Rocky Terrain, Rocky Relationship

This summer has been rocky. In ways I never imagined it would be.

My boyfriend Harry and I ended up working on a show together: myself onstage, him behind the scenes. I imagined this would be wonderful- spending the summer with my beau in picturesque upstate New York. Theater, adventures, and cuddles under open skies, fields of green. With Lake Ontario within spitting distance, we’d spend our off days swimming, skipping stones, basking in the sun and each other’s company. This was how I imagined it, and while all of these things occurred, I failed to consider taking the bad with the good.

We spent every night together, as we lived so close anyway. Which was great, but suddenly it was like we were living together; we shared a kitchen with the rest of the actors and staff. The weather was wet and rainy, Harry’s room was flooded. Soon he had no choice but to stay with me as mold began to infect the dampness. This was trying. As if that weren’t enough, we were both struggling with personal issues of our own. Driven closer by circumstance but drifting apart, each consumed by our own troubles, we were struggling. On the other hand, I was finally comfortable enough being in a couple that I could use call us we without flinching, really without a second thought. I loved him, and he replied that he loved me. We both wanted it to work.

“There’s nothing to do around here,” Harry bemoaned. I rolled my eyes, we hadn’t been on a proper date in weeks and all those we had been on that summer, I had planned. I was beginning to realize my love was unimaginative, perhaps even lazy… “There is stuff to do up here!” I retorted, “We just need to explore.”

There was a lighthouse in town, rocks leading to it creating a harbor. I believed it was possible to reach it, heard from others who had been that this was true. So I packed a picnic, put on sensible walking shoes, sought out directions, and Harry and I set out to explore. Would we reach the lighthouse? Would we decide this relationship had a future? I put my faith that we would succeed on all accounts.

We began with a snafu before we even started. The directions said 6th AVENUE but I steered us toward 6th STREET. The path to the lighthouse well in the distance, we scratched our heads. I was determined to find it, “Let’s walk!” Walking toward our destination lead us to great barbed wire fences blocking off the local power plant. Hello ominous road block. I would’ve walked on, pig-headed, probably for 2 fruitless miles. Harry on the other hand is logical. “Let’s take the car and find our start that way,” he said.

Driving in the direction of the lighthouse, we quickly realized the 6th Avenue blunder. In no time we were at the path. “Yay! We found it!” I said, kissing his cheek, “I’m so glad you suggested driving.” The path to the lighthouse began against the fence of the power plant.
“Well, there go my balls,” Harry joked, “This will either make me sterile or give me mutant powers.”
“I like your balls the way they are! Walk faster!”

powerplant

Leaving the power plant behind us, as we journeyed on the path became more rocky and uneven. The lighthouse far in the distance, perhaps close to a mile. It really did feel like an adventure. Harry is the more outdoorsy of the two of us, but I held my ground. I have more outdoor adventure in me than you might think of a New York cliché. With tricky rock slabs, I knew I could manage them myself, but it was nice to have a hand to grab. Nice to know someone was there for me, not that I needed help, but it was there. This is truly something I’ve realized about relationships on the whole.

rockylighthouse

We walked on, truly enjoying each other’s company, laughing, sharing stories from childhood. It was truly a great date. We made it to the lighthouse at the time of sunset.

lighthouse

We ate our picnic as the sun set. I love picnics. Raspberries, brie, humus, crackers. I love having a boy who loves picnics and proper picnic foods.

sunset

Watching the sunset out on the water meant walking back in twilight, dusk, near dark. We made it back just in time, just before it got too dark to see.

dusk

It was a lovely date. Though I didn’t realize it at the time and very much hoped otherwise, it was also our last date. A great last date. I’m so glad I have it to remember.

Advertisements

Other NYCs: The Broadway Aficionado

Manhattan is a tiny island. Sometimes it feels like you’ve past all 2 million of the population on 42nd Street. In a city where there are literally swarms of people, the odds are pretty high that I’ve already brushed past several soul mates and avoided eye contact with potential life-long friends. Sometimes these connections are made.

