Suburbia is making me a nasty girl.

Okay, I have some observations here. I lived in New York most of my adult life. In upper Manhattan in Hudson Heights. On a beautiful tree lined street, in a pre-war building, surrounded by many artistic and smart people. There was a beautiful park within walking distance and Lincoln Center, my usual haunt, was a 20 minute train ride away. It really was the Nirvana of my existence.

I now live in suburbia. Suburbia in New Jersey. It's not Nirvana but it has it's definite selling points. For starters, there's space. I have suffered a need for space for a long time. I lived with a lover in New York for several years in a studio apartment. That probably started it. Then I got a spacious, sun filled, 1 bedroom in the aforementioned building. It had an eat-in kitchen and a deep soaking tub. For a single girl living in Manhattan, I'd hit the jackpot. This was loads of space for me. But then I met my husband and, once again, I wanted more space. When his job had him commuting between Princeton and New York, we figured we needed to move to some location between the two points. That's how we ended up buying a house in Middlesex County. I fell in love with the house because it too was pre-war. It had the familiar plaster walls, the high ceilings, old oak floors. It felt somehow familiar, and since I've never lived in suburbia, I needed familiar. I needed something to link me to my Nirvana. This house was it.

I instantly fell in love with the concept of gardening. I love putting things in the ground, caring for them and then watching them bloom. For a city girl like me, this seems like some kind of miracle. I used to frequent the garden in Ft. Tryon Park and admire the blooms, photographing the butterflies and the people on benches, the George Washington Bridge, the Hudson. It was all breath taking and wonderful, but now I am experiencing nature's beauty from a much more hands-on experience. Digging in the earth, putting in the seeds and bulbs, watering them, weeding them, then watching them grow into gorgeous, colorful flowers. That seems miraculous to me. Before, I just thought these things appeared around me, as if by magic. But now that I am responsible for picking them, placing them and cultivating them, I realize how much I took for granted in my beautiful uptown park.

I am now getting to the crux of the problem I'm having today. In the midst of all this beauty and nature, I have noticed a disturbing trend in my personal upkeep. When I lived in New York I would never leave the apartment without makeup. I would never "just bum it". Even if I went out in jeans, they were always neat jeans and a cool top and good hair or a cap. I just wouldn't dare just run out of the apartment any old way. Not even to throw out the garbage.

But something happened in suburbia. I would like to preface this next bit by saying this only happens once in a long while, but it does happen, and I should be more disgusted with my behavior, yet, oddly, I'm not. I have allowed myself to fall asleep late at night in my t-shirt (I know this is probably TMI but I'm blogging here). I awake, having not showered, having fallen asleep in my t-shirt, throw on a ratty pair of jeans or, worse yet, holey sweatpants. I grab the car keys, jump in the car, drive my husband to the train station, then sometimes I stop to pick up some coffee and lotto tickets. I come home, do a workout and THEN I shower before teaching. Eeeeeeew. You don't have to say it - I will!! And what's worse is my hair on some of these mornings. Sometimes it's homeless lady hair. Sometimes it's really God awful. And yet, I have very little shame. I behave this way. It's piggish. It's disgusting. And yet, since moving to suburbia, I find this behavior to be fine so long as no one knows (of course, now you all know). I guess I'll continue to do it unless I'm caught in the coffee shop looking (and possibly smelling) like a homeless woman by someone I actually care about. But the thing about suburbia is that it seems to me you're less likely to run into people you care might see you looking this way than in New York.

In New York, you immediately have your building elevator and/or lobby to contend with. Your neighbors are close to you. If you stepped out into the hallway looking and/or smelling bad, there is a very high chance that the cute professor down the hall will be waiting for the elevator or just stepping off of it. If you walk to the corner store to pick up milk, you are very likely to pass at least 5 people you know in the neighborhood who you might prefer not see you looking your worst. Dr. Ruth Westheimer, lived two doors down from me. I had gay male friends in the neighborhood. They are the absolute worst of critics. Even the gay men in the neighborhood I didn't particularly know would give you "the look" if your hair looked like a brillo pad. So, really, if you cared at all, you showered and brushed your damn hair before going outside.

I blame the cars here in suburbia. There's very little "walking to the store" here. You leave your house, where no one will see you but your immediately family and pets. You jump in your car. Again - no one to see you. You dive into the store where maybe you'll see a few people, but most of them are either too self-absorbed to notice how bad you look or they look just like you do cuz they're caught in the same routine. You grab the milk, the eggs, the whatever, and dive back into your car. You enter your house where there's no pressure that the cute guy on the 5th floor might see you and puke.

Yep, suburbia has taught me to dig in the dirt, take fewer showers and brush my hair less. Not sure I like it but I get to practice whenever I want, I work out in my basement, I love my garden and cardinals feed at my bird feeder. I do manage to shower and dress before my students show up, although they'll attest that sometimes I don't quite get to the hair and makeup. If they want me to always look good, they may have to wait till a celebrity or a gay man buys the house next door.