Injecting Awareness into your Life: A Lesson in Injection Supplies

Before coming to HIPS, I was blank canvas in terms of drug and hormone injection. I certainly knew that both existed, but how it was done? The safest way to do it? What needles were used for what? All brand new to me. I very, very quickly learned the difference between different uses, both from coworkers and superiors explaining it to me, but also from our extremely knowledgeable and well-versed clients. Most folks who we encounter, particularly those who use syringes to inject drugs, know exactly what they like, where to inject, and what to use to inject in a given spot. I wanted to take the chance to explain what some of our different supplies are and what the similarities and differences are between needles since I feel like it helps to normalize the perception of those who use drugs. Just as one person might go into a store and be looking for a very specific type of sock - a certain color, a distinct material, a given height, a specialized weave - so are people particular about their needle use.

On the most basic level, there are three major differences from one needle to the next: 1) gauge, or essentially how wide the needle is, 2) length, how long the needle is, and 3) body size, or how much of the substance it can hold. The latter two are pretty self-explanatory, but the first is slightly counterintuitive - the BIGGER the gauge number the SMALLER the size of the needle. So a 27 gauge needle is 1/27th of an inch, while an 18 gauge needle is 1/18th of an inch (aka much bigger). Kaput?

Our most popular needles are definitely insulin needles. These needles have heads (the needles) and bodies (the barrels) attached. At 27 gauge and 1/2 an inch deep, they are long enough to reach the shallow veins of the arms and legs, without being as mug as some of out other needles. We also have ones we call "baby dies" (and I always think of Princess Diana - is that bad??) or baby diabetics which are narrower at 28 gauge, the same length and hold half as much substance. Baby dies are usually used for "skin popping" which is when people inject just below the skin, NOT into a vein. This usually causes a more mellow, slower, less intense high, and might be te initial way that soneone gets into injecting. People who use diabetics - in my experience - do NOT like baby dies.


Then we have the tips that are separate from the bodies, all of which fit on the same body. We have blueheads (25 gauge, 1 inch long, they're blue! Surprise, surprise), apples (23 gauge, 1 inch long,  they're bluish-green, perhaps like a granny smith apple?), and then groins (21 gauge and 1.5 inches long, important for their purpose). All three are used to inject into veins, but as the needles get bigger, they get more intrusive into the body. In particular, the groins are usually used to shoot into the groin (surprise, surprise) which can be particularly dangerous, since the vein is buried very deep in the leg and is located close to the femoral artery. It's really easy to miss the femoral vein and accidentally stick something else. Most of the time, people only resort to the bigger tips and the riskier injections sites (groin, neck, in between the toes, etc.) when easy-to-reach veins in the arms and legs have collapsed or are difficult to find.

From L to R: Diabetics, blueheads, apples, and groins.

When it comes to injecting hormones for M-to-F or F-to-M transgender folks, we have two needles each for the butt (23 or 21 gauge, 1.5 inches long) and for the shoulder/thigh (23 or 21 gauge, 1 inch long). Hormones tend to be extremely thick, so a needle with a bigger opening (21 gauge) will hurt more but take less time to inject, while a needle with a smaller opening (23 gauge) might hurt less, but the individual will have to hold it there injecting the hormones longer.

The bodies used for drugs and hormones are also different - purple bodies (drugs) hold less substance, and pink bodies (hormones) are able to hold more. However, the tips have a universal attachment, so any tip can fit on either body. In addition to being larger, pink bodies also come with a massive 18 gauge needle that can be used to draw up the super thick hormones (it is then taken off and a smaller tip is attached for injecting).

From L to R: Purple body for drugs, pink body for hormones.

We've also got a bunch of safer injection supplies like alcohol swabs, bandaids, sterile water for mixing drugs, tourniquets, and cottons and cookers (sterile bottle-cap-like containers to hold the drugs, and mini cotton balls to filter the drugs).

Clockwise from top left: blueheads, alcohol swabs and bandaids, 23 gauge shoulder/thigh, 23 gauge butt, 21 gauge shoulder/thigh, 21 gauge butt, tourniquet, sterile water, groins, apples.

Cottons and cookers (with an alcohol swab)

We also have syringe exchange cards that we make for every person who gets needles. The card proves that they are part of a needle exchange program, and allows people to carry needles on them without fear of arrest by the police. We always say that if they're caught with other stuff on them, then we can't help them out there, but carrying needles with the card is fair game.

So there you have it, the most basic lesson on HIPS' injection supplies, and ones we give out weekly, if not daily. We also have a slew of different - perhaps "specialty?" - needles in our stockroom, but these are our most popular. Get ready for an upcoming post on our safer sex supplies! Finger condoms, anyone?

Elizabeth Pisani on Sex, Drugs and HIV

An awesome TED Talk that speaks heavily to what we're up to at HIPS. Check it out. Do you agree with her stance?

http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/en/elizabeth_pisani_sex_drugs_and_hiv_let_s_get_rational_1.html

Best quotation? When talking about how we like to think that people act rationally, she goes, "Well, if there are two things that make people a little bit irrational they are erections and addition." So true, Elizabeth, so true.

A Car-Chase-Filled Night of Mobile Outreach

I went out sporting my closed-toed shoes and long pants on Thursday night for my second overnight mobile outreach shift (see this link for more descriptions about my first night out and HIPS' mobile outreach services in general). As always, there were all kinds of mini-adventures that took place - interesting interactions, hilarious encounters, and huge learning experiences, but I want to focus on a few anecdotes that I found particularly frustrating, exciting, and compelling from Thursday night.

