Woody freaking Allen!

When I go on a run, I like taking the subway best. This may be in part because I just like the subway, but I think it has more to do with having a few minutes to myself to breathe and be happy.

My goodness, I am happy when I'm at work! Even when I'm yawning or grumbling or have just finished screwing something up (at my desk jobs it was so easy to forget how clumsy I can be!) I am warm and candly inside. I haven't had this kind of satisfaction from a job since...ever.

I turned down a job on a Woody Allen movie today. I almost threw up when the AD on the line told me what the project was. I'm surprised I didn't have a tear well up while I told him I was already working on a project until July. There was magic phone rapport though (he was from Baton Rouge), so friendly banter was had and he told me to save his number. Sweet!

I have somehow become the de facto go-to gal for our megastar's needs, which is cool because I get to shop for her and I've always liked shopping for other people. Today I hung out a little with her driver while he took me to Staples for some supplies for her. We discussed her travel habits, which would probably be of great interest to people who follow celebrity gossip. I was curious about the driver's experiences back when he was on the NYPD. I think it comes from all the Law and Order I used to watch...

Also, in an unexpected turn of events, I need to snatch a belt on Canal Street, because my pants are falling off my hips! I don't know how I could be losing weight with the production buying me lunch every day, but it's definitely happening. Trust me, I'm not fighting it. I'd love to get all skinny for summer!

Friend in the neighborhood and the best part of my week

On my way home last night I noticed that my broker's office was open and lit up. I haven't been in since I moved in to my apartment and, despite charging me a ridiculous (standard) amount of money for finding my own apartment on craigslist, he was pretty nice. So I thought I'd stop by to say hello. Turns out he wasn't there, but his friend, the Comedian was.

I met the Comedian the day I signed my lease, but haven't seen him since. He has big dreams of doing stand up, but needs to make a living, so he's a broker (leech) on the side. We chatted for a while about the nabe and the Park, where he'd just got done playing soccer. He took my digits and we plan to meet up at Enduro for mojitos sometime soon... However, this will most definitely not be a date, mostly because I'm pretty sure he'd been smoking pot, which is so...icky. (In the most hilariously true words of the Ethical Slut, "Really, you're in your late 20s/early 30s, and you're a pothead? Either man up and switch to coke already, or get a job.") But you know, he's friendly and lives in the neighborhood. And he also knows a lot of other people who live around us, so beyond being nice he's definitely a good person to get to know, if only to expand the old network a bit. Maybe I'll start to like Lefferts a little better if I make some friends who live there too.

This week I shopped for movie stars, got a job offer for a great tv show (that I had to turn down because of my current job), I got to visit Law and Order, made a friend who lives in my neighborhood, and got a gift from Salty! But you know what the highlight was? Spending Friday night laying in bed watching La Vie en Rose with eight little paws kneading my knees and two little motorboats purring away.

I'm gonna miss you, Nonprofit.

Here's to you, Women's Rights Nonprofit.

I'm gonna miss Guzzle, with his positive outlook and the encouraging rhetoric. Please be part of the Brunch Club with me and Jennifer B!

I'm gonna miss you, 2.0, although I know this is not the last I'll see of you and the Mrs. We should start a damn Brunch Club!

I'm gonna miss Ivy, with your feminine sensibility and charm. Don't worry, your bangs look great.

I'm going to miss Cav, who agrees with me about taking names and what it means to live outside the Mystique.

I'm gonna miss ODG, who gets it about the Great Outdoors. And who runs the best DAG this side of the Mississippi. Enjoy the sheep... Technically I left them to you.

I'm gonna miss ME, who showed me that it's possible to play the exec game like a woman..., and I know this was a shitty time to leave you, and I wish I could have had another week.

I'm gonna miss D...in spite of his creepy weird Asian thing. At least he's honest.

I'm gonna miss Ortega, even though her family obligations prevented us from hanging out after hours.

I'm gonna miss Jeffé, and I think he'll miss me too.

Most of all though I'm gonna miss AIG, the Adorable IT Guy, who was the first person to remind me about my womanhood, who challenges my intellect, who surprises me with his gentleness, who cares about me in a weird, roundabout way, who has fantastic taste in music and in blogs, who makes me blush constantly, and who made me cry all the way home last night. You might never know it--although what do I have to lose--but you made me understand that it will be possible for me to love someone again someday. You're someone I want to be friends with forever, and I wish I had the balls to tell you. And I really hope you meet me at that stupid belly dance show in a couple of weeks, or at least that I'll see you again somewhere. I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell you what you have done for me, but I hope that somehow you can understand that in a very strange way, by stepping on my goddamned shoe, you brought me back to life.

