Quote of the Day

"I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best."
- Marilyn Monroe

Been thinking about this one today...could it be that it's not about what I deserve but what deserves me? That I am deserving of everything I want, that I am good as I am and as good as I should be already?

Kind of radical thinking...

On to the next one.

Getting Loopy

Uh oh, the warm weather is setting in and I'm getting a little...you know. Full of ideas. This class, that trip, this boy, that party, this job, that book, this style, that mindfulness, this idiocy, that carelessness.

The other day I was feeling moody, bratty and alone. I have so much and still I was being such a little jerk about it, wanting more without giving more, staring at my phone and bemoaning why it wasn't ringing when really, I hadn't rung anyone. Mad at a boy for not calling and another for calling.

I peeled myself off the chaise, grabbed the book I'm supposed to be reading for my own book to fix the first fifty pages, and took the subway out of my neighborhood. I also put on some eyeliner and a new necklace, because...I don't know. I had some romantic notion I would end somewhere romantic or interesting.

To be interesting, you must be interested. I was not interested and therefore not interesting. I wasn't interested in myself or the world. I was just curled up in a blanket.

So I took the subway to a neighborhood I never go to. I took my book. I took my pen. I was going to get some good dialogue out of it at least, I hoped. One or two great lines would make the process of bringing the notebook worthwhile.


I went into get a coffee and left on a seven hour date. There was an insane art exhibit with sound hard-wiring. There was gourmet pizza. There was a crazy dance party and a hilariously shaped luge for people to take shots. There was a farm. There were hipsters. I danced really hard. I left and when I came home, he'd emailed already that what had happened was rather wonderful.

It actually was.

I'm still pissy about a few things. But not about deciding not to be pissy. Not about deciding instead to be grateful, and get the hell up, and go somewhere and say hi to someone and make a joke and to say yes, just say yes, when someone, anyone remotely worthwhile invites you anywhere remotely worthwhile.

Because then you are remotely worthwhile. Even more than that some might say.

And because I am getting loopy with possibility and less numb to joy, and more numb to say, meanness or bad form or what-have-you, and more inclined to just ask if I can come or to just show up and if anyone wants me there declare it a victory. If not, I can go home, to where I already was. But no one has asked me to go home yet. If you do the same for them, I think they ask you to stay. I want to stay interesting. I want to stay interested. I want to say yes. I will say yes. I do say yes.

And I will quote, I will blather. It feels good. Do what feels good and don't do what feels bad if you can, whenever you can. I think. I think that is enough today. That, and a quote. Always a quote.

“I do not know what I may appear to the world, but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.”— Sir Isaac Newton

Quote of the Day

Be strong, saith my heart.

I am a solider; I have seen sights worse than this.

-Homer, The Illiad

It's A Beautiful Day and I'm Going To Hate It If I Want To

It truly is amazing to have summer and be in love.

I've got summer. And work to do on my book that I can't seem to get motivated to do. I thought I had love, got a hold of myself and stopped talking to him for three weeks. Of course that's when he wants back in my life. And not asking nicely back, demanding, and telling me how horrible I was and how right our breakup was, demanding back.

Then there is the new crush that I thought I had...Well it turns out that crush was less than. Patience. Is. A. Virtue. I will not turn into one of "those" women. Will I?

No. I will not turn into one of "those" people who doesn't believe in fate and love and purpose and light and cream cheese and kittens and joy. I will just believe that those things don't come to me right now.

That is okay (grits teeth).

In the meantime, it is the weekend, and if I want to spend it stomping around my nice apartment and being generally ungrateful for the fact that I have no plans and no good attitude allowed?

Maybe I can go watch Reality Bites and eat some crackers after coming home from work instead of going out.

Also, note to self: stop skipping yoga. Lots of yoga last week = happy mood. No exercise at all this week = terrible mood. Coincidence? I think not.

