New York – A Love Letter in Photos.

New York, I love so much about you.  But it’s not just your big-ticket attractions. What I love most is what’s in the details of you.

It’s standing practically underneath the most famous Christmas tree, and delighting at the little fearless finch on the angel branches.

hello, friend.

It’s finding someone’s wish to become a broadway singer written on a piece of confetti that landed in a planter.

It’s realizing that angels do exist.

It’s snickering like a 12 year old about Big Balls.

1251 6th Ave, Radio City Music Hall

It’s standing high above so much, and feeling so small.

Brooklyn.

It’s turning around and going, “Whoa. What bridge is that?!”

Queensboro Bridge view from the Serendipity front door.  East 60th St

It’s falling in love with a perfect reflection in a restaurant door.

Stumptown coffee, in NYC? Yes, please. Iris Cafe, Brooklyn

It is perfection in a slice.

REAL. NEW. YORK. PIZZA.

It is the timeless and detailed wrought iron entryways…next door to a tourist hot-spot.

It’s lifting your head into the cold wind and seeing the Empire State Building for the first time.

It’s not wanting to stop and be THAT tourist, so you wind up with a wonderfully dizzying shot.

It’s spotting the morning-after evidence.

Jan 1, 2013.

It’s being determined to eat REAL ramen, the REAL way.

I ate my ramen like a big girl – with chopsticks.

It’s not being above taking a classic NYC shot.

It’s accepting that sometimes your best pictures might be taken with your iPhone.

It’s shopping decadence, mixed with vendors, mixed with traffic, mixed with architecture and light.

J.Crew, Soho.

It’s about indulgence amidst frenzy.

Best massage I’ve had in years. Bliss, Soho.

It’s about wondering why the hell they have these steam stacks in the middle of a street lane and then spotting your favorite building between them.

Chrysler Building.

It’s being alone in a subway car late at night, smiling, knowing that right at this moment you are happy.

It’s hearing the languages of dozens of countries within one square block.

tourists crowd the mezzanine over the Rock Center ice skating rink

It’s knowing that you made the right choice in your New Year’s Eve plans.

Straight ahead? That’s where the ball dropped. I was running a 5K instead.

It’s being more entranced by architecture and scope and design than the blue LED-lit Christmas tree.

never forget to look up.

It’s greeting a new day from a new place.

Sunrise view in Brooklyn

It’s the biting wind coming off the water, making your eyes tear and your nose run, yet you take the shot because there is just so much right in it.

Brooklyn Bridge Park, Pier 6

It’s the City of Lights, making bright even the most harsh of barricades.

leftover New Year’s Eve barriers

It’s seeing a movie reproduction of a Broadway show in a theater where Broadway shows were once performed.

Ziegfeld Theater

It’s respect for putting a modern spin on an old favorite.

High Line, Chelsea

It’s appreciation of scale and balance and whimsy.

High Line, Chelsea

New York is just so much to take in. It is too much, yet it is everything. I long for better photographic equipment, so that I could have captured everything even more perfectly. But even then, I’m not sure capturing the verve of this great city is an attainable achievement. New York is felt as much as it is seen.

New York? I love you. Don’t ever change.

Until next time,
Peach

Sequins to Nikes

A New Year’s Eve unlike 2012. That was my only requirement. I couldn’t bear another colossal stroke-of-midnight letdown this year.

I remember that the ballroom was filled to capacity and the cover band was screaming Prince’s “1999”. I was booty-shaking away, thanks to the horrifically bad bottom-shelf vodka/crans that also made me ignorant of the fact that my stilettos were shredding the skin off the top of my pinky toes. It had been a great evening so far, with pre-gaming in the hotel rooms upstairs and the ever-female three hour ritual of group beautification. A forgotten strapless bra panic had been remedied by hacking off the straps of a push-up bra. Price tags were ripped violently off flashy new garments. We crammed ourselves into the bathroom and expertly applied eyeliner and falsies. And me, I couldn’t believe I’d let my friend talk me into wearing this strapless sequined tube of a dress. I didn’t have the boobs she did, but prayed it would miraculously stay put.

