unofficial essay titled 'the truth about moving to a new city.'

I've been plotting to write a new essay titled "The Truth About Moving to a New City".

As you can see, I've decided to sit my ass down finally do the damn thing. However, if my honesty may have shotgun as usual, I'll go right on to admit that now wouldn't be the most fair of times to give a wholesome packet of insight. Nope, nope, nope. Certainly not as I lay pathetically in the Boston Cream center of what many have dubbed, "the homesick phase" in this little big city move of mine. 

I haven't moved very much from my bed the last few weeks. No, I'm not dying. And yes there was just like this huge Hurricane (which by the way really deserves the entire spotlight in any post at the moment. Praise God, I'm safe and ok. Also Happy Halloween.), but Sandy can only be held responsible for the last few bedridden days. As for the weeks preceding the storm: I've been in a monstrous funk.

Perhaps my on-again/off-again mild depression is to blame for this. Or exhaustion. Though I don't really think it can be that anymore, as I've certainly gotten myself caught up on sleep. I think it's just straight up home-sickness. Mixed in with what I like to call the mid 20s blues. You know, the whole... I'm 25-that's-five-years-away-from-thirty-and-I'm-completely-single-and-still-waiting-tables-with-like-not-very-much-money-in-my-checking-account-STILL-and-living-on-the-other-side-of-the-country-miles-and-miles-away-from-home-WHY-no-but-really-WTF-am-I-doing-in-New-York-City.

Eh, maybe that's just my own bullshit I'm spitting.

All I'm trying to say here is, the last few weeks have been very hard. Though I can feel proud and relieved to say my pockets are more financially stable, my mental and emotional state are having some problems. Lord knows I know it, but I've been escaping it all by hiding in bed with my Netflix and candy.

*ahem* Walking Dead and Hart of Dixie. Can I just say: I freaking love Rachel Bilson. 

As a result of this, I've gained a whopping ten pounds and have been dealing with said facts by doing nothing more than...eating more. Damn you, Maxim Cover, I don't think we'll be hanging out anytime soon. 

Needless to say:

I miss California. 

I miss freeways and driving in my car.

I miss driving my car especially after work when all I want is a little peace and quiet and direct control of how quickly I'd like to get home. In other words, not getting out of work at nearly 2 a.m. and having to walk blocks to the train station and then wait half an hour for my train to arrive only to get onto the one car where some homeless man threw up all over himself. Or the other car that is crowded with drunk hooligans migrating to their next Friday night event, screaming in my ear as if that's the sort of treat I'd like to follow my long evening of playing the patience game with the diners of New York City.

I miss not worrying about having to carry an umbrella all the time or buying ANOTHER one because I forgot mine again, or because the one I did remember to bring got STOLEN at DSW while I was trying on shoes. (Yeah that happened.)

I miss 70 degrees, all day every day. It's not even cold yet, and I'm freezing.

I miss the comfort of having a space that is mine. Not someone else's. Mine. With my things, my books, my DVDs, my pillows, and no calendar to remind me that I have ten days or less to pack up and find a new space to momentarily crash. 

I miss my friends. All of them. My OC friends. My LA friends. My hometown friends. And you guys-my blog friends. Truly, it's been so sad to have lost my rhythm with this blog and to have not been able to connect with all of you as much as I was able to before I came out here. I've just been up and down and everywhere in between with everything lately, it's been hard to keep up with all of this. Thanks for  sticking around despite my absence and for checking in. It really means more to me than any of you could ever know. Seriously, cause I have this huge fear of people forgetting about me. Which is a conflict of interests when my nature is to move around a lot, and away from people I've grown close to.

Mostly I miss my family. 

My sisters. Those biatches are my best friends, and it sucks to not be able to get fro-yo with them whenever the day calls for a good large cup of Yogurtland. 

I miss hugging my parents. 

I miss my little brother.

I miss Kevin at the gym.

I miss the fact that I was getting really freaking RIPPED there for a minute, like seriously- I WAS IN THAT GYM almost every day. 

Now I'm paying $90/month for a gym out here that I never go to because it's just a downright hassle getting to and from ANYWHERE in this city, and for the first time I'm really struggling-like really struggling- to adapt. 

Yes, that's an awful lot of bitching right there, I know, but my overall point was to simply state the following.

The truth about moving to a new city is that... it ain't easy. 

Any mama or papa could have let you in on that little secret already, but I'm here to confirm- it's ain't. Especially a coast to coast move. I'm the furthest away I've ever been from everything I know and everyone I love.

And ya know what. Lately, I've been feeling just downright foolish for it. Foolish for coming out here simply to live-not for school or for corporate America, but for me. Because I wanted to do something crazy and different. And while I do celebrate my triumphs, I feel guilty and sad when this choice has come with missing out on other things. Like my good friend's wedding and the holidays at home, and my mom's 50th birthday which is approaching in December. I'm missing these important things in life.. things that aren't going to happen twice. And for what? I start to second guess my decisions to come out here and in those moments I feel stuck and helpless. Suddenly, looking up and tapping my feet at the tall buildings isn't enough. I miss home. And I feel lost all over again.