This Is A Post I Like To Read

"Walking up sun-dappled Joralemon Street this morning after a long swim in the floating pool, I was hit by a cold breeze and then a pang of nostalgia so sharp it took my breath away. In the pool, I’d swum a few laps and then abandoned myself to the kind of mermaid games I used to entertain myself with for hours as a child, after swim team season was over and I was finally allowed to wear a two-piece suit, my brown legs and arms contrasting oddly with the vulnerable white of my stomach. I flipped and dove and sunk to the bottom to look up at the bubbles I made and the blindingly blue sky above me, the sky the same color as the cool blue water, and I could have been any age, fifteen again, milking the last weekend of summer at West Hillandale Swim Club (go Dolphins!). Back then, I would linger in the pool every day because every day felt like the last, and I wanted to memorize the feel of the water and the sun on my skin to keep it with me through the chilly fall and the cold winter, when I’d be slicing laps through the murky, tepid water of indoor pools, their blue a blurry imitation blue.

I knew I couldn’t actually make the feeling last, that I would forget about it as soon as it was gone and not remember again until the next summer, but I always tried. And though this summer has been scary and unfamiliar and wrenching and sad at times, I miss it already, I think because despite the sadness, there was real happiness too.

For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been trying with a degree of success that’s surprised me not to think of Jake at all. And when I do, I usually make myself think of negative things. There certainly are plenty to choose from: the pathetic, cowardly way he broke it off with me, the charming words that, in retrospect, echo as lies. The enduring suspicion that he never really cared for me at all.

But as I was walking home from the pool today, in the blinding sun with just a hint of chill in the air, I let myself remember the innocence and happiness of our first kisses, him ardent as a teenager, me trembling with uncertainty and excitement. And then the stolen kisses in alleyways, the thrill of those furtive weeks. And then the fulfilled promise of his charm, that handful of charming evenings: the night we ate like animals at a restaurant, staring at each other constantly, laughing hard every few minutes, taking a cab ten blocks afterwards because we couldn’t have waited any longer.

It was so good when it was good, and the reasons why it was good, while more apparent now, don’t matter so much. Who cares that his appeal was artificially enhanced, the same way a stale Balthazar croissant becomes the world’s most delicious treat if you eat it after a morning of hard swimming? The satisfaction, in the moment, is the same.

And though I wish I could have that satisfaction now, I know I’ll never be able to have it again, at least, not with him. It’s like (Susan, I know, I’m beating this one into the ground) right now, I’m very hungry, but not for just anything, just for this one specific food. But now I know it to be poison. And even if the poison food was available to me now, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy eating it, knowing it was poison. So I’ll starve, I suppose, at least for a while, and the discomfort of starving will teach me to be hungry for something more wholesome. Something that will give me satisfaction that lasts."

Sometimes Emily Gould just nails it, doesn't she?

Catastrophic Date #1

A Scene in Texts...

Me: Want to still have dinner tonight?

Him: Yes, I really want to. But I can't. Family emergency. My uncle died.

Me: Oh My God! I'm so sorry. I hope you and your family are doing as well as can possibly be expected during this truly tough time. Please, if there is anything that a stranger like me can do, let me do it.

Him: Sorry to be a buzzkill.

Me: No! Please! Not at all. If you want to get together, whenever that may be, I'd like to. Or not. Whatever you are feeling.

Him: No, I'm being a buzzkill.

Me: Er, okay, well again, I'm really sorry about your uncle.

Him: It's OK. I'll be seeing him again real soon.

(Pause)

Me: Aaaaaah! What! Dude!

Man-Snatching Etiquette

TK for now, just in case big brother is watching...

I've Made A Decision

I deferred the Cali schools; I'm taking chances on the NY waitlists, I'm working on my books (in theory), I am painting (in practice), I have a good paying job and I am working on being happy.

It feels good. It feels right.

And you know what? My apartment, which I love, which is warm and cool all at once, and in a garden and feels like a nice house? It's all mine right now. Which means I work when I want, I play when I want, and I sleep in my bed alone. I take up all the covers, I sleep askew, I wake when I want to, when I'm supposed to, and while I don't yet know how to dream, maybe I know a little bit more how to be.

