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.

New York crosswalk buttons are fake.

No kidding. It blew my mind!

MRPLET!

Now that the cat is so unenthusiastically out of the bag, it must be proclaimed across the Internet for all to see. SALTY IS PREGNANT! I'm gonna be Auntie Adventurous! And someday, my little niece or nephew is going to be working hard at figuring out his or her own life, and then I can pass along all the kindness and generosity that people like Salty and my Aunties have shown me!

And Mom too, of course, but I'll leave all the mothering in our family to Salty. She and Mrp are going to make such great parents!

The Mrplet is on its way!

We found out on Easter Sunday...and now I get to proclaim it to the world on a Sunday too. See? I told you Sundays are the best.

F--- YEAH.

I just did the unthinkable.

In one word I turned down a $40k annual salary for $650 a week, for a maximum of twelve weeks.. In that same word, I rejected the possibility of health insurance, paid vacations, or a 401(k). That word rejected a 9 to 5 schedule of laxidaisical event planning and scheduling meetings (and yes. blogging) in favor of 13 hour workdays of thankless phone answering and running back and forth and NEVER messing up, if at all humanly possible.

That word was a resounding and unequivocal YES.

I have to thank Aunt J one more time, and I'll probably thank her again tomorrow. Without her endorsement, who knows how long it might have taken? I certainly didn't expect it even this soon, but I'm sure glad it happened. Now I just need to make the best of it and impress the hell out of everyone in the production office...but if my past jobs are any indication, that will come naturally to me!

Because I... AM A ROCK STAR.

The Walk of Shame

I read BNY's post mentioning the Union Square Green Market a week ago but I'd kind of forgotten, so it was a pleasant surprise to wander through it on my way to the Q. I got a little inspired by the flowers and the springy weather and took some phone photos. They came out pretty well considering I had no macro capability and was just snapping them off willy nilly. Here's the resulting eye candy for ya, courtesy of a couple minutes spent on iPhoto:





In college we used to call it the Walk of Shame, this homeward trek in yesterday's clothes, but I don't really feel ashamed. I feel pretty good, considering the mild hangover...and that I got sent home instead of going to breakfast. I don't really get what that was about, and I was a little irritated by it, but I'm not letting it get to me.

It's kind of weird that today I'm heading home from the Producer's apartment and yesterday at approximately 6:30 I was snuggled up next to Funny Dave at a table at Marshall Stack, drinking wine and playing a weird knee version of footsie. FD marveled at how hard Mrs. 2.0 made me laugh with her amazing true story about fecal exhibitionism in the famous Victoria Gardens, and he and the 2.0s' cool friend the Artist kept me giggling all evening over cookies, English muffin pizzas and sloppy Joes that were more sloppy than Joe. I haven't laughed that hard since I was a kid and Salty and our cousin Jeff pinned me down and tickled me till I stopped breathing. We had a great time out, and between the story and FD and the amazing bartender my sides were sore by the time we all walked to the F train together.

Nobody else wanted to stay out, so I met up in the Village with PDF and his Boyfriend, who were entertaining some nice folks that Boyfriend had been working with. After laughing at some horrific karaoke, we wound up at this awesome lesbian bar. At first we were turned away, but PDF worked some magic and in a moment we filed right in ahead of the crowd waiting outside. It was jam packed full of gorgeous women...and I mean PACKED. Like sardines. Someone shoved a drink in my hand and then I remember dancing with a blonde to George Michael's "Freedom." I chatted up a cutie from Boston but that's about the time my memory starts swimming. I wish I could remember what the bar was called...or even where I was. PDF kept plunking Cape Cods into my grabby hands, and after Boston Girl all I can remember is rainbows all over the ceiling and a little tiny straw in my mouth and dancing all squished up with all those girls.

The next thing I knew I was stumbling down a side street with PDF in tow, shrieking "[PRODUCER]!" at the top of my lungs. And nearly falling over laughing when I finally found the Producer and his poor sweet friend who both looked like deer in the headlights of my giggly drunkenness. There was some pizza involved and I think more drinking, but I really get a little fuzzy until I was put to bed.

This morning was actually a pretty nice walk. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and it was shaping up to be a pretty gorgeous day. I wandered into a store on 14th st and ogled some jewelry, but the stuff I wanted (Kuchi pendants and an "antique" Afghani torque) was kind of expensive, so I moved along. I called PDF while I walked. "so what did you think?" "He's great," he said. "Just be careful, honey." I know, I know.

