Closed For Business...

 As you may have noticed, I haven't written much lately.

It's not because I've run out of stories, or things to say, or that I'm bored.

In fact, I'm crushingly disappointed in myself. Like I'm abandoning yet another project. But I'm not. This really started out as a Thirty Days to Thirty thing, and it's gone long past that. Am I sad I couldn't hack a full year? Of course. But I'd rather put the brakes on now (and I'm not sure if it's permanent or not) than keep churning out crap and then disappearing for weeks. I want the entries I write here to be good, to mean something to both of us. For a while now, they haven't.

 (The Artist's Process)

And all of that has to do with me. I need to focus on putting the pieces back together. I am not happy with how my life has turned out, and that needs to be remedied. Maybe that was the point of this blog all along. To take stock and realize it needs to be more. That I want to be more. And I need to expect better, from others as well as myself. I spent a lot of time yesterday thinking about all the paths I have taken, and ones I wish I'd forged instead.
That's a lesson I would have liked to learn privately, but that's life, right?

A friend asked me recently what my plans were for the future....like, life plans. He told me where he saw himself in the next thirty or so years, who he wanted to be, and what he wanted to have accomplished. I was impressed. His goals are noble. Hard work. Business. Travel. Family. Enjoying life. When he asked me what I saw myself doing "big picture" I struggled. He could tell I was floundering and gently scaled it back to "5 year plan."

And I couldn't even cough up one of those. I told him what is my truth - every plan I have made as an adult has fallen apart (often in spectacular and gruesome fashion), and now I'm too scared to even admit to myself what I might want out of life, for fear that it too will never come to pass. I don't know what I want. I can barely see ahead to next month, and that's just a few blips on the old Google Calendar. This isn't being a free spirit or anything. This is drifting. I feel like Megan Draper (pre-season five finale for those of you crazy enough to NOT watch "Mad Men") adrift, hopeless, and unsure of "what I'm good for."

Now I need to find out. I'll let you know when I do.

Until then, thanks for coming along, the kind words, and the encouragement.
I'm out.

Seriously. 

It Was Only A Kiss

 One of my most favorite activities on earth, woefully neglected of late.

I miss kissing, on the regular. You know? I just do.

A Look Into My Personal Hatred of Binge-Drinking Holidays

I am not a teetotaler. I drink alcohol whenever I desire and in an amount that pleases me. Few things are as wonderful as watching a baseball game with a beer, or the warmth of a spiked hot chocolate in the winter. And bourbon old-fashioneds? I dream of them. So good. I got all sorts of buzzed a few nights ago when I ordered (and proceeded to house) a mysterious cocktail called (not kidding) "Dragonball" at dinner. (Goku would've been proud....yes, that's a Dragon Ball Z reference, and I accept that I'm going to die alone)
I appreciate alcohol done well and with respect. I love hanging out in bars.

However, the following "holidays" have become (to me) so gross that I almost pull muscles from rolling my eyes seriously hard and sighing all grumbly-like because the embarrassingly trashed are inescapable.

1. New Year's Eve
2. Mardi Gras
3. St. Patrick's Day
4. Cinco de Mayo
5. Halloween

Exempt from the list: Fourth of July, largely due to the fact that most drinking on this day seems to (in my experience) take place in private residences....with barbeques!! Barbeques make everything better. And I am a fun person, dammit. I'm fun. I just don't equate drinking until sickness/fistfight to be fun. Buzzed = fun. Blacked out = scary.

Despite being partly of Irish heritage myself, I'm so utterly, laughably relieved that St. Patrick's day has come and gone.

So, what's my damn problem? If you know me, we've probably gone drinking together. Maybe we have plans to meet up this week for a drink! MY PROBLEM IS NOT WITH ALCOHOL. My problem is with people who grossly, recklessly imbibe purely under social duress, and almost always end up making fools of themselves. These are holidays where I spend the entire day trying to avoid getting puked on, groped, or committing murder.

Yesterday on the train, as I have for many years now, witnessed a green sea of people stumbling around, many screaming and slurring their words before vomiting on the ground.

(DAAAAAAAMN!!!)

Clad in shirts declaring "Let's Get WASTED!" I am always curious what those people would do if they saw their boss while wearing that shirt. You know? How do you explain that one away? I heard women screaming for vodka shots the way EMTs call for a tourniquet.

Here is my own psychological breakdown of feelings:
I don't like it because it scares me.
Simple, no? The resulting question and answer is two-pronged:

What am I scared of?

1.) I can control myself and my actions. But I cannot control others, especially fueled by alcohol. Complete strangers have touched me without consent, propositioned me, and challenged me to fights all during these holidays. I've seen cops in uniform drinking. Bartenders unable to form sentences. And while I know this is frowned upon, it has still happened. Moving through a day, and a city as relentlessly grinding as New York, unable to trust that people are functioning scares the life out of me.

2.) Alcohol, as I've said, can be great fun. I've used it to loosen up a bit, shake off anxiety. That's pretty common. But again, my problem is not with the booze itself, but the excess. The inability to function without it. Too often I've seen it bring out the very worst in very good people. Drying out a mean drunk is a draining experience. Loving someone who struggles with their alcohol intake is hard. It is so goddamn hard.

Now....just a little over a month and a half until Cinco de Mayo....

Perhaps instead we can have ourselves a nice glass of iced tea?

