The Pitch

Let me start by saying I'm officially moved! Yay! And secondly, I believe I may be starting a new blog. That's right, I know. My friend has nearly completely convinced me and since we've been talking about it, ideas have been flowing. The premise is basically my paranoia. It will be my outlet for every disease I think I have, or how I think I'm going to get fired, or basically anything that I'm worried about. Apparently, everytime I see her I'm convinced I have another disease and she thinks it would be hilarious. So that will be coming soon i guess.

In other news, it's Election Day!!! How exciting! Also, my mom just called and said she thinks she has appendicitis. She's drinking the contrast stuff now and has a test at 2:45 est. She sounds so sad! That sucks. She recently had her gall bladder removed so this is just one more thing to add to her plate. Ugh. Anyway, not quite the way I wanted the day to start, but hopefully she'll be fine and it will be a kidney stone or something. She can pass it and be on her way. Okay, well off to the shower.

Moving Stress........Again

Oh my gosh. Lists and lists and plans and fears are circulating like no other today. It's Thursday, and for those of you counting, two days to my official move in. And my apartment is wrecked. Wrecked! It seems packed, kind of, but now that it's so close, I'm realizing yet again, why I hate moving. It's all the little things. Like how last night I carted my 5 gallons of emergency earthquake water, that I had forgotten I had, to the new place. How I had bought a towel rack that I want to take with me, and my shower head in the shower. The curtains hanging in my living room, and how I need to replace the white blinds that were there. Stressed out yet? It is doable in 2 days but I'm working too. So regular packing I had planned plus all these tiny things that I'm remembering, all after or before, (doubtful), work. Not to mention the sheer dirtiness that has stirred up by my moving. And everytime I think I'm making progress, I open another cabinet and sigh. And Friday is Halloween and I'm not sure if I have the time to do anything. Which means cancelling the small plans I had, which was expected. And I don't even remember when or where I'm picking up my Uhaul. Although, I must admit, I'm getting so much help this time for the actual move, I'm nearly speechless. As of right now, I have 6 definites, and 3 maybes. That's a lot of man and woman power. However, that also means that I have to have everything ready to go at 11 when everyone gets here. Including having the doughnuts and coffee I promised. I feel like I've moved lots of things to the new place, as I had this awesome 2 week overlap, but now, it seems insufficient. Which is astounding because, Geez, most people and most times I've moved, there is no overlap. Anyway, I may try to get a few things done this morning, so I should probably get to it. Just getting that off my chest. Expect a relieved and/or post-mortem on Sunday. Cross your fingers for no disaster.

Funny Fame (by association?)

Okay. So I have these friends who have sort of become a little famous lately for their sketch comedy. Pretty crazy actually. Their group is called POYKPAC and of course I'm going to pimp them. (Do people still "pimp" things?)

"POYKPAC"

So that there is their link to their super funny videos on YouTube. Based out of Williamsburg, they are starting to get recognized on the street and fan mail and the whole thing. Kinda crazy! (In fact, they might even get their own internet show!) One of their more recent videos has a couple shots of me in it. Look for a blonde in the front row, I enter with Maggie, and check out what we did for entertainment in college here:



Anyway, it's pretty cool to know people on the cusp of hitting it big. So you heard it here first! Poykpac is the next big thing! Tell your friends!

My life is kinda insane right now. I'm in the process of getting a new apartment, which I found one today that I love. Now if we can get our pesky landlord to release us from the lease. I'm thinking with the fire, it's a battle that can be won. I edited that music video, which I'll link here the second it's officially on YouTube, and got a small promotion at work, with possibility of a much, much bigger one soon.

I'm second editor on a new show for Discovery channel and that's going good I think. Well, it's going. I'm trying to knock their socks off so the big promotion can happen. Big promotion would mean me as an editor next season for the show I've been working on before this latest one, (starting in December). So that's HUGE. Huge I tell you. So lots of stuff going on.

Well check out POYKPAC and spam all your friends with links and I'll check back in soon!

No Words...

Where do I begin? Sheesh. What a few weeks this has been. No kidding. You ready for an epic tale? Sit back, grab a drink, and get to reading. I'll begin two weeks back.

An amazing thing happened. I got a temporary job that lasted exactly to the day of when my perm job was supposed to start back up. And I not only got the job, I nailed the interview. They showed me the stacks of resumes and did the whole bit of flattering me by saying they liked my resume the best and I was the first they called, etc etc. Then made a whole show of tossing the rest of them into the trash. Okay, so it was probably the best interview I've ever had. The show was something definitely cool and different. I heckled a bit a got a wee bit over my usual rate and everyone seemed nice and welcoming. So I was pretty excited.

