Gratitude.

                      

Sometimes I fall into my own head, it's a scary place to be.

It's filled with a lot of questions.

Is it wrong to feel lousy about your inability to help another in the right way? Is it selfish to take another's genuine struggles and make it about yourself? 

Today a lady came to me with pleading eyes,

I need a job.

She blinked at me, as I waited for her to elaborate. She didn't have a resume, or experience or anything actually, apart from the story of what she once had, memories of a past life in Bangladesh, a dizzyingly long list of dead relatives and desperation. 

Just moments before she appeared, I had been chatting with a 19 year old novice to the world, enthusiastic about her potential. A fresh faced college girl, she was what I needed, I could help her. Yet, this older lady with a broken accent and a disconnect for the position I was trying to fill, nothing.

One needed the job to help support her social life, the other her life. period. 

What do you say?

Sorry mam, I know you are far more qualified in every aspect of being a human, you are probably smarter, kinder and possess more life experience than I ever will, yet, I have a steady paycheck,stability and the power to make or break or break your day. I'm just a kid, yet here we are. 

It made me feel really crappy....

But did I have any right?

I wasn't upset that this lady had hardships, I was upset because I couldn't help, I made her terrible situation about me. 

I thought about her all day, and then as I commuted home another encounter invaded my mind with even more thoughts. 

 It was a million degrees on that platform, I was hungry and pissed and getting increasing frustrated by a constant tapping. As I looked around ready to glare angrily at the tapper, I was met with the image of a blind man and his stick hitting against pillars and concrete. My first thought was fear; seeing this man so close to the train tracks and so surrounded by jerks who aren't afraid of a little bump and grind scared me, yet he didn't seem to have a care in the world so I turned back to the cellphone nestled in my hands,

Is there anything scarier than watching a blind man walk down a subway platform? I tapped out before adding a scared cat emoji and hitting send.

The answer is yes, I'm sure actually being that blind man is far worse. 

Everybody has struggles....some are minor, some are monsters....

My struggles are nothing.

My struggles are mice....

less than mice....

Mealworms.

I need to remember that more often.

A weekend of B's.

You know you are doing something wrong in life when three consecutive days that don't involve any form of work is a massive deal. Some time to simply live, after days and days of constant exhaustion.

As soon as this summer is over, I'm going to put all my effort into making my life a little less about work and a little more about the enjoyable smatterings that come in between.

Lucky for me, I'm going to be kicking off my new goal with some time in my favourite hemisphere (the Southern, because duh) with my favourite family (my own, because duh) in just under three short weeks.

Rambling now, back to the matter at hand, my weekend of B's.

Babies.

Birthdays.

Bitches (aka my best friends from school....you guys aren't bitches! You are beautiful woman, don't let anybody tell you otherwise...except me...because I needed a B word!)

B-argaritas (Ok I'm pushing it.)

A girl, a boy and a truck full of gifts for bump. 

Piggin' out. 

 Birthdays and babies....and really sweaty hair, gross...good one, Jordyn. 

The best shade of blue. 

A memory book filled with selfies.....also, a sign you should stop taking selfies. 

Open Container laws.

My favourite food group: Part I

Cold girls club.

Champagne and Catfish marathons. 

My favourite food group: Part II

But alas the weekend is over, and the work week has begun.

I'm one step further away from 12 years old, and I'm honestly not sure how I feel about that.

Hangover Cure.

I had a really amazing day.

Tuesday Dudesday: A saga

Mood: Hangry.

 I didn't see Stuart Little. Also, I was the only one amused by the fact that THE Stuart Little had been in this very spot. 

I think I'm broken....or I guess jinxed.

New York is a wonderland of food: Restaurants, bars, cafes, diners, halal stands, food carts, ice cream parlors, candy stores...this city is a metropolis of gluttony. So someone answer me this, in a city built on street meat fumes, why can I never find anywhere to eat?

The answer to this may have something to do with one fact, I'm a creature of habit. I have my go-to spots depending on my mood, and area of the city I am in. Heck, whenever my Mum comes to visit we go to the same two restaurants every....single....time (Dhaba- Indian on Lexington and 28th and Pongsri- Thai on 23rd and...7th? 8th? I'm not sure we just follow our noses). This habitual eating though puts me in quite a pickle when I'm in an area I don't spend a lot of time in (I used to work in the Upper East Side, but that is still the excuse I'm going with)

Whenever these moments of gluttonous ineptness happen, I always tend to be so hungry that the problem solving quadrant of my brain is all but useless and I am forced to spend the next half hour complaining, wandering around in a circle, repeatedly yelping and only managing to come up with one diner with $45 fries and table clothes (I still stand by my statement,  No place with a fluorescent exterior can use table clothes).

And then the inevitable happens.