I would say I met Kati through my roommate April. I would say she and I became friends when we ended up working the same job this summer. The funny thing is, back in 2010, Kati and I worked for the same company. This was my first, and only desk job. This was her first job in NYC, selling Broadway concessions. Every week I saw her name on Excel spreadsheets. I knew which theater she worked at, how many Snickers bars she sold. We likely both attended the company Christmas party. Yet we never met exactly.

Thank goodness for this small world and paths that are destined to cross again. I might bemoan the fact we didn’t become friends sooner, but I’m so glad to have her in my life now. A breath of sunshine, sweeter than Vermont maple syrup, with eyes that shine brighter than the lights of the Great White Way, and this weeks featured Other New York Cliché, Kati, take the stage!

Kati1
Kati about to see Daniel Radcliff in Equus on Broadway.

Borough and neighborhood:
Manhattan. Harlem/Morningside Heights area. I love Brooklyn and Queens, too!

How are you a New York cliché?
I came to New York to be an actor. That in and of itself is about as big a cliché as there is. But wait…there’s more! My first day moving to New York, at age nineteen, I got hired to work selling water and candy from a tray at Broadway Shows. The best part about it was that I got to watch the shows I worked at for free. Almost every night I would sit in the back of the house and shed a poetic tear because I was forced to work for the theater instead of dancing on Broadway with the other actors. Let me translate – I expected to come to New York, instantly be cast on Broadway due to my natural, raw talent, and never have to work a survival job. I learned my lesson very quickly.

They say no one who lives in New York is actually from New York. Where are you from?
I could not possibly from anywhere more different from New York. I’m from Putney, Vermont. It’s a town of 1000 people at the absolute most. I grew up working on a dairy farm. I suffered from crazy culture shock when I first made the move.

Bloomberg is banishing you from NYC. You have 24 hours before you have to pack up and leave forever. How do you spend them?
I wake up early and get student rush tickets for my favorite Broadway show (whatever that is at the time). Once I’ve gotten the tickets, I go back uptown and eat breakfast with my friend Patt. After that, we go to the park and meet up with as many people as want to and have a picnic, complete with multiple bottles of wine, sunglasses, and bathing suit tops. There can also be a Frisbee or two involved. We stay there for a couple hours until we get hungry again. At that point, we go to Chipotle. No matter what everyone else may say, although it’s a chain, Chipotle is hands down one of the most delicious places I’ve eaten! After that we go to Blockheads on 50th street for four-dollar margaritas. Before the 8:00 pm show, we would all go to the pier and watch the sun set over the water. After the show, I would go to Lucky Strike bowling alley in Port Authority, and bowl with my Broadway Show League bowling team. Then I would take a cab home with my friends Kristie and Patt, and play Mario Party until I fell asleep.

What restaurant/bar you keep going back to, even though you’ve been meaning to try a dozen others?
Nizza on 9th Ave. It has its own gluten free menu, and delicious gluten free gnocchi and breadsticks. It’s kind of expensive, so I usually go there when my parents are visiting and want to take me out to dinner. I’m also obsessed with Blockheads because they have the aforementioned $4 frozen drinks.

So you live in NYC, but what’s one super-touristy thing you secretly love?
I just love going to Broadway Shows. I know that there are all sorts of wonderful, artsy, experimental off and off-off Broadway shows in the city that are much cheaper and potentially better, but I just love to go see a really flashy Broadway musical. Especially around Christmas time. I always do student rush or standing room because it’s much cheaper. I do try to see all sorts of theater, but there’s a hype around Broadway shows that makes going to them really exciting.

Ever had a run-in with a celebrity (A-D List)?
I’ve had a lot because of my front of house jobs, plus a couple of random run-ins. Let’s see if I can think of all of them: James Gandolfini, Marcia Gay Harden, Daniel Day Lewis, Meryl Streep, Anette Benning, Jeff Daniels, Lea Michelle, Tony Shalhoub, Justin Bartha, Daniel Craig, Hugh Jackman, William Shatner, James Cordon, Liza Minelli, Ben Vereen, Shia LaBeouf, Daniel Radcliffe, Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen, Zach Galifinakis, Bob Baliban, Jake Gyllenhaal, Jonathan Groff, Chris Pine, Olivia Thirlby, James McCavoy, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Andrew Garfield, Scott Adsit, Whoopie Goldberg, Jeff Goldbloom, Kevin Spacey, Michael Emerson, Nick Jonas, Hunter Parish, Kim Catrall, Katie Holmes, Sarah Jessica Parker, Victor Garber, Tom Hanks, Anne Hathaway, Paul Rudd…that’s all I can think of. There’s probably more than that, though.

