Survival Dreaming

Where is the love?

2011-11-09T04:55:00.008-05:00

Oh my god...

I've spent my whole life with an antagonistic perception towards marriage. And babies. And the world of adulthood. I am 31 years old going on 14 and have no idea what a real life is. I've never actually wanted to know. I've been content to live the life of a 21 year old in NYC. Wait tables, drink with friends, rinse and repeat. It's easy. How could it not be?

Then I woke up one day and went to work. I thought it was going to be my typical day. I was working the day shift at another crappy job that was paying my bills. What I was completely unaware of was was that the rest of my life would be determined by that silly day shift.

Chaim walked through the door. I asked him for help setting up and was completely oblivious to the fact that for some strange reason I could not look away from him. Every time he looked at me or made small talk with me I turned into the school girl who used to sell you Girl Scout cookies. I blushed when I would even think of him. Then one glorious night he asked me to have a glass of wine after work. And we realized we had a mutual love of religion. And politics. And sports.

One drink turned to two. Then we were going out for drinks as friends a few nights. This man standing in front of me was no longer a manager and my co-worker. He was someone I could talk to, confide in, be friends with. Then the hurricane hit...

Floridians are well equipped to handle hurricanes. New Yorkers are pussies. This was not a hurricane. My Floridian friends and I got drunk. It's called a Hurricane Party. New Yorkers should Google it. I begged, in my drunken stupor, for him to come hang out with me. Being a gentleman, he declined. I respect him for that.

A few weeks later, after a tumultuous interlude that is not worth going into, we came together. I have never been so happy about anything in my entire life. I have met the person I will spend the rest of my life with and I am incapable of describing how exultant you feel when you meet your soul mate. Which is a term I used to think was ridiculous.

I no longer feel that way. One day you are walking along, completely independent and aware that you are born and die alone, and the next day you realize that you were put on this Earth to meet this person. Every second of your life was leading up to this. Every poor decision you've made, every bad relationship, every time you've been screwed over (or screwed over someone else) would have meant nothing if you hadn't met this person. Every mistake, every failure, every bad choice, lead you to them. And you wouldn't change a thing. Because it would mean you never would have met them.

And suddenly the world opens her enormous heart to you. And you see the reason for living. Because what was the point before them? And why would you want to continue without them?

I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with this man. I want to marry him and have kids with him and build our future together. He is everything to me.

Here is the love...

It's a hollow play but they'll clap anyway....

2010-12-26T04:05:00.004-05:00

This past trip to Tampa was an eye-opening experience to say the least. My family, as always, was gracious and welcoming, and it made me regret all of my teenage adled moments where I told them I hated them. They took me in and nurtured me in a way that I cannot begin to fully understand or appreciate. Until I have a family of my own, I guess. Which I've never really thought about before. My Mother, being the watcher of us all, apparently does. While watching Top Chef one night my Mother casually mentioned to me, "I was really hoping you'd settle down with this boyfriend and give me some grandchildren." Bear in mind that my Mother, like most people, hates the idea of aging. Therefore, she has never mentioned the idea of grandkids before. Nor has she ever met my NY boyfriend. I found this seemingly flippant remark rather poignant considering she's never cared before. This struck in me an adult defnining moment that I had yet to have with my own mother.

Wait...rewind.

I'm approaching the doors of the Orphuem. My former life. My sanctuary and home for many years. My panic stricken mind is wondering if anyone inside of this place will remember me. A small contribution I made, sure. A mere four years of my life were spent over that sweltering well of generic booze, swathed in the stories of other people's lives. Then I get through the front door and am greeted like a friend. The panic subsides. All of my years here have not gone to the ghost world. I walk around and greet familiar faces. At first I enjoy this welcome sense of recognition. Then my friend introduces me to someone with the line, "She used to work here but she's gone on to bigger and better things." I was struck by the lightning Tampa Bay is famous for. While I may not be doing everything I want with my life the perception is that I have moved on. Every person I greeted with warmth was suddenly asking how my new life is. I'd forgotten that I really have let this place go.

Rewind even further.

My boyfriend and I broke up almost a month ago. It was affable enough, but obviously one-sided. I told him I needed to explore. I was not content to be somebody's girlfriend. For the first time in my adult life I am not obsessing about guys. Or my relationship. Or an impending relationship. Or pining after someone. Or just needing my bed to be filled in order to feel validated. And I looked over at this man, whom I love, and realized that I don't really know him. And he doesn't really know me. With this newfound sense of freedom that I have never before felt, wouldn't it make more sense to compromise this sudden desire for independence only for someone whom you can truly not live without? If this is the first time in your life you are content to be alone, shouldn't you only allow an exception for the person whose face you cannot bear to keep your hands away from? Whose skin has soft melodies sifting off of it that only you can hear? Whose mouth, when it opens to smile, you can see your whole destiny in?

With that in mind...

My Mother asking me for grandkids seems absurd. However, it puts into place everything I feel my life should currently be.

But for me. And only me.

Come head on, full circle...Stay with me, go places.

2010-11-28T06:13:00.030-05:00

Walking down Bedford Ave after four am on a Saturday night is a walk of endearing education. You start around McCarren Park and see the random drunks stumble around, trying to hail a cab in the worst spot on the street as every taxi will have been taken at 7th. You also spy the homeless beginning to find their benches to sleep on and the corners they can crawl into where they will get the minimal amount of harassment by the police.

Next is 11th. People are still clinging to the bar in their after-hours attempt to get drunk. It is usually under the pretext that they know the bartender through the groom at their brothers’ cousins wedding so “Bro! You have to let me have one more!” or you just happen to be a loyal customer that the bartender values enough to let you chill after hours. Either way, these people have something you do not. Clout. So you walk by, jealous.

Then you get to 7th and you are in the crazed world of people trying to get the line of taxis that are waiting at the corner, desperate to get back to (most likely) the city, but possibly also Queens. It is also the entrance to the Bedford subway so there is a hot press of bodies passing each other uncaringly, attempting to get into the subway before the L train arrives, knowing that at this time of night they take twenty to thirty minutes to arrive each way and they really don't want to miss it. The vendors know this is the hot corner so they set up stands of the most delicious tacos you can possibly have in New York. The locals, tourists, and suburban refugee weekend partiers know this is the spot. So a line around the corner after three just means twenty minutes until a piping hot beef taco full of the most lethal deliciousness enters your mouth. But when you are bypassing this maddeningly enticing smell on your way home you have to dodge the dozens that are drunkenly waiting for it. This is also, of course, the corner all the bodegas are on. Entrepeneurs know where to sit their stakes. And these predominantly Middle Eastern owned stores line the street. You will hear a mixture of Turkish, Kurdish, Arabic, Iranian, and so forth being yelled into phones clipped to their ear while they ask if you want mayo on the sandwich that they are rapidly making for you so they can get to the next order and maximize their profits.

While you fight the crowd for a bottle of water in the bodega you get to see all of the people who desperately want to continue the party. Even when the bars have cut you off. This is when the bodegas shine because they ignore any sort of law and sell beer until the wee hours of the morning. There are throngs of people who know this and are congregating around the coolers, trying to decide what to buy for the (ultra awesome) after-hours party they are attending. This is where newcomer models and the boys who pay for their drinks before they get to the top go. You see a lot of gorgeously dressed, beautiful women hang on the arms of average looking men drunkenly agreeing to a six pack of Cornoa. This is the corner where you have to fight through throngs of people just to get to the next traffic light.

Sixth. This little nightmare-on-elm street is the one that has the dance clubs and high tourist traffic bars. These are the flashy dance clubs with the half clad bartenders and throbbing music that attracts the tourists to New York, more specifically, to this part of Williamsburg. Particularly Europeans. This corner is chock full of people shouting to each other in German, Polish, Dutch, Spanish, Italian, Greek, French, Swedish,,,the list goes on and on. The amount of drunk Europeans that have stumbled into cabs on this particular corner is insurmountable. The more interesting nights are when one Brit is yelling to the other Brit, “Come on, mate! D’yknow whattim-et-is? NO AFFTA PARTAY!” You have to understand that his mate is more than likely gripping some (possible) woman in the throes of passion while trying to sneak a tall boy under his jacket. Europeans party HARD.

Then you move to 5th and it is people walking their dogs who live in the neighborhood and enjoy this quiet street in the Burg that contains little to no bars. They are buying early morning groceries at the always open Duane Reade so they can have a bagel at home while they read the paper before going to work. And the super morning people that should not be allowed to live in New York because they make us self-respecting home-at-dawners feel like shit. These are the people that pretend 4am is the new 7pm. Seriously?!? You’re jogging?!? At 4:30?!? Fuck off.

For several blocks it is quiet as there are no bars to attract tourists in this area. Once you get to Grand there are a few bar options, but by that point they are also closed with their regulars chilling and enjoying their beers from a generous bar staff who ignores rules for their favorites. The only sports bar in Williamsburg (of any consequence) is on this corner so you may occasionally spy a very chemically inconvenienced Yankees/Mets/Giants/Jets/Islanders/Rangers/Knicks fan still wandering around and continuing to get drunk long after their teams game is over. Just avoid that corner because it usually smells like piss. And if the patrons of this areas team has lost that night you will find ornery sports fans stumbling about looking for a fight. I love sports. Truly and deeply. But sports fans in general can be dicks. New York sports fans are the black studded dildo cocks of the sports world. God love em.

From there it’s mostly local bars. True non-Wllimasburg dwelling Brooklyn kids know these bars, but it is mostly people who live in the neighborhood and are on a first name basis with the bartenders. Once again they are only peppered with the closed gate privileged crowd who have an excuse to be there. Everyone else, locals mostly, are drunkenly planning for after parties on the street or negotiating which blocks they can take home so they can walk together. There’s a phenomenal corner deli that makes the best sandwiches you can get for under six bucks in the Burg. Unfortunately unless you get there between 1:30-2:45 you are fucked. You will,after that, be waiting at least thirty minutes. Sometimes it’s worth it though. Thin sliced bacon over crisp lettuce and freshly sliced tomatoes on a roll with mayo can seem like nothing of a wait, if you want it bad enough. It's also a great spot to make random conversation with other Burg residents while you wait where you get to hash out all of your New York bitterness about tourists with other locals.

Then you hit the Latino side of Williamsburg. At this time of night it is quiet but this is an area that is dominated by the culture that used to exist in Williamsburg. The decades old roots of the neighborhood have stayed here. And they maintain a community that thrives amongst themselves, co-existing with the trendy, hip side that has overtaken their neighborhood. This is where they open the fire extinguishers to wash their cars during a balmy, summer afternoon. You cannot walk by a corner without music blaring from cars while people hang out with their neighbors drinking beer as if the street is their party spot. They sizzle delicious hot dogs on the grill from every corner on the Fourth of July that you have to walk around for awhile before you choose which looks the plumpest. From ever store, restaurants, café, bar there is a display of so many flags from so many football teams that you cannot even keep track of which place supports which country after awhile. Kids openly play in the streets because traffic just goes around them. Even the ever volatile cab drivers respect this family area. People yell at each other from across the street in rapid fire Spanish as if they were standing next to one another. This is one of the most alive parts of Willliamsburg you can be fortunate enough to stumble upon, as it tries to stray away from the high traffic parts of this part of Brooklyn. (Wander into a random deli on a side street, though, and get an amazing heap of beans and rice with herbs that you'll never understand, or pronounce, and you will never want to leave this neighborhood ever again.)

On this particular night I am a little too exhausted and, admittedly, drunk to wander past Broadway on Bedford. But on the few occasions I have I am met with an old country world of the Hasidic Jewish community that is one of the largest populations of Hasids in the world. Walking into the area feels as if you have entered another region. Families of women clad in head to toe dresses and men with long curls peeking out from their large hats. Rabbis wander the street, carrying their copy of the Torah, occasionally stopping to speak Yiddish or Hebrew to a passerby. A society that few understand and that none who are not born into will ever penetrate. Alongside this conservative culture thrives a black community that has learned to co-exist with neighbors that both sides deem alien. Their children all but ignore each other on the playground.

From here it's a turn down the road and there is my sanctuary from the cold. Across the street from a public school. Right now it is ghost quiet and bathed in light that makes me realize it is far too late. I can see the silhouettes of the children that were playing there earlier in the day when I left my house and the teachers scolding them. Years of rubber lines the courts from many basketball games and dodgeball tournaments. Their happy cries usually accompany me on my walk to work. Now all is peaceful.

I get home, pull off my heavy winter boots, and feel like I saw a dozen worlds colliding in one. And that’s just the walk to my house.

Office Transitions

2010-07-23T13:13:00.008-04:00

As I sit and restlessly wonder
What my productivity prototype is supposed to be
Idly staring at my computer monitor
In a cubicle
Under fluorescent lights
I realize
I have not held a bottle of booze in my hand
To pour for someone else
For their tip
In months
With the staggering dawn
Upon my caffeine infused mind
Comes a quiet sadness
At letting go
Of who I can no longer be

Stunning images that make me happy. For we all know that photography is one of the greatest mediums of art. This post will be a jumbled mess of the mad mind that is constructing it. See below for details in what will probably heretofore be named Ramblogings. No. No it won't.

Martin Garcia. I have a certain fetish for water imagery in photography. I also enjoy nudity that celebrates femininity so when you combine the two it always jars in me a sense of peace that I cannot explain. Maybe it goes back to when I was younger and enjoyed the occasional skinny dip in the pool late at night when my parents were sleeping. Either way I find the imagery soothing and illustrious at the same time.

Sam Taylor Wood. Elegant juxtaposition of her body with a hard lined image. Exquisite.

For the love of all that is holy may I present to you what I have just now (un-fucking-fortunately) discovered to be your new favorite photographer. I chose selections of his photographs that made me burn with envy and admiration at the same time. I do not feel I should describe my interpretations of them, lest I diminish the value of the awe-inspiring beauty that is his talent and work. You look at them and make up your own mind. This is not highly interpretative, intellectual art. This is straightforward photography that happens to be extraordinary. Ladies and jellyspoons, Howard Schatz!

*sigh* I feel the way a schoolgirl feels the first time she lays eyes on her heartthrob crush that lasts her until she is fifteen. I. Am. In. Love. His vision, his fascination with the human form, his coloring, his diversity. I want to meet him just to see how he looks at the world. God I hope he has exhibits in NYC.

YouTube stupid video of the day goes to an old classic that is absolutely phenomenal. I'm not into posting the newest trend craze or whatever I'm into posting the ones I can watch forty times and still think is amazing. This video is simultaneously creepy and hilarious. It also helped me to kill eight minutes at work. I love how a YouTube video being successful can make you instantly world famous. The number one most viewed video on YouTube of all time is called Charlie Bit My Finger. I bet those kids got a Pepsi deal. Anyways, enjoy!

