On my way to meet the tenant board for the interview from hell (more on that later) I was on the 7 train with a guy wearing a Barry Bonds jersey and another guy wearing a shirt that read "Ban Bonds". They argued the entire way from 42nd Street to, I would assume, Shea Stadium. (I got off the train in Sunnyside so I really wouldn't know). When they started debating whether or not Roger Maris legitimately broke the home run record in 1961 since he played in more games than Babe Ruth, I was tempted to chime in because, and please note this for future reference, Maris' record is completely legitimate and he was the recognized record holder up until Mark McGwire broke it in 1998, regardless of the fact that there are some "baseball purists" (read: "assholes") who beg to differ. But if I had made that point, I would probably still be on that train redfaced and yelling, and would have completely missed the interview I mentioned earlier.
About the tenant board interview... Let me just put it this way, if I were in the mafia, I would be the bagman (no violence for me, thanks) who cracked under police questioning and had to either be taken into witness protection or get whacked on Tony Soprano's boat. I spent the last sweaty hour sitting in a hot basement with four grown men, three of whom couldn't have been nicer and one of whom decided to read my very embarassing credit report line by line and then define the words "recycling" and "security" for me in some detail. Maybe he thought I rode to the interview on the little bus -- I was tempted to respond with something like, "So when you say I have to recycle all plastic, does that include condom wrappers? And what about 40-bottles? Because there are usually a lot of both of those things in my apartment. I like to be hospitable to all the strangers I buzz into the building."
He also said if that I could have a cat but if I get engaged they have to meet and approve of my fiancee. I asked if he wanted to meet my cat, too. I don't think he got that I was kidding because he just kept talking. I told my dad who said that if I get engaged he wants to meet the guy before Otto from the tenant board, which seems reasonable.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
There are bigger losers than me... I just don't know them (reprint from May 27, 2007)
There are people in this world who are bigger losers than I am. I just don't know them.
Saturday night of a 3-day weekend and my nightlife invitations include dragging my candy ass to Brooklyn to go to the Catty with Jenny OR try to get in touch with Shara to find out the name of the club she's going to with Bonita from Florida. Brooklyn is seeming more and more likely, mostly because Jenny is easier to get a hold of and I haven't seen her in like a month. At about 9:30 pm, after a shower, as I'm deliberating on what to wear, watching hip hop videos on FUSE, the cider and Irish nachos I had with Jess earlier in the day start to make their presence felt and I FALL ASLEEP WITH THE PHONE IN MY HAND. Wake up at 3:00 am to find one missed call and four missed text messages basically asking, "Hey loser, where the fuck are you?"
This was actually supposed to be a public service announcement. Don't ever feel like you, yourself, can be categorized as a loser. Have confidence in the fact that you're probably not. And if ever you do start to feel like you just might be, conjure up the picture of me, in a towel, sleeping with a ringing phone in my hand and feel better about yourself. Because at least you're not that bad.
Saturday night of a 3-day weekend and my nightlife invitations include dragging my candy ass to Brooklyn to go to the Catty with Jenny OR try to get in touch with Shara to find out the name of the club she's going to with Bonita from Florida. Brooklyn is seeming more and more likely, mostly because Jenny is easier to get a hold of and I haven't seen her in like a month. At about 9:30 pm, after a shower, as I'm deliberating on what to wear, watching hip hop videos on FUSE, the cider and Irish nachos I had with Jess earlier in the day start to make their presence felt and I FALL ASLEEP WITH THE PHONE IN MY HAND. Wake up at 3:00 am to find one missed call and four missed text messages basically asking, "Hey loser, where the fuck are you?"
This was actually supposed to be a public service announcement. Don't ever feel like you, yourself, can be categorized as a loser. Have confidence in the fact that you're probably not. And if ever you do start to feel like you just might be, conjure up the picture of me, in a towel, sleeping with a ringing phone in my hand and feel better about yourself. Because at least you're not that bad.
My interview persona (reprint from May 25, 2007)
That slow-ass tenant board finally called. I have a meeting with them next week during which they will decide if I can live in what is now beginning to seem like a lame, over-priced apartment in Queens. But it's better than staying with my family. All of my friends feel sorry for me -- homeless, sleeping at my mom's, getting sixteen calls a day from her asking if I'm coming home for dinner, which, because she's getting older is increasingly being served at 5:00 pm. I hate when people feel sorry for me -- makes me crazy.
Keep your fingers crossed for me with the tenant board, 'kay? Maybe I'll be able to pull off my interview persona, the one that has made so many foolish people give me jobs. Or maybe they'll take one look at me and say, "Ms. O'Brien, perhaps it is better if you look for another place to live. Something about you says that you're the kind of person who would find herself overdrawn on her checking account because she just had to blow hundreds of dollars on Marian Keyes books and platform espadrilles." Which has happened -- but just that one time.