There were 15 of us in total, with myself as the lone East coast-er, the only one with real boobs, and one of the two single people in the bunch. Relationship status didn’t matter in the hours leading up to midnight – we were just a group of friends ringing in the New Year. But when the night reached its frenzied peak as the countdown began, I looked around for the other single girlfriend.

10…..9…..

She had disappeared.

8…..7…..

All the couples around me were arm in arm, shouting the backward numbers, blissfully ignorant of my crisis.

6…..5…..4…..

Some creepy guy standing next to me grabbed my waist. I shoved his hands off me and flung my steely “just try that again” look at him. He didn’t.

3….2….1….

I stood alone, on a crowded dance floor.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

There’s something magical but heartbreaking about the moment a new year begins.  The elation of the digit-flip, the cheering, the falling confetti, and the slow descent from frenzy into Auld Lang Syne are all very intoxicating. Time pauses while you enjoy the soft caress of lips with your companion. You bless the wonderful memories of the past year and wish good riddance to the ugly ones. And in these first few seconds, the new year is pristine. It is untouched and unblemished. It is perfect, yet still so easily shattered as you realize that the same feeling of despair and loneliness that existed at 11:59:59 on 2011 was not only still present, but magnified tenfold at 12:00:01 on 2012.

Because I stood alone, on a crowded dance floor.

The romantic embraces all around me seemed to defy time. I was about to leave the dance floor when suddenly I caught sight of my sequined-dress-pusher of a best friend running at me, arms outstretched. Before I could blink she had planted a loud, smacking kiss on my lips and was screaming ‘Happy New Year, Peach!!!’ over the din.  We laughed and hugged and then of course went back to more blister-inducing dancing, almost as if that moment of darkness had never occurred.  Hell, I doubt anyone even sensed it, other than me.

This year when given the chance to come to New York, I was hellbent on NOT having an emotional fuckery repeat during the ball drop of 2013.  Single-hood be damned, I’ve had too great of a year to spend even one iota of a second feeling sorry for myself at the stroke of midnight.

During 2012 I got healthy and got happy. I reveled in the proximity to family after so many years away. I was lovingly embraced by friends old and new. I dated a few men, and have those shitshow stories to thank for starting this blog. I made a Life List and started a journey of living my life for me, to the fullest and to the fore. I recognized my deep-down passions and started to go after them, without letting fear of judgment control my ambitions.

I’m so glad that I chose “different” over “usual” this year for New Year’s Eve.  I swapped the dress and stilettos for a compression shirt, race bib, running tights and my trusty Nikes. Instead of battling a sweaty dance floor packed with obnoxious handsy drunks, I battled the cold and my newly-strong body all the way to a sweaty finish line.

Running those 3.14 miles through Brooklyn’s Prospect Park couldn’t have been more perfect. There were no expectations, and no silly build-up leading to a monumental emotional hangover. The only drunks I saw were teenagers teetering along the park’s path with their party hats and smuggled bottles of champagne.  I listened to my steady breath inhaling and exhaling the chilly air in a solid rhythm. My thigh muscles bunched and released with every stride and I remember grinning at the thought that there’d be no way in hell my rockin’ new booty would fit into that sequined strapless number from last year.  I laughed as I was passed by a girl who ran the race with her torso wrapped in Christmas lights.  I challenged myself to pass a few folks, just to see if I could do it. And when we crossed the finish line just before midnight, we celebrated with steaming cups of Swiss Miss hot chocolate.  The few hundred of us counted down to 2013 underneath the barren trees, exhilarated and alive as we watched the fireworks start. I hugged Might-E and her friend, and that was it. No muss, no fuss.

At 12:00:01 of 2013, there were no residual feelings of loneliness or despair. There was only peace and happiness.  Because I knew that I didn’t need a clock or confetti or a ball drop to tell me how amazing this year will be. My goals were already in motion and I knew that even bigger, better things were in store for me.