Thoughts of a girl in a bed

I love how my cheek feels when it's all smooshed against a warm, white cotton t-shirt. I love the sound of torrential rain. I love lazy moments when nothing exists but what is within arm's length. I needed this. I needed a little time for quiet and unobtrusive joy. There are lots of questions about what happens next and what do I want, but now, in this moment, none of that stuff matters. I'm here and I'm content.

It takes two to tango. I've always seen life as me and the world in a delicate dance... I can do anything, can be anything, but only to the extent that the world will let me. I thought that's what it meant to be realistic. Today though, I have a quiet and unobtrusive nature, and I figured out that reality is malleable, and that I have built a reality of endless possibility. It's funny how a fortune cookie with a terrible excuse for a fortune can make you think about such a thing.

It's funny too how I always seem to get what I want, provided I believe in the possibility. I used to get so annoyed with people who tout all that new-age bullshit. I guess I still would, if anyone were touting it to me now... I don't believe in any of that stuff really, but I do think it's nice to believe in possibility, and I do notice and appreciate the correlation between belief and positive results.

I'm not a rich woman, but I am a happy woman. I spend my days working for positive change in the lives of other people, dreaming about my own possibilities and writing. And sometimes--lately more often than not--I get to bask in the glow of someone else being happy too. It feels nice, like being little shiny candle flames in the big, dark, endless-possibility Universe.

I was so quiet the other day, and at the time it made me a little nervous that I wasn't good company. I'm not worried about it anymore though. I feel lucky to have a friend so shiny that I can just shut up for once and passively enjoy the time spent together. Living in the moment doesn't usually come easy to me. It's rare that I let my guard down with others. Although it's easy to say in retrospect, knowing that no harm came from doing so, I'm glad I let go of my boundaries for a little while. It was surprising and I was worried about causing anxiety, but really, it's okay. I'm okay. I just let the wall down...maybe a bit too far.

I'm not dancing with the world today. I'm creating it with an autonomy I never knew I had before...and basking in my own little glow.

I think my brain needs a 12 hour turnaround rule.

I am insane.

I have been rearranging the furniture in my apartment for a week and a half. Insane.

Okay, the roach thing? Completely insane, albeit kind of hysterical.

I have, as a general rule, stopped eating unless I go out somewhere and eat, or unless I'm at work having lunch. Painfully insane.

I am purchasing plane tickets for two cats. Somehow I expect these two cats to live with me in my <300 sq. foot apartment, with all their food and water and litter, and for us to all coexist in this tiny room in total harmony. What am I thinking?

I am all wishy washy about getting a job with my current temp employer (the women's rights nonprofit) because I have what can only be described as a masochistic desire to work in film production. Draw your own conclusion.

I met up in person yesterday with someone I met online (insane?) and after one very long conversation with this person I suddenly feel like I have a total handle on my JH situation in addition to a renewed idealism regarding my career goals. He happens to have experience in production, and now he's a producer for TV cartoons. And he definitely gave me a lot of food for thought about the things I like to do and how I can apply them to other careers in the entertainment industry, and how by limiting myself to production I am limiting my potential for self actualization within the scope of my career (which, we all know, is the main goal here). Needless to say, he's a very smart fella, and I'm beginning to think a little more broadly about my options.

The other day on the phone, Aunt J said, with no small amount of exasperation in her voice, "[Miss A], I don't know why you want to be an AD." She later quantified that by saying that yes, she does know....but the message still came through loud and clear. No matter how much I love being on set and managing others etc. etc., it's going to suck. I mean, I know all this. From the very get-go, from my very first research in high school about working in film, I learned that it sucks. Everyone tells you it sucks because they want to prevent you from being shocked by how completely unglamorous it is and by how non-creative it can be. And the career track for which I have set my cap is like the flagship of gray-hair-inducing unglamorousness. I know this. I do.

I also know that I can hack it, if given a shot. I can put up with 5 am calls and seventeen hour days and I still do a good job and keep focused and get things done quickly. I know that, in spite of the long hours and the nasty working conditions, it is really fun and exciting to be a part of the machine.

I am nervous about things like health insurance and income stability and budgeting. I am curious about other parts of the machine. And now I'm taking a step back and thinking very actively about all that.

