Homelessness is a Problem and a Half

There are over 32,000 homeless people living in the New York area according to the NYC Dept of Homeless Services. I wonder what percentage of these people are actually homeless…

Half of them sit useless on the sidewalk holding out a tattered old cup hoping for a couple coins; others are dancing and singing on the subways and streets for a few dollars an hour; and a few walk the streets begging for whatever we want to give them.

I find it hard to give; only because I see the same people day after day holding out that cup in the same exact spot. I hear the same songs echoing through the subway walls. And the worst of them all…I get the same reaction every time I offer food instead of money, “No, I’ll just ask someone else.”

And, it’s not just what they say that makes me do a double take, it’s that they say it in a rude way. Are they really that ungrateful or are they just trying to get money for whatever leisure they might enjoy (i.e. crack, cocaine and crap)?

A lady came up to me yesterday when it was pouring rain, she was crying, she was frantic about getting home to “Westchesta,” she was begging for anything. As soon as she said “Westchester,” I knew she was going to turn down food; she just wanted money. Why? There’s no way she’s from Westchester, stuck in the city, and trying to get back home. First of all, it cost $2.25 on the train to get up there. Second, there are no homeless people in Westchester.

I just happened to be going into the Health Food store we were standing right in front of, so I told her,“I’m not going to give you money, but I’m going into this store right now if you want anything.”
“Do they have chicken and biscuits??”
“No, it’s a health food store.”
“Do they have chips?”
“No, but they have protein bars and smoothies and bread and yogurt…”
“It’s ok, I’ll ask someone else.” (tears desist).

All I could say was “Really?!!?” Everyone is a damn actor in this city.

I don’t know what the world is coming to? Not only do I have to ask for a credit report and blood test from every man I meet, but now I have to ask the homeless people for their paperwork from the shelter before giving them money or food.

It’s New York; expect to be lied to, manipulated, used and pissed on before you exit the island.

The Daze Go By

It’s crazy how easy it is to zone out when you’re staring at a computer all day. My mind is moving but my eyes are not. The glare from the screen is undoubtedly blinding me slowly with its Ultraviolet rays. Yet every day I return to my screen in hopes that today it will be more interesting and the glazed over daze I fall into most days will cease existence. Today I have no such luck as I try to focus on what I am doing and not what is going on in my head. Sometimes I become so mesmerized by the screen that when someone approaches my desk for a moment of social interaction, I feel like a zombie and can’t bring myself to have a normal conversation.

Somehow through my daily daze I manage to accomplish finishing the work handed to me and walk out with nothing on my mind. I usually wonder as I’m leaving if I feel less stressed because I sat here thinking about myself all day or if it’s merely a feeling of relief that I am free to be out on the streets where my focus is not on the screen but on all the things moving around me. It might be that I am just too tired of thinking that my mind finally just goes blank. Is this what it feels like to have a day job?

I know that it is normal to question your life and the path it’s on, but I feel like I do that more than other people. It seems that other people keep jobs for two years or more, move up within a company and are satisfied with staying in one building for 10-20 years, only moving up…but not out (and sometimes not even up). I just don’t seem to be that happy with anything that I can do that. I’m always wondering, “What’s next?” and “Is this what I’m supposed to be doing?” How does one ever really know if they are on the right path? Isn’t there always something better out there? Wait, isn’t that what people say when they have a commitment problem? (Enter Tom Leykis - http://www.blowmeuptom.com/)

There’s a long list of events and situations I have experienced in life that may have made me the way I am; always moving, never any consistency, always someone different in charge growing up, randomly changing hair colors…who knows? Well, besides the psychiatrist I refuse to visit.

In some ways all of this made me stronger, in others it makes me the non-commital type who flounders along in her own sea of randomness. I prefer to be the stronger version of myself, sometimes it’s just hard to see her through the forest of thoughts and questions.

"The irony of commitment is that it's deeply liberating- in work, in play, in love. The act fills you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself and parade around as rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life."
- Anne Morriss

I stole this quote from a facebook page of a friend who has so many options that she finds it hard to commit to just one thing. She thinks it’s both a luxury and a curse, I think it’s because she’s just THAT talented. For me, this quote resonates deeply in my mind because of the fact that I don’t have a lot of choices, I just make rash decisions and hope for the best. I think I need a little commitment in my life.

For REAL?

I may be betraying my fellow ladies, my womanhood, and even my own body by writing this, but in all honesty, I don’t care.

The Dove campaign has been controversial since it came out. Was it airbrushed? Is it all-natural? Blah, blah, blah. In my experience, even pictures that don’t necessarily need to be airbrushed are. I airbrush, crop, red-eye reduce almost every single picture I post. Why? Well, because I don’t want to be remembered as the girl with the breakouts, the wrinkles, or dare I say it, the cellulite. Even though these ladies participated in an “all natural” display of womanhood and femininity, I’m sure they have no problem with having a little airbrushing performed on their not-so-perfect bodies. After all, this is a representation of them to all of the United States (and parts of the world), including their friends and families.

Realistically, this is not a picture that I would pay attention to, unless I was searching for the imperfections that I can compare my own body to. I honestly look at magazines to see how amazing the girls look, to see how the clothes fit, to have something to strive for (among other things); physically and financially. This picture just doesn’t motivate me. I don’t want to look like any one of these girls. I want to look like Kate Winslet or Beyonce. Those are my ideal body types. And, although I haven’t seen them in their underwear…I’m sure they are beautiful and totally unrealistic. And that’s how I want it. The part of them being unrealistic is what draws me to them. I mean, is there one woman out there that posts pictures on her frig or mirror of the girl next door with the perfect body? No. We post pictures of Britney Spears (pre-baby) and models for the latest Dolce and Gabbana ads.

