Delma's five-year old cousin says that a lot. "Whatever," I mean. He'll ask a question like "Fito, how come your company doesn't make a funny commercial about Pizza Hut?" and then you'll respond with "Because we don't have their business, another agency does" and then he'll pause for a few seconds, cross his arms and say "Whatever." It's obnoxiously cute.
I met up with my mom, Delma and Kayla on Friday night and got back Monday evening. It flew by quickly, as jam-packed weekends are wont to do. We did some of the touristy things. Times Square, Central Park, Rockefeller Center. We had the best pizza I've ever had in my life, then the best roast beef sandwich I've ever had in my life, then the best bagel I've ever had in my life, followed by the worst cemita I've ever had in my life (can't win 'em all, New York).
I'm a big fan of cemitas. Sandwiches in general, man. The sandwich is my favorite food. But that's not fair, because what constitutes a sandwich? Two slices of carbs, some protein, cheese and veggies? It's like saying your favorite movie is comedies. By that logic, anything could be a sandwich. A burgers is a sandwich. The Cheesy Gordita Crunch is a sandwich. My face in between two slices of stale pita bread is a sandwich. That's why the sandwich is my favorite food though. It's so versatile. You can't define a sandwich, man. It is what it is and if you say otherwise, whatever.
Kayla enjoyed the trip. At least I think she did. I hope so. She seemed extra sassy this past weekend and I didn't like it. There were flashes of adolescence every now and then. An eye roll here, a snarky comment there. She's still very much my baby sister and we had a lot of fun. She was super excited about the Nintendo Store and she was running around the playgrounds at Central Park like a gerbil in a… gerbil thing (whatever). But still.
I don't want her to grow up. When I saw her at the airport, she dropped her bags and bolted towards me, jumping up and throwing her arms around my neck. I don't think a teenager Kayla would do that. And I know it's selfish of me to think this way. She needs to grow up and live life and become her own person. But I'm worried that once she hits adolescence, she'll no longer think of me the way she does now. She won't be excited to hear that I'll be visiting. She won't want to go to the park and run around. She won't want to trade silly knock knock jokes with me. Stuff like that. I'm scared she's just going to cross her arms and say "Whatever" to anything I do once she hits fifteen.
The reason for our trip was my cousin's quinceñera, actually (smooth transition, eh?). Saturday night, we drove to Brentwood out in the middle of Long Island. It was a beautiful quince. My aunts, uncles and cousins greeted us with open arms and warm hugs, despite not having seen us in years. Delma and I danced salsa and cumbia and bachata (well, Delma danced and I just shuffled my feet). I showed my cousins a few of the videos I've made at work. A nice time was had by all.
We dropped off my mom and Kayla at Newark early Sunday afternoon (driving in New York is the worst thing about New York) and then Delma and I went exploring. The hotel we stayed at had bikes you could rent for $5 a day so we decided to do that. They were some really shitty Huffy-type bikes though, the kind that you have to pedal backwards in order to brake. We had to stop at a bicycle shop because there was no air in the tires. But riding through Brooklyn and Queens was incredible. It was a cool sixty degrees and we went to the Williamsburg Flea Market and I bought Delma a necklace and a donut, then we had our picture taken by an Australian male model. On the ride back, we stopped by 5pointz and did some photographing there.
We went to the original Barcade with a friend and had dinner at Xixa which is the kind of place you completely expect to be in New York, although it was under $100, surprisingly. Also, Delma had the best tequila cocktail she's had in her life.
I absolutely fell in love with the city. I want to move to New York. But I only spent three days there, so I don't know what it's really like. I have a very romanticized vision of New York in my mind, similar to the one I had of Chicago before I moved here. I'm going to be doing standup in Manhattan and writing at cool coffee shops in Williamsburg and everyone's going to love me because I'm so witty and cool and I wear ironic sweaters. Whatever, man. Whatever. I'm not even doing those things here. Reality will never measure up to your expectations, but still… I want to move to New York.
A lot of that enjoyment was because Delma was there. Chicago is awesome too, but it hasn't been as fun since Delma left. Long distance is hard, y'all. I kinda just sit in my room and listen to the Smiths every evening. Seeing her again reinvigorated my spirits and I was riding a high the entire weekend. I bet if we had gone to Fayetteville, Arkansas, I would have loved that city just as much because I would have been with Delma.
This is mushy and long. Whatever.
It's raining and I'm late for work.
I wrote most of this last night and I held off on posting it so that I could go through and revise it. Make it better. I made minor changes, but then I realized that I could totally rework the whole thing and turn it into more of an essay. So I'm gonna do that. But I'm going to leave this up. Why? Because whatever. That's why.
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