The day I found out I got the job, I also found out that I got to edit a music video for an actual record label and an actual band and it could actually go on tv! (Maybe, possibly, maybe). Flying high here, right?

Okay, then things started going terribly wrong. I soon discovered that my once top-of-the-line editing system had plummeted so far below the line that it couldn't even handle aforementioned music video. Not only that, the new job was not quite as great as I had imagined. It was hard going back to working days when I had grown so accustomed to nights. Having people breathing down my neck and not being able to get online and waste time was definitely a downer.

So one problem at a time, I knew I wanted to do the music video. I had just wrapped up the short that I've worked on literally all summer and was excited to go to something different. The song is catchy and poppy and fun, with a hint of darkness, and altogether perfect for me. The director is someone I've wanted to work with for a while, and well, music videos have always had a special place in my heart.

At this point in my life, I was broke. Broke broke broke! I quickly learned that in order for me to update my system so that it could handle the project, I wouldn't even be able to update my exsiting software, (since it is an Academic version, [which at the time sounded like such a good deal]). I'd have to buy the super expensive bundle of applications I'd rarely use, one of which, enabled me to do the video.

Thirteen hundred dollars in debt later, I'm sitting at my computer, all excited and ready to install my new software when I discover that I need to update my OS X to even be able to INSTALL FCP 6. What?!? That would have been nice to know at the store where I had bought the software as they were closing and locking the doors behind me for the night.

I should have taken this as a sign that the universe did not want me to do this project. But I couldn't stop there. This was an unreturnable purchase and I was going to use it damnit.

The next morning I awoke nice and early and was at the store as they opened the doors. I went in, bought my OS X gazillion, (after the fated conversation with the nice salesman, "Do you really need it now?" "Yes. Why?" "The new version is coming out next week. You should wait until then." Of course. "I can't!"), and left the store feeling even smaller than I felt when I entered.

I got home and spent the entire day installing software, including yet another upgrade I had to download as the smoke flew from my ears, and then, finally, FINALLY, importing the footage. Somehow, someway, I still got the first cut done that night, right on schedule. I was doing my best to overcome these obstacles and desperately wanted to leave a good taste in the mouth of the director. The next day, of course, (this is getting ridiculous, no?), after all of that hard work, I discovered that one little tiny box had not been checked when I imported the footage, (not to get into too many boring specifics, but it's an HD project and this was the first time I was dealing with actual HD in my timelime), so I had to reimport. Reimporting caused all my current files to reconnect almost an entire second off, meaning I was basically having to recut the entire thing. In one night to even attempt to stay on schedule.

Can I just say for the record this was one of the most fun things I've ever had the privelege of cutting. Even so, I would have preferred to do it once, especially with the tight schedule we were on, but I digress. I stayed up late, starting off my week on four hours of sleep. I finished, yay, but the lack of sleep hurt me.

Monday-I went to work, realized I had made a couple of mistakes, tried to correct them, cursed the assistant before me and the vague notes she left me, stared at the clock, waited for it to hit six thirty, drove home, walked my dog, and the director came over and we worked for the rest of the night on the cut.

Tuesday-I went to work, realized I had made a couple of mistakes, tried to correct them, cursed the assistant before me and the vague notes she left me, stared at the clock, waited for it to hit six thirty, drove home, walked my dog, and the director came over and we worked for the rest of the night on the cut.

Wednesday-I went to work completely exhausted, realized I had made a couple of mistakes, tried to correct them, cursed the assistant before me and the vague notes she left me, stared at the clock, waited for it to hit six thirty, drove home, walked my dog, and the director came over and we worked for the rest of the night on the cut.

Thursday-I went to work even more exhausted, realized I had made a couple of HUGE mistakes, like sending a bad DVD to the Network, (eck!), cursed the assistant before me and the vague notes she left me, cursed my boss for not letting me check said DVDs before he burned and sent them, stared at the clock, waited for it to hit six thirty, drove home, walked my dog, and the director came over and we worked for the rest of the night on the cut.

Friday-I went to work unbelievably exhausted, didn't make any mistakes, stared at the clock, waited for it to hit six thirty, got in my car and started to drive home. I was trying to make my way as fast as possible through the rain, (yes, rain in LA), and traffic, so I'd have enough time to walk my dog before the director came over. I got a call. EPIC! I warned you! (I actually had to stop and remember that other stuff because it is so pale in comparison to my next catastrophe. I was like "Wait, didn't something else suck like four days ago?")