Lady Galahad slays herself a dragon

This morning I woke up, bleary-eyed at 10:00. I decided not to go running...instead my plan was to drink water. Lots of water. I'm not hung over, but I went out last night with my Coworkers, Data Guy and Data Guy 2.0 and we stayed out pretty late. The wine flowed. DG2's wife's friend had a birthday some three weeks ago, and we were out in celebration of her turning 30 for the fourth time. It was a lovely evening! I love DG2; he's totally the kind of person I can relate to and his wife is really nice and funny. And she doesn't mind that her husband and I are becoming such fast friends, as some less-cool wives might. And the two of them are just too cute together. And their friends are great. Great! I particularly had a nice time talking to the Original Data Guy and Dave. ODG, I learned, moved here at about the same time I did. He comes from Northern California, and he likes camping and hiking and stuff! Hey, me too! Dave has a sardonic sense of humor and made me giggle throughout the evening. Fun was had. DG2 drank too much. Last time it was me, and the humor in that was not lost on either of us.

So. Back to this morning. I'm snuggling in my bed, checking email...because I'm supposed to have plans this afternoon...and I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. Above my closet. Weird. But whatever.

So I write an email, putz around Facebook for a while SuperPoking some folks, and then suddenly, matter-of-factly, a two-inch-long cockroach FLEW out of my closet and landed on the end of my giant knitting needle, which is displayed just so with all my yarn in a series of milk crates in the corner. It was like looking at a normal sized bug on a normal sized knitting needle through a magnifying glass.

I knew roaches can fly. In the South, flying gigantic disgusting roaches are the status quo. They're everywhere and completely unavoidable. As I have said before, I'm not exactly sure how I lasted in New Orleans so long. But several people here in New York have expressed to me that the roaches here do not fly. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I had believed them. Until now.

I screamed and leaped out of bed to armor up... I was wearing a little cotton nightgown and I knew I might have to leave the apartment, so first I grabbed a sweater from my closet and put it on over the nightie. Then I grabbed my dance pants and put them on under the whole getup. I didn't have time to notice until later, but this outfit is actually quite comfortable. Next I put on an aging black Kangol hat that Aunt J bought for Salty many years ago, because I didn't want the thing flying into my hair. Now that I had my helmet and armor, I shoved my feet into the best weapon I own: my brown leather knee-high boots. I zipped them up, and checked out the status of my prey.

It was on the move, crawling along the highest part of the wall toward my bed. Oh no!

Like a flash, I grabbed my sheet and spread it out over the lumpy comforter and my three zillion pillows. I gave it a cursory tuck around the sides to ensure that the demon creature wouldn't be able to access the dark crevices between billowing folds of cotton and down. Thinking twice, I shut the closet door too. If it got lost in there my laundry bill would be hell.

I turned to face my quarry. Standing by the foot of the bed, armored, booted, brandishing my sword at the dragon, I gave a battle cry (I did!). "Alright, you, get out of my house!"

Almost in response, the thing lifted its wings and made a beeline for my head. I tucked and rolled immediately, then wheeled around to face the direction in which it had flown. Somehow I managed to evade the creature, although I did have to take off my hat and shake it to double check.

Now where had it gone!? It had flown into my little foyer, which would be the perfect place to get lost among the scarves and coats and shoes. Cautiously, warily, I took a step toward the alcove and then, like on an episode of Gossip Girl.... Spotted: Giant Flying Cockroach waggling its antennae on the circuit breaker panel, behind the front door.

Perfect.

In a matter of moments, I jabbed at the thing with a broom and then stabbed it where it fell, pinning it to the floor. I opened the door and then, like a flash, and with many cries of "Out! Out of my house!" I managed to sweep it over the threshold and out into the hallway. It landed on its back. I swiftly scanned my clutter for a paper that I didn't need. Finding one, I threw it on top of the wiggly-legged monster, and then stepped on it with my cute boots. There was plenty of padding, so no crunch was heard....it was a brilliant plan, really, squishing the roach in the hallway. That way its guts aren't hanging out in my apartment.

Now this raises a question that has come up a few times in my brain. Do I move? I'm bored with my neighborhood, and I pretty much hate my building. So do I start looking around for something else? I've also considered the idea of roommates a lot. I mean...don't get me wrong, I love hanging out on my couch in my underwear or whatever, but it would be really nice to have someone else to help me kill roaches and to laugh at me when I put on bizarre clothes just to do it. It would be nice to have someone here to hold me accountable for all the time that I waste lounging around and Facebooking. It would be really nice to live with a friend and make friends with her friends and introduce her to mine.

Then again, my cats are coming soon. Maybe I'll feel better about it when they arrive. I'll have Lu to catch the roaches and Penny to eat them. I'll have someone to sing to and laugh at and snuggle while I'm blogging and Facebooking. It will be nice, the three of us. But still...nice to have another person around...