Instead of taking advantage of the many amazing dining experiences that lay before me, I end up at McDonalds....or in this case Lenny's, but you get the idea.

Jinxed I tell you.

Also, today I learned that adults can get really freakin' hyped about bubbles.

Oh and don't leave the house with wet hair...and also don't get tan because then your lipstick will look redder and honestly, if your lipstick is red what else truely matters?

                           

Feminism.

Today I got into an argument with one of my close friends.

The topic was feminism.

The idea of a feminist has been greatly blurred by the media. When people envision a feminist they now picture a radical, man-hating voice who curses anything with a penis. I don't agree with slut shaming, and I love men....I guess at my core I'm a do-what-ever-the-fuck-makes-you-happy-ist. But I would never say that I am not a feminist.

Feminism isn't hating men. Feminism is wanting to be seen as equal to a man, not by bringing them down but by boosting women up.

Why any woman would say she doesn't support the idea that she is equal to a man, baffles me.

Failing, MTA and a dagger tattoo.

Do you ever have one of those days where you tragically fail at all things human and eventually give up and resort to taking photos of other people doing the things you failed at whilst eating handfuls of candy?

No?

Only me?

I'm bad at things, and surprisingly very frightened of ladders.

I learned this today as I stood shaking on the top step, and had sudden flashbacks of my brother falling off an old, rusty, yellow ladder as a kid. It didn't even happen to me but there is something about a chubby ginger falling from great heights (or like the roof of a one story house but I like the drama) that really resinates with you.

Another thing happened today, I met the next love of my life...or I guess re-met?

A couple of times a week, I take the same 5'clock M train home and every single time, I get on at the same exact spot, into the same exact car and ride it to the same exact stop (obviously, because that is where I live?) Sometimes I notice a familiar face of fellow riders who are also creatures of habit and give them the customary wave (in my head....New Yorkers are dicks.) but one particular rider always catches my eye. A tall, lanky guy (I have a type, it happens)with a smattering of tattoos (all traditional style), some lame hipster glasses that I'm really curious if they house a prescription (if they don't I'm immediately turned off....I swear I'm stuck on a constant pendulum of lust or hatred) and always some combination of denim and plaid. I always see him book in hand, note his cuteness and go about scrolling through my phone.

Today though was different, my phone was dead.

When my phone is dead, I like to play a game I call, how long can I stare at this person before they curse me out? I do this purely because I like to study people. I think I was supposed to be an artist, if it wasn't for my lack of art skills of course.My first target was a cute dad type sitting across from me: Swamp green pants, James Potter glasses, an expensive (I'm guessing, what do I know?) watch and a pen and paper in hand scribbling away like a mad man. He looked like a Geoff (G spelling, never a Jeff) and my guess is that he was a professor of sorts, I could have that completely wrong but he had that vibe about him. Every now and then he would look away from his paper in thought, I liked him because in that brief moment his eyes were like windows and it was as if you could physically see his brain whizzing away behind it. Two stops later, he scurried off the train. He was most definitely a scurrier.

Enter love of my life.

I chose him next because I had seen him many times before. In all honestly, I was drawn in by his tattoos, really well done and for some reason I wanted to know all about them, what they meant, if they had any meaning at all. I also liked that he was reading so intently. As the train threw him about his eyes never left the page, I couldn't tell what he was reading and it really bothered me. He was a book curler and he had words in the margins, when I saw that I was sold.

That's when I noticed he was staring back at me, slight smirk that only got smirkier as he saw that I had noticed him staring at me, staring at him,

I had spent so long trying to figure out what the book was I completely forgot about the social awkwardness that comes from staring at people you don't know. Damn it!

I quickly looked away but my peripherals told me he didn't. He instead uncurled his beaten up book and placed it in his backpack, headphones went in and he looked back smirking even more.

I'm sure you could guess what came next....

Of course he *came over, asked for my number and we all lived happily ever after....in love....with cute little tattoo'd babies.

Just kidding, I got off at the next stop. How anticlimactic. He did give me the customary head nod on my way out so I mean, that's love right?

Until next time dagger tat.

Also, I really need to know if your glasses are prescription....it's make or break. If it's simply a uniform, I'm going to cancel the church. Timing is of the essence.

This honestly makes no sense but I'm too lazy to edit it: A memoir.

One of the guys I work with is convinced we are supposed to be in love. He is a good looking, perfectly normal, hilarious guy and I just want to shake him and be like, You are a fool! I am fucking crazy. Run away. but instead I continue to let him think I'm normal and perfect and overly enjoy the fact that he talks about how I would be the perfect girlfriend or jokes about how amazing I am and how well we would go together all the time. He will learn....or he wouldn't. Oh well, poor thing.

Anyway.

Last night I had the most brilliant idea.

