up with the sun

June 30, 2009

I’ve been working like a madwoman all day on my writing project, which should be done either next month or early August, when I will reveal it. I’m really cautious about WHEN I’m going to publish it due to the content. It’s not exactly gonna go down in one gulp… It’s going to make several people incredibly uncomfortable, but on the other hand, a lot of people are going to think it’s insightful and hilarious. I don’t usually brag about my writing, but this is gonna be worth reading. Promise.

Because I’ve been all up in this project, I’ve really been ignoring most other thoughts floating through my head all day, so obviously this post is going to be a little lackluster. Sorry.

In my personal life, I’ve really been waiting for a sign lately. There have been smidgens of signs – tiny miracles, I’ll call them – and I’m beginning to wonder what they mean, if anything at all. Is it weird I don’t believe in something if I don’t see it or hear it for myself? My faith has always wavered… but my belief is certainly attached to my will, and that does not fluctuate. Regardless of the times I’ve been kicked down the metaphorical stairs, I still climb back up, tail wagging, eyes bright.

What sort of sign is it going to take to know when to stop? Where do you draw the line?

I’m not going to say where or when I saw it, but I recently witnessed some thoughts on forgiveness that really touched me. Letting go of something is the best thing you can do for yourself… holding on to that resentment is only hurting you, not whoever is causing you that pain. I think somehow I’ve always known this, and I’ve been quick to forgive. Sure, I won’t forget (I got that from my mother. Seriously. That woman doesn’t forget SHIT.) but learning when I shouldn’t let go so easily is still a struggle.

I’m not sure if I know what I want anymore. I do and I don’t. I think honesty is going to be the hardest thing in the next few months – fessing up and accepting responsibility are going to be major players. Even in the work I’ll be publishing soon am I admitting to something that even my own parents don’t know about… only a few of my very close friends have been privy to the experience, and even then, I’m fairly tight lipped except to a chosen few.

This brutal honesty is going to hopefully break down a wall or two. What I discovered through the experience has proved that what I thought I wanted is the ultimate truth. It’s just a question of can I be honest, open, and vulnerable enough to let it happen.

It won’t be tomorrow, but it will be soon. 6000 words and counting, my longest work to date…

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Today has been the end to quite the odd week. Yesterday I couldn’t really bring myself to write anything funny because my brain was stained with misery. Sometimes I can be funny without thinking about it, but that’s often when I’m not writing. I’m not good at writing comedy. It’s one of the reasons I gave up screenwriting. Sure, I can pump out a gut-wrenching personal essay, but dear God, asking me to write something funny is about as effortless as putting an elephant on an airplane. (Please reference this and this. Believe me, if there are whole movies about elephants on airplanes, it’s not easy.)

I’m not funny. I’m sarcastic and self-deprecating… things that go hand in hand or hand in glove or skull in cap or something. My writing is poor (I often just write as if I’m speaking aloud, so those who actually know me find all of this very charming) so studying writing and literature in college is basically just one big joke in my head. I think the writing I do that requires the most thought is twitter. Seriously. My thoughts are usually more than 140 characters… it’s like micro-fiction but annoying.

Lately I’ve been preparing a piece I’m going to post about my last few months in New York. I embarked on a project (that ended up being wayyyy too expensive) that I thought was either going to make me or break me as a person, and at this point it broke me. I’ve kind of given up on it because I got tired. With my circle of friends, I’ve been quite open about the fact I’ve been doing it, and most are supportive and curious about my experience. Soon it will all be revealed. For now, I’ve decided to give you a few clues:
– it involves free alcohol.
– it involves sex (I’m using this term INCREDIBLY loosely here. Not necessarily the act, but the idea in general.)
– it involves strangers.
I hope that gets your brains ticking enough.

In other news, today I wore this cute little H&M wrap dress I haven’t worn in a million years because I’ve never been much of a dress girl and I can’t even remember why I bought it in the first place. Well I wore it (after repairing a button on the inside and effectively dropping my deodorant on it this morning. cute.) and was complimented by my coworkers, per usual when I wear a skirt. I think the kicker was I wore a dress to distract them from the fact my hair is a hot mess (I think I slept on it weird) but, ugh, per usual, my breasts were more distracting than the dress itself. Well friends, lets just say everyone was really nice to me today, even the women, and a baby at the cafe was fascinated by me. (Yeah, even babies like my tits.)

Somedays I question if I’d have a chance in this world if I didn’t have them. I don’t take these puppies for granted… they’ve gotten me far in the world (oof. but true.) and they’ve also hindered me from participating in golf, tennis, and archery – which I’m actually pretty good at (tennis to) but I look absolutely ridiculous. I’m on the edge of being a 2 sports bra sort of girl. Sigh.

I talk about my tits way too much. Whatever. Like you care.