Ghosts/Away We Go

I ran an errand yesterday, about eight blocks away from where I work. No big deal, right? I didn't think so....until I felt like the spectres of everything I've done in my years here were unable to be shaken off. What am I trying to say? Everything feels like a touchstone. In a short walk it was:

"Oh I lived here"
"I came here with Mom when I was eight!"
"____and I took a photo here last Christmas"
"Going for drinks here was a lot of fun"
"That restaurant used to be _____ but now it's out of business."
"I was standing here when I realized we were over for good"

And even more. That's just a small sampling of the deluge of feelings that came from popping out to complete a simple task. Does this happen to you? Because part of me suspects that most humans feel things this deeply, and maybe I'm simply in the small number who are game for talking about it? Either that or I'm even more irritating and emotionally overloaded than Taylor Swift. If that the case...uh, sorry. You should stop reading, if you haven't already. And maybe slap me.

New York is filled with ghosts.

Seriously. I have loved and lived the fuck out of this town, and I've got the stories and heartache to prove it. Every borough. Most neighborhoods. Places popular and not. Dozens of apartments, hundreds of bars, a thousand stolen kisses, spilled drinks, wasted hours. I will not forget. I can't even if I want to. I tried to forget a lot of things but because it was a huge element of shaping who I've become, it's not going anywhere - at least not in the foreseeable future.
I need to put them out of sight and mind.

What next? Not sure yet. It's not something I'm looking to talk about with others. I want some space.

Did you ever see the movie, Away We Go? If not, I highly recommend checking it out. I'm sure it's on Netflix. It's directed by Sam Mendes (who must, along with Ang Lee, be the most versatile and talented director working today) and stars Maya Rudolph and John Krasinski. Mendes gets beautifully understated performances from his two leads. They portray a couple expecting their first baby, and they travel around America trying to figure out where they belong, where they will be most happy and successful to begin this new chapter of their lives.

 It's a lovely little film. And I'm feeling strong alignment with it now, as I too wonder where I belong, where the next step is. Of course, there will be some practicalities to consider. I'm making lists upon lists. It's getting absurd. But it will be whatever it is.


*I appreciate the "come to (where you live)!" sentiments, but let's table those for now, please.

Sigh no more, sigh no more
One foot in sea, one on shore...

We are nearing the end.

"Those Who We Once Loved Out Loud"

“because we never stop silently loving those who we once loved out loud”


This was going around Facebook last week, and it moved me deeply.

(I know. You're slow clapping because I just figured out hyperlinks.)

As someone who still catches their breath when his number is reprogrammed back into my phone (old computer) or Gmail didn't delete all our emails like I asked it to - I cannot imagine open your eyes and seeing a lost love in front of you. I'd cry too, Marina. I'd cry too.

Happy Friday

Addendum to "Doubt"

Now there are MANY roaches in my home. Who am I kidding? I have no home. I have a place where my stuff is and I sleep. But God, the bugs. More than I care to even think about. I don't know what the hell happened, but it's happening and it's a big fucking problem. I called the super and had a panicked, rage-filled conversation with him that started as "I'll come by Saturday morning" to "I'll be there tomorrow." The only way to get things moving is to go ballistic and make people think you will burn the place to the ground. I am blinded with hatred and horror. Seriously, everything. Enough already. As someone with preexisting anxiety issues, I can confirm that this has sent me over the edge. 2013!! Another shitty year already off to a fucking miserable start. Break out the champers.

My apartment is due to be bug bombed this morning. Thanks for nothing, legally binding lease rider! I'm just a woman! Who cares what I add to a contract- must be all that estrogen making me stupid.

 

I even wrote the leasing agent a massive freak-out email at 4:30 this morning (when I turned on the light and found more dead roaches!) and he's like "It's ok, the landlord and I will make sure it's all taken care of" and I'm all "BITCH you said this would be taken care of before I moved in. LIAR LIAR I wish I could set all of you on fire."

I hate life. Truly. None of what I have experienced makes any of this nonstop misery worthwhile.

Also, let me change my timeline. My mistakes really revved up around 25. So it's really five solid years of working hard, being hopeful, trying to do the right thing, and still waking up wondering what the fuck happened.

Doubt.

This morning, as I was brushing my teeth, I looked out the bathroom door and saw a large roach staring back at me, like that scene in "Beetlejuice." You know the one I'm talking about? Where Beetlejuice turns into a roach and is like "Hey, how ya doin'?" in his gloriously deep and scuzzy Michael Keaton voice.

So I did what anyone would do. I let out a small scream and stomped on it. Then I checked high and low for signs of others, which I did not find. I know roaches are pretty commonplace in New York. I do. The fact that I live in a basement doesn't help the situation. BUT I just checked my lease again this morning, and it's in the rider that every form of vermin was supposed to be treated for with poison last week before I moved in. I bought stuff this morning, and yes, the roach I squashed was (hopefully, please God) just a straggler. I'm already over it. Once again, I am filled with doubt.

I needed to take this apartment. I had a week to decide and a small budget already creaking under debt. The neighborhood is good, and safe, and filled with friends. I can afford it. Most places for a person living alone, in less developed neighborhoods, were at least $200-$300 more expensive before utilities. In every way, it made perfect sense. However, the cheap, sexist scumbag that is my landlord, his rude lackey plumber (the Hasidic Napoleon Dynamite), and his blustering bullshitter of a super ("I been at dis building fuh 15 yeahs!") have combined to form a trifecta of pains-in-my-ass. They are in my phone, respectively as "slumlord" "fucktard" and "useless" and will remain as such. I am done being polite and respectful. I'm fine if they think I'm a bitch. Maybe I am. But this time I'm ready to own it. Because fuck all the rest of these people.

