birth of a blog.

Hey remember one of those last few times I spent up in your loft with you? I was an ugly mess. To say the least.  

It was a tough thing for me to say no to something I wanted so badly. It was tough because it wasn't just the idea I was chasing--it was you. It was totally and completely you. And everything you were in that moment, and everything you could or would or wouldn't become. I wanted you and that's the truth.

But it was coupled with a harder truth, wasn't it. Cause somehow, that night, that moment in your loft I had to admit that I wasn't going to get what I wanted in return. Not at all this time. 

Sometimes it's something as small as your would-be love getting upset at you for touching their face after you've been digging into a bowl of buttery popcorn... to realize it can't-be love. 

And maybe I'm wrong. But really, when I switch it around, buttered popcorn on my face wouldn't have been any valid concern of mine. Ever. 

You didn't love me back. And who knew if you ever would.

I remember that night in your loft, not just because it was the beginning of the end for us, but because it was the beginning of something entirely new for me. A new chapter. It was one that I was writing for myself, on my own terms and I knew I couldn't carry you into it with me. It was a huge moment for me to call the shots like that, but just as certain as I was about it all, I was equally confused. I think that's just how it goes when you're making life-changing decisions. You go with your gut, but the ghosts of what-if still follow you to your pillow. 

I remember that night in your loft, because I put a stamp on it as I like to do at various dark lit and pivotal stages in my life. At some point that evening, I wiped the stress and fear away, I barely laughed, and I said to you, or rather to myself, "It's ok. It'll all be alright." Do you remember this? I said, "Soon enough, I will look back at this moment-this moment where I'm sitting in this damn loft of yours, beside you, having this emotional exchange about life and love and choices and all the relentless confusion, and I'll smile in my future self, knowing that I am, in fact, OK."

It's surprising to me that I'm still having conversations about what exactly it is I blog about, or why. Or how it all even started. Especially as I've abandoned the blogging completely the last few months. Sorry  friends. And really, sorry me. 

But, when I look back at that first heart-wrenching post I wrote just a little over a year ago, I think it says it all. However, emotional and giant of a rant it was, it was a necessary one that helped provide a lot of clarity and the best road map EVER to some much needed healing.

The truth is, you inspired this blog. I mean, yeah, New York did too. Of course. But you're a big part of the prompt. You+all those lousy feelings of unrequited love.... it created this space for me to be open and honest. And to let go... not just of you, but everything in my life so far that has made me feel anything less than a winner.

And with that, I only have left to say.... thanks.

--------

Naturally, I'm a little late, but I wanted to say Happy Birthday to this blog. Goes without saying, mama hasn't been around much lately, but I assure you that is changing. I have much to tell. And if I don't put it down here, I will write us all a book and send it to publish.

I've grown more in the last fifteen months than I have my whole life... Alexandra you were right! 

It's been tough as ever, but the good news: I'm OK... I'm alright :)

Thank you readers and friends for your on-going love. I am humbled and blessed every day to know that my most honest feelings are sought after and appreciated. I'm sorry if you've reached out to me in the last few months and I haven't provided you with a response. I quit my job so I could return to THIS!   Stay tuned... xxx!!

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.

shoots and ladders.

Sebastion Reiser

So.

As you all know, back in January when I started this blog, I decided I was going to try this thing called go celibate for an entire year and keep all things highly platonic. In a serious attempt to prove I wasn't totally humoring myself, I wrote an entire piece about it. 

Well. If you've been reading along then surely you've found word that my little science project has plummeted. And if you've missed word, then let it be known that I, jen, have miserably failed to stay away from the boys. 

I lasted a good five months without so much as having brunch with maybe one dude who I was reluctant to even climb into a car with. 

Then, much like the time Chandler had a cigarette to reward himself for not smoking cigarettes, I hung out with Steve.

And then I took an impromptu trip to SF where I met A, the Russian. Who did a marvelously fine job sweeping me off my feet in what I like to think was a pretty crazy twist of fate. I didn't even tell you guys this, but A actually flew down from SF to Ventura and spent my last weekend in California with me before I left. Very rarely have I ever had a dude come my way, let alone get inside an airplane to do it. You tell me how the hecks a gal is to say no to that? 