My house, a duplex, had gotten struck hard by the rainstorm. The shotty old wire coming off of my bedroom and onto the pole had ripped from our house, still barely hanging on, but doing so in a vicarious manner. My roommate, who was home when it happened, had seen the sparks from the event, and ran outside. A small fire had started under our house. She grabbed the dogs and called the fire department. By the time they had gotten there, the fire was out and a large portion of cable/internet wires was a mess a black goo. Needless to say our cable/internet still hasn't been fixed!

They put up some tape and told us we needed the electic company to come out as soon as possible. It was around this time that I was finally getting home. The electricity was understandibly out, (just our house), and when I touched the back railing by the stairs, I got shocked. A loud, unbearable hum was coming from my wall, and our fire alarms were beeping mercilessly, as they run solely on electic energy and not batteries. The fire department had left and there was no fire at this time, so I tried my best to feel safe. My roommate went to a movie and I was stuck at home alone to sit and hope that, despite my gut telling me otherwise, everything was okay.

I kept getting wiffs of an odd odor that I pinpointed as a vitaminy smell. The fact that the fire alarms weren't working troubled me, but I tried to stay calm. Finally, sensing the smell was getting stronger, I broke down and called 911. I asked the fire department just to come back and investigate the smell. A little over two minutes later, four trucks came roaring into my neighborhood. My cheeks flushed, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

They could not smell anything and when I told them that the railing had shocked me, they looked at me like I was crazy. The dogs had both yelped in the front yard, as if they were getting shocked too. They didn't believe that it was anything to be worried about. They left, as there was no fire.

The electric company was slammed and no one came that night. I also had to understandibly cancel the editing session for the evening. I couldn't even sleep in my room as the hum was not only annoying, but troubling. It sounded like a ball of electricity trapped in the wall. I slept of the couch. A fitful nights sleep at best. After a week of short sleep nights, my nerves were rattled and body, exhausted.

I awoke the next morning and me and my roommate both called the electric company begging for someone to come out. One house without power didn't seem to be a big priority. We explained it was an emergency, but there was only so much customer service could do.

Finally, after an unsettling morning, a lone man from the electric company came to investigate. He looked shocked and basically said, "We're gonna need a bigger boat."

Duh. This is what we'd been saying. He was nice enough to call the dispatcher directly, hopefully expressing the severity of the situation. He was also nice enough to explain that somehow electricity had infiltrated our entire yard, or anything metal touching the house. And no, I was not crazy for thinking I got shocked. I actually did and thank goodness it wasn't enough to do any damage.

But he couldn't turn the electricity off. Basically that had to be done at the pole or something. For some reason, he couldn't do much. So again, I waited. Waited, sniffing the air anxiously. Roommate had gone to breakfast and I had stayed home, not wanting to leave the dogs alone. I was so nervous, just waiting for the house to catch fire, I actually packed up some things in my car. I just knew. I can't explain it, but I knew. I was putting my head between my knees taking deep breaths and trying to calm myself down. I felt helpless. Like I was just waiting for it to catch fire. Like it wasn't a question of "if", it was "when". I literally was having an internal debate on whether or not I was overreacting when I smelled the vitaminy smell again. I didn't want to false alarm the FD again, so I waited. It got stronger, much stronger, and finally I broke down and called my roommate begging her to come home. When she got there she laughed at the fact that I had packed up my car, but as the rain started falling again, the smell got even stronger.

So I got on the phone with the power company and told them we needed someone now. Now. Then, my worst nightmare happened. My roommate saw smoke. I took the dogs outside and put them in my car, yelling to the power company that my house was on fire, it was too late now, and I had to go. I hung up, feeling utterly helpless and like no one seemed to give a damn that we've had this huge risk around us and no one could seem to do anything but wait. Wait for this, I guessed. Wait for the house to go up in flames. That's what it took it seemed. My roommate ran down a few seconds later, having already called the fire department, and said she saw flames. In my head, it was gone. The house was gone. When the fire trucks pulled up, I met them at the street and told them where the kitchen was. Immediately when they ran in, I started crying. I know. I'm such a girl. But it had been an emotional day and I'm terrified of fires and I really thought the house was long gone. And just to push the sympathy points a little higher, it was pouring down rain and I was completely soaked. And neighbors were coming up to me offering me umbrellas and water and to go inside their house and sit, but I couldn't move from the driveway, alternating from watching the house in horror, and not being able to watch at all, fearing I'd see flames from the roof. I knew I wouldn't be able to handle that.

I'll add in here that we couldn't reach our landlord because of the Jewish holiday and he had left no emergency number.

I got dragged away from the house by a friend who took me down the block to her house and supplied me with dry clothes and made me calm down-which was probably a good thing. I think the firefighters were laughing at me. When I returned, it was business as fire usual. They had decided they had no other choice but to cut down the power line completely. They were inspecting all the walls with a camera thing to make sure nothing else was on fire.