More than once, I've been told "just leave" but that does nothing but frustrate me, because this isn't fucking YOLO and that's not a practical way to live. To up and break a lease (to which I am legally bound) and take off for who knows where with no job, car, or savings is the stupidest possible solution. I made a commitment to this job, so I am honoring it. And it will benefit me in the long run to get some real work at a respectable company under my belt. So no, I won't "just leave" even if you think that's the best solution. In this instance, running away isn't a solution. The solution is growing up and dealing with it.

A shadow of doubt looms over every important decision I have made in the last four years (since my return stateside), and they all feel "wrong" despite (obviously) not knowing how things would have turned out to the contrary. Yet the time has yielded no decisions or events that I deem to be "great ideas" or "I'm so glad I did that." I doubt my decision-making capabilities in their entirety. Je Ne Regrette Rien? Non, I regret everything. Where I went, what I did and who I loved. How hard I tried (not enough?) and what happened. It's crushing. I make decisions with a combination of head and heart. I listen to my gut. Obviously my gut and I don't share a common language. If I had it to do all over again, I would. I'd change everything. But I can't and acknowledge if you get too caught up in that shit you might as well stick your head in the oven and call it a day. I don't trust myself to make any decisions that won't blow up in my face. And so far...I have zero evidence to the contrary.

So how do you move forward with your life, deeply saddened by how you've lived a chunk of it? One more year. At some point, I'll call it eight months, then six, and so on. By then I will have completed my commitment to this job, and hopefully moved into either a more creative department within the same company or onto something else. My resume will be fuller, more impressive. I will have great contacts. I will go somewhere else, a place where every neighborhood isn't haunted by ghosts of fuck-ups past. It's the clean start looming on the horizon that gets me through. I will continue to make wrong decisions, but if I simply accept things for how they are, then I deserve to stay miserable. The only way is forward. It can't come soon enough.

(Dis)Respect

Before I launch into my rant against plumbers and humanity in general, I'll start off with an amusing anecdote from this morning. Have you ever been asleep and dreaming, only to wake just enough to realize you're dreaming? It's only happened to me a handful of times in life, but it did this morning!

So in my dream. I'm talking to Adele. Yes, famous singer, and badass lady Adele. For some reason, we're comparing notes on yoga studios (one week in Brooklyn, and I'm already that girl - blech) when my real-world alarm goes off to tell me it's 6:15am and my ass better get up for work. Dream me hears the alarm and suddenly it all becomes clear. I don't do yoga regularly. I don't know Adele. And I better get up and get in the shower or I'm going to be late. I turned to Adele and said "I wish I could stay, but I have to go back to life now" and then I woke up and turned off my alarm.

In all the excitement dream-me forgot to high-five Adele, which would have made the experience perfect and complete. Maybe...this morning in London, real-life Adele woke up, turned to her man and said "Baby, I just dreamt I was talking about yoga with some rando in Brooklyn. The. Fuck?" Then she rolled around in her various awards and piles of money until it was time to go feed her son.

HOW ABSOLUTELY ODD.

Turning topics a bit more grisly, I really do understand why people beat the living daylights out of other people after dealing with my new landlord and his lackey joke of a plumber. They are horrendous, rude, condescending, and between the two of them, I feel incredibly disrespected. My life, my time, and my job...don't matter when it comes to their schedules. Keep me waiting 2 hours? Cancel on me abruptly? No apologies? Shout at me for asking a simple question? Sadly, they are stereotypes of a larger culture that doesn't view or treat women as equals. I was raised to be polite and respectful, yet when neither of those are shown to me in return, I have no choice but to be curt, short, and express how fucking pissed off I am. When the plumber called at 2:40 yesterday (to cancel, after having first delayed, then not shown up for his 12:30 or 2pm promises) he said he'd "let me know if" he could make it Monday. I just hung up the phone. Because the only answer I can think of to that is "go fuck yourself."

The simple solution is, of course, to use another plumber. However, jackass there is my landlord's guy, and since landlord insists on using him, I feel a bit stuck, seeing as last time landlord and I spoke, he yelled at me for daring to ask if there was a key to the mailbox. THE NERVE. Depending on how things go today, I'll just hire someone else and send him the bill. I really cannot be bothered with these levels of idiocy, incompetence, and raging douchebaggery any longer.

  RAGE.

Boof.

"Boof." is decidedly the sound I emit upon a deep sigh.

2013 has been tres boof.

Oui. This entry shall be laced avec terrible, fourth-grade French. Most likely because I had the enormous experience of seeing the great comedian Eddie Izzard try out some new material at a very petite venue Wednesday night in SoHo. And nothing is more impressive than someone who is hilarious in a multitude of languages.

 

 It was so much fun!! I actually shrieked with delight when he came out on stage. I meet celebrities often in my line of work, but to suddenly be 30 feet away from one of the funniest and cleverest men on Earth.....exciting. Really, really great. Does his set need polishing? Definitely. But the skeleton of his next show, to be titled "Force Majeure" I believe, is very strong. The way his mind works is simply incredible - all these thoughts, constantly making jumps and connections, all while cracking jokes, is really a thing to behold. I feel like he sees EVERYTHING. Nothing goes unnoticed. I'm so happy I could go.

