I am officially a fabulous New Yorker.

I am a fabulous New Yorker.

Tomorrow marks exactly six months since I arrived in New York.

I live on my own, completely supporting myself. No roommate, no partner, no nothing.

I pay all my bills with no help from anyone else. I rely on others only under extenuating circumstances. This probably sounds like such a simple thing for most people, but for me it's really been the most difficult challenge.

I have the job I was looking for. It may not be the most glamorous job, it may not pay the most money, but it puts me in an excellent position to figure out where I want to go next. I love my job. I am happy and eager to go to work. When I am there it doesn't even feel like I'm working... In fact I'm kind of surprised I get a paycheck every week for the "work" I do!

Like a tank full of sea monkeys, I am growing friendships all across the five boroughs. This element of my new life tries my patience more than any other, because I am used to a laid back world where people make time for each other. People here are really busy, like all the time, and I'm learning to operate within those parameters to make my friendships work.

I moved on from JH. I have dated a little, messed up a little, and learned a few lessons about what I want and need. I confirmed a lot of suspicions about those things too.

It was one year ago that I returned from a business trip and found JH practically running a flophouse in our home. It was one year ago that I faced the ugly truth that I could never marry him. One year ago I decided to leave a sour, frustrated life and make a better one. So I did it! I figured out what I wanted and took one year to accomplish all my three biggest, most daunting goals: Leave JH, move to New York, work in the movies. It has been a long year, and often difficult, but it's amazing to me that those goals used to seem so unattainable and far away. I dreamed of being on lists for fancy parties and supporting myself with a job in film and dancing the night away, flirting with boys and girls and surrounded by a gaggle of fantastically interesting friends.

So. With all that in mind, I give you the tale of last night:

Last night I felt like such a rock star...ten pounds lighter than a couple months ago, wearing a fabulous dress and carrying a trendy bag and cute French shoes, my hair long and curling at the ends just so. I walked purposefully past Bombay Restaurant in TriBeCa with a bottle of wine in hand, then slipped through a doorway behind the patio. I entered a gorgeous, gigantic artist's loft, filled with archives of massive, highly textured, paint-encrusted canvases. There were work benches and a series of mismatched wooden dining chairs around the space. Music sprinkled out of a doorway on the far side of the loft and I could make out people in cocktail attire holding wine glasses in the dimmed lighting. I entered, kissed my hostess hello, and then made my way around the party meeting and mingling.

I enjoyed myself, but left early, as I was also booked that evening for another loft party. I dashed out onto Greenwich Avenue, hailed a taxi, and off I went to The Triangle building at 9th and 14th. As I approached, I was greeted by a handsome young man who complimented my "gorgeous" red hair (oh yeah), and after the doorman confirmed my name on the list the handsome fellow escorted me up the industrial style elevator. He and I emerged at the back of a large, dark, crowded room and he half-whispered half shouted into my ear that I had arrived just in time for the bachelor auction. I thanked him and then coyly slipped away to find my group. Find them I did, and after one of my friends was auctioned off to benefit a great charity we danced the night away, laughing and talking and partaking of the open bar.

Later I texted Payroll, who was still at the Artist's loft. As the Triangle benefit party was winding down, so was their party (which was in honor of our friend Texas's birthday), and we decided to combine our parties in a really cute bar down in TriBeCa. We stayed there, drinking and laughing and talking literally until the sun came up. Texas even danced on the bar in her slinky silver disco-ball cocktail dress. In the morning twilight her British friend hailed a cab for me, and at 6:00 AM I kissed my two sweet kitties good morning and then we all crawled into bed, purring and snuggling right to sleep.


Oh, it's been tough this year, but all that is so worth it when I have nights like that.

Exhausted, no more social life, but happy, I swear!

Actual Post Date 4/17/08. Miss A is no longer able to churn them out... Without further delay, I give you the completely nonlinear stuff I wrote last night before I passed out with my computer on the pillow next to me. And now that it's done, I'm gonna catch a few Zs before I head back out...

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Thoughts are racing through my mind this evening, but in no particular order. I'm pretty exhausted tonight--another 13 hour day--and this time no martinis to blame it on. I actually had a good day at work... although the APOC commented on me looking worn out. I am kind of worn out. I'd like to think it's holdover from the nice evening I had with the IT crew from Womens Rights, but I know that's not true. This isn't physical.

In the interest of keeping it real I gotta say that I'm emotionally exhausted after a couple of weeks of people being noncommittal and flaky about hanging out (not Auntie though! And not my favorite IT department!).

I have a constant nature vs. nurture battle waging in my head. My nature is to trust people, to see the good in their hearts and to enjoy their company worry-free. The events of my life however have made me wary and skeptical, and I often project my own unrelated doubts and fears onto others. This is especially true when my mind is idle and left to entertain itself.

But, as we say in Brooklyn, Fuhgettaboudit! I am back to a place where I'm busy all the time and wiped out in the other two hours of the day. I no longer have time to worry about what anyone else is thinking. My body and brain are too wrapped up getting used to this work pace... Both of them have been kind of lazy the last few years, although taking Hurricane Katrina into consideration, several people have argued to me that I had a good excuse.

Back to the topic at hand though, I am off the market from Sunday at 10 pm through Friday at 8. Bye bye, social life, I loved you well, but I'm living my dream. Or something.