Keep your fingers crossed for me with the tenant board, 'kay? Maybe I'll be able to pull off my interview persona, the one that has made so many foolish people give me jobs. Or maybe they'll take one look at me and say, "Ms. O'Brien, perhaps it is better if you look for another place to live. Something about you says that you're the kind of person who would find herself overdrawn on her checking account because she just had to blow hundreds of dollars on Marian Keyes books and platform espadrilles." Which has happened -- but just that one time.
Africa withdrawal (reprint from May 23, 2007)
South Africa changed my life. At least I think it did. It's hard not to gain some perspective about your crappy little life when you're looking down on the world from Table Mountain or seeing where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for twenty-seven years or visiting a shanty town where four grown men live in a shack with no running water every day just because it means they might have a better life than they did in Zimbabwe. It was eye-opening, let me tell you. All the shit I was bitching about before I left suddenly seems a little silly.
I wasn't quite ready to come back. I came home a few days earlier than I had originally planned -- some meetings I was supposed to attend in Johannesburg wound up being cancelled so they sent me home on Monday. I'm still converting dollar amounts to rand in my head and I woke up this morning expecting to see the V&A Waterfront out of my window. I'm going through Africa-withdrawal or something.
I wasn't quite ready to come back. I came home a few days earlier than I had originally planned -- some meetings I was supposed to attend in Johannesburg wound up being cancelled so they sent me home on Monday. I'm still converting dollar amounts to rand in my head and I woke up this morning expecting to see the V&A Waterfront out of my window. I'm going through Africa-withdrawal or something.
Off to Africa (reprint from May 9, 2007)
I leave for South Africa today. I'm so scared. I'm also sad about something completely unrelated to Africa so I hope this rather long, arduous trip will be a good distraction. I'll try to check in and blog from there -- I've never been there before so I'll probably have a lot to say. But if I can't send me messages anyway -- I'll read them when I get back.
I won't catch typhoid (reprint from May 6, 2007)
Squishy pajamas and a hangover. The hangover is the reason I am in pajamas at 6:00 pm.
The Yankees won. But Phelps is in trouble. Oh, and the Rocket is back.
I leave for South Africa on Wednesday. I have band-aids on both arms where I got the shots that are required before you can go to Africa. They are shots to prevent polio and typhoid and a host of other diseases I didn't think people got anymore.
My mail is beginning to trickle into my mother's house, meaning I am officially no longer a Las Vegas resident.
Parties with people I don't know are some of the most fun parties I've ever been to. Saturday night was no exception. Cuervo was a bad idea but the rest of the night was fun.
I know my cell phone is working but it seems only the weirdest people have the number. But I finally got my credit card company to stop calling.
Random observations. Not particularly well-thought out. Not particularly insightful. Just the facts as I see them.
The Yankees won. But Phelps is in trouble. Oh, and the Rocket is back.
I leave for South Africa on Wednesday. I have band-aids on both arms where I got the shots that are required before you can go to Africa. They are shots to prevent polio and typhoid and a host of other diseases I didn't think people got anymore.
My mail is beginning to trickle into my mother's house, meaning I am officially no longer a Las Vegas resident.
Parties with people I don't know are some of the most fun parties I've ever been to. Saturday night was no exception. Cuervo was a bad idea but the rest of the night was fun.
I know my cell phone is working but it seems only the weirdest people have the number. But I finally got my credit card company to stop calling.
Random observations. Not particularly well-thought out. Not particularly insightful. Just the facts as I see them.
Working for a living (reprint from May 3, 2007)
The guy next to me at the bar snapped his fingers at the bartender. She was holding five full Corona bottles splayed between her fingers like a bunch of flowers. She looked at him, made a snotty face, put down the bottles and put her finger up in the universal hand sign for "I'll be just a minute". And he complained to his friend, "What a bitch?"
I felt some solidarity with her, like, Hey buddy, I've been her a lot longer than I've been you.
Could you do her job? You in your fancy suit with your perfect, almost femme hair and your imperfect face that becomes beautiful to the girls you date because you are single and have a good job. But really she (the bartender) is better than you because she works for a living. And no, I'm not exactly like her so I can't say for sure what's it's like to be her, because she is beautiful with shiny hair and a perfect C-cup (because she would have to be to be a bartender in Manhattan, now wouldn't she?) but still she works for a living, and I get that because I did, too, for a long time. And, even when you're beautiful with shiny hair and boobs, you're still kind of invisible when you serve people for a living. She will go home with swollen feet and no medical insurance and you will probably go home to a wife in Scarsdale.
I've been thinking about quitting my "career" and becoming a bartender, so that's where those thoughts came from.