When I closed my eyes that night, curled under a blanket in the heart of Brooklyn, I thanked the universe for everything that was 2012. The struggles and the joys changed me for the better and I’m steady, solid and happy for the first time in as long as I can remember. I drifted into my first sleep of 2013 with a smile in my heart.

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Linking up with the fantastic crew over at YeahWrite.

Mighty Peach Life List #58, #10 – Twinkly Lights and Serendipity…DONE!

Back story to these life list items can be found here.

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On January 1, 2013, I awoke in darkness and stretched until my feet hit the end of my friend’s couch. Shoving the sleep mask up my forehead to push the bangs off my face, I squinted at the blinding winter sun and smiled simultaneously. I was looking over the rooftops of downtown Brooklyn prominently displayed through the windowed walls of the apartment. And then it hit me…Today was the day!

My lovely hostess and dear friend Might-E emerged from her room, came over to the couch and sat down next to me. She handed me a gift-wrapped package and said that she knew this would be perfect. For today.  For this year.  You see, Might-E has been one of my biggest sources of support since we met, but especially this year. She’s been there for me as I’ve tackled many tough changes in my life and cheered for me as I’ve gone after my dreams. I count myself lucky to have her as a friend. But hugged her HARD after I opened this.

perfect, right?

After I’d pulled my sentimental/sniffly self together, we hit the ground running for our Big Day. During the subway jaunt over to Manhattan, we fretted over whether or not we’d be waiting for hours to get into Serendipity. The New Years Day crowd could go either way.

Boy, did we get lucky! We only waited 20 minutes for a cute little two-top on the main floor.

Loving the Tiffany lamps. Not so sure about Banana Hammock Guy back there.

Might-E and I delighted over the quirky, larger-than-life menu (seriously, they were bigger than the surface of our table).

But of course, we already knew what we’d come for. We put in the order for my long-awaited Frozen Hot Chocolate immediately. Life is short, dammit. Everyone should eat dessert first.

And then it arrived.

isn’t it lovely?

gimme.

oh, this *will* be finished.

Yes, I gave myself brain-freeze on this baby, which means that I did it right. The word on the street is that the FHC recipe consists of: Seventeen different types of chocolate, blended with milk and ice. So sayeth the server. All I know is that each sip through the straw tasted like a mouthparty of chocolate sin. May everything in this life be that delectably painful to finish. It was worth the wait and worth every calorie.

And then, with seventeen-types-of-chocolate-sugar coursing through our veins, it was time to journey to Rockefeller Plaza.

From the moment we left the subway stairs, we could feel the buzz on the street. There’s just something about that area of NYC, around 5^th Ave with all the stores and TV studios and street vendors… it’s a living, breathing creature filled with bodies and shopping bags and picture-taking. Dozens of different languages are audible no matter where you stand, but the joy on people’s faces matched my own.

first sighting

Swarovski replica of the tree topper.

I doubt any pictures could ever do this memory justice, but I know I’ll never forget what it felt like to lean on that railing and gaze over the ice skating rink filled with wobbly tourists. Even on that overcast day, the tree sparkled and shone proudly, despite the few limbs that were a bit droopy.  Hey, I can’t blame the tree. It’s New York. Living here can be exhausting.

I’m sure I didn’t stand there longer than a few minutes, but it was long enough to realize that I was grinning like an idiot. Putting these emotions into words is difficult, but I can only compare it to the moment when the holidays start to really feel like the holidays. It’s that moment of recognition in your heart. That deep down, ahh. There it is. I was finally here.

We walked even closer and realized the full expanse of the tree’s formidable height when we were directly underneath its branches.

Peach-approved.

And with one last upward glance, I said a silent goodbye and we took our leave.

Thank you to Bing and Go Mighty for giving me the opportunity to check off these life wishes!!

I’m still smiling.