I had plans to go and stay with a friend in Midtown but instead of bringing my purse, I would simply bring my house keys, $2.50 for a train ticket to said friends house and my workout gear. Then in the morning I would have no option but to run all the way home, and collect my other clothes later.

This morning I was so pissed I decided to do that.

It took everything in my power to not beg anybody who would listen for enough money to get home, or to simply jump the turnstiles but alas, I sucked it up.

Past Jordyn and I are no longer talking...but honestly it is probably for the best because what kind of sane person has casual chats with their past self.

Lucky for Present Jordyn (or I guess she too is now past Jordyn...how meta) I got home by 10am and had a few hours to simply lay about on my roof getting my bronze slightly less white on.

Now, bone to pick because I'm very mad about a recent development. The other day I woke up to the smell of fresh cut grass, and it honestly confused the heck out of me because this is New York City, there isn't exactly an abundance of grass laying around. A few hours later whilst wandering around my bedroom casually naked, I realized they had cut down the tree outside my window that kept me safe from my creepy neighbor. I hung a sheet up in front of my window to stop him from watching me change but I can't exactly sun tan in a tent, so he has full view of me sunbathing....the joys of urban living. I have named him Harold and sometimes I wave just so he knows it's real.

Also, big ups to this lame bronzing something something intensifier something and this lame Kiwi Strawberry concoction. One, for making me as bronze as some tan ass koala or whatever kind of lies you tell me because damn it I am Australian, I shouldn't need this stuff and the other for being 99c. 

Now on a completely unrelated topic, I am quite fond of this graffiti. Mainly because I see it whenever I'm on my roof which only happens in the summer and even though I forget about it most of the year when I see it I'm like,

Ah, here we are again. Wow has it been a whole year since last summer?....Another year is gone. Oh my god, what have I done with my life in the last 12 months. Oh my god....oh my god....oh wait, roof says relax. Thanks Roof Graffit, I almost panicked there. 

 This other graffiti I found today also spoke to me....it was a little more hostile.

I am ready for my vacation now.

Summer in New York is only bareable when you don't have to physically do anything all day (this picture was taken this morning...I have since left my apartment...I stand by that first statement)

New York I don't know how you managed to make me hate my favourite season, but congrats. You made an Australian hate summer.

Also, I really miss Australia recently. Whenever I get into a conversation with someone about it, I always leave with the same question.

Australia is my home, I think it's the greatest country in the world....yet I choose not to live there?

I confuse myself.

Oh well, here is a picture of me with some balloons I made a stranger by me the other day. That stranger and I have a date tomorrow and I'm pretty sure I'm in *love with him already.

*Not real human love..."Jordyn love" where I obsess over cute people who *buy me things

*that was a joke! You don't need to buy me things!...but I mean I will take some *cupcakes

*I prefer doughnuts  

P.S. Oh actually doughnuts or just buy me tattoos for my birthday. Thanks strangers.

The 5th of July.

This morning I was on the train at obscenely early o'clock dreaming of my bed, the fireworks still ringing in my ears, completely lost in my own world. It was the morning after the 4th of July, so the train was pretty deserted except for the odd walk of shamer, hangover waiting to happen or homeless person, so I wasn't really paying any attention to anybody.

After about five minutes I noticed the man across from me glaring in my direction. He seemed drunk and fell somewhere between scruffy and homeless, but one thing was certain, his social queues were definitely a little rusty because he didn't even flinch when he saw me notice him staring. His social ineptness became even more apparent when after a few minutes of hard staring he moved on to the quietly stroking himself in his baggy sweatpants phase. Great.

I was only three stops away from my destination and the train wasn't empty enough for me to be scared,   so I uncomfortably turned up my music and began scrolling aimlessly through the pictures on my phone.

A few minutes later I received a light tap on my shoulder,

"Hey..." A disheveled looking business man with an almost comical untied tie and scruffy hair,

"I would move to another car if I were you..." He smiled.

Now, my heart knows he was trying to look out for me in a valiant effort to shelter me from Wank Master 5000. But his words really pissed me off.

Instead of asking this man to stop, he asked me to leave.

Now I'm not saying it was his duty to stand up for me, nor was I expecting it. Heck, this is New York, if a person collapses inches away from a large crowd, nobody bats an eyelid (except for myself and one other gentleman....but that's a whole other story, which you can find on my other website www.newyorkershavenosouls.com).

I wish he hadn't said a word. For the moment he opened his mouth, he unwittingly approved this mans actions and condemned my own.

Somehow it was my fault for being there, provoking this man in some way, and not his fault for being a complete failure of a human being.

I was in the wrong place, as if I had walked into his bedroom and he had every right to be rubbing away.

Instead of telling rapists not to rape, we tell victims to not get raped.

I'm over it.

Day #7644 on this planet.

I'm getting really tired of self righteous old men and their invisible sky friend trying to control my vagina.