I felt some solidarity with her, like, Hey buddy, I've been her a lot longer than I've been you.
Could you do her job? You in your fancy suit with your perfect, almost femme hair and your imperfect face that becomes beautiful to the girls you date because you are single and have a good job. But really she (the bartender) is better than you because she works for a living. And no, I'm not exactly like her so I can't say for sure what's it's like to be her, because she is beautiful with shiny hair and a perfect C-cup (because she would have to be to be a bartender in Manhattan, now wouldn't she?) but still she works for a living, and I get that because I did, too, for a long time. And, even when you're beautiful with shiny hair and boobs, you're still kind of invisible when you serve people for a living. She will go home with swollen feet and no medical insurance and you will probably go home to a wife in Scarsdale.
I've been thinking about quitting my "career" and becoming a bartender, so that's where those thoughts came from.
I'm a teenaged boy having an identity crisis (reprint from May 1, 2007)
I'm reading this great book and the writer (a guy) writes from the perspective of a few different, equally weird people of both genders. In reading one of the stories about a teenage boy (and while still suspended in the state of disbelief where I believed the character in a novel was a real person) I realized that this kid thinks the same way I thought when I was a kid -- and the way I often do now. In reading one of the stories about a 30-ish female writer I realized that this woman thinks the same way I think now -- and the writing style is eerily similar to my writing, fiction or otherwise, which is often written from the perspective of a 30-ish female writer. Which means one of two things -- 1) I think like a man writing in the guise of a woman or 2) I am secretly a teenage boy.
My cat! My apartment (reprint from April 29, 2007)
The Yankees are trying to kill me. That's all I have to say. They are trying to make me curl up into a tiny ball under one of the blue plastic seats at the stadium and just DIE. But I forgive them. Because deep down I love them. Even if they cause me gastrointestinal distress and nervous eczema.
Tonight is my last night in my sublet-life on the Upper West. Tomorrow, after one last vacuum of the rug and dropping off the sheets at the Chinese laundry next door, I have to give Katherine her apartment (and her cat) back. I've become quite attached to both of them. If not for the photographs of Kitty's family everywhere this could be my apartment. Maybe I will hide behind the door and wait for her to come back, club her over the head and take it. Then I won't have to look for one myself. Good idea? No, disposing of the body could be tricky.
In a little more than one week I'm leaving for Africa -- I will be there through May 25. If I haven't found a permanent place to live before I leave I will a) get my deposit back from those crack-head, slow-ass decision making people at the tenant board in Sunnyside and b) shoot myself. Maybe not in that order. I canNOT live on my mother's couch for too long. I will become a murdering, marauding LUNATIC if I do. I nearly killed a Japanese tourist at Yankee Stadium today for telling me to sit down. I'm like two steps away from a breakdown as it is.
I probably should have stayed in Vegas.
Tonight is my last night in my sublet-life on the Upper West. Tomorrow, after one last vacuum of the rug and dropping off the sheets at the Chinese laundry next door, I have to give Katherine her apartment (and her cat) back. I've become quite attached to both of them. If not for the photographs of Kitty's family everywhere this could be my apartment. Maybe I will hide behind the door and wait for her to come back, club her over the head and take it. Then I won't have to look for one myself. Good idea? No, disposing of the body could be tricky.
In a little more than one week I'm leaving for Africa -- I will be there through May 25. If I haven't found a permanent place to live before I leave I will a) get my deposit back from those crack-head, slow-ass decision making people at the tenant board in Sunnyside and b) shoot myself. Maybe not in that order. I canNOT live on my mother's couch for too long. I will become a murdering, marauding LUNATIC if I do. I nearly killed a Japanese tourist at Yankee Stadium today for telling me to sit down. I'm like two steps away from a breakdown as it is.
I probably should have stayed in Vegas.
Yay transexuals! (reprint from April 27, 2007)
My fascination with the transgender lifestyle has reached a new level with the announcement made by this sports writer from the LA Times. I am so proud of this guy and I don't even know him. He announced to the world that he was becoming a woman named Christine. How rockin' is that? Can you imagine being so self-aware that you know you were born in the wrong body? I can't. Bravo Christine Daniels!
I'm tired because I'm getting over a cold but I wanted to share that little tidbit with you.
I'm tired because I'm getting over a cold but I wanted to share that little tidbit with you.
Eggs all over the place (reprint from April 26, 2007)
I'm heartbroken, you guys. I don't want to be -- but I am. Heartbroken doesn't become me. Anyone who knew me around Fall 2001 knows that that is a very true statement.
