some, taming the wild shrew or the getting a Casanova to commit is the ultimate achievement.  For the people who love dating bad boys and psycho bitches, romance has to be full of pain, drama and passion.

Since the overwhelming disaster of my divorce I crave a  stable and calm relationship.  I don’t need to soothe the raging beast of some wild man-child.  But I keep seeing examples of it all around me in both men and women.  So I have to laugh a bit when someone points out the logic in dating.  Just like so many other aspects of human behavior, who we choose to date isn’t always so logical.

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High School Bullies – It Gets Better

Date: September 18, 2011
Author: julietjeske
Categories: Depression
Comments: 3 Replies
English: Looking northwest across Nostrand Ave...

English: Looking northwest across Nostrand Avenue at Hudde Junior High School on a mostly sunny midday. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’m shutting down another blog of mine and I am moving some of my favorite articles over to this one.  The original date for this post is Oct. 15, 2010  And in honor of my 20th high school reunion which was last night, and I did not attend, I thought it was perfect timing for this one.

I’m not gay. I have no idea what being gay in a world that is so damn homophobic would be like. I can’t imagine having to deal with that on top of other trials and obstacles of adolescence.

I was different from most kids  And I was bullied.  So if there is anyone out there that might read this in the same circumstance then I hope it helps.

Since college I have suffered a bit of an identity crisis.  People tend to assume that I am from a solid preppy middle class background.  Or that I was at least a popular girl.  Some have even asked if I was a cheerleader.  Nothing could be further from the truth.

My father had a blue-collar job, my family life was chaotic and full of screaming fights, money was_always_ an issue as we never had enough of it.   There are also some issues with my family that I don’t feel comfortable printing on a public forum like this, so I won’t, let’s just say there was a tremendous amount of pain in my childhood.   I was an awkward, insecure, beaten down mess, a flat chested girl with wide hips, round thighs and baby fine hair that refused to take a perm or curl.  And this was in the days of_huge_hair!  I was also a little too smart for my own good and the world’s worst athlete.  Gym teachers would make fun of how uncoordinated I was at pretty much_every_ sport.  I also developed chronic and impossible to treat acne.  None of this was helping my poor social skills.  In social interactions I was blunt and too the point, I had no subtly.  I didn’t posses any of the tools of to make or keep a lot of friends.  I was basically a disaster.

The worst of it was in Junior high.  Who doesn’t hate Junior high right?  I really didn’t have any close friends.  I actually had a birthday party when I was 13, and no one showed up.  NO ONE. Even though I had invited about a dozen or so girls who supposedly were my “friends”.  They chose to go to another party on the same day for a popular boy who happened to share my birthday.  Yet none of them had the courage to tell me they weren’t going to come to mine.  So it was all a shock to me when 8 o’clock hit, then 8:30 then 9:00 and still_no one_showed up. I knew I had stiff competition with the other party but I never thought I would be alone on my birthday.

I had decorated my room with balloons and streamers,  bought a cake (in my best friend’s favorite color) and my family had helped get everything together.  It was beyond heartbreaking.  Humiliated in front of my parents and siblings and utterly devastated, I never spoke to any of the girls again.  I cut them out of my life completely and then I was socially entirely alone.  I couldn’t understand why no one wanted to hang out with me or seemed to like me.  I got along better with adults than with kids my age, or with children.  I developed a social numbness that I still deal with a bit today.  My depression was so bad that even my grades fell and I had been in advanced courses before that.  My parents way of dealing with it was to try to shame me into getting my grades up, which only made it worse.

There were multiple other humiliating and degrading incidents that I won’t catalog here.  My senior year being the most absurd.  The first gulf war broke out and my little band of friends and myself were quite vocally anti-war.  We were harassed in the hall ways and my friend had her car vandalized once after school.  A group of people had written anti-peace signs all over her car and “Hippie go Home” and things of that nature.  Then at the end of the year and the war over, when after I had won a competition to speak the benediction at my graduation, I found out that there was an emergency meeting by the student council and they voted me out.  Apparently my anti-war and left-wing politics seemed too risky to allow me access to a mic.  It sounds like an after school special but it actually happened to me!  HA!!!!

My speech in the senior speaker competition didn’t contain anything political.  The speech that I was to read at graduation was written by someone else.   I had no editorial control over its content whatsoever and I had not been planning on using my graduation as any sort of soap box.  I had gone to speech tournaments for years, had won multiple awards and I took public speaking very seriously.  When I found out what had happened and I almost didn’t attend my own graduation because I was so upset. Maybe they had banned me because I tended to hang with the “art fags” or foreign exchange students, gay boys and girls and other artistic types.  We were a tiny band of freaks and we really didn’t make any apologizes for it.