On a friendlier note, I would like to give a big ol wave to a new acquaintance Anderson Evans who writes a blog that I just discovered this morning and wish I had the time to read more of instead of doing work. The oddest part of the entire thing is that I unexpectedly received a facebook email from him this morning asking if it was actually my blog he was reading. What? I have readers? Who in their right mind… Well Anderson, here’s your big break: all 40 of my daily readers (WHAT? why would you do that to yourself?) will hopefully check you out tonight and laugh as hard as I did at your last few posts. He’s much more articulate than I am, and quite frankly, funnier. In fact, you should probably stop reading my blog and start reading his. I joke. Please don’t stop reading. It makes my day to see my stats rise. I mean… whatever.

To all the other masochists readers, thanks for tuning in. It blows my mind that anyone finds this ish entertaining and it’s always nice to hear from you. Especially when you tell me I’m right. I like being right. It makes me like you when you think I’m right. Because you are right, I am right, so we all get along, right?

Thank the fucking baby Jesus that it’s FRIDAY. I’m working overtime, but that means I get some more hours towards my vacation days at the end of the summer. I am very excited about that. Yes indeedy.

I just wrote a big paragraph about Michael Jackson dying and then I erased it because I was either going to get shot for writing it, or everyone was gonna skip that paragraph. All I really have to say is that James Brown was probably just as influential an entertainer and didn’t get nearly the exiting reception that Mikey got. Sure, he was a bit crazy too, but people weren’t talking shit about him up until the day he died. I’m done talking about it forever now. Seriously. Unless you ask me about my Michael Jackson = Elvis theory, and then I’ll talk your ear off.

AAAAAAAND SCENE.

Natural Disasters

June 24, 2009

Today was kind of a disaster from the get go. I JUMPED out of bed when my alarm went off, thinking “you have to be on time today” – not that I ever really have a problem being on time. I think when I got up, I was just motivated to come in this morning and be ready to go. I hopped in the shower (even did my crest whitestrips!) and got ready for the day. (Little known fact: I think showers are too time consuming. I think the longest I’ve ever spent in the shower was 30 minutes… I’m a 10-15 minute sort of gal. Get in, get busy, get done – I’m still talking about the shower… pervs.)
But I’m thinking jumping out of bed that quickly set the tone for the whole day… for some reason I was really anxious, and when I feel that anxious when I wake up, it’s usually the sign of an impending anxiety attack that will take place 4-6 hours later. I didn’t think of this until now. This is unfortunate. Natalie – 0, Bad Day – 1.

So I swing by the corner store on my way in and grab an iced coffee. Lately I’ve been disappointed in my regular bodega – their coffee is good and the price is right, but the way its prepared is total crap, specifically in the execution of the sugar. They throw in maybe 2 tablespoons, don’t mix it, and it floats to the bottom so it feels you’re drinking sandy coffee. I don’t like my coffee to be crunchy, thanks. So this morning I got the bright idea to order without sugar, and next thing I know, my iced coffee is magically delicious. Natalie -1, Bad D– And then again, I never seem to learn that drinking coffee on an empty stomach makes me jittery and stomach ache-y. We’ll call it a draw. The score is still Natalie – 0, Bad Day – 1.

I arrive at work and things seem okay. I jump right into my responsibilities and everyone seems to be responsive and on top of their ish (good way to start the day I suppose.)

And then I got an email from my friend (who, for the purposes of this post, will call) “Chris”.

Chris is a good friend. I would say Chris is one of my best friends. I am pretty good at estimating how he’s going to function in certain situations and know that when Chris is in professional-mode, he’s a professional… no fucking around. Recently, I referred Chris to a landlord I met while I was looking for apartments back in December – he’s got these beautiful buildings out in Bushwick I remembered met Chris’s criteria. This landlord, for the purposes of this essay/blog/post/whathaveyou, will be referred to as “Tom”.

The email essentially said: “Tom is batshit crazy.”

This I know. When I met Tom, he was almost 40 minutes late to our appointment, citing that he was hungover and driving back from his house which is just outside of NYC. Whatever, I got over it. He seemed pretty on top of his shit as a building owner/landlord, but struck me as a bit off from the get go. “Crazy” is an excellent way to describe him. (I would also use “eccentric,” “larger-than-life,” and “possible coke addict” to the list.)

It didn’t strike me as odd that Chris thought he was weird, so I wrote back “duh” or something of that nature and went about my business.

Then I got an email from Tom. A LOOOOONG, completely unsolicited email.

He had forwarded me all of the correspondence between the two of them and, in typical Tom fashion, had a staccato-like note at the beginning:

hey natalie

good morning-i hope alls well
im trying to help you friend
[Chris]

he is being so difficult with me, im letting you know
i appreciate you thinking about me

but
read below

i dont have any thing in williamsburg even close to $1500 for a 2 bdrm-unrealistic.

i mentioned this but told him bushwick under $1700-

i followed up with him this morning with photos-and next thing i know, all this attitude
im only trying to help your friend

i appreciate you trying to help your friend and mucho appreciated you trying to help me-but i dont understand all this attitude for trying to help someone….with his attitude, he can stay in the [neighborhood he currently lives in]-

have a good day
scroll down

and then followed multiple days of correspondence. I read through… Chris wasn’t out of line in any way, It was clear there had been a slight misunderstanding and things had gotten a little snappy, but nothing that could be clearly labeled as “difficult.”