The producer even suggested a meeting tomorrow, but I just didn't have the energy to deal with his maybes and perhapses. I want him to be noncommittal about some things, but hanging out with me is just not one of those things. Now I kind of regret my impatience, both over the last few weeks (too much of that girl kind of impatience) and tonight (irritable and tired). Really I don't know enough about him to make any kind of real judgement call, but I do know that I'm starting to feel jerked around. That's nurture talking. My trusting nature tells me that he's really a great person who genuinely wants to be friends. It'd be nice to know, but I'm over worrying about it (especially since I gave up caring and blogged it).

My heart is in a good place, I'm feeling free and happy in spite of, or perhaps because of my exhaustion. I'm learning to let go of expectation and to replace it with hope and the joy of being a shiny little candle flame and living truly in the moment.

What is it about New York that makes hats and scarves look better?

Maybe it's the blustery, overcast spring day we had--I love overcast days--but New Yorkers were looking good from my vantage point. The wind blew scarves around behind necks under smiling, rosy-cheeked faces and the clouds diffused the sunlight so that the faces were bright, but not harsh. Curled up in the window seat at a certain tanning salon on 14th st. I watched this cross section of New York walking to and fro along the street and wondered what my place in it will be in a year or in two years or in ten. Will I even stay? Will I do work that is satisfying and rewarding? Will I have many friends, or just a few good ones like I have now?

Will I have loved someone again?

What will I have accomplished? What wisdom will I pass on to my little niece or nephew? Will I have more than one of those? Will I still feel afraid to open up the "real me" to my mother above everyone else?

Will I still be intimidated by beautiful people? Who of those who surround me now will still play large roles in my life? Will I write the book or make the film or will my story stay with me? Will I still feel overwhelmed by possibility? Will I still be able to stay in the moment, as I have now been doing for one precious week?

Where will I live? How will I spend my days? Will I be like Salty or one of the Aunts? Will people still tell me I'm just like my mom?

Will I always have a soft spot for awkwardness? Will I always be as awkward and fumbling as I am now? Will I be able to live up to my ideals or will my ideals change as I do?

Not that any of this truly matters now... My heart is just in a curious place today. I had a nice and busy day, spent with lots of nice people, and while sitting there with my cheek nestled against PDF's sleeve I was very glad for the freedom to ask.

Just let your Soooooooul Glo!

At one low point or another in the mopey lonely growing pains of the last few months, Salty explained to me that things were going to suck and suck and suck and then suddenly it would click.

Well here I am, mid-click! Thanks to good advice from great people (most particularly Aunt J, Salty, and my favorite data guru, 2.0), I've shed my high-strung, gotta-stay-afloat, me-against-the-world attitude and I'm relaxing into things more. I'm breathing better, and instead of looking for a life I'm living one. Of course there have been lots of people who have helped that process, and I'm super grateful to them all. But I'm most proud of me.

Yesterday I got a verbal offer for a permanant position at the women's health advocacy nonprofit. Sure, it's not a super cool amazing creative job, but it's something I believe in. And I'll have health insurance, which is definitely a step up. I'd love to go to the dentist. I had my last cleaning right before I left my insurance-ful job in New Orleans, and it's been about six months now, so I'm due. I love clean teeth! I love not having to pay the dentist a bucket of cash for my clean teeth even better! As a bonus, the position that I was offered is NOT an administrative assistant position. It's better! I would be more like a division coordinator, with lackeys to whom I can delegate stuff.

Also, I am officially looking for a new apartment. Park Slope, Prospect Heights, Williamsburg/Greenpoint, all are good; I just want to live in a relatively fun neighborhood and pay $1000 or less per month. So far I'm loving Brooklyn, but I'm considering my options - at the $1000 price point a LOT more is open to me. I might consider a roommate, but really only if I find the perfect setup. Having the cats now, I don't feel so alone at home. In fact, I get to wake up and snuggle with someone special every morning!

Since so many of you have been nice and asked, Penelope and Lu are settling in very well. They have a strange preoccupation with the bathtub - I think they believe that I hid "the rest" of the apartment back there somewhere, because they climb into the tub and sniff at the wall like they're looking for a secret door. They sleep on the chairs that are tucked under my kitchen table all day and wake me up with little purring, whiskery kisses in the morning. I can't ever resist scooping Penny up in my arms for a quick cuddle! I'd forgotten how much I loved those two and how big their personalities are!

Okay, so no pretty moments, no witty commentary on social services, no bratty reactions to the concerns of those who care about me, but it's what's going on with me. This weekend I'm booked up like crazy: outings with two different groups of friends tonight, brunch in the morning, dinner with Aunt K and drinks with Cousin Jeannie and her brother tomorrow night, then running, belly dance, and probably more mimosas on Sunday. Whew! We'll see if it all actually goes down that way, but I hope it does because it sure sounds fun!

What's the opposite of Koyaanisqatsi? Did I even spell that right?

