Do You Hear What I Hear?

For the followers of my blog, you are privy to two facts: 1. I work at an art gallery and 2. My derriere has received compliments by male, Las Vegas strippers. These two elements are key ingredients that make up my very fun, yet awkward story (may I just add, this would happen to me).

Every December my gallery hosts a "Holiday Showcase" featuring a particular artist's paintings from our very esteemed collection. Our clients saunter in for a night of French culture and delicious wine. This year we discovered a brilliant Italian artist who paints magnificent still life's, mixing contemporary and Renaissance ideals. Since such a large fan base exists for this particular painter, not only were our loyal customers invited but also patrons of the artist. That being said, with stardom comes the paparazzi.

Among the flash and fast pace photographers scurrying to catch opportune pictures, I saw a young gentleman with dusty blonde hair and light, grey eyes doing the same. Every now and then I would catch his not so subtle glimpses my way. Intrigued by this charming camera man, I was delighted when he finally made his approach to indulge in conversation with myself and friend Ryan. (I will refer to him as "Charming").

Charming: "So how are you this evening? I gather you work here?"

Me: "Yes, I am the associate art director. How do you know the artist?"

Charming: "We have been friends for several years now; great guy."

Me: "So you are a professional photographer I take it?"

Charming: "More like amateur, I am actually an actor."

Me: "Oh, that's fantastic! Anything I would have seen?"

Charming: "I actually do a lot of work for HBO and Cinemax."

Me: "Wow! We love HBO (motioning towards Ryan)... have you been in anything big?"

Now I was expecting these for answers, "Yes, I was that guy in Game of Thrones that fought that battle along side that other guy" or "Yes, I was that guy in TrueBlood that turned into that werewolf and killed that vampire." Instead...

Charming (beaming with pride): "I am actually on late night."

Ryan starts to chuckle.

Me: "Oh, like..."

Charming: "I've been in movies like..." (I'll leave the specifics out, but you can fill in the blanks with witty, porn titles).

Yes dear friends... this charming photographer was none other than a Cinemax soft core porn actor. Completely at a loss for words I eyed Ryan trying to mouth, "Did you hear what I heard?" Ryan mustered up the strength to speak.

Ryan: "Are you IMDB-able?"

Charming: "Why yes! But I wouldn't recommend looking me up on the work computer."

We went on to learn that Charming started his career on the male side of things before taking a straighter path in acting choices. While his family does not completely approve of his profession, I do give him credit. He still works as an actor while building a resume. I too am at the bottom of my professional world working as an assistant. Fortunately the pit of the art world allows my clothes to remain in place. The acting world, on the other hand, does not necessarily happen in that fashion.

As the night drew to a drunken conclusion, we bid Charming a fond farewell after the hand of friendship was extended by invitations to several New York night clubs.

So,  I have been complimented by a stripper AND  hit on by a porn star... what's next?

Weather the Storm

A storm comes in the dark of night. Gusting winds blow houses, trees, and people every which way. Little rain falls but the ocean breaks free of its sandy prison guards and burst onto the streets. Nothing is dry, nothing is salvaged, nothing is left. I have recently suffered at the tyrannical hands of Hurricane Sandy. Living on the Jersey Shore put myself and loved ones right in her outrageous path. Luckily my neighborhood survived with little more than fallen down trees and lasting power outage. I wish I could say everyone weathered without a scratch.

All across the New Jersey coast and 5 New York boroughs Sandy showed her true face. Waters swept onto Hoboken streets. Cumbersome trees snuffed out the lights of New York City. A lake of mud and debris littered Staten Island. The mighty Atlantic etched a new outline of the shore. The devastation left in Sandy's wake has left hundreds dead, thousands homeless, and millions still without power. Never has a storm with such severity hit the East coast.

After the storm passed we were all left in total darkness. Beyond not having light or heat, outside communication was severed. News through transistor radios kept us informed yet shielded the horrible images post hurricane. Nothing could prepare me for those horrifying photographs of my beloved beach town, Sea Bright, in utter despair. This high energy shore stop bustled during its peak months from May to August. Now condemned by the state, Sea Bright will have to build up from the ashes.