Full Disclosure

The reason I started my Legend of Miss Adventurous series is that I am not always 100% truthful with myself about the events of my life. In fact, I'm not always truthful with other people either. Sometime during my childhood I developed a nasty and self-destructive habit of casually omitting certain facts about things to people, even the people I care about the most. And in fact I outright lied about many many many things up until I was about 18. Lied straight to the faces of people I loved and respected, and even lied so much about some things that I started to believe the lies. I've gotten much better about it over the years, but I do still compulsively lie about weird details, particularly to hairstylists and chatty people on airplanes. I really let my hair down with those types of people. I used to make up alter egos in bars, too.

I got on the subway with AIG and Data Guy. The car was nearly empty; they sat down, and I stood in front of them to facilitate conversation. Data Guy asks, "Is that a normal thing for you? Not sitting on the subway when there's a seat available?" Without any forethought I said, "Sure, sometimes. I sit all day, so it's actually kind of nice to stand." The truth? More like this: "No, actually I really look forward to the DeKalb stop every morning, because that's usually when I can get a seat. I'm actually a little exhausted right now from wearing heels all day, but I feel like if I stand here I can talk to you guys easier, and then maybe I'll make a real human connection."

I know that one's not that bad, but here's one for the books! When I was seventeen, I drove my car to the mall to do some Christmas shopping. After the mall, I decided to stop at Old Navy for some completely unknown reason, since I kind of hate Old Navy. While I pulled into my parking space, I completely misjudged the angles, and I hit a truck. Just bumped the corner of its back bumper with the side of my car door. No big, right? Wrong. I KEPT GOING. Like an idiot. I kept going! There was scratching and screeching! I pulled all the way into the space! Afterward, someone GOT OUT OF THE TRUCK. Mortified. I was mortified. There was a massive dent in my car door (that remained there for the duration of the car's lifetime). Luckily, no damage was done to the truck. Embarrassed as hell, I drove home and concocted a tall tale. I burst in the back door with tears streaming down my face and cried to my mom and stepfather: "Someone hit my car and then drove off!"

No joke. I even maintained the truth of that statement as recently as two years ago. I don't know if they still believe it, but they never told me if they don't. That is probably the most extreme case of lying, and I think it may even have been the point when I realized I needed to tone it down a bit.

Really and truly, there is nobody, not my ex-fiance, not my best friend, not even my sister, who knows everything about me. That is fine with me. In fact, I doubt there is anyone who wants to know it all.

Wait...never mind, I take that back. There is definitely one person who wants to know everything about me, and it is indeed someone with whom I am not always forthcoming with the facts of my life. (I'm talking about myself here, in case you're not following.) I guess I feel like if I write everything down, and if I make the information accessible to other people, then I can't change it. And to tell you the truth (yes, the real truth), I think it would all be a big relief, like I had nothing more to hide. And then I wouldn't ever ever lie again, right? Right?

I wish I had the answer to that. And I wish I could be totally and 100% forthcoming on every single tiny detail. The truth, however, is that I am a proud person, and there are things about my life that I just cannot disclose to anyone with broadband Internet access. Originally I intended for this blog to be completely anonymous, but it just isn't working out that way. Not only is my sister my blog's biggest fan, but I also posted a link on Facebook, where I network with (get this) my family. Seriously, my mom is on Facebook. And so are my sweet little cousins. And other family members. Come to think of it...I just took that link off of Facebook.

Not that it's your fault! Oh no no no, don't think for a minute that you spoiled my shot at self-actualization through my super awesome blog by being friendly and familiar or by commenting or even just knowing who I am...not at all. Quite the contrary; it's great knowing I'm not alone in this big scary city in this big scary world, and that there are nice people who are actually on the level. I love the comments I get, I love that people are actually reading this thing, and I think it helps give me the confidence to continue on in search of the truth about who I really am.

One thing I promise though. I have not lied here, and I will not lie here. In fact, I'm just not going to lie period, not even to a manicurist. The whole point of this New York adventure is to find myself, and the real me is definitely not located within a pack of lies.

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.

---------

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

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.

Speed friending would really be a lot less pressure.

Oh. My. God.

Speed dating is SO much fun. And SO weird and awkward. I love it. I want to do it again!