 You totally saw something weird on the subway or street today (you may not have registered it was weird because you are jaded), what did you see?
A guy was asking people for money on the L train, but he was asking for specifically either $2.25 or $4.50. He also said that if no one had those exact amounts of money they could just give him a bagel. Then a lady gave him a bagel and he just dropped it on the floor and started asking for money again.

What is your favorite fictionalized New York? How does it compare with reality?
This is so embarrassing, but I read all the Gossip Girl books a while back (I can still say I’ve never see the TV show!). I would like to think that New York City is as glamorous as it was portrayed in those books. Unfortunately that only happens if you’re filthy rich and spoiled. And it turns out that those people are usually who I like the least.

After Work's production of Hair, Kati played Jeanie.
After Work’s production of Hair, Kati played Jeanie.

Plug something! Be it something you are involved in, you significant other/roommate/cat is involved in, or just something you think is extra-special and going on in NYC.
My friend Evan started an incredible community theater called After Work Theater Project. It’s for anyone who wants to do theater, but can’t because of work or whatever reason, or for anyone who is pursuing acting and wants to be in a fun, stress free show. I did Hair and Rent with them, and I am about to do Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat with them starting in November. The productions they do are incredible, and doing shows with them I found one of the strongest communities I’ve ever been a part of. Definitely go see their shows, or if you like to act sign up to be in one!

Thank you Kati, for being for being part of my Other New York clichés feature! Let’s have the best working weekend ever and share a meal together soon. Not at Chipotle, I’m too big a snob, but I’m dying to try Nizza’s gnocci!
What do you think of this series? Love it so much you want featured? Fabulous! Email NewYorkCliche@yahoo.com

 

In the Audience of America’s Got Talent

Sometimes, when a friend asks you to come to a concert or show they are performing in, you grit your teeth. We’ve all sat through boring choir concerts, attempted to dance at battle-of-the-bands in sketchy bars, forced laughs at comedy open-mics, and grimaced through plays that make even the most passionate actor hate theatre. We go to support our friends, we’re happy to do it (even if we hate it).
Then there are times when a friend asks you to come to a show she’s performing in, and you end up part of the audience for a nationally televised show.

Arianne and I have been friends since age 10. Ever since she confided in me that one of her legs was fake and I responded, “No it’s not.” Sometimes, this is how great friendships start. She is one of the most luminescent, bubbly, joyous people I know. As if that weren’t enough, words can’t describe how freaking talented this girl is. Don’t take my word for it, you can watch her conduct her own orchestral arrangement of “Call Me Maybe” which has received over 2.5 million hits on Youtube.

Arianne has a masters in conducting from Yale and lives in New Haven. Occasionally she has concerts in NYC, which I go to whenever possible.

Most recently I received a vague, but intriguing invitation: “I can’t really give you details, but we’re performing at the Hammerstein Ballroom, in the middle of the day. Uh…we might be on TV. It’s a little crazy, but I know it will be fun!” It was a weekday and thanks to my nonconventional schedule, I had the day off. I thought to myself, “Let’s see what this is all about! And support my friend!”

I show up at 34th Street and it’s a mad scene.

hammersteinballroom

Quickly it becomes obvious that this is a much bigger deal than Arianne let on. I start seeing branding everywhere: AMERICA’S GOT TALENT! This is crazy! The connection is easy to make: I am at the AGT auditions  and one of my best friends is competing!

I am alone, all our mutual friends have to work. My name is supposed to be on some list but the lady can’t find it. I don’t even know the name of Arianne’s act! Some how I’m allowed in, thank god because the= line of people trying to get in is huge. I am instructed up to the last row of the upper balcony. Ugh. The view is horrible.

balconyview

“Oh well,” I think to myself, “At least it’ll be easy if I want to leave after they perform.” I sit in my seat and survey the surroundings. Everyone is buzzing, snapping photos. Heidi Klum comes through the door on my immediate right, escorted by a huge body guard. The buzz and snapping increase exponentially. My camera fails. “Damn,” I think to myself, “No picture, but still, that was cool.”

