Today I seem to be experiencing technical difficulties with my blackberry.  First, it was freezing on me as I was trying to shop on the Bloomingdales website (perhaps that is a sign that it is not the best idea to shop via cell phone?); it literally would not let me scroll through more than two pages of shoes before feigning exhaustion and just doing nothing.  I’m not sure if that means that I was supposed to buy one of the shoes that graced those two lonely pages…none of them were all that great, or too pricey for what I think a ballet flat should cost (I would never spend more than $100 because, honestly, within a year maximum they end up in the garbage with a hole). 

The second thing that it did was tell me that my blog account didn’t exist.  I literally went into it and found nothing there.  Of course I started to panic because it didn’t make sense to me, but then it fixed itself with that.  I haven’t tried using the Bloomies site again yet, but I sadly expect that it will still give me the runaround. 

The third, and last thing so far that it has done today, was give me duplicates of some people in my address book.  At first I thought that it was just for facebook friends, because sometimes that has happened, but it wasn’t.  It was just really random duplicates.  And what was even odder was that, certain people that I had deleted were back in.  One person in particular that hadn’t been in my phonebook since the summer popped back up, while someone whom I omitted a few months ago remained deleted.  I wonder if that means that I am supposed to contact this person and see how he is…I will have to ponder this a while before making my ultimate decision, but most likely if I do, it will be through email with a detailed account of the transpired events.  Hopefully that is all of the weird things that my blackberry will do to me today and it will go back to being its awesome self.

I feel like, no matter how much I want to see something, I always end up waiting until the last minute…especially when it comes to museum exhibitions.  Last year, I had ample time to make my way to the Upper East Side, fling myself onto the steps of the Met, and attend the Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty exhibit, but sadly, I waited until one of the last weeks to do so.  I think one of the problems with living in New York is that, there are so many things to do that, you tell yourself, I’ll go tomorrow, or next week, and before you know it, you have missed your opportunity.  Had I not waited so long to see Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty, I might not have gotten stuck on a two-hour line (which, thankfully moved enough so that I was only waiting for scarcely little more than an hour), and a claustrophobic second hour as I walked through the exhibit itself, more often than not barely moving, and reduced to tiptoeing just to be able to catch glimpses of some of the items on display.  I bought a few postcards and the exhibition catalogue (my first coffee table book), and walked out of the Met into several downpours, desperately clutching my purchases.  By the time I got home, all was thoroughly soaked (me that is), except for my museum bag.  I threw on some dry clothes, opened a bottle of wine, and poured over the content of the catalogue in its entirety; I had gotten a decent view of part of the exhibit, but I was not by any means satisfied with my experience.  It was then that I vowed never again to leave my museum goings to the last minute but, like the next-day hangover that is bound to follow an all-night excursion where you vow never to drink again, this was not the last of my tardiness.

My latest exhibition tardiness commenced around three months ago, before the exhibit even opened.  By accident, I had found an exhibit in the Philadelphia Museum of Art, I’m not sure if it was for Picasso or Van Gogh because the museum was going to have overlapping exhibits on both of them.  One, or both of them was going to close in May, so, planner that I am, I figured that I had plenty of time to go.  I brought it up to the guy that I was dating at the time, who thought it was a good idea but wouldn’t commit to a date; we broke up a few weeks after and I never did bring myself back to Philly.  I am not a huge fan of either of their works, though I feel like you can appreciate an artist’s style even if you are not fond of it (especially when that artist is Picasso or Van Gogh).  I do have a reprieve for Picasso though; there is a gallery on Madison that will be exhibiting some of his paintings starting at the end of this month in conjunction with another painter.  None of those though, are the exhibit that I have once again become tardy to.

The exhibit that I have been dying to see is entitled Documents pour artistes.  Over one hundred photographs by the French photographer Eugène Atget are on display, with the city of Paris as the theme.  This exhibit is appealing to me for a few reasons, the two prominent being that I love photography and I’ve always wanted to go to Paris.  In one of the reviews that I read on this exhibit, it said something to the effect that, going to the exhibit left you with the same feelings as if you had been walking the streets of Paris.  The only unappealing thing to me about this particular exhibit was its location: MOMA.  I have been to many museums in New York: the Met, the Guggenheim, the Museum of Natural History, the International Center of Photography, and MOMA (to name a few), but MOMA has been my least favorite…followed closely by the Guggenheim.  I’m not saying that either of them are bad museums, because they are not by any means, just that I am not a fan of modern art, and they tend to have realllly modern art on display; the Met isn’t like that.  But…it’s Paris. 

Needless to say that it is now April, and the Documents pour artistes will be closing in less than a week….oh, and if you hadn’t guessed, I still have yet to get there.  This all will change on Friday though, as I drag myself to MOMA and finally see my coveted exhibition…I just hope that the lines aren’t anywhere near as long as the ones from the McQueen exhibit.

Normally, I am not one to write about my dating life.  There are a few reasons for this, but mainly, I don’t want to be one of those cliché women who drone on and on about all of their disappointments and heartbreak: that’s what I have my closest friends for :).  This past weekend, as I helped my father celebrate his 56th birthday, it occurred to me that, in precisely one month, I will be half my father’s age.  I started thinking about where he was at my age, what he was doing with his life; he was married and just having his second child (I have an older brother), whereas I’m single and am still feeling the sting of rejection from the last man that I dated. 

Okay, maybe sting isn’t the right word; perhaps emptiness works a little better.  You know what I’m talking about, the void that comes when you think about txting or trying to make plans and then remember that you are no longer with that person.  Your mind starts to wander to conversations that you had, specific moments you shared together; you feel happy, but as quickly as that happiness engulfs you, it leaves as you remember that those are now only distance memories, and a few weeks ago, you stopped talking to him completely.  What went wrong this time?  What could I have done differently?  Was I the problem?  All of these questions start racing through your mind.  Of course you didn’t do anything wrong.  As much as we would like for everyone to stay in our lives forever, not everyone will.  In fact, it is the ones that you least expect to stay that always do…or at least that is what happens to me.  Perhaps we are more open with them because we don’t feel the need to impress them as much.  Some of my best friends are people that just happened upon my life, not ones that I desperately tried to keep around or make connections with.

Dating in this day and age is hard.  Some people decide before you’ve even gone out on a first date that, no matter how much they end up liking you and opening up, they will not get serious.  Personally, I do not understand how this works…I mean, even if I don’t necessarily think that things will work with a guy, it doesn’t take away the possibility of something more in the future if we were to hit it off.  I allow myself to change my mind about people and maybe that is the real problem…maybe people are just scared to change their minds and open up once they have set them.  You would think that, living in NYC, and therefore having access to millions of different activities to do, and culture, it would be easier to find someone, but it isn’t, and sometimes I wonder if that doesn’t make it harder.  

A few weeks ago, I attended an art/fashion show at the Empire Hotel Rooftop…my mother was among the artists showing some work.  I ended up meeting a guy, as I was outside on my phone yelling at all of my friends who decided not to join me there.  At first he seemed nice…he was a chef and his name was Michael.  If you don’t already know, I seem to have a thing for Michaels.  I could tell that he was a little drunk, but not too much so, so I decided to let him buy me a drink (why not) and chat a little more.  Unfortunately, I did not estimate just how drunk he was.  He ended up clinging to my side the entire night (well, for the rest of my time there) and, when I went to try and leave, it took my mother, two people that we were with, and hotel security to get him to not follow me (he actually followed us into the elevator and rode it down with us as we were trying to leave, and I wasn’t even on a date with him!).  Luckily, I had been smart enough not to give him my number.