If only the term "rich and famous PA" wasn't facetious.

APOC: "Manhattan is for two kinds of people: rich people, and people who can do without."

I wish it weren't so. Am I spoiled by the inexpensive sprawling life I led in New Orleans? Could I do without a living room? Could I do without living alone? Would it be a better compromise than living in an obnoxious building in an unimpressive neighborhood?

New York crosswalk buttons are fake.

No kidding. It blew my mind!

A love story

On my way to the flower district to buy orchids today I felt so lucky and pleased with myself. When I pictured living in New York, I never saw cubicles or giant walls of files in my future, I saw taxis and sunlit sidewalks and people people people everywhere! In the production office I feel like I get the best of both worlds, and when the APOC (who is a really funny and awesome fellow to work with) asks who wants to do a run, I perk up and offer. I love getting out in the fresh air and drinking in the essence of New York.

New York, like no other place I have been, is a tactile city, and this is not easily avoided, although some may try. On an NPR spot one morning about Bloomberg's congestion pricing (that should absolutely be implemented), some woman actually said she didn't want to use public transportation (some of the best in the world!) because she didn't want to smell other people. Jesus Christ, lady, move to Kansas! This is New York City, home of 8 million people. Fresh air is a relative term here, like 'spacious apartment' or 'low prices.' I have no patience when people complain about things that make New York quintessentially itself--I worked hard to get here, and I leave my apartment every day overjoyed that I get to take the subway to work, and I get to see all the weird people, and I get to ignore solicitors. I drink up every moment like I'm Daniel Plainview and I love it. I LOVE it!

For better or worse, when I'm sick or healthy, down with the blues or on top of the world, I love New York through and through. And New York loves me back... I know because every day I see her she graces me with awe-inspiring beauty beneath the grit and dust. She shares her inside jokes with me. She teaches me lessons that are difficult, but necessary. She gives me constant tactile reminders that life really is what you make of it, and that, for a girl who's been through some pretty rough things, I have made a pretty good life for myself.

In which the Staten Island Ferry and Miss A have a moment together

There, under the dark and moonless sky, with the wind whipping strands of hair into my face and the motor churning steadily beneath my feet, I began to cry.

I remembered when I was eight or nine or ten, that summer that I had my first ever taste of New York. I rode the Staten Island ferry and stood in that very same spot. It was daytime then, and I was so excited to see the Statue of Liberty and to watch tiny Manhattan turn into towering Manhattan. It was the first time I'd ever been on a ferry boat too. I remember loving that boat and that ride and that vacation, but feeling very much that something was missing.

I had a wonderful day today, traveled through four of the five boroughs with fluffy skirts, tassel belts, a giant suitcase, and a video camera. In Greenpoint, Brooklyn I visited the Chief Squirrel's apartment and met her crazy jumping bean of a dog. In Flushing, Queens, I saw (and recorded for posterity) some really amazing belly dancers, including most of the Squirrel Girls. In Staten Island I visited Banghra Squirrel's house (which is large and sprawling), ate what is purported to be the best pizza in New York, then accompanied the Squirrel Girls to a gig at a weird hippie bookstore. Then all except Banghra climbed onto the ferry for a ride into Manhattan, every one of us exhausted from a long, pleasant day.

The crying started when I saw the Statue. I thought suddenly about that family vacation and how something was missing. I realized that it was my dad. My dad wasn't there with us, climbing up the spiral stairs through that green copper oven in the intense July heat. He wasn't there on the observation deck of the World Trade Center to point out the cool stuff you could see. He wasn't there to ask if I wanted to go to Yankee Stadium too (my sister got to go with my cousins, but I was left behind). He wasn't there to pull me out of the salty undertow when we went swimming on the Jersey Shore. He wasn't there when I had my first taxicab ride or to hold my hand to keep me from getting lost in the crowds in Midtown.

Here's the hardest part: that vacation is the best family vacation I can remember...because I cannot remember a single vacation with my dad.