It's Tuesday, and it's raining but lovely, and I'm no longer counting the days, I guess I'm just living them.

It may not be a corner turned, but it's a pretty good start.

Also, lots and lots of Crystal Light Lemonade and bare feet and brunches have helped. That and I stopped going on all dates that I thought I should.

Well one guy had a five year old child and works at the airport. I think the airport was worse than the rest.

I don't know how long I will be alone, but there is something to be said for being alone, and not having to reason why. No one demands my time, except me. It's kind of wonderful.

There's oil paint on my clothes and no one is complaining. When you're alone, no one complains at all. That, I think, is a plus.

Adventures in Singlehood

Things I heard myself saying while interacting with those of the opposite sex:

"Wait, you're an art-school dropout who lives in Williamsburg? Wait, hold on, let me get my camera, my grandkids are never gonna believe this."

Waits a beat as would-be suitor stomps off.

"So you don't want to buy me a drink anymore?"

I am good at dating, people. Really good. One of these days I'm going to do it.

Happy Friday

Things are looking up...

Have an amazing one and I will do the same.

The Joy of Work

On vacation I had time to think. Too much time. I thought myself into all sorts of stress. Why was a certain thing happening? Why wasn't something else happening? Why did they need me at work so much that they had to interrupt me? Why did others need me so little in my personal life did no one miss me? Why was I obsessed with everyone else in the world?

I took a long bike ride. The winding kind. The lake was blue and the trees were green. It was hot and my bike bumped over broken asphalt on the edge of town, all the roads were white and they went on a long time, up into hills and around slivers of water. It wasn't an hour of the day, it was sun or it was rain, I was hungry or I was asleep, I was running, I was always early and quiet, quiet, quiet.

People talked to me, I talked back. People didn't talk to me, and I didn't say anything either. I read very much. I wrote very little. I thought about what I wanted in this life and I wished it. If it didn't come true right away, I kept wishing.

I'm back at work today and things feel safe. Everything is gray and it goes on a long time. I miss certain people in my life, I miss certain things. But I can't wait for them to miss me, because I have a long way to go, and I have to keep going.

I Am Going On Vacation Alone

This is frightening. No?

I have never gone on vacation without a friend or boyfriend. I can make fake friends easily, if this were a hostel situation, or a beach situation, but this is truly a no-alcohol, cell-phone-free, limited contact with the outside world vacation.

I hope to write around 30 pages of the new book. I also hope to get a massage every day. I think all they feed us is gruel. Gruel and barley. I will not obsess about work, school or my ex while I am gone. I will kiss no one. I will not stay up all night long watching "Breaking Bad." I will not bum cigarettes, I will not eat beef, I will not wear heels, I will not wear makeup, I will swim in the pool and I will read literature and I will go to sleep by ten PM.

I will paint in my mind, I will not read Gawker, I will not text rando people, I will not do what I will not do.

I will be me, I will be alone. I hope. I make it. I will be here. Wish me luck.

Quote of the Day

"Time to treat yourself to a new pair of Chucks, kid."

-My dental hygienist upon seeing my blood and paint-stained sneakers

Bless This Mess

I have been awake since six AM.

I do not believe my body knows what is best for me, I do not believe that it takes care of itself. If this were true in any way, why would I have woken up and not been able to continue sleeping? Why would I be watching and re-watching Breaking Bad while it's still dark out?

I think I have anxiety. I'm not..sure what that means. It means that when I'm on a plane and it hits a patch of turbulence, I finally feel at ease. Because when my chest seizes up, it is finally justified. This is not easy to admit. This is, in fact, very difficult. To feel like your mind is unraveling for reasons unseen. To feel as if you can't trust your emotions (I have found this to be particularly true, I have never, ever been able to trust my emotions, they always have led me to histrionics, have always led me astray, they are figments of imagination and not kernels of truth).

