Day One: Sunday Night, around 9pm The powers been gone for about ten minutes now. I was on the toilet when it went out, thankfully I had just refilled the toilet paper roll an hour prior. My tea is getting cold and the smell of my vanilla and sandalwood candle relaxes me. The sound of the wind keeps me company and the Freedom Towers bright lights are my nightlight. I had been watching Woody Allen’s “The Curse of the Jade Scorpion,” (which I’ve had from Netflix for over three years) on my laptop for a mere two minutes before it died. Every few minutes I walk over to the window and press my forehead against the cold glass and scan the streets below. Cop cars with flashing lights parade the block and suddenly it gets darker as the Freedom Towers lights disappear. Everything is black except for a few office buildings. My biggest candle is dying faster than my hope that the power will come back on. The flames shorten and the glass is flooding with hot wax, much like the streets below flooding with water. My glimmer of hope lies in the full battery of my phone and the 5 remaining unlit tea candles I have. I have a stomach full of pesto ravioli and chocolate covered strawberries. My building starts swaying and I feel nauseous like I’m on a boat in the middle of the ocean. And here come the tears: rolling down my cheeks and I wonder if I should fill a glass just in case I run out of water. I’m alone and scared. One candle down. I wonder how to ration them. My phone suddenly alerts me to seek shelter inside immediately, the third alert I’ve received tonight. I want to eat another chocolate covered strawberry but I need to keep my fridge closed – I learned it on the news earlier that evening. A nearby neighbor assures me over a text that we’re safe because our buildings are made with steel and I feel a bit better. I evaluate my new candle smell, which is vanilla. I love scented candles. I wonder if someone out bidded me on eBay for the school girl skirt I was about to buy. I love the school girl look. I like dressing in theme – I always have. One day i’m school girl, then motorcycle chic, then little girl with bows in my hair, then chola, then malibu barbie, then russian escort, then hipster, then rock n’ roll, then anal rape victim. All in that order. I really love Agent Provocateur and Kiki de Montpernasse. My dream is to be able to go into both stores and buy everything, then spend the day modeling it in front of the mirror. Then I will spend my evening modeling it in front of someone else on a bear skin rug in front of a fireplace or on black satin sheets of a California King bed surrounded by candles and flowing curtains while a fluffy spoiled Persian kitten stretched out across a leopard bench at the foot of the bed looks on disinterested, wagging its tail from side to side as I toss a small silver key across the room from a pair of locked handcuffs. Or I’d like to be walking on the beach right now where I can feel the hot sand beneath my toes, burning the soles of my feet but in a good way that makes me frolic into the sparkling clear blue ocean and immerse myself into the warm water, tasting the saltiness on my lips, lowering my head back and feeling the coolness of the water on the nape of my neck. As I straighten up, beads of water rush down my back and I face the sun, feeling the heat on my cheeks. It’s the type of weather that’s so hot you know you’re going to get little freckles across the bridge of your nose. Oh wait, I looked up from my notebook and realized I was actually alone in my dark apartment. I listen for the wind and hear it howl past my building, married with a loud buzzing noise I can’t place. I hear crashing noises, possibly from an explosion or broken glass overhead in the sky. I’m getting really scared now and my building rocks more and the nausea ensues. There’s no rain. Only darkness, wind, loud noises and rocking. Thoughts run thru my mind: do I need to pack a bag for an emergency Incase I have to run out of my apartment? Does that include my laptop and two favorite Chanel purses, or is it fucked up to leave my heels behind? Would somebody please think of the Louboutins?! My god I don’t even have makeup on anymore. Seriously, what do I pack? Where am I even going? Do I just wait for it to be over? More loud noises. What the fuck is that?! I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared alone in my life except that one time when I was 16 and drove too far on the highway and got lost in the hood in the Bronx. I feel like I’m in a disaster move but there’s no Jake Gylenhaal. They couldn’t even get Jonah Hill 😦 Holy shit there’s no water. It’s 10:21 pm and I just shut my phone off. I guess I’m going to force myself to sleep if that’s at all possible.
Day 2- Monday morning I woke up at 9am to a text asking if I had cocaine because someone had been ‘stranded.’ Today I have 50 days sober. I tried to make a few phone calls but my phone has no service, so I went back to sleep. I woke up at 12:56pm starving. I looked like I lost 3 lbs overnight and I was loving every minute of it. My phone struggled to respond to my parents, killing my battery quickly. My mom ended up walking from Chelsea to my dads on the Upper East Side to pick up our car and then drove to pick me up. She arrived at my door a few moments after I had woke up, breathless after climbing 23 flights of stairs in the pitch black. I ate a homemade chocolate chip cookie and chocolate covered strawberry and gathered my things. We walked down the 23 flights guided by the light of our phones. A flashlight carried by someone shines us a pathway down the eerie old staircase, which feels like the set of a scary movie. I’m waiting for a possessed little girl or a child who never got their revenge to appear. We reach the bottom and my lobby is pitch black, even at 2pm, and the maintenance and doormen are huddled together freezing by candlelight. Once outside, tourists flock the streets as if nothing happened; locals look bruised and affected. As we walk to the car a few blocks down we pass debris and broken glass. We stop to take a few photos. While we’re driving we decide to pick up someone waiting for a cab for a fun adventure. We select a man in his early 30’s who’s mildly attractive and was also going to Chelsea (him to pick up his car and my mother to pick up her things). We make small talk about the storm and how we were affected. We drive by the apartment which had the front ripped off on 15th&8th and it reminds me of a Wes Andersen film. We also drive by the crane on 57&6th but Its not that interesting. We arrive at my dads and I get two slices of pizza to celebrate. We finally arrive at my dads apartment, where my brother and dad are sitting completely unaffected and out of the loop, enjoying cable tv, light and heat. I start calling his apartment the gay Jewish castle. My dad relaxes dripping in cashmere and reading Vogue, with a few piles of women’s fashion magazines strewn across the table in front of him. My brother watches surfing videos online in another room. They both don’t realize the multitude of what we experienced downtown and I find it amusing, hence it’s the gay Jewish castle. My dad claims he isn’t gay, but works in fashion and likes to watching reality singing competitions. I take a hot bath and it felt amazing. I put on my Barbie loungewear and we watched “That Girl,” on HBO, which is a villainous depiction of how Alfred Hitchcock abused Tippi Hedren during production of “The Birds.” It was ok. Dinner was penne with meat sauce. I love pasta. ….skipping ahead to right now: Friday- its 2:20 pm and I’m at the Virgin America terminal awaiting a flight to Los Angeles to get my Troop Beverly Hills on. Let the tanning commence in the morning.