Goodbye My Lovers. Goodbye Best Friends.

For the past four years, through the help of a brilliant therapist and a philosophical Rabbi/Psychiatrist, I have been working on my emotional and spiritual self. I do think I have come close to finding a level of inner peace that helps me handle the toxic ugliness that pervades my everyday life and I am happy, but I still have emotional baggage. I’m dumping that shit. When I was diagnosed with cancer, I followed what the doctors told me, did my time attached to an IV for six months and took all of my prescriptions, but behind the scenes, I was a bad girl. I smoked, I sunned and I sinned. I decided to take control of these habits and crush them one by one. This is step one.

images

Goodbye My Lovers

I met cigarettes when I was fifteen years old and by seventeen, I was officially a smoker. Thirteen years later I quit. For five years.During the six years that i did not smoke, I had funny cigarettes to help me fulfill my oral fixation, but that came to an end rather organically and I had a good three years of nothing but fresh New York City air filling my lungs. I returned to my former lovers and best friends slowly and surely, they became a part of my life again. I loved them.

I loved them.

My smokey treats (term coined by Jimmy Love) helped me through the scandal, the divorce, ironically, the cancer and the stresses of being a single Mommy. How i loved waking up twenty minutes earlier than my girl to sit on my fire escape with a cup of coffee and a couple of butts. How I much fun I had drinking and smoking and laughing with my friends. I loved lounging on the beach with an icy coke and a cigarette. I loved sitting at my kitchen table when I had the place to myself with a bottle wine and a couple of packs of cigarettes. I’m sitting at that very kitchen table right now with a bottle of wine and a Nicoderm patch on my back. I have a couple of Vapes, but they need to be charged and… I’ll be right back…

Ok. Vapes are charging. (…relief…)

Over the past year, I have tried to quit a few times. Sadly, I even smoked with the patch on. I was so in love, I did stupid shit. It was this past weekend when I was down to four cigs and my last glass of wine that i said to myself “it’s time.” I know the damage it was doing to my body, I mean, Goddamn, they shove those horrible “Quit Smoking” ads down your throat (no pun intended) where ever you look in New York.

images

A smaller factor was the smell. That shit lingers. It makes my beautifully washed hair stink. It makes my couch stink. My clothes stink. When my girl would come home after a weekend with her Dad, I could still smell my weekend of puffing. And I felt bad.

Finally, there was the cost. In New York, a pack of smokes ranges anywhere from twelve to fourteen bucks. A pack a day for a month adds up to roughly four hundred dollars.

FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS!!!

What???

That’s close to five grand a year!!  That’s like good tattoos or a large contribution to my IRA!

So, I thought to myself, “A box of patches is fifty bucks and it could potentially save my life AND five thousand dollars a year…sign me up!!”

It’s only day four and I’ve been an incredible bitch, almost caved twice but I’m still committed to this goal. If I can leave this toxic lover behind, I can do anything and there are things I NEED to do. More toxic waste to get out of my body. Get out of my mind.

I loved you, my little smokers, but you hurt me so bad.

Goodbye.

Mikey. From Brooklyn.

Do you remember my last post? The one in which I apologized profusely to some stranger guy for “hurting” him? Well, scratch that. I didn’t hurt anybody. He’s Mikey from Brooklyn and he doesn’t give a fuck. I have to start from the beginning.

In an attempt to start healing my broken heart, (which I’m still not ready to write about), I created an profile on OK Cupid. It was great! I received so many messages, tons of compliments and so much attention. Mike’s message stood out to me because he’s a native Brooklynite (very rare these days), has lots of tattoos and seemed like a laid back, fun person. I liked him right away. We started texting back and forth and he wanted to hang out right away, but I was a little taken aback by his aggressive approach. I also listened to too many people. My shrink said stay away. My friends were “iffy.’ He seemed like his interest was mostly sexual and I don’t know why, but at that short moment in time, I didn’t feel comfortable with that.

Silly me, that is just what I needed!! A no-strings, no commitment, sexual relationship. A fuck buddy!