If anything good has followed, it is the exhibition of community. Hundreds, in my town alone, have volunteered at make shift shelters collecting and sorting through food, clothes, blankets, and other essentials. A Staten Island coworker of mine lost everything. Within 24 hours our boss organized a donation drive for him and his family. Thanks to the many contributions of the Staten Island community, he and his family have warm clothes on their backs, food in their bellies, and a place to rest their heads at night. It is times like these when we truly witness selflessness, but why do we have to wait?

Please, if you can, help victims in need. With the pending holidays just around the corner this is a fragile time for those who have lost. Donate to your local shelters. Volunteer your spare time. Give back to the community you call home. Let's not stop at that. Hurricane Sandy was a reminder of how precious and fleeting this life is. Don't wait for disaster to lend a hand. Show your community love year round. Whether it be cleaning a local park or aiding those in need, just get out there.

I am proud to call myself a "Jersey Girl,"and no amount of wind, rain, or snow will ever bring this state down!

How Rude Boston!

The last semester of my college career I spent interning at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York City. I was lucky enough to meet two amazing girls who fortunately I have kept a running friendship with. Sara Ryan is native to the Golden State and currently resides in Brooklyn. Kendall hales from the Sunshine State and has established herself in Portland, Maine. Over the years the three of us tried with many failed attempts to get together for a complete girls night. The frustration of these non existent unions propelled us to plan an entire girls weekend in the cold, beautiful city of Boston. Sara Ryan and I ventured aboard the Bolt Bus while Kendall met us via train.

The bus ride was extremely pleasant. We chatted about life, catching up with our small anecdotes over the past couple of years. We decided to finish the remainder of our bus trip with the thriller Straw Dogs. This movie left us both with mouths agape and quite literally no words to describe the disturbing state of events that played across the iPad for an hour and a half. After mentally shaking off the movie's images we arrived in Boston! Kendall had already settled into the hotel hours before and we were set on meeting at the hip and trendy restaurant Trade.

Upon exiting the bus terminal we were instantly met with the piercing winter wind Beantown conjures up this time of year. Due to our inaccurate GPS, we were left completely clueless to the restaurant's where-abouts. Dragging our luggage lethargically behind, we made a preemptive strike and hurried to the taxi stand.

A line of pristine, white cabs awaited for our choosing as we finally settled upon one. A "kindly, older gentleman assisted us and our bags into the back of his car (kindly being the operative word here).

"Where to girls?" he said through a thick, Boston accent.

"The restaurant Trade please," Sara Ryan sweetly sang back to him.

"You two have got to be joking... I thought you were nice girls. You realize the restaurant is only four blocks away right?"

"So sorry," I said back very apologetically."We are just here for the weekend from New York and we had no idea. We really are nice girls, I promise!"

"Yeah whatever," he snorted back.

Now... Sara Ryan and I truly believed this cab driver was just on a sarcastic rant to bust our chops since sarcasm is the official language in New York. The rest of the cab we rode in complete silence until Trade loomed closer.

"That'll be $5," the cab driver choked out. 

Sara Ryan paid and gave him a large tip to compensate for this little mishap, which did not seem like a gigantic problem. Without so much as a whisper, he sprinted out of the cab and to the trunk where he reluctantly removed our luggage.

"Thank you so much sir, we really are so sorry," the both of us chimed. Our amount of sweetness to this man would have put sugar to shame.

"Stop apologizing darlings, nothing you can say will make up for the fact you have ruined my night!"

"So... it is utterly impossible then for you to drive the 4 blocks back and wait in line once more at the stand where hundreds of people are leaving the terminal hoping for transportation to their final destinations?!" I thought to myself.

He proceeded to hop back in his taxi and speed away from us as if we were lepers. The dumbfounded looks upon our chilled faces left us in a frozen stupor for a few moments before becoming privy to the ridiculous situation that just took place! This would NEVER happen in New York. NYC taxis may smell and have a non English speaking driver, but negative attitude toward patrons is a foreign element in the New York taxi equation. 