Where was I? Right. Boof.

I'm sorting out some nonsense (yes. nonsense. ALREADY) with the boiler in the new place, having to accept the fact that my landlord doesn't really give a fuck as long as he gets his money. BUT it's not a deal breaker and I'm starting to settle in a bit. There is still a great bit of DIY/TLC/Other Acronym for "needs work" to be done but I'll get there. It'll be cool. At some point I might even buy a chair so I can have company. Or not. Solitude suits me alarmingly well. Just like Superman!

(Superman's Fortress of Solitude is like a big, icy Louvre)

(Oui? Resemblance?)

What else is going on....oh, I'm participating in a writer's group for the first time in years. I really enjoy it. It's forcing me to dust off my brain and think in ways I haven't in far too long. I need to be pushed, and this is a great start. Maybe my blog entries will suck just a bit less with some practice.

(insert "Les Poissons" maniacal laughter here)

Amusing Story For A Bad Mood

The move has been....rough....to say the least. (Soul crushing?) But in this instance, I have absolutely zero interest in talking about it, so here instead is a (mildly) amusing story that has nothing to do with the joke/shitshow that is my life.

Back in grad school, we had the pleasure of collaborating alongside a lady who was by no means famous, but working steadily in the film industry - on films we'd heard of! She was very cool, fun and we learned a lot from her.

But the strange thing was....she had no last name.

At first we thought she was just not telling us, being silly. Everyone has a last name, we insisted. She said she had, but not anymore. She had legally changed her name to have no last name. I'm sure documents of any importance were just a bitch now, but obviously it mattered enough to her to go through with the change. Now she was just one name...and showed us her various forms of ID to prove it.

Instead of quieting us down, it only fanned the flames of curiosity. WHAT HAD HER LAST NAME BEEN? What could be so terrible that she would forsake having any last name just to be free of the burden?? The guesses ran wild (and largely puerile)...

"McFarts"
"Buttinsky"
"Cocksackie"

And so on and so forth. You get the idea.

Then one of our usually outspoken classmates -who had been unusually quiet - piped up.

"There's only one thing it can be."

We waited eagerly. He enjoyed the suspense. Theatre people. You know.

"Don't you see? What's the one last name in the world that everyone recognizes and reviles?"

"McFarts" (I insisted)

"No. Guys." said the outspoken one. "Her last name was obviously Hitler."

And the room fell silent. Our mouths fell open.

"Oh my God."

And we left it at that. Thought it was never confirmed, from then on we just thought of her as Miss Hitler. Awesome, easygoing, fun Miss Hitler.

Oscars & The Week Ahead

Work today is all about the Oscars!! How great is that?! It's fun. It's silly. I enjoy it.
Having stayed up to watch all four years hours of the show, I have a few thoughts/feelings (as did everyone else on every social media outlet in the world.)

*Seth Macfarlane wasn't a bad host. The gig is such a double edged sword. We're all prepared to draw blood at the first joke that doesn't land. In spite of the fact that the opening monologue was WAY too long and the boobs song was abysmal, he seemed to be having a good time, and a lot of the jokes landed. Oddly, he's a dead ringer in both looks and voice for P, so that made watching at times enormously weird and uncomfortable for me, but that's my own problem. So yes, if you've ever wondered what my ex-boyfriend looks/sounds like, imagine a slightly skinnier, even more neurotic, blonde Seth Macfarlane and you've nailed it).

*Christoph Waltz is so oddly cute. He's charming as hell.

*Bond tribute felt kind of mediocre. But it was great to see Shirley Bassey kicking ass and taking names. I love her. All gold and sassy and Welsh and fierce as hell. Yes, girl. Yes.

*Charlize and Channing dancing together was really lovely. Unexpectedly elegant and classy. Nice to recall they both really can move quite well. Also, I believe Charlize Theron is the most beautiful woman on earth. She looked incredible. Like some kind of badass goddess.

*The Sound of Music - where are the Von Trapps? - joke is the ONLY time I have ever laughed out loud during the Oscars! And I laughed a whole lot. It was perfect. So much credit to whoever wrote that joke, and much respect to Macfarlane on the delivery. Absolutely dead on.

*Anne Hathaway: I'm a bit torn. She gave a great performance in the film. I know she was a lock to win. SHE knows she was a lock to win. And she wasn't as irritating as she's been in the past. But I found her lackluster pink dress (reminiscent of the lackluster pink dress Gwyneth Paltrow wore for her win) and her creepily whispering "it came true" to the statue kind of odd. Oh well. But...if you know you're a lock to win....pick a better dress. Seriously. This is the moment to nail it.

*I just want to hug Ang Lee. He's so great. He's the most versatile director working AND he seems like a lovely guy. Go Ang!

*And of course....Jennifer Lawrence. She was beautiful and charming and funny and cool, everything we've come to expect from her. So she tripped and fell. In front of a billion people. But instead of melting down, she laughed and kept her spirits up. Well done, miss. Well handled. 10,000 extra points to Hugh Jackman for being the very definition of chivalry and being the first man to step to her aid. Also, Jennifer wishing happy birthday to Emanuelle Riva during her acceptance speech was pure class. I can't wait for the next Hunger Games ad campaign, which will most certainly feature a push with "Academy Award Winner Jennifer Lawrence." I cheer for her, loudly and often.

