I am officially a fabulous New Yorker.

I am a fabulous New Yorker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

The Walk of Shame

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





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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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.

Please don't sue me, Amy Poehler. I loved you in Mean Girls.

PDF and I had a simply fabulous evening downtown tonight. It felt great to actually something with him instead of just hanging out at his apartment uptown. We talked about growing up without dads and how that causes us to shut ourselves out of the world sometimes. It was nice; we had this amazing gorgonzola cheese stuff at Niko's on Broadway and 76th, then headed downtown.

When PDF said he was taking me to a place called Turks and Frogs I wasn't sure what we would find. He has previously taken me to a totally cute Moroccan bar (with the best make-out spot I've ever seen in my life, although we're not quite each others' type), and I kind of expected something like that but more...Turkish. We wound up in this too cool for school type of place...a total hipster joint. It's not really my scene, but fine for a glass of wine. So we're ready to order when suddenly this blonde woman walked by us and I think, "wait a minute, I know her..." Then PDF looked at me and said, "Hey, isn't that...you know...from Saturday Night Live?"

Turns out, Amy Poehler and a few of her SNL buddies had shown up in the bar....so, being with PDF, the most fabulous person I know (silly PDF), we bought them champagne! Amy was nice enough to stop by our table and thank us very personally. I could tell she was doing the famous person duty of making nice with the fans, but it was still very classy of her to approach us graciously. The rest of her gang (I deliberately leave out names) was less gracious and only thanked us when they were forced to walk by to get to their table (LAME!). I think I know why Amy has come so far; the rest of them have something to learn from her.

On a side note, I'm watching SNL right now, and I just saw a couple of the folks from the bar tonight. That's kind of surreal, and kind of cool! I wonder how you get to be a PA on that show... (turns out $40 worth of champagne charged to PDF's boyfriend doesn't do the trick).

Kanye West is on the TV right now too. For what it's worth, coming from New Orleans, I agree with him about George Bush.

After Turks and Frogs, we were walking down some street...I forget because I was a little boozed on two glasses of wine...and we passed a high school gym, where there were about twelve couples, mostly gay male couples, who were all square dancing. No kidding! There was a dude with a microphone calling out the moves and all these people in their late fifties square dancing around this big, relatively empty gym with Valentine's decorations in it. It was very surreal.

Then, all of a sudden, PDF mentioned that he had seen one M. Silberschatz coming out of the subway a couple of weeks ago. Strange, since I just thought of him yesterday. M is a figure from the distant past; someone I met during Spring Break of 2001, which was spent in PDF's dorm at AMDA. I'd nearly forgotten about him and then something the other day reminded me of a very strange evening I spent at this party with this boy... I had even forgotten his name until PDF reminded me of it. "You have to remember who he is!" said PDF when I didn't recognize the name, "You completely disappeared with him for twelve hours!" Most of what I remember is noisy pigeons on an air conditioning unit and that PDF forcing me to write this ridiculous letter...and socks. I remember lots of socks.

The letter never sat well with me, but we were nineteen and melodramatic and PDF was acting like a complete turd and threatening to make me go home. It was a nice evening, really, and PDF didn't even get it. I think he was a little angry that I had fun without him...like tonight, when he said he didn't want to go out I said "Okay, well I'm going to the Jay Brannan Concert then." Suddenly he wanted to go downtown with me.

I wonder how I ever forgot a last name like that. It's so very distinctive, especially to a Catholic girl from Ohio. I don't even know why it's significant or relevant now; I guess it's just one of those things that I need to write down to get it out of my head... And it's another one of those things that's so weirdly close--PDF saw him on the 79th st. subway station, a place I find myself fairly often. Everything in New York is so weirdly close. It's such a tiny little place with so much packed in.