Jesus I need to start playing video games again. The graphics for Starcraft II are stunning. And I preface this with the statement that the last video game I was really, really into was the original Mortal Kombat. It's been that long. I had no idea what RTS was until fifteen seconds ago. Video games, or "crack for nerds," lost me when Grand Theft Auto started making shit encouraging impressionable young men to have virtual sex with a woman in the game and then gave them the option of killing them afterwards. That's pretty sick. Women have it hard enough with men fucking us over, hating us, and generally not respecting us. We don't need to begin the anti-woman hating "Boys Only" campaign that young. Jesus. I'm all for ultra-violence. But c'mon. That being said, if you buy this game can I come over and play?

Gadget that literally makes me whimper with desire right now the more I play with my friends:

And I'm not even a tech geek. But this thing is so cool it's retarded. Anyone in need of a sugar mama willing to buy me one of those and an Aston Martin message me. No. I'm not joking. The creators of Google are still single, right? Why does everything Google do make the world a better place? It's even a cool freaking name for a phone. Droid.

Onto bigger and brighter news...

There is a significant moment of pain that you feel when you click on the Facebook profile of someone you used to love deeply and who used to love you to find out that they deleted you. It's a small act sure and I am not giving more levity to Facebook than it deserves. But it's a gentle reminder that they no longer want you in their life. And this was only a friend. A friend I was crazy about nonetheless but it still hurts to know that they don't like you anymore and are showing it. I would go on to illustrate how social networking sites are ruining our lives but who honestly wants to read about that? I'd feel like some tween hipster bitching about cultural imperialism and how infringing the technological revolution is. I might as well turn on the Mountain Goats. And frankly, I don't even feel that way. Technology is Great.

Unexpected bummer of the day: Tony the Tiger is dead. Yeah you forgot about that didn't you. What a douche I am to bring it up.

Alright boys and girls the office day is over and I am going to Modest Mouse. Suck it nerds!

It's time I got back to the Good Life.

2010-07-21T22:25:00.007-04:00

So I have recently taken up volunteering for an amazing organization called Open Space Alliance, whose main objective is to preserve open spaces in North Brooklyn while doing community outreach based programs. I get with it the benefit of being able to see live shows on the waterfront with a heart stopping view of the Manhattan skyline. Thus far this summer I have been able to see Against Me!, Weezer, Faith No More, and a number of other great bands. This is like candy to a toddler for a music junkie. The most recent live show that I was privy to was Weezer. Weezer is a band that I have grown up loving. But like the ex-boyfriend you still love in a mostly platonic way many years after a break-up you aren't really that attracted to them anymore. However, seeing them brings back a lot of memories. I was reminded of being nineteen and moving in to my first apartment by myself. I was delivering pizzas at the time and living with a roommate who was encouraging me to become a bartender because I "have such an amazing personality for it." I used to drive around the city, smoking pot in my car and listening to My Name is Jonas, wondering what was in store for me next. I was contemplating college and living out the life of every naive nineteen year old who owns their own car and is suddenly imbued with the independence of not having a curfew in light of signing their life over for their own space away from their parents.

River Cuomo ran around the stage with a frenetic energy that you miss in live shows in an age where bands stand in the center of the stage, looking mostly apathetic to a crowd afraid to dance because they might look less "cool." You endure this because you love the band, even if you hate the pretentious douchey-ness of their fan base. It was electrifying. I bopped around like a middle schooler at their first dance with the cute boy from their American History class.

Songs about drunken nights sung by River Cuomo lulled me into some of my first all night drunk parties where we played Asshole all night and ended up with seven people crashing on my floor that started a life of partying and fun that I do not regret. Seeing them live again for the first time in almost ten years was an amazing awakening and a welcome reminder of my past. Weezer is ubiquitous with every music nerds initial foray into the world of dorky rock. They take us in with Buddy Holly and we are forever their slaves. While we may move on to the National and Devotchka, we never forget our roots. That moment when we first saw them all dressed in suits playing instruments in a scene that was nostalgic of Happy Days. The nineties were an amazing time to be exploring Americas rekindled love of good ol' fashioned rock n' roll.

All of this was coupled by running into one of my favorite people to hang out with, Dave, amidst the enormous crowd. It was a random meeting, almost kismet, and I am overjoyed to have spent the evening together smoking a little and bouncing along to Say It Ain't So with a fellow rock geek who was looking to relive a little slice of our youths. The show was absolutely spectacular and one of the best I've seen in New York. It was also the show that made me realize that when bands play in NYC they bring it in a way that I've never seen in Florida. I've only seen two bands up here that I was also able to see back home and the energy level is noticeably different. Having worked the VIP list for one of the shows I know that some of the most well-known names in music show up to concerts in New York. This means that the biggest magazines and music outlets will be present and reporting every minute detail of every show. Knowing this, the bands perform to a level that they probably do not bring when they play to smaller venues in other towns. Wow. The pressure of NYC affects even the biggest monsters of rock and roll.

If that's the case then what the hell do the rest of us do?

Tomorrow I start a temp job 9-5. I have not worked that type of schedule in a long time and I am very nervous. Thankfully, my best friend and to the end of my life partner in crime will be sitting right next to me, guiding me through it. I am scared. But I feel that it is time for change and this should be an exciting new development in an otherwise mediocre life. Let's just see. I would post pictures of the show but I forgot my camera. Because I suck.

Hot hot heat.

2010-07-16T03:38:00.011-04:00

I love the way the laundromat looks in the dead of night when I am walking by it after a late night craving for a BLT and a pack of freshly taxed $12 cigarettes. During the day it seems like an ominous place. Everyone has such an intense objective when they go there. Get in. Clean clothes. Avoid eye contact with the Asian lady who runs the place and is always surly when you ask for change. Get out. At night it seems calm. Well-kept. Like a place that could potentially be a sanctuary were it not for the damn heat permeating the walls.

My late night strolls through Greenpoint bring such a powerful sense of peace. Pain I am not yet ready to deal with has surfaced in my chest and found a home there so these after hours ventures steadies them and makes them bearable. I think about all of the missed Blog entries. My ideas for a TV show I think my best friend and I should write. How I would love nothing more in this world than to write a comic book. My recent fetish for autobiographical humor like David Sedaris and Chelsea Handler. Then I wonder why I'm reading things that focus on that. Maybe it's because I'm desperately searching for my destiny while I approach my thirtieth birthday and do co-DJ gigs at Alligator Lounge, thinking about my unemployment running out while I fruitlessly search for jobs that aren't quite me. Then my thoughts turn to loss. Egregious, horrible loss that I am not yet capable of facing. Thoughts of my life, a life I have recently said goodbye to, and my future jumble into my head and reveal a hard, horrible anguish that terrorizes me and makes me unable to sleep. Hence the late night walking. Or maybe it's because my destiny lies in this stupid talent that I am convinced I do not possess called writing. I stalk the night time hours the way a dieting obese woman stalks a Dunkin Donuts. Shamefully and with an ultimate desire to seek validation through something they know is never going to give them what they want.

My recent unemployment has given me a lot of free time. And while I have been using that free time to explore NYC I have not found what it is I had hoped the freedom from 60 hour work weeks in the hospitality industry would afford me. A purpose. I know. It's pathetic. Poor little sad privileged white girl hasn't yet found her purpose. But fuck that. I'm almost thirty and am rapidly approaching my promised deadline of quitting smoking so I'm allowed a little room to be self-involved. Well, not really.

The spring and summer in NYC have brought with it a sense of home and openness I did not think was possible in this city. Upon arriving to this town to end all towns I was scared shitless, but hopeful. Then winter hit. And it was like a nuclear bomb exploding in this Floridian's life. What the fuck is snow and why do people think it's so great? Admittedly, upon my first sight of it in many years I thought it was pretty. Then I got trapped in it and walked home in knee deep drifts that would make even your Grandfather's stories of "we walked uphill" seem bland in comparison.

Warm weather came and people changed. We stopped walking briskly by one another in an attempt to ignore everything around us but our attempt to get warm and actually starting conversing outside of places while we lepers called smokers enjoyed our hedonist bounty. We began to be polite to each other again. Not on the trains, that's just ludicrous, but at least when we were waiting in lines at the bodega. It was a wonderful season to enjoy a glass of white wine on the patio while people watching dog obsessed people carrying on full blown conversations with their schnauzers like they were their children. Grand time to be alive.

Ha. Summer. Totally different animal. Heat. This Floridian knows heat. But this Floridian does not know heat without central AC. I believe that hell is without central AC. And unfortunately stocked with non-Alcoholic beer (that's kind of what makes it hell). No window AC unit made it even worse. In Florida there is water and greenery to absorb the dense wall of humidity that manages to skulk into every corner of your life. In NYC there is pavement and buildings that trap it in and enable it to jump onto your back like a stalker when you have no restraining order. Who the hell can live like this?

Cue romantic and clichéd movie music. Enter the boyfriend. That is an entirely different blog entry. I promise we'll get to that. He gives me (and installs!) an AC unit in my room. Everything should be perfect. Right?!?!?

Yeah it doesn't change the fact that I am unemployed for the first time in my life. Not adult life, mind you. Life. I have worked since I was 14 years old. It is not for a lack of trying. It is for a lack of skills. I detest not being productive. Marx said that we attribute our worth as humans to our ability to produce so I can't be entirely wrong. Unless he was. If that's the case then I'm screwed. Nonetheless I am idle and seeking more in this city that I have slowly (and begrudgingly) come to love.

This has been coupled with my Grandmother recently dying. I almost made it through this whole post without mentioning it because it is too personal. And too painful. I wanted this post to be another random musing of a lost soul but I cannot bear to not talk about it. I am hurting too deeply from the loss of someone I loved so much. I need the catharsis of writing about it because my chest aches so much that I feel I will never recover. I will not go off into a self-indulgent tirade about the pain of loss because we have all been through it. I did not handle it well. Needless to say that I spent two full days in a pot-hazed (sorry to my parents but I needed something to dull the ache), drunk state while I tried to cope with one of the most amazing people to have ever lived no longer gracing the Earth with her presence. What I will do, however, is remember her white knuckles kneading dough for baking. Her boisterous pride of her gravy recipe. Her infectious laugh that made everyone around her smile intensely just by hearing the sound of it. She would laugh at everything you said, making the most serious situations feel light. Her ability to make you realize there was a simple solution to every problem. The fact that you could not mention her name in conversation without eliciting a sincere grin that made you ecstatic just to be talking about her, let alone to know her. Her generosity and willingness to share anything she had. Her love of Jesus. Playing cards with her at the table at 2am with her always sportmanslike smile when she lost (when she was most likely letting you win.) Her hearty, whole body hugs at the end of family vacations. Her love of anything canine. Her beautiful Southern drawl that slowed down everything in the conversation and made you think about what she was saying. Her modest home with my Grandfather in Tennessee, a place she treasured so much she would never leave. Christmas mornings listening to Elvis and the porcelain dolls she gave me every year with blonde hair and blue eyes that I know she painstakingly chose because she loved me and wanted to make me happy. Her constant forgetfulness and addiction to coffee. Her chain smoking. How she always made my Mom let me stay up late when I was a little girl to watch TV. Her ability to find any toy I had ever lost and her village of winter houses she set up every year that used to light up. Her infinite love for her Grandchildren and children and her collection of diamond rings. Her unflagging patience for people and her genuine love of humanity. While her family lost the most the world in general lost one of the most spirited and kind souls we've ever seen. It's unfortunate, because people like her are what the world needs more of. I cry as I write this because not enough of us were able to be graced with her extraordinarily strong and beautiful nature.

Please go hug the person you love most in this world. Because the moment where you realize you didn't do it enough is a moment that will make your life seem insignificant.

When there is thunder in Brooklyn, it means the angels are bowling....

2010-05-12T04:57:00.004-04:00

So my tenure with Brooklyn Bowl has ended. I was and am beyond crushed to have this relationship prematurely over. I was mostly hurt because it was not ended on my terms. It was ended on theirs. And it was for reasons that were mostly minor and irrelevant but it felt like a punch in the face in the last round of the boxing match. BB was my life here. A long standing regular of mine from Tampa steered me in the direction of applying for the job there a month into my life in NYC. I walked in with my resume in hand, determined to get a job. I sat down with the manager and then the owner and a few days later I had a job. And oh what a wonderful world it was. I was exulted to have finally found something I could cling to in NY. I was terrified moving here. And then I had the bowl. I promptly put in my one week notice at the garbage place I was working and set out on the G train for my new place of work, confident that I would only be there for a few months before I found a nine to fiver that I could actually start my life with.

And then winter hit. And it was brutal. I mean, balls to the walls, this Floridian was not prepared, hardcore, snow days brutal. And I had mentally and emotionally prepared myself for it but was still caught in the girls room with my pants around my ankles looking like a hunter had just flashed the red dot of the rifle on my forehead. I had no idea how to cope. The only thing that got me through the horror of 14 degree weather was going in, day in and day out, to Brooklyn Bowl. I moved to Greenpoint to be closer to my work. I left every day and walked along Franklin Street, passing the Empire State Building along the way on my view of the Manhattan skyline that many in this world dream of being able to behold, to walk through that concrete gate and clock in to the only consistent thing I had in my life. I would pass the security guards, who always had a friendly hello, and say hi to the 40+ people on staff before beginning to set up the bar. I started out my life there as a waitress and moved my way up. I treated that place as my second home.

I forged friends and relationships at the BB that will last me through my entirety of living in NY. But the thing that meant the most to me was having a home. As anyone who has followed my blog can see moving to NY has been incredibly hard on me. I have struggled immensely with the transition into this raw, cold city. And the only thing that was consistent was BB. I remember the tequila toast at New Years. I remember working the keg stand at Bob Weir. I remember the burlesque shows. I remember working the lanes when Josh Hartnett bowled. I remember the first snow day when our boss decided to pummel the staff with snow balls. I remember the pool parties. I remember the movie nights and U2 3D. I remember the staff meetings and Questlove. I remember Karaoke Killed the Cat and when we were closed on Mondays. I remember Dinosaur Jr and kids birthday parties on the lanes.

I will always remember the bowl and what it did for me. I would not have survived in NY without that place. I was incredibly sad to see the schedule and realize my name was no longer on it. And the phone call the next day from Stephen was heartbreaking. I saw the number on my phone and I knew what was coming. I felt completely blindsided by being let go as I had not had any idea that I was no longer a valued member of the staff. I only knew I was about to be fired because BB has let people go in that way before.

Everyone that has worked there for the last 9 months or so has helped to build that place. And the idea that Charley and Pete have is a great one. I completely supported everything that they were doing. The LEEDS certification was partly why I wanted to work for them. Their partnership with Blue Ribbon was genius. They really are changing the face of music and how you experience live shows in Brooklyn. And I am glad to have been a part of it. I wish things had ended better and I am deeply saddened that I am no longer a part of the BB family.