A fireman, the chief I do believe, approached me and asked if I was the one that called last night about the "vitaminy" smell. I confirmed that was me, and he, in turn, confirmed, in his best apologetic tone, that I wasn't crazy. What I had been smelling was the old insulation smoldering in the walls. HA! (Although I'm not sure how much I appreciate being right on that one.) I knew I wasn't crazy. I'm pretty sure they felt bad about the jokes they made after they left. So yes, technically there was a fire in our walls for nearly twelve hours. This house we SLEPT in.

Anyway, that is how I spent last weekend. Hardly any damage was done, although the firemen did chop up one of our walls! The house has since been rewired, although not very well. Needless to say, we're not really feeling too safe here anymore, and are looking for a place elsewhere. Because of our dog situation, (them not getting along too well), we're going our seperate ways.

And now, I'm going to try and finish a project I've been working on and was almost done with before this big mess! Goodnight!

Carpe Diem in Review

I've been living for the day in NY lately. Quicker than quick review for elaboration later:

-Met and befriended NYPD officer! Scarily enough, he's my age. Gave me new perspective into the job. Amazing conversation.

-Sister came in town.

-Bought classic "little black dress", but of course, this one has a Betsy twist.

-Great Saturday night with hatches, strangers, dance party extraordinaires, twins, sombreros (see left), missed connections, calling a complete stranger a fashion victim to his face (Yikes!), AND nachos!



-Jack Bauer Power Hour.

-Walking through wonderful snow.

-Girl America by Mat Kearney.

Basically if my life were always this exciting, well, I'd be a busy little fun-haver. Like an heiress. Oh NY, why do you have to be so nice right as I'm saying goodbye?

ps: Anyone else know that Kiefer Sutherland's real name is Kiefer William Frederick Dempsey George Rufus Sutherland? (I did that from memory, but here's your proof.) Yeah!

He brings the hottness like no one's business. I might have to bump him up to #2 on my Top 5 over 40 list. (No one can touch Clooney.)

My Neighborhood

It's like the shirt that you love the second you're about give it to Goodwill. You suddenly remember the high school football game you wore it to, and your mind thinks of the perfect outfit in which this particular shirt, the one you haven't worn in five years, will truly shine. (I know plenty about this metaphor as I've been trying to downsize for a couple months now.)

My departure is coming quickly. In a little over a month, I'll be leaving New York for presumably forever. I've slowly been falling in love with my neighborhood. It's taken twenty months, but now, it's become my neighborhood. I know the cars on the street. I know when I get woken up by a car that just won't crank, it's the boy with the Bronco across the street. I know that when I get off the subway and walk up those stairs, without fail, someone is going to open the emergency exit door, setting off the alarm as they exit calmly, with a herd of people right behind them. I like that when I get groceries, the man who works in the bike shop next door, that calls himself Tony Montana, will help me carry them even if it's only for a block. I like that if I'm short a dollar at the store next door, they'll spot me until the next time I come in, which would most likely be the next day. I like that I can almost always guess which stop any particular person will get off of the train. I look down streets and remember the drunken night of wayward bike riding, with two on my bike and crashing into the parking meter. Laughing for hours. Or when we rode around and pretended to be a bike gang, riding all day, having so much fun that we didn't realize how exhausted we were until we got home. Sore for days. I love walking down Robling and remembering last Christmas when we walked our Christmas tree home in the snow. When we'd get tired we'd slam it into the packed snow, securing it there and proceeding to sing Christmas carols until we had regained our energy to carry it the rest of the way. I like that almost every corner brings back a memory.

I feel like this neighborhood is too safe to be scary. And too scary to be safe. For those who don't know Williamsburg, Brooklyn, it is filled with old warehouses. Williamsburg is right on the water and used to be full of factories and warehouses with a few neighborhoods sprinkled in between. Then the L train happened. A train that connects directly to Manhattan in less than ten minutes and boom, the young people started pouring in. There are now basically two types of people that live here. Older people and families who have lived here long before the L train came, and post-graduate artistic types who are often called "Hipsters". With all of the new people coming here in the 90s, lots of restuarants and bars and clothing stores came that were geared towards this new age of residents. It seems like it's a scary place, and especially at night, it looks scary. Sometimes it is. You're walking down a residential street and all the sudden, you're surrounded by big scary warehouses. Deserted warehouses. It's ugly and unsettling. But when you're walking around, there's young people everywhere. Around every corner, hanging outside of some bar in a warehouse you never knew was there. You are surrounded by people just like you, and I love it. Sure it's as dangerous as any other place, and it'll keep you on your toes, but it's outward apperance can be misleading. I like that though. I like that you don't recognize the good restuarants by their flashy advertising. I like having to be in "the know" for a lot of the best places in this neighborhood.

