Concrete jungle where dreams are….

On Friday I got a text message from one of my favorite people. It read “im calling you later, I’ll be on the bus to NY.” I Reply,  “I want to go to NY this weekend!” And that, was that. The beginning of one of the greatest weekends I have had and will have while on the East Coast. Sitting in my office and frantically searching websites to buy my megabus ticket felt like a race against the clock. Uncertain about how many seats were left, where to leave from, and how fast I could get there after work got my heart racing. Excitement pumping through every vein. I’d never been to New York and being as obsessed as I am with cities and  nightlife and everything that is urban I was in total freak out mode.

By midnight I was there.

I had no idea what to expect and how large to expect things to be. I knew I’d see buildings bigger than anything that had ever entered my life, and lights that stretched forever. When the city came into view I literally lost my breath. The buildings glittered against the backdrop of the night sky. It glowed. It was the most amazing creation by man. Every color twinkled to compose the New York skyline. At first I saw it from afar, and the size of it was incredible. As the bus made its way into the maze of towers, buildings reached higher than I could even see from my window seat. One after another after another. You know that moment in your life when everything you’ve seen prior just doesn’t measure up anymore. When the past is run over with the present. That’s the moment that I collided with at full speed. I’ve known beaches. I’ve known beach towns. I’ve known suburbs. I’ve know small cities. I’ve know Targets, boutiques, taco shops, beauty parlors, surf shops, golf courses, petsmarts, schools composed of portable trailers. I was utterly unprepared for arrival. For cement that never ended in every direction. For architecture that challenged gravity. For lights that never dimmed. For noise that never ceased.

The first night was girl talk. Wine in huge glasses. Candle light. Catching up. Stories of Boston, The District, New York. We’ve all been out of college since June. We all live on the East Coast. The last time I was with the two of them together was December 31. Down Town San Diego. It’s hard to fathom how much can change in a year. Not even that long.

Both girls I spent the weekend with are amazing. I know no one like them. No one so in control. So on top. They are fiece. Driven. Intelligent. Beautiful. So talented in ways that I envy.  It was like we were the new Sex In The City… minus the sex. Fashion. Art. Late nights. Wine. Amazing food. Location better than Hollywood could create. Oh to be young. Carefree with a weekend where we were exempt from all responsibilities. Where we gave hugs and kisses to reality and said goodbye. Sent it on its way.

The first night ended around 7 am. That’s when it seemed appropriate to make our way into a bed that was constructed perfectly to fit us. I’d like to take full credit for keeping them up that late/ early.

A few hours later, when we finally decided the bed was no longer big enough for the three of us, sometime around 11 that morning, we got up, showered, walked through Brooklyn,

got incredible coffee,

and wandered the high line, eating our New York bagles.

From the highline we managed our way back to the metro only to be spit out at the MOMA. Our destination. Exhibit after exhibit. Artists I loved.

Artists I’d never heard about.

Artists I could care less about.

Art is weird. Its so…. Personal. I say this because while I can fall so deeply with some pieces, others I can walk right past. Zero interest. And it’s always uncomfortable when you know you are standing before the works of one of the greatest artists, acting like you’re totally interested and engaged, but you’re not. Your just staring. And your mind is wandering, and like two magnets pulling together your thoughts keep focusing on…

“ I could do this.”

Yes. You probably could. As could I. But I guess the significance is they did it first. They did it at a time when no one else had. But jesus- does that change the fact that the entire canvas is just two squiggly lines in different colors, and I’m supposed to stand before it and wet my pants, and oogle about how its just so amazing and I’ve never seen anything like it before. “OH, Dawwling, isn’t this just the greatest. Oh My it’s just so, so, exquisite. I’m so cultured. I’m such an art critic. I can even read the French names.”

Its just color. That’s it. He is just a name. We are just observers. Many. Many. Many years later.

So, de Kooning.

Like I was saying. I saw incredible art. I spend the day with incredible people. The MOMA in itself is a work of art. Architecture has gained a new appreciation in my heart since living here.

