Going Jersey

I consider myself a pretty nice, relatively even-tempered person.  In fact, while I am quite opinionated, I am more concerned about putting people off so I try not to be too loud about said opinions unless I'm really pushed.

I think a lot of that has to do with my dual background: asian and southern.  Between the two cultures, I was not really encouraged to speak my mind too much. I was pretty comfortable with that, which was a huge reason why I was hesitant to move to the New York City area.  But...

I distinctly remember when that all changed.  I had lived in Hoboken and worked in Manhattan for only a couple of months.  I was still getting used to parallel parking, maneuvering a mass-transit system and not making eye contact, but the trigger was something fairly innocuous.

I was at a CVS store and as the cashier handed me my change, I said, "Thank you."  So far so good, right?  Well, she looked at me like I had 3 heads, glared at me and mumbled something back that didn't even resemble "You're Welcome."

I was shocked, semi-insulted, and...about 5 minutes later...really irritated.

And thus began my slow yet steady transition, for the better, I think, of standing up for myself more.  That 5 minute reaction time decreased until, very slowly, I became used to giving an immediate reaction that was a little more expressive than a look of shock and hurt.  In fact, it can get a little angry.  And occasionally, I will go beyond that.

I will Go Jersey.

Long before Jersey Shore became well-known for the almost weekly brawls, I credited living in the NYC metro area with bringing out a certain...pugnacious side of me.  It's not that I would intentionally pick fights, but when pushed to the limit, my sweet demeanor could turn. Quickly.

My friends and I started calling this, "going Jersey."  It would come out at predictable moments: when people cut me off on the Turnpike, when oglers would get too aggressive on the streets of the city and of course, when people yelled at me.

A classic story of going Jersey happened while I was in, of all places, Baltimore.  ProMo and I were passing through on our way south to visit our parents, and after a fun night out with some friends, we decided to get a slice of pizza to eat in the car before we hit the road.  Now, at this point my car...excuse me...my Pontiac Sunfire sedan...was pretty banged up from, well, living in Jersey and staying generally parked on the streets.

They call them "bumpers" for a reason.

So there we are, ProMo and I, listening to some rap music, windows down, singing along, eating our pizza and savoring each delicious, greasy bite as if our lives depended on it.  Just then a car pulls up ahead and attempts to parallel park in the spot in front of us.  Now I know that I was and am biased, but even to the novice parallel parker, this spot was a no-brainer. The driver (a female) seems hesitant.  She tries, fails, and re-tries.  ProMo and I, in a fantastic mood, are happily cheering her on.  She almost has it.  I, in the driver's seat and still singing, jamming, and eating pizza, gesture for her to keep backing up.  The windows are down in the car and ProMo and I are both saying things like, "keep going! You've got it!"

Actually, she's still having trouble.  Our cheerleading is not helping.  At this point, her boyfriend gets out of the car to help.  Our eyes start rolling.  Now all three of us are coaching her.

She is close to my front bumper but this is her best attempt yet at actually getting into the spot. Boyfriend looks nervous. ProMo and I are STILL gesturing for her to keep backing up. Between greasy bites and singing, I'm saying things like, "That's what bumpers are for!" and "My car is crap anyway!" and my personal favorite, "Keep going until you hit resistance! Trust me!"

And again, this was a HUGE spot.

Boyfriend's worried look is slowly turning into a look of annoyance. In my head I'm thinking, "Surely this annoyed and suddenly sour face isn't directed towards me.  I'm coaching her, for goodness sake."  He then opens his mouth and yells...YELLS!... "MOVE!...BACK!"

ProMo and I are dumbfounded. Silent. Music is still blasting but I am acutely aware of at least 2 seconds of silence as I blink and stare with pizza grease dripping from the side of my mouth.

At that point, I'm not exactly sure what happened.  I remember lots of yelling and gesturing (if you know me, you know I talk A LOT with my hands), pointing and cursing from both me AND ProMo.  Pretty sure pizza bits were flying out of my mouth too.  At some point, ProMo either stopped for a breath or realized what we were doing and stopped which made my final words all that much clearer: "...AND BY THE WAY I COULD PARK TWO F-ING CARS IN THAT SPOT!!"

Now it's boyfriend's turn to stare and blink. He quickly and quietly gets into girlfriend's car and they speed off, abadoning the spot and presumably their dreams of pizza for the night.

It's quiet (except for the rap music), I'm still fuming and ProMo says quietly..."I think maybe it's time for us to move away from Jersey..."

And that, my friends, is what it means to Go Jersey.

Thankful

This week, I have started a few blog posts related to funny stories from the weekend, my dogs, my klutziness, and other assorted encounters I've had recently.  But in the back of my head, I know what I really want to do is write something related to 9/11.

I started to just post an email that I wrote to my family and friends 2 days after 9/11/01 but it was (a) too long and (b) just a little too raw, still, for me to do it. 

If you're a regular reader, you may already know that I was in the middle of chemotherapy (but not actually getting chemo that day) and working in Manhattan when two planes flew into the Twin Towers just a few short blocks from my office.

Growing up, I never thought I'd live or work in the New York City area.  So it's pretty ironic that it is one of the places that I feel most connected to. I guess it's natural considering everything that happened in my life in the 3 1/2 years that I lived there.

I know my story and experience is one among billions, and you've probably seen or read a few of them this week as they are all over the TV and news.  If you were alive and old enough to remember that day, it is impossible to not have your own story.  And even though I rarely have a problem speaking my mind, I find it difficult to find the words that I want to say in this particular blog post.

I remember every thought and feeling I had that day. 

Of course there were the big memories of sights, sounds and smells that I won't forget.  But, whether it's a self-defense mechanism or not, I also distinctly remember the little things that made me smile, gave me some hope and reminded me to be thankful for the things that I had.

Another theme that you'll probably notice in this blog is that I get really attached to my friends.  I am forever tied to the ones that I worked with that day who, while time and distance have lead us to not communicate often anymore, I will always consider a huge and special part of my life. Not only did I experience every second of the morning of 9/11/01 with them, but they were also there for me in so many ways during my 8 months of chemo. While I try not to use people's real names on this blog, I can't help but thank them by their true (first only) names here, just in case they read this:

Tiff, Rob, Pete, Russ, Steve and especially my buddy Billy.

We've all moved on with life but I know that as long as I live I will never forget them.

So instead of re-living and expressing my thoughts and feelings from that day and the days and weeks afterwards, I'll simply say that I am so thankful for life, love and friendship. We shouldn't need a tragedy or an anniversary of a tragedy to remind us that life is so very short.

Live, laugh, love.

Taken June 2001 when some great friends who came to visit right after I was diagnosed and we snapped this pic from the park in Hoboken with lower Manhattan in the background.