the world and writing of a nyc writer

gretchen is a writer in new york city

Tag: happiness (page 7 of 29)

birthday remix. new york style.

Namaste blog tribe

IMG_3510Most of our loyal cult affiliates are aware that my birthday never goes for only one day. It usually ebbs and flows for a week-ish and I spend the month of September shouting out the whole being born concept. I’ve always just felt if there’s one thing to celebrate, it’s your birthday.

Meanwhile, I’ve developed this affinity for bottle popping. You see, if you’re a feisty female ready to go out whenever, New York City club promoters take notice. That said, I’ve recently surrounded myself with a handful of Manhattan’s finest hailing from Italy to Brooklyn and a few spots in between.

There’s something enthralling about your phone sporadically igniting seven days a week with messages like, “Le Souk tonight? 11pm walk in. Bottles all night.” Such messages are often accompanied by a secret passwordIMG_3299 you tell the doorman to skip the line and walk right inside.

It’s a bit pimped, really. Continue reading

three years strong

IMG_3291It occured to me this morning that last Monday, which was Labor Day here in the States, was my three year anniversary of being back.

In the past three years, aside from all the junky things that occurred in the midst of a nervous breakdown that my ex-husband packaged up for me on the way out the door; some of my most favorite things also happened.

I landed a perfect job as Writer Extraordinare; I managed to swing my own one bedroom in Hell’s Kitchen with two furry creatures; I’m halfway through “the” novel which will be the strongest I’ve done to date; and I have written some of the best poetry I’ve done, which will have it’s own “lost words” special edition coming after Novel is complete. Oh, and also, someone appeared in my life a few weeks ago, seemingly the most legit spirit I’ve IMG_3325seen.

It’s been a hell of a three years. Continue reading

a week? dates.

IMG_3137Can’t believe a week flew by blog family.  That’s what happens at the end of a New York City summer. We all go nuts because we know the sidewalks just won’t be the same in a few months. Everyone crowds to street cafes to guzzle their last rounds of  frozen drinks before autumn arrives and we swap our summer cocktails for pumpkin ales and replace our singlets with sweaters.

Sigh.

It goes so fast.

To see summer out properly and conclude the ritual of forgetting that kid I liked for a week or so, I’ve been going on dates. Again.

Being a swaggy, independent lady like myself here in the big smoke – it’s pretty easy getting dates. I actually had three in the same day last week. Dates aren’t the hard thing to land. Second dates, that’s another story.  Continue reading

city running and sooking

Now that I’m finished sooking for five or ten minutes, there are many other more interesting and IMG_2003entertaining things that have occurred in between.

For example, I field-tripped to Brooklyn a few days ago. There was live music and an eventual dance party in my living room. The evening concluded with nachos on the sidewalk around 1am.

Oh and laughter. There was a lot of joy and laughter that day.

Also, I recently roamed the Bowery in the summer rain; sipped a pomegranate martini in a dimly lit Russian vodka lounge; gazed into IMG_1917paintings at MoMA until my eyes rolled out of my head and onto each canvas; and woke up the next day with a pair of boots on my carpet that do not belong to me.

Big picture speaking, I know I seriously have nothing to complain about. Continue reading

post 1,001. everything changed.

Namaste blog tribe

IMG_1247In the four and a half years that I have been chairing our interweb corner of cultville wordness – I never knew a happiness like what I’ve been hiding in for the past months.

I’m never going to make the mistake of mentioning my partner too much, besides in the inky books I’ve been filling with love poetry.

Some things are secret. Plus considering how I lost siblings over the last time I mentioned anyone I was involved with, I am not saying a word.

That aside, my shift from Hell’s Kitchen to the Upper Whack Side was nearly seamless. Apparently the walls in a brownstone aren’t quite to the same caliber as the luxury high-rises of my midtown past. Put shortly, playing Black Sabbath at IMG_10427am on a Sunday does not make friends in residences like this.

I’ve been fishing through poetry books and thinking about stories. Last night I put on bright purple MAC lipstick with six inch heels and went to an awards night at Cipriani on Wall Street.

The endless winter has broken all sorts of freezingness records, even though it’s technically spring. Today it was mild in the park and I walked past a patch of daffodils. My apartment is actually full of fresh spring flowers, along with Vivaldi, organic produce and a closet stuffed fat with new cotton dresses for spinning around town.

New York City. I love her so.

 

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