The first was just a short exchange - I was in the back seat packing bags of condoms and therefore not talking to people on the street - but the HIPS volunteer in the front seat asked an older woman if she wanted any free "condoms, candy or lemonade." The woman told us that we should be spreading the word of Jesus not giving out condoms, and that sex should only be reserved for married couples. Right, because no married couples ever use condoms, or because the pill works for everyone, or because all married couples want to have children, or because there is never an instance where one partner has something that they may not wish to pass to their partner... That's the cynic in my head going on and on, but my co-worker gently and tactfully pointed out that married people use condoms too. The woman did not want to hear it, but we left feeling as though we had stuck to HIPS' (and our own) values. While I might not agree with the older woman, I respect her right to express her opinion. We're not going to curb what we're doing anytime soon if we can help it though...

At about 2:30 or 3 AM we got to one of the main sex worker "strolls" in DC and immediately heard sirens. We looked around and saw nothing - where were they coming from? The street we were on usually has two lanes in either direction, but due to a ton of construction and attempts at gentrification, big concrete barriers narrow it down to two skinny lanes. Suddenly, a white Mercedes truck came careening through the middle of the road as we were stopped at a red light, and screeched through the intersection, skidding loudly about 5 feet. I swear, it looked like a stunt from an action movie. And let me remind you, this is a Mercedes truck, not a 1991 Toyota with bald tires.

The stunts continue: the truck swung into a wide parking spot at an awkward almost-head-on angle, got about two feet onto the sidewalk, was tilted up on its two left tires while the two right tires got about three or four feet of air, then smashed back down right next to a tree and on a little metal fence. Then two or three guys sprinted from the car, making a beeline in opposite directions and running at full panicked speed. At this point, the cops had just arrived and started taking off after the guys, while we sat there, flabbergasted, through several rounds of traffic lights. Once we all got our wits about us, we realized that we should probably get off this strip - you never know when a good old car chase is going to turn nasty.

We chatted with some folks on the strip later on in the night, and they told us that the car had been stolen (surprise, surprise), but I don't know many more details apart from that.

One of the highlights of the night happened much later on - at a time in the early morning when my father has already completed his workout for the day and is thinking about what's for dinner (I'm joking, kind of... it was late and he does wake up pretty early...). It was about 5:00 AM and we were just finishing and about to go back to the office, when we stopped to chat with an older gentleman. Slightly timid initially, we offered him our supplies and services, and when he realized that we were able to give him free condoms, his face completely lit up. We mentioned that not only were the condoms free, but we had all different types! And flavors! And lube! He was totally psyched, and we hooked him up with a mixed bag of regular and flavored condoms, regular and flavored lube, and then asked him if he wanted dental dams. He didn't know what they were, so we explained that they were a thin piece of plastic to be draped over the vagina or the anus if you wanted to eat either out. And ours are flavored! He blushed and looked shy for a moment when we asked if he wanted some, then kind of nodded, and once we were like, "Hell yeah, go for it! Try them out and see how you like it!" he broke into a full smile and accepted several. it was so freaking awesome to see a man of 47 exploring his sexuality and trying new things. He then said to us, "Y'all made my day! I know that my day is going to be wonderful because of all that you've given me. I'm going to be thinking about this all morning!"

If only I could make everyone's day each morning by giving them condoms, lube and dental dams. It might only be vocalized once and a while, but by saying that, he didn't realize the difference he made in my day.

Conflicted Witness - what to do when your values come up against your comfort zone?

Last Wednesday night, I was in a position that left me totally torn. Confused. Stumped.

After several glasses of wine and some dinner with a friend, I took the metro home at about 11:30. I was alone and buzzed slightly, although I certainly still had my wits about me - it was nothing wild and crazy. I got off the metro at my stop, and as I was traipsing toward the escalator I noticed a young man pressed up tightly and passionately against a phone booth on the middle of the platform. Normally I would have kept walking without a second glace and I don't know what made me act differently this time, but something made me do a double take; for some reason, I was compelled to look a touch harder. When I did, I saw him holding a syringe - the plunger depressed - at about waist height. It took me a few seconds to process what was going on: he had just shot up in the manicured DC metro stop.

I was immensely conflicted. Where does my "job" begin and where does it end? I hope to live what I preach, I would like to believe that I do, but at that moment I was completely flabbergasted and had no idea what action to take. Part of me was tempted to write our hotline phone number on my card and slip it to him, saying or writing, "We do syringe exchange if you ever want clean works." At the same time though, I wasn't sure what was appropriate - I was alone, I was buzzed, I'm a scrappy and tough cookie but by no means strong, and not only was he high, but he has just shot up - talk about buzzkiller, right? All these elements made me feel like it was inappropriate to approach him at that very moment. So I didn't. But then afterwards I felt guilty; I felt irresponsible; I felt like I hadn't held up my side of the bargain in being in my line of work. I was divided, and I still kind of am. We expect doctors to step in when someone gets hurt on the street or sick on a plane. We expect lawyers to observe and to testify if they see something against the law. But where do the rest of us come in? How do we live out what we stand for at work versus what is appropriate in day-to-day life? If we fail to live out what we claim to believe, can we really believe it at all? Tell me what you think - I'm genuinely curious to hear the opinions of others on this subject...

*            *            *

On another note...

Holy cow - the verdict is out! GOODmaker announced it Thursday, and HIPS After Dark is the winner of their mini-grant!! I am personally moved and overwhelmed by the incredible support of my friends and extended networks - the idea that a couple of clicks of a mouse can translate into true change for a community blows my mind. But THANK YOU for voting, for spreading the word, and for mobilizing for change in order to deliver essential harm reduction services to the streets of DC. You should all be very proud:)

Check out the "official" announcement at http://purpose.maker.good.is/projects/HIPSAfterDark

Much love,
Maxime, Jonathan, and the entire HIPS crew

LAST PUSH for the GOODmaker grant!

I'm so sorry to write annoying messages, but we're in SECOND PLACE for the GOODmaker grant - only ONE MORE SPOT and less than 24 hours to go, and we need your help!