I am secretly a girly girl. Whether I like to admit it or not, I looove to dish to my girlfriends about clothes and hairstyles and relationship woes... One of the better vacations I've ever had was an overnight trip to the beach in Alabama, where three other girls and I got hammered on gigantic self-poured cocktails and bitched about our boyfriends in backwoods Alabama twang. But now, since I left New Orleans, that's changed. I left the relationship that caused the woes, and since then I've been in sort of an awkward emotional state. I've been grieving for the loss of my companion of six years. Trying though he may be, I really loved him an awful lot and he was a really great friend.

Anyway, that relationship began within days of me turning 22. Now, at 27, I feel like I missed out a bit on that whole being-single-in-my-twenties thing, and I've been really nervous about it. Don't get me wrong, I've gotten really good at opening my eyes and noticing attractive people, it's just that my 'Taken' switch hadn't really been turned off. Then suddenly I went on that random date on the same day I saw that guy on the subway. Since then, a realization has been growing in my head, and this last weekend, doused in champagne, it really kind of dawned on me. The decade is still young. I have two and a half years of my twenties left. As strange and foreign as it seems to me, I can do whatever I want with those years and all the years beyond them. I am single! Unattached to any other human being! I answer to no one! Weird! Scary! Awesome!

Monday I cruised into the office to an iPod soundtrack of upbeat contemporary pop music (I'm kind of obsessed with The Go! Team right now), thinking about how wonderfully single I am and what that means in terms not only of dating, but also in terms of everything else. I felt free, like I'd finally cut the leash I had been wearing in deference to JH and New Orleans and to goals I had set at the green age of 19. I saw AIG on my way in and flashed a confident smile. I think it caught him a little off guard, even though we're sort of friends now. I laughed breezy hellos to ODG and 2.0 and chatted merrily about our antics from last Friday.

I feel so good, like my world is shifting back into balance. I'm settled into my apartment, I'm about to get my cats back, I have some friends, my family is doing great, and I'm ready to make my next move, which is the Big Job Push.

It's taken four months and a lot of stress, but I finally feel like I belong here in New York! I'm home!

The Legend of Miss Adventurous, Part 4 - The Real Journey Begins. On Foot.

The year was 1995. I was fourteen, going on fifteen. I was completely nonathletic and spent most of my time buried in books or notebooks. I had bangs (not cute bangs) and long, stringy brown hair (there, I said it, it's not really red) and was for the most part incapable of relating to people, including (especially?) myself and my own feelings.

At the end of Part 3, I mentioned that I started running. Somehow, the summer after 8th grade, I made up my mind that I was going to join the cross country team in high school. My sister had been a cross country and track runner, which is where I got the idea, but I'm still not entirely sure why it appealed to me, given my status as a fat, nerdy, non-shorts-wearing, gym-class avoider. I do remember why I kept doing it though.

The first day I ran for about five minutes before I got winded and had to walk. I knew that it was just about one mile down Woodiebrook road to the bridge though, and I was determined to make it that far, and to run as much as I could. I had no idea what I was doing, but I figured out that I could run a little, then walk a little, and that it was kind of fun to set little mental goals for myself. I'll run until I get to that mailbox. I'll run until I get to the telephone pole. Hell no I'm not running up this hill. I'll run down the other side. For the first time I was challenged by something outside of academics, and although this sounds kind of weird, it felt really good to do something I sucked at! This running thing was harder than it looked!

I set a goal to conquer the one mile to the bridge without walking, and within a few weeks I had done it (thank you adaptable teenage body). By the end of the summer, I could huff and puff all the way there and back without stopping once. I lost weight. I felt awesome. I loved the feeling of overcoming the little "I can't" voice in my head.

When school began, I realized that my sedentary childhood had left me with a handicap on the cross-country course. My first 5K was run in just over 31 minutes which, as a matter of fact, sucks. The next slowest runner on my team was running at about 27 minutes. Rather than getting discouraged, I continued working harder. I became the Little Engine that Could, chipping away at the elusive 10 minute mile split. I had good mentors that year--Sarah and Melanie, the two senior girls on our team, and Patrick, my coach. They saw how hard I was working and how much I was improving and they were always quick to offer advice and encouragement, even though I was the slowest runner on our team during every practice and every race. I don't know if those three people will ever really understand how much the memory of their voices cheers me on every time I try to do something really challenging.

The next year my coach wound up working at a different school. At my first race that year, I saw Patrick on the side, cheering for both us and for his new team, and when he saw me he started hooting and hollering louder than I'd ever heard him before...and with good reason! I finished that race in 26:15. I'll never forget that. It's the fastest I've ever run.

The new coach was different; he wasn't in the business of helping kids improve themselves, he was in the business of winning the conference championship and going to State. He either ignored me or treated me like I didn't belong on the team, and I can't say that my teammates were any better, as cliquey as they were. Instead of improving, my performance went downhill and hovered there. The team did go to the state championship that year. I wasn't even invited.

Still, I managed to stick around all four years. They never acknowledged it (they said my junior year didn't count because I missed two races after I flipped my car over), but I was the only one in my class who started at the beginning and finished at the end. As hurt as I was (and still am) over the lack of recognition, I'm actually kind of glad, because it proves that I did it all for myself.

And now, chasing down the elusive 10 minute mile all over again, I do it for me. Sometimes when people ask why I like to run, I say "oh, it's like meditation." That's true...but that's not really the reason I do it. I like it because it's something that does not come very easy or naturally to me. And I do it to make myself a better person inside and out.