So I sent Tom a quick note:
[Tom] – I’m sorry things aren’t working out… I thought that you’d have something that would work for him… It’s not really my business what is going on with you and my friend, but from your emails it looks like it was a miscommunication. I don’t think his intention at all was to be difficult, just to find an apartment that suits his needs. I’m sorry that there was a misunderstanding. – N

I then received an email back from Tom, only 3 minutes after I had sent mine. Now, we all know I have a bit of a mouth, but that’s usually reserved for competition or inebriation. But I was so offended by this email, I have decided to spare my readers his exact, disgusting words… I have decided to present Tom’s return email in the form of a madlib (for everyone’s amusement.):

excuse my [foreign language], WHUT A [ugly name for vagina]

especially when i was trying to help
i hope i never see that guy in [trendy neighborhood] or [trendy neighborhood’s bastard cousin neighborhood]
he really pissed me off
god what a [ugly name for vagina, yes again.]-
fucking HATE that guy

its not you-i really do appreciate you trying to help

that guy and his [music-related noun] and [performing art related noun]
can go [sex verb] HIMSELF AND I HOPE HE NEVER STEPS FOOT IN [nyc borough]

My jaw was on the floor. Shocked. Really. I don’t really know Tom personally, so having him vent to me about one of my best friends caught me way off guard… I really only know Tom in a professional capacity, so I expected at least that much from him. This was completely out of line.

So I called him.

I told Tom that while I understood that he was upset and venting, I am an inappropriate outlet. It was unprofessional and completely inappropriate to speak to me using any of that language, especially about my friend. It is not my responsibility to babysit his business transactions when I have referred someone to him, and this event has led me to believe that I cannot trust him with people I refer him to and I will no longer be giving his name to people I know looking for apartments.

He hung up without really saying much of anything. I got an email a few minutes later apologizing and explaining he was just upset. Sure, I get you’re upset, but this completely is out of line. I’m not responding.

About 90% of this entire ordeal had been conducted before 10:30am. I had been awake for about 2 hours when all of this went down, and believe me, this is not a hearty way to start your day. There is no complete breakfast here. This is a plate of bullshit in my face.

Chris was totally cool about it. He didn’t seem to care that it didn’t work out with Tom, and quite frankly, I don’t blame him. I told him about the nasty email (that madlib is the first time he’s seen it in it’s “entirety”) and he was pretty floored. In the end, Chris is fine. Tom is probably feeling guilty (as he should), and I’m just a little irked by the entire thing. I am fairly certain this contributed to the energy of the day. Natalie – 0, Bad Day – 3. (Editors note: I ran this post by Chris, just to make sure it wasn’t crossing any lines, and he told me he would like to add that he is a “hottie,” that he’s “boneable,” and that he’s a “beefcake.” I agree with all but beefcake; It makes me think of these dog food things that Rossy and Jason feed their dogs.)

I told my coworkers about what happened and we all had a nice chat about how craigslist people can be batshit. I brought up my experience from a few weekends ago where that girl signed a lease and in the end I thought she was a con artist (read HERE). Everyone was shocked at this and about half of them suggested I change my locks.

And then I told them what happened last night:

On my way home from work, I stopped at my apartment and picked up my paycheck, which is always mailed to me on Tuesdays. Instead of going inside and dropping off my stuff, I walked to the bank, deposited my check, and walked back to my apartment after picking up a few toiletries. As I turned the corner at my block, there was crazy con artist lady and her weird dad, walking away from my apartment building.

What. The. Fuck.

I called out to her and she turned and said “hi” as nice as can be. We chatted for a few minutes and I asked her what she was doing in the neighborhood – what I mean was “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” She told me how much she liked the neighborhood and wanted to keep looking for an apartment here. Uh, okay. Whatever. Have a nice life. Her dad suggested we get tea together. WTF.

They left and I went inside totally creeped out. Considering I was so upset about her possibly being a con artist and breaking into my apartment with my keys that she may or may not have copied after signing the lease, imagine how upset I was when I saw her outside my apartment. She was AT MY APARTMENT.

I told my coworkers this part of the story and they unanimously agreed I put a deadbolt on my door or change the locks. I called both of my parents and they both volunteered to pay for it – you know when your parents are worried about a con artist breaking into your apartment, you should be too. It really stressed me out on top of the previous anxiety. I went for a walk outside to cool off. Too bad it’s humid as a jockstrap out there. Natalie – 0, Bad Day – 4.