And all of this came to me last night when I was walking home. I was thinking about how I was leaving so soon, moving away, moving across the country, and I started to look around at the familiar streets. A Jack Osbourne look alike passed me by, and looking inside windows I could see lofts in warehouses with huge portraits on the wall and 20 foot ceilings. There were two police officers looking into a subway trap door on the street with flashlights. They were yelling, "Hello!" as I passed by. One of them cursed loudly, and I assumed it was because the bad guy had gotten away in a police chase made for the movies. One where the bad guy lifted the safety door and jumped onto the tracks, running through the tunnels for freedom. I watched the police officer pull his hand back towards him and turn his palm over. It was covered in grease and he was looking at it as if it were the most disgusting thing he's ever witnessed. (Those NYPD are tough!) If my scenario were correct, they were not going in after said subject, and were much more concerned with the grease on Number two's hand. If they aren't worried, I shouldn't be, right?

I'm going to miss this place. In the least creepy way possible, I like looking into windows as I pass by. Looking at the homes people have made themselves. I like being surrounded by tons of people who are just like me. I like watching people on the street, wondering their professions. I like laying in my bed and watching people on the street below fighting, or kissing, or singing, kicking trashcans, or just walking around aimlessly. I hate that I could never feel at home here. I love that this is my neighborhood, I just wish it were my home.

I'm going to miss this place.

Hopper

Here's the thing people, I have a dog. Meet Hopper. Hopper is about to turn 3 years old in nine days, and that picture right there, was taken a year ago. What I'm holding in front of the camera there, that's her birthday sandwich. At a closer inspection, it looks a little like this photo below. It's peanut butter with broken pieces of dog biscut smashed throughout. She gets it once a year on her birthday. (I'm pretty strict with all table food the rest of the year. This one day is the exception.)

Because if there's one thing Hopper likes, it's peanut butter. God forbid she ever get an entire jar, or that jar's fate would be, well, not pretty. Licked clean shards of plastic would be all that remains when Hopper is done with it.

I got Hopper when I was in college. I was sure that I was responsible enough: I had a yard, the spare time, and emotionally, was looking for some campanionship. (Whether I was actually ready to get a dog is still up for debate.) Hopper's name comes from artist Edward Hopper. Not Dennis Hopper, as some so wittingly like to suggest. Edward Hopper is by all counts, my favorite artist. In every single one of his paintings, he conveys this humanly loneliness, that we all possess, at or against our own will. For this reason, the mystery of Hopper's name can begin to become less of a mystery.



Here's the other thing, Hopper has a bad past. I got her when she was six months old, and between her and her sister, she seemed to be the more calm one. A little shy when I first met her, but allowed me to rub her stomach, which is always a good sign when adopting a dog. I got her in the car when I started to notice that something was a little off. She was in the backseat, trying to get in the front seat with us. She peed in the backseat and any loud noise made her cower. When we stopped halfway home to let her use the bathroom, she nearly escaped her leash when people tried to come up to her. She was scared. And it seemed normal enough I guess, at the time thinking she was just adjusting. But that day, things went from bad to worse. She wouldn't let anyone, besides me and my friend who had picked her up, near her. She would cower under my bed, no matter how many treats I laid right outside of her comfort zone.

Yes, something was very off with this pup. She had been abused. I took her to the vet and they confirmed my fear. At the lift of a hand, she would wince thinking she was going to get hit. She trusted no one but me and my roommates. It was a sad time. I dealt with it the best I could, taking her to socialization classes and trying to integrate her with other dogs. Luckily, she had no problem getting along with other dogs, it was just the people that she couldn't handle. But she was a great dog, pretty well-behaved, sweet, not overly active. And I fell in love with her.

Today, after 2 and a half years of working with her, she has improved greatly, but is still far from "normal". She is overly afraid of strangers, sometimes so desperate to get away, knocking down any and everything in her path, including me. Loud noises or startling motions frighten her. She has gotten better, as it takes her a lot less time to warm up to people now. But her past can never completely be reversed. And it's hard. It's stressful, and sometimes it's so damn frustrating that I can't see straight. I'm 23, and this dog is hard to take care of. It's hard always wondering if I'm doing the right thing or if I'm being overly-compassionate or cold hearted. When she's scared, sometimes I just want to yell, "What's your damn problem!" Or pull her to the person in question and be like, "They are nice! People are nice!!!" Of course I don't, especially the former, it's not her fault. It's the bastards that abused her. It's their fault. And there's a high chance I made some mistakes when I first got her. Too much coddling, being the worst offense, or so I'm told. She went from an abusive atmosphere directly to me, who would cater to her every need and desire. No wonder she thinks everyone else sucks.