Now what am I going to do with all the call-girl flyers I had made up? And other, more morbid issues

Hung over as I was yesterday, I left work all geared up for an awesome night cuddling on my couch, ordering pizza, and watching the French Connection. My first New York pizza! It didn't work out that way, and although the night wasn't totally great, I'm actually pretty glad!

Basically, I was invited to meet someone out. A dude. A dude I barely know. A...dare I say it...date....sort of. I was hesitant, but I decided to go for it. After all, Newbie NYC says to never refuse an invitation...and having whined last week about not going out at all, why not!?

So I went. Two major things happened.

1. I saw a man fall down the stairs on a subway platform and crack his head open. Hemophobic as I am, I was scared as hell, but I just couldn't leave him! And other people were just stepping over him and going about their business....I know this is New York, I know people are busy, but GOSH! COME ON, people, have a little human decency and at least go the other way! I had these visions running through my head of me lying on that concrete, moaning unintelligibly, barely breathing, a pool of blood and fluid pouring out of my skull, suits and skirts stepping over my twisted legs... I called the station manager. Another nice girl stopped and called 911. I stayed until the help came. It was all I could do to keep from crying; I have never seen that much blood before. I kept wondering if that's how much blood came out of my dad... I felt so bad for that man, for his family... what if he has two little girls at home? What if he...

I couldn't stay. When they got there, I just couldn't stay to find out if he was... I just never want to know, because this way at least I have some hope.


I almost went home, but I didn't have R's number to cancel, and I also...kind of didn't want to go home. I kind of wanted a drink at that point. So I got on the train and wound up meeting him around 68th and Columbus...

2. R was...really cool! The only fault I can see so far is that he doesn't drink (not even a glass of wine with dinner? I don't know). And that's really just not that big of a deal, because he may have a very good reason for it. After I explained why I was late (still shaking), he read my palm. Very cute, and it totally helped to calm me down. He was still dressed for work, in smooth business casual--and me in my hipster uniform from casual Friday! He looked great in a tie. I only hope I looked great in glasses and pigtails.

I must have, because as the evening moved along he seemed to get closer and closer. We had the most amazing conversation about god and pain and living in the moment. I haven't talked like that with someone in a really long time. After two hours of thinking and talking about thinking and then thinking more, he suggested we grab a slice of pizza. Perfect! Ironic! Funny!

At the pizza joint he spoke Spanish to the guys behind the counter. And he's not just bilingual, oh no. He's multilingual. Amazing.

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PS - Speaking of call girls, go check out my sister's awesome post about Eliot Spitzer.

"Planning, counting, outlines and to-do lists are useless until they are done."

Today's title comes from Chelsea Talks Smack, specifically here. This, along with the temptation to blog about some cursory plans made with coworkers, made me realize that I have continually written about things I expect to happen... And then they don't happen. And then I feel weird when I go back and read about something that never happened, like keeping it there is a lie or something...but then I feel even weirder about changing old posts... So. No more writing about plans. Only experiences...and ideas, of course.

Speaking of experiences, did you check out yesterday's picture? It really doesn't do the scene justice; the air was crisper, the park was brighter, the the ducks were cuter, sticking their faces underwater to chomp down on bugs and other goodies. After staying an hour late yesterday, it was still bright enough when I stepped off the subway to go for a lovely walk. All decked out in work clothes (complete with tall, less-comfy-than-my-chucks boots)

...it was so gorgeous I started thinking in French. Daylight savings has got me in a great mood!

Fresh as a daisy and smelly as a goat

Ahhh.... Runnnnnnnnning....

Sometimes I grumble about living in Prospect Lefferts Gardens. The PLG isn't exactly the bastion of sassy hipster cool that people think of when I say "I live in Brooklyn." It's super residential and I know there's some stuff on the other side of the 'hood, but in my regularly patrolled area (between the park and my apt bldg on Lincoln and the few surrounding blocks on Flatbush Ave) there is one hip little coffee shop, one (delicious) cute tex-mex restaurant, and Lime, a nightclub to which I have never been.

But I gotta say... Weekend mornings are a joy out here. Waking up, puttin' the old lime green shorts on, it is a joy knowing I pay $895 a month and live a block away from one of the best parks in New York.

Prospect also happens to be the perfect park for my purposes (!) being that it has a nice paved running track that is 3+ miles, some unpaved running trail areas, in addition to all the standard park goodies, like playgrounds and picnic areas. I especially like Auntie Hunting, which involves me running around through all the dogs between 8 and 9 in the morning, hoping to spot Aunt J or her partner Auntie R and their sweet little whippet.

Before my watch stopped, I was focusing more on the numbers of running - Check watch, look for mile markers, check watch, check watch again, okay I'll turn around in six minutes, check watch... Not any more! Now that I'm watchless (and running with abandon), I'm really taking it all in. I love maneuvering through swarms of excited dogs waving their tongues around as they chase each other at the Dog Beach, leaping onto the banks of the bridle trail to evade equestrians, and weaving in between tents at the cute little farmer's market in Grand Army Plaza. I don't know that I'm getting a great workout in or anything, but I'm definitely having more fun than I was on the clock!