\
I have this terrible tendency of becoming attached to a situation that doesn't really fit me. I find someone or something that I think is the only thing that will make me happy. I put all of my eggs in that basket and then the basket breaks and there are broken eggs all over my life. The good thing is that it happens very rarely. I probably won't be like this again for at least a couple of years. It will take a few weeks and I will bounce back and it will be, to the casual observer, as if nothing ever happened.
But the downside is I will go the next couple of years welcoming things into my life that aren't that one perfect thing. I'll date people I don't really care about, I'll do things that don't make my heart sing. I'll just go through the motions, drinking and laughing and hanging out with my friends. Nothing will change -- I will always be me. I gotta tell you though, right now I'm sick of the sight of me and would love to be someone else.
Anyway, I'll be fine. I'm trying not to sink too deep into this morose swamp I've created. I just needed to get this out.
\
I have this terrible tendency of becoming attached to a situation that doesn't really fit me. I find someone or something that I think is the only thing that will make me happy. I put all of my eggs in that basket and then the basket breaks and there are broken eggs all over my life. The good thing is that it happens very rarely. I probably won't be like this again for at least a couple of years. It will take a few weeks and I will bounce back and it will be, to the casual observer, as if nothing ever happened.
But the downside is I will go the next couple of years welcoming things into my life that aren't that one perfect thing. I'll date people I don't really care about, I'll do things that don't make my heart sing. I'll just go through the motions, drinking and laughing and hanging out with my friends. Nothing will change -- I will always be me. I gotta tell you though, right now I'm sick of the sight of me and would love to be someone else.
Anyway, I'll be fine. I'm trying not to sink too deep into this morose swamp I've created. I just needed to get this out.
Avoiding the "bad" topic (reprint from April 24, 2007)
What I want to write about, talk about, think about -- well, I'm not allowed to a) because Emily told me I'm not allowed and b) because she's right but not for the same reasons she thinks she is. Anyway, I'm determined to distract myself from these "bad" thoughts. So I'm going to find something else to write about.
"Dancing with the Stars? No. That's well-covered territory in other blogs and I just saw a whole segment about it this very evening on "Access Hollywood". I also saw a story about the new concert venue in Las Vegas but that led to thoughts of the "bad" topic. Damnit!
What else, what else... what about the beautiful weather we're having here on the East Coast? My goodness, I haven't even needed a jacket. It's been wonderful! Not as good as the 90-degree temperatures I left behind in Las Vegas... where the "bad" topic is based. Sheesh!
My time on the Upper West Side has almost come to a close. Katherine is due back in a few days and I will have to go back to my mom's couch. And to think, I left a lovely two-bedroom apartment in Las Vegas to come to the most expensive city in North America and be homeless.
All roads lead back to Vegas in my mind. Which means that all roads lead back to the "bad" topic. Emily is not going to be happy.
"Dancing with the Stars? No. That's well-covered territory in other blogs and I just saw a whole segment about it this very evening on "Access Hollywood". I also saw a story about the new concert venue in Las Vegas but that led to thoughts of the "bad" topic. Damnit!
What else, what else... what about the beautiful weather we're having here on the East Coast? My goodness, I haven't even needed a jacket. It's been wonderful! Not as good as the 90-degree temperatures I left behind in Las Vegas... where the "bad" topic is based. Sheesh!
My time on the Upper West Side has almost come to a close. Katherine is due back in a few days and I will have to go back to my mom's couch. And to think, I left a lovely two-bedroom apartment in Las Vegas to come to the most expensive city in North America and be homeless.
All roads lead back to Vegas in my mind. Which means that all roads lead back to the "bad" topic. Emily is not going to be happy.
Comatose (reprint from April 15, 2007)
I did not miss rain when I lived in Las Vegas. I hate hate hate precipitation. I know it is good for the earth and prevents droughts but, godammit, it's also very inconvenient. I went out for like five minutes before -- Katherine doesn't have coffee or a coffeemaker in her apartment so I had to make a Starbucks run -- and I came back literally soaking wet. Starbucks is a block and a half away. Stupid Noreaster. Bite me, Mother Nature.
Jessica and I went out Friday night and for some reason it did me in. Between moving, and starting a new job, and not having a place to live my little, teeny brain is very tired and I did nothing this weekend but sleep. I drank and slept. I'm officially the laziest sack-of-something on the planet. Katherine has a very comfortable bed and a very comfortable couch and a very warm apartment, all of which are conducive to a coma. So between texting people in Las Vegas, watching the Food Network and sipping on cider, I haven't accomplished very much.
Jessica and I went out Friday night and for some reason it did me in. Between moving, and starting a new job, and not having a place to live my little, teeny brain is very tired and I did nothing this weekend but sleep. I drank and slept. I'm officially the laziest sack-of-something on the planet. Katherine has a very comfortable bed and a very comfortable couch and a very warm apartment, all of which are conducive to a coma. So between texting people in Las Vegas, watching the Food Network and sipping on cider, I haven't accomplished very much.
