Lenny and the Apple

I discovered over Super Bowl weekend that I can't live in New York. I went there for a weekend visit to see my gay friend, Ray, (yes, I always refer to him as 'my gay friend, Ray') although I have many gay friends. What people don't realize is that I think it's cool to be gay, and letting you know I have a gay friend is like boasting... anyway, my gay friend, Ray, bought us tickets to see Lenny Kravitz at a small venue in Manhattan on Friday, the night I arrived. But let me back up.

When I got to the Richmond airport, I ran into a friend of mine, a wine rep, who happened to be on my flight to New York. (For those of you who don't know, a wine rep is a person who sells wine to stores and restaurants.) Coincidentally, as I was DRIVING to the airport, I pulled up next to ANOTHER wine rep friend of mine on the highway. We waved to each other and gave each other that "OH MY GOD- WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" look. 2 wine reps on the way to Manhattan. The message was clear- God was trying to tell me to drink lots of wine in New York.

When I got off the plane in Queens, my wine rep friend had the bright idea to share a cab to Manhattan. I have NO friggin' idea how far this is from us, and how big this city actually is. So we're IN the cab, with a disgruntled cabbie who just got screamed at by another cabbie for tailgaiting, and discovered on the way that our 2 destinations were on opposite sides of the city. I told the cabbie we were sharing the ride, and he threw a New York fit, saying that I would have to pay from the airport, not my friend's stop. So I got out and took another damn cab. It was pouring down rain and I had a huge, heavy suitcase. Fuck him.

I headed to Ray's job, where I was to pick up his apartment keys, then head to his place and wait for him to get home. But for some reason, NY cabbies don't like multiple destinations so he didn't wait. I ran in and got the keys, but not before I got stuck in the revolving door with my suitcase. A local woman yelled through the glass and pointed to the handicapped door next to me, as if to say "Hey, asshole- wrong door!" Boy, was THAT embarrassing... I just got there, and am no longer disguised as a cool New Yorker. I took another cab to Ray's place in the lower east side. He makes good money and lives on a trendy street with lots of really cool people on it, thank God! I was hungry, so I lugged my 45lb suitcase up 5 flights of stairs to Ray's place (he said I'd hate it, but it was good for my ass) and got settled before I ventured back out and stumbled upon a hot dog joint across the street. The word "fucked" was on the menu, and it made me happy. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. I needed to live in a place where the word "fuck"was used freely, like the word "the" or "a". I knew I belonged somewhere, and now I found it. Until Sunday. I was ready to come home by Sunday.

Raining and waiting in line for Lenny Kravitz would have been fine, if I hadn't straightened my hair. I hate the fucking rain, only because it ruins my hair. Anyway, Ray and I head straight to the bar, where vodka was surprisingly cheap and the drinks were strong. So two vodka-crans into the opening act, Lenny comes out with a thundering bang that wakes us all up and reminds us why we're all there in the first place. Except for Ray, who wanted to see him shirtless. Lenny's shirt stayed on, but for me his performance was not only amazing, but necessary. Since having my daughter and landing in the world of single-parenthood, I don't get to venture out much. It had been years since I spent any time in a big city and had forgotten how much my soul needed that energy- the energy of masses of free spirited, crazy, happy people running around in a transcient, crazy-skitzo city bliss. I used to live in that mess, and although at times I was sad, I also discovered a beauty and love for life I never had before. And inspiration! Inspiration for days..... So Lenny comes out in Rock Star style, all leathered up, with the lights and guitars and drums and a sound system that no treble or bass in any Circuit City could compare to, and the tears start streaming down my face. I couldn't control them. It was as if the vibrations from the speakers were going through me from my feet to my head, forcing all emotion from the last 7 years out through my eyes. New York. Lenny Kravitz. A bunch of happy, crazy people. GOD, I need this. I need this. I am found. The pre-mommy girl is still in here, looking for an out. Gay men know just what I need. Period. Thank you, Ray.

The rest of my trip was spent at ATM machines, restaurants, and stores. I ran into several people I knew from Richmond, which served as a reminder of just how small this world can be. I had a long, overdue converstaion with a childhood friend about her father's passing, and some more much needed tears were shed. I spent time talking with store owners and bartenders about everyday things and got a pretty good taste of the city. I ventured out on my own in search of my balls. All in all, it was a good, productive trip. But after 2 days, I missed my daughter and my bathroom. For some reason, I'd like to say I could live in New York. But I can't. I'm just too spoiled. I need my car, a house, a dog, a big bathroom, and the ocean. I need California. Fuck the rain. And small apartments with stairs. And $25 credit card minimums. And tiny bathrooms. And cabs.