It's raining this morning. I used to sleep best when it rained. This might have been before my dad got sick. Before I was consumed by writing. Before when I was careless, young, my concerns were ridiculous to me now. I'm not sure what my concerns are now, but they seem less ridiculous. They seem to need more concern. I painted a portrait I really liked recently. I could tell the model wanted it. He kept looking at it, commenting on it, smiling at me. Maybe he was trying to pick me up but I don't think that was it. I rarely think that is it any more, and it means nothing more than it doesn't register on me at this time. I am on some sort of strike. A romantic strike. I refuse to believe anyone would want to be with anyone, let alone me. But, back to this portrait. It's oil and my teacher says it's the best one I've ever done in her class. It finally shows the light. I squinted until it was all blurry and I only painted the light parts. I left the dark alone. When I was done the model talked to me, he smiled at me. At another point I would have liked to talk back to him, but not really now.

The paint was wet and it got on my hands. I could tell he wanted something from me, when people do, and they almost always do, they can never keep it a secret, can they? Maybe the painting, maybe a conversation. It was all I could do to smile politely. He wanted something, sure. Something I had. But I wasn't going to give it up, because sometimes I think we all feel we have so little. Happiness is finite, perhaps, we hold on to what we're able to. He kept grinning and I packed up.

I thanked him and went on my way.

Quote of the Day

Then there is the other secret. There isn't any symbolysm (misspelled). The sea is the sea. The old man is an old man. The boy is a boy and the fish is a fish. The shark are all sharks no better and no worse. All the symbolism that people say is shit. What goes beyond is what you see beyond what you know.

-Ernest Hemingway, 1952

I Left My Heart in San Francisco...Figuratively Speaking

Well, you were right, it was incredibly beautiful and amazing! It was like a big Brooklyn on the beach. It was spitting rain and the waves were crashing, everything was like a green jewel shot through with gray. It was incredibly romantic. And I was alone.

There was a grown-up's BBQ, an awkward glass of wine, laughing around the grill.

There was a crashing on a couch, sharing of playlists, shouting at the T.V. as we waited for the clouds to clear.

There was the hours spent with my second love, the first person I thought I'd marry, and the cold ocean between us. I thought of another life, the one I missed, could I, would I ever reclaim it? He is the only, and I mean only, friend I have in the area. And he. Is. Not. A. Friend.

At best we are neutral, are we? I wondered if he had changed and then he told me, as he reached finally for his ever-buzzing phone, that I needed to be quiet. That he had lied to his current girlfriend and I was his friend "Matt" visiting from out of town. She sounded happy on the other line, trusting. A false happiness. I know it well. That's when I stopped wondering if he had changed.

I walked around alone, had coffee by myself, jittery and with nothing to do, thumbing through the local newspaper, mentally circling all those things I would not, could not do. I was leaving in mere hours and I had done everything I could do in the time allotted. I had met new friends haphazardly, just by trying on a dress, we had been out all night, dancing in a circle, they had already called me. "Move here!" They urged. "We can see you in San Francisco."

I laughed, "You don't even know me!"

"Sure we do, why do we have to know you any more than this, we can tell."

I missed them as soon as I said goodbye. My ride to the airport was a friend in trouble, she and I do know each other and know it well, but she will have moved away by the time I arrive.

Am I running to something, or am I running away?

I got a new job this week. They will pay for 80% of my tuition if I stay in NYC. I got into three schools in California. My ex boyfriend is in California.

I got waitlisted at three schools in New York. My ex boyfriend is in New York. I love them both, want to be near them both, and dually want to be so far away, want to be alone.

Be alone at home, or somewhere all together new? Experience home like I never have, with the perfect job and finally have money and save for a year and then go out to San Francisco, when I'm an inch closer to knowing who I am, when my head is clear, when I've had one more year to work on both my novels, to finish art school once and for all, to write unencumbered?

