Same Ol’ Saturday Night:

After a particularly New Yorkish afternoon of coffee, Bloomingdale’s, and strolling hand in hand with my mommy, I found myself without plans and without much inspiration as to what constituted a hopping Saturday night this weekend around. Resigning to spending a quiet night with myself, I settled for a sushi / movie date with one of my favorite people...myself. I ventured out, intent upon seeing some feel-good romantic comedy, the kind with two irresistable leading characters, both with adorable haircuts and fabulous on screen chemistry. Well, imagine my surprise when The Devil Wears Prada turned up sold out and I found myself wandering over to the 12th street cinema on Second Ave, the same theater from which I had dejectedly dismissed myself after being boons waggled into seeing Eternal, a lesbian/vampire flick masquerading as an artistic think piece.

Having read a stellar review in the Times earlier today, I was happy to settle for the documentary Man Push Cart, a genre of film that I happen to adore, especially when on date with a woman as ingaged in post-viewing discussion and analysis as I myself am.

I adore taking myself to the movies, putting my jacket across my lap, my feet up on the arm rest of the chair before me, and enjoying the snacks I smuggled in along with a thermos of honey lemon tea. Man Push Cart turned out to be fabulous…however, an uplifting documentary it was not and I left the theater in a depressed state, feeling myself the emotional equivalent to Ahmed, the film's star, a Pakistani owner/operator of one, eventually stolen coffee cart stationed on 34th street.

I oftentimes avoid movies that will seemingly put me in a “funk” but this time, I sat back and let the weird feelings wash over me. The film made me feel lonely, purposeless and simultaneously grateful for my place in this city and this world. The contradictory nature of my emotions was confusing and resulted in a numbed, empty feeling.

When I got home I hopped into the shower, letting the water run extra hot, hoping it would elicit some feeling whilst it turned my skin lobster red. Out of the steam and into my pjs I went, padding into my room to find upon my desk a single yellow rose, my favorite flower, a beautiful gesture from my beautiful roommate. There it was, I felt something…I felt love.

An hour later, I am centered and contented to sit with the lingering despondent sentiments. The memory of Ahmed and his stolen coffee cart is almost gone, replaced with hot water, tomato and basil on a mini bagel from Trader Joe’s, and Sex and the City Season 2 on dvd.