Life in Ink and Footsteps

The fall was officially here and I was ready for it. I let out all of my pain from the break-up and started looking for the bright side and also buried some of my feelings inside, trying to keep myself busy as well. It was a new fresh start and right on time. Since autumn has always been my favorite. It still is. The change in color, bearable temperatures, cozy clothes, warm drinks, and the comforting smell of cinnamon, cloves, and pumpkin spice latte. I didn’t know about the PSL back then, understandably—it really was not a thing in Czech as it is in the US. Of course, times are changing now. Every hip coffee place you go to in Prague during autumn will have some form of pumpkin seasoning or at least a chai latte. Thank Goddess for that. But this was the fall of 2016, I was 21, and this was my first time being in a country that used pumpkin as a drink. Pumpkin pie is also not a thing at home. When I think about it, I don’t really remember eating pumpkins as a kid. We always had more zucchinis. So, where did the PSL come from, actually? Now I’m curious. Let me look it up.

Okay, so PSL was created by Starbucks in 2003. And it arrived in the Czech Republic—guess when? September 2016. So while I was having my first PSL in New York, hundreds, maybe thousands, of Czechs were enjoying it for the first time in Prague as well. How peculiar. And as much as I enjoy a good pumpkin flavor nowadays, I clearly remember my distrust toward the American obsession with this vegetable. Is pumpkin even a vegetable? Or is it like a tomato? Look at that, I was right. It is classified as a fruit. Curiouser and curiouser. I didn’t feel the need to try any of the weird products linked to autumn and pumpkins. Until I went on another date. And this one I remember.

His name is A. He was 28 back then, and we met on Tinder because I was becoming a master at swiping. Compared to the other ones I matched with, this one actually read my profile and asked interesting questions. Our first conversation was about Marvel movies. I remember his excitement and the following sentence: “Just tell me you like Star Wars too, and I’ll ask you to marry me.” Spoiler alert: I never saw Star Wars. I did give it a try a few years after this, and it sucked. Alas, that’s why I’m still single. Kidding. Maybe. We hit it off nicely, and I liked him. I had a good feeling about this dude—his sense of humor, his gentlemanly behavior, and his respectful demeanor. We met at Oceanside, at some small brewery, and I had to drink my first pumpkin beer. And hello there, my love for pumpkins appeared. Then he took me to his favorite pizza place. I am going to refrain from commenting on American pizza, let alone whatever it is they eat in Chicago, because I value my life and do not wish to lose the friendships I still have with some Americans. But I am going to say one thing: Marshmallows and Nutella on pizza should be considered a crime. And I can’t believe he made me try it. But I trusted him after the pumpkin surprise. I was deceived. That was just wrong. Never did I try that again. Heck no.

So we sat on the ground, chatting, eating pizza, and drinking beer. I was slightly drunk, and for the first time since I started this journey, I felt at peace. So, I spent the night at his place. I mean, that is how you end a good date, isn’t it? Well, it is in my books. And that is how my friendship with A. started. We spent quite some time together. Our love for good food, movies, books, and cars gave us an endless amount of things to do and talk about. We didn’t date traditionally, the way I was used to the definition. I was introduced to the meaning of being or not being exclusive. And that shifted my whole perspective on dating. And boy, did I take advantage of that. But more of that later. The fall is mostly connected in my brain to A. and our food adventures. Donuts at Dough me a flavor, massive milkshakes at Krisch’s, sushi bars, my first lobster, mac and cheese, cheese fries, chicken and waffles, breakfast at IHOP, that crazy ninja restaurant in the city—all of this while the season slowly changed, the time for cozy sweaters started, and out of nowhere, pop-up Halloween stores began to appear.

Halloween, the holiday for the wicked. I had so much fun. Going to these weird, sketchy stores that suddenly appeared one morning as if they were magicked there by an invisible hand. Full of plastic crappy decorations, fake blood, naughty costumes, and spooky music. Welcome to capitalistic America. The amount of things carried in these stores was incomprehensible to me. And I loved it—the sound effects, makeup, little details, and cheesy shit. It was heaven. It was also a time to think about what I’d do on the holiday itself. Thankfully, one of the aupairs invited me to join her and her boyfriend at some bar in the city. Halloween in Manhattan?! Sign me up. So, I started looking for costumes. Harley Quinn was a top choice, the movie Suicide Squad was freshly out, and I fell in love with her. But I had a hard time imagining my body in an outfit like that, so I scratched that. In the end, I decided to go as a broken porcelain doll. I bought a little dolly outfit, did my cracked makeup, put on a bow, and was ready for the city.

I had never been in the city at night and it was mesmerizing and overwhelming. The lights, the noise. I didn’t drink much back then, always followed the rules, and was slightly a chicken shit. I also hate when people vomit, so party nightlife is not much of my scene. But I was excited to make an exception for Halloween. And I did—to the point that most of the night is just a hazy memory. I did drink, not too much, but I drank. I partied somewhere and was squished around by people in the parade. What kind of parade? I wish I knew. I also wish I had way more pictures. But I don’t. So, I am not sure how, when, what, or where. I do have one vivid memory. We were at a bar called 13th Step somewhere in the Lower East Side, at least according to my diary, and there was a Mad Hatter. A very cute Mad Hatter, if I say so. I remember flirting and talking. I remember being too shy to ask for his number. Sadly, don’t remember if we even kissed. And of course, I never saw him again. So, if you were—or you know who was—a Mad Hatter on Halloween of 2016, specifically Saturday night, at the NYC in a bar called 13th Step, I had a crush on you. Your makeup and costume were cool, and I wanted to do some naughty things with you.

That is pretty much all I remember. I have no idea when I got home, if I stayed at the aupair’s place, or when we left the city, if we went somewhere else. Don’t know. And for some reason, I decided not to share all that much in the diary either. So, maybe I truly drank too much. What a shame. I’m sure I would’ve paid more attention if I knew that the next Halloween I’d be celebrating would be in the year 2022.

I mean, I did want to go as a Harley Quinn.
Sucker For Pain – I Am Not Writing Them All Down