So that's my Oscars wrap up. A fun year indeed.

Today, for me, begins moving week. Picked up the keys to my new place this morning, and the relocation itself starts tomorrow. Lots of work to do. My lunch hour will be spent running prep and errands! Not much sleep on the docket this week, I think. But it's moving forward. Letting go of a lot of old crap and starting something new. It's falling down and remembering the most important part is, in fact, to get up again.

Everything is RED

I found this Valentine after I'd already posted that slew of great ones on the day itself. It's a perfect mash-up of obsession with X-Men (check) and unleashed rage (check). Basically, it's like a custom love note to the world, from me. Behold...

 

I feel like the sentiment of this picture should be read whilst screaming:

ROSES ARE RED!!!

VIOLETS ARE RED!!

EVERYTHING IS RED!!!!

(xoxox, Cyclops) 

Ignoring the slight hiccup of facts - Violets are...uh, violet - it's a pretty great picture. The drawer not only did a bang-up job on the X-Men uniform, but managed to capture the angry soul of the character through a simple unhappy face. EPIC. Five stars.

I wonder if this picture isn't wonderful/hilarious to you if you haven't been depressed. If you don't go through extensive periods of time when all you see is the anger of red. 

The good news, friendly readers, is that I am 95% secured towards a new home. It is small, safe, and most importantly affordable. I can handle a year there. I pick up the keys Monday - hopefully. I say all of this because I am waiting for the inevitable catastrophe. The other shoe hovers above my head like the lone storm cloud following the cartoon character.

(

I was writing to M about how I was feeling and one thing has become painfully clear. My trust mechanism is broken. I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the person to leave. For everything to hit the fan. I expect it, yet am still crushed when it happens. P used to say this about me all the time - he said "you always pull away first because you're waiting to be left. You think nothing lasts." I told him I loved him and had no intention of pulling away. 

Then he promptly up and left me. Exceptionally cruel trick, if you ask me.

(Oh God. The Smiths "How Soon Is Now?' just came up on Pandora. Why Pandora? I'm already sad)

Yes, I still think frequently of P. A year on. But I think moving out of the current neighborhood will help with that, considering he works around the corner from my current apartment. Nothing inhibits forgetting someone like knowing where they are for 40 hours a week. New place. New start. 

What I will miss

Hiking Central Park most weekends

The Natural History Museum 

How incredible the neighborhood architecture is

Having K nearby for shenanigans

What I won't miss

Knowing P is around the corner and constant fear of seeing him

How the apartment feels right now

4 flights of stairs

I was reading xojane this morning, and saw these words from SistaTv (yes)...

My shit is in SHAMBLES, SON. One of my very best sistafriends, knows most of the foolishness that is passing for my life these days and could only basically gawk at me and yell, “WHAT THE FUCK” in response.
Anyway, my shit is all fucked up.
But I’m Unfucking My Life one day at a time and although it absolutely terrifying, it's, like, good. Like really good. There is still a lot of pain and immeasurable sadness for the life I thought I would lead but I’m excited for this chapter and pretty fricking certain that this is truly for the greatest good.
I can see clearly that ultimately I am going to have the life I’ve always wanted to lead, but this time I gonna have to be an active participant in getting it. So right now, I’m focusing on finding the whys, learning about the whats, and figuring out the hows of how the fuck did SistaTV end up right where she is right now. Cause I’m not EVER going back.

I admire SistaTv's spirit of optimism. I'm not at her point of "feeling this is for the greatest good" or "knowing I will have the life I've always wanted" but I'm glad she is, and maybe I can be there myself someday. My life is ABSOLUTELY NOTHING like I wanted it to be. Batting zero. But perhaps, with moving to new places, culling friendships and cultivating experiences, I can also learn to find the whys, know the whats and figure out how the fuck I got here, because I too, am never going back.

Put On An Honest Face

Gray skies are gonna clear up,
Put on a happy face;
Brush off the clouds and cheer up,
Put on a happy face.
Take off the gloomy mask of tragedy,
It's not your style;
You'll look so good that you'll be glad
Ya' decide to smile!

 (Only Coco can show us how fake happy faces really are. You go Coco. You go.)

Never one to actually enjoy the musical Bye Bye Birdie (because it sucks and it's creepy) I don't enjoy that song. Give me "Fake Your Way to the Top" from Dreamgirls any day - now that's a real toe-tapper. But the gist of the two numbers is the same - fake your way through unpleasant situations, and eventually you'll come out the other side of happiness and success!


What did you do this weekend? I hid at my dear and patient friend's house in Bushwick, while my soon-to-be-ex roommate and her mother packed up her possessions. I wasn't asked to leave, but I thought it prudent to stay out of the way, especially as we aren't speaking. It's already awkward and miserable in my own home that I also pay for but I'd rather leave than put on a face pretending everything is OK. Because it's not. And I'm done. What caused that, you might say? Where did this great revelation come from? Oh, it was when I realized that this move is putting me about three grand in debt. SUPER! I can't pretend anymore that I'm fine and everything will work out.
This time it won't. I have lost my friendship and my home. I am heartbroken, shattered and angry. I have had more panic attacks in the last three weeks than I've had in my entire life. And plastering a weak smile onto my face isn't going to change any of that.