Please vote for us and blast it to your networks - it makes a massive difference since this one is SOLELY based on # of votes!

http://purpose.maker.good.is/projects/HIPSAfterDark?sort=popular

Oh my goodness, Ms. Paula is the fierce-est. She's featured in HIPS' newest informational video on how to VOTE for HIPS on GOODmaker. Send Ms. Paula's message far and wide!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pY5KWB-I574&feature=plcp

Rollin' in the HIPS Van - a first go at overnight mobile outreach

HIPS has been a wild ride so far, in the best way possible. You know that feeling when you're traveling somewhere new for the first time and you feel like you have four million things to write, three million things to process and two million extra things to consider? I feel like that, but I haven't been traveling all that far.

I went on my first mobile outreach about two Saturdays ago, and I have yet to write about it here. From 11PM to 5 or 6 AM on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights, trained volunteers drive around DC in the HIPS van providing people with condoms, lube, safer sex supplies, safer injection supplies, candy, drinks, HIV testing, and emotional support often in the form of micro-counseling. We work with male, female and transsexual sex workers and with anyone else who we might happen to come across. My night out, most people were extremely open and receptive - some were thrilled to see us and chat, others just got their supplies and moved on - but I never felt threatened or unsafe. We stay in the car and have some strict protocols in place, so there are always ways out of potentially uncomfortable situations.

There are areas we go that are typically known as "trans strolls," and other areas that appeared to attract more cis gendered workers. Since it was my first shift, I had oodles to learn from my team members. Usually we're four to a shift, but this shift we were just three: the driver (and team leader), the one in the "hot seat" aka the passenger's seat, and me packing supplies and taking down some basic info like the number of people reached in a night. Watching the way my team members talked with our clients, engaged them, led them towards harm reduction conversations so naturally was super inspiring. I made sure to take note of how they opened conversations ("Does anybody want free condom, candy,  lube, clean needles, lemonade?!"), how they engaged our clients ("It's so great that you're taking care of your sexual health!"), and turned them towards talking about harm reduction ("What do you like about condoms/lube/flavored lube?"). The conversations progressed naturally from there.

The most memorable part of the night for me happened later on. It was about 5 or 5:30ish in the morning and after observing all night, it was my turn in the hot seat. This time we went to the cis gender female stroll, and pulled up to find one woman leaned over with her forearms on the window of a cop car, unclear if they were just chatting, if she was in trouble, or if it was something more. Another woman was standing far behind her looking wide-eyed and deer-like. I called out to her our night's catchphrase, "Free condoms, lube, clean needles!" and in keeping with the startled-ness of a deer in the headlights, for a moment she didn't seem like she knew where to go. The first woman - the one leaning over the cop car - established herself as the seasoned pro and waved her over in our direction. She came up to the car and I quickly saw that life's edge had done little to weather her pale blue eyes and blonde hair - she was very pretty and very young. Extravagant fake lashes only helped the wide-eyed look.

We talked a bit and I asked how her night was going. "Not good," she responded, "I'm still out here!" She mentioned that she was new to this and new in town, moving around to different cities. We gave her lots of condoms and lube and offered a bunch of our other supplies (dental dams, finger cots, flavored lube, etc.), then asked her if she wanted a bad date sheet. Our bad date sheet is a handout we update weekly detailing bad experiences sex workers have had with johns, and certain distinguishing characteristics (e.g. young white man, 30-35, dark hair, about 6 feet tall in a blue car. Goes by "___." Pulled a knife on her while doing it from behind.) She didn't know what it was at first, but after we explained it to her and handed her one, she went, "Ohhh, this is great - I wish they had this at the last place I was at..." trailing off towards the end

It didn't hit me until afterwards, but her statement was ominous and chilling; what happened where she was last? I wanted to support her, to ask if she wanted to talk about it or if she was okay, but she kept on and kept moving, and that was that.


On a last note, PLEASE vote for HIPS in these two contests - they're done on Wednesday and we have a very real shot at getting it, but only if you VOTE!

http://purpose.maker.good.is/projects/HIPSAfterDark?sort=popular
and
http://workonpurpose.echoinggreen.org/questions/4ffddbf24c41b00aee00020a/answers/5021d3ee4c41b04a84001eff

GOOD Grant

Happy Monday! One more pestering message - essentially the same proposal as what we sent earlier this week and it's a linked grant, but it's for double the $, which would allow HIPS to train even more peer educators, and guarantee that they would be able to spend more nights on the overnight outreach van! It genuinely takes about 30 seconds of your time, and is easier to figure out than the other link - just click the pink "Vote For This Idea" button at the top of the page, and connect with Facebook, Twitter or just your email address.


http://purpose.maker.good.is/projects/HIPSAfterDark?sort=popular

If nothing else, click here to watch an awesome YouTube video of two of our trans peer educators.

Lastly, if you haven't yet voted for the Echoing Green "Work on Purpose" Grant, please do here, and please check out the proposals of the other GHC fellows! 

http://workonpurpose.echoinggreen.org/questions/4ffddbf24c41b00aee00020a/answers/5021d3ee4c41b04a84001eff 

Thank you immensely - this REALLY makes a difference in HIPS' capacity and what we're able to provide for our client base.

Please pass this on to family and friends and encourage them to vote - this one is SOLELY based on # of votes, so the more the merrier!

Thanks!

