Saturday, 1/26/08:
I spent most of Saturday with Kristin at the Sugar Shack. I left the Sugar Shack around 7pm for Laura's in Gramercy. While riding the D-train express between 145 street and 125 street, I had a very unique "New York" experience... the sort of experience that I didn't think really happened in New York anymore, at least since the 1980's.
I was wearing my vintage cream rabbit fur coat, leopard-print jeans, silver
Rubber Duck boots , and
MAC Cosmetics (some of my favourite things, btw). I wasn't exactly dressing to "blend in" - then again, I was a white girl in Harlem, of course I didn't blend in.
I got on the D train and walked over to the map to find my way to Gramercy. There was a girl, about 13-years old, sitting in front of the map. So I did what every other New Yorker does when somebody is sitting in front of the map: I ignored her.
This girl ran to the seats across the aisle to be with her friends. They started speaking loudly about how rude I was, and how I should have said "excuse me." I ignored them, and they quickly evolved to yelling threats about how they were going to "punch me in my pussy" (what a strange place to punch a woman, I thought), and "kick my ass" and whatnot. They were with some crackhead older man that said about me, "She's just trying to figure out where to go", but he clearly had no authority over the girls and their disgraceful behaviour.
These girls continued yelling threats at me, so I stopped looking at the map, turned around, acknowledged the girls with a shrug and a brief glance in their direction, and moved to another part of the subway car. There I sat down and ignored them by looking down and filing my nails. I thought to myself, (not that I'd ever WANT to get into a fight with any of them, but my adrenaline was rushing) "if they only knew that I had martial arts training! I could BREAK those little girls in a fight."
The threats subsided a bit, but not completely. The crackhead guardian stood up in the aisle and started loudly singing songs about how great it was to be black.
I thought this was very strange. At least the girls seemed distracted.
I thought the girls had forgotten about me... but, around 7:30pm upon arrival at 125th street, one of them ran in front of me and hit me in the face as she ran out the door, out of the car, onto the platform, and out of the station. What a cheap shot!
I screamed! I was more shocked than upset. Fortunately, no harm had been done; no blood drawn, nor skin broken, nor scratch marks left. I took a picture right after the assault... the left side of my face is a little red--that's not blush, that's getting smacked in the face. It went away in 10-20 minutes. I am thankful that nothing worse happened, they didn't gang up on me, nor steal from me, and I was safe. I reflected on how sad these girls' lives must be to hate me so much for dressing nicely and having much more than them.
Upon arrival at Laura's I had a drink, talked on the phone with friends, and felt better. We met Fluff McFluffster to hear terrible/awful/un-listenable "scrap" music at an illegal party in some huge industrial woodshop in Williamsburg.
Bloodweiser was performing. They are intolerable.
I was feeling "ok" about the assault until some girl (I think it was
Bloodweiser's lead singer's girlfriend) spilled
2 Buck Chuck RED wine all over my brand new, limited-print cream-with-black-polka-dots
Lululemon hoodie, my one-of-a-kind silkscreened canvas bag, AND my brand new
Betseyville purse. I was a wreck. I cried.
I think it is all about leaving marks: I dealt well with being minorly assaulted on the subway because I emerged unscathed. But when my
nice, new stuff that I invested a bunch of money in and use every day got ruined, I got REALLY upset. I think being the victim of two successive, aggressive acts (intentional or not) had a cumulative effect on my psyche.
Something similar happened after I had cancer... My cancer didn't leave a lot of marks and I dealt very well with it. But when I had some non-cancerous moles removed from my back after I finished chemo, I got really upset and cried about the scars on my back.
I ate a pita and calmed down a little bit. Had a drink. Left the illegal party with Laura and the intolerable music and went to some white-boy reggae show around the block. Ulysses picked up me and Laura in his shiny
BMW and drove us off to
Studio B (one of my favourite venues), where
Steve Aoki and
Chromeo spun some fun tunes. I hung out with Ulysses till sunrise and woke up, invigorated again in Sugar Hill. Thank you, Ulysses for taking me away from that terrible woodshop and making me feel better!
Kristin is a domestic goddess that got the stains out of my hoodie. I have yet to attack my canvas bag. Thank god for good friends (Kristin, Laura, and Ulysses),
Oxiclean, and of course, the
MTA.
Friday evening, I had a Restaurant Week dinner with LC and David at at Icon. We shared literally everything on the menu. Afterwards, we met some friends for a Fashion Week party at the Ben Sherman store... but by the time we'd gotten there it was late, the door goons had gotten all power-trippy and were "shutting down the door" - too bad, as it looked quite good inside.
The only problem was this blacked-out (read, not black but so drunk that tomorrow he won't remember last night) 22-year-old wanna-be hipster that was crowd surfing and bumping into me. I despise crowd surfers. I want to enjoy the music without worrying that some inebriated idiot's Chuck is going to hit me in the face. Boy was so drunk he couldn't walk a straight line, and he hit into me SEVERAL times. I'd had enough, so the next time he bumped into me, I elbowed him gently, just to let him know I was there. Inebriated boy fell down like a rag doll and stayed away from me for the rest of the night. :)