Taping is soon to commence. An emcee is prepping the crowd. A man and a women dressed in black with headsets come through the door Heidi just walked through, scanning the upper balcony. I ascertain that they are seat fillers, looking for people to fill the crucial seats below. Their eyes fall on me, “Is it just you?” they ask. The next thing I know, I’ve been escorted to the second row of the auditorium; the view could not be more different.
front rowThe four America’s Got Talent judges are right in front of me. Way cooler than a Heidi just walking by. Plus I feel pretty: this is a seat where there is a high chance I’ll be caught on camera, and they wouldn’t have placed me here if I didn’t fit the demographic. Arianne’s group is the first one to perform, turns out they are called 3 Penny Chorus and Orchestra.

Arianne leads the group out on the stage. They look so poised and professional, dressed in black. There is a brief introduction and I am grinning. Arianne is stunning and truly shines under the spotlight. I feel like a proud momma and am so glad to be in the audience.  Then they play, the same arrangement of “Call Me Maybe” from their Youtube video. They kill it, the audience around me is loving it. When the song concludes, there is rigorous applause during which I scream out, “I LOVE YOU ARIANNE!” I don’t think they caught that on film, alas. The judges love them too!

Indeed, Howie, Mel B, Heidi, and Howard Stern loved 3 Penny Chorus and Orchestra so much, that they put them through to the finals at Radio City Music Hall! They will be performing there LIVE tomorrow (August 13th) night! I get to repeat this experience all over again, except this time it will be even more exciting! I’ve never actually watched the show on TV but I hope you will and look for me in the audience! Most importantly, consider voting for 3 Penny Chorus and Orchestra conducted by my amazing, dear friend.

You can check out the Youtube video of 3 Penny performing on AGT and like them on Facebook.

Curry Row Light Show is a NYC Norm

They say New York City is its own world. As a visitor to the city, this is plain to see. But the longer you live in the Big Apple what was once exciting, shocking, or remarkable now becomes the norm.

For example:

  • No fashion surprises you: you see a group of women on the street wearing strangely decorated bras and simply roll your eyes, “And I thought the resurgence of crop-tops was bad enough”.
  • A ballerina dances by you in Columbus Circle and you don’t even look up from your cell phone.
  • You hardly notice the group of fashion models walking towards you down 23rd Street.
  • People strip their pants off on the subway in the middle of January. It’s not even worth a status update.
  • You don’t think twice about a large gathering of clowns parading around Union Square.
  • You jog through Central Park every morning. You’ve grown to see it as a treadmill, eyes on the pavement, completely forgetting the incredible beauty of the natural surroundings.

I am well aware of the danger of becoming the becoming the ultimate New York cliché: the Jaded New Yorker.  After celebrating 5 years of living here, my chances of being inflicted by such indifference have only multiplied. I like to think I’m pretty good at fighting off the jade and maintaining the magic of the city of dreams. But sometimes you don’t even realize how desensitized you’ve become until you see the awe in someone else’s eyes.

My roommate Rose and I went down to the East Village to see our other roommate, April in a play- a modernized interpretation of The Trojan Women. As with any Greek tragedy, by curtain call the only hope for easing the echoes of wailing from our ears was a good meal and a good amount of alcohol. So the three of us set forth to find both on 6th Street.

“Indian food and it’s BYOB”, I crowed, “I can’t wait!” 6th Street in the Village is colloquially referred to as Curry Row for the dozens of Indian restaurants line this block. In such a mass, it is a struggle for owners to have their establishment stand out. Four businesses on the corner of 6th and First Avenue tackled this issue in a unique way.

curry corner
What you approach: the outside view

It’s like some great beast vomited up an immense number of string lights. It is truly a sight to behold. Unless you’re a Jaded New Yorker. As we crossed the street to our destination, April, who has yet to claim one year of living in NYC marveled the strangeness and uniqueness of the decor. She was giddy, texting her mother, sharing a picture on Facebook. I hadn’t even considered them much more than a casual remark, “Oh yeah, the Indian restaurants on 6th with all the lights? Yeah, everyone knows those.” I was so glad I could see through my roommates fresh eyes. No, not everyone knows them! They are truly a piece of magic of this city, so easy to forget!

currylights
What it’s like on the inside! Too many lights to count of many shapes and sizes. Don’t ask me where they plug them all in!