I closed my eyes to try and squeeze away the tears that wouldn't stop silently streaming down my face. And I felt the wind and listened to the ferry churning beneath me. My mind flickered over to New Orleans, where I used to ride the ferry across the Mississippi River with JH. And how I taught myself to knit on that ferry. And how much I loved riding that ferry into the French Quarter to look for a job and then later to go to a job and then, after I moved to the East bank, just for fun. I missed New Orleans. I missed JH and how he loved that ferry too, and for the same reasons that I did. And then I started crying again for the loss of his friendship, and a little because I was angry at myself for missing him.

When I opened my eyes Manhattan was monolithic, looming ahead. It pressed closer and closer, like New York City was about to swallow me up, ferry and all. The tears did not stop streaming because it made me think about how I used to feel about New York before I got here. I used to think of New York as a doorway to a life of excitement and fulfillment. I used to think that New York would answer all my prayers and let me achieve all my dreams. I used to think New York was where I would really come into my own as a person.

I cried harder. Because all of those things are sort of true...but I never realized that those things could be true and that I could still feel so small and alone.

an APB and the week-long Laundromat Blues

Missing: One retro-cool fingerless glove
Last seen: on my couch
Accused of: making me ten minutes late for work


I'm not sure, but I think its disappearance has something to do with this grisly scene, which greeted me this morning:

I think it's time to get rid of some of my yarn stash. If anyone's interested in a multicolored assortment of fine natural fibers, let me know!

-----

A Pox On the Guy at My Laundromat

Every time I drop my laundry off on a Sunday I ask, "can I get this back tomorrow after work?" It's natural, see, because Monday is the day for all the boring, life-management tasks that I don't want to do. Which is why you are most likely to receive an inane text message from me on a Monday: "Yo! I'm in line @ the grocery. Whatcha doin?" or "I just hauled 15 lbs of cat litter home on the subway!" or sometimes just "I miss you dude!"

So, naturally, when dropping off my laundry on a Saturday evening or a Sunday, I expect to pick up the laundry on Monday after work. Inevitably, the guy shakes his head and says, "I don't know...," like it's some big fucking chore to actually provide the service for which the establishment was opened. I mean, I know the weekend is when they get the MOST drop-offs, but seriously! It's not like I'm dropping it off at six o'clock on a Sunday or anything either; I always go in the morning on my way out of the house.

My big problem comes in further down the line on Tuesday evening, when, inevitably, I go out with coworkers (remind me to tell you about Original Data Guy later and how much cooler he is than originally expected) or I have to work late, or I have some other important function to attend. Why? Because it's Tuesday. And Monday is the day when people take care of their boring crap, and since Monday was boring, it follows that Tuesday people will have things to do and ask me to do the things with them. This is just the reality of the hectic social schedule I live in (didn't think you'd ever hear me say that, did you).

So now it's Wednesday. And there I am, frantically looking around for my missing glove--shut up, I love those stupid gloves--and above and beyond not being able to keep my right forearm warm, I also have no dance pants. I have belly dance class on Wednesdays, and it really sucks to carry that big fluffy skirt around to work with me, so on Wednesdays I wear dance pants. Except for the last three weeks in a row, because Jerk-Off down at the laundromat can't possibly get my single load of laundry washed, dried, and folded by Monday at 6 pm. That's 21 hours of open-laundromat time.

And now my Thursday is ruined because I have to go allll the way back to the PLG right after work to make sure I pick up my laundry so that I can have it for the weekend! I certainly hope that there is something good going on in Brooklyn on Thursday, because once I get home I am not going to want to sit around and put all that laundry away. That is just not one of the moments I'm looking to live in!

Sometimes it's positive to be negative!

Somewhere over the last few years, I...have become...an adult.

Whoa. That's pretty weird. But it's true! And not only am I an adult, but a responsible one, capable of managing my life...you know....responsibly and adultish. Since I've been getting more and more comfortable with the idea of being a cute, single, 27 year old woman I decided it's time to be responsible about that single part. Because...well... Happy as I am being autonomous and single and doing my own thing, I don't plan on being alone every day.

In the spirit of adult responsibility I decided that it's about time I got tested for "the hiv." Sure, I've been tested a few times over the last however many years, but that shit can lay dormant, homes. And I ain't playin' around with my sexual health. As uncomfortable as it might be, it's important that all of us single folk take care of these things, for ourselves and hopefully for others. So I set off for one of New York City's free STD clinics to investigate one of the social welfare programs that is paid for by the taxpayers of New York City, including me.