I'm not Hulked-out all the time (because that would be even uglier and scarier than my regular face) but I'm trying to put on an honest face. I'm exhausted. I'm worried. I'm scared. It shows in my face, and that's fine. It's truth, and I'm not hiding it to protect feelings. Maybe if I'd thought less about protecting other people's feelings and more worried about protecting myself, this wouldn't have happened. But it did.

Next week I will live somewhere else. I am hopefully signing for a cute, safe, small place in Brooklyn today or tomorrow. It's in a great neighborhood, and very affordable. Once I get settled, I'll be able to slowly start paying back my debts. Life will move on, with lots of changes, and I'm sure even more on the horizon. Getting through yet another debacle, with the help of my family and true friends. Growing up, as I've done it, really does transform you. Birthday to birthday, calendar year and on. Even month-to-month. Older. Wiser? Sharper. Less trusting. More angry. But still here.

What Happened Yesterday

Surprisingly enough, yesterday's disaster of a day had absolutely NOTHING to do with Valentine's day. Which is such a bummer, because it was obvious to anyone who looked me in the eye that I'd been sobbing, and I'm sure coworkers thought I just gotten broken up with or something - just another sad girl in a red dress - when in reality I finally got sick of everything and lost it. LOST. IT. I still feel pretty desolate. It's hard to keep calm and carry on when you'd rather gas yourself and be done with it. I have well meaning friends and family who are making Herculean efforts to make things seem like they'll be all right, but it sure as fuck doesn't feel like there's any light at the end of the tunnel, anytime soon. *sad trombone noise*

 (Yesterday felt like this. On repeat.)

I backed out of the Brooklyn apartment, after some additional research (bedbugs! neighborhood drug problems!) and a last-minute visit (filthy! not secure! gross old men and crazy weed smell!) caused me to absolutely lose it and decide to walk away. I was really scared that I was either going to be stuck living in a less-than-great place (which I initially agreed to because it didn't seem terrible and it was cheap) or lose $1000 that I cannot simply throw away. Thankfully, the landlord was a good guy, to whom I spoke honestly about my concerns, and gave me my deposit back. Big thumbs up for not losing the money. Big thumbs down for being back at square one with just under two weeks to go until I'm kicked out. I HATE apartment hunting. It is the absolute worst. Maybe it would be awesome if I had lots of money (I'm pretty sure everything would be more awesome if I had lots of money, because I stand by the statement that money can in fact buy happiness) but I don't.

(My life in Gif form: Oh you dancin'? You think you'll be OK? Fuck you. TRUCK.)

(And I'm just like "Enough, already. Please. I need you to stop.")

Stay tuned for further adventures/disasters/my name in police blotters.....

All the Best Valentines...For You! xoxo

Here's the best of the web....

 

(I WANTED TO BE BATGIRL WHEN I GREW UP.)

(If being Batgirl didn't work out, being Rainbow Brite was a close 2nd.)


And finally, my absolute favorite...

Happy Valentine's Day from My Cold Dead Heart

Thank you, Phil C. for this most amazing thing. But in all truth, I hope you have a really wonderful day. Me? I'm having a massive meltdown over the fact that I might not have a place to live after all. Either that or it's actually the worst place ever. Freaking out.

I'm The Worst, And It Is What It Is

I was hanging out the other night with two dear friends and their tiny fluffy baby kitten (!) and after catching them up on my life, and listening to what was new with them, I sat quietly mesmerized by the cuteness of the fur ball. One asked how my family was doing, and I admitted:
"Honestly, I'm so wrapped up in my own stupid life right now, I don't know."

I am the worst. I am honest, but I'm the worst. I've been so melting-down, self-involved, financial freak-outs McGee that I don't really know how the most important people in my life are doing. I know that my mom has loaned me money neither of us really has to spare in order to finance this move. (With the return of my deposit, plus my tax refunds, I will be able to pay her back in full, but still....being 30 years old and having to do this is humiliating. The extra kick in the shins is that I was getting ready to start saving.....for the move I thought was happening in September) I know my brother is always ready to talk, and supports my decisions. We talk on the phone a few times a week. They're there for me.  I just wish I was something other than an emotional and financial drain right now. I'm definitely the character who is getting, brutally, constantly stuffed when trying to select my breakfast cereal.

(I seriously screamed with laughter when I saw this ad)

It's the same with friends. I have very little idea what's going on. People have been great - lots of support and help. Offers to move. Drinks bought. I see it all and it's appreciated. I had a guest in town from the UK, a trip that had been planned for months before all this happened. But then....instead of taking her out for fun girlie nights on the town, I dragged her to the outer boroughs to look at apartments with me. This is not the type of hospitality I like to show guests, especially ones who've come so far. She was really understanding, but again....massive failure on my part.

It's been about three weeks since this whole thing started - not a long stretch of time by any means, but enough that I feel sufficiently fried. My mind isn't here. It's calculating and re-calculating to see if I can make all my payments on time. It's working on the logistics of the move. It's hoping I have enough money to buy a metrocard and some groceries. And it's still reeling at the fact that I've lost my home and my friendship there so unexpectedly. I'm sorry If I haven't been here, or haven't been paying attention to what's going on with you. This won't last forever. It can't.

When I'm Over The Day Before 11am

I thought Friday was off to a pretty standard start. 5 hours sleep. Blizzard outside.

Get to work. Start cancelling the building passes (there's enough here for a deck of playing cards) of those who've been laid off. Bill some invoices. Do some reading. Look at dresses I can't afford.