Maxime, Jonathan and the HIPS crew


Check us out on Twitter @HIPSDC, "like" us on Facebook, follow us on Tumblr http://hips-dc.tumblr.com/, and peep at our website www.hips.org

HIPS After Dark: SPREAD THE WORD

Dear Blogsphere:
I know times are tough, and I realize many of you lead busy lives. But it is time to mobilize. I ask you, dear readers—of whom I’ve asked so little in the past—to reblog this wonderful link like crazy. Please “like” a recent posting HIPS has made on the Echoing Green website. This $500 grant will be an invaluable tool to improve HIPS’ outreach efforts to (trans*) sex work communities. Anything you can do to help—from reblogging, positing this link on facebook, blasting it on twitter, tattooing it on your forearm—would be so so so helpful.
We have worked hard and feel proud of the work we have accomplished at HIPS. Please, consider helping out.
<3 Max and Jonathan

Please please help us in our efforts to raise vital funds for our program. We’d be ETERNALLY grateful. And we may or may not make it rain with condoms and safer sex supplies should we win…

First Day Jitters

Picture this: it's your first day on the job, you woke up on a couch and/or air mattress on the floor of a packed living room with your three other co-fellows, you have just come off two weeks of intense training that has been both mind blowing and intimidating since everyone who has spoken is highly accomplished and many are within15 years of your age, AND you're working directly with a population that will like you if you're lucky, but would have many reasons to hate/resent/dislike/not accept you.

Welcome to my first day at HIPS.

I wasn't as nervous as I could have been since Jonathan was by my side, I did walk into day one at HIPS a touch wide-eyed and surprised. Perhaps one of my favorite stories so far happened shortly thereafter.

The fellow who I am replacing, Eve, showed us the ropes and gave us a grand tour of the office. We then popped upstairs to check out the HIPS van that we use to do mobile outreach. Essentially it's a soccer-mom minivan with cool HIPS decals adorning the sides. Just as we were inspecting the vehicle, a woman walks by and says quite loudly, “Are y'all HIPS??” I couldn't read her tone – was it sassy? Happy? Accusatory? Excited? Admonishing?

“Uhhh, yes,” replied Eve. Jon and I were slightly dumbfounded and perhaps we nodded slightly.

“I just wanted to tell you,” she drawled and then paused – what was coming next? “That I think you're great! I used to be a prostitute, my best friend is STILL a prostitute, but I have a real job now. You guys helped me so much, I think you're great. Keep doin' whatcha doin'!”

Talk about validation and pride when we were feeling shaky on our first day!

We Are HIPStars! (and we like puns)

Oh goodness me! I am a terrible blogger apparently - these past few months have flown by and blogging fell through the cracks. I'm so sorry! I also contemplated starting a new blog for this year (I'm in DC - more on that in a second), but couldn't fathom asking people to follow me at a different address for a THIRD time, so although "Salt and Balsamic" doesn't inherently refer to the non-profit world, global health, advocacy for sex workers and injecting drug users, or advocacy, I feel like keeping it despite the anachronism.

So, DC? What am I up to here? Fabulous question. I'm here for the year on a Global Health Corps (GHC) fellowship. GHC places "emerging leaders in global health" at local non-profits in the United States and in parts of Africa. As a Canadian, I couldn't apply for the positions in Africa, so technically I'm their international applicant (which is funny to me, considering how much time I've spent in the US these past 6 years, but regardless...). GHC seeks to mobilize the next generation of global health leaders. According to their website:

GHC believes that a global movement of individuals and organizations fighting for improved health outcomes and access to healthcare for the poor is necessary in order to change the unacceptable status quo of extreme inequity. GHC works to strengthen this movement by recruiting, training, and supporting the movement’s future leaders, diversifying the pool of young people working in global health, and amplifying the impact of individuals through the formation of a strong community of leaders.

GHC provides opportunities for young professionals from diverse backgrounds to work on the frontlines of the fight for global health equity in year-long fellowships. Our fellows have a measurable impact on the health of the communities in which they work, and draw upon that experience and the GHC alumni network to deepen their impact throughout their careers.So where does that leave me? After an intense two weeks of training at Yale (which I wish I could detail for you here, but I'd certainly lose readers), we're here in DC. Needless to say, the training was invigorating, inspiring, a little frightening (in a positive way! Frightening in the sense that we have the potential to make such a difference), and FUN! It re-lit the fire under my butt to doggedly pursue justice for a cause I believe in - health equity, despite background, race, gender, lifestyle, etc.

I am placed at a non-profit called HIPS - Helping Individual Prostitutes Survive (www.hips.org) - with my co-fellow Jonathan (see picture below). HIPS works with male, female and transsexual sex workers and injecting drug users using a harm reduction model. Essentially, harm reduction is the idea that if individuals are engaging in potentially dangerous or harmful behaviors, we help support them to be as safe as possible. We do clean needle exchange, condom distribution, counseling, daytime syringe exchange, overnight mobile outreach in the HIPS van, etc.

From day 1, we were given a crash course in HIPS-related activities (the first crash course of many!). Our supervisor has been a total gem and an important guiding resource. She gave us a detailed explanation of the protocols, what the different needles are called, what the multitude of syringes are used for (injecting silicone, hormones, or drugs), and how the other supplies are used (cookers, bandaids, antiseptic, etc.). Yes, to a white girl from Montreal a lot of the info was new to me, but what struck me wasn't the plethora of supplies, but the degree of casualness (is that a word?) with which she explained these things to us, as though she were handing out samples of make-up or helping someone find the right kind of cough syrup. She was open, normalizing, and wholly non-judgmental, both to us as newbies and to the people who came in asking for works (AKA syringes and accompanying materials). I certainly have a ton to learn, but the community here is so warm, positive and affirming, I'm already excited for the journey!

You can keep up with the newly started HIPS blog hips-dc.tumblr.com, "like" us on Facebook, or follow us on Twitter @HIPSDC

More on my first daytime needle exchange and an awesome story that happened our first day here in a later post, but until then here's a laughable photo of me and Jonathan at the HIPS fundraiser our first Thursday here for the International AIDS Conference. Yes, I put fake eyelashes on him. He looks fab, don't you think?

Part II: The L train doesn't only lead to Hipsterville

And so follows Part II...