I called my landlord’s office and asked if I could install a deadbolt. The building manager actually transferred me to the building landlord/owner, who always seems to be so nice and helpful, and he said it was fine. He suggested a guy to do it to and volunteered to send someone over to show me how to use my alarm system, which doesn’t turn on as far as I can tell. I thanked him, and before I lost him forever (cause who knows when I’ll get ahold of him again) I asked him about the roof situation. I explained that I just wanted to go up there to sit in the sunshine, and that many of the other residents felt the same way. He explained that he had installed a camera, seen the recent parties (and their subsequent messes), and couldn’t allow me to go up there. If he let me, he’d have to let everyone. I told him I understood, but made a suggestion: that if he can’t rent the 4th floor apartment (which has “private roof access”) that everyone else in the building would probably be willing to chip in $25-$50 per month to have roof access. He surprisingly said he liked the idea and would take it into consideration. Natalie – 1, Bad Day – 4.

So by then it was almost 11am… all of this chaos happening before noon. I think it threw off the energy in the office… everyone seemed concerned for me and my safety and could tell that I was upset. They offered to cover the phones while I went outside “to scream as loud as humanly possible” if I wanted. I told them I was fine and went about my chaos. I had about 40 things to do at once, and somehow I pushed through. It’s now almost 3, and I’ve somehow survived multiple office crises. Everyone can tell I’m on edge, and just as I’d hoped, they’re all incredibly supportive. At other jobs, I would have just kind of been abandoned to deal with my own shit, but these people almost treat me like family, and it makes me really happy.

But I’m exhausted. My brain hurts. I’m running low on fuel. And all I can think of is going home and going to bed. The first half of the day made it “just one of those days,” and quite frankly, I’m sick of having them.

I’m pretty sure this is my longest post ever. Natalie – 2, Bad Day – 4. I think I still lose, even with 2100 words…

I recently was involved in what I think could have possibly been a very intricate craigslist scam, but I won’t really know until things start to disappear from my apartment. Now this assumption of being scammed could possibly be due to a high level of self-imposed paranoia, but it’s a creepy situation nonetheless. Let’s break it down from the start, shall we?

A young woman, who we’ll call Carrie for privacy purposes, came to my house last Saturday after responding to my craigslist ad about needing a roommate. Carrie was awesome: she worked for a HUGE television show (we’re talking a show I make a point to keep up with CONSISTENTLY) and was trying to get work on another one of my favorite shows as a location scout. She had a great little dog – who wasn’t a puppy – and was incredibly well behaved and sweet. Very self-sufficient little creature. We had a lot of similar interests and seemed like we’d get along really well.

We talked about the apartment, and I told her about the recent development with the roof deck (I’m still bitter about that) and showed her around. She asks about the wii, the cable, my computers (I had both sitting out from Josh’s recent visit), the intercom and alarm system, my camera… etc and so forth. She tells me she definitely wants to move in and can write me checks today because she has to move tomorrow.
Huh?
Apparently, her landlord is giving everyone in her building 48 hours to move out without penalty because there’s a sex offender living in the apartment above her that she was not notified about. (She tells me he raped a 25 year old girl, not like an 18 year old who had sex with a 16 year old type of sex offender.) I mean, that’s an understandable reason for wanting to move so I start pulling paperwork together…

She’s got a convertible she wants to park in the back and I’m allowed to use it whenever I want (“I love it when my roommates drive my car!” – seriously) She tells me she wants to hook up a fax machine and get a land line because she’s constantly losing her cell phone (“I never keep more than 9 numbers saved in it because I know I’m going to lose it!”)

About an hour or so into our conversation she stops dead in her tracks.
“Oh my God,” she says. “My dad is sitting out in the car.”
Huh?
The girl had left her dad in the car out front just hanging out for like an hour and a half. She calls him inside and they spend about 10 minutes walking around her room talking about where things will go. I give them a bit of privacy and print out lease stuff.

She asks me how much I need for her to move in. I tell her security and first months. She asks me about the last two weeks of this month and I tell her paying just this month instead of a full month’s rent is just fine. She writes the checks as if they’re nothing and signs the lease without reading it.

She leaves – they’re in a hurry – and I give her the keys and tell her I’ll see her when she moves in the next morning. I go out to dinner with a family friend, and while I’m out I deposit my check in the bank.

I arrive home (around 7:30) to an email:
“So I would have called you to talk to you about this but I don’t have your number. I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to move in. I was having second thoughts about the place after I left just because I feel like our schedules are too similar and it’d be rare that I’d actually get to spend any time home alone…time which I value.

So while I was weighing the pros and cons I re-read your post and realized that not only was there a realistic possibility that we wouldn’t get the roof deck access, but that your post also offered the rest of June for free**, except you charged me for the rest of June. I just think its kind of a bummer that you wouldn’t be upfront about the fact that you had even offered the free two weeks and it leaves me hesitant, actually it leaves me entirely unwilling to live with someone who would pull a “bait and swtich”.

