I wrote this blog last night soon as I got home from the city.It’s 3:00AM, now Sunday, December 12th, 2010. It was Saturday, December 11th, 2010 just a few hours ago when I was at Bar13 in NYC. I went out to meet a complete stranger, Aponi, to help kick off a party she planned at Bar13. Baby Virgo met us there as well. I saw Aponi’s ad on Craigs List a few weeks ago about her needing fellow females to come partake in her NYC party events. I like making new friendships off of random interests, especially with females because it’s tough to meet a female that you can actually have a good time with and share common interests with. Most of my friends are guys because I just vibe with the male gender better…seeing as I’m a tomboy at heart—but when I meet girls I can vibe with, its always refreshing. Aponi is real, awesome, hustler type chick. I felt her vibe strongly and knew that she was serious about what she’s currently working on. There aren’t too many people in this world that are serious anymore. They’re 99% all talk and no action. They don’t follow through with what they dictate to you. I look forward to future events with Aponi and helping her business. I have serious goals too and it makes me feel better as a person to know that there are young woman out there who are just as serious as I am.
So fast forward a few hours later at Bar13, my boys who always are easily distracted and unorganized, tell me they can’t make it at the last minute. No surprise there, that’s how most people are, I’m used to it (not to sound like a Debbie downer). No sweat off my back, it just gave me more time with my Baby Virgo and Aponi. Baby Virgo and I haven’t seen each other in weeks due to the fact we live an hour away from one another L We were going through serious Virgo withdrawals so this time was crucial. We discussed our usual Virgo issues…and how in-sync our minds, needs, and personalities are. I held Baby Virgo in my arms a few times and just let our Virgo Vibes spiritually connect (dead serious). The bar tender picked up on our little Virgo-fest and gave us free shots and told us he liked our whole look/vibe. I love when outsiders pick up on that; and when my soul instantly connects with theirs. During this whole Virgo hugging moment, I was waiting for my DAD to come by to give me a ride home! (Yeah, as you may or may not have noticed, I have zero love life, so it’s Dad to the rescue as my lift home on a Saturday night). I nicknamed my Dad, “Travolta” back when I was a teenager because my friends and I all thought he looked just like him when they were both in their prime (plus my Dad’s alter ego is a disco loving ladies man—hello Saturday Night Fever).
My Dad works in NYC late nights, so he was in the area and I didn’t feel like taking the last train home alone like I usually do (groan).
This is the first time I’ve ever asked him for a ride home from the city after a late night out with my friends. Needless to say I was slightly apprehensive because, without saying too much, my Dad and I have a distant relationship yet I love him to death and respect him as a person. He’s a very nostalgic individual. So, he picks me up, first thing he says with his Bronx accent is (and this is CLASSIC Travolta material FYI), “These city kids are all morons! The kids in this neighborhood, all spoiled rich college kids! Their parents pay for everything and they end up like morons! I’m tryina drive down the street and one of those morons walks out in front of my car like its no big deal in the pouring rain! Arrogant, snotty, rich city kids!” HILARIOUS! I absolutely LOVE my Dad’s commentary on just about everything, especially moronic spoiled youth because he’s 100% right. My Dad was born and raised in the Bronx, lower-middle class blue-collar Italian, so he has no tolerance for kids like that and I don’t blame him one bit. Anyway, the ride home was a nostalgic one as usual. Every street we passed my Dad had a great story about. He told me in detail what NYC looked like during the 1960’s and 1970’s. He described Thompson Square Park, the Lower East Side and The Bowery—all the Hippie protests that went on in those areas. He told me about how his Mother’s family immigrated to the Lower East Side (Little Italy) from Sicily, and then shortly afterwards moved to the Bronx. He then described how the pimps of that generation pimped out their Cadillac’s and what their pimp suits looked like. He laughed about how ridiculous their hats and suits looked; and how you’ll never see a scene like that again. My Dad’s stories of his past experiences are constant reminders of how I feel about my generation. My generation isn’t great, interesting, exciting, good, or raw—it lacks substance and character (it lacks a lot more than that but I won’t rattle on).
This is the first time I’ve ever asked him for a ride home from the city after a late night out with my friends. Needless to say I was slightly apprehensive because, without saying too much, my Dad and I have a distant relationship yet I love him to death and respect him as a person. He’s a very nostalgic individual. So, he picks me up, first thing he says with his Bronx accent is (and this is CLASSIC Travolta material FYI), “These city kids are all morons! The kids in this neighborhood, all spoiled rich college kids! Their parents pay for everything and they end up like morons! I’m tryina drive down the street and one of those morons walks out in front of my car like its no big deal in the pouring rain! Arrogant, snotty, rich city kids!” HILARIOUS! I absolutely LOVE my Dad’s commentary on just about everything, especially moronic spoiled youth because he’s 100% right. My Dad was born and raised in the Bronx, lower-middle class blue-collar Italian, so he has no tolerance for kids like that and I don’t blame him one bit. Anyway, the ride home was a nostalgic one as usual. Every street we passed my Dad had a great story about. He told me in detail what NYC looked like during the 1960’s and 1970’s. He described Thompson Square Park, the Lower East Side and The Bowery—all the Hippie protests that went on in those areas. He told me about how his Mother’s family immigrated to the Lower East Side (Little Italy) from Sicily, and then shortly afterwards moved to the Bronx. He then described how the pimps of that generation pimped out their Cadillac’s and what their pimp suits looked like. He laughed about how ridiculous their hats and suits looked; and how you’ll never see a scene like that again. My Dad’s stories of his past experiences are constant reminders of how I feel about my generation. My generation isn’t great, interesting, exciting, good, or raw—it lacks substance and character (it lacks a lot more than that but I won’t rattle on).
I strongly feel that I’m an old soul and was born in the wrong generation. This further adds to my confusion (and depression) as to why I was born in this generation of low-life’s who have no authenticity or genuine personalities. Anyway, moral of the story (blog entry) is: my Dad may be a tough guy and not so easy to get along with, but he’s as real as they come and more of a man than any of the men today. Respect your Dad, you only get one. I cherish the moments with him. He always has my back no matter how much I piss him off, and that means the world to me.
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