I was thinking today, while bounding up the hill from the Long Meadow somewhere near the Litchfield Villa, that my weekend runs are a really great way to tap into life in the BK. I'm starting to see the same faces (and the same dogs--the dogs are wonderfully pervasive), and it's giving me a marvelous sense of connection and positivity. It really makes that mopey lonely crappy feeling vanish. I can't wait until it gets warmer... Aunt J and Auntie R told me that there's lots to do in the park in the summer.

Speaking of, Daylight Savings tonight has me in a GREAT mood! I don't give a lick about it being light in the morning; I'm just excited to be able to walk home in the afternoon sunshine! Maybe I can even start taking the train to Grand Army and walking through the park! Wooooo!

Now that I'm all smelly and sweaty (dare I say, salty too) I'm gonna hop in the shower and then off to...well, I don't know. It's all rainy out, so I won't go back to the park... But who cares? I'll find something to do--I'm in New York!

A Blog for LM, or, What I Learned from The Feminine Mystique

When I was working on leaving JH, I stumbled somewhere upon an article about Betty Friedan and her book, The Feminine Mystique. I had heard the title passed around before that article, but I always thought the term referred to a woman's sexual appeal. I'd never really thought about it or looked into it. From that article though, I learned that The Feminine Mystique is a book that reshaped the way women operated within American society.  I picked up the book around Christmas and I positively devoured it.

The term itself is used to lend words to what Friedan calls "the problem that has no name." The problem, in essence, was the general unrest being experienced by women in the early 60's that was often marked by alcoholism, extramarital affairs, and use of Mother's little helpers. The gist is that these were a new kind of women: college-educated, but expected to do nothing with their brains besides endless housework, bridge games, and perhaps the occasional PTA event. The general message from every point in society at that time, from the Dick Van Dyke Show, from Redbook, from Margaret Mead and even from their own psychoanalysts was that a woman should be complete and whole and happy being a wife and mother. If she tried her own career, she was placing undue burden on her husband and children by not fitting into her "role." And if she wasn't happy, well then there must be something wrong with her.  In the book, Friedan dissects all the backstory behind that message, why it's wrong, and what we can do to change it.

Here in the 21st century, you 20- or 30-something women may think this doesn't apply to you. Newsflash though, I see this crap from my friends all the time. In fact, it applied directly to me. Play along and you'll see what I mean.

For a long time, my MySpace page said something like "I define myself through other people." Truer words were never spoken. In fact, I think the whole reason I got myself into that wake-up-one-day-and-hate-my-life predicament was that I was defining myself through other people. I was never one of those girls that plan their weddings when they're twelve or anything, but there really was an amorphous, abstract part of my brain that thought I would be happy once I was married to JH. In fact, there was an amorphous, abstract part of my brain that made me believe there was something wrong with me because our relationship didn't leave me feeling complete and whole and happy. Hmmm... I put my dreams and goals on hold to help advance him toward his career goals, so that he might someday become a doctor and support me, and then I would work on my goals and dreams. Then I'd be happy. Hmmm....

I won't get into a saucy bitchfest over why I decided he couldn't be a part of my completeness equation, I'll just say that somewhere along the way I dissected a sentence:

I am happy.

The first word? I. Who is that? This I? What am I? If I strip away my mom, I am no longer N's daughter. If I strip away my dad, I am no longer a girl whose dad killed himself. If I strip away my sister, I have nobody to copycat. If I strip away JH, I am nobody's girlfriend. If I strip away my friends, my job, my cats, my hobbies, my red hair dye, my wardrobe, even my skin... Who am I? How do I know I am happy if I don't even know who I am?

(I know that's a circular line of questioning. Just play along, please. You know what I'm driving at.)

I read this other book, called Smart Women Finish Rich, which is a pretty good read if you're a self-help book junkie like me, or if money baffles you. Anyway, in that book, there's this exercise in which you write down your values. How do you know what your values are? "If you had all the time and the money in the world, what would you do?" It's the same question. Take it all away. Everything. What do you do? How do you define yourself? Give yourself everything you ever thought you could want, and then nothing else matters but who you are. What do you do? How do you define yourself then?

The answer, of course, is different for everyone, and it's not always as easy as you might think to come up with that answer. I'm still working on mine, of course; that's one of the reasons I blog. That and towels. But I think I'm getting somewhere. Living alone for the first time...that definitely helps.

Living in a place like New York? Perfect! You're automatically stripped. Nobody knows who you are or where you came from, and they're too busy to care. You can be anybody you want to be, and define yourself however you want. There's no such thing as a preconceived notion of a stranger in a city with 2 million people. Sure, we make them up, but that doesn't mean we're surprised when we find out we were wrong.

As for you, LM, I know that New Orleans is a much smaller town and that you don't have the luxury of anonymity like I do, but that's really not necessary. All you have to do is strip the other stuff away...what are you then? What do you want? What are your dreams? What would you do if you had already done it all? Moving out of your house, that's on the right track, for sure. Moving to another city? I highly recommend it, if only for the experience (grad school in New York!), but it's important to do what you think is right for you. And as for the boys, fuggedaboudit! You gotta be you, whoever the hell that is, and you gotta let them be them. The rest will come.

And as for the rest of you...  Go figure it out!

Woohoo!

On my way to the subway from work. Incidentally there's another one on my way home from the subway.

