I am, self admittedly, frivolous and generous with my affection and adoration. My love affairs change with the seasons. Some, like chocolate and shoes, are alas here to stay. Others, like dangly earrings and cherry tomatoes, were passing phases. This weekend actively involved two of my current addictions: NYC and piercings.
A year and 2 months have passed since I got my eyebrow pierced. Today, I took it out. It was difficult on so many levels. One was because, well it was actually quite literally difficult, cause after a rather harrowing re-piercing experience, I had screwed it on so tight that I couldn’t unscrew it. Another was because it cost quite a bit, and I was thinking of all the shoes I could have bought with that money. But a completely different one was that this one piercing had come to define me in the last year.
Bear with my dramatics for a minute while I explain. It was a change for me; a phase of excitement and drama, and maybe some rebellion. It somehow, to other people more than me really, seemed to signify an extremity and daringness I didn’t know I possessed. Now that I’ve taken it out, I just feel rather uncool. It’s ironic really, because that was what I profusely denied to my parents, who threw wild accusations at me of how I was trying to be ‘cool’ and American. “I was always cool”, said I, snottily, “and I have no desire to be American”. And it was true. I obviously had no desire to be American, why would I, but also coolness had nothing to do with me wanting to get the piercing. I even remember exactly when I decided I wanted one. It was in Grade 8, and that boy band Five was popular, and you know how everyone always has their favorite singer from each band? Well, mine was AJ from the Backstreet Boys, Mel C from the Spice Girls and J from Five. And J had an eyebrow piercing, which I thought was the snazziest thing ever.
And so I decided I wanted one. Back then it was just a little seed in my mind, my fear of needles being horrendous. Now, my fear of needles is still horrendous, but I’ve found that little thing you call courage. Where you can still be afraid, but you know its all about mind over matter. So one day, it was a Saturday I remember, I woke up and thought ‘today’s the day’, and I walked down to the piercing place, picked out the barbell, (because even though J had a ring, the barbell looks much better), and after much hyperventilation and wringing of hands, I got it done. And now, after much cringing from O and picture taking by J(of suitemate fame, not from Five), its gone. And all that’s left of it are two little holes in my face. Just two little holes. Sigh.
On a more positive note, I was back in the city, for the third time in as many weeks, to meet some friends, do some touristy stuff and obviously, drink. So we went to an amazing restaurant, had fabulously delicious margaritas at a fabulously swanky bar, visited Lady Liberty and took a ridiculous number of pictures. And now it’s official. I have to live there. It is, without a doubt, the hippest, most energetic, most refreshing, most exciting place I’ve ever been. The logistics of this operation are currently unimportant. One of the perks of being a 21 year old college student, whose biggest worry is tomorrow’s exam, is that lofty dreams of living the high life in New York are possible. And dream I will, and do, in vivid color with a strong bass in the background, intensified with scintillating tastes and aromas.
'There are more things in heaven and earth, T’, you might say. But for right now, this is it. The City has called and I must answer.