when i don't have to go to work.

I sometimes make plans to walk the Brooklyn Bridge with my new city friend, S. It's a done deal until we step foot into a stationary store and/or locate a happy hour somewhere with four dollar margaritas. To shake things up a bit, I'll do something crazy like give the bartender my phone number or blow $100 on a steak dinner afterwards cause that always seems like a good idea when you're trying to teach yourself a thing or two about saving money.

But mostly on my days off, I have breakfast twice and I study my Facebook feed like I'm still in college and I have a very important paper due the next morning. I tell myself I should get up and be productive, but then I cave into something as horrific as watching The City on Netflix, and it makes me feel terrible inside, so I only watch four more episodes and then I look around me and realize that if I were to suddenly die from some random freak accident, I would probably die again knowing people saw what a state I've been living my day in. So I get up and tidy the room. Pick up the the one or two raisins that fell from my midnight swoop of trail mix the night before, make the bed, maybe do some laundry. You know. Get my shit together. And in the process start considering what few hours are now left of the day and how I've limited my oyster.

I start thinking about the few friends I've made thus far and what they might have on the books for the evening. Chances are there's a drag show. I've gone to a handful at this point and they are the most fun. But the idea hardly amuses me in the moment, kind of as if someone is trying to get me to watch some classic b&w film. Feels like a chore, but is always a treat, once you actually get into it. "Go to The Ritz" I tell myself, but I just can't get amped on the idea. I'm tired of drinking. I don't even like it. At all. And though it would be nice to find myself surrounded with people, I don't particularly feel like talking to any of them.

So instead I make plans to fly solo to Barnes. The bookstore is always a great idea. I don't think anything quite fulfills me so simply as holding a hot beverage while taking inventory of all the interesting titles I wish I had the jail time to soak from cover to cover. I met someone once who said the same kind of thing. I remember getting goosebumps from the excitement in sharing such a hobbie with somebody. We used to go to Barnes together a lot. And let me tell ya- there was something very endearing about the way we'd sit there and get lost in our own random selections. At moments he'd slightly break my escape, by rubbing my back or running his fingers through my hair. Neither one of us would stop reading though, I'd just tilt my head slightly to let him know I was still there with him in that space between fiction and reality. Sometimes, I recall those times and I miss them. Really though, I just miss having someone to hold my latte while I go pee.

It's dark out now. I've made a purchase and the only logical option I have is to begin the trek back home to Astoria. But I'm out now and there's foundation on my face and long lasting mascara on my lashes and I've read a thing or two that's got me feeling all inspired. Suddenly, returning to my dismal four by four living space, however tidy and slightly warmer it is at that point, seems incredibly lame. I live in New York City now. It's not even ten and surely there's something going on in this town. But I don't know where to even begin looking, so I just start walking. I walk for blocks and blocks. I walk and walk and at moments slow down as I pass a crowded bar. I consider the possibilities of just walking in and having a drink. But I've never felt comfortable just walking into a bar and sitting by myself. The only thing that ever comes out of that is texting the very same people whose plans I had already figured out and decided I wasn't interested in, liking everyone's recent instagrams, and finally paying for a drink that I didn't even really want to begin with. So I don't go in. I just keep walking. Some live music or something would be nice, but I don't find any good vibrating beats beneath my feet before I end up just hoping on the nearest N train. For a hard moment I'm disappointed. Maybe I should have just gone out with my friends to the gay club.

It's midnight when I return home. I take my coat off and I toss it onto the bedroom floor. It's an old coat that I don't care about and I've decided that now the room's too clean. I swoop up what's left of the trail mix, dropping a single raisin to cuddle up against my coat and I check Facebook one last time for the day. Someone else just posted their marriage photos. Cute.

My sister is online. I say hi and we chat for a little bit. I tell her how much I miss her and I tell her for the 29837th time that I can't wait for her to come out and visit me. She's doing really good. She just got some great notes from a casting agent and made a bunch of money bartending this past weekend.

I think about how far we've both come. From LA to Orange County to back home to now.

I get a text message from Steve.

"Hi."

Some characters in life, they follow you, for better or for worse, no matter where you go.

I find myself lost in a blog post, the menu on Netflix, some old e-mail accounts I thought would be interesting to go digging through before I finally respond with a "Hello."

"Do u wanna live in Costa Rica for a month or two?"

I've been quite the Yes Man lately, but it breaks there. Seventeen years my senior, it was always a struggle for that one to love me, if it wasn't behind a closed door.  I was nineteen when we first met, so, yea, I forgave it, but not without so much heartache in between. Oh, to be an old soul, a soul mate, but just "too young" to actually date. (Fucking is cool though.) (Yea, fucking for a straight year and some change is totally fine.) (LOL.) Somehow, we have managed to stay good friends, but if he were ever ready to really commit to me, I've already long moved on from the ever possibility. He's just my friend now and that's it. Costa Rica does sound nice though..... On second thought, a foreign country just sounds like a fancier closed door.