An ode to my bath sheet

O! White cotton glory
Snuggling me so friendly
When I saw you on the shelf at Ikea you were $9.99
I thought you were cheap then.

I know now that you
Are, as the French say, cher
(This means both "expensive" and "dear" in that language
So maybe you'll get the double entendre).

Wrap me, O towel!
For I have showered and am clean!
I am feeling lazy and did not shave my legs (again)
I never want to get dressed.

Sundays are my favorite.

Okay, this isn't really the third post today; the other two were started last week and never finished. Sorry to shatter your belief in my perfect ability to churn out blogs willy nilly. Or whatever. I've been busy speed dating and ogling the IT guy at work. And also work is actually keeping me busy, unlike the last temp assignment...you know, the one where I never ever blogged (no never)....

Sunday is fast becoming my absolute favorite day of the week, and here's why:

I start by waking up at 8:00 (an hour late!). I put on my running clothes, pack some cash in my little shorts pocket and walk 1.5 blocks to Prospect Park, where I run with some serious abandon. My cheap Target stopwatch has died after surviving three years with me, through a summer in France, through Katrina, through the bad times with JH, through my move. That stopwatch did me some serious good, but now that it's gone I can't really bring myself to replace it yet. So I go to the park and run, watchless and with abandon.

After my run, I stroll merrily to K-Dog, turning heads as I go because I'm wearing running shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt in 25 degree weather. In the coffee shop, my glasses fog up and I make a little joke to the lady behind the counter. I order a large coffee with extra soy milk, my favorite. Then I wander a block away, pick up my laundry from the people who washed, dried, and folded it for me (this is one of my favorite things about New York), and head home. I get in the shower, and today it's a long, languid shower...the kind where you take enough time to shave your legs, but don't actually shave them. Then I towel up. I love lounging around in my towel, freshly showered. After a quick email check I put on my favorite outfit: a v-neck t-shirt that has been hemmed to just under the bust, a hoodie on top, and stretchy boot-cut dance pants. I put my hair up into a messy bun-thing, stuff a hip scarf, zils, and a bottle of water into my bag and head out the door.

I feel like Snow White walking through the forest on my way to the subway. My ipod is playing upbeat Motown, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and, oh shit! Someone just tried to run me over while I was crossing Flatbush! Oh well...shrug it off and keep on going. Magically, the train appears just after I arrive on the platform. I sit down for my Sunday morning read. This week it's JD Salinger's Nine Stories. As the Q train crosses the bridge, Manhattan looks resplendent in the morning sunlight. The Statue of Liberty waves hello.

After a brisk walk from 14th street to Astor Place, I arrive at the dance studio. I'm late, but never mind. Just glad to be here. From the front of the room, Mimi says hello, and I feel a little bit like she's saying "nice of you to join us, Miss A. Please take your place." I hurry with my hip scarf and funky heel-less sandals and then fall in line to body wave along with the rest of the class. For two hours I learn about my body, where this joint can bend, where that limb can extend, how to make it all move the way my brain thinks it should. I actively discover what I am, the muscle and tissue, and even the stuff that jiggles a little too much when I shimmy.

Afterward I chat a little with Mimi and with the other girls from class. This is good, that's hard, can we try this next time. One of the other girls, D, mentions coffee. I perk up. More coffee sounds great. Breakfast sounds great--I forgot to eat. It's 3:30.

More chatting, some laughing, then strolling with D and H around the Village, looking for that place I went before. Couldn't find it, so we wound up at Dunkin' Donuts! I indulged in an egg and cheese sandwich, one of my favorite favorite things. There is lots of chatting. Lots of laughing. A cute little old guy sits down next to us and tells us about a Three Stooges movie. It's great. Walking to the subway, D tells about a chance she has to put together a line (she designs lingerie) and a show and stuff, but mutters something quickly about no money and no time blah blah. And so I say this (it's paraphrased):

"You have an opportunity that may not come again. TAKE the opportunity and run with it! The money will come! The time will come...you will make them come, but only if you force yourself to do so. I know what it's like to be an artist, and to be frustrated by your needs... You need to eat. You need to pay rent. But you will, you just have to trust yourself."

(I could have cried then and there, because it was the first moment that I realized I believe that. I believe that! I believe it! I do! I have already come such a long way from that awful place I used to be!)

After that I come home and sink into my comfy, comfy bed. I snuggle down and surf the net. I watch the Simpsons. I forget to eat again, so I have a banana and a granola bar and some raw veggies. I've started to love chilled bananas.

Well that'll teach me to wallow in misery!

The personal growth continues!

I am beginning to think of money like a game instead of like air. I won't die if I don't have it, I'll just fall behind in the game. I have a savings...it's not much, but at least I have enough to cover my butt for a month, and that's better than most people I know. Also, I just did my taxes and...woohoo! My return will pay off almost all of the credit card balance I racked up when I moved!

Tomorrow I have a date (not a Valentine's date, just a friend date) with Z, who, when she found out I'm temping, decried the necessity for a "real job" and told me to start pet sitting like she does. I kind of fear that sort of instability, but I also feel like doing something like that would be a great step toward feeling free from money.