Or give up the new job, the NY connections and my beautiful apartment and get another roommate, learn how to drive a car again (this is no small feat), and go immediately into debt?

I know, I know, I wanted so badly to go to school. But I want so badly to move with someone. Not that I can't do it alone, I just don't know if I'm quite ready. It's so fun to be single in Brooklyn, it's so comforting. I write instead of go out and I do a good job during the day and I go to the gym and I feel monastic even. I am full of indecision, as always. I could defer and work here until December and then go for a six month backpacking trip. I could.

When you're alone, you can do anything...

Lots to think about today...

Quote of the Day

Girl: I've got a thing for a drummer who looks like an Alaskan lesbian and I can't tell from his emails if he's asking me out.

Boy: That should be the name of the new LCD Soundsystem album or something.

HA!

School Update A Billion And Two

Waitlisted at Columbia!

Again, the waitlist queen strikes again...

That's waitlisted at all the NY schools: Columbia, NYU, Brooklyn College

In at: San Fran State and University of San Francisco

Heading to the home stretch now...go with the San Fran Schools or wait it out for my one true love, Brooklyn College?

Visiting San Fran the city (for the first time) next weekend. If I fall in love then maaaaaybe.

No clue what to do. But feeling pretty darn awesome because the superfancy magazine I work for asked me to stay on full-time for enough money that would allow me to quit all my other freelance jobs and do all my writing on my books instead as I prepare for school. AND work ends at 6 unlike all other jobs that keep going on at 1 am on a Tuesday.

Lots of things to think about today...

WTF: Scarface School Play

Whatever this viral video is selling, I will so buy ten. All is right (wrong?) in the world after seeing this!!

I am a Music Journalist, Not a Groupie

I am this close to giving up on music for good. Last night I was chilling with a really great band and their decent-enough manager and I left to check out another band downstairs.

I came back up, the guys who I had been talking to were off somewhere else, and someone in the entourage who has already been rude to me told me as soon as I sat down that I needed to go, that he and the other non-band members in the room wanted privacy. What was I supposed to do? Stand outside with the other girls hoping to catch a glimpse of the band as they came back in and sleep with them? I was there to GET A QUOTE. I am trying to sell an article on these people! And this dude who has nothing to do with them (or if he does, he's not doing his job right because he thinks I'm there to make out with them?!) unceremoniously kicked me out like I was going to stand in the hallway until they were done doing whatever it was they were doing. Until he DEIGNED to let me back in. Well screw that. I got my coat and split.

He said it really rudely. I skipped the afterparty that the band had invited me to and left without saying goodbye to the band or the manager because of this jerk.

And for a long time I thought this was just bunk, but now in music, I know it's true. This never, ever would have happened if I were a fat guy with a notepad instead of a girl in heels. I wasn't taken seriously for a minute. It really, really bummed me out, and I am really close to giving up on music, because this is the second time in as many months that I have been treated like a groupie instead of a journalist by PR people or band-handlers or DJs. And it really hurts my feelings, and it really hurts my articles and this kind of shit DOES NOT HAPPEN WHEN I WRITE ABOUT FOOD.

I hate music today, and maybe for a long time. Last night was a total bust and I went to the show without a friend in sight and left without a friend in sight and I really thought that I was okay with that, but some days, I don't think I'm okay at all.

I was just treated like a piece of meat. And it's starting to wear on me that I have to put on a happy face and act like it's okay, and that I have to bow down to have the opportunity to hang out with a band. They have the opportunity to talk to me! I'm the one writing about them. Sheesh. I have to tee hee and xo my way through yet another email thanking everyone for letting me even meet them. As if I'm going to finish the article now! As if I'm going to spend one more minute pitching them to magazines who don't really care. Why should I put my neck on the line for any of these people when they can't even be cordial? When they act like they are doing me a favor by letting me fawn over them and make them poetic?!

Makes me wish I'd written their manager something nasty. But then you know, I'd be the dumb bitch who couldn't handle it! It's really driving me crazy right now. Really, really crazy.