Expecting a huge crowd, I arrived at 8:00, half an hour before the clinic opened. I wound up 6th in line, and after a quick triage I was assigned the very creative (but nonetheless confidential) nickname of "6." At least that way you don't feel like they're screaming your name across the waiting room. In fact you don't even have to give your name, although they do ask for it and ask you to sign some papers (am I registered now? Is this like getting your dog a rabies vaccine?).

I was sent upstairs to wait in a room full (already) of mixed characters... There were a few thug-style dudes trying to not make eye contact with anyone, a young couple that looked at everything but each other, and two men who looked like they are in their fifties. My immediate speculation on those last two was hookers, but who am I to pass judgement?

We all sat staring at a tv that played 80's instructional-video music and interchanged short videos with demonstrations of safe sex practices. And--no kidding--between each segment they played Salt-n-Pepa's "Let's Talk About Sex." It was killer! The videos were kind of awesome; with lessons about safe sex and getting tested in an upbeat, matter-of-fact style that smacked of Degrassi Junior High. The demonstrations were by far more amusing though... Imagine walking into a room full of uncomfortable people that are trying to just stare at a TV and not look embarrassed to be there, then when you take a look at what they're watching you see a giant white dildo on the screen with the following print: "Did you know a condom can hold 2 gallons of water? A standard size condom can even fit on an elephant's penis!"

The older guys looked like they were in hell.

After an hour or so, an administrative looking guy with a Caribbean accent and a fashion-forward pink shirt/vest combo announced that the clinic was short on doctors. Well duh... I've been a public servant, I know how this works. I then found out that they don't necessarily call people in order. "No sweat," I thought to myself. "I'm number 6. How long can it take?"

The clock struck 10 and then a nice lady named Kay called me back and asked me a few questions about drug use and sexual history. She then deposited me in the phlebotomist's chair, where I promptly squinted my eyes shut and stuck my arm straight out, fist in a ball. The phlebotomist was nice too, and chatted with me about my job (for the record, I fibbed oh-so-slightly on this one and said I was an out of work PA). She did a great job distracting me from the needle, looking me straight in the eye the whole time and smiling and asking questions. Then she told me it would be forty minutes to find out. Well...okay. Disappointing, but predictable.

Back in the waiting room the bucket seats were starting to fill up, and forty minutes no longer sounded so bad, especially compared to what the poor junkie-looking lady in the back corner was going to have to sit through. I feel like it's relevant to say that she was the only junkie-looking type there, and I'm not even sure that she was a junkie; she could just have been really skinny and tired.

I positioned myself on one side of the room, in a chair that faced all the other chairs, for the simple reason that the vantage point allowed me to see all the comings and goings and nervous glances of the other folks. While people watching was definitely up there on my list of things to do, I did have forty minutes to kill. I whipped out this week's Time Out New York and started perusing the Around Town section to try and find something cool to do this weekend. Something fun, slightly-touristy-but-not-totally-touristy... Or at least something other than drinks and dinner. That's fun but it gets old, especially when New York is your oyster! I checked the TV. Did you know HIV can be spread to a baby during breastfeeding? Actually, I didn't know that before, so there's no way to say the day was a total waste of time.

The truly crowning moment of the experience came when I noticed a guy across the room chatting up the girl sitting next to him. At first I thought nothing of it, but then I realized they didn't know each other and it dawned on me that Dude was trying to score digits from a girl he met at the STD clinic. Ew! That is so....backwards!

With all the entertainment, plus bonus funny texting with a friend, I really didn't mind the long wait too much...I guess you could say I made lemonade out of a smelly waiting room full of awkward situations. Finally, Kay called me back in her office and told me to have a seat. "You tested negative for HIV," she said with a smile. "Woohoo!" I replied.

Not that it's a big surprise, but it's nice to know for sure.

One New York first that I could do without....oh wait, this morning makes it two.

Last night I went out with my coworkers! It was fun! I got drunk! Really really drunk! And so, for the first time, Miss Adventurous rode the subway home feeling like she just might vomit.

