Came here with my kid sister for some ice cream and found so much more. I had to Google the place to make sure my eyes were deceiving me. If you look at the pics, the not-so-secret entrance is behind the random collection of empty ice cream pints.
Not-so-secret entrance to the club.
That door swings open, but only when the cashier — who is almost always stylishly clad in all black lets you in.
The ice-cream tastes great, and they’ve got free hugs. I’ve never been in the club but I hear there’s a strict dress code. I’ve seen people in jeans get turned away.
I don’t find too many things in my hometown that interest me. But this one stuck out to me.
But my Ursa held my hand, stayed overnight and visited as often as possible. All hell broke loose when my Paramedic older brother showed up, the tension in the room was palpable. When they came back with the results, I was glad I was already sitting…
The doctor informed me that I had an 5.8mm aneurysm on the left side of my brain. It hadn’t ruptured yet (this is what most people think an aneurysm is, the clutch-your-head-eyes-roll-up-and-bloody-then-collapse type of ordeal), and thankfully so. Only one-third of people with aneurysms survive a rupture. Anything 3mm – 7mm should be operated on immediately. More fun facts; one in thirty people have a benign aneurysm in their heads — one that is well under 3mm and just naturally comes with age; most people with aneurysms are aged 55 or older; headaches are not symptomatic of aneurysms, in fact quite the opposite. Lastly, aneurysms are not hereditary. That said– I should not have had one that large.
I was scared… But, Happy Birthday to me?
In my case, I was 26, had migraines all my life and had never been given an MRI for my passing out incidents. Thankfully that fateful night someone thought I was crazy and found this thing sitting in my brain ready to blow. The entire staff kept telling me how lucky I was to have caught it. By the time I was admitted for my surgery barely 30 days later, it had swelled to a startling 6.4 millimeters.
after I woke up
Post Surgery and blood thinners
I don’t remember much of my surgery. The operation took place a month after my birthday, and my throat was killing me. Apparently you need to breathe even while passed out. I thought they’d do the whole count backwards from ten, but I don’t even remember when I went out. My brother and boyfriend were in the room when I came to.
I was so excited to be alive.
I posted on Facebook that everything went well, even though I hadn’t exactly told anyone that anything went wrong in the first place. I’m the type of person that believes No news is good news and only like to deliver good news if at all. So I post and barely an hour later my estranged grandmother calls to yell at me about not telling her first.
BRRRIIINGGGG
“Hello?”
“My name. This is your grandmother.” ( Like I A. Don’t know her voice ( she didn’t know I was hospitalized so there’s no way she could think to say ‘Oh let me introduce myself in case she has amnesia’. B. I can’t read caller ID — see reason for A.) I swear Caribbean elders have a way of reminding you what your place is, chastising you and complaining, simultaneously, with a single sentence disguised as a formality. )
Ugghhhh
Here I am, post-surgery, hooked up to beeping and shrieking machines. A few things happened at once. My blood pressure shot up, my brother doubled over with laughter, my boyfriend’s eyes widened and I sat there glumly playing sad theme music in my head.
My brother making fun of my blood pressure lol
Overall, it was a happy ending — until I got the $68,000 bill + $3,000 monthly medication notices in the mail.
dem bills doe…
But that my friends is a tale for a different time. I am truly blessed to be alive and I hope you never have a loved one not make it, or almost rupture or worse.
Took about 5 hours but dint come out too badly. Was a team effort and I am proud of our work. I used 1 pk of pre-stretched 3 bundle braiding hair #1B, and 1 pack of Expressions braiding hair #1B. I had my guy help me with my parts, he even braided a bit too! I used the rubber band method that I learned from one of my favorite YouTubers: Adanna Madueke
Showing off his neat parts
Here are the results, debuted at work the next day:
I love candid shots like this. My partner scored this one on an unseasonably warm January morning. It’s a monthly anniversary of ours too today, so I’d like to think this shot is a gift 🙂 I love seeing the world in new and interesting ways.
I’ve been feeling sick a lot lately. Its not a typical sickness either. Its poisonous in nature — slowly breaking down inside of your cells. I don’t feel like a valuable part of my society or country. I find myself looking abroad to places like Japan where even the fast food employees are smiling and happy. Not just for advertising purposes, but because they actually value and enjoy their work.
I keep arguing with the why of it. Why do I feel a looming sense of helplessness as I clock in, pay bills and plan my work week. Why does it feel that I am readjusting my expectations to comfort myself? I find myself dreading Sundays nights. I get upset that I don’t feel like going to work the next day, which makes me feel weak and ungrateful, which in turn makes me defensive and angry, then I get tired from repressing my anger and helplessness seeps in, and it all starts over again in a cyclical fashion. I’m exhausted by 8:30pm and only interested in ruining my evening.
Arguably, therapy is a wonderful method of addressing and processing these types of thoughts and feelings. But I wanted to do it myself. I’m not sure if running to a therapist for every little thing is helpful in the long run. Anywho, back to Nihilism vs NYC, I am beginning to feel that my hometown is toxic. Thanks to my partner I have been viewing the city from a different lens. One that doesn’t shrug at the casual racism pervading the streets and office spaces; one that wouldn’t make fun of people who turn green at the sight a smelly hobo on the train; one that gets confused when people don’t exchange basic niceties that is labelled “small talk” and is dispensed with.
Photograph: reddit/DunieMunny
People are just plain rude in NYC. I once gave some girls from Tennessee directions and they also thought I was a tourist because I was “nice”. How bad is it here that an angry looking black chick gets labeled nice just for giving directions? I was born here, and love almost every bit of this city. I have lived in every borough that matters (sorry Staten Island readers) and am a product of a public school education.
But I have had to fight for myself every step of my development. Its a system that failed my parents, and one that I believe is just plain classiest. They build more condos than affordable housing for people who actually live here, and have borne the brunt of NYC rent for 30+ years. Public programs that do good are halted, underfunded or just plain overlooked. You can’t even feed the homeless without lining the city’s pockets with a permit. (It’s not just NYC https://www.cbsnews.com/news/90-year-old-man-2-pastors-charged-with-feeding-homeless-in-florida/, but all over the U.S.) If you were not already born with help, getting any marks you for life.
Life here makes me so jaded, that you begin to concoct stories about the various panhandlers on the train. Wondering if its another scam or someone who actually needs aide. So you grapple with whether to give or not, and in my case becoming so frustrated by the mental energy expended that you give nothing at — then resent the person for making me think so hard about it.
I can get pretty nihilistic, wondering What’s the point? Of working, struggling, even caring about my fellow human beings? I am sick of it, and literally become ill when I let these thoughts take up space in my head. So it is being nihilistic or just living in New York that’s making me crazy? I think its a bit of both.
trendyblackgirl 