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.