Let me continue to paint you this bizarre picture: we (aforementioned male specimen and I) are on the platform at the Bedford Street stop in Williamsburg, gaggles of buzzed and drunken hipsters in skintight black jeans, oversized cooler-than-Rayban sunglasses, gobs of black eyeliner and awesome retro jean jackets surround us, and we continue to argue back and forth. I want to go home. Again, he asks me to go back with him. "I promise, nothing will happen," he says, and sounds truly genuine when he says it. When the kind asking doesn't work (I can be pretty stubborn), he reverts to frustrated anger, "What's wrong with me? I bet you've gone home with guys before. You don't like me. Why don't you like me? You said you would; what did I do that now you say no?" It retrospect it is wholly manipulative, but I stood there on the platform and attempted to reason with him: I was tired. Maybe I had, maybe I hadn't gone home with people before, but why did that matter? This was now, and I was respecting my sentiments at a given moment (ok, ok, maybe it wasn't quite so eloquent. Maybe I overused the word "like" and blamed it a little more on being tired and wanting to sleep than I'd like to admit, but I certainly did explain the whole this-is-my-decision-and-it-doesn't-matter-what-I've-done-in-the-past thing). When angry manipulation wasn't working, he turned to pathetic self-deprication and sadness. And that is what got me.

Warning: minor amounts of emo-talk to come. Prep yourself slightly. Here we go: I have spent so long building up walls of defense and protection, that part of my "thing" when coming to New York and trying out OkCupid was to let some of that fall by the wayside and open myself up to potentials and possibilities. Instead of preemptively acting defensively, my goal was to go with the flow and to give people a genuine chance. Which is why - when Unnamed Creepshow pulled the sad/self-depricating card - I think I caved. The Manhattan-bound L train approached. He made piercing eye contact with swarthy Mediterranean eyes. People unloaded. Commuters loaded. I stayed where I was. The doors closed. I guess I'm going deeper into Brooklyn.

Now, in my mind the L train stops at Bedford Street. The L train is what you take to Hipsterville. So when he said he lived several stops off the L train, I just figured it was in pseudo-Hipsterville. Was I ever wrong. From the Bedford Street stop, it was about another 20 or 25 minutes to his stop (Walker Street). At this point, the train is above-ground, and we walked out of the station to find old school drug dealer Cadillacs, dark, unkempt streets and nothing save for a window selling some manner of late-night food. Put it this way: I'm a tough cookie, I walked in Zambia in the dark alone (sorry mom, I wasn't going to tell you that) and I would NOT have felt comfortable strolling these streets by myself.

We walked about a block or two to his apartment. The narrow stairs up to the second floor of a split level were dirty but not dilapidated, and truthfully it was too dark to see anything in particular. We enter his house and me - needing to "pee like a racehorse" - made a beeline for the bathroom. Wrong move. Not only was slightly dirty, but it was downright nasty. The green corrosion in the bathtub from old, unclean water trailed a third of the way up the tub. The dirt and crud encrusted around the faucet and sink made me gag. I wanted to go home. I hadn't seen the worst of it.

I tentatively peered my head out and questioningly called his name. The apartment smelled like stale weed. Granted, he had told me his roommate was Jamaican, but that's no reason for an apartment to smell like a smokehouse. Following the sound of his voice, I found him in his bedroom. Now, I've seen dirty rooms before. I went to college, I have two older brothers, I've been in boys' bedrooms; I know what messy boy's room looks like. This my friends, was above and beyond. There were rumpled clothes on EVERY. SINGLE. SURFACE. Tossed there and left to gather dust. The room was completely undecorated save for one poster with rolling and frayed edges. In the corner of the large room was a massive old wooden cabinet. The kind that was actually quite beautiful and would likely sell for a lot (it reminded me of heavy wooden doors in Zanzibar), but that was definitely a hand-me-down from the previous owner, too lazy to take it when he or she moved out. There was no headboard, no box-spring, no bed-frame, just a mattress on the floor, sheets crumpled in the corner. One desk chair rolling in the corner was in fine condition. the second was missing part of the back. A large computer screen rested on an Ikea desk that had seen better days. The mouse was on the floor near the mattress. A Kleenex box was nearby. I tried really hard not to think about it.

Now, where was that tea he promised? He ran off to make it, and as I sat there momentarily, trying to finagle my way out of the situation as quickly as possible, I realized that I should definitely not let him make me my drink without me there. I went into the kitchen and sure enough he was making us tea, but he had put three teabags in a crusty, stained coffee maker and was letting the hot water drip through. I let it go - I'm sure I've imbibed grosser things. When he finally handed me the tea (he had made himself some too) I took a sip and found it sickeningly, unbearably sweet. "What is that??" I asked.  "Oh, it's sugar," he replied, "It's sweetener. Don't worry, I'm helping you watch your figure." Really, dude? Go f%*! yourself. I didn't ask you to do anything of the sort. I swallowed down the overly metallic concoction as quickly as possible, while he tried to get all psychoanalytical on me again.

White spittle that had slowly been forming at the corners of his mouth throughout the night had finally hardened into a pale yellow crust. My tea was finished. "I'm going home," I announced. "I want to go home." "Won't you stay? I just want you to stay. I promise I won't touch you, just please stay." Really? He was going that route again? At this point I wasn't having it. "I'm going home. Thank you, but no."

He was kind enough to walk me to the station. He came in and waited with me until the train came. And when it did, do you want to know what he said? "Can I come with you?" I wanted to scream, NO YOU CANNOT COME WITH ME YOU PSYCHO! But instead I said, "No, I'm sorry, you can't." I don't think I've ever been that happy to board a train in my life.

What about the fallout? Oh that's a whole other story. Just you wait for Part III...

Part I: Does your worst date beat this?

