Success!!!

So I now have a regular day job! Now who wants to rent me a place to live?

Site Seeing

Remember me? The guy who usually posts regularly. Yeah...Sorry about that. I been so busy between looking for a place to live and entertaining an out of town guest. Add to it a holiday and well things just fall behind. Don't judge me!

Last night, on the subway back to Crash's place, I sat between a street bum (who was cursing out his shoes that must have offended him) and someone who obviously had quite a bit of money (based on the Dolce and Gabanna outfit she was wearing) trying to think about how I can describe New York to my grandmother. My grandmother is afraid to travel, and so therefore will never visit me in NY(another benefit of moving here). That being said, she asks what the area is like. Here's my description for her.

I walk down the street in Astoria Queens (figures a queen would be staying in Queens) and smell Shish-Ka-Bobs grilling on the grill of the local street vendors. In this area, I hear a majority of Greek spoken, with a little Spanish on the side. Every once in a while, I can hear a little English. Walking down the street, I pass a GAP, a Starbucks, and Athens Electronics (where the shop owner speaks Greek only, but sells IPODs).

On the Subway, I can sit next to a drag queen, an evangelical Christian, an Arab and a Orthodox Jew, all sitting appalled as we watch the crazy black lady squat down and take a piss on the subway train while she cackles away. My fellow train riders will pick up their feet as the urine flows along the floor towards us as we proceed under the East River.

Walking along Fifth Avenue, I can battle the tourists of Rockefeller Center while trying to get to a wine store. A common myth is that you can find anything in NY, but it isn't quite true. What ever you need to find will never be found. A few weeks ago I needed to find a dry cleaner. I walked for 20 minutes passing hair salon after hair salon. This past weekend, I needed to find a hair salon, and all I could find was freaking dry cleaners everywhere.

In NY, I can get Thai food, Indian Food, Greek food, and most recently I found a Turkish restaurant. Of course...I can't afford to eat at any of them...But they exist.

Yesterday I met a woman from Russia. She had won the green card lottery and was able to get a green card so she could move here. The only thing she had when she got here was the clothes on her back and an apartment she had rented (lucky bitch). She came into this fully expecting to be broke for years (sounds familiar) and after 2 years, she finally had saved enough money to purchase a living room's furniture. She has learned to love it here, and spends every day meeting someone new.

This is why I love NY.

Going to Hell and Back

As a gay man, Pat Robertson would say I am going to hell. I can't say for sure if he's right, but as any New Yorker would tell you...Hell is finding an apartment. I respond to posts on Craigslist, I contact brokers, I even look at the roommate listings (currently a transexual has a 2 bedroom on the Upper West Side available), all in hopes of finding some quality place to live.

My last few days have been spent looking at apartments. Walking through Astoria, I drop down into the New York underworld and hop the train to Manhattan.

One-bedroom apartment in pre-war building. 110th and Lex

Coming out of a train station in a neighborhood you don't know is a little like playing Russian roulette, you run the risk of getting shot. That's the bad news. The good news is that when I hear a gun go off, I don't even get scared anymore. All I can think is "That God! Another apartment!"

Exiting the 110th and Lexington station was like walking into a war zone. Three Latino boys were fighting 3 African American boys, while poor little white me was trying to get by. When I saw the knife, I walked faster. Getting into the building, I pictured my name among the others on the mailboxes. "1 Valdez, 2 Guttierez, 3 Moreno, 4 Sanchez, 5 Doyle." Yeah...I'd fit in real well.

Cozy studio in west village.

Up and out of Christopher Street Station, I wandered into the gay Mecca and searched out my new cozy abode. Apparently, "cozy" means coffin in New York. I've seen tanning beds bigger than this studio. The room was 5' wide by 7' long. No windows to the outside, and only one electrical outlet. But it was a steal at $1200. I'll get more bang for my buck in Queens.

One bedroom apartment, Sunny south facing windows, dining room.

Taking the train out to queens, I come up the stairs into a whole new world. Sniffing the air I smell curry and see Saris everywhere. Somehow I took a train to Deli, India. The only thing missing were cows walking in the streets. Men in turbans selling dates and figs. Personally I would prefer dates and fucks but I guess the Indian population is a little more prudish.

Walking through the apartment door was like walking past the gates of hell. The temperature in the space had to be about 90 degrees, because the radiators do not shut off. I asked what can be done and was told to open a window. 90 in the apartment, 50 in the hallway...it should have been raining in the doorway. There is a reason why the place hasn't been inhabited in over 2 years.

Ah yes...the search goes on.

An Early Christmas Present

Tuesday, while working with the Chech homophobe, I received an early Christmas Present. He was doing his regular bitching about needing to get laid and not making enough money. Tired of it, I asked him why he doesn't get a job in any of the hotels. He responded that they all wanted a green card before he can work with them.

My ears perked up. Apparently he is under the belief that all you need is a social security card to be legal to work in the US. I asked about his Visa status and he said his first job in NY got him it. He no longer workes with them.

What he doesn't know is that I used to check visa status for financial aid applicants. If he quits the job that sponsored his visa, and doesn't find another employer to sponser him, he has to leave the country.

***Grinning from ear to ear***

Kind of makes me feel warm all over.

On a side note...I'm posting my resume out here (sans address or telephone number). If you know of anyone who might be interested in hiring a sarcastic son of a bitch...pass me along.

PatrickDoyle.doc

Wednesday, November 9, 2005, 9:30 AM

Mark it in your calendars, put it on you blogs, and remember this date for future reference. Today...I just lost it. Everything that has been weighing on my mind has just come to a hilt and I just...well I just quit. The white towel has been thrown into the ring and I'm out for the count.