I doubt you planned to be misleading but at the same time its curious and unfortunate to me that when I specifically asked you what dates I should put on the check for the first month you just hoped I wouldn’t notice/remember your offer in your post. And I don’t mean to suggest that you were obligated to offer two free weeks rent (I mean I realize its NYC) and I was perfectly willing to pay it, its just the misleading nature of how it was handled that leaves me unsettled.

I guess this leaves us both back at square one for settling our living situations but I noticed you haven’t taken your ad down yet so hopefully you’ll get a fitting response soon.

Best of luck in your search. I’d appreciate it if you could tear my checks in half and mail them to me so that my banking information isn’t floating around.

Again, sorry this didn’t work out I just feel like its not a great way to start a living arrangement.”

**In my ad, I offered to pro-rate part of June, but that’s basically under the condition that you move in with like a week left in June or something… not halfway through the month. Nobody can afford to give half a month of free rent.
***I also did not remember that I wrote this. I’ve been reposing the same ad for awhile now. MY BAD. The girl was throwing money at me. She was the one that volunteered half a month’s rent. I also told her from the MOMENT she walked in the deal with the roofdeck, which I found out about maybe 48 hours before. I didn’t change the ad, I’M SORRY. I was honest and up front about it from the get-go. Idiot.

And please, if you work 15 hour days, the likelihood of you getting “time alone” in the apartment would be rare, unless I worked a night job, which I definitely won’t be doing. Idiot.

Oh, and I had started to take down my ad, but she stayed so long at the apartment that I was late to my dinner appointment. I figured I would take it down later that night. Christ.

Anyway, I was pretty upset. I was basically being accused of being a liar by someone I don’t know for a bunch of bullshit reasons (and after much counseling from friends realized it’s probably best I don’t live with someone this crazy.) If I was really the asshole she thought I was, I should have kept her deposit – she SIGNED the lease, and I returned both of her checks. So basically deciding not to live with me breaks the lease and I should get to keep her deposit. But I didn’t, because I’m maybe a good person, contrary to what she thought.

After having a nice tantrum and trying to distract myself with VH1, I curled up into a little ball in my bed and called the one person I knew either wouldn’t answer or would say exactly all the right things…

By some act of GOD, Arlen answered his phone after about 4 rings. I thought it was his voicemail, but alas, it was not. I had reached the man, the myth, the legend.

We talked for about an hour… mostly about nonsense (“I don’t want to talk about beer pong for an hour! These are precious phone moments I do not want to waste on beer pong!”) but brightened up my day, a lot. It had been a rough one – saying bye to Josh, having that roommate fiasco, going out to dinner with fam friends… just an intense day for 5 hours of sleep. He talked me out of my mood, but then we both got super crazy as I started telling him about the roommate thing. Suddenly, we were both incredibly paranoid that this was actually a craigslist scam and they were copying my keys as we spoke…

So I started to take the evidence into account:
-Both times she opened the door to the apartment, she didn’t close it all the way. Couldn’t tell if she fucked with the latch or not.
-Her Dad sitting out in the car for an hour and a half and not calling her or anything? Weird.
-Asked about ALL of the electronics in my apartment. The cable box, the computers, camera, wii, etc. EVERYTHING.
-Watched me do the buzz-in process when I let her Dad in the apartment.
-The whole “I have to move” scenario. You really didn’t know there was a sex offender upstairs?
-Sounds like she moves a lot… but she’s originally from Park Slope (so she says.) Who in New York moves that much?
-Her job is so badass it didn’t sound real.

…And when she gave me back my keys, they were kind of greasy or something. Weird.

Arlen told me to get a deadbolt. Instead I locked the windows in the second bedroom and locked my door before I went to bed. They’re probably breaking into my apartment right now… haha.

What kept me from going batshit over the whole thing was that when she did drop off the keys, it did look like she was moving… the Uhaul was really full and I feel like staging that shit is a lot of work just to break into my apartment.

Regardless, she was highly suspicious. This is New York City. Who the fuck knows what’s going.

So yeah, that’s the time I had a roommate for about 4 hours or that time I maybe got scammed on craigslist.

Anyone looking for an apartment in NYC?

I’m beginning to settle in my own mind. By force.

It’s like shoving something through cheesecloth, you know? Trying to get all the juice out so all that’s left is this pulpy garbage you don’t know what to do with.

That pulp is my brain, see? Getting it? No? Maybe? Who fucking cares anymore. Does any of this really matter?

Not really.

I left the house this morning unintentionally dressed as a Hasidic Jewish woman. How did I dress, you ask?

See the woman on the right? Yeah. That’s me. No. No it isn’t. But I literally wore a long dark wool coat, black tights, black flats, and a scarf. Multiple people brought this to my attention. It was my attempt at dressing conservatively for work, but the minute I took off the jacket it was a green skirt and boobs so it’s not like it was all day. I even made an attempt at buying $20 slave labor heels at Forever 21 in an attempt to look less… uh… stereotypical (?) when I went out for drinks with someone from craigslist.