It all started out alright...I hopped on the E train with the Data Guy and AIG (who is still A but, I have discovered, not really at all the kind of G for me). I was feeling all skippy and cute because I'd been on all evening and showing my coworkers how dope I am because I lived in the 'hood in New Orleans (read: I started talking like a Yat and acting like I knew everything). I was so on I was actually annoying myself a little bit, but everyone else seemed to enjoy my company and they kept talking about how fun I am, so whatever.

Anyway, I danced off the E at 4th street and suddenly, as I was decending the stairs toward the orange line, my fourth, on-the-house, glass of wine hit me in the face and the world began to turn a little. It was about this time that I remembered that the B stops running at 9:00 and I would have to take the D to Atlantic, and make a really obnoxious transfer to the Q, and do it all without losing the baked potato I had eaten earlier.

I thought about getting out and walking up to Union Square--after all, it was only 9:30 and being on terra firma couldn't hurt, in my nauseous condition. Just as I had decided to stumble back up the stairs though, the D train came and I forgot what I had been thinking a moment ago. I found a seat right away, and sat down. Eughhhhhhh... I got dizzy, so I stood up. I tried listening to my iPod, but it caused my vision to tunnel a little bit and I could feel the booze jostling in my tummy with every rock of the train. So I put the iPod away and just stood there, drunkenly staring into the black window and trying to look not drunk. I made it home, but I barely remember the clumsy trip from D to Q. And I'm super lucky I didn't get mugged en route to my apartment.

Once home, I promptly ditched several things: my coat, my bag, my hat, my retro-cool fingerless gloves, and then the entire quantity of wine I had drunk. Awful!

This morning completed the whole experience when I woke up with a particularly bad hangover. Somehow I managed to be out the door at 8:00, but I definitely learned a lesson about school nights.

It's nice being called "Beautiful" every morning, even if it's only by the Metro guy.

Good morning, Beautiful! Take a paper!

J'aime le Daylight Savings. And les ducks.

Apres la travaille j'ai me promene dans le parc. Le lac etais beau, non?

Okay, never mind. I didn't learn anything from The Feminine Mystique.

Shit! I'm doing it again!

Shit!

I had no evening plans this weekend, none at all. You know what I did last night? I watched a Netflix movie (Michael Clayton) and made brownies. Not to eat, mind you--not to eat! I made the brownies...oh, I'm pathetic...I made them to take to work on Monday. I made them to take to work in hopes that AIG will come hang out at my desk.

I winced while typing that.

Number one, I have placed far too much import on this stupid flirting game. Number two, I stayed in all weekend. Number three...brownies? Am I Betty Crocker now? Number four, I STAYED IN ALL F'ING WEEKEND. Shit Shit SHIT. I'm waiting to be rescued. Not good.

I am not supposed to be doing that. I'm supposed to be 'out there.' I'm supposed to be meeting all those cool New Yorkers I came here to meet. I'm supposed to be livin' the dream. I'm supposed to be finding out where all the PAs and ADs hang out. I'm supposed to, you know, have a life. Or something. I didn't move here to watch dvds and wait for a life to fall out of the freaking sky.

I should have been in a bar somewhere drinking cheap non-champagne and smiling lusciously at potential dates who are cuter than AIG and chatting up groups of strangers. I should have been making friends...doing my charming thing.

I'm just so sick of being alone that I can't put up with having to sit in a bar and feel like an asshole for sitting in a bar by myself. I don't want to eat dinner alone in a restaurant. I don't want to be 'out there' on my own. I don't even really and truly want romance. I just want some friends that I can call and say, quite honestly and comfortably, 'Hey, I'm bored and lonely tonight. Can we go out?"

(PDF does not count here. He has a dog and a boyfriend. Going out to him consists of spending two hours or less in a restaurant on the UWS.)

I've been all happy bouncy blogger lately too, trying this new thing where I keep a positive attitude. But no, not today. Not after I woke up this morning and realized how pathetic I've been this weekend. Desperately lonely blogger has reappeared, if only for a few moments, to reach out to the Internet with a measure of honesty--not that I haven't been honest with all my stupid crush and my chipper 'I heart everything' posts, just that there's this side too. Not in absence of minor social anxiety do I get bright and cheery, but in spite of it. So after this spasm of dismal and pathetic gloom I will once again put on my brave smile and step out into New York.