Bye guys. I know I will still see you in Williamsburg but we all know that when you leave the staff you are mostly a ghost that still haunts the halls. You are not a part of the crew anymore.

On to greener pastures I guess....

We'll see.

Snoop Dogg's Clan ain't nothing to fuck with...

2010-04-27T06:19:00.010-04:00

So my life lately has been uber, beyond all counts crazy. I've documented some of it but not all of it. I love it. Seriously, how can I remotely call myself a writer? I went to Snoop Dogg at the always amazing and ever crazy Brooklyn Bowl. It has taken almost eight months of working there for me to feel like that place is my home. And it does. I walk in there and it's like an extension of my living room. That's probably both a blessing a curse but so it goes, to quote the beloved Kurt Vonnegut.

So Snoop blew my mind. It was easily one of the most incredible nights of my life. I won't post the highlights of the night because it was beyond extraordinary. But I will post my favorite pics of him performing...

So what I've decided from this night to end all nights is that extraordinary things are on my horizon. And it would be absolutely lovely to have someone to share these things with in some context. And if that person is you please feel free to post an application. The best friend slots are kinda filled by Dan, Maddy, Eric, Caren, and Amanda but it would be incredible if you want to jump in on the fun. Because when we bowl and sweet up kids roll out we kinda roll deep. Join in on the fun!

Sunrise at bedtime. I am truly a vampire.

2010-04-09T07:39:00.003-04:00

For the four people who have not yet seen this.

This particular video is an amazing stop-motion animated short that is absolutely spectacular. The brilliance that comes into play towards the end after you dredge through his absurdist style of humor is exquisite. Please, please watch this.

Don Hertzfedlt is an absolute genius. I know this is mad behind the times but God this video is extraordinary.

Also I heard a rumor that Arcade Fire broke up. When it comes to such things I turn into a little kid that just had their ice cream knocked out of the cone. I'm a six year old who cannot bear the idea of having to stare at my ice cream melting on the sidewalk in the hot, summer sun. That slow cry begins that your whole body eventually catches up to. I couldn't bear this idea so I went onto the blogosphere. I am exultant to report that it is BULLSHIT! Spin just released an article saying that they are set to release their third, as yet untitled album in May of 2010!

http://www.spin.com/articles/arcade-fire-new-album-2010

Fuck you rumor mill!

Which means that they will be touring. Which means that a truly joyous, beyond ecstatic Misty will be quitting both of her jobs if they don't let her have the day off to see them. I will also be waking up at 7am the day tickets go on sale to stalk the horrible company that is Ticketmaster for tickets. I will fly anywhere in North America to see this band live. Oh happiest of happy days! How I cannot wait for May!

By the by, if you didn't see Google's April Fool's joke this year it was amazing. They put a video up claiming that they can actually translate animal sounds into human language. Awesomesauce! Please enjoy the video they posted.

Out. Enjoy this lovely spring day Williamsburg!

Mother Goose..

2010-04-02T06:27:00.004-04:00

So today I worked a typical twelve hour day with its tumultuous ups and downs that is completely traditional of being a bartender in NYC. My family had given me plenty of notice that I was to be expecting a package from them but would not elaborate as to what it was. I've been eagerly expecting this package, thinking initially that it was probably a bunch of forms from my student loan company. My Mom would not even give me a hint. Today, my neighbor kindly signed for it as I was at work. I worked a long shift and forgot all about it. I got home and the package was sitting on my coffee table. I saw my Mom's beautiful handwriting on the front and immediately missed her. I did not open it right away. I just stared at her writing and realized how much I wanted to curl up into her lap and be the 11 year old scared little girl that I am that only a Mommy can truly comfort. And then I opened it. And I realized how much my Mother truly loves me. An umbrella for the NYC rainy season that is about to descend. A new purse. Adorable and comfortable pajamas. Candy. Pictures of Easter egg hunts of past that we all loved. A card expressing how much my family misses me. And I realized in that exact second that I've been selfish. I've not thought of how much my move here has affected my family. I cannot believe that I didn't realize how hard this transition has been for my Mother. One of her ducklings moved thousands of miles away from her. And while my Mother is a strong woman who has her hands in many different pots as her career is concerned, she thinks of me all the time. Easter is a big deal in my family. And I realized that this is the first time I will spend it away from them. She wrapped everything in Easter paper, like she has always done, because that is her kind spirited and giving nature. And it is our tradition. Expressing genuine love and affection has always come hard for me, but I cried. I could smell her perfume all over this package. I miss my Mother and my family. The thoughtfulness while I've felt so abandoned in NY meant more than I think I could ever express to her. I suddenly felt ashamed that I haven't called more. I haven't been more of a presence. Because I cannot imagine how hard it must be for a Mom to miss her kid. And just so you know, Mom, I've spent many nights laying in bed just wishing you were near me so I could curl up in your lap and have you run your fingers through my hair and tell me everything is alright. You have and always will be my comfort, my inspiration, my guidance, and one of my best friends. I love you and cannot believe you did that for me. You're amazing.

I'm so beyond touched that I cannot even express... I love you guys. Thank you for giving me something of home.

Bills! Congress! Insurance! Oh my!

2010-03-31T16:38:00.003-04:00

I'd like to start off this post that two people will read by saying that Ezra Stein calling the American Government a "non-grown up political culture" was probably the highlight of my week. Infants could run Congress with more transparency than the majority of our elected representatives. Luckily our President, who promised the utmost disclosure by saying C-SPAN would be included on all major bills discussed in the house, has forged this bill mostly behind closed doors. I'm not yet on the tip of hating all over or even being disappointed in Obama. Too many people are too quick to jump onto a political bandwagon they do not understand. I admit that little has been done so far by his administration that was promised on the campaign trail but let's be realistic here. We should all be jaded enough at this point to expect little yield from campaign promises. Bush promised "Compassionate conservatism" as well as reaching out an olive branch to the Democrats in order to work together. Look how well that turned out. He strengthened his party, sure. But at the expense of the American people. As well as developing the most extremist version of conservatism we've yet to see and strengthening the audience of political pundits and hate mongering fuckheads like Rush Limbaugh and Bill O'Reilly. Come on people. If you expect politicians to live up to all of their promises then you really have not been paying attention to politics since Nixon screwed up with Watergate.

That being said...da da da! Here comes the health care bill! A mostly moderate bill that promises to have more government involvement in health care, lowering cost in order to make health care more accessible and affordable. I have not read the 3 trillion page Congressional bill myself but more than likely it's a lot of fine print that says very little, as the majority of bills do. The media goes ape shit. The Republicans show their fundamentalist colors by screaming "SOCIALISM" while protesting under tax-funded street lights while a post office truck rolls by. Shocking. The unintelligent, misinformed, barely literate members of the right (not saying that they all are, mind you. Just the tea bagging retards) crawl out of the wood work and look to their heroic leader, Glenn Beck, to tell them what to think. None of this is remotely new. We've been watching this shit storm parade for 10 years. The Daily Show makes fun of everyone for taking themselves so seriously, we all get a good laugh, and everyone has a glass of wine before bed so they can sleep better because they cannot afford prescription sleeping bills for their severe insomnia and they gotta work in the morning.

Meanwhile, single working Mother (cliched example I know but in this instance it is my Mom so shut your judgmental trap) who waits tables from 5-midnight and goes to community college from 8 in the morning until 3 when she picks up her two kids from school and drops them at the sitter before headed to work has her daughter, who is in a government funded after care program because her mother cannot afford sitters six days a week, falls off the jungle gym and breaks her arm. Rush to the ER to get the bone set. Mom pays the bill with her RENT MONEY and that week Mom, Misty, and Amber stand in line for government issued cheese, milk, and bread, before going back to their section 8 apartment. Fuck you if you think this bill is bullshit. This bill will help millions of people and is completely a step in the right direction. Social reform programs and government funding is the backbone and tenet of this damn country. Without it we'd be lost. Communism? Socialism? Really? What is this 1981? Who cares?!?

Give the man some bleeding credit. In the mostly highly over-bureaucratized system in the world today passing anything is nothing short of a miracle. Let's all just grab some popcorn, put a doctor's office on our speed dial, and watch it all unfold. I'll tell you this, I'm looking forward to the ride. This is going to be nothing if not entertaining.

This is not my two cents, this is my co-pay. Below you will find a picture of a puppy to make it all seem okay.

This is Gizmo. He is a destroyer of worlds. And he approves this message.

Oh Demetri Martin, why can't I meet you?

2010-03-19T08:39:00.002-04:00

So tonight I found out that the bar where I work in Williamsburg, Sweet Ups, has a celebrity fan. We have a specialty drink called the Tina Fey. I am a huge, adoring fan of Tina Fey. I've always been a lover of stand-up comedy. Some of my favorite moments in my life were due to moments in comedy history that made my life relevant. Brooklyn Bowl has been a place of solace and refuge for me and I adore my job but I have very much been losing a sense of myself there. The job has become a shoe that I wear and love but sometimes smells really bad and I just flat out need to wear a different pair. I've lost a sense of myself. Sweet Ups has allowed me to find new friends in NY that I desperately needed. There is a certain level of horrible pain that exists there but you learn to endure in this city.

Anyway, back to the non-ADD Misty who can actually focus. Ha! Some of the writers for 30 Rock, my favorite of most favorite shows, come in to the bar. It's NY. It's bound to happen. They apparently approached her and showed her our cocktail menu with her drink name on it and she thought it was hilarious. I cannot convey how unbelievably honored I felt that something I'm involved with could even remotely touch a person's life that I admire so much. What it made me realize was that I have so much capability in me to explore and love NY and that this city really does have so much opportunity here. People come into the bar as tourists in Williamsburg and they are so electrified and wide-eyed about NY. And I just think to myself, "Well I live here. I'm not in awe of the skyline and the buildings anymore." But realistically, I walk by the Empire State Building every day of my privileged life and fail to appreciate just what I really have here. New York is a blanketed sea of professionals, hipsters, artists, bartenders, etc. who all came here for different objectives hoping to find their way. Hoping to find their lives. Hoping to find their dreams. Hoping to find themselves. And whether they do or not, they all can fundamentally enjoy that they are in the greatest city on the face of the Earth. And I've failed to acknowledge that. I've been in a self-referential and totally absorbed world of pain that I couldn't see the gift I've given myself by coming here.

And then I made friends. And they were glorious. I've come back to myself. They have woken me up. Tis true that I am in love with a boy that is out of my league when it comes to emotional intensity and genuine beauty but that is no excuse not to inhale this city into my lungs as hard as I can and hope that I don't choke on the exhale.

NYC in spring is a beautiful, cherished, monumental thing. I only hope that the loneliness of seeing the Guggenheim by myself doesn't disintegrate the relevance of it. Because it shouldn't. And the best you can hope for is being so happy with yourself and the moment that you can value the moment for what it is.

ADD is going to bed....

Bottle of wine and the US loses the hockey gold....

2010-03-02T06:43:00.002-05:00

So in an ill-advised haze of alcohol and bad judgment I texted things that should probably not have been said. Here are the highlights:

You know what the best part is about the fact that you've resolutely refused to talk to me? When I text you it feels like talking to a mountain range. There's no response but there's an echo. So it doesn't feel so empty. It's not like talking to yourself. I just kinda got my heart kicked in and it reminded me of old pain. The greatest thing about this stupid city is that I moved here to start over but I hate it here. I'm so cold and lonely all the time. I dream about things that broke me a long time ago. I'm tired of not trusting anyone. NY is kicking the shit out of me. I've pretty much just fallen into pieces and I'm planning my escape. Seven months in and my apartment has become an infected containment pod. Quarantine zone. I still think of you and you pop up in my dreams. Whenever someone really hurts me to a point where I think I won't bounce back you come to mind. You are my constant reminder that no matter how much pain I'm in that I've survived worse. I know you despise me and that nothing about that will change and that you are the last person in the world I should show my vulnerable side to but it's safe because you'll just ignore me. I'm incredibly scared. I've managed not not let guys hurt me over the last two years but one managed to wiggle through. And it was a friend. Very rough. So the last time I was entrenched in a world of misery I left the state. To escape you. This time I think I'm leaving the country. My solution, as always, is to run. I'm done. Now back to your regularly scheduled programming. Thanks for being my empty cavern I can talk at.

----------end transmission----------

Now I'm left with the desolation of no response and the wonder of where to go next. Leave New York? Stop being a wimp and nut up? What?!?!

Rock and roll was certainly shot

2010-02-05T19:35:00.002-05:00

So a recent excursion down to the dregs of Eastern Parkway, which is in the middle of absolutely nowhere in Brooklyn to the Brooklyn Museum, to see the famed Who Shot Rock and Roll exhibit that had been the talk of the town for the last few months. The Brooklyn Museum is a grand building and is actually one of the oldest museums in the US. Kinda cool that I can randomly go somewhere and have that level of history right at the edge of my fingertips. My venture brought with me Timothy O'Brien, a gentleman whom I have bonded with here in the great NYC, and who has become near and dear to my heart, the vain Irish mick. :)

As a child of rock and roll, growing up rock music was iconic for me. The legend, the dirt, the grit, the rebellion, the angst, the sweat. Mosh pits were my second home from 14-18. I did not buy into the bullshit that they were too intense for girls. I moshed in the Subhumans pit on their last tour before breaking up forever when I was 15 and cracked a rib. It is one of my most treasured memories. Rolling Stone magazine may be a hallowed shell of what it once was in the 70's and again in the 90's but for me at 14 it was the most important thing in the world, as the cover of that magazine showed Kurt Cobain's face after his unfortunate early demise that robbed rock and roll of one of the most innovative talents to set foot on the stage.

To tour through this museum and see these images that have captured moments in history that have defined not only myself, but millions of others, as people was a level of exhilaration that I can only express through how I felt looking at these pictures. Maybe you will understand what rock music has meant to me.

The first time I ever heard the Ramones self-titled album was when I was 12 years old. I promptly walked to my CD player, picked up Aerosmith's newest record, and threw it into the trash. Punk rock had been born in my life and I was never going back. Joey Ramone's high pitched mocking of anything and everything set to poppy sing-along punk rock molded punk into what it is today. I never got the pleasure of seeing them live, nor did I ever get to see the world famous CBGB, but they have a special place in my heart. Joey Ramone's tragic and painful death due to lymphoma in 2001 saw the end of an era.