Most of my closest friends have heard this story in detail, but up until now I've refrained from posting it it up here. Although it occurred almost three months ago, the reasoning behind my hesitation to post is equally divided between the fact that it is a hefty, circuitous story to write and that as much as it is above and beyond what you can imagine for the worst date story possible, there are also elements that (I feel) reflect poorly on me, my judgement and my decisions made. But when all is said and done, if a blog isn't a space where you can admit your shortcomings and share ridiculous, hilarious, horrifying stories, then where else is? Plus, I share it as a forewarning to others...

So as you all know, I joined OkCupid to meet some interesting, handsome fellows in NYC. However, my good friends Tim and Lexa convinced me to join when I was here over New Years, prior to taking my MCATs and about a month before I actually moved to the city. While it proved to be a thoroughly entertaining mode of procrastination when studying (Facebook ain't got nothin' on OkC in that regard), I made what I later learned was the worst decision you can make on OkC - I had ongoing conversations with people. Doesn't sound TOO bad, right? But when you think about it, people can create very particular personae on the internet, they can become whomever they want to become. And while I knew this instinctively, I misjudged my ability to discern between the good eggs and the bad apples.

I was chatting with a guy who shall remain unnamed, and I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't attached at all. I mean, I was cognizant of all the potential weirdness-in-person, but it was nice to have someone to come home and gchat with at the end of the night; I enjoyed having someone to think about when I felt like there were no options in Montreal. So, upon my arrival to NYC, we decided to hang out. I got here on a Monday and waited until I got a little settled, started my internship, moved into my place, and bid Momma Viv adieu before setting a date on Friday night. Apparently a first OkC date on a weekend is a big no-no - you can't use work as an excuse to get up early the next morning, and you might be committing yourself for a full night. Again, news to me.

Anyways, getting to the story (and I promise, I'm going to try to make this as concise as possible, because we all know how I can blab), we decided to meet in Williamsburg since he lives far out in Brooklyn. I texted him as I said I would, just as I was getting on the subway. No response, but I was underground without service, so I didn't think anything of it. I get there 20 minutes later, text again asking where he was, and he was like, "Umm, I'm at home, why?" He didn't realize that I was leaving. Great start to a date. So I wandered around Bedford Street alone for about 30 minutes on a popping Friday night, then hung out next to a bodega right near the subway stop. He got off the subway and texted that he had arrived, and as I looked around slightly-eagerly-but-trying-to-play-it-cool, I spotted him walking towards me. We made eye contact. He gave the hint of the lip curl of a smile. Then he blew right by me and walked into the bodega. Um, what?

I went inside and was like, "[Name]? Hi!" and gave him a hug. His accent was thick, so thick I had trouble understanding him. And people were around. And he wasn't talking much. So I was like, "I'll wait outside while you pay." He came outside and we walked to the dive bar across the street. He kept on shooting me these attempting-to-be-sly, pseudo-cutesy, totally creepy side glances and smiles. We got some drinks and sat at a booth in the middle of the bar, right next to the coatcheck (note detail for later). I got it out of him that he had smoked a joint and perhaps had imbibed a few beverages prior to meeting (he claimed it was because he was so nervous. I'm not sure about that) and his genuine reason for being late was because he fell asleep. I know. Warning signs already.

So we get a few drinks and conversations begins to flow a little more easily (or the snippets of conversation that I can understand). He gets a little cuter. Whether that's because of the vodka tonics or spending time actually talking, I'm not sure. Now, I should throw in a little preface here to clarify a few things; one of my co-intern friends said a great quote the other night. He stated, "I've had plenty of lovers, but not many boyfriends." I feel like I'm in the same boat. It takes me a lot to get close to guys romantically; I usually keep my guard up pretty high. So part of my New York goal is to let that down and genuinely give people a chance, even if that means getting a little hurt. Well, tonight was the wrong night to test out that goal.

He went to get us another drink and this time sat down on my side of the booth. He begins holding my hand, playing with my fingers. Meh, not really feeling it but I go along with it. Then puts one arm around my shoulders, proceeds to finish his drink, and places his remaining hand on my stomach. I'm not even this intimate in public with people I'm dating, never mind a sketchy guy on the first date! I giggle, brush it off. The feminist in me is seething. The naive girl in me is wondering if this is how all OkCupid dates proceed (WARNING! It is most certainly NOT!). He leans in with that same wannabe-cheeky, totally stalker-creepy smile and tries to kiss me. I dodge it. Or quickly start talking about something else. I can tell that he's trying to make deep, intimate eye contact, so I only heighten my effervescent conversation, never allowing him the satisfaction of stilling me with his gaze. He tries again. Will this guy give up? In my twisted, slightly intoxicated state I think to myself, "Well, bonus points for persistence, maybe? May as well give it a shot. He's probably not the most awful guy I've ever made out with," [in retrospect, I might have been wrong, but that's coming later]. Despite all that, not a great kisser; kind of couldn't get into it. And THEN I see a huge flash - some Williamsburg-hipser-chick has just snapped a picture of us (Instagram, obviously) mid-smooch, with my hair awry and my eyes probably rolling back in my head. I flip a shit. I spaz at her (what the hell is she doing taking close-up photos of random people in bars?), insist she delete the photo, grab my coat, and storm outside.

The unnamed man follows me, begging me to stay when I say I want to go home, promising that we will just drink tea and talk, apologizing profusely for making me feel uncomfortable and pushing me to do things I wasn't comfortable with. Can't we just hang out a bit longer?

No, no we can't, I assert. I'm going home. I'm going down to the subway. Of course, the Williamsburg L stop is perhaps the one place in New York City where there is only one platform for a train going in either direction. My home lies toward the Manhattan-bound direction. His? The other end of the line. I wish I could say this story stops here, yet it only gets much, much worse. The other half - aka Worst Date Part 2 - is coming shortly...