After the MOMA we enjoyed cocktails in SoHo at the cutest pub. Corner window seat. Irish accents to my right. Good beer. Good food. Good company.

From there we found ourselves at a table, in a Brooklyn apartment, owned by the one and only. We met shot after shot with lime, and in between our tequila we sipped coffee. How New York can we be?

Our tequila was mixed with home made music videos and more pictures than I know what to do with. It was the most fun. After months of not seeing one of my best friends I realized how much I missed her. Being able to be around people who know the core you. Who really know how weird you can act. You want to see you act weird. Who get to that weird weird place with you. That’s her. That was all of us. She is my muffin. I am her sugar moneky. We get stupid.

When we left the house we went to one of Brooklyn’s friends, and killed time before going out out. He entertained us with music, while she acted as his backup singer/ dancer and put a huge smile on my face. I spent the whole weekend in the best of company. The most beautiful of company. Inside and out. Oh and by the way…Mr. Madison…. Check out his video. He is talented. Boy has got flavor. Go.

After adventures at clubs that would never exists anywhere other that New York, where we had bottle service (cough cough) I found myself alone with my Boston.

Sometime circa 4 am? Where the rest of the group is will always remain a mystery. We went to catch a metro and amazingly we found our way home. Not without getting what I guess was breakfast, sometime around 5am. And making a video, around the same time. Looking through my phone on Monday on my way to work and finding a video of us on my phone, singing and acting super silly while waiting for the NY subway was the greatest gift ever. We are the worst. We were beyond entertaining to watch. That night we laughed. We cried. We spooned. We were us.

I woke up to Boston yelling at me about an alarm that wasn’t mine. At some point during the night New York had ended up in bed with us, although I know she was crashed on the couch when we got home. Oh, the mysteries of the night.

Miss. Boston was adamant about going to breakfast before she had to leave the city, so somehow we made it across the street, and had an amazing Cuban brunch. Sunglasses never coming off. It was one of those mornings. You know you’ve had them. The mornings where it seems safest to stand at a distance from society.  We sat in the farthest corner, and it was probably for the best. For all parties involved. The night before we had been our biggest fans. That morning it seemed as if really we were our own worst enemies.

I’m over exaggerating. It wasn’t THAT bad. Plus, the food was amazing. Afterwards we wandered the neighborhood, and then crawled back into bed and laughed while recalling the nights events.

And to talk about memories from our past lives. Our lives from Vista. There is something so charming about being able to talk about memories that you’ve shared. That we can make fun of the same schools we’re gone to. That we had the same teachers in high school. That we can laugh about watching the same people progress or digress via their facebook statuses. Its all so silly, but its sharing that common knowledge. That common bond that there was something before this. That our lives didn’t begin here, where we are currently at. The last time we saw one another was New Years, and now here we are, all on the East Coast. All hung over in a bed. All young professionals. Them more than myself. But I’m getting there.

Until my bus left that evening I napped and watched really crappy movies with my Brooklyn love. When I left her place I explored the Union Square area of New York and the surrounding streets. At 7 on Sunday night I got back on megabus and headed toward my home, DC.

Arriving back in DC meant that I had to return to reality. But as I walked through Union Station, my first time seeing it and being inside, and exiting it only to be greeted by warm night air and the glow of the Capitol rotunda, I realized I have a pretty damn good reality. I have a killer internship. I live in the nation’s capitol, a place that people from all over the world come to visit. I live in one of the nicest areas of DC. I am surrounded by talented, fun, good hearted people. And most of all, I enjoy every day of my life. Every day gets better. Every day is filled with something new. If I need a vacation from this reality, I can’t even imagine what the real reality must be like. Life is fucking good. We shall close with that.

One comment on “Concrete jungle where dreams are….

  1. This is awesome Allie. You’re really going to appreciate being able to look back at this in years to come. Btw Can we please take a trip to NYC together sometime? That would be amazinn

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