Anyway, I acted all crazy and told him that I didn’t think we were a good fit and to please stop contacting me. He was definitely confused–he didn’t understand what he had done wrong. Honestly, he didn’t do anything wrong.

Friday rolls around and I spend an agonizing day with my girl. I just quit smoking, I had serious PMS. I was in physical pain and my heart was still freshly wounded. Big Daddy was having a barbecue that night, and I had been excited to go for weeks! I even switched a day with the ex to go, but by the time he picked up my girl, I was exhausted and in tremendous period and lower back pain (I’ve gotta get that lower back checked out). I told Big Daddy I couldn’t make it after all and I collapsed into bed, praying for the pain to go away. I checked the weekend forecast. Hot and sunny. I knew one thing. I did not want to spend the weekend alone.

I scrolled through my phone and I found Mikey’s number. I sent him a text message.

Hey! I’m sorry for the way I acted relier this week. I’m never like that.

I understand if you don’t respond to me, but I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

He responded immediately. He told me not to worry about it and that he was sorry if he had sent off some vibe that turned me off. We decided to meet up the next day either at the pool or the beach. I told him I would give him a “make up” kiss. Relief. I wouldn’t be spending the weekend alone.

The next morning we spoke on the phone. The fancy pool was having a party for Veuve Clicquot and it would be a scene. He suggested the beach, I agreed and he told me he would pick me up around 11 AM. He was right on time and pulled up in his 1978 Mercedes Benz. Classic. Mint Condition. He was standing beside the car and when we were thisclose we shared a quick hug. He’s barely 5’6. I say 5’5″ because I’m 5’4″ and I was at eye level with him. It didn’t seem to matter, though. I was instantly attracted to him. What Mikey lacks in height, he makes up for in swagger. In fact, he might have the most swag of any guy I’ve ever known. I hopped into the passenger seat, we decided to hit the Rockaways and away we went.

I spoke for most of the ride to the beach. It made sense since he was driving and had to pay attention to the road and navigator. He was super easy to talk to. I told him just about everything he needed to know about me as a potential love interest right away so that there wouldn’t be any secrets. He was cool with everything. When we arrived at the beach, he told me to wait on the boardwalk while he parked his car at his parents house not too far away. I called my friend T-Money, who is a Rockaway girl, to let someone know where I was and who I was with. He sent me a text to find a spot to settle in and I found a great big open spot among the masses of beach goers right by the water. It was lovely.

He met me, settled in and wanted to jump right into the water. So in we went. It was fun. The water was warm and the waves were big. He grabbed my legs here and there to check out the tattoos I have on my feet. We talked while bobbing up and down in the water. I was wearing a strapless bikini, so I was a little scared of it falling off amongst the waves, but it was all good. Since it was “my time”, by breasts were enormous for my otherwise tiny figure. Mikey liked that. He said so.

Back on the sand, we basked in the late summer sun and he reminded me of the promised “make-up kiss.” I liked Mikey, so I didn’t mind. He’s a good kisser. It was fun. He sort of poked around my body checking out this and that–the tattoo I have above my lady parts was slightly sticking out, and he touched it before he asked to see it. When I showed it to him, Mikey liked it. We made out some more and he told me to stop because he couldn’t hide his excitement in his swim shorts. I couldn’t help but grab a feel. It was good.

Our next trip into the water was different. This time we went in to cool off from our make out session and to make out some more in the water. I wrapped my legs around him and we kissed and kissed and kissed. I ran my tongue along his salty neck and heard him grunt slightly. I whispered “Do you like that?” in his ear and he whispered back “Yes.” He felt up my entire body beneath the ocean and his hands felt so good. We stayed in the water for what seemed like most of the afternoon and finally made our way back to our little spot. We hung out and dried off in the sun, talked about getting something to eat and relaxed, happy that we were us at that moment in time.