I think the hardest thing about moving on from breaking off an engagement is how hyper protective people are of me. But it's nice to know they care, and I'm glad they're reminding me to be cautious and above all to concern myself with getting what I deserve. ...And believe me, even though I'm doing the whole live in the moment thing, cautious is my middle name right now.

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Speaking of BNY, this is kind of funny, since I just moved here four months ago, and technically from Ohio.

Seventy dollar brunch and other thoughts about Sundays

Yep. Sundays are definitely still my favorite. Last Sunday I got taken out for seventy dollar brunch and then I got one of the last iPhones on the island of Manhattan. This Sunday was even better!

I woke up and went running in the park (did I mention I live a block away from Prospect Park and pay $900 a month? Can I mention that again?), and as I came around past the lake I noticed a very large tent set up at Wollman Skating Rink. A stripey tent. A...circus tent! A circus has set up shop at Wollman Skating Rink! A freakin' circus! Like a quarter mile away from where I live! Cool! Later I talked to my neighbor, Marlon (yes, the one with the three screaming kids), and he said he took his three screaming kids last week and that it was a good show. I want to go now! Maybe I can use it as an excuse to get PDF to come to Brooklyn (ha).

After a quick shower I sauntered into K-Dog for my usual weekend morning ritual, only today was extra special, because it was nice enough outside that I got my coffee iced. It sho'nuff ain't New Orleans style chicory coffee, but it was still delicious! Instead of hanging out and munching on my pumpernickel bagel indoors I took it to go and hopped on the good old Q to make sure I got to Astor Place in time for dance class.

And belly dancing today was awesome! For the first time since I started studying with Mimi I felt confident enough with my cues and repertoire that I was okay leading a trio. I even felt like I was one of the better leaders in class today, which was really cool. And then...and then...! After class I talked to Mimi about taping some of Manhattan Tribal's upcoming shows. My whole master plan is to use the footage to create some YouTube promo videos for MT (good for Mimi) and also to begin a demo reel (good for me). I also plan on talking to my friend Z about doing something similar at Night of 1000 Goddesses.

AND! (This day just keeps getting better and better!)

As I bounded down the stairs at 141 Studios and out into sunshiny Astor Place, I got a text message from 2.0 and Mrs. 2.0 requesting my presence at a bar. Apparently, mimosas and bloody marys were being drunk very cheaply on the Lower East Side and they felt New Orleans ought to be represented for the occasion. As you can see above, I memorialized our beverages for posterity while demonstrating the cool gadgetry of my phone. I also learned that 2.0 is a closet nerd. Big nerd. He plays Dungeons and Dragons! Ahhahaha! When I told him how I used to be nerdy too he stopped blushing and invited me to play in the next game. Aww! I'll probably pass, but it's sweet.

I rode the F train part of the way back toward Queens and then with a wave to 2.0 and a kiss on the cheek for Mrs. I was off to the Home Depot on 23rd st. Why? Because I needed a big giant piece of sheet metal, of course. There will be more on the sheet metal later, so don't worry about the why for now.

Once I had my sheet metal I decided it would be better to just walk to 14th st. rather than wait for the N/R/W and then wait for the Q all over again. Sunday schedules suck. So I strolled down Broadway for nine blocks, which wasn't so bad. Then I got a phone call. I didn't recognize the number, and that usually means either a wrong number or something interesting might happen, so I really wanted to answer it. Maneuvering wasn't very easy and I had to wrestle a little, but I managed to get out of the Union Square sidewalk traffic to pick up. Lo and behold, it was the Producer! That dirty rat, tricking me with more than one phone number! So there I stood in the middle of crowded Union Square on the phone like it was so normal to carry a giant piece of sheet metal under my arm like a purse.

It must have looked very very strange to PDF's boyfriend from across the street.

After I hung up with the Producer (sorry, Charlie, I have a date with some metal shears tonight) I descended the subway stairs, somehow managed to schlep the thing onto the Q and then up the stairs at Prospect Park. Thank goodness they repaired my building's elevator! Not a moment later I got the call from PDF. "Were you on 14th street half an hour ago?" "Yes, actually." "What the hell were you doing with that sheet metal!?"

I bet the people in my car on the subway were asking themselves the same thing.

Just as these words might have once exited the lips of Keanu Reeves, they exit mine now: this has been a most triumphant day.

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!