But I love her dearly and know that I can't give up on her. It's damn hard. It is. I have to sacrific a lot for her, but I made this commitment long ago, and have no intention of going back on a promise I made to her when I first got her. "Till death do we part, baby."

I would like to believe that she doesn't hold me back, but alas, sometimes it's hard not to concede to that thinking. Moving new places is awfully difficult. And here's the last thing. I need to move to a new place. I'm as far as I believe I can go here, career wise. Or as far as I'd like to go. My time in NYC is up. I've recently realized that I must move to LA. My first thought, when I realized this was, she's not going to be able to come. It was subconscious at first. I take you back to my post from last week, "10 Hours Separates The Freshly Cleaned and Coffee Stained", where I was trying to decide what to do in March when my lease is up. Admittedly, LA was in last place. I didn't admit it then, but I will now, It's because of Hopper. I was scared she wouldn't be able to come. This realization and vocalization of this realization made me have a breakdown a few nights ago. I couldn't give up on her now.

Night time is always the time where I think less rationally. By morning light, I had a plan.

In March when my lease is up, I will return home for a short period to regroup. Hopper will be boarded for a couple of weeks, and I'm going to fly out to LA. With the help of friends already living there, I will start to try and find a place to live, a job, a life. That's right. I'm going to move to LA. After finding some sort of semblance of a place to live, I will then make the desicion if I am going to be able to have her. I'm thinking that I will. I've discussed this with many people, one of which is currently in LA with her dog, living happily. I know I can do it. If I can do it here, I can do it anywhere. That's how the saying goes right? I will return home, collecting my belongings, purchasing a car, (no easy task, but a necessity), retrieve my pup, and head cross-country. One step at a time. If, and I am going to try and make this not so, but if I discover that I would not be able to have her there, I will deal with it then. But I'm fighting for her. And for what I need in my life. It's not fair to either of us to hold each other back. I don't want to feel like by living there, her quality of life will be compromised. And same for me. So Hopper and I will have another chapter in our lives together. She can't get rid of me that easily!

And once again, I'm at peace.

Off-Kilter

I used to think I had the perfect life. Honestly, when I was younger, I'd be like, "This, all of this. It's enviable." I had the perfect family, tons of friends, I knew what I wanted in life. Everything was just perfect. I mean of course there were bad days, or days where I'd walk out of my house with my head so high, the perfect outfit on, walking around confidently, knowing I was looking good, only to trip and stumble or run out of gas a half a mile from school, for everyone to see, including my ex-boyfriend, (who didn't stop). Those were the days that I thought evened out everything that was right in my life.

Now it seems I can only have one thing good going on in my life at a time, and I constantly wait for that to implode, as they so often do. I feel like I'm in a bad place in my life currently. Like I need to make major life changes.

When I was younger, I did everything for everyone. I was the doormat that people stepped on. I took hits for people, and did embarrasingly, belittling tasks to remain a part of the "cool group". I realized I was trying so hard to make everyone else happy, I wasn't making myself happy. As it goes, I got tired of being the selfless whipping board I was convinced I was. I made a conscious desicion to be more selfish. Silly, I know. I trained myself to be selfish, which would be good for someone like me, but I did it all wrong. I didn't do it to make myself happy. I still couldn't focus on that. Instead, I got to a place where I had a hard time being happy for people who had good things going on in their life, that I didn't have. I should have focused on being a doormat no longer, instead I became this strange self-involved person who talked all about themselves and lost interest in other peoples' lives. And the worst part? Somehow, I still felt like a doormat. I could talk about myself for hours, but how other's were making me feel, not so much. I did it all wrong.

Today, I'm too selfish for my own good. I sometimes forget to ask people how their day was, and mean it. It becomes like this courtesy thing for me, and while they tell me, my mind is off thinking about what I have to do that day or the jacket at J Crew that I want and can't afford. I find myself hogging all the phone time with friends, going on and on about how I'm so tired from my day and going off about how I need a raise. I hate it. I don't know why I do it, or why I can't seem to stop doing it. And I'll catch myself doing it, but not stop. I try to make that effort, but it never works, and I end up making strange segways and apologizing for being side-tracked when they ask me a question about what they've just said, and I haven't heard a word of it because I'm thinking about how I need to be listening. But I feel like I'm losing people in my life, slowly, because of it. It becomes a sad thing when I can't grasp the concept of friendship anymore.