We decided to leave. We grabbed some food and a beer and then took the mile and a half walk home to his parent’s house where he had left his car. I didn’t even put on my clothes until we hit a commercial strip. The conversation turned to sex and that’s when I really started to get to know him. He asked me questions about rough sex, threesomes, favorite positions. It turns out that he had the best threesome of his life TWO WEEKS AGO. I tried to quench the pangs of jealousy I felt. I told myself “It’s too soon for that shit, Suzy!” and went on to ask him about his oral abilities, foreplay, and other sexual generalities.

On the car ride home he kept one hand on the wheel and one hand up my shorts. He knew it was “my time” so he kept his distance from the good stuff, but still, that shit turned me on. He was rock hard and I took him into my hand and started caressing it lightly. Suzy and Mikey liked it.

We went back to his pace and jumped into the shower. We started kissing. Hard. He grabbed me by the back of my hair and turned me around against the shower wall. He rubbed himself against my ass and thighs. He used his fingers to tease me and asked me how I liked it. He told me talk to him and I did. We were filthy in that shower.

Showered and slightly refreshed, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I wanted to cry. My nose and chin were slightly sunburned. The dark circles that my sunglasses his so well were prominent in the bathroom light. My sweaty, salty, unwashed wet hair was a mess of tangles around my face. I stared into that mirror and slowly, all of the day’s pleasures were wiped away. I was still me. I was still broken ol’ me.

He was getting group text messages from his friends because one of his buddies was in from San Francisco and wanted to go out. He was tired and said he would rather stay in. He asked me if I thought it was fucked up if he blew of this visitor. I told him yes and so he said “Ok, I’ll call you an Uber and take another shower then go meet them for a quick dinner.” When my reaction was “Huh?” He reminded me that I was the one who told him to go out. He was right. I did tell him to go out. He paid for the cab  in advance and I was back home in twenty minutes. I was so tired, I didn’t even shower. I figured the rinse I had at his house was good enough. I threw on some pajamas and went straight to bed.

The next morning I felt weird. I knew he had to travel for business early in the week and I figured he was busy. The day was hot and filled with heavy thunderstorms. The perfect excuse to stay inside. At around 9 O’clock, I sent him a text message “Safe travels this week! Kisses!” He responded with a thank you and I wrote back “See you around. Have a good night!” He wished me a good night too and that was that.

I couldn’t find a place to write about all of the little things I learned about Mikey that day–like his love of luxurious things, his throng of female “friends”, his ardent desire to remain uncommitted (I stressed that too.) and his immaculate nature in both his home and appearance, but they all added up to something very scary.

I like Mikey.

And I’m never calling him again.

I Didn’t Mean to Hurt You Just Because I’m Hurting

I’m sorry. We never got a chance to meet and we probably never will because I led you on and your (crazy) excitement to meet in person scared me away and made me realize…

…I’m just not ready for this…

It’s really not an issue of sex. I’ll have sex.

It’s the little things. (Which aren’t so little.)

My apartment is a mess. Will you think I’m a slob? I can’t have you visit my apartment!

I’m a Mom. My schedule is crazy. I have somebody very important to take care of. You will always come in second place. (If you place at all.)

I’m sick. When I tell you I have “meetings” in The City, it’s my Oncologist or my shrink or my GI or my GYN. Can you handle my illness?

The Scandal. I stayed up all night thinking of fake last names to give you so that when you google me (and you seem like the type who would do that) you wouldn’t see what I don’t want you to see.

And the big things. (The Red Flags)

You were so damn aggressive. Why couldn’t you take a step back? Instead of suggesting we spend our first date at a swanky pool and then go back to your place, why not just a drink or a cup of coffee.

Were you really passing through my neighborhood today? You didn’t tell me that you would be passing through yesterday, so why the sudden errands in my neighborhood? That’s creepy.

I could tell how controlling you are after our first phone call. No, I don’t want to FaceTime with you whilst wearing my threadbare Yankees T-Shirt, my old glasses, no makeup and greasy hair. In fact, I’ve never even used FaceTime.

 I don’t want you to call a cab for me to take up to your neighborhood leaving me with no way to “escape.” I’ve been on my own for a long time. If I want to meet you, I’ll drive.

And the superficial thing.

I’m 5’4″. You’re 5’6″. I will never be able to wear my nice shoes if we went out or met up.