I know I'm not alone in doing this, but ever realize that when you are ready to crack, it's the most stupid thing that finally pushes you over the breaking point? For me, it was my tie, or lack thereof.

Last night, after getting home from a brutal 14 hour shift at the restaurant, I stayed up until 3:30 in the morning to get ready for an interview with an accounting temp firm in Manhattan. Gathering all the data they need, preparing all my paperwork, and just reviewing a bit. When my clock went off at 7 this morning, I couldn't wake up. I finally got up and was showered and ready to go by 9. I did some last minute editing and was ready to leave...but I couldn't find my freaking tie. I searched and searched and grew more and more exasperated, and still couldn't find it.

When I am exhausted, I'm very emotional. Looking for a lost tie will likely make me cry, which is what I did. The stress of working in what can only be called homophobic hell, my constant worry about how I will make enough money to live here, the stress of not taking anytime for enjoyment as my waking hours are spent working or looking for better work, my searching for an apartment and how difficult the search is turning out to be, the recent ending of a quasi relationship (hey...I don't discuss everything on this site), topped with just some personal fears when realizing that this has to work out as I have nowhere else to go.

So I sat down, had a good cry and had to reschedule today's interview. If I had actually made it there, what would have showed up would not have been a pretty site. Now if you excuse me, I think I am going to put my head into the toilet and flush repeatedly.

The Zen of Bowling

I was watching a television show where a young woman was walking through life without direction, letting things just happen to her. I'd like to say I can't relate to that, but I'd be lying.

The truth is, I'm still at times a little aimless (ok...a lot. Ask me what I want to do for a living). Some of it stems from childhood experiences. If I don't really care about getting it, I'm not disappointed when I don't. Take what comes, and you'll exist fine. You basically become a bowling pin, and all you are waiting for is the next bowling ball to come knock you down.

We all have those times when we are the bowling pins. Still waiting for that prince to sweep you off your feet? Working a job you hate because you don't know what you want to do? Not willing to take the chance to get what you want so you simply do nothing?

Wouldn't it be better to live life like a bowling ball? You get to roll down the alley and your goal is to knock as many pins as possible out of your way. Go after what you want, and the worst you risk is ending up a gutter ball. Luckily the ball gets returned for another chance.

I've lived my life like a pin for years, and over the past 6 months I've taken a chance and become a ball. I still see myself at times heading back to being a pin (It's familiar), but either way, the outcome won't be the same as it was when I left Cleveland.

Now if you excuse me...this is my frame.

A Little Light Reading

Yesterday, one of my coworkers asked if he could borrow a section of my newspaper. I let him have the front section, as I was searching the help wanted ads. About 30 minutes later, I asked for it back, only to learn that the person who had borrowed it had brought it into the bathroom with him.

I have to understand this. Why the fuck does anyone need reading material while they are taking a shit? Are people that bored sitting there that they need the entertainment outlet? Or are they just afraid that they might run out of toilet paper? (in that case...take a fucking bible in with you)

When ever I take care of that personal need, it's quick and to the point. Go in, sit, do my thing, wipe, flush and wash and get the hell out of there. Exactly how long do people plan to be in there that they have to read!

Now I thought that this was just a straight man thing to do. So imagine my surprise when I found out that SOME WOMEN READ WHILE SHITTING AS WELL!

So somebody tell me.


Why!

Who Wrote The Book of Love?

Last night, Crash and I went to see The Color Purple, which is in previews on Broadway. Before the show, during the intermission, and after the show we talked about some of our mistakes in past relationships (not to say the show wasn't good...but that our conversation was more about us). Jokes were said.

"If you just mistreated me...I'd like you so much more."
"Please just ignore me. That way I can love you."
"Nothing says I love you like a punch in the mouth. Please hit me."

Scary part...those jokes have some truth behind them. Men that completely put themselves first are the ones that I am most attracted to. Meeting any of my emotional needs are completely secondary to those men, and in the end I get left by the wayside, with kind friends who help pick up the pieces. And in my past, I have been shattered.

I remember reading about a study in an anthropology course that discussed how they tested a baby's need for love. Chimp babies were separated into two groups. The first group had caretakers who provided emotional nourishment, while the second group was given no emotional stimulation. The ones that received no emotional nourishment died within a year.

When we are born, we are born into a family that will give us some emotional nourishment. Ideally, that family continues it's nourishment as we get older, but we learn all of our ideas of love from our parents. If our parents don't give us the love we need, our brains go into survival mode. We convince ourselves that being ignored, or abused is a act of love. Warning signs for the future therapy bills.

But the question still remains. How is love defined? A year ago, someone defined it as putting someone else's needs above your own, which I find to be a codependant mess. So what I am still trying to figure out at the age of 35, is what is love.

Any answers?

Seeing Red

Ok...I have to get this off my chest.

As I've explained before, I am the only gay person working in this restaurant, and I have to deal with a lot of "macho boasting". You know the crap. Who's dick is bigger, who bangs the most broads, and whatever other crap they talk about. I don't really get straight men.

Yesterday, the one waiter began to tease our food runner that he was gay. The food runner is not gay, but it bugs me that he is getting teased about being so. What was really bad was that I was brought into it. The waiter told this food runner "Just admit you're gay. I'm sure Patrick would be happy to fucking rape your ass."

This is the crap I need to put up with daily. I so need to find an office temp job.

But it was So Good!

One of the things I love about New York is the easy availability of amazing food. Last night I brought home Thai food.

It was delicious. It was the best Thai food I ever had. And it was really, really spicy.

Today I wish I hadn't eaten it.