Some characters in life, they follow you, for better or for worse, no matter where you go. Sometimes, you'll try to make something of that, but I'm a little older now and realizing that some of those characters, they never change. It'll always be the same show, just different tricks.

It's almost two now and I'm sleepy. Somehow I manage to convince myself to get up and brush my teeth. I think about the whole day I had off from work and I'm glad I didn't go to The Ritz. But I definitely should have squeezed the gym in, or gone to the High Line, dang it, that's what I should have done. I keep meaning to do that. Well, next time. Next time, Brooklyn Bridge and High Line it is. I'll bring S with me.

I write something short and far from eloquent in my journal and then turn out the light.

ok. time to get ripped. part two.

I had some legit canoli the other day in Little Italy. S and I were wandering about as we do on our days off together when I proposed we invite some gelato before dinner into our evening. And because there was a sign at the gelato shop that said "Best Canoli in Town" we thought, fine. Give us one of those as well.

It's too easy to say yes to food in this city. My conscious eating habits have gone completely idle and never have I ever seen this sweet tooth of mine prosper so shamelessly. It's been nice. Really nice. You bring me much joy, macaroons for breakfast, but alas, these fresh off the fork love handles=not cute.

I'm up 15 pounds now since I arrived in NY, and no, it's not the end of the world or anything. But girls will be girls. 

So basically I'm losing my shit a tiny bit, as I struggle to zip up my jeans and convince myself that oversized sweaters are the new sexy.

It's time for some serious Jennifer Lopez in the Enough to go down and I'm committed to making this my number one goal in the coming months. I've let too many emotions and expectations from various things get the best of me lately and I'm done with it all. It's time to toughen up, get moving and figure out how I can integrate my former workout routine here in the city. And yeah-- not eat nearly as many bagels as I have been. 

I wanna sign up for a half marathon and get back to running--would love some partners in crime if anyone in the city wants to train together. I think an accountability partner or two would do me some good. So if you're down, let me know, my dears! I'm game, in addition to hearing any suggestions, resources, tips you might have on how to stay fit in the city. Thanksss!

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. 

OH HELLO.

Sorry guys.

That was kind of a dick move to hit publish for the first time in oh, what two weeks? And for it to be for some hombre who followed me onto my 1 train.

Nevermind my man crazy ways for a sec. (I'm ridiculous, I know.)

HI. I HAVE SO MUCH TO TELL YOU.

I want to start with thanks.

THANK YOU, all of you, for checking in as often as you do and for not holding my lack of postings against me. I really cannot tell you how simply wonderful and fantastic it is to have an entire clan of awesomes cheering me on in this journey. You make me smile and dance and feel important+strong+bad ass. So thanks for that.

The good news is this: I found a job.

TWO JOBS, in fact.

(Si, many of these: !!!!!!!!!!)

Ha, there I was for a second mad stressing that I wouldn't be able to find even one job, and then at one point I had three jobs all at the same time, and basically had to choose which job to keep. (Not the worst problem I've ever had.) Then once I picked that job, I came up with a set schedule and went out looking for a day job to generate some extra pocket money.

Alas, I am now serving nightly at a Brazilian restaurant in the Gramercy and working in a cupcake shop in the mornings in the Fashion District.

Both great jobs with great companies. And it feels so good to now have an income. I.did.it.you.guys.

As far as housing goes, I did a little bouncing around in Astoria with friends of friends as I described before, and when that ended, I was thisclose to heading back to Jersey for a few nights until I found a new spot to crash. Definitely was not looking forward to such an event. But then. By the grace of God, I found a one month sublet in upper Manhattan with some actors for super cheap and moved my ass in immediately. It couldn't have been anymore perfect how it all happened. Literally, the night before my last Astoria deal ended, I posted on Janelle's list and that night I got a response. Next day, checked the place out, signed a check, and moved in that night! So now I'm covered with a roof until October 5th. And the new 20 day challenge is this: find a more long-term living situation.

I'm not sure if I'll be able to pull off signing a lease come October, but it's a good goal to keep in mind. I think I can do it!

And if not, then I just do another short-term deal. No problem. At this point, my stress levels have diminished a great amount. Ha, it must be my California vibe kicking in (finally.)

I bought headphones yesterday which were much needed. Jams on the train are much, much better than no jams on the train. With that being said, I need some new jams. Will you help me friends? Tell me three songs you are currently obsessed with at the moment! 

Things are still a bit hectic as I'm still trying to get finances/budgeting/housing in order. And am working A LOT in the meantime. However, once things do settle a bit more, I have a school of things I want to do with this blog and I really cannot wait. Really, thank you from the bottomsss of my heart for all of your love and support.

It really is such a trip to be here. What a long way this foolish lady has come in nine months, huh.

Leaps of faith, my dear friends. Take 'em.