And the selfish things.

I needed to feel someone found me attractive. I needed some attention. I wanted someone to call me hot. I wanted to know that there are men out there who want to take me out. Men who can be seen with me.

I know I confused you and made you feel like shit. I am so sorry for that. I’m just not ready. I am just not ready.

And I’m sorry if I hurt you just because I’m hurting.

Suzy’s Lapses

images

I’m such a lazy blogger. I have a bunch of drafts and a river of ideas running through my mind, but there are periods of time when I just can’t bring myself to write.

It could be depression. I can write several posts on my battle with depression.

It could be fatigue. My cancer doesn’t want to go away and I have “traces” of leukemia in my blood. Not enough to treat but enough to make me crazy, super tired. I have to “watch and wait.” That’s all I can do. Watch and wait. Oh, and have a colonoscopy. Yay Cancer!!!

It could be my single mom status. I’m with my girl all of the time. When she’s with her Dad, I just want to collapse in bed or on the beach. I used to use that time to have sex, but that came to an end last week. (Yes, I’m pissed. Yes, I will write the post when I can focus.”)

It could be my slowly dying MacBook. I really need a new one. I should just bite the bullet and slap it on a credit card.

Whatever the reason is, I am going to try really hard to post at least once or twice a week–even if it’s just a photo with a few words or…oh who the hell am I kidding?? I’m not going to post a damn photo with a few words! I’ve never done that before.

I am going to finish up some of my drafts. I am going to continue my “Great Loves” series. I am going to be present.

I’m scrolling through my reader and I realize that I miss y’all!!

You will see me again soon.

Kisses!!

Good Friends and Beach Therapy

Seagate Beach. Brooklyn, NY.

Seagate Beach. Brooklyn, NY.

I was heartbroken and sad this week  (post to come, but I just can’t write about it yet)  and I didn’t want to do much except lay around on my couch or in my bed and feel sad and empty.That lasted for a day and a night until my friend “Big Daddy” stepped in and commanded me to get the fuck out of bed and meet him and my buddies “Mama Lu” and “Chick Pea” at the beach.

I always keep a beach bag packed in my car, so getting ready to head to the beach solo is a fairly easy operation. I just throw on a suit, pack my essentials in a little ziplock bag and bring a bottle of water. I know my friends come fully prepared with food and drink.

I got into my hot car, feeling empty and blue, hit some traffic, thought about my bed and finally got to the beach.  My friends were missing from their easily recognizable “station.” They were in the water and I set up my little spot and lotioned up until Chick Pea came strolling back from her dip.

Chick Pea doesn’t now about the relationship I was involved in as it was clandestine and she and I are not as close as we used to be. It was nice to be around someone who didn’t know about what I had gone through 24 hours earlier and just shoot the breeze. Chick Pea is adorably hot. She’s 5 feet tall, an Italian-Puerto Rican beauty who resembles Jessica Alba, though I find her to be prettier. We chatted for a while and caught up on shit until Big Daddy and Mama Lu came strolling back from their swim. Immediately, Mama Lu gave me a big kiss and Big Daddy offered me food and drink. I couldn’t eat much due to some stomach problems I have, but I love an Icy Coke and he gave me one.

It was a beautiful day! I was only about ten miles from my house, maybe even less, but what a difference I felt laying around on my oversized beach towel than in my oversized bed. The sun felt so good on my face and body and when i finally couldn’t stand the heat any longer, I hopped into the ocean with Big Daddy, floated on my back, talked with only our heads above water and that’s how I began to feel–like my head was just above the water. I wasn’t sinking anymore.

I stayed pretty late and I felt the despair starting to come back as I drove home to what would be my lonely apartment, but I had begun to heal. I have a long way to go as he was an essential part of my life for a long time and as the summer comes to a lazy close, I realize I may not have much beach therapy left, but what I do have are my friends. My irreplaceable, funny, kind and generous friends who have stood by me through all of my madness. I suppose every group of friends needs one madwoman.

I am thrilled to be theirs.