Snark the Halls

Being single during the holidays means that it’s the perfect time of year for many, many things to make you feel stabby.  Go grab your peppermint-bark-crusted-salted-caramel-nutella-oreo-chocolate-explosion cookies and sit down with me for a moment.

‘Tis the Season of family holiday photo cards arriving in the mail. Oh, yay. The snail-mail arrival of perfect photographic depictions of perfect families and perfect kiddos.  The only thing holding my sanity intact when I open these are that I am close enough to these gorgeous faces that I know a photocard only captures one perfect moment. I’ve seen the meltdowns and diaper explosions, people. I’m onto you. 🙂

‘Tis the Season of being the only single gal at gatherings and neverending “Sooooooo, how’s your love life?!?”s. While I don’t mind sharing my dating shitshow stories in the least, it can also be deflating. If I have to hear “OhmyGAWD, I’m SO glad I don’t have to deal with dating any more.” one more time, someone’s gonna get a bacon-wrapped date where the sun don’t shine.

‘Tis the Season of sappy jewelry commercials that invoke single-girl emotional death spirals. After seeing them, I can’t help but imagine all my coupled-up friends having fireside chocolate and wine and gifting their ladies diamond tennis bracelets… while I’ll be on the couch in my UGA sweats watching Love Actually and eating my feelings in Rolos.

‘Tis the Season of being the last consideration when it comes to family gatherings and travel arrangements. If you have no family of your own, it’s automatically assumed you’ll go with the majority rule. The only way around that is to grow a pair, speak up, and say that you’re doing your own thing this year. Which I did.

‘Tis the Season of FUCK YOU, MISTLETOE. Maybe I should start full-body tackling any single man that walks within 5ft of that make-out malarkey. That might work to score me a date, no?

‘Tis the Season of the bleeding checkbook.  Giving gifts to a single person is easy. One person, one gift. But giving gifts AS a single? We wind up spending double to reciprocate gifts given to us by couples. It hurts the single-income wallet.

But on the other hand… as a single…

‘Tis the Season of not having to haul around a monstrously big tree. A friend of mine we’ll call FreakFlag got stuck playing Catch the Tree while her husband shoved a 7-footer over the rail of their back deck. It was all fun and games until the stump landed directly on her big toe. Gee, that sounds like fun. Yeah, no thanks.  I stuck an inanimate pretty thing on my counter, hung two stockings on my front door, slapped a string of lights over my outside entrance and called it a day.

‘Tis the Season of not having to fight with any in-laws over who’s going where this year, how much to spend on each cousin under the age of 13, or any other nonsense that stirs up hurt feelings and drama. Y’all have fun with that. I’ll be over here sexting with the other lonely singles.

‘Tis the Season of baking…but only if I want to.  There are no daycare/school parties requiring cookies and no neighborhood block parties demanding banana/pumpkin bread. And if I do choose to bake, people are all… whoa, look what the single girl did! You’d think I didn’t have opposing thumbs.

‘Tis the Season of not being required to send cards. I will say that I appreciate the friends that remember that I’m alive this time of year, because it is sweet to be included in their address list. But no one seems to mind if single people don’t send cards.  I personally do, but I stick with something funny/snarky. Like this.

‘Tis the Season to gift yourself! So what if no one is giving me bling? See those boots? I want em. Hmm, that Coach bag is gorgeous. It shall be mine. I probably would have spent a ridiculous amount on a significant other, so why not treat myself? More, why let all these sales go to waste??

‘Tis the Season of freedom. Singles can travel! Last year I spent New Year’s Eve in California. This year, New York, are you ready for me?!?!  My friend NotMary is grabbing the chance to take a trip to Haiti, just because she can. Cool, right?

Well hell, y’all.  Overall, I think the goods outweigh the bads. And if the bads are really bad this year?  There’s always alcohol.

Lots and lots of alcohol.

So tell me.  Single or taken, what are the most annoying things about the holidays for YOU?