There’s nothing more I’d fancy then to start this story for you from the second floor window of my Upper West Side brownstone. Instead I’m coming live and direct, straight outta Newark N.J🤦🏼♀️🤰🏼🙃. Although I’d really Love to, there’s no Manolos Louboutins or a closet stuffed with Betsy Johnson couture (damn). No, This City story seeded once upon a second story window on Myrtle Ave in Bed Stuy Brooklyn🌱. From Bed Stuy to 108th and Guy Brew(er). If u don’t know, that’s South Side Jamaica Queens; then landing on my perfect stoop in Far Rockaway Queens. Far Roc is where I fell in love with myself, the beach and really good head. I came to Newark to get away from New York for awhile; but not too far.
Instead of being a column writer and author, I settled for a being a counselor, then bartender extraordinare, and #wordpress 🙄. My friends were every piece of fabulous different and shopped on the ave too. The men were nothing close to Big, Aidan, Smith, Steve, or even Harry! They were more like, I’m not doin shit, I ain’t about shit , I think I am the shit, I’m doing a bunch of extra shit that’ll never amount to shit, I make up a Bunch of shit, I got shit, or, I wanna fuck you but you And I know my sex is shit. “Wanna have a threesome? Here, take this $100 and go get an outfit. I already booked the hotel in mid town. Pick you up in two hours”.. 🤦🏼♀️Something in the back of my walk-in closet of what ifs, told me I should have taken that last offer🙄. Who’s to say how much more crazy stuff I could have seen! Instead I paid my phone bill then my girlfriend and I bought some weed and liqueur and went to the beach🤷🏼♀️.
I can’t tell you why Carrie Bradshaw fled to Manhattan, but I can only guess it was on mommy and daddy’s privileged dime; just like the rest of Manhattan now. Never was I a child of privilege. Although, my pale complexion had too many -including my pastor- confused. If they only knew🐒. From a very young age my pale self was always less then second best and even less than a bastard Snow in my “fathers” eyes. In suburbia where I was born, parents helped their kids with at least something, Anything. Not me. The love and family I always craved was never given, so I ran to make my own surrogates. More times than not in Queens I found myself with out food or enough money for rent or much of anything. Even so, my friends and I put our dollars together and made meals, a home, and a whole lotta fun. Under pressure and on the brink of a nervous breakdown I took my punk ass $1000 and fled to Jersey thinking things have Got to be easier or better there. Nope! If only I had a pinch of foundation, my decisions wouldn’t be fear based and out of financial stress. Instead of making financial decisions below the poverty level to accomodate life right now, I’d be in a different place. I’d be doing what I love and planing and saving for the future. (What I would’t give for some Bradshaw life right now😩🥃🥃😖💩😴). I miss my beach ,the diversity, my neighborhood, my legs from doing the stairs at the Mott Ave station everyday, and being able to hop on a train any where at any time. And scoop a chop cheese and a beer at 3 AM if need be. My vagina misses the head and the chance men I allowed. In Brooklyn or Queens, I never had constant reminders of one man. Being in Newark just brings back constant unnerving memories of the one I ran from for so long, then fell in love with. Somewhere I heard how you get them is how you lose them Maybe that’s true. When I met him he was young scattered and a coke head. Since we’ve parted ways he’s still young scattered and a coke head. Although now he thinks he’s won because he found a better job and does coke. Truly I’m happy for his employment success, other than that..well,😴🤷🏼♀️…). I taught him how to take care of himself, fuck, love and what a great woman is. For awhile the drugs were never a part of the equation; until they were always in the way. The great sex and dates we used to have turned into sprinkled nights, less sex and drunken fights. All the signs were there. I became nasty and needy, he became distant and speedy🙄. My bestie and I have decided he won by default. Default because I was stressed, alone and amidst an unknown city limelight post abuse. He was the constant. When you’re dealing with someone who has suffered past abuse, the one thing you must do if you want it to work, is be an immovable safe constant rock. Don’t try and fix them, they don’t need fixing, they need safe. If there Are any kinks to be worked out, just stick and stay. That’s how you will Help them fix any kinks (by themselves). He didn’t know that then, and still does not but, oh well. I don’t want cokey smurf back anyway🤷🏼♀️. Still, it irks my nerves he can say he had me. Don’t ch’ya wish you could just UN-fuck somebody sometimes?!?
Just like my suburban counterparts, my views are based off what I’ve lived through, what I’ve seen, done, and what’s been done to me. Sure I may not respond to a blanquita the way Suburb Sally would, that still does not make me less refined than the next. I’ll run donuts arount your current sitch in a dress and heels, then park it hair tied sweat pants chillin with no make up on, talking some higher level of consious feels. Eloquent and raw at the same damn time🤓. People need to quit telling me how I should be😐; Especially when they don’t know me. Tis a funny fickle thing this brain of ours👩🏼💻.
Even though I indulged in many ‘O nights of great sex, great people and beach days, I spent more nights alone with my thoughts. Those are the times I feel made me a better person. Nights out Or in were not always drug or alcohol driven either. Being in this city (Newark), all there is to do is drink. And if you’re a bartender or just know people who know people, you can find yourself a booger sugar o fun even when you don’t want to. Coke was never my thing, neither was whiskey. Newark has given me a taste for bourbon and a candy land if I choose. Did I tell you my goal is to leave this place?? Ya see the way my goals are set up📌🤓
Young boys or nah, drugs or nah, here she still stands. Aside from bad men, I’ve made poor business choices, ask for payment arrangements, and maybe drink too much wine. Although, this week I start two new jobs, I’m all paid up with Sprint, and I swear I haven’t finished this bottle of wine yet. Part of me wants to hop back across the water and fall back to my debaucherous vagina eating nights. Part of me wants to stay the girl next door. Isen’t the girl next door a cannon in bed anyway?? I’m thinking I can still be professional, work towards my goals, and hit a party every now and again. For sure though, not in this city. Queens are you there? Can I come over?
…………To be continued in Boogie Nights…..