Yes. That’s the second heavy hitter of the night. I had drinks with someone I met on craigslist.

I suppose it’s more complicated than that. And to put it simply, it was A drink. Not drinks. He was several ahead of me and while he has to walk his dog and maybe study for the LSATs, I have to go to another day at Zina’s, which ain’t so bad when you calculate:

Working at Zina’s / (pay x hours) > studying x (amount of money NOT being made x hours spent studying)

Although there’s a whole separate formula about the downsides of working at Zina’s but I don’t want to cry so I’m not going to get into that.

And here’s another thought:
are we all gonna look back on our college years/early adulthood when we’re parents and tell our kids how we were part of the first few generations of facebook and twitter, like how my dad is like “I was in charge of running the computer at school. There was one computer.” You know. Like 1970s style giant computer that in the movies would have lots of lights and talk. They just don’t make em like that anymore.

And DOS. Anyone else remember DOS?! I remember trying to trick DOS with my sister, and let’s face it, I had a fairly good understanding of DOS for a 7 year old or whatever. That and our printer at the time used those big stacks of paper that were perforated on the sides and had holes kind of like film it was real neat.

I don’t remember where any of this is going but I kiiiiiiinda like it.

And on a personal note (for those of you kind of following along): I feel like I’ve completely given up on the romance. Romance in my life at this point is deader than roadkill or that steak tartar that Martha Stewart tweeted about (yes, Martha is on my tweet feed. DUH.) I feel like I’ve hit that brick wall that is screaming “settle down you old hag” and then I remember I’m 21 and should probably be out getting drunk every night but then I feel like a grandma and go to bed at like midnight because I can’t stay out with you crazy kids anymore.

And the winner for run-on sentences and award for person who has probably offended Hasidic Jews* with this post goes to….

(*just for the record, I love Jews. If you know me, you know this. Don’t be an asshole and tell me how offensive I am because I’m sure somebody is making a joke about how they accidently dressed as an immature 21 year old this morning.)

P.S. Alex Peters, you make my brain orgasm with your words. Always ❤

no day but today

February 17, 2009

Today… in a nut shell.

So I woke up this morning a little off kilter. I made the mistake of passing out falling asleep with my curtains open, so I was up BRIGHT and early at 7am. It happens. I didn’t mind so much because I had gotten a solid 8 hours of sleep or so (fell asleep EARLY and only woke up once for a text 🙂 so I got up at about 7:30, and started working on my picture frames…

CU:

The color matches the wall I painted in my room… speaking of my room:



I’ve been telling people I wasn’t going to share any pictures until I was done, but what the hell. It’s in pretty good shape today. It’s a work in progress, but I’m getting there… Ugh, my desk looks hella cluttered. It’s not as bad as it looks, I swear.
Oh, and my closet, of which Martha Stewart would be proud (my roommate makes fun of me for labeling everything haha). But my jewelry organization is a solid success:

My mother would be proud as well.

David Chang, Chef of Momofuku (one of my favorite restaurants in the city) has been featured as one of USA’s characters welcome people for 2009. Great. Good for you, David. Now it’s going to take 45 minutes to get a table instead of 20 at Momofuku, which does not make me happy. However, it may be saved by the fact that they don’t mention his restaurant by name, so nobody will know where to find his food, unless they google him. And based on that promo, they’re going to have to want to be interested in pork butt and oysters to really be interested in what he’s got going on… apparently.

What’s up with “Spectacular” – MTV’s response to High School Musical? I won’t lie, the music sounds WAY better, but casting a 22 year old as the lead? Puhleeeze, Nickelodeon. He’s also not that good looking.

I would also like to add how much I like Skittles.

I discovered today that Padma Lakshmi is doing shampoo commercials. Alright lady, it’s bad enough you are the most annoying person to ever grace Bravo’s prime time lineup (except for that Millionaire Matchmaker lady… good LORD she’s annoying) but to now have you on normal television stations mucking up good commercial time slots? You stop it. You stop it right now, Padma.

So clearly I’ve been spending a lot of time in my apartment today, but I’ve got a solid excuse to be in on such a beautiful day. This weekend I woke up with a scratchy throat, and then this morning I woke up with an achy ear. After I went through that huge ear infection ordeal last spring, I am TERRIFIED of getting another ear infection. So I decided to give myself a lazy day eating jello and watching daytime television. So far, I’ve caught up on a lot of Law and Order and I’ve discovered I kind of like Burn Notice. Word.