Then Dr. Lumberjack comes in looking like a goddamn reject from Newsies.

 (Basically, like this except without the stupid rolled up pants.)

With the peacoat and the flat newsboy cap. And I don't know if this just confirms he's gay, or just fashion forward. This look IS in a lot of men's magazines. Ralph Lauren's fall collection was basically depression-era vests and tweed. I mean, I know straight guys who wear those caps.....two of them. Oh well. I mean, he's still gorgeous - it's just that my hope he's into ladies is dwindling. There are actually a lot of weird outfits going on at work today. And while I'm all for people having some fun on casual Friday, the lady wearing the pink polo shirt with the popped collar and pearls is freaking me out a bit. I feel like I should ask if she wants to get together and throw a lacrosse ball around on the quad sometime (which in reality would probably be quite fun, but would take the wind out of my snide sails).

Then the weirdness ball really got rolling - the messenger who likes me (for whom I do not reciprocate feelings at all) straight up asked what I was doing for Valentine's Day! I said I have a date (which is a slight twisting of the truth...it's a girlie date to the movies with a close friend who also happens to be single) but even though I've been really (rudely, but I don't know what else to do because he still doesn't get it) standoffish to him, he won't quit trying to chat me up every single day. It grinds my fucking gears. Every time he comes down the hallway, he clears his throat, or sighs loudly to get my attention. Enough, little boy. I know you're 21 and think you're hot shit and charming, but you're not. I know you're there. And I choose to keep focused on my work, thanks.

All this before 11am.

At least it's the weekend. Doesn't look like I'm getting fired (my company does layoffs on Friday, which certainly takes the TG out of TGIF) and I love snow, so that's good. I might have found a place to live (put in an application, still waiting), and I have my current apartment to myself. More and more I prefer being alone. Is it gracefully growing older and enjoying my own company, or a descent into Moliere-worthy misanthropy? Jury's still out.

Happy Snowday.

No More Shots On School Nights

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life
(Hamlet)

Last week, when the mania of this month still felt new (and not like a muscular fist of acid in the pit of my stomach) I met up for drinks with E & J, a great couple, and tore into some beers and a few shots - on a school work night. It felt good. I didn't care about functioning the next day. I needed to talk, relax, have a laugh with good friends. We talked about the stuff that often feels like it's missing from my life now - interesting theatre, movies, stuff we'd read, sports, history....you know.
Topics I like.

I went home and flopped into bed. I wasn't (and still am not) sleeping much, but a few restless hours need to be squeezed in somewhere, if only to try and alleviate my current "face of meth" chic.
And I had a dream that I woke up from in tears.

It wasn't a nightmare. That's the only way I can describe it - a dream I woke up from in tears. And I don't even remember the full-fledged plot, or arc of what was happening, just the moment that startled the crap out of me. 

In the dream, I am my current look and age. I am talking to my mother in the kitchen of their house. Everything looks as it does now. I hear the garage door, loud as always. Who the hell is that? After a beat, in walks my dad. But....it's Dad from about 20 years ago. He's just come back from work, in uniform. And even though I'm completely in shock, I run like a child and throw my arms around him. I don't want to let go. Because 30 year old me knows what's coming and wants to protect Dad from 20 years ago. He smiles and eventually peels me off, and says "I'm going upstairs to change" just as he did every night when he got home. He turns and heads up the stairs.
I turn to look at my mom, the source of all comfort and explanations, but she's gone.
Suddenly, the basement door opens a few feet away and Dad comes up. And he looks at me.
We both freeze.
Because he went upstairs just moments ago, and has emerged from the basement. Which is impossible. Dad looks at me, and he looks scared. Like he suddenly understands as well that something is terribly wrong with the world we're in. His eyes are wide. I'm scared too. And again I run and hug him, and this time he holds me like HE doesn't want to let go either.

I woke up in tears.

No more shots on school nights, huh? Everything feels upside down. Like you're trapped in a MC Escher print.

Meanwhile....Still no luck on the apartment front. At this point, I think "it's a year. You can get by for one more year." I am so utterly burnt out on the matter. Needs to be over.

Here's a bit of cheer for us to part with. I would have liked Les Miserables if it had been more like Mean Girls.

Is Apartment Hunting Like Being A Bride?

Let us begin this post with a hilarious bit of information I realized last night.

The three weddings I am attending this year....are back-to-back-to-back over weekends in the fall.

Wow.

I mean. It's great! I love weddings. It will be lots of fun. And really busy. But yes. BUSY. I had better get cracking memorizing all of Beyonce's "Single Ladies" dance moves, because you know I'm going to be putting that to exceptionally good use this autumn.

The apartment hunt continued to dominate the weekend, and after hours of walking about in the cold with a new-to-the-city, uncomfortably-young broker, I was dead on my feet tired. Does going for a lookabout with a broker feel like an exceptionally long and unsexy date to anyone else? You spend hours together, talking about who you are and what you want out of life and living....but you're not attracted to each other (at least not in my case) and nothing fun is going to happen at the end. Sigh. I cannot emphasize enough how much I hate this process.