The terrifying details that someone can find about you

I received this message about a week or two ago:


Dear Maxime Billick, 

Your photo is of Cape Town. Did you like Bowdoin? To explain myself: Google indexes the whole wide public Internet, right? So with your Table Mountain image, you search Google, and from that you get your blog and thus your identity. And with a name, well, anything is possible. Like, if you want something, just let me know - I'll access your bank account and have it sent to your address. (Kidding! Kind-of...) 

If you're so inclined, you can return the act - I'm very Google-able. Recently I bicycled 5000 miles across Africa (spent a month in Zambia) and as such put up a wee web site, www.toAddis.com. From there you can figure out my date of birth. Search facebook for the party / public event I created to get my mailing address, start calling banks (maybe BoA, then Chase) and you'll be well on your way to stealing my identity / money! 

I apologize if this is creepy. (Clearly a poor strategy...) Thing is, when challenged, I like to succeed. (I only stalk when prompted, swearsies!) If you'd be interested in strategies to sweep up your digital footprints I'd be happy to oblige. It's rather amazing how much personal information is available these days. 

Regardless, best of luck with your endeavors, sincerely, 

S*@&%^$ M!C)$(^&$ [unlike him, I'll have the decency to remove his name]


THEN, 10 days later, once I didn't respond, he got the picture and came back with:


I'm being dastardly and double messaging. Apologies, it is reprehensible. But, my last message was pretty awkward... 

In hindsight, probably would have been better off had I simply said, your photo is from Table Mountain, want to get drinks and trade tales of Africa?




What are your thoughts? Was he entitled to use that info in a message since it's all readily available on the internet? Or is it a little excessive? Where do our personal lives end and our public lives begin? I'd love to hear your feedback!

OkCupid Novels

Should I continue with the posts? Some are just ridiculous! This guy is a straight-up novelist. Never mind the fact that his screen name is "J*&@^#$622," but he explains, "I'm not actually Jewish (although Asian Jews do exist). I'm an honorary one since I went to a predominantly Jewish high school." Right. Ok. 


Well, here's his message from January 28th:


Hi, 

First, best of luck with your move into the city. Where are you coming from? Are you moving here straight from working in Zambia? By the way, two friends of mine worked for Grassroot Soccer shortly after my own graduation in 2008. They were situated in Zambia and South African and I highly regret not joining them for at least a short period of time. I chose to teach China's National youth tennis program with a college teammate of mine in rural China instead. Eh.. the grass is always greener I guess... 

Backgammon is the shit. I currently work alongside various stock traders, art dealers, and professional poker players and so betting and competing in various game mediums is a regular part of the job. In the event you are a semi-serious player, I highly recommend http://www.gnubg.org/ since it basically tells you what the correct move every step of the way is. I am a huge dork sometimes btw. 

A an integral experience shared by my group of friends in the city is the one New Year's Party we shared several years back in which a large bowl of bouilabaise was unfortunately hidden underneath a couch only to be discovered several days later. The overpowering smell of rotting seafood and the hideous look rotting monkfish was our most unpleasant collective memory to say the least. 

I wholly agree with your gastronomical school of thought. Everything should be tried once. Congrats on being an open minded individual. I have eaten everything you mentioned except snake blood. Chicken feet are delicious, especially in dim sum form. You seem smart enough to not need a guide in the city, but if you ever need a good recommendation for any of the spicier ethnic cuisines you mentioned, feel free to ask. Have you ever tried Szechuan food? 

Anyway, I'm Jeff and feel free to read my profile and ask me any questions you may have for me. I'd be happy to answer them. Anyway, I hope to hear from you soon. 

-J.


Followed by (on the same day):


By the way, if you ever do become an international food itinerant, my favorite culinary travel destination was the Kansai region in Japan. Non-sushi Japanese food is amazing and as someone who also strongly believes that local food establishments are often the highlight of traveling, Kyoto and Kurama had some of the best to offer. Okonomiyaki and authentic ramen are undervalued foods by far. 

Sriracha is divine too. 

-J.


I didn't respond. Too lengthy. Too much investment on his part. That's weird online, in my books at least. Then THREE days later I get another:


Fine, fine... so I'm going to write more about myself since that's clearly what your silence is signaling for me to do! Free free to respond or shoo me away. Advice would be appreciated? 

A bunch of changes have occurred these past few weeks... but change is 
good (I think). I received a really good job offer downtown from a rival hedge fund (quick clarification: Yes, I do work in finance, but I have done more socially providing jobs in my past and I have hobbies outside of buying and selling things for profit...) and, after much internal debate, I decided to take it. I'm generally excited about the change. I heard a lot of good things about this new firm and they seemed pretty enthusiastic about me too. The guys in this new place were a bit older than me, smart, and of similar backgrounds as me. I think they'll be a group of people who I'd be able to learn a ton about trading from and also get along with. I found it kind of comforting to meet a group of people who were similar in background, personality, work-ethic, and competance as me; it was if I was meant to be at this new firm. 

However, like most major changes, this one does not come without a fair amount of anxiety. I worry that I might be giving up a great current job for one that might turn out worse than expected. I really like my current job-- the pay is good, I'm partner there, and I get to wear sweatpants to work (!). Who knows how great this new place will be? I have no idea if I'll be able to do as well of a job in this new firm. I have no idea if I'll be able to replicate my trading performance at this new hedge fund. Even worse, I'll have no idea if I'll be learning the useful information that I came to this new firm to learn. In a few months, there is a fair chance that I'll regret my decision to make this change. 

However, I feel in my gut that changing firms and taking this offer is the right thing to do. This was a place that I sought after for some time and now having gotten the job, I feel like I'm just going through some natural doubt and hesitation. I guess in some ways I fear change a bit. But, I'm telling myself to not be such a bitch (in short). As someone who is 25 and fairly ambitious, I think taking this opportunity to invest in myself and learn from a group of people who are smarter and more experienced than me is the right thing to do. I generally feel that people who are under the age of 28 should take as many risks as possible. If this enormous risk that I'm taking works out... then great! I just made the best decision of my life. If not... then 
whatever, I'm still young and there is a non-zero chance that I can always go back to my old firm. So... I hope for the best. 

