Burning buildings, suicide and my reasons to live.

I am sickened by the recent events in New York City. Another building has bit the dust, literally. Will someone please stop screwing with my city? Am I going to have to brown bag someone in the parking lot? In short, if you have had your head under a rock somewhere, some fuckhead doctor who thought it would be nifty to commit suicide in the building he owns blew it to the ground. Potentially, on any given day, he could have caused a multitude of casualities. I am grateful that he didn't kill anyone. I am NOT pleased that he brought the building down and didn't die in the process. What a selfish bastard. You want to kill yourself? Fine. Kill yourself. But, to take innocent people along with you is deplorable. I understand that it is our life. If we choose to end it prematurely, it's our right. But, do these people ever think of the people they leave behind? The damage it causes? The unanswered questions their death leaves in their wake? I think it is both selfish and brave at the same time. You have to be brave to take your own life. A weaker person couldn't do it. I know I sure as shit couldn't. I love myself too much. I don't mean that in the most superficial of ways. What I mean by that is that I love my life, my world. It sucks from time to time, but nothing is happening in it that would want me to die over it. That's a very permanent solution to what could be a very temporary problem.

My husband proposed to me right across the street from Madison Avenue, in Central Park on March 9th, 2002. You could see that building from where we stood.

I can only imagine the horror of those people in neighboring buildings, just wondering if this was the second surge of 9/11 coming back once again. I saw the headline "Building Blown Up in NYC" and the pit of my stomach ached. My blood ran cold for about a good 3 minutes until I could ascertain what happened in the city of my birth.

This post was going to go in a different direction with regard to my recent trip to NYC. I was going to load it down with my secret squirrel pics and all the nasty crap I took pics of. Instead, I think I will make this one my tribute to NYC and the only thing that matters in my life...my reason for living...my family.

Enjoy. Or not. I don't care.

This is S. and N. on the main deck of the Intrepid on the Hudson River. This is a rare moment. They are hugging, smiling and happy. I usually have to give them money to get a picture like this. This day, all I had to do was give them a "PLEEEEEEEEEEASE???" I was shocked they complied. Normally, I am not the type of mother who gushes about how gorgeous my kids are. I mean, why state the obvious? They look like me. 'Nuff said. But, please. Get a grip. Will you LOOK at my daughter? She's an angel. So beautiful. And my son? Oy. Heartbreaker. Those eyes can just melt you. He's my devil baby. I adore him. They are my reason for living...along with this guy:
(click to enlarge)
That would be the hotband. The chick you see him with is none other than moi. Tres hot. Muy caliente. I think I look freakin' gorgeous in that picture. Then again, I look gorgeous in every picture, so why make an issue over this particular one? Oh yeah, so about the hotband...he, along with those two little cherubs of mine are the reason to wake up and breathe every single morning. "N" has certainly changed my life, made me appreciate the little thing (no, this was not a left-handed remark about his penis) and made me realize that I am a hell of a lot more valuable than I used to give myself credit for. In essence, he has blown up my self-esteem to such proportions that there is nary enough room for the three of us in bed. Yes. The three of us. Him. Me. And my ego.
I'm pretty proud of this photo. I am by no means a photographer, but I was standing beneath a flagpole on the Intrepid. I looked up and there she was, Old Glory, flapping in the wind on a perfect New York City afternoon. So, being the second most beautiful thing on the ship next to me, I felt I should capture her.

I couldn't stand to move away from this display at the Intrepid. This was a makeshift memorial that was created shortly after 9/11 took place. The clippings, photos, beads, trinkets, stuffed animals and dried flowers that you see on there are all authentic. Little pieces of peoples lives that someone pinned to a model of the Statue of Liberty. There were newspaper articles. Little notes of desperation all over the statue. "Have you seen my sister?" "My niece is missing, if you know Donna Santiago, please call us at..." "My cousin was a chef in Windows on the World. If you know him, please email us or call us. Thank you." Thousands of notes. All over the fence of Ground Zero, now housed safely in the Intrepid museum. You could almost hear the whispers of the ghosts. Soft, desperate whispers. We're here. We're with you. Never forget this day. But most of all...

Don't forget us. Please. Never forget us.

The sun started to set in the sky, over the enormous tower of the Intrepid. I was moved. You can't be in New York City and not feel a certain amount of pride. But, moreover, you cannot grow up in New York City and feel a deep sense of commitment to that place. I spent 30 years in New York. It's in my blood. It's a part of me, no different than my right hand or my gigunda tits. This particular picture had the sun falling behind the clouds making way for the rise of the full moon. It was a breathtaking scene and the perfect end to a most wonderful day with my precious family.

My husband. My daughter. My son. My city.

My life. Perfect.

Tomorrow: The secret squirrel pics taken on the Interpid. Fun stuff.