“I Hate New York”

I loved the Janus-faced bitch-goddess “New York” on “Flavor of Love.” She didn’t stoop to anyone’s level or rise to anyone’s level, she was her own level; love it, shove it, she was just her. I never saw her defend her actions or apologize for being herself, no matter how nasty or classy she could be. No one was scarier, no one was more unrelatable, but no one was more captivating to watch.

But “I Love New York” drove a dagger in my heart, and now every time I see it in my cable channel guide, I feel bile and disgust and quickly scroll away. “New York,” aka Tiffany, didn’t hurt me herself, but her suitors made me turn away from the beautiful “I Love New York” train wreck.

On an episode, the crew were hanging out in the pool and hot tub, trying to out-drink and out-flirt one another, and an intense massage session broke out. I laughed at Tiffany, I laughed at her ridiculous suitors: they were all TV edited stereotypes and two-dimensional fragments, what’s not to laugh at? Until the massage episode.

I suddenly flashed back to the blurry days of college and remembered all the back rubs and face massages and occasional full-bodies I gave and received, and I remembered how much I loved the constant touching between my intimate group of friends. Tiffany had group massage partners, where had all of mine gone? Who touches me like that, all the time, with only the expectation that I return the favor?

I mentioned before, how much I love touch. I love touch so much, I don’t think one person could touch me enough, hence my disgust at Tiffany’s situation, with all her suitors taking turns to rub and stroke her oiled body.

Why does such a cartoon character get all the pampering I crave? Why does someone who seems so ungrateful, looking back to her unrelentingly unapologetic behavior, get what I too deserve? I have to pay to get that level of touch, not get paid for it.

I miss those college rubdowns and the friendly, endorphin-filled, inexpert deep-tissue touches. After I clicked off the TV in disgust, I yelled at my husband, “Why don’t you massage me more?” And I realized, one person could never be enough touch for me.

I picked up the phone and scheduled several student massages at the local school. I may have to pay for it, but I’ll feel “New York’s” love.