Good thing I'm off to bellydancing shortly. I hope we do shimmy drills today...there's nothing like jiggling your ass with a room full of other jiggling asses to make you feel less alone in the world.

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!

Because I whine too much: A List for the Lonely

Awesome, amazing, incredible ways to find people that you just might like:

1. The Lunch Club
Jared did a good thing for all of us budding New Yorkers when he started the Lunch Club. Basically you sign up for an event through the website and show up on the day of. Other people interested in the event also show up, and the fun begins. I did a scavenger hunt in gorgeous Grand Central Station and a really fun improv comedy workshop. Both events were tons of fun, but neither one produced any serious friendship prospects. At the scavenger hunt, however, five girls formed a team as well as obvious bonds, so there's hope. I'm signed up for The Amazing Race, Lunch Club Style in April, maybe I'll see some of my teammates from GCS!

2. Enjoy New York
Do not sit in your apartment for two weeks and watch the fist three seasons of Lost back to back. Trust me, you'll feel like a total hermit after you emerge, frustrated and vowing never to watch another episode if you find out they really did kill off Charlie....not that I'd know, or anything. Since the launch of season 4, I started taking long walks in different neighborhoods. Since I occasionally (usually) get lost and wind up on a deserted block, I've gotten organized and purchased (with a store credit!) City Walks: New York, a set of 50 cards, each of which includes a detailed map and fun facts about the sights that you'll see. I just purchased two days ago, but I'll let you know how it goes after I take a couple of the self-guided tours. Maybe tomorrow will be the day!

3. Find Stuff to Do
With so much going on all the time, it can be a little overwhelming trying to choose a fun activity, or even to keep up with what's happening around town. Two great resources for this are www.eventme.com and Time Out New York. Event Me is kind of like a dating service without the dating part. Register on the website, fill out a comprehensive questionnaire about your personality and the kinds of things you like to do, and voila! The website will automatically generate a list of events around town that will pique your interest. There is also a function to search for all events, just in case you have to entertain guests with different taste. I have it set up to email the events to me every week, which annoys me just enough to remind me to keep going to events. Time Out New York, online and on newsstands citywide, offers a massive list of events sorted first by category (Around Town, Arts, Music, etc., etc., etc.), then by date. The online database is searchable, but I prefer to peruse the print version, which also handily provides compact subway reading material. My favorite part is the little red "Free!" next to events that are...you guessed it, free.

4. Take a Meeting
Seriously, check out the Newbie NYC post about Socializing in the City:

"be sure to get in touch with every person you know that lives in New York City
and catch up over lunch or dinner, even if you haven't seen them for 15 years.
Fact is, they are established, know inside info about the city, and will act as
a great resource. And don't be shy-they will usually want to hear from you."

You won't regret it. I don't. PDF, trying though he may be, used to be one of my best friends before we fell out of touch. Despite my embarassment over a few life mistakes in college, I got in touch with him when I arrived in November. Turns out, we're still great friends, and he even bailed me out of unemployment and let me take a bunch of hours at his tanning salon last week. I also had a fabulous brunch with Cousin-of-my-cousin Molly and her friend Jenn (who went to elementary school with me!). Molly and I never really gelled as kids, but it turns out that as grown ups we both love diner food, running (sort of), the entertainment business, and helping Jenn buy new plumbing accessories. She even graciously offered to submit a resume to a former employer of hers for me. Newbie NYC also reminds you to book appointments far in advance, which is so true; I tried to book that brunch with one week's notice but it was a no-go and we had to push it back to two weeks. It was worth the wait!

5. Get Out There
Seriously. I cannot stress enough how important it is to get over doing things alone and just do them. With the exception of My Salty Weekend, everything fun that I have done in New York has been alone. Sans amis. Solo mio. PDF works too much, Betsy just wants to hang out at home with her fiance, Aunt J and Cousin Jeannie are always super busy, and all of them have to get home to their dogs all the time. That's fine for them, but I'm in hot pursuit of a social life, dammit! So, all alone, I have taken bellydance lessons, gone on a scavenger hunt, learned about improv, seen a concert, gone running in prospect park, enjoyed a street fair at Christmastime, seen a parade, and spent countless hours walking streets and window shopping.