---

Some things I learned about speed dating:

1. Eat something first.

2. Don't drink too many of the cheap martinis.

3. Write down notes on your "dates" in case you do drink three martinis on an empty stomach.

4. 9 times out of ten you are really glad when the bell rings

5. Beware of the "regulars."

--

Other things I learned:

1. I am picky and judgemental (this is not really news).

2. The women who attend these events are far more appealing than the men. This could be a function of the number of women who appeal to my interests being greater than the number of men (generally, not necessarily romantically). It could also be a function of my not having any real female friends in New York. It could, then again, just mean that I need to go same-sex speed dating.

3. Arvind is cool. He was my buddy, and my first/last "date." Poor Arvind got to deal with me at my drunkest, after the 3rd lychee martini... Although he and I weren't really a match per se, I really think he's a great guy and I'd love to be friends with him. I hope he matched with Michelle or whatever her name was.

4. People get nervous when you say you're going to blog about them. Not Arvind though--He thought it was cool (probably because I drunkly leveled with him about how weird and awkward the whole evening was)

5. There are a buttload of lawyers in New York, and apparently none of them have time to meet women. It seemed like every other guy in the room was a lawyer! That's fine with me, I guess. Salty's a lawyer and I like her well enough.

And now, the answer to the million-dollar question: did Miss A make a match? Well yes, actually, she did. One of the lawyers (well, lawyer-to-be) was cute, and we seemed to have a common sensibility, so I checked the little "Yes" box next to his name. The next day I learned by email that apparently, he thought I was cute too. Still, it's all awkward! He still hasn't emailed me yet.  I haven't emailed him either.

And if he emails though, then what! Ahh, pressure! I've decided the best course of action is to do something super low-key and non-datey. Like a museum. I don't know if I can do the whole formal date thing--too much pressure! Much better to make friends than to "date" people. The two formal dates I've been on (with people not already comfortably in a relationship with me) seemed like going to a job interview for a business you don't know anything about. It's better to get to know the company first, I think.

Alright, you asked for it.

I was tagged!

Salty tagged me in a comment the other day (I've had, like, no time! I swear!), and according to the rules, I now have to link to Salty, post 7 random or weird facts about myself, and then link/comment to 7 more bloggers who then will have to spread the love. Like Salty said, it's kind of like a chain letter, but with less of a pyramid scheme slant. Normally I see this kind of thing as lame and silly (like those emails that say you have to forward them to 20 people or you'll have bad luck for 20 years). And by now you know that I detest talking about myself, so you know that I'd never do it. Not in a million years. Not me.

Let's get started!

1. I don't like rice. I'll eat it, but I just don't like it very much, and I certainly would always prefer a noodle or pasta dish to a rice dish. If I have the option of potatoes instead I will always choose potatoes--they really are one of my favorite foods, although I try eat more nutritious plants when I can.

2. I have a lot of scary dreams. My worst one came when I was 22. It was about standard poodles the size of Clydesdale horses. They had huge fangs and giant pegasus wings and they talked in sinister voices. Some were all black, and they were the mean ones. The others were all white, and they were even meaner. They had taken over a city and were chasing me and some other people all over town, terrorizing us. I most vividly remember hiding in a giant warehouse full of cardboard boxes while the poodles stalked around, growling and telling me all the ways they were going to tear my body to shreds but not let me die.

3. I was one of those internet-addicted dorky rpg kids for a few years in high school. And it was fun, in a ridiculous kind of way, and it was a way for me to let out my creativity and dorkiness, when I felt like my environment at high school was stifling and mildly oppressive. I found this emailing list that was based around a tabletop roleplaying game about vampires and started reading the stories people wrote--and some of those stories were really great and really well-written. Then I started posting on it. Then I found out that all the people on the mailing list had a chat room, so I checked it out. I even had internet "ldrs." LOL.

4. I was also, simultaneously, one of those youth group kids for a few years (I'll go into the reasons why this an the internet-addiction thing happened and how they relate to each other as the Legend of Miss A unfolds). Some friends invited me to church, and I went, and then as I kept on going I became a self-righteous, card-carrying Catholic Life Teen dork. I went through all the motions and had lots of fun and even got to see Pope John Paul II. Talk about a desperate outcry for social acceptance... I wonder what my youth group leaders would think if they found out I'm an atheist now.

5. Smart as I am, I almost failed out of college. I still don't know how I didn't even get a warning, but I got a 1.7 GPA one semester. Clearly, I was allowing myself to be distracted by..... drugs! Not heavy drugs, mind, mostly just a lot of pot occasionally mixed with booze or opium. The heavy drugs came later, and I was more of a dabbler than a user. Still, after I transferred to my school in New Orleans I was a 4.0 student and made the dean's list every semester, even in the face of Hurricane Katrina! My graduating GPA was still a 2.97 though. Lame.