My smartness (reprint from April 14, 2007)
After re-reading this blog entry, I came to the conclusion that it was boring and uninteresting. So rather than disappoint my "fans" with a less-than-stellar entry, I rewrote it using a thesarus. Watch out for my $5 dollar words -- my smartness will blow you away.
I do not retain an accomodation yet. Auspiciously when I told my cohort, Katherine, that I was going to be reposing on my matriarch's pull-out chesterfield until I found an abode she told me she was going to France for a fortnight and needed an auxiliary for her very necessitous grimalkin. So here I am, persisting tariff-gratis through the terminus of April on the Loftier West Ancillary.
I surmise I may have found my own berth but I'm waiting for approval from an addressee conclave. It's an august cooperative -- ample passable chamber for my behemothic, ostentatious-ferrous divan, passel windows and a laundry lodging on the establishment -- but it has one detriment. It is veraciously two ingots abroad from my ex-paramour's commorancy. Kind of brings the propinquity's estimation bottomward a smidgen, don't you acquiesce? It's all I can incur fortwith, though.
Nevertheless, I miss Las Vegas but I'm relishing being back in my terrain. I have to go put maquillage on momentarily. I'm departing.
I do not retain an accomodation yet. Auspiciously when I told my cohort, Katherine, that I was going to be reposing on my matriarch's pull-out chesterfield until I found an abode she told me she was going to France for a fortnight and needed an auxiliary for her very necessitous grimalkin. So here I am, persisting tariff-gratis through the terminus of April on the Loftier West Ancillary.
I surmise I may have found my own berth but I'm waiting for approval from an addressee conclave. It's an august cooperative -- ample passable chamber for my behemothic, ostentatious-ferrous divan, passel windows and a laundry lodging on the establishment -- but it has one detriment. It is veraciously two ingots abroad from my ex-paramour's commorancy. Kind of brings the propinquity's estimation bottomward a smidgen, don't you acquiesce? It's all I can incur fortwith, though.
Nevertheless, I miss Las Vegas but I'm relishing being back in my terrain. I have to go put maquillage on momentarily. I'm departing.
In over my very tired head (reprint from April 10, 2007)
I'm awake at 2:30 am (which my body thinks is 11:30 pm) because I flew in at 8:30 am (which my body thought was 5:30 am) after not having slept for two days (drinking with Julie at Mix followed by early morning visit from the movers followed by final brunch with Michael and two mimosas followed by one last goodbye to the cutest dog in Las Vegas followed by a few hours spent removing last minute dirt and crap from my apartment followed by driving everything
I thought would fit in my suitcases but didn't to the charity box followed by returning rental car followed by limping through the airport with 4 giant bags followed by 4 1/2 hour flight with my sad, tired head pressed against the window) and went straight to my mom's house to shower, change, go visit the new home for all of my belongings and then go to my new job for a short meeting to discuss the three days of meetings I will be attending in midtown for the rest of the week. Oh, and I bought a suit. That's right -- Louise, who would wear jeans to her own wedding, owns an actual suit.
I feel like I've been here 3 days. And I'm homesick if you can believe that. I had a little nervous breakdown in my mom's living room this morning when I couldn't find anything in my giant, overstuffed suitcase. I started to wonder what I was thinking giving up a nice apartment and my new friends in a clean (although sometimes boring) environment to live out of a suitcase and not have an apartment at all. Now I'm sleeping in the house I grew up in but in which I no longer have a bedroom and I don't even have most of my personal stuff with me. It's all happening so fast.
Part of my worry is that I feel like I stepped back in time. Some of the people at my new job are girls I used to work with at my first PR job which is great but disconcerting as well. Did I take a step backwards? Was I so anxious to leave my last job that I didn't think this through? I thought I hated Vegas a lot of the time but, of course, as I was getting ready to leave there for good all the stuff that was great about living there became apparent. My friends, for one thing -- I never expected to be so close to people I met six months ago. Also, for some reason right before I left Las Vegas, some of the things that were making my life there a little sad and stale seemed like they might be changing. Great timing, God.
I'm a little confused and out of sorts. I know the longer I am here the easier it will become to figure out what makes me happy. I have to learn to not let my environment make or break me.
Who knew where I lived would have such a profound effect on my moods? And who knew New York would take adjusting to? I'm from here, for Christ's sake?
Anyway, now I can't sleep. I have to be up at 6:45 am (which my body thinks is 3:45 am) so I should get some rest.
Wish me luck, ok guys? I might be in over my head... again.