But all of this did do something to me.  I knew I had to get out of Missouri and get out of that community and eventually I did just that.

I have suffered some recent heartache with the collapse of my marriage, but overall I never imagined that I would be living and performing in New York City at any age.  The prospect of coming from a home where I was always told that “We can’t afford it” and “We don’t have any money” to living in the most amazing and expensive city in the country?  The whole prospect seemed insurmountable.

This city is magical to me, and has been since I moved here in 2001.  I am surrounded by friends, really amazing friends who have listened to me cry about my divorce, go on and one about my situation and seen me meltdown multiple times and they were always there to pick me back up.  They didn’t desert me, they stood by me and in doing so they have really blown my mind.  And this is the greatest part, they are all creative people some are film makers, artists, writers, dancers, singers, musicians, actors, directors, sword swallowers, fire eaters, trapeze artists, trick rope artists, burlesque performers, clowns etc. etc. etc.  Nearly all of my friends share the same values, roughly the same politics, similar belief systems.  Instead of being in a tiny little band of freaks who might call themselves LIBERAL or DEMOCRAT, I know have an ARMY of folks that are like me!!!!!!

I don’t even remember the names of people I went to high school anymore.  I only really remember fellow girl scouts, my friends and the other kids in my Advanced Placement classes.  If the bullies and the jerks look me up on facebook, I might friend them.  I don’t really care at this point.   I have toured the country twice, performed on cruise ships, in the Soviet Union, in an Off-Broadway theater in an award nominated show.  I been an “extra” on a whole list of films and Television shows.  Not that being an extra is that exciting, but still shows like Boardwalk Empire, 30 Rock?  How is that not fun?   I never would have thought any of this would happen.  I am not a bitter actor/performer wondering when my big break will come.  I feel like I have already kinda made it, even though I don’t make a lot of money and I own basically nothing except my furniture and my clothing.  🙂

To go from that 13-year-old birthday party where I thought my life had ended to my life today, I never would have thought it would happen.  Or to the bullies that decided to silence my voice my senior year, when I get to go on multiple stages all over this city and speak my mind.  It really does get better.  Those punks have no bearing on my life whatsoever and they never will again!  🙂

So if anyone out there thinks that the cult of mediocrity will always keep you down, know that it is the weirdos and freaks that eventually take over the world.  At least the kind of world that I love living in.

Oh and I just realized that part of my motivation for writing this was a recent incident at a comedy show where another comedian basically said words to the effect of

“Your so gorgeous you don’t have any problems”.

And well I nearly killed her verbally which I regretted, because she didn’t mean anything personal by it, it was actually written into her act.  And well, I am not always so proud of my verbal tirades. But it is another lesson of never judge a book by its cover, not every “pretty” girl has had it easy.  Not in the least.

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9-11 Ten years later: What I Remember

Date: September 11, 2011
Author: julietjeske
Categories: Depression, New York City, Uncategorized
Comments: 4 Replies
English: United Airlines Flight 175 crashes in...

English: United Airlines Flight 175 crashes into the south tower of the World Trade Center complex in New York City during the September 11 attacks (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The more time passes, the fuzzier my memory gets.   A linear storyline dissolves into fragments composed of disjointed images, sounds, smells and feelings burned into my psyche.  Living through it I thought I would never forget every little detail of the disaster, but as I struggle to write this piece I find those indelible marks have become weathered and worn down.

My fiancée and I had just moved to Brooklyn five months before the worst terrorist attack on U.S. soil.  We moved from Chicago with  all of our worldly possessions in a rented truck.  As soon as we settled into our humble over-priced one bedroom apartment, we both started working full-time jobs.  Like many other hard-working young couples, we paid our bills with little left over, but we were surviving.

Then one crisp September morning I woke up to the smell of something burning.  It was like no other smell I had ever encountered, a mixture of burnt rubber mixed with gasoline and ash. Instinctively I turned on our television. The first channel was static, and the next, and the next, until finally only one displayed the twin towers of the World Trade Center already smoking.  The picture barely came in and the news anchors desperately tried to hide the panic in their voices.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  Like so many others watching the horrible scene, I couldn’t acknowledge what was right before my eyes.

My fiancé was at a meeting at the restaurant where he worked near the South end of Central Park.  I knew he was some distance from the disaster and should be fine.   I didn’t know anyone in the towers, I hardly knew anyone in New York City.