And I have a hard time confiding in my friends, or anyone for that matter. Me and four of my closest friends were playing truth or dare the other day, (yes we are grown women who have jobs and make salaries and still play truth or dare), and I kept deflecting the "truth" portion of the game. That bothered me. I couldn't even stand to be asked a question that may force me to confide in my closest friends. What I don't have any trouble with, is filling their heads with too much trivial knowledge of my life and day and week. It makes me sad.

I feel like my closest friends are always those that I never see, no matter which group of friends I am with. When I'm home visiting, I feel like my college friends are the people in which I belong with. When I'm here, I feel like it's the people from home. I feel like I have tons on friends, and but no extremely close, attached-to-the-hip, friends forever type of friends.

All this rambling could be the effect of me living alone for the past few weeks, and me just finding myself very lonely without a roommate. But being without a roommate is what I kept saying that I wanted. It's not all that I thought it would be. And still, I have a year of it when this lease is up. It makes coming home from work a sad thing. It makes watching my favorite shows, much less exciting.

Too many aspects of my life are off-kilter right now. I feel like I'm losing touch with my family, friends, and even, excuse the over-dramatic sentiment, myself. I don't even know what I want right now. The only aspect of my life that I am happy with is my job, and that's slowly losing it's greatness as the weeks keep going by without that promise of a raise coming to fruitition. I'm waiting for the fallout that leaves me on my face, wondering where I went wrong and how I'm going to dig myself out of this hole, (that I fear I am already halfway in). I feel like I'm having a quarter-life crisis, where I'm wondering what I have to show, beyond my professional life, for my almost quarter-of-a-century life on this earth. And just fear that I'm going to wake up in the same place in another twenty-five years. I feel like I'm pushing so hard for things that I think I want in the future, I'm forgetting about the here and now.

I need to make some changes in my life. I know that. I need to send people birthday cards and call to see how they are doing. I need to call my brother and talk to him about his life, and school, and girlfriend. I need to try and focus on what makes me happy, which is ultimately, my friends and being with them. I need to tell them that. I need to stop the self-pity party and make things happen in my life. I need to stop throwing myself in my work because it seems like it's the only aspect of my life that I can be successful in. I know all this. Now, I just need to do it. Why is that always the hardest part?

Did I Say That?

I can't believe I actually just muttered the phrase, "I love Mondays". I'm pretty sure that in some circles I could be crucified for that. This includes disappointing my childhood idols: The Bangles. Why would that phrase ever be muttered from anyone's mouth? Well, I'm not sure, but my reasoning went something like this: Monday's at work there is nothing to do on the show, the work week officially starts on Tuesday, (billing wise), but I have to be here, to well, suck up oxygen I guess. (Or run errands if needed?) To make matters better, my boss is out of town allowing me to lay (very unlady-like) on all the client couches I want, watch tv too loudly, and spend hours and hours on the internet. Ah yes, fun indeed. Also, on Monday's there are a lot of new internet stories that are published, I'm assuming fruits of labor from the weekend. Hence, this Monday, I have spent my hours and hours on the internet reading said stories and constantly being laughed at for my unmoving, yet unbeatable, cozy spot on the couch. (And a random note: can I just say one of the editors here loves to walk around with a golf club, as he is doing right now, and I think it is hilarious. I don't know why, but he always does it, not swinging it or anything, just using it to punctuate sentences and stuff.) One last note about Mondays, you can really get away with doing almost anything on a Monday. You do something less than intelligent, or you make a mistake, you can blame it on 'Monday'. Four out of five times, you'll get an understanding head nod. Ahh, yes. Been there before.

Yeah, and then I figured that if I did have any interested readers, (well other than you Christie), I really left them in suspense with that last post. So you wanna know what happened with my moving day? Yep, it was a disaster. I 'Babe Ruthed' that one. There was lots of crying and meltdowns from nearly every party involved. At one point I even thought the movers were going to cry when they left their spare tire behind to fit more of my belongings in their van, and someone stole it. It was an eventful day at best. Worst. Moving. Day. Ever. But now it's like a week later and everything is a lot better, and I have my heath, (well sort of I think), but I'm definitly still alive, which is more than some Enron guy can say. Ouch.

Disaster

Let's hope today's not a disaster. It's moving day and I'm sitting on the porch for what could be the last time as a resident here. Movers are coming in 50 minutes and I feel that right now, it's the calm before the storm. First I'm worried that the movers are going to look at all my stuff and be like, "Whoa! That's more than we thought!" I have to keep reminding myself that I am paying them and that no matter what, they have to move me. I think. Then I'm worried that the girls haven't completely cleaned out their apartment. And that when I start to move my stuff in, I will be moving around their's. I'm also worried about what to do with my doggy while the cleaning lady is there and I'm gone. I don't want them to terrorize each other. Whew, it's 40 minutes now and I'm nervous. Here's to hoping it all goes okay.