I thought would fit in my suitcases but didn't to the charity box followed by returning rental car followed by limping through the airport with 4 giant bags followed by 4 1/2 hour flight with my sad, tired head pressed against the window) and went straight to my mom's house to shower, change, go visit the new home for all of my belongings and then go to my new job for a short meeting to discuss the three days of meetings I will be attending in midtown for the rest of the week. Oh, and I bought a suit. That's right -- Louise, who would wear jeans to her own wedding, owns an actual suit.
I feel like I've been here 3 days. And I'm homesick if you can believe that. I had a little nervous breakdown in my mom's living room this morning when I couldn't find anything in my giant, overstuffed suitcase. I started to wonder what I was thinking giving up a nice apartment and my new friends in a clean (although sometimes boring) environment to live out of a suitcase and not have an apartment at all. Now I'm sleeping in the house I grew up in but in which I no longer have a bedroom and I don't even have most of my personal stuff with me. It's all happening so fast.
Part of my worry is that I feel like I stepped back in time. Some of the people at my new job are girls I used to work with at my first PR job which is great but disconcerting as well. Did I take a step backwards? Was I so anxious to leave my last job that I didn't think this through? I thought I hated Vegas a lot of the time but, of course, as I was getting ready to leave there for good all the stuff that was great about living there became apparent. My friends, for one thing -- I never expected to be so close to people I met six months ago. Also, for some reason right before I left Las Vegas, some of the things that were making my life there a little sad and stale seemed like they might be changing. Great timing, God.
I'm a little confused and out of sorts. I know the longer I am here the easier it will become to figure out what makes me happy. I have to learn to not let my environment make or break me.
Who knew where I lived would have such a profound effect on my moods? And who knew New York would take adjusting to? I'm from here, for Christ's sake?
Anyway, now I can't sleep. I have to be up at 6:45 am (which my body thinks is 3:45 am) so I should get some rest.
Wish me luck, ok guys? I might be in over my head... again.
Vegas vs. New York (reprint from April 8, 2007)
I'm sitting in an empty apartment. And when I say "empty" I mean empteeeeeee. Gone is my big squishy bed. Gone is my TV. Gone is the arm chair that I spent many a hungover weekend dangling my legs off of while watching reruns of Six Feet Under. I'm kind of sad. I like this apartment a lot better than any apartment I've had in New York. Which has led to the thoughts of comparisons. I tend to compare things in lists so here you go:
Differences between Vegas and New York:
1) Walking is practically illegal in Vegas. People look at you like they want to lean out of their car window and hand you a dollar to wash their windshield. In New York walking is not only expected but neccessary.
2) In Vegas, the lady that works the register at my local CVS knows me -- not my name but she knows stuff I like that might be on sale and she reminds me not to forget my discount card the next time I come in. In New York, the same woman worked the register at my local supermarket the whole time I lived there and she never even made eye contact with me when handing me my change.
3) In New York you have to squat when you pee -- girls are fully aware of how annoying this can be. In Vegas, even dive bars have toilet seat covers and soap in the sink dispenser -- very handy and sanitary.
4) Walking in the street with an open container of alcohol is legal in Las Vegas. 'Nuff said.
5) People in New York pay $2000 a month to live in a shoebox but they don't have to buy a car. People in Vegas practically get a palace for $800 a month but they end up having to buy a car that will most likely get smacked into at least 10 times during the course of its ownership by other crazy drivers who refuse to signal or check their mirrors when changing lanes.
6) Some of the best clubs in Las Vegas will often have people who look and dress like your grandparents bellying up to the bar right next to you. Slightly disconcerting.
7) People come to Vegas dressed like they're getting ready to do yard work and then sit next to you at champagne brunch. People in New York know that fanny packs and khaki walking shorts should only be worn on a dare.
8) It is very difficult to meet people in Las Vegas who aren't tourists because the best places to hang out are all on the Strip. People in New York would not be caught dead comingling with the common folk.
9) Starbucks drive-thrus. Ingenious and slightly stinking of laziness.
Well, I hope that helps you get a better idea of what the major differences between my two home cities are. Looking at this list now, I'm amazed that I'm going back to New York, with the overpriced apartments and surly supermarket employees. I do miss it and I know I'll fall right back into my old pattern of being a typical New Yorker. But I will miss Vegas. I really will.
Differences between Vegas and New York:
1) Walking is practically illegal in Vegas. People look at you like they want to lean out of their car window and hand you a dollar to wash their windshield. In New York walking is not only expected but neccessary.
2) In Vegas, the lady that works the register at my local CVS knows me -- not my name but she knows stuff I like that might be on sale and she reminds me not to forget my discount card the next time I come in. In New York, the same woman worked the register at my local supermarket the whole time I lived there and she never even made eye contact with me when handing me my change.
3) In New York you have to squat when you pee -- girls are fully aware of how annoying this can be. In Vegas, even dive bars have toilet seat covers and soap in the sink dispenser -- very handy and sanitary.