6. I love singing. I often deny it, but I really love it, and sometimes I wish there was a choir for grown-ups that I could join. When I was in high school I decided that I liked music and wanted to sing, so I joined the choir. Under Sister Mary Karita's tutelage, I got pretty good. I went to the state music contest (which was really not a contest, more of a do-your-thing-and-get-rated-on-it) and got great scores. Then when I went to college I started hanging out with PDF, who could put the American Idols to shame. I got self conscious under the constant hail of his well-meaning taunts and I really haven't sung since.

7. When I think about myself from an outside perspective, I generally imagine myself as a cartoon girl wandering around in the real world. Not like Roger Rabbit, but like...like if Sally Brown was 27 and wandering around New York. This is, obviously, a function of not wanting to grow up and resisting the looming anvil of reality overhead. I like the bubbly little cartoons in my imaginary habitat, it's what keeps me me. It's why I named my plant and talk to him (he's Phil the philodendron). It's why I put up pink curtains in my apartment. It's my green coat and my goofy multicolored polka dot galoshes. I love all things rainbow striped.

So that's it....my turn to tag. I really only know four of y'all from actual real life, but I've been reading your blogs, so here goes anyway. Loud Paper, Queen of Crows, Dawn, Jay, NYC Ponderings Chick, Quarter Life Crisis Girl....consider yourselves tagged!

And PS, I know I was supposed to blog about speed dating today; I'm a little behind.... Believe me, I wouldn't be this far along if I actually had a life!

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...

Unemployment 5: Son of Unemployment

Day 5!

Still nothing (serious). For my own reference, here are the people I've talked to about needing a job:

Aunt J - She's super busy and out of town the rest of the week. No luck.

Cashmere Casey - No luck here...but he offered a reference

Z - She mentioned a craigslist post about a children's theater producer who needs a part-time assistant

Cousin-of-my-cousin Molly - offered to send my resume to a company she used to work for (note to self - get on that!)

Jenn from elementary school - see Molly above

PDF - Gave me a job at the tanning salon!

Girls from bellydancing - offered to let me know if they hear anything

Three different ladies at the temp agency - "It's been really quiet..."


Still, somehow, my spirits are high. I think maybe it's the adrenaline that's constantly fending off a panic attack at the thought of defaulting on bills....

Off to the bronze beauties for $8 an hour!

They say I'm a skeptic? I highly doubt that.

Whee! I have plans with my new friend, Z! We're gonna meet for coffee on Thursday. (:

Also, temping at a major TV network has (kind of) paid off (maybe)! Apparently, there was a young lady who used to temp here in this office a while back, and she's now a Senior Producer in the network's news division. Neato. So one of the ladies here called her and mentioned that I am seeking some sort of production work... She replied back very helpfully with some suggestions, and this morning I asked her if I could stop by her desk at some point to discuss TV work with her, and maybe see if she can put me in touch with someone in postproduction (which has been a casual interest since my mad editing skills were complimented by a college professor long long ago). The job hierarchy seems to be a little different, and I'd like to get a better idea of what it's like.

Oh, and Salty sent me a link to a really cool personality test. You should go do it!

My strongest score was in category 6, the skeptic/questioner, closely followed by category 4, the artist/romantic. Check out my profile; it's pretty damn close, if not dead on!

How to get along with me:
-Be direct and clear.
-Listen to me carefully.
-Don't judge me for my anxiety.
-Work things through with me.
-Reassure me that everything is OK between us.
-Laugh and make jokes with me.
-Gently push me toward new experiences.
-Try not to overreact to my overreacting.
-Give me plenty of compliments. They mean a lot to me.
-Be a supportive friend or partner. Help me to learn to love and value myself.
-Respect me for my special gifts of intuition and vision.
-Though I don't always want to be cheered up when I'm feeling melancholy, I sometimes like to have someone lighten me up a little.
-Don't tell me I'm too sensitive or that I'm overreacting!

What I like about being a six/four:
-being committed and faithful to family and friends
-being responsible and hardworking
-being compassionate toward others
-having intellect and wit
-being a nonconformist
-confronting danger bravely
-being direct and assertive
-my ability to find meaning in life and to experience feeling at a deep level
-my ability to establish warm connections with people
-admiring what is noble, truthful, and beautiful in life
-my creativity, intuition, and sense of humor
-being unique and being seen as unique by others
-having aesthetic sensibilities
-being able to easily pick up the feelings of people around me

Why it's hard being a six/four:
-the constant push and pull involved in trying to make up my mind
-procrastinating because of fear of failure; having little confidence in myself
-fearing being abandoned or taken advantage of
-exhausting myself by worrying and scanning for danger
-wishing I had a rule book at work so I could do everything right
-being too critical of myself when I haven't lived up to my expectations
-experiencing dark moods of emptiness and despair
-feelings of self-hatred and shame; believing I don't deserve to be loved
-feeling guilty when I disappoint people
-feeling hurt or attacked when someone misundertands me
-expecting too much from myself and life
-fearing being abandoned
-obsessing over resentments
-longing for what I don't have



Weird, huh? Go do one for yourself!