Speaking of freedom, I realized something a few days ago. I was sitting on the subway skimming through The Feminine Mystique (I just can't seem to put it down; now I'm going back through it and highlighting stuff), and I noticed this:

"For the problem that has no name, from which so many women in America suffer today, is caused by adjustment to an image that does not permit them to become what they now can be. It is the growing despair of women who have forfeited their own existence, although by so doing they may also have evaded that lonely, frightened feeling that always comes with freedom."

And it hit me then: I'm free.

...I'm free!

I'M FREE!!

I am free from identifying myself through other people! I am free from making choices for anyone but me! I am free from someone else controlling my money! Free from obligation to things that are unimportant to me! Most of all though, and best of all...I'm free from the bitter anger that came with my previous life. I am free to make myself happy!

Nobody put me in those binds; I was just so busy trying to feel better...about my dad...that I wound up trying to fix my problems with someone else's solution. That life, that particular band-aid, won't work for my gaping wound. I need to treat it properly so that it fully heals. And I'm totally free to do that.

Now that I've had a little taste of freedom I want more, even if that means being a bit lonely and a little scared. I want to be able to bounce away from the constraints of this corporate nine-to-fiver stuff and start making a living doing something that doesn't make me dread getting up in the morning (whatever that is). There's money to be had out there, why can't some of it be for me?

This is my life, and I'm free to live it however I want! I'm so excited!

My Salty Weekend

This weekend was great! Like I mentioned, my big sister, the illustrious running blogger Salty, came to New York for a visit. I feel like a million bucks!

After a flight cancellation, several delays and a holding pattern, Salty was to land at Newark and then arrive in Manhattan by NJ Transit. Meanwhile, I had come straight from work, and so I had plenty of time to wander around Penn Station K-Mart while I waited. I purchased a stovetop coffee percolator and some shower curtain rings to put up the second shower curtain in my bathroom (I have one of those c-shaped curtain rods that is split in the middle by a rod-to-ceiling wire, so two curtains are better than one). Also, I was perusing the summer stuff that was already featured in a prominent section of the K-Mart and quite by surprise, I discovered the largest selection of garden gnomes in Manhattan! There's just something really funny about selling lawn ornamentation in a place with hardly any lawns...I kind of want one now! A gnome of my own! Gnome sweet gnome!

I collected Salty from NJ Transit and then whisked her away by subway to Brooklyn, where Auntie J came over to pick us up for dinner at her house across the park... Really though, the whole thing was orchestrated so that Salty and J could check out the quality of my tiny home with the eyes of discerning New York veterans. And although I think J is still a little disconcerted over my 'hood, they both seemed very pleased, and the consensus seems to agree with me: Location - Great, Neighborhood - Okay, Building - Poor, Apartment - Perfect.

We spent a long evening at Aunt J's (bigger and homier) Park Slope apartment, chatting over wine and pizza and amazing broccoli raab. We talked about many things: politics, The Feminine Mystique (I'm almost done, I swear) and what it would be like if Al Sharpton were president. And of course, Dad came up a few times...but he wasn't sitting in-between us anymore. It's almost as if I exorcised that particular demon by writing about how it affected me. Interesting.

On Saturday we got up early and ran at Prospect Park, then met one of Salty's high school friends, Mr. T (heh) for brunch. Mr. T was always my favorite of Laura's friends, and now, having met him again as an adult, I think it's because Salty was right--he and I are kind of alike. Then again, it could also be because I once saw him wearing my mother's swimsuit. Regardless, he and his fiancee live in the next 'hood over from mine, so that's one more person, and maybe even two, in New York that I know! And as a bonus, we brunched at Tom's Restaurant, which is not only delicious, not only adorable, not only cheap, but it is also within walking distance from my apartment!

After Brunch we went into Mahattan so I could attend a rehearsal for my bellydancing class's upcoming recital, and so Salty could attend to painful beauty rituals at a nearby salon. The rehearsal was great great great, but I don't want to get into it here, but I promise I'll blog more about bellydancing soon.

That night we had a super fabulous evening with Superfabulous A, another one of Salty's friends. We met him at his too-cute Greenpoint apartment (the Polish thugs and food make me wish I'd gone apartment hunting there instead!), where some of his fabulous friends were just leaving to go to Bar 89, a place I have decided I must visit, but only for the bathroom. After lolling about on his awesome new/old ultra shag rug, Superfabulous A accompanied us for dinner at Enid's, an adorable hipster-frequented joint with a terrible "blackened" catfish sandwich. One of these days Northerners will learn that blackened does not mean char-broiled.

We had a great old time hanging out, and Superfab and Salty reminisced about adventures past. My mom called and, upon finding out that Superfab had just broken up with his boyfriend, she said "Great! Now you'll have more time to spend taking care of [Miss A]!" Silly Mom! We did make plans to go see The Diving Bell and the Butterfly though, which, if it's still playing, will be super!

As a side note (I should just give up and call myself Miss Parentheses), I told PDF about Superfabulous A and now he's all intrigued... I think he thought he was the most super fabulous person I knew, and he's curious to meet the competition!