4) Walking in the street with an open container of alcohol is legal in Las Vegas. 'Nuff said.
5) People in New York pay $2000 a month to live in a shoebox but they don't have to buy a car. People in Vegas practically get a palace for $800 a month but they end up having to buy a car that will most likely get smacked into at least 10 times during the course of its ownership by other crazy drivers who refuse to signal or check their mirrors when changing lanes.
6) Some of the best clubs in Las Vegas will often have people who look and dress like your grandparents bellying up to the bar right next to you. Slightly disconcerting.
7) People come to Vegas dressed like they're getting ready to do yard work and then sit next to you at champagne brunch. People in New York know that fanny packs and khaki walking shorts should only be worn on a dare.
8) It is very difficult to meet people in Las Vegas who aren't tourists because the best places to hang out are all on the Strip. People in New York would not be caught dead comingling with the common folk.
9) Starbucks drive-thrus. Ingenious and slightly stinking of laziness.
Well, I hope that helps you get a better idea of what the major differences between my two home cities are. Looking at this list now, I'm amazed that I'm going back to New York, with the overpriced apartments and surly supermarket employees. I do miss it and I know I'll fall right back into my old pattern of being a typical New Yorker. But I will miss Vegas. I really will.
Radio static made me turn around (reprint from April 7, 2007)
To prove the randomness of my existence in this city, I spent today driving -- like for 4 hours. Anyone who knows me knows that I don't like to drive -- I only learned when I moved here and the whole time I was here I never bought a car. But I rented one this weekend so I could run some last minute errands. I drove all the way north and then west and then to Mount Charleston. I only turned around when I got so high up that Hot 97 stopped coming in clear. It's true -- a long drive will clear your head.
Here's are the things I was thinking about that kept me driving for so long.
1) I'm going to miss Las Vegas
2) I have to stop letting what other people think about me define me.
3) Somehow I have given people the impression that hurting my feelings is impossible. Not only is it possible -- it happens a lot.
4) Beating myself up because someone doesn't like me is the same as getting mad when it rains -- it doesn't do any good because it's out of my control.
I didn't expect to leave Vegas this way. I expected to be happy that I was moving on to this great opportunity and a little bit sad about the friends and job that I'm leaving. Instead I feel like shit and all I want to do is take a very long nap. But I'll bounce back -- I always do.
Here's are the things I was thinking about that kept me driving for so long.
1) I'm going to miss Las Vegas
2) I have to stop letting what other people think about me define me.
3) Somehow I have given people the impression that hurting my feelings is impossible. Not only is it possible -- it happens a lot.
4) Beating myself up because someone doesn't like me is the same as getting mad when it rains -- it doesn't do any good because it's out of my control.
I didn't expect to leave Vegas this way. I expected to be happy that I was moving on to this great opportunity and a little bit sad about the friends and job that I'm leaving. Instead I feel like shit and all I want to do is take a very long nap. But I'll bounce back -- I always do.
Leaving Las Vegas in a drunken stupor (reprint from April 6, 2007)
So although I am hungover from last night's tequila-fest (three shots of Patron? Suurrrre. Why not?) I am going out tonight -- first to First Friday and then Beauty Bar. I will have to get up verrrrrrrrrrrryyyyyyyyyyy early tomorrow to finish packing my life but that is not a good enough deterrent. I'm leaving Las Vegas and I'm going to be drunk while doing it.
I feel bad -- like I'm leaving Vegas on a sour note. Several people at work hate me. I have friends here who don't understand why I bothered coming into their lives (and taking them over, thank you very much) if I was gonna run off in 6 months. I'm used to losing people. At my old job we got used to people being important to us for 6 months before their tourist visa or internship ran out. But I guess everyone isn't like that.
So to make up for it, shots are on me. Seriously.
I feel bad -- like I'm leaving Vegas on a sour note. Several people at work hate me. I have friends here who don't understand why I bothered coming into their lives (and taking them over, thank you very much) if I was gonna run off in 6 months. I'm used to losing people. At my old job we got used to people being important to us for 6 months before their tourist visa or internship ran out. But I guess everyone isn't like that.
So to make up for it, shots are on me. Seriously.
Kind of a bitch (reprint from April 5, 2007)
After a few margaritas with friends, I came home tonight to find that my father, who is visiting from L.A. supposedly to help me pack, knew since about 3:00 pm that there was a little red piece of paper on my door from Southwest Gas. Why is it red, you ask? Wellllll... because they turned my gas off. Apparently I haven't paid a bill in 2 months. YES! Way to go, Louise.