Gratitude: Day 3

I’ve had a terrible week, but I refuse to give up on my gratitude challenge!

My Doctors
I’m so grateful for my wonderful, attentive, excellent doctors. For those of you who do not know how I was diagnosed with CLL, it was my Ob/Gyn who found it. I went in for my yearly check up in January 2013 weighing 90 pounds. He asked if I was anorexic. When I exclaimed “No!” He asked to run some tests. Two days later I received a call from him telling me I had to see a hematologist–like yesterday. My white blood cell count was off the charts. One week later, I was tentatively diagnosed with leukemia by the best hematologist/oncologist in the world. He has not only become my doctor, but strangely, a father figure. He knows my rebellious nature and “warns” me about what I can and can not do at every visit. He also makes me laugh and calls me “Hollywood” because I showed up to every chemo session with my full face on–even lashes! I love them both and thank God for them.

My Education
I am grateful for my education. There are too many places on this Earth where women aren’t even allowed to learn how to read. If they do, they get beaten or killed. There are children in other countries who have one wish–to go to school. Writing this makes me a little teary. We. Are. So. Lucky.

My Apartment
I am grateful for my rent stabilized apartment in Park Slope. As the middle class gets pushed out of NYC due to the gross rent costs, I am grateful to have secured a home in an excellent neighborhood for me and my daughter–and I ain’t leavin’–no matter how much money my new landlord offers to buy us out. It’s no palace, but it’s home and there is an Uncle Louie G’s right on my corner! (For those who are wondering who Uncle Louie is it’s a nice cream shop. I’m a regular…)

Being Grateful: Day 2

Thanks again to Gus Gus for challenging me to do this…

Good Sheets
I am grateful for good sheets! Since I spend so much time in bed (sleeping! Get your minds out if the gutter!!) I have learned the nuisances among sheeting. There is nothing like slipping into a very high thread count, 100% cotton neatly made bed when you have a 101 fever. Or anytime, for that matter!

My teeth

I am truly grateful that God blessed me with a beautiful and healthy set of teeth. I’ve never been afraid of the dentist because as my late, great dentist once told me “if everybody had teeth like you, I’d go out of business.” They’re as straight and white as a picket fence, I’ve never had braces nor a cavity. I’m grateful that I don’t know the agony of a root canal, crowns or drilling. I’ve had a bit of help in the whitening department with a “zoom” procedure ten years ago and crest white strips here and there, but I’m grateful I don’t really need them. I love to laugh and smile and having a good set of teeth makes it even better.

Great Books
I have a few incredible stories of my own, but I love to read stories written by other people. The only thing I miss about teaching English is being forced to read great books–and not just read them– delve into them, analyze them, make “friends” with the characters and find ways to relate my own life to theirs. I am also starting to love, I suppose you could call it Sci-Fi, but I’m not sure, Zombie stories!! They’re creepy and crazy and I find them a bit funny. I thank those who introduced me to the world of Zombies.

I am fully prepared.

This is my day 2. Thanks again to Gus Gus for challenging me to do this, and if what I’m grateful for seems a bit useless or small–remember–I’m working my way up to the bigger stuff!

I Am Grateful… Day 1

My good friend Gus Gus challenged me to write about three things I am grateful for every day for an entire week. I accepted her challenge and this is Day 1. I’m starting out small and getting bigger and bigger each day…

Positive Thoughts: Day 1

Brooklyn!

I feel lucky and grateful to have been born and bred in Brooklyn, NY. Being a “Brooklyn Girl” is a part of my entire being. I wouldn’t be “me” had I grown up or moved somewhere else. It has given me a certain toughness, a great accent and the amazing opportunity to have grown up with and continue to meet people from all walks of life–the rich and the poor, the evil and the kind, a million different ethnicities (sometimes rolled up into one person!), the best pizza in the world–and I’ve been to Italy!, the memories of summer days on Jane ‘s stoop with my motley crew of friends, excellent schools and the honor to say with pride “I’m from Brooklyn. Born and Bred.”