Mick Jagger's raw sex appeal and channeling of Elvis' controversial and provocative dance style brought about lust in teenage girls everywhere. Watching it now is mostly sad as it holds little fire now that he's 268 years old, but it was compelling to watch videos of it. And then to top it off, the man had a set of lungs that could only be matched by the genius of Keith Richards. The man has looked like a caricature of himself for over 20 years but I believe his hands should be preserved in a museum after he dies to be studied by future guitarists on how to capture that level of brilliance. "Paint it Black" matched a dark period in my life.

"One baby says to another 'I'm lucky to have met you.'" I feel about Nirvana a way I cannot put into words. Twelve years old and I heard Nevermind for the first time and knew that my life would be on a path that would forever be different. I was a happy go lucky straight A student with a dark streak that was emerging as the ever elusive and dreaded teen years began to descend into my life. Kurt Cobain's emergence into the dead world of rock and roll changed everyone. Whitney Houston was topping the charts and nothing significant was happening in rock and roll. Magazines were scrambling to cover stories on Michael Jackson. Smells Like Teen Spirit united an entire generation of angsty, flannel wearing teens who had nowhere to go but down. I was one of them. His death touched me so deeply that months after those horrific images of his dead body lying in his Seattle home were leaked to the press I still could not help but cry at Kurt Loder's random tributes on MTV news. Rock lost a hero in Kurt, albeit a tortured one. This photograph proves, as Tim so succinctly put it, that if you believe Courtney killed him then you're an idiot. This man was clearly in pain. To one of rock's greatest innovators, whether you were a fan or not, we should all recognize the depth that his power cord structure and reflective lyrics brought to this world of rebellion and youth.

I will post more later but am tired and in need of a good nights sleep.

Dead dreaming.

2010-01-30T03:21:00.004-05:00

Wow. I last posted to this formerly beloved blog of mine back in November. Pathetic, wouldn't you say? I'm a writer who no longer writes. I have found an easier path of pretending to live life in NYC while mostly trying not to drown in the pool of cold. Every day I tend to fritter away in my endless battle against loneliness. I am having dreams that Freud would probably spill a martini (or at least a gram of his precious coke the damn hypocrite) over. The most recent one disturbed me so much that I will actually post it in my most neglected of forums.

I stand over a steel funerary casket that looks more like a cauldron. My eyes avert as the newest victim takes their place. I know this person not by name or face, but by serial number. They lie down and place their arms at their sides, a pleading look meant only for me creasing the lines of their face. The latest prisoner sent here to be "dealt with." I know that this man has committed egregious crimes against humanity. They only send the worst here. I look away, appalled at what I am doing. The room is dark and bare, typical of 17th century England. The walls are black and ashen, almost cave like. The only light that is cast on our faces is from the fire, illuminating the hard lines of men who have been forced to work in hell. The prisoner spares me one last look. The look of a man who knows he is about to face more than he is capable of enduring. Endless pain and then judgment, if that is what in store for him. I close the lid of the cauldron, which I cannot bear to think of as a coffin, and slide it into the wall. The furnace does not wait. Its tongue is one that will find its body to lick clean the sins that it has committed. Even if it may be in the most brutal way possible. The priest stands over him, reading his last rites. I do not speak. We wait for the man of the cloth to finish his empty words that will take this man into whatever terrifying realm awaits for him. Then we stand in broken silence. The priest looks up at us with heavy lids and a hardened heart. "You know what you are doing goes against God? I am only here because of my duty to the Church. You do this for a wage? I am sickened!" He is interrupted by the harrowing screams of the prisoner as the flames engulf his body as he is burned alive in the cauldron. I feel that I can get through this if I justify their horrific deaths with the things they have done. Murderers, rapists, thieves, scandalous scourge of human waste that they are. But I cannot justify this method of torture and execution. I cannot excuse the hand that I am playing in this. I look down at those hands of mine and find ash. This is not merely dirt from a job, this is human. I look up at the priest, hoping to find comfort. Even the Church, however, cannot find validation for what we do. Funny considering what they have done in the past. The fire rages as the next prisoner waits in line. Their pleas. Their screams. Their last moments of inhaling and exhaling where they desperately appeal for forgiveness. Is this humanity? A lifetime of committing atrocities wherein the last moment they realize that they are terrified eight year olds about to be scolded by the ultimate parental figure? The black cauldron comes back empty, ready for the next person to be laid into it. Ready for the next person to beg…

And then I woke up....

These streets will make you feel brand new, the lights will inspire you.

2009-11-22T06:06:00.004-05:00

So my job and a slight amount of homesick depression have taken over my life recently and I have not been frequenting my beloved blog as much as I should have been. There has been no recent news worthy of telling.

Well...I guess one of my friends up here did convince me to finally express how I feel towards someone who has meant a lot to me for the first time recently. So I called said person and, like the coward that I truly am, left it on their voicemail. The point of this exercise was not necessarily to tell that person how I feel in any hope of promising resurrection of what we once had. The point was to finally let my heart break. For the last year I have aggrandized this person. An entirely conscious (which makes it even more pathetic because you can’t blame it on your subconscious) craving always accompanied this silent and desperate fantasy. This fantasy that warped my world towards this desire for the unpossessible. It became a blanket I used to block out sunlight. It was my justification for sullen afternoons and nights of crawling into a bottle of Jameson and building a bed. Then it suddenly occurred to me that I was using him as an excuse to be miserable. I realized that he had become my comfortable spot in the sadness. So I called him to relinquish that hope. I knew he wouldn't respond. He's happy in another relationship and has moved on. I called to prove to myself that even after all of the complication and harsh words followed by heartache, if I let my guard down and told him how I truly feel about him (albeit long after when I should have) there was still no shard of potential in existence on this glorious planet of ours. So I realized that I've been lonely and heartbroken of my volition. It's time to truly break the heart and not just leave it in purgatory anymore. Then I can actually be restored and stop being hung up on my bloody ex boyfriend. So the lack of response was exactly what I expected and needed. The band-aid was ripped off after causing an infection that should have been healed long ago. The world, after your first love truly kicks you in the teeth, suddenly loses its terrifying nature and becomes a land of immeasurable prospect where true potential really lives.

For anyone who cares I am coming home December 21-27. If you wish to hang out I would love to see any and all who would like to have a beer.

Jay Z's Empire State of Mind drives me absolutely crazy. It is a song I cannot get away from and yet can't help but liking. Hence the title of this post.

You do it to yourself....

2009-10-18T05:10:00.002-04:00

When you incur a debt from God you eventually have to pay for it. I grew up the tomboy who played sports, loved music, made fart jokes, and wrestled with the neighbor’s dogs. I also had long blonde hair and an easy smile. I was oblivious to the fact that boys did not necessarily hang out with me just because I happened to hit a mean curve ball. Over the years of my youth I had to have several, “I’m sorry you like me but we’re just friends” conversations. Too many for my comfort, truth be told. Moments of awkwardness in parked cars puffing a joint, outside front stoops easing your way into the easy joy of a first cigarette puff, a collective LSD trip moment where the collective consciousness of the group trip was ruined with the worst seven words in the English language, "I want to be more than friends." I dreaded that moment. And everytime it happened I braced myself in my next male relationship to wonder if it would happen again. Or the other inevitable, which is that they obtain the girlfriend that they obviously want and cast you into the dead seaweed of the ocean that fisherman dread having to get out of their lines. Usually they do this because their girlfriends feel threatened by your close relationship with said friend and you don't happen to be bad looking. I always felt bad and it usually resulted in the end of the friendship, or at least a death of the comfort that existed between me and the guy it happened with. I am not trying to sound arrogant in this regard it is just what my experience has been.

And then I fell in love. And it was with the entirely wrong person who did not love me back and made that apparent on every level that he possibly could, physically forcing me out of his life when the opportunity arose. But then he dissipated. From the sudden world changing nowhere that he rose he returned and I never knew where that spot was. I just (slowly and painfully) found a peace with not knowing where he came from in my life. It also made me question whether or not he had ever been real. I never had to face him. I never had to look up into his beautiful face and realize with longing that this was someone I could never have. I did not have to confront the very deep realization that I had to sit next to someone I pined for so much that their very presence illuminated the shadow of loneliness that I felt. I’ve made it a point my whole life to not stay friends with people for whom I had feelings knowing that it does nothing but ruin your self-worth and make you feel insignificant. So I never had to feel what those guys felt for me. I valued my own worth enough to put my feelings before theirs and pull my friendship when necessary to spare myself the waterboarding torture that is unrequited emotions.

Until now. Days where you spend time together turn into endlessly excruciating events where you ache and remember those moments of lying in bed together with your legs so tangled you don’t know whose belong to who and the only solution is to find their lips with yours to further the spider web that is your bodies. The soft feel of their chest under your fingers and the lingering looks of adoration that make others jealous and lift the corners of your mouth all day when you think of their hands pressed into your hair while you hold each other. Then it ends and you’re left to wonder why.

In some of these unfortunate situations a friendship occurs because of those moments when you felt close to them and confided in them. As a person who frequently finds it difficult to open up to anything more than a blank, anonymous computer screen it is rare to meet a kindred spirit that you can feel at ease sharing with. So you cherish that familiarity. But it comes with a heavy and impossible to pay price. Like student loans. You still look at that guy with the adoration that you feel, knowing you are merely a mortal person who is incapable of quelling that desire within you. But you know that there is nothing you can do about it. It will not change. That person does not want you. It has been made up in their mind that they are looking for something better than you. And it hurts. But you have to move on and accept it. With time your feelings grow for them but you care enough about having them in your life that you swallow hard and drink beers together. This is my sentence. I am repaying that debt to karma that I have accrued for far too long. So I suffer. Because it is only fair.

New Beginnings!

2009-10-10T04:42:00.007-04:00

Okay so my camera broke and I am officially unable to physically document my new life here, which is slowly killing me. Anyone who knows me well knows that I am very fond of taking pictures. Not being able to chronicle my experiences for my three readers (and myself) is really upsetting as more and more exciting things begin to happen to me. My desperate need for the practicality of a bicycle right now is overruling my absolutely insane desire to buy myself a new camera. So anyone who would like to start a project fund for a girl in an expensive city and take collections would become a hero of mine.

Today I had one of those amazing days in my new neighborhood in Greenpoint (which is right next to Williamsburg) that I've been craving to experience here. I needed to run a bunch of errands and I've been working crazy hours at my job at Brooklyn Bowl so I've not had as much of a chance to check out the area as I'd like. I laced up my battered Converse, brushed my teeth, and set out to my adventure into my new home. I'm so thrilled to be able to think of this neighborhood as home after so long of feeling like a green eyed alien. I set out early and decided to try to kill as many rats with one BB pellet as possible. In Bed-Stuy a day where I needed to go to the post office, laundry mat, bank, grocery store, etc. would have meant I needed a car, or at least a bicycle. And it also meant getting cat calls whereupon I would be compared to a piece of bread or some other cute nickname, often by a boy no older than fourteen who stood on the dirty, overcrowded corner with his pants practically around his ankles. I walked four blocks away from my apartment, which is on the last street before Manhattan so I have an absolutely glorious view of the skyline, and managed to accomplish all of my chores in under an hour. It was incredible! Walking around I found that everything I needed was right next to my doorstep. Which is the picture of NY I'd had in my mind before I left. I laid awake at night dreaming of the city and having everything you could possibly need or want lying in covetous wait just for you. All it craved was for you to find it. I felt so charged and happy. The air was brisk but not cold and while I know I am about to encounter a winter I am indescribably scared of I am enjoying these last days of an all too short summer. I'm seeing fewer and fewer pigeons, which truly means that the warmth is about to make its prison break.

One of the best things about it though is that I live so close to work and all of my friends now that I rarely need to take the subway anymore, which is saving me a huge amount of money. Everything is so close! I'm excited about leaving my house for the first time since I moved here. I step outside and lock my door and finally feel like I'm easing my way into becoming a New Yorker. The streets are lined with oak trees, there is a cute little park across the street where weary day shifters take their dogs to walk and kids sit on swing sets. Every other small side road off of the main avenues possesses a hidden art gallery covered in graffiti or a whole foods market sporting an illustrious line of fresh flowers that will all too soon be pulled inside. Bicycle riders already wearing winter hats speed past in the bike lane and people chat happily on their cell phones while enjoying a glass of white wine in the early evening hours at an outdoor Bistro. It's my perfect version of Brooklyn. It might not last, but for now I am sincerely just enjoying the moments of being able to savor it like a good neat whiskey.

The fact that I am blessed enough to be able to walk along Franklin street (my street) and look over the river where the Empire State Building towers over the Manhattan skyline on my way to work is a treasure that does not cease in value as the days slide by. In fact, it is a testament to me that I am finally truly here, in one of the most exhilerating cities in the world. Now I just need to start making some new friends so I can begin my journey as an urban explorer. There is so much here! I feel rejuvenated for the first time in more months than I wish to admit and realize that I am so lucky to be able to say that I live here.

Bring it on NY!

Padawan learner.

2009-10-09T00:53:00.004-04:00

So today I had an epiphanic realization and decided that it is time to really start my New York life. I've been living my Tampa life just in a place that's a lot bigger and a lot colder. I've been pining for someone for far too long who has clearly moved on, watching another year slip gently past me while I sat watching the fascinating wall at a bar. I've been in New York for three months and have not achieved any of the things I desire. Some of which are as simple as buying a bike for myself and others of which are as lofty as starting my career, which I know takes patience. But the huge thing that occurred to me today was none of these things, although I believe it will set me on the path that may lead to many of them.

It was that I cling to my pain so completely and so exquisitely that it gives birth to a fear of not only letting it go, but feeling it again. The Catch-22 of this silly tendency that I have to harness that anguish and grief within myself is that if I let it go I would no longer be afraid of it coming back around. It wouldn't be so terrifying to get hurt by the opposite sex if I was able to move on from my setbacks more gracefully. However, fear of losing the familiarity of heartache can also be a giant step forward. On this day to begin all days I've decided that instead of jealously coveting the characters in Tom Robbins novels and the grandiose and story book love that they share I've decided to relinquish the stranglehold I've held on my failed relationships and stop longing for the things that I cannot have. Some of these, like my most recent very short lived dating situation, will be easier than others to pry my fingers away from. Obviously. The huge heartbreaks will be all the more difficult. If I've learned nothing else in my 29 years on this planet it is that there is much comfort in being sad. Cobain was right. But sometimes that comfort does nothing but hold you back and make you drink too much.

Sitting across from a friend today at a restaurant he posited a really interesting theory that made me stop in my tracks. He asked me, "What good is it doing you to sit here thinking about someone else when they're off not thinking, or probably caring, about you?" I realized what a huge waste of time it was. Sincerely. Something a Kindergartener figures out their third or fourth day of class and it took me this damn long. Pathetic. But that one simple thing unraveled so many other things for me. How much effort it is to be heartbroken. How much strain fighting with an ex is. How painful it is to lie in bed and think of them. And for what? Where does it get you but wasting countless hours you could have used to learn to play the guitar, take a day trip to Prospect Park, sew a quilt. You get the idea. I've wasted so much time I could probably have been accepted and finishing my first semester of law and/or graduate school. Still torn on that one, by the way. Thoughts?