The restaurants are not owned by the same person. They all have different names and it appears different owners. When you approach, four hosts pop out at you, one from each door. “You choose here! Very good meal! Best of the lot! Best meal on Curry Row!” You duck must duck into your restaurant choice as quickly as possible to escape their shouting. We chose Panna II on the top left, stepping inside was quite a relief from perhaps the most aggressive busking on the whole island.

pannaIIlights
This gentleman greeted us at the door as the host lead us in. I asked if he didn’t mind my taking a picture and he said, “One dollar.” I believed this until he started laughing, dismissing the joke. I couldn’t tell is he associated with the restaurant or just a regular.

After ordering curry, we cracked open the six-pack of beers we had brought from the deli around the corner. Rose and I shared stories of the times we’d been before- birthday parties, first dates. It’s always a fun time and we certainly enjoyed ourselves that night. It was a night entirely within the norm of New York City. Sometimes I need reminding that such a norm is no such thing anywhere else!

Dudes Read This Too! or Love For Followers!

I often worry that my material here is the stuff chick lit is made of. That no one but a young woman on the beach is likely to read my blog. Recently I discovered, much to my surprise and delight, that New York Cliche has a significant following of male readers. After receiving a particularly awesome comment from an English bloke, I was so pleased I almost added it to my header: New York Cliche: Dudes Read This Blog Too! Hi Boys! Instead, I did what most ladies do when overwhelmed with a desire to pat themselves on the back: I yammered about my accomplishments to my boyfriend.

Harry shrugged, “I’m not surprised dudes read your blog.”

“Really?” I replied, feeling smug and expecting him to gush about my talent for writing. Perhaps how my voice is just so relatable it goes outside all bounds of age or gender demographics.

“You’re blog is much more helpful for men. It’s like actually getting into the head of woman, getting to see how you think. Guys don’t understand how women think, so any thing to aid them in the quest is great,” he paused, “It’s especially great for me,” he concluded, a grin spreading across his face.

I’d never thought of my blog that way. My primary objective is to entertain. My blog is helpful to those just starting out in NYC, merely by dint of subject matter. I never considered anything on a broader scale.

But I am now! After yesterday’s post about boyfriends and birthday gifts, I have it in my mind to write a “Gift Guide for Getting Your Girlfriend Gifts” (goodness, I love alliteration). Perhaps I will write of “Good Date Spots in NYC”. It’s the beginning of an idea and I want to open the floor to you, my beloved (over 1,000! I’m still spinning!) followers. Do you have any questions you would like answered? Anything you can think of that you would like me to write about?

I think at this point, I can consider myself an expert in the realms of dating, NYC, theater, and frugality. But I’d consider writing about anything- the possibilities excite me.
So I open the floor to you. Leave any sort of comment you’d like, any idea, any question, any issue, sky’s the limit (as goes the cliché). You all make me feel fabulous. 

 

The Fraught Business of Birthday Gifts

It was the first birthday I ever celebrated with a boyfriend. Last week I turned 27, it took my 27 years to cross that one off the “Things-That-Should-Happen-in-Life List”.

My boyfriend didn’t have time to do anything for my birthday. Harry is spending his summer working as the technical director of a summer stock theater outside of NYC. He has taken on more responsibilities than ever imagined in his job description. My birthday happened to fall during a particularly hectic time in his work load. I knew all this, I tried to keep my expectations low, but still a part of me desperately hoped to be surprised. I couldn’t help but wonder, though I hated myself for thinking about it, what would he get me for my birthday?

He took me out for Thai food the night before and assembled the picnic lunch that I had requested for my actual birthday. It was lovely, and I was so glad he could find the time to do it. After dinner, we got ice cream and stood by the water licking our cones and watching the sun set.
Harry turned to me, “Remember those shoes you wanted months ago?”
“Um, no?” was more or less my response.
“The pair of TOMS you talked about really wanting in the spring?”
The memory crawled into my mind, vague and distant, “Oh yeah.” They were a pair from the crochet collection that I liked so much I even mentioned them in a post here.
“I want to get you those shoes for your birthday.”