And then I got an email from my mom saying “UPS says your package arrived.” Alright, well she mentioned several days ago that she sent me something in the mail and something via UPS. The mail thing arrived (really sweet valentine from my mommy) and I’ve been waiting to see what was coming UPS. So it arrived, but where was it? I threw on my robe and wandered downstairs to see if he had just left the packages inside, and indeed, there they were at the bottom of the stairs. Just as I was about to sneak back upstairs in my dirty robe and greasy hair, my neighbors who live below me appeared. They’ve been quiet in terms of saying hi and whanot, but the guy stopped me and asked if I’d seen Sal (the landlord’s son/building handyman). I told him I hadn’t lately, and he asked if there were things wrong with my apartment when I moved in. I told him about the letter I had written and the plaster on the heaters and whanot and it was funny how much in his apartment was like mine… Him: “Was your shower curtain rod broken?” Me: “You had a shower curtain rod! No fair!” Looks like whoever they hired to put this building together did a really shotty job. He was totally on the same page with me and it looks like we might be having a building mutiny in the near future.
Anyway.
After bringing the boxes upstairs I realized that the bigger, heavier of the two was a box for a kitchen aid mixer.
WHAAAAAT?
Mommy sent me the one appliance I’ve wanted ever since Martha Stewart had a baby blue one on her show.

OMGZ AND IT’S GREEN. SOLID WIN.
Called my mother immediately. Almost in tears. She was so happy I was so excited and promised to bake cuban bread with me when she comes to visit.
God… it’s glorious.

Alright, so that’s probably the most “in” I’ve let the web take in my life… Pictures of my private quarters and whatnot. Whatever… share the fun I suppose.

I hope you have a lovely day.

End of an Era

December 17, 2008

In December of 2004, I was waking up to the sunny shores of Kauai. My father brought the phone to me and said it was for me. It was the house sitter (newlyweds that worked for my Dads that he talked into guarding the house while we were gone) and they announced that I had received an acceptance letter from Emerson College in Boston and Fordham University at Lincoln Center in New York City. Woo hoo, great. Just super. Got into two schools I don’t want to go to. I said thanks and hung up. At least I got into college… I would impatiently wait for my letter from USC, which arrived in late April, letting me know that I did not gain acceptance into their film program.

Super. Just super.

So I decided that I would attend Emerson, although when I visited, I hated the hoards of smokers standing outside every building, the fact it was 19 degrees the day we visited, and that there was no campus, no football, no traditional school spirit. I hated Emerson, but I didn’t really have a choice: Fordham had so many religious gen-ed requirements that I thought I’d kill myself (the good little somethingoratheist that I am) and Loyolla Marymount in LA was too close to USC and I would be very, very sad I wasn’t as SC.

So Emerson it was.

I didn’t visit again, I just sent in my paperwork and deposits and prepared myself for a school experience I really wasn’t expecting. In August, off I flew to Boston, to discover a whole new world of extroverted, loud people that I had belonged in all along.

Over the next three and a half years, I began to discover how glad I was I didn’t go to USC. I would have turned out very differently (probably JAPpy) and I was proud of what I was able to accomplish here (at USC, I wouldn’t even own my own films…) Emerson has turned me into a much more resilient person, and I am so glad that this is where I ended up. It almost makes me believe in fate… but not.

As I prepare to leave Boston in January for a new life in New York, I really question who I would be if things had gone differently. Would I be happier with who I am? Would I be more successful? What would be my plan upon graduation?

I am scared shitless of my immediate future, and I’m trying to ignore the fact that everything around me is changing at a mile a minute. There is no immediate responsibility, no urgent tasks to be taken care of. Just pack up and move out. Move on. Change again.

I have lived in New York before, but I haven’t started a life there. I feel like the home I’ve developed in Boston is suddenly being abandoned, like a treehouse a child has grown out of. When does that happen, you know? What is the pivotal moment where you stop going up the ladder? What day do you decide you’re too big to play up there anymore? As an artist, I am trying to never let go of my imagination. But I question if this is the moment where I am too big to climb into the tree.

I’m thinking this isn’t that moment. This is the moment where I have to try to nurture it as much as possible in preparation for the day when I’m just not allowed to even go there anymore. This is the only time in my life where I will have this sort of freedom, and I kind of just need to grab it by the balls and go.

I need to let go of academia and get inspired by something. I need to close this book and start a novel. I need to stop needing things.

To hear what I’m thinking, listen to Jon Brion’s “Here We Go” and Flying Lotus’s “Camel”

Goodnight and good luck.

Maybe You’ll Run From Me

December 4, 2008

Today I told someone the truth. About everything. My secrets have been eating me alive and it felt good to finally tell someone. I think it was just as good to hear it out loud… I thought there would be some kind of explosion if I came clean… like the nice men in the white coats would appear out of nowhere and drag me away to the looney bin. But they didn’t. She told me she was sad for me, and for some reason, that was satisfying to a certain degree. Instead of someone telling me to calm down or that I was wrong, she made me feel like I was completely entitled to my feelings. I felt as if she wouldn’t judge anything i had to say, and it all just came out. All of it. More than I’ve told anyone for awhile. And for once, I guess I didn’t feel so alone.