But then I try to remember that I'm suppose to be feeling all of these things. That I can't be everywhere at once. That holidays do in fact come around every year. That my friends do forgive me for being miles away, (I hope). That my mission was in fact to challenge myself. That coming out here simply "to live" was not something to feel foolish about, but rather proud of. Because how many young folks really get up and move across the country just on the desire to go somewhere new, even when they were perfectly fine where they already were. 

And the great thing to remember: That I can go back any time I want. Next week if I wanted to.

But I won't. Because I've worked really hard to get here, and I owe to myself to at least stick around a little longer and see what comes of this city. To really take some deep breaths, get out of bed, enjoy what this city has to offer (which is A LOT) and then come home and practice my discipline, rain or shine, to sit down and blog about it. Because even in my absence here, you guys continue to write to me and reach out to me and show interest in what I have to say and how I'm doing. And I want to share as much of this journey with you as I possibly can.There's been so much I've left out. A lot of which is much happier and cheerful than everything I've presented here this evening. As promised: A shoutout to S, who has absolutely been my best friend in this city-- I can't wait for you all to meet/read about my Bronx buddy who's been so wonderful and fun :)

It's a new month, and almost a new year soon. 

Consider this a head start to writing a new normal. And eventually an official essay titled "The Truth About Moving to a New City." Along with a new series of frequent posts. Seriously. Bring on the bloggy. I'VE MISSED YOU GUYS!

P.S. The aftermath of this storm is quite devastating for many. Lots of homes have been lost and damaged, many are without power still. I'm kind of a dick to even be complaining about anything right now-I suppose Sandy has helped me realized in ways that I need to stop feeling sad and sorry for myself, go outside and make the best of a situation that yes, is challenging, but far from terrible. I apologize for any insensitivity this post brings to everything going on outside of my own personal bubble. 

xmas miracles in september.

I think I have an angel friend looking over me or something.

No, but seriously.

I really think I do.

I cried last night for a little bit. They weren't sad tears. They were happy ones. Maybe slightly exhausted ones too. It reminded me of the time when a former boss of mine (who I miss and admire so very much) broke down for a second after opening a brand new restaurant, and I remember thinking, "Why is this champ crying right now. She fucking did it. She opened this beautiful restaurant. What are these tears?" Like a mind reader, my other boss who was standing right there, responded, "She's ok. She's just tired. It's been a lot of work, and now it's finished. We're open."

That's kind of how I feel right now. It's like a happy-tired mixed with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. And gratitude. I'm not always feeling God/Jesus/religion/praying and all that--I'll be honest about it, but man, I've done some serious praying since I started this trek and not only have things really worked out for me in general, but this week alone I've seen some specific prayers of mine be blatantly answered.

Have you guys ever prayed for specific things, and seen miracles happen? I love those kinds of stories. Please share them in the comments if you do :)

I have to tell you that I made some poor choices over the weekend. Some of it has made for a good story or two, but overall, I've decided the good story or two really weren't worth it. A good night to remember is one where you don't lose your friends, where your light-weight characteristics don't eat you up alive after only four drinks, where you started drinking for happy reasons rather than sad ones to begin with, and where you don't fall down on the sidewalk and wake up with cuts and bruises and holes in your very expenses pair of Hue tights. A good night is one where you stay classy, Ventura County. Not stupid and irresponsible. I'm still limping and suffering from that one night alone. And even though that single event has some funny notes, it wasn't worth it. It really wasn't.

Thankfully, my angel friend was present that night. Cause in the movement of losing my friends, I found myself in the company of an entirely new one who was kind enough to get inside a cab with me at three in the morning/hold my hair back in my own bathroom/and tuck me into my own bed. And in all of that, not rape, kill, or steal from me. That's a good fucking Samaritan right there. Thank you, very kind girl for taking care of me. And thank you to the other very dear friend who answered my drunk calls in the middle of night and didn't judge me for being a sloppy mess for the evening.

Those kinds of stories are not so usual for me. And I'm not proud of it. But, I tell you so that you can be rest assured that young ladies do sometimes go out and make an ass of themselves. They do sometimes go out and drink too much. They do sometimes make poor choices. And even though, I sit here now, singing,  "I'm never drinking again." I know that of course I will. I just need to be more wise about it in the future. Having something to eat before four shots of whiskey is probably a good idea. So are mixed drinks instead of just shots (wtf were me and my friends thinking?). So is not drinking simply because I'm in an emotional pickle. Don't do that. You'll always end up drinking more than you want to, or can. And it's just downright dangerous. Especially for a girl. I'm very lucky that I walked out of that bar with a kind stranger holding my hand. Very lucky.

Again, my parents probably aren't amused reading this. But for the sake of keeping it real, there it is.