Anyway, the point is that this time spent could have been utilized in such a better manner. Sure, I wrote a novel to cope with how much pain I was in but that was just sanity survival. Without that project I wouldn't have made it through that break up. Maybe that's what I have to do every time I go through a break-up. Just find a new project to immerse myself in that will in some way enrich my life and distract me from more unpleasant thoughts. Or even just an activity. Rather than hating being alone all the time I should begin to relish it and see it as an opportunity to grow more as a person because I do those things on my own terms and experienced them with myself. How many great documentaries, movies, books, TV shows, conversations, etc. have I missed because I was talking and/or thinking about an ex or a recent acquisition of a crack in my heart? Why do I feel compelled to let my overtly sensitive and emotional nature run my life? And why do I get so hung up on guys who are toolboxes anyway? Because for a few months/days/years we got along? So what. Let it go. Drop it. Fuck 'em. They were never worthy of someone like me because through all my flaws the one thing that most of my boyfriends cannot generally deny is that I was a good girlfriend who spoiled, pampered, and loved them. I do that because I care about them and want them to be happy. And I, just like most of us walking, talking bacteria that crawl around the face of this damaged world, deserve someone who will do that for me. The point of dating someone is that they make your life a little better. They complement you as a person. It's not always easy, but it shouldn't always be hard. When it is, it's time to shake your head sadly like they do in old movies, look down at the ground forlornly, and walk away.

I've recognized within myself that I am looking for someone to commit to and hand my trust to. And I need to be with someone who not only really wants it, but realizes what a true blessing it is to have someone believe in you enough to think you are worth it. There are many things that we take for granted in our self-involved, overly indulgent lives and having someone in the world who thinks your smile is worth more than Mona Lisa's is one of them. That is not something you throw out with your old McDonald's wrappers. It's something you frame.

So today was a good day. Tomorrow I am buying a bicycle or scanning the East River to see if there are any usable ones on the bottom. Whichever gets me something with two wheels and a basket.

It's insane how one comment can unravel your whole world. I'll tell you this, the person who said that is my Obi-Wan.

Christmas lights in September are totally appropriate.

2009-09-24T04:59:00.004-04:00

So I've been here almost three months and winter is about to descend on the city like a plague of rats that have been given cheese food stamps and an immunity to anti-vermin drugs. There is no avoiding it. No matter how much I relish the moments of 75 degree weather in my backyard these days are coming to an end. In more ways than just the brisk air that has permeated the NY streets. I have to move out of this apartment. And as much as I've bitched and moaned about this neighborhood I've actually found a bit of a balance here. Sure, I've avoided becoming familiar with Bed-Stuy because I never wanted it to feel like home, but it kind of has. The corner deli at the end of Madison has become a safe haven for me. They know when I enter the door that I want a veggie sandwich and I don't even have to give the specifics of which cheese to put on it anymore. They also began to carry diet coke for me. This was a hard won battle of me whining that I was a frequent enough shopper there that they should accommodate me. I don't even tell the guy at the Chinese place anymore what I want because he always knows I want the vegetables and noodles with extra brown rice and a hearty dose of watercress. It wasn't ever supposed to be home but after three months it is. The huge backyard that is illuminated with Christmas lights where I spend my lonely evenings on my computer, smoking cigarettes and having a beer. Now it's suddenly going to be gone. I love the comfort of this place. And I'm completely unprepared to leave it and now I have an expiration date. Wow I'm screwed.

And now I'm venturing into the unknown. I'm thrilled to be doing so because I do, indeed, dislike the place where I'm living and am seeking to move somewhere that I can exhale sharply without feeling like I'm a red sock in the dryer but it is still removing myself from the familiar in the land of the unfamiliar. Scary on top of crazy. The ultimate bad mixture of girl, as any guy would happily point out.

There is so much happening in my life right now that I feel incredibly unprepared for. I want this job. I want it so badly that if I were a model and this was Victoria Secret I would be laying awake all night wondering if my ass was too fat. You get the idea. But am I ready to transition ten years in the hospitality industry into a career? Am I ready to give up my twenties in the face of my thirties? These are the things I am struggling with. None of my friends are the same age as me and they are certainly not in the same place that I am. I'm left to wonder what lies up ahead and if I am woman enough to handle it.

And the answer is yes. Yes I am.

The open aurora of the sky.

2009-09-23T04:58:00.004-04:00

So today I cast my new New Yorker hatred of Manhattan aside and went to the city. 3 months in and I am a die hard Brooklynite. I love it here. The lack of tourists, the smaller buildings, the slower pace, the concentration of restaurants and bars. It feels like a more down to Earth slice of home. When walking with friends today they commented that I've found my New York stride, which made me feel pleased and proud. I've survived here for two months with little battle wounds. The exception being the fear that exists on a day to day basis. So I crossed the East River and endured the ear popping that always happens on the subway to go to a job interview for my dream job.

It's the New York Restoration Project, which is a large government funded non-profit organization. My job would be to write and organize workshops and lead up a team of ten volunteers who are looking to educate the public in different facets to get on board with the green movement. Specifically to participate in a community based project to plant trees in residential and commercial spaces to preserve NYs parks and natural wildlife. I feel I did pretty well but sincerely do not want to jinx myself. I want this job very badly but the last year has been wrought with disappoint and heartache over jobs I sincerely wanted and felt qualified for, but did not ultimately get. One of which involved me flying to Chicago and the other driving to Jacksonville and back in one day. So while this job would be a major step into the career I have chosen for myself based on my sincere passion I am not going to let myself fall into a pit of despair should it not happen. I'll know by Monday and will be either posting my elation or disappointment. We'll just have to see.

My lease ends in a few days and I have nothing lined up in the way of apartments. I am getting a little scared as I do not want to have to go the couchsurfing route but am thinking that unless something pops up quickly I may be screwed.

NY is beginning to open itself to me to the endless opportunity that is the reason I moved here. Even if this job does not work out at least I know that there are others out there. Keep your fingers, toes, legs, and arms crossed.

The bartender is supposed to cut you off....

2009-08-30T04:53:00.004-04:00

Two months was all it took to realize that forming relationships of any kind up here are perilous. Like the cliched and oft quoted line above Dante's Inferno "Abandon all hope ye who enter here," it is much the same. Bars tend to house the young, clique-ish types who are far more jaded than their twenty three years should allow. At twenty nine years old I have had a revelation that has set me on a path that is rapidly spiraling into what I can only hope may be a less bleak future than the present I feel currently trapped in.

Smiling at someone while you stand next to one another on the subway, hopeful eyes gently appraising one another while locked in the new and exciting should be illegal.

As we speak my friend is en route to my house, too drunk to remember where he lives or give directions to his friends. It is five am after a long shift at work that was one of the most cruel nights I've endured in the borough and I am waiting for a phone call that will tell me whether my friend has safe refuge for the night or not. Or give me insight into whether I will be making a trip to the emergency room for alcohol poisoning.

NYC is tougher than leathery skin that has had way too much exposure from the sun.

I've decided to sit in for the LSAT. If you don't know what that is then you should find out. Not sure when the next test is so we'll see. In the interim I am going to sign up for prep classes. Just to keep my options open. I will commit to nothing, as so many in my past have told me they are incapable of doing. Sad state of life to be in at the age that I am. Words like "I'm sorry" and "I'm not ready for this" have lost any meaning they may have had ascribed to them when they were first forged.

I am tired and waiting for the phone call to tell me what condition my friend is in has left me with an odd realization. We need to change our lives.

Don't listen to Radiohead when you are depressed and contemplative. They mirror too much of the angst and humiliation that you are feeling to be helpful. As much as I may worship them.

The unknown road.

2009-08-26T01:55:00.006-04:00

So I received an email today from the Bloomberg campaign. They are apparently very interested in my resume and I have an interview set for Thursday, which doubles as my birthday. Oh how sweetly ironic and fitting that is. However, I am hesitant because I am not sure what position they are interested to bring me in for. I have absolutely no desire to be a canvasser, walking the streets and attempting to find cold voters who might decide to (maybe) vote for him. In addition to that I am not terribly familiar with his politics or political history as I am still very new to the city and have not been studying him for years. So tomorrow is intensive research day where I try to find out as much about his time in office as possible before I walk through the door and get grilled about why I want to work for him. Wish me luck.

Something odd has happened to me recently and in the interest of disclosure I do not plan to elaborate upon it except to construct a very short (and shitty) poem about how I am feeling. Bear with me as I have not written poetry in over a decade, despite that it was once the greatest love of my life.

Gigantic and sinuous proportions fit into a mold
That has shifted into a rotten, damaged shape
Unexpectedly strange and overwhelming
Alienation leading to the construction of a path
Suddenly left in question
No new knowledge comes
But gentle hands serve as tentative guidance
Delicate strokes over gaping wounds
Does not insure a healing
Frayed hope on the lapel of an old mistress
Whose painful lashing is an all too prevalent reminder
That relief is fleeting
and misleading
For one moment
It all feels
As if an easy curve in the world
Can possibly bring comfort
Brief as it may be

Thank you folks. I'll be here all week.

My Body is a Cage.

2009-08-20T02:10:00.011-04:00

I am too cut off. I am too afraid. I am too intimidated by other people to drop my guard. I let myself allow very limited access to even my friends. I still do not give them passage to the one way train ride that is me. It is too full of chaos and volatility and I am scared that they may not like me anymore if they see how emotional and intense I can be. Maybe that is how it is meant to be. Maybe you are not supposed to let anyone in. Or maybe that is the conundrum of people in general. Perhaps they are never supposed to get to know you, no matter how many intimate moments you may spend with them. You can laugh, joke, drink, fuck, move, cry, and commiserate but it does not entail closeness. It just gives rise to comradery. And that may be the best one can hope for. That unlooked for stranger that glances at you on the train is probably not going to be the answer. They are more than likely never going to be your friend. But that one moment of connection might be enough. A lock of the eyes that says that you are, for the moment, one and the same. Losing yourself to the sinister neverland that is too brightly lit and highly indicative of the world you’ve chosen may mean finding yourself in the cataclysm of disarray.

Walking through the street, Arcade Fire blaring into my headphones I could not help but ponder the inevitable. Death and instability. Fearing getting into my bed that has it out for me, which I have already fallen out of twice, I stay awake. It is an eight foot climb into my bed and on the night of infamy to my friends I slipped while getting out of it and slammed my face on the radiator, cracking my jaw and leaving a swollen face that lasted for weeks. My bed is determined to kill me. Further proof that it hates me and that this fraction of my life needs to end, because it does not fit me.

Subway ads are repetitive and shout pathetic pictures of second rate movies and bad colleges that no one will even pay attention to.

That guy you pass in the street has a story. He probably lived through the Vietnam War, as the majority of the homeless are vets, and you just walk by without stopping or considering because you get asked too many times to be able to spare change for all of them.

I am not making the transition well. I feel like when I get into a home that is a more comfortable space that feels like mine I will be able to breathe. As it is I feel scattered and discontent. I drink too much and spend too much of my time hiding in my bedroom that never gets cool and sweating out a New York summer that is more intense than any I'd ever experienced in Florida. I am forever walking into every place I go with a sheen of perspiration on my face to a point where the first thing they ask is if I’d like a glass of water. And I’m a Floridian. That’s just sad.

When I hang out with my friends from here and listen to them talk I can barely keep up as they have been here for years and have their day jobs and knowledge of the city that I cannot remotely understand. I try to research New York politics as it is my first love and come up with random sites on the web that yield very little unless I have access to academic databases, which I do not. The news focuses on local stories, which gives me nothing in the way of the inner workings of the political animal of NYC. I'm drowning. None of my friends up here care about the same things I do so I have no resources to tap.

Nights of endless drinking lead to mornings that are mostly afternoons.

I'm missing something. I know it's there it's just not showing itself to me, despite that I keep looking.

I'm lonely. In so many ways. I am tired of coveting. I just want to meet someone I can feel a connection with. Sexual, emotional, intimate, friendship, or otherwise.

I lay awake at night and I see this image, much in the same way that they do in movies in the bad flashback dream sequence that has the horribly cliched muted and blurry scene and I see a person that is not real lying next to me. The other night a dream I had was so intense that I rose between the waking and non-waking world and felt someone squeezing me. I awoke with a gasp, shocked and looking over my shoulder, fully convinced someone had crawled into bed next to me because the sensation was so real.

When I lay in bed and cry now I no longer cry because of the person. I cry because they were the night thief who pillaged my ability to trust others. And I hate him for that. Every person I meet I size up with the constant, lingering question of "How are you going to hurt me?" And it's really unfair. My youth is slipping further and further away from me and I am standing on the precipice, watching it go and knowing I don't get a second chance. When the image fades there is nothing left but blank, white sheets that abandons me with the stark image that I am totally isolated. In every capacity. And that leaves me with a quiet, but resolute, desperation that others can probably see all over my face, the mask that covers the cavernously insane damage that makes my heart the 38th parallel. One of the most dangerous zones in the world. At least in mine.

I don't want to be some project for a guy to rebuild anymore than I want to be someone that they use and leave in the dark. I live in the dark. I don't need more shadows looming over me, making what little moonlight that comes into my world even more menacing.

If this is love I want to treat it the same way I would as the mafia. No affiliation.

I thought the demons that have stalked me for so long might forget me and remain in Tampa but it appears that someone gave them my itinerary to New York and they took a first class flight to follow me. It's unfair. I did much in the way of subterfuge to get here without them knowing. I guess it's true that you can't flee from your feelings.

It is becoming more and more apparent to my friends that I am holding back. They can tell that I am hesitant about everything and scared to death. I am happy that I moved here but feel no closer to answers. PBR and Jager may know me better than anyone but they are not exactly the best networking connections to a bigger life beyond the escape that I need to escape from.

Dickchicken?

2009-08-17T04:28:00.004-04:00

Dickchicken is all over the city. Everywhere. So I decided that my next move is to buy a can of spray paint and start a graffiti movement underneath it that says "Tofu Butthole." Inspired by Chris G, of course.

The city has these moments. The doorways of places you would've normally passed melt into drinking passages. Slowly, alluringly, she presents herself to you. She does it in this seductive way. She charms you in with her illustrious and sensual manner. Then she jerks you to reality with her tendency towards the volatile. She can love you and she can despise you. And it always happens in an instant. You have no control.

There is nothing that you can do but give in. And pray...

The new face of my blog is 100% because Dan is amazing. And tomorrow when I don't suck so much I will elaborate.

Oh how nice it would be to feel nothing and get credit for being alive.