I came home and ate an omelette and half a bagel. My body is rebelling against it, but I am remaining very very still, praying that my stomach can handle it. Lately my stress hasn’t really allowed me to eat… much at all. It’s like when I left for LA and I really couldn’t eat. I feel fuller than I’ve been in a really long time.

I feel as if I should focus my energy on what I need to do when I get to New York to make myself happy. I have some ideas, but I don’t want to get there yet. We’ll see if I even make it at this point.

I’m not sure what I meant to be talking about, but I need to go to sleep. I only got three hours of sleep last night and it’s starting to catch up with me.

It was nice to watch the sunrise though.

eat your vegetables

December 3, 2008

It’s been awhile since I’ve written/posted anything of real substance. Anything that’s interesting in my mind or interesting in the mind of anyone that reads. I feel like I’m losing track. I’ve hit that part during a big change in my life where I’m so excited about the next big thing that I’m completely terrified that I’ll fuck everything up on my way there.

I am thrilled about moving to New York. Finally. I’m pretty sure I’ve said that was the ultimate plan since about 6th grade. Well at the time, my friend Sarah and I were going to go to UCLA and then go to law school and then move to New York and be sexy power lawyers like Ally McBeal. Well, we were 12, I lived in a world of seriously poor body image, and UCLA was where all the olympic gymnasts went to school, so obviously these things made complete sense at the time.

Now that I’ve spent some time there, I know my way around; I feel like I’m home when I’m there. But the more I think about it, nowhere is really home. At all. And it makes me question if moving somewhere is really the best idea at all… I should put all my furniture in storage and bounce from sublet to sublet all over the country or something.

I guess that leads me into my obsession with “the next step.” I feel like I’m trying to make my life progress faster (faster towards death?) Every milestone is just pushing towards the next. It was like: get into college, graduate high school, go to college, graduate college, get a job, get married, buy a house, start a family, raise my children, watch them get into college, watch them graduate from high school, send them away to college, watch them graduate from college, watch them get jobs, watch them start a family, help raise my grandchildren, die.
I am so set on knowing exactly where these milestones are… these conventional goals that to a certain extent I know I’m not happy with. I have the compulsion to do it – which I don’t think a lot of people can begin to understand – I feel that it is absolutely necessary to get a job as soon as I graduate college. In my mind, it is what I am supposed to do. When anyone asks what would happen if I didn’t, I don’t know. I honestly kind of freak out when anyone asks. If I don’t know where I’m going, that means I’m lost right?

And I think that’s where things are changing, I guess. I’m starting to realize that I’m not as lost as I think I am, but I am still searching for guidance. My life is such an open book with my friends that the spine is cracked straight through; I am constantly getting my friends and family to weigh in on what my next decision should be: where should I live? where should I work? is this a good idea? Am I doing this right? I feel like I was raised to constantly seek approval from my elders and peers, and most of the time, even their approval isn’t enough. It’s not satisfying.

I’m learning I have to make these mistakes on my own, and lately I’ve been keeping my mouth shut for the most part. Or at least trying. When a button is hit, I snap. And not just some snarky comeback… I straight up lose my shit. There is no consoling a monster who is convinced that if things don’t go exactly the right way, that it is failure. Sure, I don’t succeed at all my plans – most fail to be honest. But things always seem to work out, and everyone says: “See? It’s fine?” And yes, it’s fine now, but at the time, everything was not okay.

I don’t think I’m obsessive compulsive. My room is a mess, things are constantly in a state of organized chaos; nothing has a “place.” (My mother would cringe.) But could I more obsessive compulsive (*I typed “controlive” – freudian much?) than an extreme control freak?

I am trying to let go… and the little things, I am, sure. But I am really beginning to question the compulsion aspect of my control freakiness.

I’m sorry to those that have been caught in the wave of chaos, but just like last year, all I can say is that I’m still trying to fix it. Except this time, I’m trying to fix it for me.

That’s probably enough for tonight.

Lately I’ve been having these horrifying dreams that are so lifelike I’m worried that perhaps I’m actually awake and living in some alternate hallucinogenic universe. Last night I felt genuine happiness to the point that when I woke up, I was incredibly depressed that it wasn’t real. It was so real… I felt like I could touch other people and still was watching myself from outside my own body.

Last night was especially scary because I dreamt I was getting married to an ex that I had really intense feelings for. Reflecting on it, I don’t think I have any repressed feelings for that person (nor would I EVER consider marrying that person… I don’t even know who he is anymore…) but the genuine happiness and love that I felt within that dream was so intense… I feel like I can’t feel things to that degree anymore. I’m numbed to the severity and magnitude of the positive feelings in my life. I don’t remember ever feeling that good recently.

What a horrible experience it was to wake up and face the fact I am numbing my bad feelings, and it’s taking the good ones with it… I fear that euphoria is a myth when it comes to love and can only be found in my dreams.