So now I have to get it turned back on tomorrow just to turn it off again on Sunday. I didn't want to be mad at him but his response to why he didn't tell me was because he thought I purposely turned it off to save time. Why he thought that I would go without hot water or burners for four days I don't know. But that's his story and he's sticking to it. He did help me bubble-wrap glasses since yesterday. I guess I shouldn't be mad but I'm kind of a bitch.
So now I have to get it turned back on tomorrow just to turn it off again on Sunday. I didn't want to be mad at him but his response to why he didn't tell me was because he thought I purposely turned it off to save time. Why he thought that I would go without hot water or burners for four days I don't know. But that's his story and he's sticking to it. He did help me bubble-wrap glasses since yesterday. I guess I shouldn't be mad but I'm kind of a bitch.
Agave Thursday Night (reprint from April 4, 2007)
I'm saying good-bye to Las Vegas with margaritas at Agave. It was chosen for no other particular reason than the fact that they have pomegranite margaritas and I can see it from my office window. If you live in Las Vegas and you care that I'm leaving please come on down -- Thursday at about 5:30 pm. You have to drive to Summerlin but you are welcome back to my house if you need to pass out my couch afterwards. It will be fun -- well, maybe not fun unless you think it's fun to watch me blubber and sob all over people like I'm never going to see them again. Who knows? It might be. I look really weird when I cry.
An apology to Las Vegas (reprint from April 1, 2007)
Michael asked for an apology to all of my friends here in Vegas. He's in Laughlin so we are not spending my last full Sunday in Vegas hungover in some restaurant after having watched Lisa return another dress at the Meadows. Stupid Laughlin. But that is probably what we would be doing if he were here.
Anyway, in the way of apologies I don't have much. But I will miss him and every other wonderful person I met in Vegas. Now that I'm leaving I kind of wish I had some more time here. I guess that happens at the end of anything big that happens in your life.
It was only like 6 months ago that I was crying about leaving New York. I'm such a wuss. I am hungover, actually, and have been not the least bit productive today. In addition to having to clean this pit that I live in I also have to start bubble-wrapping my whole life. But I did want to take a moment to put in writing how much I'm going to miss all the fucking awesome people I met while I was here. Big kiss. Keep in touch. As Lisa would say, "I'm feeling a little melancholy" about the whole thing.
Anyway, in the way of apologies I don't have much. But I will miss him and every other wonderful person I met in Vegas. Now that I'm leaving I kind of wish I had some more time here. I guess that happens at the end of anything big that happens in your life.
It was only like 6 months ago that I was crying about leaving New York. I'm such a wuss. I am hungover, actually, and have been not the least bit productive today. In addition to having to clean this pit that I live in I also have to start bubble-wrapping my whole life. But I did want to take a moment to put in writing how much I'm going to miss all the fucking awesome people I met while I was here. Big kiss. Keep in touch. As Lisa would say, "I'm feeling a little melancholy" about the whole thing.
If you can make it there (Reprint from March 31, 2007)
And they said it wouldn't last?
Well... it didn't.
You know what they say -- you can take the girl out of New York but ... very often when you do that girl might wait a few months but eventually she will figure out a way to run back to the only city in the world that makes sense because, apparently (who knows why) but she can't live without Yankee games, honking cars and humidity.
Actually, the truth is I was offered a phenomenal job that I just can't turn down and I'm headed back to New Yawk City yo! I'll be back the Monday after Easter.
I feel kind of bad that I made all of you New York people say "goodbye" to me a few months ago. Some of you cried and shit. I feel like an ass. The sad thing is I can't even really promise it won't happen again. In a few years I might get the itch to move again and do all of it all over. For that I will apologize in advance. I don't see it happening in the forseeable future but you never can tell. No one thought I would ever move to Las Vegas, did they?
Anyway, I'll make it up to you. I promise. I'll buy you a drink or a cookie or a steak or something. And I promise to wait a good long while before I think about moving again.
Well... it didn't.
You know what they say -- you can take the girl out of New York but ... very often when you do that girl might wait a few months but eventually she will figure out a way to run back to the only city in the world that makes sense because, apparently (who knows why) but she can't live without Yankee games, honking cars and humidity.
Actually, the truth is I was offered a phenomenal job that I just can't turn down and I'm headed back to New Yawk City yo! I'll be back the Monday after Easter.
I feel kind of bad that I made all of you New York people say "goodbye" to me a few months ago. Some of you cried and shit. I feel like an ass. The sad thing is I can't even really promise it won't happen again. In a few years I might get the itch to move again and do all of it all over. For that I will apologize in advance. I don't see it happening in the forseeable future but you never can tell. No one thought I would ever move to Las Vegas, did they?
Anyway, I'll make it up to you. I promise. I'll buy you a drink or a cookie or a steak or something. And I promise to wait a good long while before I think about moving again.
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