2009-08-13T04:01:00.006-04:00

Started my new job tonight. It's pretty cool but it is incredibly long hours and as such I am very tired so forgive the briefness of this post. I have actually become so fond of the Greenpoint/Williamsburg area that I'm thinking of moving there provided I can afford it and Dan and I find something available there when the lease is up in October. So I'm excited that my new job is there as that will make life much more convenient for me. I am not, however, allowing myself to become placated in the restaurant industry, owing to the comfortable familiarity that I feel in hospitality. It is my birthday month and I am turning twenty-nine, making the fact that I do not have a career even more frustrating as I draw ever nearer to the big 30. I am still actively pursuing jobs and internships that may parlay into jobs. I'll keep you posted. Pun fully and completely intended. An internship I am desperate coveting with the Baha'i International Community (which is an organization run by my chosen religion) would be a great way for me to make contacts that could steer me towards my career. They do work with the UN regarding international human rights and it is right up my alley. I submit my resume tomorrow so we'll see if they deem me worthy of using the shit out of me for no pay. Oddly enough they can be selective about who they choose to somewhat exploit, even if it does indeed mean they may give them a jumpstart towards their professional career. That's how brutal NY is. Even volunteer jobs are competitive.

I'm pretty sure tomorrow is new tattoo day so if that is the case I'll post a picture after it is done. It's a small one but my next tattoo will be a large one on my right upper arm. That one is going to be a bitch. I should be getting that one in the weeks to come.

I found out that Radiohead leaked their new song tonight and thought I'd post the link for my two readers who care.

http://www.megaupload.com/?d=XXZFVECM

As a weird personal aside, I've become obsessed with Super Furry Animals. They are the most fun electronic, psychedelic, poppy rock band I've encountered in years. If you don't know you should find out. I'm currently stuck on Hey Venus! but just downloaded Outspaced and Dark Days/Light Years. Give them a listen.

I will post more later but am not in a very articulate mood considering I worked for twelve straight hours with no cigarette breaks and an overwhelming amount of new information.

Goodnight kids!

Twenty-five pictures that made me happy.

2009-08-12T01:48:00.008-04:00

Some fun visual and musical things..

2009-08-10T18:20:00.008-04:00

I made it into MoMA but did not get there in enough time to see all of the exhibits but did manage to catch quite a few. The one installation piece being featured presently was grand and poignant. It was called "Waste Not" by Song Dong that chronicles the life's collection of a Chinese woman. You are absolutely blown away by how attached people can become to possessions, both transient and permanent. She saved plastic bottles, grocery bags, shoes. My camera is on the fritz (much to my chagrin) but I lifted some photos from someone else who is more talented at photography than I anyway. This is one of the most relevant pieces I've seen in awhile as it truly shows how collectively immoderate we are as people singularly and holistically. Having switched over to a more conservative and eco friendly lifestyle over two years ago I was already painfully aware of that fact. But here's now a testament of proof.

One woman collected this! Insanity! Cats and dogs! Living together! Mass hysteria! :)

For the Radiohead lovers this was a happy little tasty treat I found on the interwebs of For Orchestra doing an all instrumental version of Reckoner. Let me let you know that it's beautifully done and the accompanying video is VERY cool. Enjoy and you're welcome for having no social life yet.

And a friend posted this beautiful nature video on my MySpace page set to "All I Need." Chilling and exquisite so watch it.

In addition to that there was a recently released compilation album of covers of Mark Mulcahy and Mr. Yorke did "All for the best." It also features Dinosaur Jr. and Frank Black. I've yet to download it but am excited.

Pretty things:

Narcissus, after Caravaggio by Vik Muniz. This piece is particularly special because it's deceptive. One would believe it is a sculpture of some construction but it is a photograph. I love the texture and desperation.

Johannesburg by David Goldblatt. Pretty self-explanatory commentary on urban development and corporate interests. I was struck because this is in Africa, making the social insight much more relevant.

Lake Louise, Canada by Lee Friedlander. I am, always and forever, a sucker for any artwork that expounds and celebrates the wondrous beauty that lies within the natural world. I also love how rough the rocks look, almost fake even, against this stylized and picturesque lake.

Shibuya, Tokyo by Reagan Louie. I love the visual chaos of this photograph. It makes no sense and yet it is fun and stimulating.

Y.A., M.S.B., Vevey, Switzerland by Nicholas Nixon. I enjoy that this photograph is only vaguely erotic, mostly showing the positioning of the bodies, alluding to faint curves and the intimate pressing together. Their bodies are almost like puzzle pieces. And the muted black and white makes it soft.

Anyway that barely scratches the surface of some of the museums photographic exhibits but seeing as how it is one of my favorite mediums of art I was delighted to get to see their displays in person. These were just a few that touched me.

I'm starving and am on the way out to venture for Vegan food. I have subsequently decided not to go vegan as originally planned owing to the fact that I'd rather take death over cheese but vegan selection up here is pretty incredible. I'll post more stupid stuff only I'm entertained by later.

I sail to the moon. I spoke too soon...

2009-08-10T04:04:00.006-04:00

Today NY finally gave me a break. After weeks of tortuous beat down I felt like she hurled me into her more favorable corner after showing me her vitriolic ways. Oh happiest of happy days!

I found a job. Not a proper one that I deeply, truly crave, but a good job. The job I work now is bullshit and insignificant. I am not paid hourly in addition to the fact that I have to tip out my manager, who earns a salary wage unlike me.

This place is a bowling alley/music venue/bar/restaurant in the heart of the trendy, up-and-coming gentrified neighborhood of Williamsburg. Everyone loves to hate this area because it is the congregation point for the hipster revolution and where the mass exodus of scene kids go to that migrate from all areas of the globe, but I adore it. Strolling through this district you get a sense of history that electrifies you. The graffiti scrawled from fifteen years ago when this was a highly Latino dominated spot breathes its way into the hip, white place it has become. Gentrification has two elements that make it evil and glorious at the same time. Allow me to elaborate as I know this is a highly contentious and sensitive subject. The whole scheme of gentrifying a region is for the benefit of the whole. Slowly developing areas next to one another encourages integration as well as progressive urban development, albeit very gradually with a lot of planning and much sacrifice. This is the purpose. In actuality the disastrous side comes with the part where the poor are shunted out of their homes. I can see the bigger pictures but also acknowledge the victims that suffer for it.

I desperately needed a win. I was beginning to feel like this place was kicking my ass. I am so happy to have found a job that will not only supply me with financial security but will enable me to work with people of like mind who share my love of the independent culture I have become so deeply fond of. I am starting to feel like I may be planting some roots. I don't want to get my hopes up too much but I am exhilarated.

After a very disappointing third date with a very promising contender, whereupon I was stood up, I spent a full day completely stewing in the mentality that “Men are all shit, why do I bother with this species?" Today, after finding a gentle happiness in my step, I released some of the demons currently on my payroll. I thought to myself, "If I'm forever carrying this shadow behind me who stalks my everyday moments I'll never allow myself any peace that might lead to opening up and trusting another human being. Why am I wasting my youth and time frivolously wondering what things may have been?" You must, of course, keep in mind that people are guilty until proven innocent as far as your trust is concerned but at some point you must stop making new friends (or whatever) pay for the sins of your past relationships with others. It was with this new illumination that I felt my eyes blaze for the first time in months and that put buoyancy into my resolve that I've not felt for far too long. I spent the evening at Dan's house in the company of his roommates and their friends and found myself finally exorcising the goofy, alive, witty part of me that has been long absent in favor of brooding and silence. I feel like myself again for the first time in a year.

That faint sunlight behind the buildings that obscures the clouds is not only the sunrise, it's the new dawn of a new day of a new life for me. And I'm feeling goooooooood. (Thank you Nina Simone)

----------End transmission------------

2009 BC

2009-08-05T04:23:00.002-04:00

So the other day I waited on Chloe Sevigny. She was incredibly nice and a very generous tipper. I've waited on celebrities of Tampa infamy before but this was a totally different experience. I work in a little nothing restaurant that mostly attracts European tourists who are looking for "authentic NY Italian food" that happen to decide to stop while traversing the East Village. It is not a place where the elite go to dine. So I was surprised. It mostly reminded me that there are so many celebrities living here that you'll kind of just run into them. By the way, I hate my job. Which is to be expected, I guess, considering how ready to move on to worlds beyond hospitality that I feel in my gut. My co-worker tonight turned to me, randomly, and said "you are way too smart to be working here." That struck a chord.

It has not yet sunk in that I actually live here because I've yet to have that quintessential NY moment whereupon you realize, once and for all, that you are now a New Yorker. I'm waiting for that moment where the city suddenly looks to me the way it does on film. That moment of recognition where the city of my dreams is suddenly a reality. Maybe it's because I have yet to find my niche. I guess time will tell the story that I cannot.

At work this evening a boy at my table struck me. We started a conversation about religion and music that parlayed into him asking for my phone number and inviting me out for an after work drink. I spent my first night hanging out with a non-Florida friend in the city and thoroughly enjoyed myself. You must be guarded when it comes to dating or making friends anywhere because people are so often not what they wish to portray themselves as, but you must be even more careful here. In a construction of superficiality everyone is presenting themselves to be what they wish they were and not who they actually are. Genuine, in this place, is a rare commodity. So I guard myself with a tenacity that I did not think my hopeful and desperately romantic at heart nature was capable of.

Skyscrapers turn into monsters in the right light

2009-08-04T02:38:00.002-04:00

A weekend of debauchery illuminated the need for me to find something more in this town. I got lost on the train. So lost, in fact, that it became a parody that most people would probably write a screenplay about. Mostly to mock those who have no idea where they are going. I spent almost four hours underground, trying to figure out where the hell to go. It was pathetic. We wandered through the snaking world of the underground, transferring from train to train, with the ultimate goal to end up at Central Park. We wanted to drink beers in the park and wander around. We finally made it. It was the most painful excursion I've yet to encounter.

I've never felt so frustrated in my life. When Melinda and I finally hit our stop we ran, exulted, towards the sunlight, happy to be out of the myriad of underground subway traffic. We'd actually proclaimed ourselves the mole people because we'd been underground so long. It was absolutely pathetic. We actually managed to ride half of the trains in Brooklyn and Manhattan because we're retarded fools who paid little attention to where we were going in favor of interesting chatter whereupon we decided to come up with our own language.

It was a glorious and horrible experience all at the same time.

Two straight days of drinking lead me to the realization that while NY is a city of fun it is also a city that can yield very little without the right contacts. I have no job prospects. I spend everyday online responding to ads, praying one of them will guide me to the reason I moved to this hellish and depraved land.

Even Dan is settling here better than me. I feel so jealous of everyone that has found their roots here. I feel like I can't find mine. I feel so lost. I scour Craigslist everyday with no idea what I'm qualified for or what I want to do.

There has to be some hope...

Even self-love is often unreciprocated.

2009-07-29T03:37:00.006-04:00

The weirdest of human emotions that one can experience is love.

Every artist who has ever existed has tackled this elusive and constantly evolving topic that none of us will ever, or should ever, understand.

I awoke today after a vivid dream of the person I have spent a year craving for. I spent the entirety of my day in bed after that, not wanting to face the world after the person in question had permeated my thoughts. I laid in bed and reminisced about the feel of their skin, their hands, their tattoos, their smell. I became so overwhelmed with loneliness and desire that even my friendly roommate's offer to bike ride through Brooklyn was refuted in favor of lying in bed and clinging hopelessly to this image I have created in my mind of this person I am so desperately, irrevocably in love with that I cannot shake him. Every moment of every hour this person stalks my life. Waking and otherwise.

What makes this so incredibly unfair is that I am no longer in love with the person. I am in love with the idea of the person I have built. I have this shattered heart that I am totally unwilling to let anyone even see, much less gain entry to, and for what? An image I have built. In my mind he is no longer mortal. He is this abstract perfection that doesn't even exist. He wasn't even that great of a boyfriend. But I want him so badly. And why? Because I can't have him? Because my pain is exacerbated by loneliness? Why, out of every man I've ever met, do I want this one? Is it for the mere tragedy of it? Do I just covet it because it is so totally and completely denied to me? Or do I just genuinely love this person?

I know that the majority of the time when I think of him all that I hope for is his well-being. I take comfort in thinking that whatever he is doing that he is content. Isn't that how you should feel towards someone you actually love?

I fantasize about seeing him again. But even in my fantasies I incorporate a level of reality. Even in my daydreams he hates me. So at least I'm not fooling myself.

I wrote this book hoping the demons would be expelled, but they weren't. Time is supposed to heal all wounds, right? But I feel like time is mostly just a turkey baster full of lemon juice that slowly allows itself to drip on your open wounds until they become infected and in need of a surgical consult. I guess that's why old adages hold little merit.

It is really unfair to have someone out in the world who could so easily be a source of happiness for you, but ultimately ends up doing nothing but causing this lingering, horribly burning feeling in your chest that destroys every true moment you may experience of joy, because they are not there. It leads to nothing more than making your life a mere mockery of what it could be.

Death seems like an escalator ride to the top floor of the mall in comparison with unrequited love.

Does the tormented animal that lives inside of you ever find peace?

Socrates said that the unexamined life is not worth living. But I disagree. The unloved life is not worth dying for.

Excuse me sir, can you spare a quarter?

2009-07-28T02:55:00.002-04:00

I am so...unbelievably...lost...

My plan, for all of my college experience, was to finish my B.A. and then go on to graduate school. I always wanted to teach college. Scratch that. I just always wanted to teach in general. I sat amongst the other political science students, knowing that they wanted to go on to become the future lawyers of America (at least most of them) and felt smug knowing that I wanted something more lofty. And, of course, something that would mean I could die with my soul intact. Which a career in law would never be able to provide.

Then, once upon an (unhappy) time...

A professor sat me down and told me about the stainlessly steel cold world of academia. How grueling it is. How competitive. How intensive. How unforgiving. How unloyal.

I became utterly and completely demoralized. I abandoned my lifelong dream and graduated, with no idea what to do and no options.

Now I sit here, on a wooden bench in the middle of the night scanning various career oriented websites with no idea what sort of skill set I possess, trying hard to ignore the 'hospitality' tab on the JOBS LISTED margin. I know it is the only thing I have any experience in. I am beginning to panic. I only have so much money saved and I'm clueless on where to embark next. I am truly getting scared.

What the fuck?!?!?!

Feel no fear...