Our phone rang – an old school landline, not a cell phone.  I had no way of knowing that most cell phones had stopped working due to overwhelming stress to the system.  Soon even traditional phones would also become useless due to the volume of calls on the lines.  I heard her voice….an old friend from high school had managed to get through.

“Julie, are you OK?  Are you watching television?  Do you know what is happening?”

I knew it was an old friend since I’ve used my legal name of Juliet for most of my life.  Only friends from my childhood called me Juliet. It was my old friend Corrina from high school calling from St. Louis.

“This feels like a movie”

We both kept saying it over and over.  The same phrase repeated by millions, as none of us could comprehend it.  Then the first tower collapsed.

“Maybe that is just dust, that didn’t just happen…Oh my God…I hope they got the people out, how did that just happen?”

It felt like I was on the phone for just a few minutes, but it had to have been longer because while still talking to her the second tower collapsed.  We both kept just repeating the same questions to each other and to ourselves.

“What the hell is happening?  That couldn’t have just happened…how many people were still in those buildings?  They had to have gotten them out, they had to have gotten them out”

We decided to end the phone call, there wasn’t much she could do for me and I just wanted to sit down and try to calm myself. And I sat staring at the scene in front of me, the horrible burning stench still lingered in the air.  If I went to my bathroom I could see the black plume of smoke pouring out of Manhattan.

One more phone call got through before all the phones shut down.  It was my fiancé reassuring me that he was fine, but he wasn’t sure when he was going to make it home.  He ended up going home with millions of others mostly on foot walking over bridges meant for cars, in massive numbers.  The subway system was completely out of service , the city was in chaos.  My fiancé saw a co-worker crumble into tears while watching the footage.  She worked part-time in the towers and had no idea who she might have just lost.  When he finally left his job, he witnessed countless people collapsing to weep openly on the street, while others stopped to help them..

Meanwhile I sat by myself, in our apartment in a building of strangers, glued to the images on the screen.  The pictures that didn’t change for hours, which turned into days.  The burning pile of rubble, ash, smoke and misery that would not extinguish itself for months.

We lived about three miles away from ground zero, yet we found dust of pulverized concrete, steel and glass inside our window sills. The streets in our Brooklyn neighborhood had a blanket of a light mist of the same gritty powder.  As I rubbed the deadly sand-like dust between my fingers I found myself shocked that it had traveled so far.  We would later find out that friends who were also in Brooklyn found faxes and paperwork with the World Trade Center address in the backyard of their apartment building.

The sickening smell of the smoldering towers lingered for days.  In the months that followed we could see in the horizon two large black plumes of smoke, they became a daily reminder of the horror the city had just gone through.

Worse than the chaos was the silence in the nights that followed.  Brooklyn is never without some noise and yet for those first few days the complete lack of sound was unnerving.  When noise returned instead of the familiar clamor of trucks, cars, buses and police sirens we heard military aircraft, and helicopters overhead.  The jagged whipping of helicopter blades and the unmistakable whoosh of jet engines that seemed too close to the ground.  I knew the aircraft were there to protect us, but the bellow of their engines was hardly reassuring.  About a week after the incident, a young Ukrainian boy about 9 years old asked me a simple question as I was coming back from the Laundromat.

“What’s going to happen if one of the military planes gets shot down?  Where is it going to land?”

I had no idea what to tell him.  I wanted to say that something like that could never happen, but considering what we had all just lived through I was at a loss for words.

My fiancée got a gig out-of-town almost immediately after the attack.  We debated if he should go and decided that he had to go since we had already lost work and needed any income we could get.   He left.   I sat in our tiny apartment all by myself and tried to keep myself sane with phone calls.  I couldn’t take my eyes off of the television.  Just like that first day I viewed it as the source of all my hope.  Surely today they would find a survivor I kept telling myself.  Surely today something will happen that will bring light to this horrific darkness.  Then a few days after the horrible wreckage the area was hit with a violent rain storm that lasted most of the day.  The heavy rain meant less hope of finding anyone alive.  I knew the chances of a survivor were low but I couldn’t tear myself away from the constant rescue mission played out in front of me.  It took about two weeks before everyone conceded that there was no hope, no survivors.

I went to prayer vigils with neighbors, who were complete strangers to me, and sobbed my eyes out.  They became more worried for me because it was obvious I was completely alone.  I memorized the lyrics to “God Bless America” I watched as some people couldn’t hold their anger in and began to lash out to anyone who would listen ranting like lunatics.