Also, men don’t find the Dove ads attractive either. What guy stops and stares at these ads when the one next to it is a woman with a long torso, C-cups, and an amazing tan?

I may be just feeding into the pop culture ideas of what is perfect. I may be causing eating disorders among young girls as we speak. Publishers and photographers don’t have the right to tell us what we should look like, I know. But, that’s not my point. My point is, perfection is in the eye of the beholder and although these models and celebrities are airbrushed, there is some truth to how they look on TV and on the shiny pages some people worship daily. And, if that’s what motivates you, who am I to say it doesn’t belong on your refrigerator?

Fur and All Things Fluffy

So when I tell my temp agency that I want to work in fashion. I think they assume ANYTHING in fashion is ok with me. Well it’s really not.

When I walked into Betmar Hats during Christmas vacation and saw there were only two people in the office (the owner/CEO and his assistant), I expected to be answering calls, filing, faxing, copying…you know, all the administrative tasks one of the regular cubicle occupants usually does. I met the owner shortly after this thought. He was a sweet old man. He led me over to some boxes and dumped all the contents of one onto the floor. “Take inventory and repack all of these,” he says as he points to the towering piles of boxes that seemed to go on forever. “Can I listen to my IPod?” I asked with a tiny glimpse of hope left in my voice. “Sure, just leave it low enough that you can hear me call you if I need something,” he says with a smile. Yep, sweet old man…

As I unpack and repack hundreds and hundreds of colorful and obnoxious but appealing hats, I hum along to John Legend in hopes that this is all I have to do all day. As the thought crosses my mind, it is interrupted by a shriek. I take out my headphones and look around. “What the heck was that??” I go around the corner and the sweet old man says, “Took you long enough, are you almost done.” Glancing at the remaining 20-30 boxes, I say, “Yep, about a half hour of work left, I think.” He squints at me, pauses for what seems like a minute and then finally says, “I guess you are working pretty quickly, I’ll have another project ready when you’re done…you’re not being sloppy with your work are you?” Hmmm…. “No Sir, I’m more of the fast perfectionist type.” “Ok then, come get me when you’re done.”

“Oh great,” I think, “What next??”

As I continue on my inventory expedition, I notice the sweet old man practically running back and forth between his office and this big closet in the corner (picture the six flags guy skipping around the room, cause that’s exactly what it’s like).

He comes in to check on me again just as I’m finishing. When he sees that I’m still working, he shakes his head and goes into his office. When I finish, I walk slowly to his office, imagining the outfits he could want me to match hats with or the photo shoots he could want me to organize with his hats as the main focus…maybe he wants me to be a hat fit model…well no, my heads too small for that…

The sweet old man jumps up as soon as he sees me walk in and leads me into the corner closet he kept going into. I see rows and rows of different colors, different textures, different prints. Its then that I realize this is the fabric closet. Maybe he wants me to match fabrics and designs to create something; maybe he wants me to help him with ideas for the Spring collection. My mind races as he takes out a huge bag from the corner and says, “These are all our Spring season fabrics.” “Oh how fun,” I think. “I get to create something!”

While were walking into the showroom, I realize the only thing I will be creating is a mess. He tells me I will be cutting out 40, 1 inch squares of each fabric for the color swatches. He gives me this little rotary cutter (imagine a very tiny pizza cutter), a ruler, and a fabric cutting board.

In home-ec class, I would often avoid the sewing projects or get someone else to do it for me. While growing up (well even now), if I needed something hemmed, a button put back on, even ironing…I always asked my mom to do it, or I would just throw it away and wear something else. I’ve always refused this part of domesticality. So, just imagine my excitement as he’s telling me about the project. And the cherry on top is that I get to use a hot glue gun and glue all these little pieces of tweed, wool, fur, and fluffiness onto paper for the sales demonstrations.

“Why bring four hats when you can bring one hat and a paper with all the colors and textures it comes in on it” he says with a big smile and trots off. Sweet old man…

I start my new project with a little less enthusiasm than the last and just try to focus on the sound of Alicia Keys singing “Superwoman” coming in from my headphones.

Working through the tweed and wool is not so bad. It’s not until I get into the knits and furs that I start to get really annoyed that I am doing this. I had worked through the hand cramps that little rotary cutter gave me. But, with all these pieces of unwound cotton and fur flying around, it gets in my eyes and I start sneezing. I have contacts so when something gets in my eye its like sheer misery trying to get it out. And I have a very strong affliction to touching furs so I saved the angora swatches for last hoping to “not to get to them.” But, I was not so lucky. I got to them and with disgust, cut through the poor little bunny fur. This was not only hard to think about, but the fur was flying everywhere. My distaste for wearing fur was of no matter when it’s actually going into my nose, landing on my arms, in my eyes, all over my clothes. I was on the verge of vomiting when I decided I have to stop.

I went into his office, it was five o’clock. Thank goodness! He asked me if I would be back to finish the project the next day. I just said, “Oh the agency didn’t tell me…I have a friend in town for the next two weeks, so I can’t.” And as I breathe a sign of relief a rabbit hair flies into my mouth and I start coughing.

“Ok then, thank you.” He says as I rush to the bathroom to get all this hair off of me.

It was freezing when I got outside so my walk to Grand Central seemed like it was taking longer than usual. The cold air blows and makes my eyes water enough to move something around in my eye.

More fur.

I’ll be destroying this outfit and taking a scouring hot shower when I get home.