2009-07-27T02:42:00.004-04:00

So tonight I decided to wander, carelessly, through the barren streets of Nostrand Avenue in Bed-Stuy in the middle of the night owing to being out of cigarettes and a cavernous allergy to normal sleep patterns that most people seem to possess so easily. Nightmares about things which I know nothing of haunt me and keep me awake at night. I find Bed-Stuy most comforting at night, when no one is left in the streets but other walking undead who cannot sleep and cops. I approach the window of the bodega, owing to the fact that it is the vampire hour and they are as afraid of being robbed as I am in this impoverished and direly sick and jobless neighborhood. I glance back at the man waiting on the corner, eyeing me with apparent interest. "What's up, sweetheart?" He asks me. "You lose something?" As I'm handed back my change I reply, "Nothing but my soul." "I heard that," he replies. I'm allowed to pass, safely. Apparently, admitting that you are among the lost and barren of this city means secure passage.

This place can invigorate you. It can also destitute you at the same time. Oh how I long for the less dangerous, and comforting, streets of Ybor. Thank God for Google Street View when my thirst for home grows wild and vicious in my chest. I did, however, run into a few of my more entrepreneurial, to be kind, regulars from the Big O. I was greeted with coldness and disdain. It just goes to show that when you have something to tender for their companionship, like free alcohol, people can be your best friend. But when you are looking for comrades in a new area and you have nothing to offer they are as scarce as the hyenas and leeches that they truly are.

I was fired, unceremoniously, of course, from my second bartending gig up here. I'm so used to the hospitality industry that I am completely unfazed. The manager who hired me was quite fond of me but she went on vacation and the surrogate took an obvious, malicious, dislike of me from the moment that we met. To coin a phrase, it was a matter of time.

The one thing that I can say is that it has fueled the fire to find something more than this. Now I have the incentive. I have grown weary of listening to people complain about their food. I am far too smart, excuse my lack of humility, to play this game anymore. I deeply long for something more meaningful.

Maybe New York will provide me with the answers I have so anxiously been searching for.

I didn't make it to MoMA. I did not want my experience there, which I have craved as a fan of the arts for far too long, to be marred with being fired for absolutely no reason with misery and fear of survival here, which occurred while I was waiting in line for the exhibits.

I have promised myself more in this city. And I intend to keep it.

No sleep til Brooklyn

2009-07-24T00:59:00.004-04:00

So today God decided to empty his tear bucket on the five boroughs and bring with it a wave a chilly weather that permeated the city like a wrathful little monster. I'm not yet ready for the cold. I'm a Florida girl. Tank tops and flip flops. I need that for awhile before I deal with snow jackets and double lined boots. A little more time, please....

Hung out with Ms. Melinda this evening. A regular of mine from the Orpheum. Actually, the majority of the friends I have here are from the Orpheum. So at least the place gave me my sugueway into a totally new life. Is that a word? Oh well, hopefully you get the point. I went to an awesome bar in Williamsburg tonight called the Levee with dollar beers. Met a very cute boy with crazy shoes who relentlessly quoted Ghostbusters at me so maybe there is life on this planet that isn't filled with douchebags and liars. However, I am guarding myself life Fort Knox. One can only endure so much disappointment before you eventually throw in the Rocky towel. And by then it may be way too late. I'd rather be safe than be sorry. Came very close to going out on a date with a boy who I ultimately found out dated my roommate and screwed her over. Bullet dodging. It's what I do. Another indication that dating in this city is like kayaking through the white water rapids. You may end up skewered on a fucking rock, if you don't watch the curves in the waterbed.

Right in front of my work yesterday a bicyclist was hit by a taxi. I managed to shout "Sue the fucking bastard" before ducking back into the doorway. Seriously. Drivers here are absolutely insane. They are so intent on getting to their destination that they do not mind pedestrians, bicycles, or anything else on the road. I thought drivers in Florida were bad, but this is a world where cops have way better things to do than issue tickets. So traffic laws go unchecked. As a slowly emerging person who wishes to travel by bicycle around Brooklyn this scares me more than zombies. And I didn't think that was possible considering the zombie revolution is coming. Seriously...avoid city squares. However, being on a bicycle is exhilarating and an incredible way to get to know a terrifyingly confusing landscape. Maybe the danger rush is part of the appeal. Of my few ventures out into the city by bicycle I was almost hit twice. I guess I'll have to accept that this method of travel means your life may end at any given stoplight.

Tomorrow I go to MoMA. Finally. I have been deeply yearning to see the paintings I have forever been in awe of. I will be reporting with rapture and captivation. Stand by my two avid readers. :)

For now it is time for sleep. I still feel the vibe of being the stranger, but this place is starting, day by day, to feel a little less foreign. Maybe it's the best I can hope for.

Dinosaurs galore.

2009-07-22T02:38:00.008-04:00

Yesterday my good friend visiting from Tampa Chris G and I made the pilgrimage up into Central Park West on another spectacularly beautiful NYC day to the Museum of Natural History. I have coveted going to a museum since I first got here, but it was mostly in the desire to see the fine art I spent all of my adolescence and adult years admiring. I did not think that I would be that keen on the idea of going to a museum dedicated to science. Until I got there. It was then that the nerd in me was brought out. Chris G pointed out that this particular museum embodies all of the progressive ideas that both of us subscribe to. Evolution, climate change, life on other planets, evidence of dinosaurs, etc.

The exhibits were enthralling. It is sincerely one of the best places to go to see authentic fossils of creatures that existed billions of years ago. They even had the oldest rock ever found on the Earth, which is how scientists managed to date the planet at 4.6 billion years old. The dinosaur skeletons were phenomenal. Tall, intimidating, scary, and grand. And the fossils of turtles that were a few million years old and bigger than me were pretty astounding.

The crowning glory was the Blue Whale hanging from the ceiling in the Hall of Ocean Life. It's a life size depiction of an actual blue whale and it's beyond enormous. You feel infintesimal in comparison with such a great, gentle beast.

We left picture happy and full of overpriced Museum food to go to another open bar thing that they'd found on the internet. Myopenbar.com is probably the most amazing thing to occur since tall boys and M&M's. Free vodka for two straight hours meant another early night of drunkenness, which I don't do so well with. I'm a late night drinker and when I drink too early it means I'm pretty much useless for the rest of the evening. So while I actually did make the venture to Union Pool I was not sober enough to properly evaluate the place except to say that it had decent music and a totally rad patio.

Overall, another great day in New York. Some days I wake up and hate this place because I'm so homesick it's intolerable and some days I wake up and can't believe I'm actually here. I've not yet decided how I feel about the city. Some days she is amiable and tolerant of my bumbling, ignorant bullshit and some days she seems intent on punishing me and filling me with panic attacks that I have no hope of subsisting here. When she does that it is in small, very mean ways. Such as the subway line to get me home being under construction after a double shift and me having no way of knowing what the alternative routes are. But the good days make me really glad I came.

Days in the park

2009-07-19T23:08:00.011-04:00

Today was amazing. We ventured out to Greenpoint to go to a free show in the park that is part of the concert series that the city puts on through the balmy summer afternoons. I'm not sure of all the bands playing but the headliner was the Dirty Projectors and they were quite good. It was crowded and beer was overpriced but we managed to enjoy the set. If nothing else the view of Manhattan off the shore was breathtaking.

We then wandered out further to a bar giving away free beer in the form of short bottles of Colt 45. This is the reason for the briefness of this post. I indulged quite a bit in the beer o'clock hour and may have to elaborate further at a later, more sober time. But here's some photos of the shenanigans....

Tomorrow promises to be a day of museums and hopefully sobriety will mean a more eloquent post.

My neighbors are listening to Dirty Diana by Michael Jackson. The craze continues...

The appleseed can be rotten

2009-07-19T04:03:00.007-04:00

After an afternoon of much needed rest from this city that is set at a pace that is about sixteen times what I am used to I made a venture into the lower East Side. It is an area of town I am growing familiar with as both of my jobs are there and it is the hightlight night spot scene in Manhattan. Dan took me to the Young Designers Market, which is where up and coming designers go to hock their wares for cheap while they try to pioneer their way into the incredibly cutthroat and viciously elegant world of fashion. It's still overpriced, but New Yorkers pride themselves on being able to buy jewelry and handbags from the unknowns so they can say, "I knew [such and such] when nobody else did." I managed to restrict myself from indulgence owing to not wanting to bankrupt myself in the city that eats through your wallet like a tapeworm through your intenstines.

A jaunt through the grimy and wonderful little world of thrift stores that put even the most savvy and fashion forward in Tampa to shame led to my first favorably priced bar carrying PBR in an old Irish pub whose name escapes me. An absolutely divine and cheaply priced meal at a tiny French Bistro off of Mulberry eased me into my first shift at Paladar by myself. Things went smoothly, owing to the steady hand of an experienced waitress and bartender, but I find myself even more weary of the hospitality world here than I've ever been. Eye rolling and customer hatred aside I wanted to move here to dominate the world, as Kyndal has instructed me very succinctly to do. Not to bring Mojitos and Pacificos to thirsty suburban refugees fleeing New Jersely for the fun of the big city. What to do, what to do....

Dating here intimidates me. And I come from the horribly incestuous cess pool that is Tampa. If men in this city scare a girl from Ybor, that is saying quite a bit. I've been warned that men here are a worse breed than even the most ravenously vicious great whites of the sea. I've seen a bit of it. My first night here some guy subvertly solicited me for sex while I was innocently withdrawing cash from an ATM in Williamsburg and this evening some ridiculously over-cologned asshat was trying to ditch his girlfriend to have drinks with me at a bar on Ludlow. Cruel little world of selfishness and cheating. I see nothing more than my world weary hardened shell developing a bit of a thicker layer.

In this alien and intimidatingly giant planet trapped inside of a little city you can find almost anything, if you walk down the wrong alleyway at the right time.

Just as an aside, this video is a little old but nonetheless absolutely amazing from a band whose creativity is bound by nothing. Enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wjxef8AfVQg

Today I didn't even have to use my AK...

2009-07-18T01:53:00.014-04:00

I gotta say it was a good day.

I began my day in my new life as a (pretend) New Yorker by taking an extra long shower to wash off the fourteen hours days I've been enduring and enjoy my first, very welcome, day off in the last week. My bestest friend in the world moved here a few days ago and I've been ecstatic that I managed to convince him to make the move with me. So after a phone call from Dan the days plans were confirmed. We would begin by walking the Brooklyn Bridge, a desire that I possessed the last time I was in NY that never came to fruition. I promised myself that even though I now live in the giant fruit state I would still allow myself moments of being the total sightseeing tourist I am every time I travel. It was well worth the cluttered subway ride.

An absolutely heart stopping view of the river and the downtown Manhattan skyline was worth the long walk over the bridge that brings together the two buroughs. We embarked on the financial district. I took a moment to look down Wall Street and view the basis point for the meltdown of the American economy. Standing on the corner of Broadway and Wall Street filled me with an odd chill. I could almost smell the regret, shame, and humiliation of the investment firms, banks, and trade companies as I stood on the avenue of horribly broken dreams that ruined an entire conception of the American way of life.

I also discovered there are no good restaurants in this section of town.

Starvation brought Dan and I to Union Square. We are, of course, still tourist/residents of this city so everywhere we go we're using iPhone internet and subway maps so we are not so lost that we end up in a corner stoop, scrounging for scraps out of garbage cans, hoping to find our way home. Union Square is not much better for food options so we eneded up at Chipoltle. Which is fine by me because it reminded me of home. I've been notoriously homesick despite being in this exhilarating and challenging environment.

After searching for quite some time we found a theatre playing the Harry Potter movie in Times Square. Another jaunt through the subway and we were treated to the best-as-of-yet Harry Potter movie. I am an avid, as anyone who knows me will attest, Harry Potter fan. I own all of the books (which I have read at least a dozen times each) and movies. I've been following the series since movie #1. I am a tried and true devotee of the series and possess absolutely no abashment. I have always found this to be a well-written and interesting story and fully enjoy following the mania. I was thrilled that my first movie in NYC would be this one. I was not disappointed. This was easily the most visually stunning, innovative, and creative movie of the series thus far. The director was one I am unfamiliar with, David Yates, but he was able to create the movie in the way that I had envisioned it in my head, with the obvious modifications. It incorporated more humor than in movies past and attempted to challenge the actors in more ways. The cinematography was extraordinary. It doesn't matter if you think this is the most retarded phenomenon to hit the world, this was still an amazing film. Take check all who doubted the Dark Knight. Not comparing the two, merely making a point. I was enthralled and highly recommend any fan to go see it.

We decided to walk through Times Square at dusk and fuck with the tourists. Nowhere in NY is more of a trap for the weary traveler than this area. Crowded, thronging, clashing bodies all try to avoid each other while waiting for the little glowing white walk signal at every street corner. If one is a phobic of crowds this is an area to be avoided at all costs. However, the brazen stream of advertisements on every square possesses its own little element of beauty if you can value the flashy and somewhat degrading quality it exhibits. The stunned wide eyes of the people snapping fervent photos all throughout it of anything and everything they pass is worth it alone, as I can empathize with them being the stranger that I really am.

We don't do posed photos. It just ain't our style.

We ended our evening with drinking in a warehouse in Williamsburg, indulging on cheap cans of beer and good conversation with a crew of people that I absolutely adore being around. It even ended with awesome posed photos on a motorcycle and taco shenanigans on the way home. Overall, fantastic and beautiful day in NY with only slightly rainy weather that couldn't have dampened my mood even in its wildest dreams.

The locals lied to me.

2009-07-15T02:22:00.004-04:00

Everyone told me PBR is totally the staple of every trendy hipster bar in NY. But I've been to half a dozen bars now and they've not had it. Even this crappy little dive bar marred with tacky graffitti, bad photos, ripped bar stools, and teeming with scene kids in the lower East Side didn't have it and their cheapest beer was Yuengling (obviously a Tampa brew) for four freaking dollars. The only thing I desire for a bar to carry is Jagermeister and PBR and I can't find it. It's really unfair and makes me feel robbed. I want nothing more than to find one little bar that has affordable alcohol that can become my home away from home, like Reservoir Bar was. A place where I walk in and the bartenders have a beer sitting for me in a stool that I always occupy. I've come pretty close. The only bar I've found so far that may qualify is a little one in Bed-Stuy (of all places) that isn't being mobbed with people sporting baggy pants, eyes roving around to find someone to fight. They even have a patio covered in sand to simulate a beach feel, which makes me happy. Getting to the beach here is not easy. It requires connections, money, and a willingness to endure quite a bit of travel. I've never lived away from the beach in my entire life. It's a weird feeling not to have immediate access to seagulls and the lull of the ocean that can put you to sleep under a tirelessly oppressive and welcome sun.