I found a really cool apartment in the hunt yesterday. Insane view. It's top of my price ceiling, but it's super spacious, the building seems great, in a safe neighborhood close to friends and the train I need to get to work. I was pretty stoked. And then....I kind of deflated. I couldn't help but wonder if there was something better, cheaper, closer out there? And would I find it only after I'd put down a deposit? Now, I'm on a time crunch here. I'm a beggar, not a chooser. But I don't want to just dive into the first available thing either. It's like being a bride, I think. You've been fortunate enough to find your mate. But then with everything else, the dress, the venue, the details.....do you wonder if there's a better option out there? Is it settling to take something that is "really good" rather than "perfect?" Is it OK to get the first dress/apartment you try on? (Granted, this was my 5th apartment, but still.)

(Me to all brides)

Feeling very much at a loss. Maybe I need to grow up, bite the bullet, and drop the deposit. I suspect one of the things making me extra reluctant to do this is the fact that the way this whole situation has gone down is going to end up (once the dust has settled) costing me about $2,000. Money I absolutely do not have. This goes back to the whole feeling terrified/angry/fucked feeling I've been riding since the 23rd. I just don't think any of this is worth it anymore. One more year and out.

HUH - Plans! What Are They Good For? (Absolutely Nothing)

I know it's going to be kind of a dubious Friday when I need a piece of candy before 10am, and it's really, really cold at my desk. Also, this interaction:
Me: Why is it so cold today? Usually it's so warm.
C: I like it.
Me: If I'd known I would have worn a thicker sweater. I'd rather wear a big, fuzzy sweatshirt though. That would be perfect.
C: I wouldn't wear anything!
Me: Oh, wait I'd wear pajamas....hold on, what did you just say?

So that happened. Also I'm currently talking to some guests for Dr. Lumberjack and they're SO COOL. They're company representatives (he reviews a lot of gear and gadgets) and they're friendly and funny and I wish I could come to this meeting too, you know? Obviously I would have nothing to contribute other than a bunch of high-fives and "Yeah, that sounds good!" but I would say it with such enthusiasm they would feel glad of my presence.

I feel like my brain is currently divided into:
60% - Moving anxiety
20% - Work exhaustion
10% - Balancing finances/Getting ready to do taxes
5% - Plans for making my life better
3% - Basic motor functions
1% - Men
1% - Dogs in people clothes

I emailed my mother the other day, basically telling her my "plans" and as always, felt the need to put the *but nothing in the last five years has worked out as I'd hoped, so don't really bank on this* addendum. I hate that my dreams require disclaimers. Does this mean I'm really grounded or totally burnt-out and jaded?

I made a commitment to my job for at least one year, and I fully intend to honor that. And when I sign my lease, I will honor that as well. So imagine that I sign a new one year lease, and end up knocking out more time, and cultivating my experiences. When the dust settles, it will be March of 2014, and I will be 31 years old. And by then I will be ready for a change. And just to add a certain masochistic element into the mix (because it's Friday!) I looked up real estate in my price range in a few of the places I'm considering....for what will get me a small room in New York City, elsewhere I can have....oh geez. Pretty much everywhere I am looking I can get a 2 bedroom in the heart of downtown for even less. That. Sucks.

But, hey these are my plans. They've got about as much use as when we were kids and we learned to play the recorder in music class. Absolute zero.

Not A Good 30 Countdown

In 30 days, I have to be living somewhere else.

And I am a wreck about it.

Moving is the worst. We've all been there. But moving with little time, and whole lot of uncertainty, is the most torturous moving hell there is.

Every night for nearly a week now I've been waking up in a panic at 4am, unable to get back to sleep. It's always something. I need to find a good place! Where? How much? Is it near transportation? Is it safe? How will I get my stuff there? My stomach hurts. How much will that cost? Is it loud? Are there bugs? How will my work commute be affected? I should get all my financial paperwork together. Oh, God my finances are solid, but by no means impressive. I can't breathe. Do they want to see my taxes? Where the fuck are my tax papers? I should get a letter of employment. I guess I'm spending the weekend at Kinkos. Why is this happening? This fucking sucks! And so on and so on, until it's around 5:30pm and I've worn myself out, and I think I could fall back asleep, but then it's 6:15am and I have to wake up for work (because I have new, early hours to cover for the group that got laid off last week). Needless to say, several colleagues have felt the need to point out how exhausted I look. Thank you co-workers. I know I'm tired. And thanks to your godlike powers of observation, I am glad to know I also look like death. Your words are anything but comforting.

Yesterday the dam kind of broke. I spent the entire day at work emailing, texting and calling realtors, Craigslist weirdos, and anyone who might have a place for me to live March 1st. Apartments were already gone. Apartments were obviously scams. Realtors said it was too early and I needed to do this in about two weeks - which I understand logistically, but the idea of ABSOLUTELY MUST finding a good new home in such a short period of time shatters my nerves. Also it's the fact that I work full time and getting to see these places takes time I don't have. At all.

After work I rushed to see an apartment that fit in my price range and is in one of the neighborhoods I'm considering. It. Was. Terrible. It was about 20 minute walk from the nearest train with a charming view of....the expressway. 5th floor walk up. Shitty hallways. The place itself was basically a tiny bedroom, a stove and a toilet. Doors hung off hinges. The walls reeked of Axe body spray. I politely said "Oh hell to the no" and ran away. I know I can't afford much, but I work hard and I'd prefer not to spend my off time living in squalor. I walked the slow, sad slog back to the train, and felt so overwhelmed, so totally fucked, and so hopeless that I just sobbed all the way home. In under a week two huge pillars of my personal stability - work and home - have undergone drastic and unpleasant changes. I don't know if they'll bounce back, to be honest. I guess we'll just have to see.