Monday, October 09, 2006

Going Back to Brooklyn...

I went and visited the GF in the NYC for a nice long weekend. She lives in a cute apartment in a nice part of Brooklyn. Two blocks one way, and it's quaint little patisseries and boutiques, the other way is gun shots and crack deals. One learns quickly which subway stop to frequent.

We had a bit of a melt down one night (I'll probably have to do a whole separate post on it to really talk about it), but other than that it was great to see her and I realized that I truly miss and love her. These are not words I throw around.

I think I might need a change of scenery anyway. I've been in the bay area for a long time now. Why am I not already in New York, you ask? Here's is a short list.

1. She didn't decide which grad school to attend until about a month before classes started, so I wasn't sure she was even going to New York (LA was also a possibility).

2. I am a new attorney, getting my feet wet. I'm not particularly good at what I do, and finding a job in a city where I don't know anyone (in the legal field at least) is frightening. The idea of taking another bar exam (which I might or might not have to do, granted) also makes me physically ill (it gives me the taste of coffee on the back of my throat).

3. Word on the street is that attorneys work crazy hours in New York. I might see more of her and the city if I just visited every six weeks or so.

4. Moving for somebody makes me nervous. While I am cognizant of it, I'm afraid if things went south for me (or us) I would (un)consciously resent her for making me move out there.

I'm starting to think that I really want to go though...or at least give it an honest shot.

My favorite New York story of the trip. I called a car service to take me to LaGuardia. This kid in baggy pants and a Yankees cap pulled up blasting music that I could only imagine was "Chingy" or something like that (I'm lame and out of touch, give me a fuckin' break here). I wasn't sure if this was the right car or not (little if any labels or markings on the van), but then he said " You goin' to the airport or what (question mark intentionally omitted)." Ah yes, this must be my ride.

He started yelling racial slurs at the guy in the car in front of us, who must have cut him off before he picked me up or something (I think my driver was latino, but I couldn't be sure). He turned up some hip hop track on the radio and asked me "you understand this? You feel this?" I said that I did, but I think he could tell I was lying.

He asked me how long my flight was. I said about five hours. "Fuck, I couldn't fly no five hours without smoking a blunt first.....hey, you wanna smoke? I already got it all rolled up." I declined telling him that I really did need to find my plane and that hanging out in the Cinnabon for 4 hours would not get me back to SF any quicker.

"Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Not at all"

We then got into a conversation about our respective "bitches." It was actually kind of...nice.... I told him how my GF gets jealous of other girls in my life, and that the irony was that while my past is flecked with infidelities, I haven't even thought about cheating on the current GF and wouldn't.

"Yo, I feel you. My girl is the same way. I told her, 'you know I used to be a playa, but I ain't foolin' around wit any other girls.' But now that I told her and came clean, bitch is crazy right? She's all up in my shit now and don't trust me."

He dropped me in the alternative drop off so that we could avoid the cops prowling the curb side. He gave me his card and said that if I ever "need to talk" to give him a ring.

As I staggered through security, somewhat confused, but at ease, I realized that I had a nice second-hand high.

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