“We have to kill those bastards, we have to nuke them to dust, they murdered people just trying to go to work, just trying to go to work, they didn’t deserve to die like that…they didn’t deserve to die”

In trying to ease my isolation I bought some supplies and donated needed items for the first responders at Chelsea Piers.  The entire Westside highway was overcome with people, some extremely wealthy dropping off carloads of brand new boots, and others like myself with a small bag of first aid supplies, paper towels and toothpaste.   The volunteers had circulated lists of needed items all over the city: long underwear, saline solution, gloves, boots, soap, shampoo, tampons, deodorant, it went on and on.  Local restaurants were donating in shifts feeding hundreds at a time, so although they needed just about everything else they didn’t need food.

As I walked away from Chelsea Piers I saw enormous military vehicles lined up on the edge of the city, helicopters, service men, and trucks covered in camouflage.  Firemen engulfed from head to toe in dust walking around with a dazed look in their eyes.  Huge blood drives were held in every hospital, volunteers rushed to donate yet discovered the blood banks filled to capacity.

For months as I took the F train into Manhattan I would see the Statue of Liberty and the never-ending plumes of black smoke.  It was a daily reminder that the city had not yet healed from this gaping wound.  One morning I noticed a child across from me on the train who was straining in his seat to blankly stare at the constant black cloud that was the twin towers.  The kid was a total stranger to me yet I could help but think.

“Give that little boy a chance, don’t let him die.”

The thought of death and another tragedy happening any day was ever-present in my mind.  It felt like it was just a matter of time when the next horror would visit this city so packed with humanity.

In Grand Central Station and Port Authority makeshift memorials of Xeroxed photos of loved ones with the words “Missing” spontaneously formed on walls and pillars.  Some brightly colored and others pastel or white, these desperate attempts at finding lost loved ones filled entire walls.  They remained for months after anyone had any hope of finding remains much less survivors. News reports spoke of DNA testing on fragments of blackened bone fragments found scattered on the rooftops of surrounding buildings, or remains shifted out of tons of twisted metal and glass in the landfills of Staten Island.  Some families never found DNA or any remains.   Most had to create some type of narrative in their head, about what happened to their missing person.  Did they die instantly?  Die they suffer?  Did they accept their death?  Were they in pain?  Did they witness terror?

That Christmas our first in New York, I had to work a day shift waiting tables while my fiancée had to work at night.  Broke and desperate we had no choice as so much work had dried up.  To snap myself out of the spiral of self-pity I took the subway as close as I could get to ground zero.  I stood there with a small crowd and stared at the destruction.  No formal viewing platforms existed yet and there was no organized effort to allow the public to see the disaster site.  Small groups of us would huddle at one vantage point then to another getting as close as the police would let us.  As I stood there staring at this hell on earth I reminded myself that as bad as we had it, things could have been so much worse.

Then there was the night of the first bombs falling on Afghanistan.  A lifelong pacifist for the first time I thought–let them burn as I watched bombs and rockets light up their night sky.  My blood lust wore off quickly and I soon began to question the war and our motives but for that brief moment I had absolutely no sympathy in my heart for its victims.

I didn’t lose family members or friends.  My fiancée and I were strangers in a strange land, lost in an island of our minuscule apartment, forced to take jobs we would have normally avoided just to pay our rent.  Our debt exploded as we tried to make ends meet but we were extremely lucky.  We knew so many others that were somehow connected to a friend or a relative that had perished.  The sorrow lingered over the city for months, every milestone memorialized.  The first human remains found, the casualties officially confirmed, the day they finally got the fires out.  Over those months I worked at several benefits for the families of the victims.  People would try their best to stay in good spirits but then tears would start and then cascade across the event like a never-ending wave of grief.  Surviving wives and husbands looked blank and children seemed confused and lost.

Every time I meet a New Yorker that lived here during this horrific time, if the subject of 9-11 gets brought up, the stories pour out like an emotional avalanche.  We all start talking, our memories weaving in and out of our shared experience with none of us the same for having lived through it.  A couple of years after the attack we had a city-wide blackout.  Instead of rioting or looting the bars filled up and street corners became crowded with people laughing and sharing in the absurdity.  New Yorkers wouldn’t let anything like a little blackout dampen our spirits or cause us to turn on each other.  After living through the horrors of 9-11 and the months that followed, living without power for a couple of days seemed like a minor inconvenience.  New York City changed for better and for worse. We’ll never get back the many we lost, but through the tragedy we gained back some of our humanity.  We learned that we really were there for each other, and that we’d ultimately rebuild and come back stronger than ever.

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