Like I said before, we spent part of Saturday schlepping around Manhattan, and the whole reason was that we had to visit the Upper East Side to get our numbers for the New York Road Runners' Gridiron Classic, a 4 mile race in Central Park. Sunday morning we arrived at the park with ample time so that Salty could meet up with blog buddy Chelle. They went off together to do their fast runner thing (warm up faster than my race pace) and left me alone. For a little while I felt very very alone, like why did I even bother to run this stupid race? I haven't even been running regularly... And it was a little hard to not get that same feeling I used to get in high school during cross country practice, when the other girls would ditch me during warm ups. If you've ever been on a team for something that in no way comes natural to you, no matter what you do, you might understand the feeling. I'm not a very good runner by most standards--I'm not fast, I have bad knees, and I have about twice the body mass of most runners--but inside I'm one of the best! What I lack in physical ability I make up for in spirit and determination. You'll never catch me chatting with my friends at a 13:00/mile pace, oh no! I take it seriously, and train like any other runner might....it's just that I train a lot slower.

Slow though I may be, I had a great race...in fact, it was perfect! I ran my first mile with some little kids and their coaches at 10:45. Their enthusiasm helped me kick it in for my second mile, a perfect 10:00! After that the kids slowed and I picked up a little, crossing the three mile marker at 9:50. Encouraged, I busted a move and flew past the finish line with a 9:30 fourth mile! I haven't run that fast since high school! Wooo!

I'd like to thank Salty, for inspiring me to stick with it, even if I can only make time two days a week.

I also crossed the finish line, bent over, and started wheezing. I'm just getting over a cold and all the congestion caught up with me after that superfast (for me) last mile! I couldn't catch a good breath for about two full minutes, which feels like eternity when you realize for the first time what it must feel like to have asthma. I thought I needed medical attention for the first ten seconds, but it got better as my heart rate slowed down. A few feet later and I started crying (as if wheezing wasn't bad enough!) from all the adrenaline. I knew I had just run the best race I could possibly run given the shape I'm in, and despite the sobbing and discomfort, it was awesome.

Today I'm feeling the burn in my legs--I'm all shinsplinty and buttsore (incidentally, buttsore would be a great name for a running blog). Maybe I overdid it just a little.

I'm glad I'm sore and achy, because it's like a little holdover to remind me of how great a weekend it was. And now, thanks to Salty's generosity and good-sisterliness, my network is a little bigger, my Auntie J hangups are fewer, and I feel good and free--like I can do anything! Having my big sis around was the best pick-me-up I could have asked for!

Life will be a little Saltier this weekend!

9:15.

Fifteen minutes after work began, and already I have begun to endure the onslaught of irritating and less-than-intelligent insults: The reason this itinerary said January 30 on it is because I forgot to delete the date. Excuse me? I'm sorry I don't understand Italian. No, I'm not an idiot. Yes I gave the itinerary to him. I'm sure he'll figure out that that isn't the right date. It's not rocket science. No, I didn't check it over before I gave it to him. Yes, next time I will. Please forgive me for my gross oversight.

I'm ready to gouge my eyes out.

I've been reading Becoming a New Yorker lately, which is a cute blog about someone else who moved to New York on a quarter-life crisis whim. So far I've read the first three months, and the tone is all positive and excited and cute, which is probably what mine would be like if I had different ambitions for myself, if working in an office were enough for me, if this job weren't so far beneath my potential that I would rather have a root canal than coming here to get yelled at about the way I print Mapquest directions or staple documents. Note to self: do not rock boat.

Anyway, BNY has inspired me to revisit the concept of brainstorming. Last summer I brainstormed and it led me here to New York. Check it out:

Pretty cool, huh? Some of those things I've already done, which is great! Some are things I don't really care about doing anymore. My life has changed, so the Things I Want To Do brainstorm sheet should change too. So instead of sitting here grumbling about the crazy lady I'm going to do another brainstorm sheet too.

PS. - I applied for a couple of PA jobs this week; I plan to call and follow up today at lunch. Also Salty, my big sister, is flying to New York today to see me! Barring bad weather, her plane is supposed to get in at about 5:15, and I'll meet her in Brooklyn after work! Yay!

I saw this guy on the subway today. No, really! I did!

It was SUCH a nice day today!

I'm in a fantastic mood, and I think it has to do with running in the sunshine. After that I cleaned up a little at home and then came out to Manhattan and stole PDF's dog for a walk in Central Park. It was great fun! It made me really glad that I made it here. I'm glad I made all those crazy decisions! I'm glad I uprooted myself out of the complacent trap of domesticity! I'm glad I'm living in pursuit of my dreams!

Now hopefully I'll make rent!

Attention, Supervillians! Whoever gave Robin that wedgie had better start running.

Today is the day!

My friend LM from New Orleans got me some info about some productions that are coming up (very nice!), and today is the day I will flip open the telephone and talk to someone. I am not afraid. In fact, I am kind of excited!

And anyway, what do I have to lose? I'm smart and capable and (a little) experienced, and I really and truly believe that I can do the job better than most people could. And besides, I'm a badass.

I'm also considering applying for the DGA trainee program. It's one of those 3-zillion-people-apply-and-only-4-get-in things. But whatever! If I don't apply, I'll never have that 1 in 3 zillion chance, right?

I'm feeling all empowered. I spoke to JH the other day and he agreed to sell the house. I think he finally figured out that I'm not going to leave him alone until he does. Having significantly less debt is AWESOME! And it makes me feel like the badass that I am!