DJ & The N.Y. Yankees

Derek Jeter (and the NY Yankees) OK, besides my obvious crush on him, Derek exemplifies hard work, dignity, honesty and athleticism. He’s quiet and reserved. He’s a bit too serious, in my opinion, but there is NOTHING like watching Mr. Jeter step up to the plate, put his arm straight up to balance his stance and hit one of his signature 1st base balls–setting up his team to go for the big hits. A slugger he’s not, but as a captain, I mean how could you not have tremendous

respect for him? I’m going to miss him.

My Kitchen Window

Yes, I am grateful for a window. I live in an old railroad apartment and I only have three windows, but my kitchen window is my favorite. It’s almost six feet tall, leads out to my fire escape, where every summer I plant a little garden. I have beautiful memories of holding my little baby in my arms and staring at the fat snowflakes falling from the cold January sky. I stare at the beautiful cherry blossom tree every April, waiting for it to POP, in the summer, I use it to “test” the weather, plant my garden, and hang out with a friend or two. The Fall brings a gorgeous portrait of colorful leaves on the trees that grow in my neighbors’ yards and as a bit of a voyeur, I watch with happiness other families planting gardens, having barbecues, birthday parties, and just relaxing in their own yards or on their own fire escapes. It also has a great view of the Barclay’s Center and 1 Hanson place. Yes, I’m grateful for my kitchen window.

That’s all for today, friends. Thanks for reading and thanks to Gus Gus for inspiring me to take on this challenge.

Happy Anniversary To Me!

So, it’s been just over a year since I started suzyonthestreet@wordpress.com Yay! A title change, a few longer than anticipated absences and quite a few new cyber friendships later, I’m back in the swing of things and blogging with a … Continue reading

“This Is Why I’m Crying…”

It’s an inside joke among my tight circle of Brooklyn friends and myself dating back about 23 years. We were causing raucous inside of a Bodega located inFlatbush proper when one or two of my friends started jawing with the owner trying to get a deal on some Sour Power candy. (This is how I spent many a Brooklyn afternoon. No libraries for us.) Of course, marijuana was involved, we all found it hysterical and after driving the owner bat shit crazy for about fifteen minutes, he covered his face with his hands and in his Middle Eastern accent whimpered “This is why I’m crying!!!”

Eat at your own risk! Make sure to brush and see a dentist as soon as possible after sucking, chewing and ingesting this tart and super sugary treat. (Sounds so dirty, but that's how you eat 'em!)

Eat at your own risk! Make sure to brush and see a dentist as soon as possible after sucking, chewing and ingesting this tart and super sugary treat. (Sounds so dirty, but that’s how you eat ’em!)

 

Two decades later, whenever something less than catastrophic happens to one of us, a “This is why I’m crying!” escapes our lips. We still laugh and laugh. Today I am crying, because as a a sun worshipper, a beach baby, a Coppertone Queen, I have been banned from the beach due to high fevers and left with nothing but Coney Island dreaming’ and a bottle of (Oh God, I hate to say this…) a b-b-b-bottle of Neutrogena Build A Tan. It smells pretty bad, stained my hands, but, I have to admit– it works. I have a lovely, smelly, fake tan. I can wear shorts and a tank top without feeling my pasty self-consciousness. (I’ve always wanted to review beauty products, so I consider this my first one. If you can get past the smell and are super careful with application, it really does give a realistic looking sun kissed glow.)

This is why I'm crying...

This is why I’m crying…

I love summer clothes and I love a deep golden tan and to me, you can not have one without the other. I’ve been to the beach a handful of times since June, but nothing significant enough to give me that lovely glow I start dreaming about each March.

I'll take the striped bum, please.

I’ll take the striped bum, please.

 

But… My health and comfort comes first. My poor girl, stuck in the house with her sick Mommy. 101 fever, nausea, headache.

I guess we’ll go the the ceramics workshop in a little while to get her out of the house. Maybe I’ll paint a Palm Tree. (Note: There are no Palm Trees in Brooklyn. It’s my sad attempt at symbolism.)

I want this...

I want this…

 

But I have to settle for this.

But I have to settle for this.

This is why I’m crying!!!