Mama Gia!
Well, where do I begin? The Fates prescribed a dinner at Whole Foods tonight for danielakristina and me. After some scrumptilicious Indian goodness, assorted pasta salads, sushi, and a berry lime Jamba Juice--all in record time I might add--we headed to the West Village to check out a room I had discovered on Craigslist.
272 Bleecker Street between Morton and 7th Avenue. Not too shabby! There had to be a catch. . . Why had this ad been up on Craigslist so long? Well, I'll tell ya why. 'Cause the woman who lives there is a PSYCHO! SHE'S A PSYCHO BARBIE FREAK! Gia, which may or may not be her given name, is quite a specimen. But let me backtrack a little.
Arriving at my potential building in the heart of the Village, Danielle and I rang the buzzer and proceeded up the stairs to Apt. #24. It was easy to find--it was the one with the mystic stickers and cereal box decal of Buddha on the door. We knocked, and were subsequently greeted by a shower of plastic curtain beads, a large bleach blonde, and a long and very fuschia corridor which led into the kitchen. As the door shut behind us, I felt not unlike Alice falling down the rabbit hole. An antique mirror floated by. A DVD of A Hard Day's Night. Some pots. Maybe a blacklight poster or two. Rubber chicken. The hallway was filled with countless assorted non sequiturs. But what I most remember are the dolls. Hundreds, thousands of them. Barbies. And not just any old Barbies. Grotesque, mutilated, monstrous little zombie Barbies, staring at Danielle and me with their beady eyes, everywhere we turned. . . Gia led us into "my room," and, yeah, for a few fleeting seconds there, I was actually picturing myself in the place. It was an awesome room: big, with windows on two corners, facing Bleecker and a small outdoor terrace. But then we crossed back into the bad horror film of the kitchen and I came to my senses. As a courtesy, Danielle and I peeked into the bathroom. There, too, were plastic dolls. Peeking--leering--out of every possible shelf and crevasse. Knickknacks, whimwhams, all over the fucking place.
Minutes later, Danielle and I were a block or so away, and we'd already moved onto bigger and better things, like the prospect of partaking in Free Cone Day at Baskin Robbins. We settled for a Frosty each, and walked on towards the party we were late for. And out of Gia's life, forever, I think.