6. Take a Class
So far, my most socially promising activity has been the bellydance lessons, if only by virtue of seeing the same gals week after week. Find those kinds of recurring events and the friends will follow. Dance classes, ceramics classes, acting classes, improv classes, scuba diving classes, and of course, American Tribal Style bellydance classes! Now that I think about it, maybe I'll find a recreational moviemaking class or club to join. Maybe I can meet some other AD wannabes!

7. Join a Club
Seriously? I think Meetup.com is kind of lame. I've been to four meetups over the last few years and every one of them was awkward and kind of...well...lame. Still, clubs, like classes, produce results. You can join sailing clubs, biker clubs, science clubs, professional organizations, alumni associations, and even the New York Rangers Fan Club. For me this is as yet an untapped market, although the New York Coalition of Professional Women in the Arts & Media looks pretty interesting...

Square Dancing transcends gender preference.

Not only did we see the SNL folks, we also spotted some square dancers in a high school gym... the vast majority of them were dudes over fifty.

Everywhere I go, townies seem to motivate me to be a better person.

Last night I had my first dinner with someone I didn't know before I moved!

In case you hadn't heard, I'm a belly dancer. I took classes for a year in New Orleans and about a month ago I started up with a teacher here in New York. Last night after class a couple of the gals invited me to have some tea with them at this weird and cute little Japanese coffee shop. See that picture? That was dinner. It's yakisoba noodles inside a soft bread. It was...starchy!

It was nice. We talked about the crazy lady I work with, we talked about Rego Park, Queens, we talked about moving to New York, we talked about dancing, we talked about Inspaworld, and we walked to the subway. Very nice.

Maybe they would like to be my friends. (:

So. More on the crazy lady I work with. She's one of those mid-fifties single career assistants with gaudy accessories and a very thick born-in-the-outer-rim-of-New-York accent. She rarely forms a complete sentence, but expects me to know what she's talking about anyway. She gets pissed off if I don't act like I care about her new kitchen cabinets or her cabinet hardware that cost her $400 from Gracious Home. She emphasizes her points in Italian. She occasionally says things that are blatantly insulting, like "Huh. You're a piece a work, you know that?" She drives to work every day and complains about it. She talks on the phone to her girlfriends all day (she is twice divorced and has no immediate family), but fusses at me if I want to take a half hour for lunch with my friend who works downstairs. If I leave my desk, even for a moment (like to make a copy or get a drink of water or--God forbid--go to the bathroom), and someone calls she yells at me like I'm four years old. Yells! According to her, nobody can do anything right, except her. She forwards me these super retarded emails with animated .gif pictures. She watches commercials online and laughs loudly at them. The other day she actually told the nice lawyer lady in our office that her hair looked ratty. She said that! Out loud! And it didn't look bad at all!

She drives me INSANE. This is one job I cannot wait to get the hell out of, paycheck or no. There are plenty of jobs that I can do without being barraged by insults all day. I understand that she's lonely and bitter about the world, and that those feelings are probably the cause of her behavior.

I feel sorry for her, I do, but it’s not easy to be forgiving. I think she drives me so crazy because deep down I’m terrified that I’m going to wind up like her, all bitter and annoying and watching sitcoms to escape the hell that is my life, living alone in a co-op in Queens that I could only afford because of my divorce money. I don’t believe in god, but if I did I would beg not to ever end up like that.

But what if I spend my entire life in this same stasis? What if I keep sabotaging myself with this stupid anxiety and I never reach my goal? Is that my future? F that shit, man! Not me, not ever! I need to get out there and do some serious networking! Like now!

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!

I found a ninja in a tutu! That's kind of appropriate...

My friend AJ is an actress and a singer and a ballerina and a helicopter pilot and a soldier. I think that's really really cool.

