Happy FUCK YOU Anniversary

So I put this in my LiveJournal, but I'm deleting that at the end of the day. Starting fresh. But this even happened to me a year ago today and I wanted to keep it in my records since it was before PornandChocolate's birth.

she may be small and yappy, but she is FIERCE...

i should pre-empt and clarify some of the concern over my last entry.

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an acting teacher at nti wrote in my evaluation:

"you are a fireball of pure energy. you are more than a woman, you are a force of nature."

i took this as a very large compliment. and while he was referring to my presence onstage, it's gotta come from somewhere, i imagine.

there should be some sort of state-of-being check when you are about to post on livejournal. something should come up and see if there are tears running down your cheeks. there are? sorry, you can't post. and something to check your pulse for shock. it's racing? sorry, you can't post. and certainly, if there is any combination of the last two, if there is any whiskey in your system at all, you should not be allowed to post. the disk drive should shoot out a valium and tell you to try back in a half-hour.

so to be fair, i was only feeling fired, dumped, and mugged last night. which is valid. it was my state-of-being. and i could get bogged down in the semantics of the actuality of the first two, but i won't. it's not my purpose in writing today. i'll leave that one up to the east german judge.

but i was, in fact, almost mugged last night. but in true carrie fashion, it's kind of an amusing story. and only amusing in the fact that you have to know what i look like as i tell what i did. so for the benefit of dr. mike or anyone else who reads this and doesn't know me:

i'm 5'4'' on a good day. i weigh 120. i have freakishly small hands and feet. i have short, red, very curly hair and i often get carded for cigarettes because i'm mistaken for 16. even in nyc.

ok. so that's out of the way. let the story begin.

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i've always wondered how i would be in a crisis. when we were in middle school, for some reason, it became tradition for us to ride our bikes to fudruckers and then back to kristen's house where we almost inevitably would end up watching speed. why? who the fuck knows? not because it's a stellar movie, that's for sure. and i always thought of that woman in the first scene in the elevator who was too scared to get out of the elevator even though it was about to drop.

"come on lady!"

"i can't, i can't"

i always thought that would be me. not cool or collected or helping others, sheer terror and pissing yourself in the back of an elevator. the movie "day after tomorrow"? i would see the tidal wave coming and quote stephen baldwin from usual suspects "bad day...fuck it." why fight it?

the evening started out quietly enough. i got home, i showered, devon and i ordered mexican food. i had a meeting with my nti-ers out in brooklyn to discuss daniel's project. the meeting goes well. we all have various strengths and contacts to exploit in the city--chloe's job is working with theatre companies, liz works at a pr firm, marina works lawyers, and daniel has someone who will help us get non-profit status. becca has a space, someone's dad owns a printing company. and me? well, i'm the fireball. and for daniel's show, there's some dancing necessary.

"i know a little about dance."

this gets a laugh. mainly because they've seen me in my purest form. we had to do a found text piece (where you somehow dramatically interpret something you didn't write--like a recipe or an interview or a news article). my choice? i choreographed a ballet variation to a mozart piece that i love. wait, where's the found text? while in my tutu and point shoes and classical variation, i spoke the words of a penthouse forum letter. these people have seen me grand jete across the floor, screaming "fuck me! fuck me with your big cock!"

my teachers had never seen me swear, nor knew any aspect of my sexual personality. david jaffe, our guru of sorts, stood up after my piece and said astonishingly, "little carrie taylor..."

it was perfect. and a fine example of the walking contradiction that is me.

i suppose that was a bit of a digression. but it amuses me.

i should add that becca's boyfriend had really nice whiskey. i can't recall the name, but i'm sure all you boozers would ooo and ahh when i told you. he generously shares a bit with me. and by a bit, i mean more. but not too much. we're discussing business and i hate waiting to come back from brooklyn drunk and having to pee. but i'm pretty buzzed all the same.

the meeting ends. i get on the train to come home.

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it's about midnight. the time stamp on my entry last night was messed up. it was about midnight.

i was walking down 86th street, thinking about things. like how i had seen this happy family on the train--a dad and two kids. and one of the kids yelled happily about something in the train, to which the dad chastised him since it was ridiculously loud, and the kid pouted and looked so depressed. for about five minutes. and then he was laughing and joking with his dad again.

i marvelled at the ability of children to forget pain so easily. they have shorter memories. us? we have long ones. we are haunted by ghosts and stung with regret. we have knowledge of all of our crimes and trials and we are still serving out the sentences for those while adding new ones to the list.

it makes me nostalgic for a childhood i'm pretty sure i never had.

i'm at 86th and 2nd. food emporium is across from me and i miss the cross walk. so i take a turn on 2nd to go up to 88th and then continue. this is, of course, what i told haley she shouldn't have done when she had her "incident." but i was lost in myself.

i sense someone behind me. paranoia? maybe. my tai chi instructor said i had one of the best senses of presence he has ever seen. perhaps people's auras tickle my curly hairs and i just know. i see his shadow before i see him. he's got something in his hand. i don't think it's a knife. some sort of club.

oh shit. you just know.

i see his shadow raise over my head and come up to me. i duck. i'm small and i can move quickly out of the way. not far enough. for though whatever he was trying to hit me with didn't work, i was still close enough to where he grabs at my purse, which stupidly is only on one shoulder. i had been meaning to get out my cell phone and call haley to tell her i was home safely.

he grabs my purse. i hook my elbow around the strap. for some reason, i'm not going to let this guy mug me. I REFUSE TO BE A VICTIM TONIGHT. is it smart? probably not. do i have anything of real value in my purse? no. i have seven dollars and a check card for a checking account that is laughable at best. but goddamnit, i will not be victimized.

i've since had a revelation about the best line of defense in a city like new york. all you have to do is prove that you're crazier than the other guy.

what did i do? though it feels like ages, i'm sure we're only struggling with my purse for a few moments, and then i use one of my strongest traits as an actor. i can carry my voice. i start yelling "FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!!!!" i'm pretty sure they heard me in long island. this guy is obviously thinking, "uh, this bitch is crazy." and i'm also causing a scene and it wouldn't be long before people noticed. he runs off.

whiskey carrie wakes up.

i run after him (so much running lately). i'm still screaming "FUCK YOU!" in any rational sense, why on earth would i do that? i don't know. did i think i was going to catch this guy? kill him? with what? there's nothing in my purse. was i going to text-message him to death? chase him down and put listerine strips in his eye? i don't know. i was just so pissed.

i chase him for maybe a block and then realize this kid (he must have been like 17) probably has a geometry test in the morning and it's not worth it. he's spared me using lip-balm as a deadly weapon.

i walk home like a warrior. stone-cold carrie. it isn't until i reach the apartment safely and see that none of my roommates are home that i start sobbing and shaking and kicking things. and i can't get a hold of anyone i know or need and so i post on livejournal.

so there you go. four months into living in the city, and i'm lost but still going. this city is doing its best to destroy me, but in the words of my lady ani:

"i'm gonna do my best swan dive
into shark infested waters
and i'm gonna pull out my tampon
and start splashing around
cuz i don't care
if they eat me alive
i've got better things
to do than survive."

and this is the way the world ends.

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It's been a year. And the city keeps trying to break me, but I guess I'm just not having any part of that.