Aside from work, I'm trying to think of something to say about myself that isn't already in my profile... I recently took up boxing and I recently lost a bet with a trader that resulted in me signing up for salsa lessons? I think putting yourself in uncomfortable new situations is often a good thing to do. Why not try new things? I'm generally pretty open-minded about most areas of my life, so why not hobbies as well? I looked like an ass in my first day of each activity... but that's part of the fun! 

So that's what's up with me. 

Where did you go to school in Maine? Are you back in the city? What do you currently do? Hobbies? Do you regularly look like a Christmas tree or Ms. Frizzle? 

Hope to hear from you, 

-.


Again, I didn't respond. Then, he slyly manipulated my Achilles' heel into answering. On February 9th he writes:


Since you don't seem like the biggest fan of replying, I would like to at least ask... where is that photo on the mountain? I have 3 months off from work (I'm switching firms but not switching fields. I got a sweet offer and as someone who's of the belief that under-28-year-olds should be taking as many risks as possible at this age, I took it with the caveat that they give me... 3 months off prior to starting!) and I would like a vacation destination. Where did you take that photo? 
Hope to hear from you soon!


-.


I write back:
It's Table Mountain, in Cape Town, South Africa. Great place to visit, I really liked South Africa and traveling around that neck of the woods is wonderful if you're adventurous. Take advantage of it, and have fun!


And then I receive another novel:
Thanks for the vacation suggestion and I'll be sure to take it into consideration. It fits well with my general aim to spend as little time in NYC during the winter season. 

Since you seem to have an aversion to generic profile writing, I'll at least try to provide you a somewhat humorous story, one that you'll appreciate as an "adventurous eater". I was in Tokyo with one of my travel companions and we're having a pretty delightful breakfast sampling the morning sushi catches in the fisherman's market when my friend comes running up to me with "shiraku" which my friend translated as white cod roe, a spring delicacy in Tokyo during that time of year. My friend and I tried it and it was actually quite the tasty delicacy; it was creamy yet tart, milky in texture yet the eggs had some firm heft to it. It was an odd combination of characteristics that made the dish pretty unique and worth having. Unfortunately, my friend's Japanese was in a pretty rudimentary state and his translation for shiraku was slightly off. I went home that evening and, to my horror, discovered that "shiraku" actually means "cod semen" and I immediately regretting eating my 5th serving only hours ago. Do you have a gastronomical adventure that beats that? 

Anyway, I realize I keep bothering you but I really enjoyed your profile. You seem like a smart, social, outgoing, and good-looking girl and I would like to get to know more of you. If you'd like, feel free to read my profile and ask me any questions you might have for me. In summary, I think I'm a smart, friendly, and reasonably guy who currently works in finance and as a tennis coach. Even though I work somewhat generic jobs, I think I lived it up my first year and a half out of college with several 1-4 month trips to Barcelona, Shanghai, Tokyo, Prague, Aruba, and other places. At least I know how to spend my 20s! Anyway, if you'd like to know more about me, please feel free. Otherwise, let me know and I'll leave you be. 

Take care for now and enjoy your weekend. 

-.


Long story short boys, if she's not responding to your novels with novels of her own, chance are she's not interested.

Does ignoring a celeb sighting make you a true New Yorker?

Whew! I'm bad, I know. Who goes on a two month hiatus from blogging and then actually expects anyone to follow it again? I'm sorry, I let you down. Please don't be too disappointed, and please understand that I was thinking of you all throughout my intense MCAT studying (and I have the food photos to prove it). Between MCAT insanity and moving to New York for an internship with the Clinton Global Initiative 3 days post-exam, I haven't had all that much time to breathe, let alone decorate my room, upload music onto my first smartphone ever, or write blogposts. I HAVE had time to go on some culinary forays though, to begin to explore my adorable neighborhood of the West Village, and to catch up with a few old friends. That said, I'm reinventing this blog slightly - no longer will it predominantly be about cooking (although don't get me wrong, I'll definitely include cooking things when I do whip something up - it's just that evenings are my one time to socialize, so it can be lonely cooking for one), but about exploring NYC, ridiculous dates, funny stories, ethereal restaurants and the like.

To start, I'll give you my first celebrity sighting of this New York session: Andy Samberg! In the words of my mother, I was plutzing. For those of you who don't know, he's a hilarious comedian often on SNL, in movies and in skits. Check out these two links to see why I love him so much:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WhwbxEfy7fg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4pXfHLUlZf4

Val and I were out for a lovely Wednesday bite at my neighborhood haunt, the little owl - yes, it IS as delicious as people claim - and Samberg and his girlfriend walk in halfway through our meal and sit down right next to us. Literally, so close, I could have reached over and pinched his cheeks if I wanted to (I didn't. Don't worry). As always happens with celebrities when they aren't followed by an entourage or doused in 7 layers of makeup, we weren't sure if it was him or just some hipster-looking Jewishy New York guy on a weekday date with his love interest. However, as the night wore on and we snuck multiple wannabe-casual glances in his direction, it became clear that it was surely who we thought it was: he slipped out to take a call, he wore thick face-covering glasses, he wouldn't make eye contact with neither me nor Val. I considered leaning over as we were leaving and saying in a low voice, "I know this is weird, but I had 'Dick in a Box' on my workout playlist for a year." But something told me that he didn't want to be bothered, so - upon the waitress' oration of the dessert specials - all I managed get out was a nervous, "The panna cotta is amazing!" Alas, Andy Samberg is not my new best friend, but maybe I'll see him around the 'hood.