She came to visit me yesterday - she's my first houseguest! It was interesting having a houseguest in a one room house; that's for sure. We went to SoHo last night for dinner and strolling. The strolling was quickly canceled when it began sleeting, the way it does here. I have come to learn that in New York it doesn't really snow; it's just cold and soggy with no pretty sparkly quiet payoff. It's gross because you know it's because of the smog. To escape the grossness, we ducked into the first place we saw that offered coffee. It was GREAT coffee, by the way; and AJ highly recommends the black forest cake.

Having A around really made me feel better about my whole situation (yes, L, talking to you did too). I think that my loneliness has been getting to me...it's amazing how your mind can inflate things to such an overwhelming level. Usually I talk things out with someone, but lately I haven't had anyone to talk things out with, so I start talking them out in my head...and THAT is what causes my silly anxiety. So I've decided to turn a new leaf and quit being so down on myself.

PS. - Mad props to http://darkmotiondotcom.deviantart.com/ for thinking of putting a ninja in a tutu. I have to say, this website has some seriously cool and bizarre stuff on it...go check it out!

Some things I have seen on the subway:

The clipping of toenails
Grown-ups sitting on each others' laps
Dog in a fur coat (not his own fur)
Metrocard origami
The licking of fingers
Kid on a leash
Pile of pistachio shells
Little old lady playing video games
Spitting contest (how far)
Boombox on a shoulder
People making out on the platform (is there any less romantic place in the world?)

My least favorite phenomenon: Subway surfers, or those people who think it's okay to stand in the middle of the car and refuse to hold the bars. Then they act all surprised when the train starts moving and they can't stand up straight and they stick their arms out like they're surfing on the train. What drives me crazy about these people is that I have now seen four of them topple over onto other passengers. Seriously, they need to just hold onto the seen bar...if only out of consideration for others!

Like my new life? I bought it at IKEA.

I signed my lease on December 17 of 2007, at which point I immediately dropped off my stuff at my new pad and then trucked off to IKEA to buy myself a mattress to sleep on. I soon got to work, unpacking this and cleaning that and killing the roaches that were crawling around in the bathtub (ew). I very gingerly made up my little nest of a bed and slept there with the new paint (fumes), the pilot light that had gone out on my stove (gas leak), and the soap scum from the last tenant (complete with roaches). My apartment--my first apartment that was just mine, all by myself--did not feel like home, but I felt lucky--so lucky that I cried tears of joy and relief while I ate my first meal in that apartment. It consisted of a cheese sandwich and a banana , and was eaten off of a new IKEA cutting board--I had forgotten that I didn't have any plates.

Before December 17 of 2007 I had been a hermit crab, carrying around a large, red backpack that contained everything I needed for the week. I bounced around from friend to friend to family for over a month, wishing almost every day that I hadn't decided to move to New York all by myself. I didn't always know where I was going to sleep, either.

My best friend, a Blackhawk pilot, lives upstate, about 2 hours away by car (3 by train--I did it three times a week for nearly a month). When I decided to do this, that commute didn't sound so bad. It didn't sound like it actually felt when I was doing it. So I packed everything that would fit into my car and headed East. Within days, I realized that I was going to have to be closer if I was serious about getting a job. My cousin JM, had extended a nearly-open invitation to stay at her fabulous-but-tiny Upper West Side apartment, but, with only a backpack on my back, I had to return upstate every few days to change out clothes and sleep in a real bed (that couch is super comfy, but it's just not the same). Concerned about overstaying my welcome with Cousin, I also begged my longtime friend, Mr. PDF for a place to stay. Luckily, his boyfriend was far, far away doing the accounting for a movie, and so he needed help with his sweet little dog anyway. So I bounced around and around between two city apartments and one country house, lost all claim to a home or to privacy, and developed a sort of love-hate relationship with my red backpack.

A couple of days before Christmas, I left my apartment-that-was-not-home and went home. I spent a week with my family, doing the old Christmas runaround. My mom and stepfather rented a van and trucked me and the rest of my stuff back to Brooklyn, helped me put together my furniture, helped me scrub windows and wash dishes and squish roaches and yell at my super to light the pilot. And when they left, it got quiet.

So, so quiet.

And then I looked around me and realized that my apartment, somehow, had become my home.