I've mostly stayed out of Williamsburg owing to the desire not to see an Orpheum bomb that has exploded over an entire city burough. Hipster culture up here is even more ridiculous than in Tampa. The kids in Tampa are what hipsters were here three years ago. Their fashion is actually tame in comparison to the ludicrious bullshit I've seen up here. Remember acid wash jeans and those stupid sunglasses in the Pepsi simulation in Back to the Future part two when he goes into that diner? Yeah, they wear that garbage here. It's redundant. I can somewhat appreciate that it is supposed to be a tribute and amalgamation to seventies and eighties fashion but I find myself mostly thinking that retro is kitcsh and unecessary. Why not make an attempt to forge a new kind of fashion rather than just (badly) borrowing from the generations before? It mostly just shows the minus sign in ingeniuty that can exist in this subculture. I'm told that Union Poll is hipster mecca, like Sink or Swim was, so I may check it out just to give myself fodder for some seriously mean, ass-rapingly vicious comments. I will be more than happy to report once I decide it is worth the trip.

I've found a balance with both of my jobs, but I'm hoping to manifest something a little more substantial. I'm entertaining the idea of shopping around my book to see what happens and maybe submitting an op-ed piece to a small publication or two. We shall see...

By the way, the new Harry Potter opens tomorrow and I'm very psyched. Fuck you if you think I'm a nerd.

I promise I'll eventually post some pictures up here but I keep forgetting my camera and I've yet to experience a truly depraved, drunken, busy night out. But I will. I'm sure of it.

Friendly ghosts?

2009-07-13T02:16:00.009-04:00

The shadows of Tampa lurk forever under my puffy, almost bruised eyes in a land where I am unable to get a decent nights sleep. A misplaced sense of comfort means that I feel ever uneasy, shivering in the warm NY summer afternoons, not with cold but with anxiety. Hollow disquiet as I walk through the bustling streets leaves me feeling, at times, like maybe this was the greatest decision I've ever made. I am beginning to find a sense of ravenous desire to feel more and more out of my element. Being overwhelmed is starting to feel less daunting and more like an enthralling, albeit jerky, ride through this endlessly paved, neon world.

I've begun, slowly, to admit to myself that my very deepest desire is to be a writer. My whole life I've been told that I possess an affinity for it. Maybe it's time to chisel the stone and steady my hand to push it into the intimidating and relentlessly rewarding world that I've spent my whole life admiring and taking solace in.

Ventured recently to Greenpoint, which is a nice up and coming neighborhood that, less than fifteen years ago, was close to the equivalent of Bed-stuy, my current place of residence. Bed-stuy will never be my home here. I admire and even enjoy the cultural element that many directors and authors have attenpted to capture (notably Spike Lee in his urban protrayals of this area of Brooklyn) but know that my pale face will always be rejected and unwelcome. Standing in a crowded bodega the other day while purchasing a sandwich the woman standing behind me very pointledly said, "I fucking hate these white people coming into our neighborhood." I looked over my shoulder and saw a look of such derision that I was temporarily stunned. Can I blame such blind hatred on upbringing/environment, or just the fact that there really is deep racial divide that I've been somewhat sheltered from in my bay hometown? Maybe I'll never know. I am definitely getting tired of being called snowflake, that's for right sure.

I adore my new job in the Latino fusion restaurant. I got behind the bar tonight for the first time in almost a year and felt an immediate sense of belonging that surprised even me. I thought going back behind that little sliver of space covered in plastic bar mats would remind me of the painful memory of my abrupt and unwelcome expulsion from the Orpheum, but it didn't. It actually made me realize that if I'd stayed there I never would have left Tampa. The last year of my life was one of the most painful I've ever endured. Intense heartbreak that led to my first novel, couchsurfing for a year that destroyed a friendship, a tireless and frustrating attempt to sell my vehicle resulting in huge monetary loss, and many lonely nights spent longing for a love that is very much refuted has brought me to this city of new beginnings. While I am a decent waitress, I forgot how much I truly enjoy the feel of the cold glass of a liquor bottle and a metal pour spout between my fingers. It may not be what brought me here or what I wish to do but it felt nice to find something that felt comfortable in this continously trepidatious environment. I walked back into my career of the past decade with such an ease even the other bartender was impressed. My personality is able to flourish when I have six feet of wood between me and the customer. It felt like walking back into a family home. Easy, comfortable, familiar. Almost like a friend. Bottle openers, draft beer, iced wells and all. I'd lost all sense of how much I love it.

My neighbors are having loud, passionate sex next to an open window next door due to the beautiful NY weather and a complete lack of central air and I tire of sitting here and jealously coveting the romance and intimacy I have been lacking in my life for the last two years. While I present the hardened face of the skeptic when it comes to dating, telling all who cross my path that I find much comfort in being alone, deep down the sensitive soul that I truly am lurks, waiting to be hurt. I know that my lot in life is to put my heart on my face so that it can continually get ground into a fine dust. I've accepted that. Love is not in the stars for me, so to speak. I am relegated to a life of solitude where I live in too much fear to trust another person. It's a shame. My loyalty is only to be enjoyed by my friends. It is the small things that I miss. A gentle smell that you awaken to that eases you into a busy morning, hand holding and easy smiles through the streets. The feeling that in a city where you are never alone you feel oblivious to all but each other. However, there is nothing one can do except enjoy a beer with kindred souls and push forward through this surreal life while looking for more than yourself. But I do not want the reminder that I am lonely any more this evening so I will leave you with this thought.

"Absence diminishes little passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans a fire." ~Francois Duc de la Rochefoucauld

Niche in a clique culture.

2009-07-11T02:31:00.002-04:00

Finding a way in to NY is not exactly an easy feat. It's been a week and I realize that it will slowly come with time. Finding the right subway stop when getting off of work is a small triumph. Meeting easy strangers willing to point you in the right direction. Familiarity with the unknown.

I'm constantly being told that my move up here is one of the ballsiest that [insert random person] has ever seen. No apartment, job, or stability and I just did it. In the last eight days I've been thrown out of a place to stay, taken in by friends, and found two (yes two) jobs.

But I've still not experienced any of NY. I've been to three bars. I'm attempting to reconnect with friends I haven't seen in years, despite that they've been incredibly helpful. I know I need to exercise some patience but that has never been my strong suit. I want NY to feel like home more quickly than I think most people expect it to. However, I've found a clutch with which to desperately cling to alot faster than most people do, apparently.

I'm hoping that the city will open itself to me and show me the aurora of horror and beauty that she has to offer. The city that rarely shuts its eyes to rest will become my sanctuary, leading to the soul that I know is buried deep within the cynicism and fear that lurks so closely to the surface of the mask I carry every day.

I didn't move here to be a waitress and a bartender. I've could've stayed in my safe little haven to do that. I just need to find whatever it is that I came here looking for.

I just wish I knew what it was.

Bed-Stuy Do or Die

2009-07-08T03:02:00.002-04:00

A Jamaican woman stands screaming at an MTA employee for a good fifteen minutes, pounding on the glass of the booth, shrieking every obscenity I've ever heard at the top of her voice. I finally cut in and say, "I think he gets the point Ma'am. I just have a quick question and you can go back to your business." I felt like a tool but was trying to get to my first day at my new job on time. I race down two levels to my train and can still hear her shrill voice. I sigh and think sarcastically to myself, "Welcome to New York." This is a phrase that has been uttered to me many times since my move and I am beginning to find it uncreative and annoying.

The subway has been the most interesting part of the city for me so far. I cannot find any peace there because I didn't bring any books and accidentally left my iPod in Florida. I am eagerly awaiting its arrival so as to have a way to drown out the chaos around me. So far in that underground maze I've seen breakdance performers moving deflty through the moving train, spinning and flipping without hitting anyone, mariachi bands, jazz musicians, and an acapella group.

I've not seen much of Manhattan except to show Dan around my first day to the more touristy spots I remember from my last trip here. But even that was a quick jaunt. Manhattan's streets are intimidating in the complex way that they are set up, but the Brooklyn trains are by far more confusing.

It's hot. Florida hot. The city's unpredictable weather is also comparable to home, with intermitten bouts of rain that last for twenty minutes or so. I find myself grateful to have moved in the summer so that I can ease into the winter that I know I am totally unpreprared for. I've not idea what to expect on that front.

There's pigeons absolutely EVERYWHERE. On the street, stoops, cars, trees, parks. Even in the friggin subway stops. It's New York's equivalent of the Florida lizard. They are constantly shitting on everything and you're forever trying not to kick one when you walk.

There are no such things here as fountain soda, free re-fills, or sweet tea. All of the little things that you are used to back home. Nonexistant. There are little nuances you get used to that can spell out making life here a lot more easy. A sparsely populated stop means that train has just come. Even streets run east and odd run west. All the trains suck at night during off hours and you can expect longer lines. It's easier to take a cab from Manhattan than a train after midnight. No one talks to each other on the train. Drivers in the city are thoroughly insane and cabbies are assholes. You get the idea.

My calves are really sore from walking so much, which I'm hoping means I'll lose at least five pounds. It's the most eco-friendly city I've ever been to in my life and vegetarians are welcomed into restaurants with open arms. Every menu I've seen offers almost an entire section dedicated to those who refuse meat.

I took the apartment in Bed-Stuy, with much reluctance, owing to not getting the apartment in Bushwick. I dislike the neighborhood but thoroughly enjoy the roommates and was sick of searching for apartments. It's only until October and then I can find a more comfortable space. I'm hoping that once I settle into my room and unpack that I can begin to explore the art/music/nightlife that Manhattan has to offer, free shows in Central Park, museums, art galleries, and all.

My experience is getting better day by day.

Sanctity

2009-07-06T19:59:00.002-04:00

So while the apartment hunt is still an absolute nightmare I managed to find a job today after an exhaustive search through the East Village at a little Italian/French cafe. I'm not sure if it's the place I'll ultimately end up at but it's a start so that I don't completely eat through my savings. I'm coveting an apartment in Bushwick that I'm still waiting to hear about but it is a small comfort to know that I at the very least have some roots settled. It truly is indicative of what a fast paced city NY is that I managed to find a job after one afternoon of searching despite many, many "No we aren't hiring," responses.

Michael Jackson blares from every corner and the neighborhood I'm staying in has garnered quite a few catcalls from some very aggressive corner dwellers. Things, however, appear to be looking up. I am still interested in a few bars that look quite promising so we shall see what happens. My best friend Dan will be here next weekend so at the very least I'll have a recent fellow Florida transplant who can commiserate with me about the difficulty that is moving to the Big Apple.

My friends have been crazy accommodating however and hopefully soon I'll have a little place to call my own.

Keep your fingers crossed that I find the right fit.

Exiled and reviled.

2009-07-05T16:35:00.003-04:00

So my situation with my host did not work out. Needless to say that it ended badly but as I am not one to speak ill of others through the internet I will not elaborate further than to say I am now staying with a very hospitable friend. My host was reluctant to leave Williamsburg prior to my ejection from welcome status so I was unable to see very much of Brooklyn. I am now staying in Bed-Stuy which is a pretty urban area that is lined with fast food restaurants and garbage clutters the street. I think this is the part of New York that many people who see NY as disgusting, contaminated, and dangerous would think of. I have a room here if I want it but I'm scared of this neighborhood and the train that runs off of it is slow and unpredictable.

The apartment search is going slower than I had hoped. Some days there are dozens upon dozens of posts and some days nothing. Some people respond some people don't. It's chaotic and considering the very abrupt and sudden loss of my comfortable place to stay in the middle of the night due to insane drunken drama and an unstable person, it's made the process exponentially more difficult. I'm still scared to roam the subways alone and I get lost everytime I leave the house. I was starting to get familiar with the nighborhood I was in and now I'm stuck in a totally new place.

No idea where to go from here. I'm sick of living out of bags and feeling like a foreigner and it's only been four days. Please tell me it gets easier.

Truly alone.

2009-07-04T03:29:00.002-04:00

Walking through the city I am constantly seeing faces of people from back home. I spot someone across the road and think it is a friend. I find myself calling their name in my head, knowing that it isn't them. Neon lights pass in a whirwind of color and I'm being guided like a piece of cattle through street after street to bar after bar. I want more than anything to know the next road up ahead or even be familiar with corner stores but I comfort myself with the knowledge that it will come with time.

At this point all I want is a space to call my own. A room I can put my things in and that is just mine. After that I can worry about a job and familiarity.

I appealed to a website called couchsurfing.com for a place to stay while I looked for an apartment. While my host has been gracious enough to accommodate me he has also been somewhat of an ineffective guide. There at times, but mostly not. So I'm left mostly to wander, terrified, on my own.

This city would be scary to even the most seasoned veteran.

So little to do and so much time. Wait...reverse that.

The wide eyed tourist.

2009-07-03T02:48:00.007-04:00

I landed upon this city that is supposed to be one of the most terrifying and electrifying cities in the world with a mixture of fear and awe. I thought leaving the JFK airport would instill a sense of energy in me that I'd been hoping to feel for months. I was disappointed. It looked dirty and raped with vandalism. Not the inspired art that comes from the truly urban, raw graffiti spray painting that you see depicted of NYC in movies and TV but the type that comes from poor, inner city anger and rebellion. The ride to my temporary home was chaotic and full of emotion. I felt like an abandoner as was well as the abandoned. Escaping from the smallest of ponds to the largest wasn't what I was anticipating. I looked around as we drove through Queens and then Brooklyn and I saw the overcrowded, brown landscape and thought of nothing but home. Palm trees and sunshine 372 days a year. Then I reminded myself why I was doing this. "It's time to grow up," I said to myself. "I must figure out a way to survive in this unsurvivable land."

A venture into Williamsburg was illuminating. It was here that I discovered the convenience that comes from having money. It was at that moment that I had the epiphanic realization that NY truly is broken into pieces in ways that many cities never are. Relativity to subway = more expensive. Proximity to bars and restaurants = better paying jobs. What am I, as merely a waitress with a college degree and no job prospects, to do?

My second day existed in a holding pattern as my host was tired and slept the majority of the day. I've spent two solid days living in fear of the subway and getting lost in the myriad of gridlock that is Brooklyn. Bodegas, corner bars, and bistros...oh my! But which to go to and what to see? I'm no city girl. Tampa is not truly a city in the sense that New York is. I feel like a child lost in an IKEA who doesn't understand which kitchenette area leads to the bedroom fixtures. Every block is another street name that I do not know leading to a lamplit block I've never seen. True New Yorkers pass by in a blur of trendy haricuts sporting iPods, oblivious to all but their own destinations. I feel like a foreigner in the country that I was born in, wearing the stamp of the tourist.

Afraid of looking like the obvious outsider that I am, I attempt to fruitlessly stride the streets, looking as purposeful as those around me. They traipse by with the pace that comes from practice, looking at me with the knowing eye that I am completely out of my element. Cabs streak past in a bumblebee striken stream and I stop, to stare dumbfounded at the Manhattan skyline. Am I really here? Has all this sacrifice and pain that I've endured to reach this point really come to fruition?

What does tomorrow hold? And am I ready for it?