Would it be weird to belly dance to "Walking on Sunshine?"

Last night I had, like, so much fun!

As said a couple of days ago, last night was my belly dance class's recital. My teacher worked hard (though modestly) to put the whole thing together-there was even a program! The evening was kicked off with a solo performance from our teacher, then my class performed, then a lovely duet choreography, then the other class. Just like when I performed last July with n.o.madic, it was a great feeling to be up there dancing, but it was all over so quick!

The one really difficult thing was the waiting. We got to the venue so early that there was a lot of down time before we went on, and so-of course-I started babbling. When I get nervous, excited, bored, anxious, any of the above, my brain and my mouth completely disconnect from each other and my mouth will just say the most inane shit just to fill the empty space so that my nervousness, etc. won't fill in instead. It's sick--I can see it happening from my brain, but it takes an emotional rattle to stop it. The rattle happened, and although I was a little uncomfortable I was glad it did because otherwise I just would have kept on babbling and fussing.

After that first set, there were special guest performers! First came Z, with a very theatrical, very pretty dance inside (and then outside) a burqa. It really hit on something I'd been thinking about--my former dance teacher in New Orleans had been really big into teaching about Middle Eastern culture and why we do this or the origin of that dance move--and this Fat Chance stuff is well and good, but seems to throw that out the window. Anyway, Z's dance told a story, and in that sense seemed much more personal and much closer to the cultures that inspired ATS. Not that dancing for the sake of dancing isn't great, but I really think there's more there than strict Carolena ATS is really allowing for. I mean, we're touching our hips! And hair gardens and cowrie falls are cute and pretty, but they don't have any real significance... There's meaning that's been lost in the fray somewhere. Call me crazy, but there's something more fun about gwahzee when you think about all the hookers who used to use it as an excuse to loiter on the streets of...wherever.

So Z danced, then Trisha McBride (who is kind of famous) danced, then my teacher's ATS troupe danced--they were great! ATS may have lost some stuff in translation, but if nothing else, it's just ridiculously fun even to watch. Improvised choreography in action, plus bright colors and fluffy tassels! It made me nostalgic for my Friday nights watching n.o.madic at the Dragon's Den!

After the show we all slowly trickled to the back locker area to change. There was hardly any space at all there - a running theme all over New York. By the time I made it back, I was one of the last girls there, and while changing, Z struck up a conversation with me. In ten minutes I found out she's a kindred spirit: an artist, a slightly jaded idealist, a film school graduate. I wanted to stay and talk, but there was a lot of people-climbing-over-us happening and I wound up taking off. I did look her up on Tribe right away though, and found out she was just as happy for our meeting! We will go have coffee and it will be good.

Dance! Dance for my pleasure!

After bellydancing class tonight, I went to dinner at the weird little Japanese cafe again with M and J. It was nice to chat again--they're really nice! This time I dined on an egg salad sandwich and a weird tuna and corn bun. During our walk to the subway, M and I talked about relocation difficulties...she came here about a year ago from California, so she understands what I'm going through.

Bellydancing is a really fun enterprise; I highly recommend it. It's physical activity, it's brain exercise, it's social, it's sexy, and best of all it gives you an excuse to gather shiny objects!

On another positive note, I talked to the nice lawyer lady at work today about finding a job in production at the network where I'm working. She was more than receptive, and even got one of the other ladies at work in on the whole enterprise of finding me a job. I was given a referral to be a desk assistant in the production department (boring! but could lead to something better...), and phone calls were made to ask about production assistant positions. So woohoo!

Oh yeah, and Friday I'll be performing with the rest of my classmates at Je'Bon, a sushi and noodle and Thai food restaurant on St. Mark's place. Exciting! I wonder if PDF will be able to make it...

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!

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!

$1650 - HUGE studio apartment furnished w/bunk beds and desk. No window. GREAT DEAL!!! (nyc)

Okay, so yesterday wasn't the day.

