the rest of the week
worked wednesday. it was a good day, even tho i was tired. tried to get enough sleep to make it thru thursday and friday.
thursday was a great day at the bar. i had Alot of shots of tequila bought for me, so i was drunk by the time i met up with george to get my gogol tickets. we stopped at beuaty bar (manicures and booze. must visit again), then 117 for more tequila. then in to the show with pretty, bogie, christy, schnitzle and mr. albu (yes, myra's dad came to the punk rock show. and he liked it! :)
saw rafa and moshed till my feet were dead. those gogol boys don't do encores, they do second sets.
went over to mehanata with george and his friends david and james, got the reduced price, so i waited outside for christy and myra to get in cheap, too. seriously, i don't know how the night would have gone for me if george hadn't had my back.
because myra finally got up the guts to talk with eugene, and got that picture she's been looking for. he was, of course, djing, and not really accessible, but it's a first step for her :)
the concert rocked. rampant douchebags and the crazy metalacolypse style opening band aside, gogoal rocked the house :-D
home by 3, and back to work by 6am.
walking down the street on 42nd and 10th, i look up towards the sky, thinking nostalgically how snow doesn't fall when it's 50 degrees out, and i see little black flecks. i am suddenly surrounded by a light flurry of little black flakes, floating across the sky and visible for at least two blocks. black snow? i ask. no, new york isn't THAT dirty. maybe just dust off an apt? no. i grab a fleck in my hand, and as the floating cinder rubs into my new red gloves a fire engine and abulance go blaring by.
i don't know what was burning, or how it's ashes were floating at least 20 stories in the air for at least 3 city blocks, but i had this tiny moment of "oh god. not again. not on christmas."
new york makes you think those things.
work was not so bad, and dave got another girl to cover my shift on friday so i got to go home and sleep, which i needed.
slept till 8, cleaned my room, chilled with antoni and went to the gate with pretty. white russians, scrabble and good conversations. i love her so. man is new years going to be weird, but i think we can pull through ;)
saturday i didn't get to the brooklyn brewery, but i got thru work with a bounce in my step because i knew daddy was on his way to get me. daddy and katie showed up at the same time (giving a girl from lowville a ride home from the city, courtesy of craigslist). home by 8am, and snuggled in bed with jenna. i like my home, and i really really love being with my family. even when jenna takes daddy's van to work and leaves me without any clothes, or meds or even my cell phone for the afternoon.
we had to drive down number 3 street to get katie home. it cuts across rt 12. dad said "gramma's old farm is on the road", which is something i've been wanting to find for years now. as we approach it he says "there it is" i see the blue farm, i see the dairy barn. i see the pen where the bulls stay and the skating pond. i see the hay loft where we searched for kittens and the fields where we played. those giant picture windows (with a christmas tree inside, i could see the kitchen and i wonder if that old timey phone is in there), the stairs to those shadowy, rosey bedrooms in my mind. the apple tree and the climbing tree. i see my grandfather sitting in his chair and my gramma warning us not to play with the burning pile. i see so many memories and so long ago and it all comes rushing back, and what i see the most is how it's not ours at all, and i can't help but feel such a hurting anger that my gramma was forced out of that house and that was taken away from us.
i hold back the tears as the farm slips from view and we turn the corner onto that familiar road that takes me to gramma's real home and suddenly it's gone again and i am fine again.
a memory that i haven't seen for 18 years.
mom's house tonight. family and friends tomorrow. life is good :)