[End Angel On My Shoulder Event #1]

Angel On My Shoulder Event #2

Landed an awesome new sublet for the months of October/November. As you know, I was hoping to find a more long-term situation/lease starting October, but decided it might be more wise to just go for one more sublet before I signed anything more official. This will also give me more time to save money for a security deposit and find a living situation that fits me and caters well to my writing rituals and necessities-- a comfortable and peaceful space is so important for a little writer-- I'm sure all of you know it. So-with all of that being said, I'll be migrating back to Astoria soon, and I couldn't be more excited/relieved. It's a nice space in a nice hood, and I quite fancy the NQR train line. It's much cleaner than the 1/2/3 and I just love those high-tech boards that tell you what stop is next, even though, I'm excited to say I'm relying on those boards less and less. Three cheers for becoming more and more of a New Yorker!

Anyway, the trouble here was that I had just the right amount of the money to hand over to lock down this space. And when I say just the right amount, I mean, I actually needed a couple hundred dollars more to hand over. I made plans to give money on Thursday night, and then realized that I was short and wouldn't have money coming in again until Friday, the day after. Not a huge deal-was probably gunna call my sister to spot me the money for a day or just call the dude I'm subletting from and see if he could wait till Friday for the money instead. Plus, I had last night's serving shift which, yesterday, I was thinking, "Who knows. Maybe it can save me. Fat chance since it's Rosh Hashanah & Monday-- it'll probably be really slow. But who knows." Following that thought, I said a little prayer: Dear God, please let me make two thousand dollars tonights. Please. If not, then two hundred would do. Thanks.

And then I went to work. And indeed it was slow. I probably would have made $50. But then something crazy happened. One of my tables decided to go crazy and spend over a grand on a casual family dinner. Oh, and then tip me almost $500.

Yeah. I got a $460 tip last night.

To date: that is largest single tip I have ever received in my life waiting tables.

And the craziest part: I didn't even really bond with the table. I didn't tell them anything about me, my life, my situation, nothing.

I just did my job.

I just prayed to God for something. Went to work, and did my job.

And that happened.

Tell me you agree: there's a fucking Angel on my shoulder.

I got off work last night and I walked thirty blocks thanking Jesus, God, the universe. Took some instagrams, and cried a little.

But they were happy tears. Somehow all of this is still working out. Heck, I'm still getting over the shock of being able to make ANY of it work to begin with.

Now I've got two more months to my name. Two more months of play, new friends, and MILKSHAKES. (Whiskey and I are on a mad break. Indefinitely.)

The hard work will continue these next sixty days, but how good it feels to know I got this-that the universe has my back, and that despite my bruised knee, my tight funds, my insane work schedule, and my lonely after-work strolls--I'm feeling joy. True joy.

Cause I'm working it out, y'all!

I'm open.

Give me what comes next.

she works, she works.

Oh man.

You guys have given me some gooood stuff to listen to. Thank you!

I'm gunna put a playlist together of all your recommendations and post it. We're gunna call it punky's train jams. And itunes is gunna beg for it.

I've gotten so many wonderful e-mails/comments/tweets from all of you and it's not fair how my time and energy is so very limited. I want to write back to each and every one of you and tell you how much I love/miss/appreciate you. I cannot say this kind of stuff enough. Which is why I bring it up in like. every. single. post. As always, please bear with me as I work through my inbox! I am so so behind :(

As many of you might be imagining that I'm having a wild feast of adventures thus far, I want to be the first to tell you: quite the contrary. I mean, yeah, OK. I did almost get kidnapped and raped in East Orange, New Jersey. (this is for real.) (and really not something to be stated so lightly.) (still I will add in a "ha")( ha. ) (cause it's over now.) (but at the time it was scurry.) (dad was not proud of my lack of street smarts.) (neither was mum.) And yes, I have been moving around like a gypsy monster while showing unemployment who's the boss. BUT because I came out here on so very little, it's been mostly all work and no play as I've been frantically trying to get my ducks in order. And no, it hasn't been super sexy and glamorous. It's been a lot of hard work. Truthfully, I'm exhausted. Just this week alone, I am working 80 hours between my two jobs. 80 hours!! And it's not so bad, since my social life is, ya know, non existent and all, but it is exhausting, and it does take away from the opportunity to go out and make some new friends, or go out with the many long lost loves I have do in fact have floating around.

I'm def starting to get a little bit cranky. And have been purchasing a lot of candy as a result of this. Mostly Mike and Ikes, if you must know.  

But, this is allll a part of the deal. I'm paying my dues.

Around here, it's necessary.

And yup. Once this getting-settled-and-financially-legit jig is up, IT IS ON.

You can bet all your dollars this girl is going to find a good partner in crime (or five) and rage this town.

Not really.

But kind of.

At the very least, I could go for a walk in the park. Maybe with an ice cream cone. STAT.

In other news, dudes who have girlfriends are especially lame. Can I get an amen?

(I think I picked the wrong city to be single in. Everyone here is taken. wtf. )