Bloody Sunday

Ok, I’m going to make a very long story short because I am tired and I need to put this day behind me.

So…Ethan and I got up around 11am this morning with plans to attend the matinee of The Marriage of Bette and Boo by Christopher Durang (my favorite playwright) at 2pm.  At 12:45, I am showered and getting ready to go while Ethan is planted in front of the TV watching an episode of “Generation Kill” (that he’d recorded on Tivo).  I tell him he’d better get in the shower because we need to leave at 1pm.

We are out the door at 1:15 and at the subway by 1:20.  Ethan’s Metrocard is empty and the machine is giving him problems by not accepting any of the credit/debit cards he tries.  We finally get on the train at 1:30.  I know we are not going to make it to the theatre by 2pm.

We step off the train at 1:53pm.  Maybe if we sprint, we can make it.  The theatre is on 46^th Street between 5^th & 6^th Ave, so we exit at the 43^rd Street entrance and take off toward 6^th Ave.  The area seems to be more crowded than usual, even for Times Square.

We reach 6^th Ave and attempt to make a left to head up to 46^th Street, when a police officer tells us we can’t go that way.  We look up and the whole street is blocked off and there is a large stage set up with some kind of performance going on.  Maybe it’s a concert?  Not a good one…I don’t know.  So we head toward 5^th Ave.

We get to 5^th Ave and hang a left when JESUS CHRIST; WHERE THE FUCK DID ALL THESE PEOPLE COME FROM???  There are people everywhere, we cannot move.  They are all dressed in green and yellow and what the hell?  I try to look at the t-shirts they are wearing as we maneuver through the crowd as quickly as we can.  My shins are killing me.  I finally get a good look…Brazilian Day 2008 New York City…GODDAMMIT!  I hate fucking pride celebrations.  Nothing angers me more living in NYC.  I don’t care if you’re Puerto Rican, Costa Rican, Dominican, Gay, Irish, Brazilian…I don’t give a shit.  Be as proud as you want…just not all at the same time on the same day in the same place, OK?

By now, I am almost having a panic attack.  I don’t do well in large crowds.  They freak me out and it makes me violent.  A woman is trying to hand me a postcard of some kind while she shakes her ass to the horrible music that is everywhere.  I grab it from her hand and throw it onto the ground in front of her with as much force as you can throw a 3 oz. piece of paper.  We keep moving.  Well, we try.

We reach 6^th Ave and I don’t see the theatre.  WTF?  Oh, Ethan just realized that it’s between 6^th & 7^th, not 5^th & 6^th.  I cannot even tell you how angry I am at this point.  I look at my phone and it is 2:05.  I hate being late.  I hate people even more.  I see an opening on the sidewalk and dart to get ahead, but I am thwarted by a tranny who spins in my direction out of nowhere.  We are face to face as she dances.  She is about 6 feet tall, so I am eye level with her very tiny, although very pointy unsupported tits.  I huff, throw my arms up and shove past her.  I can hear her friends laughing.  I don’t care, I really need to be out of the crowd. 

We finally arrive at the theatre at 2:10.  The “festival” is still going on outside and you can hear the drums from inside the theatre.  I am sweaty and angry and trying to calm myself down from the panic attack I just had.  The usher tells us that we will have to sit in the back until intermission.  Our regular seats were in row D, they were free, but still much better seats.  I tell Ethan I don’t want to go inside.  He looks at me with disappointment and says, “But it’s closing this week.”  I acquiesce. 

We get to our seats and I’m sitting there for less than a minute when I feel it coming.  Tears start streaming down my face.  I am trying to stifle my audible crying so as not to disturb the people around me.  I cannot stop.  I don’t want to be here.  This isn’t even my favorite Durang play…it’s actually not that funny at all.  Snot is dripping from my nose.  I have no tissue.  I don’t want to sniffle because I don’t want other people to know I’m crying, even though I’m sure the guy sitting next to me could tell.

Ethan reaches over and attempts to grab my hand.  I struggle because I don’t want to hold hands right now.  He is stronger and manages to pry my bag away from me and places my hand in his.  I am still crying.  My eyes are blurry from the tears and I can’t even see the stage clearly.  When the doctor in the play throws the dead baby on the floor, I can actually hear people in the audience get offended.  This pleases me and I start to calm down a little.

I decide to use the jacket I had brought as a handkerchief (that reminds me, I need to wash that) and I am settled down by intermission.  Thank god, Ethan says he wants to leave because the drums from outside are bothering him and the people behind us kept talking.  I know that’s only half the reason, but I’m still glad.

We make our way outside and as far away from Times Square as we can get.

The End.

Sorry about that, I guess that wasn’t so short…but it’s better with all the little details. 

Later.