It was going to be, it really was. And I'm still all gung-ho about it, so maybe today will be the day (justification). I was signed up for this comedy improv workshop after work and I busted a move to get over there, so that's why I didn't call (excuse). But today will be better, provided I can tear myself away from my boss's earshot long enough. Regardless, the comedy improv class thingy gave me a little boost of confidence (it's okay to take risks!), so I really think that I'm ready! Really!

As an aside (aside?), the comedy improv thing was amazingly fun, and I was actually kind of good at it! If it weren't $20 a week I would really really want to do it on a regular basis. I'd like to get PDF involved too. How fun!

So, as far as my adventures in New York go, I've decided that I'm tired of hating my building (did I mention that I don't like my building?), and I am now determined to figure out what I can do to change either my perspective, or my building.

What I'd like to do is start calling the cops every time people play music inappropriately loud. I'd like to tell people waiting outside the door that they can't come in until they're buzzed in (I tried that once--it didn't go so well). I'd like to make a building-wide campaign to minimize pest infestation. I'd like to find out who's smoking in the stairwell and kick his ass. I'd like for everyone to agree on quiet hours in the building after 11:00 (at least!). I'd like to completely eliminate trash rooms in favor of outdoor trash bins with lids.

So why don't I rock the boat and organize with some neighbors to make things better? Well frankly I'm a little concerned about my safety. For the most part my neighbors are all really nice people with families or single ladies or single young folks like myself, but there are a few creepy twenty- and thirty-something dudes who have people coming and going all the time and act all thuggy and what have you. And there's whoever smokes in the stairwell. And...well...I have to say it; I'm a woman who lives alone. What happens if someone decides that I'm trouble and starts harassing me? What happens if someone decides to climb my fire escape one night and break in while I'm there? What could I do?

Living alone is great, but I get very nervous about those windows.

Since my thoughts are all-over-the-place today anyway (hence the parentheses), I may as well say that the concept of the trash room is really bizarre to me. Whoever thought it was a good idea to keep a bunch of garbage in a tiny little indoor room is insane... Oh, hello roaches, nice to see you. Glad you could live down the hall from me. Ew.

Who knew "Mekka-lekka hi mekka hiney ho" meant "I will amuse myself by wreaking havoc on your idealism."

Okay, so I've been at this job for two of five weeks. I'm starting to feel the burn...gotta find work to stay afloat. Should I wait tables (horror)? Should I depend on the temp agency to find me something (anxiety)? Should I try to defer my student loans (guilt)? Should I apply for another office job (groan)?

What I really want is another PA job to help my enthusiasm. I'm feeling a lot of financial pressure (surprise!) and I would like to feel a little secure. I don't mean "salaried employee" secure; rather I would like to feel some kind of validation that I didn't make the decision to uproot my entire life, to leave everything I had worked long and hard for, only to make mediocre money temping as an administrative assistant.

Following my dreams is so much nicer on paper. I knew all of these feelings were going to come and I knew it was going to be hard, but I didn't know about the Writers' Guild Strike. And then when it came, I didn't realize how much it would permeate the availability of jobs.

Still, I wonder if I'm using the strike as an excuse not to look harder. Every day I tell myself that I'm going to send resumes out or do research or write a letter. But every day I'm so tired and worn out by the time I get home that all I want to do is sleep. And then I can't sleep...I just putter around until midnight or so and then force myself to lay there worrying about how I'm going to find work. And right before I fall asleep I tell myself, "Tomorrow will be the day. Tomorrow I'll find one person I want to work for and I'll write that person a letter." I do this over and over.

I thought maybe today would be the day. I dressed up cute today. I straightened my hair. I thought maybe, just maybe I'll find somewhere to go, and then I'll go there and meet someone nice. And that person will be a hiring manager for a tv show--a really GOOD tv show that will be on for a long time. And then I'll suddenly, magically have a job. Within the next year, I will be selected for the DGA trainee program, then after that I'll be a second AD. Then, eventually I'll move up again, but that's as far as this particular fantasy goes...although UPM is looking like a nice career choice to me. It's nice and organizy--and I'm good at organizy stuff.

So I thought this would be the day. The day I met a magic person or wrote a magic letter (to who, I don't know) or...had some magic epiphany about how to meet the right people. But then the lawyer I'm assisting at this temp job asked me to stay late. The temp agency told me I would generally have to stay until 6 unless specified otherwise, so I can't say no. Not that 6 is the end of the world...it's just that I'm always so tired.

I can feel already that I won't be up to going out tonight. And even if I was up to going out...who would I go with? By myself? Where would I go? I have no idea! I'm overwhelmed with being alone. So overwhelmed, so alone....