When traveling to Boston here is a bit of advice... all that glitters is not gold. The crisp, white car with "Taxi" written in bold black lettering and an American behind the wheel could just be a charming form of misery looking for company. So know where you are going and when in doubt... just walk!

"A Night Without Time"

In yoga class tonight, our instructor asked for us all to lay quietly on our mats with eyes gently closed, and envision a moment in our lives when we completely lost track of time. He insisted as adults, this is a very difficult task to perform. We grown ups are constantly constrained by schedules: work, school, gym, meetings, appointments... all imprisoning our valued time. Those care free days of child's play are tossed and forgotten; days of hanging out in the grass with only a few friends and our imaginations. It was then time ceased to exist. As I lay on my mat I searched deep into my memory, hoping to find a moment where time simply escaped me recently. That is where my story begins...

 "A Night Without Time"

A long evening of waiting tables left me in a haggard state. My feet ached from their 12 hour stance upon the hard, marble floor. My arms hung limply, fatigued from their balancing act of hot plates and filled cups. My smile however never seemed to falter. The crisp, autumn air left a slight chill upon my cheeks as I climbed into my jeep, loading up the two dinners I had ordered. As the car came to life an old, familiar love song filled the quiet space with its sweet, nostalgic melody. I smirked in delight and speedily drove away.

He was there, already awaiting my arrival. A dark green hood cloaked his handsome face, but could not mask his boyish grin. The excitement of this night renewed my energy, propelling me out of the car and into his welcoming arms. The smell of his sweet skin and heat from his touch steadied my beating heart. Our embrace soon broke in realization of the dinners patiently seated on my passenger's side. After a slight battle with the front door and small talk with my family, the two of us journeyed into the dark of my backyard.

I laid the blankets delicately onto the cool, wet grass watching as his sturdy arms stack the wooden logs onto the fire pit where a warm, glowing flame took center stage. We nestled down next to each other going back and forth between bites of food, talks of our day, and silent glances. I was met by his rugged profile in the fire's light. Those soft lips were hidden by the scurf of his beard, yet his dark, round eyes shone so prominently.  As the food finished, I couldn't help but feel a growing need to be closer. He gingerly stoked the fire before retiring his back fully onto the ground. My head pillowed itself atop his chest while our hands slowly intertwined.

The midnight sky lingered above us ever so clearly. Each star glistened like a diamond with the occasional one falling down to earth hoping to be wished upon. We began playing a little game, counting who could see the most shooting stars. I laid there in tranquility listening to the sweet sound of his heart beating, feeling his chest rise and fall with every breath. His hands lightly grazed up and down my back, making their way to tousle playfully with my hair, stroking back the strays that escaped to my face. I watched the silhouette of his mouth come to life as he spoke to me, learning his secrets and his passions, his fears and his stories; all sculpting this man I was lying beside. I felt his following eyes upon my face as he listened back intently to my replies and personal anecdotes.

The fire slowly died stealing away the warmth we had grown acquainted with. Neither one of us wished to break our hold on each other. I made out traces of our hot breathe dancing upon the cold, October air. He turned to face me, searching for my lips with his in the dark. Strong hands caressed both sides of my face as his body pressed firmly against mine. This tender kiss was interrupted by shivers alerting us to the rapidly declining temperature. We ventured into the security of my home wrapping ourselves in wool blankets and each other on the couch.

***

Suddenly I awoke to a pitch black room, my head bobbing up and down on a moving surface, utterly cocooned. I scanned the darkness when my eyes fell to blinking, red numbers that screamed "4:00 a.m."! He began to stir ever so slightly, eyes fluttering open to my tired smile. His gaze transferred to the demonic numbers as well, believing it merely a funny trick. But... the clock never lies.

"Stay," I said through a sleepy yawn.
"OK," he said gently kissing my forehead and closing his eyes once more.

This was my night without time, and whenever I look to the night sky decorated with a million stars,  I remember... when did time last escape you?