What was my response? Awe of the fact he remembered shoes I had mentioned months ago? An exclamation of  how incredibly thoughtful and sweet it was that he came up with such a gift idea? No. Without even thinking, I shrugged and the words, “I don’t want those shoes any more,” tumbled from my mouth.

I wanted these shoes so badly back in April. I almost bought them but then talked myself out of it. They were too expensive, I’d likely wear them out quickly, they’d look good with pants but not so great with skirts.

The sad thing is, had he presented me with those very shoes, my reaction would have been the aforementioned amazement that he had remembered these shoes and managed to get the for me. He had decided to talk to me about it to make sure to get the ones I wanted and in my size. Never do this if you are dating a woman. Just get the present. Be weird and check her shoes to get her size. Ask her roommates for help. Get a gift receipt. Do not give her the choice or you will likely end up like my boyfriend did: with no gift to give me on my birthday.

I wanted to not care, I did. Still, it irked me. Harry felt bad too, “I didn’t get you a gift, it’s embarrassing. Please don’t write about this in your blog.”
“I’m sure you’ll come up with something.” I said.
On my birthday he got me flowers, which helped, but I still kept hoping he’d come up with a gift at the last-minute and all would be perfect.

He didn’t.

Four days after my birthday, still nothing. I made some comment to the effect of, “That ship has sailed.”
“No,” he promised, “I am going to get you something for your birthday. Eventually. I will.” He said it with such earnestness that I didn’t dare doubt him.

It’s amazing how much easier it is to believe that someone just doesn’t love you as much as you thought they did, as opposed to the more obvious: someone just isn’t good at getting gifts. Harry is not. He hates gifts, both giving and receiving them. How dare I imagine any kind of love would create an exception to this rule? Curse consumerism and curse only-child-syndrome!

Then six days after my birthday and still no gift, I had a big health scare. Harry was the one who took me to the doctor, who held my hand as I freaked out about what was wrong with me, who brought me Wheat Thins when I didn’t want to eat anything else, who even volunteered to watch Sex and the City with me when all I wanted to do was stay in bed. Suddenly love, support, and tenderness surrounded me in ten-fold. This was, of course, the best birthday gift I could ever have asked for. I’m somewhat ashamed it took a personal crisis of sorts to straighten me out. Yet, I’m glad for it. Now I can honestly say an utterly nauseating cliché: I don’t need gifts because having someone who loves me is gift enough. Gross, but true.

I had a lovely birthday, I feel fine- recovered from my scare (seriously, please don’t worry about me!), and the days are perfect- sunny and warm. Summer at it’s best. The best birthday presents a girl could ask for.

On top of this, there is the fantastic present you all brought me. This blog passed the 1,000 followers mark! It’s a fabulous feeling. Thank you so much to all you readers.

If you have anything you’d like me to write about, please leave a comment or send me an e-mail newyorkcliche@yahoo.com!

Wrestling with the Fact My Man Enjoys Pro-Wrestling

Cliché: a person’s quirks are much easier to accept if you love him. Sometimes, the quirks even make you love them even more.

Case in point: my boyfriend Harry is a fan of pro-wrestling.

Wrestling has baffled women since, I’d reckon, the dawn of time. Cave women rolled their eyes and grunted, “When you hurt yourself, for nothing but the sport of it, I ain’t gonna be there with a raw meat compress for the swelling.” Ladies of ancient Greece balked, “You expect me to not comment on the blatant homoeroticism? Ha! Ha! Impossible!” Damsels of the Renaissance cried, “Why can’t you like something I’d want to watch? Dueling? Jousting? Even bear-baiting would be better!” Today we just say, “I don’t understand how you watch that crap, but have fun with the boys. Don’t get too drunk.”

My associations with wrestling were minimal. It existed on a plane of, “I think I’ve flipped past that on TV before?”  and “Do people actually watch that?” Then I booked a gig to work an event dedicated to pro-wrestling, created specifically for diehard fans. I entered a completely foreign world. Turns out not only do thousands of people watch pro-wrestling, thousands devote much time, energy, and money to the biggest wrestling event of the season.

