Dear New York - The Road to Getting It is Hard

Welcome back! Where have you all been? Oh, that's right....I've been crazy for the last two months and haven't written. Literally, I've been locked up in a cell taking medications for how crazy I am. That cell is called New York and that medicine is FUCKING REALITY. Struggles.

I've actually taken this time to ask myself the tough questions that needed answers but was too afraid to confront. I guess this is why car rental companies wait till you're 25 before they let you drive a Miata off the lot.

College taught me a lot of things. How to drink beer. How to get caught up in myself. How to spend money like the Rapture is coming.....

Thanks college. I'm obviously well adjusted from having those lessons.

New York City is the toughest school there is. If I want to achieve the success that I have defined for myself, than there is no better place for me to reach my highest potential. That being said, I've constructed a list of all the crazy psycho bullshit that NYC puts you through to make sure your pancake batter is worthy of a Gay Brunch (My NEXT BLOG!!!)

-A constant paradox of feeling stuck while actually moving forward. I get nausea like three times a day...not including when I react to an ugly "homeless" person on the street aka Skeletor from Williamsburg who is wearing a bag for a dress and has a genetically altered dog in her clutch YES IT FITS IN HER CLUTCH BECAUSE THE DOG IS A SCIENTIFIC ANAMOLY!

-Veruca Salt Syndrome (ANOTHER UPCOMING BLOG POST). Things move so fast in New York and some people seem to find success at that same speed. I want the world and I want it now dammit! Seeing people Get It fast boils my intestines to the point of Oregon Trail level dysentery. But I'm not the only one who suffers from this.

-Self Deception. I pretend, along with all my New York friends, that we pity those people still living in the horrifying land of "back home". Really though, I have nothing but envy for those people. Ask yourself this. Would you rather be Britney Spears circa 2008 or your friend back home who has a stable job, a fucking HOUSE and a Walmart? I think that answer is obvious.

-How to be Bipolar. One minute I'm on the edge of crying so hard I pee out of my eyes and the next I'm laughing hysterically at someone's church hat. This may seem specific, but it happens for me too often to not use the analogy.

-Hard Work? If that is defined as working 836 jobs so that you can just pay rent....and half of those jobs are restaurants that hate gays. Side note. This is fucking New York. How are there still so many people that hate gays? We have great tips to provide and are awesome at backhanded compliments. What more do you need?

-How to loose appreciation. I don't even hate Times Square anymore. I walk through like I forget it exists. So many wonderful things happen here, but they often get masked by the stressful things we dwell upon. I saw a Ninja running around Lincoln center yesterday and didn't even thank him for keeping us protected from the Rapture Zombies.

-Delirium. Not only did I read the words Dom Perignon as Doom Pigeon the other day, but it never even crossed my mind as being out of place. It still doesn't.

So there it is. All of this education and the only thing I have is a deeply distorted sense of reality and an unnerving want to start smoking/drinking/whoring/dealing/something else considered insidious and maybe illegal.

Still, I know what I want. I'm putting the pieces of development together to become a life coach, I want to keep writing and eventually publish my book, I want a family, I want lots of sex, I want even stronger relationships with the people I love, I want a nice kitchen...to have sex in, and I want happiness.

I just have to keep writing my story.

LOVE AND STRUGGS
B DANN

Tune in next time for Gay Brunch.
ps-for those of you paying attention, I mentioned that I would be writing a post about the number eleven. I haven't forgotten, just re-prioitized.