Busted!

I went what, a whole two days fearing for my homelessness? Yeah, I got an apartment. Or did I? I think I did, although I have yet to sign a lease. Well I'm 75% sure I got an apartment. I mean Time Warner is coming to said apartment next week to install cable and internet, (because god knows what I do without those two things!). Well we'll see I guess.

Onto more important matters. Who gets a civil disobedience ticket at 9 am in the morning? Me that's who. Now before you start to live vicariously through me, I warn that the story is pretty boring and does not involve nudity or violence in any way. It's 9 o'clock in the morning, I'm walking to the subway with my good friend Emily. We're laughing and chatting about nothing in particular. It's her first morning in her new place, my old place as of this Saturday. I'm happy to be walking to the subway with someone I know. Well last Friday, I spent my last ride on my MetroCard and spent the weekend lazily buying Single Ride tickets. Needless to say, part of my planned to be uneventful morning was purchasing a new card. As we walk in the station, I casually walk up to the machine, only to be greeting with a "No Signal" message on the screen. I've seen many out of service messages on this very machine, but never that one. Seems more suitable for a cell phone or wireless internet connection but whatever. Technology these days, sheesh.

So in order for me to buy a card I'd have to climb the stairs back to street level, walk an avenue block, descend the stairs and potentially be greeted by the very same message on the other machines. Emily had a better idea. "Squeeze in with me!" I mean, on paper, it was a good plan. No security cameras to speak of and a seemingly empty station, I went for it. It was much more appealing than the other option, and hell, I'm a good citizen and had only done this once before, which from what I hear, is pretty honorable for someone who rides the subway everyday. Of course, as we squeeze in, push through, and head for our train, a NYPD officer walks up the stairs towards us. He came from out no where. Maybe he didn't know. We played it cool.

"Can I see some ID from you two?" Shit. "Have either of you ever been arrested?" Double shit.

As much as I wanted to cry, (to try and ease the punishment a little bit), I couldn't do anything but laugh. Call me crazy, but what the hell. Hilarious. Arrested for not paying 2 dollars? The potential cell-block conversations filled my head and I nearly doubled over in laughter. The fact that I wasn't scared of being arrested was perhaps the first sign to myself that I was an adult. Usually I'd be shaking in my mom-labeled underwear. Nonetheless, there was no arrest. He silently took our IDs and called in to check for past offenses. After finding that up to that point, we had lived law-abiding lives, he handed us a ticket for sixty bucks and told us to have a better day.

As soon as he let us go, we nearly sprinted to the train in a fit of giggles. We jumped onto a train filled with the very same people who had walked by moments earlier as we stood shamed as the PO wrote up our tickets. Some people had looked sympathetic, others, like we were the scum of the earth. And as we rode on the train, we laughed and Emily mentioned something about "not belonging", and I swear, if I didn't know us, I would have been annoyed. So I figured it was just a sixty dollar subway ride. I sat in the Priority Seating. Hell, I decided I deserved it.

Oh well, makes for a good story. Especially when I had to explain to the bossman why I was late. Even my mother laughed. And if you know my mom, you know that's quite a feat!

Woe Is Me: Being Homeless

For those of you who know me, you know that I've been trying to find housing for the past few weeks. My lease is up July 1st and I have yet to find a new place. I mean, what is up with New York real estate? It just keeps going up. One day it's going to be so high that NYC will be filled with two classes: upper and lower. Last year, my roommates and I found a place with really no big problems. Maybe I see it that way now because we didn't have a deadline. Right now, someone is planning on moving into my room in one short week. And where does that leave me? On the streets! Homeless I say!

A few days ago I joked that if we didn't find a place I'd load up a U-haul and move home for a few months, saving money for a move to LA. Now even that is out of the question seeing as the company I work for used to consist of four, and now it is down to three. The guy, we'll call him Joey, left, for practical reasons (!) but I humbly realize that if I were to leave as well, it could very well cause boss man to spontaneously combust! As I try to keep people's insides on the inside, I will not go that route...yet. But being homeless is a daunting threat that looms over my head as I look around me at all my worldly possessions knowing that being homeless might be rather hard with a dog and a truckload of stuff.



This is me when I was homeless for Halloween. The cardboard sign in the bottom right hand corner says, "Need Beer. God Bless You" On the reverse side it read, "Will Work For Beer". I went to a party that night, didn't have to shower after crew, spent zero dollars on my costume, and didn't buy a single beer. Clever and economical.