This event is the Superbowl of pro-wrestling and if you know anything about the- sport? Spectacle? Entertainment? Performance? Um, I seriously have no idea what exactly to call it. Okay,  a quick consultation with the boyfriend reveals the technical term is “sports entertainment”. Thanks, Harry.  As I was saying, if you know anything about this sports entertainment, you know exactly to which event I speak of, exactly what it’s called. Here, I will call it everything but the actual name: Wrestle Palooza, Wrestle Madness, Wrestle Fest. We’ll see just how many I can come up with.

Wrestle Frenzy features several highly celebrated matches between the best of the best in the pro-wrestling world. Stories are woven about rivalries, stakes are crafted by advertisers. The whole thing reaches a level of soap-worthy drama.

P1030809

For four days leading up to Wrestle Insanity, a backstage pass of sorts is offered to fans. This is called Wrestle Delirium Axess (actually spelled with 2 Xs): a chance for diehards to get autographs, photo-ops, and  exclusive meet-and-greets from their favorite wrestlers. A chance to mill in a stadium surrounded by other fans. A safe-space without the mockery of judgmental ladies like myself. Well, at least it should have been. The loophole is those who work Wrestle Paradise Axess, like yours truly. Now, I was paid not to mock outright, so I mocked silently. I couldn’t help myself. There are pro-wrestlers and there are  pro-silent-mockers. I am the latter.

I know that’s not fair. It’s no Wrestle Euphoria fan’s fault that I’m a jaded New Yorker, disillusioned with the idea of celebrity. It’s a New York cliché: we see celebrities all the time. We consider asking for an autograph beneath us. We roll our eyes at the tourists who block 44th Street, clamoring for a glimpse of Tom Hanks as he leaves “The Lucky Guy”, a Broadway play he is currently starring in. In a way, it’s sad, we’ve lost a little of the magic of being in awe of our heroes. Still, that’s my reality. Besides, no one in the pro-wrestling world is a hero to me. If I saw any on the street the most I might think is, “Damn, that guy is a crazy muscle head.”

Turned out, this jadedness made me perfectly suited for the job I was assigned to work for Wrestle Ridiculousness. For this gig, I was a Talent Runner. Which means I escorted famed pro-wrestlers to and from signings and photo-ops. I kept fans from getting to close and enforced that signings may only take place in designated areas. I was the wrestling joy-kill, it was perfect. Aside from that, my only other task was to fetch sugar-free Red Bull when any one requested it. You’d be amazed by the quantity of questionably toxic caffeinated beverage some of these big guys can throw back.

When I told Harry exactly what my job was, he was ecstatic. “That’s so cool!” he said gleefully, and texted the news to all his wrestle-watching friends.

“So your girlfriend’s gonna blow all the pros?” was an immediate reply which I unfortunately saw over Harry’s shoulder.

“Wow,” I said. “I hope your friend realizes that my first impression of him, forever, is he’s a jerk. Also, he’s really not helping my prejudices against wrestling fans.”

“That was unfortunate.” Harry replied sheepishly.

It was only a four-day event; four days that I’ll always remember as some of the longest of my life. I worked 38 hours in four days. I broke little kids hearts (“No more autographs!”) , got yelled at by fat middle-aged men (“I don’t care how long you waited, nor will it make any difference if you call me a bitch! You’re not getting a picture!”), and silently judged at every turn. I fetched so much Red Bull that I considered stealing one for myself, though thought better of it, and made oodles of banal small talk with renowned wrestlers.

I never would have made it through without Harry, who I texted after every talent run, “Guess who I just delivered to his photo-op! Know anything about Pro Wrestler X?” I fed off his enthusiasm and knowledge. It gave me purpose, helped me see the world of Wrestle Lunacy through unadulterated eyes.

And that is the story of how I came to appreciate the fact my boyfriend loves pro-wrestling. Wrestle Derangement, Wrestle Utopia, Wrestle Jubilee, Wrestle Wonderland, thank you for making this possible. I’m sure Harry thanks you too.