And now I've been in New York for nearly four months, and have definitely flirted my way into disaster with one pumpkin and totally embarrassed myself very recently with another. 

In summary, I've been very busy doing a horrible job avoiding the male race. So shoots to that.

But what I can say is this-- with only a month and half left of this year, I've given myself some serious time to not just dip my feet in several ponds, but not get lost or specifically glued to any one of them. I've enjoyed each connection as they've been bestowed upon me, without denying them or their significance, for better or for worse, for moments short or long, I've said yes. I've said yes without my usual agenda to commit, or expect, or sacrifice my own plans. I've managed to say yes while still staying single. And totally I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T. do you know what that means mang. 

minus my own house, my own car, and the two jobs.

Tho, I did have two jobs like two weeks ago, and I won't argue with the bad broad part, cause well. 

I kinda just got the biggest job promotion of my life thus far. 

I've been meaning to tell all of you, but really, it's taken me a couple weeks now to really grasp that a. it's actually happening and b. it's quite remarkable and also c. I will succeed and do fine. (insecurities get the best of me when big things happen.)

Today marks my third day training as a manager for my restaurant job. Of course, the anti-corporate America in me is banging it's head against the wall a little bit, but to deny an opportunity like this one, would be foolish I think. It's a very large corporation with pockets deep enough to secure me a nice apartment in the city, with salary, benefits, free sushi, the whole ninety yards.  + a promising future if I work hard enough for it. And so I've chosen to say yes again.

Kind of crazy how things continue to be working out. 

Of course, there's been a lot of the feeling homesick. The weight gain hasn't been delightful. And actually that first George pumpkin who followed me onto my 1 train did manage to get to me a little bit. More than I'd like to admit. But that's the first real slight heartache I've felt all year. And as far as my health is concerned, a little heart ache here and there ain't so terrible. I mean, it's not like I have a choice anyway. Ha- I don't know how to keep my heart anything but wide open all the damn time, I really don't, but I think it's better than all of those people who say no over and over, simply out of fear of rejection. Or disappointment. Or abandonment. 

Those things are inevitable and they will happen at one point or many points for ALL of us. I can't tell you how many times I've been disappointed. But it doesn't take away from all the soulful and ever-endearing moments I've shared with so many strange and wonderful individuals in my life. I wouldn't trade those glances, those laughs, those quiet duets for anything. 

Eventually, I know I'll find one that sticks. My darling dear, wherever you may be, your cold beer and Royal Tenenbaums Criterion Collection awaits you!

For now, I'm living the dream in NYC. Being a boss. Climbing ladders. Playing footsies wherever applicable. And saying shoots. Cause srsly- who the crap knew.

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. 

final west coast holiday.

Holidays are very nostalgic. At least for me they are. I always seem to make it a point to either discuss or make a personal mental note to myself of what exactly it was I was doing the year before on whatever holiday it is I'm celebrating. Where I was. What I was wearing. How I was feeling. Who I was with. Who I wasn't with. The reflections are often tender, as for me, I've found myself in places quite different from one year to the next.

Last year, for example, I was hiking in the Laguna Canyon with my friend Kendal. We ended up walking a good five miles post hike to get to what I thought was the nearby beach (ha, my sense of distance can be so terrible.) I remember I took a long nap after that, and then just hung out at home by myself for the evening. Sounds sad, but it was actually quite nice. A gentle calm before the storm to come in the months after. At the time, I was getting ready to move out of my beloved college Irvine apartment into a home in Dana Point to be closer to my restaurant job where I had been recently promoted to management. It was a month filled with stress, fear, and excitement. My college era was over, and I was starting a new chapter in my Orange County adventures: The one where I was a full-time working CAREER WOMAN! I had high hopes. And at the time, I thought it was exactly what I wanted for my 24 year old.

Until I realized it wasn't.

It took a few months for that realization to show up, and then a couple more months to act on it. But ultimately it got me here. Back in Ventura. And basically, it's just crazy how much can happen and change in one year.

I have no idea what next year's Fourth of July will look like. (Or all the days leading.)

But this year's was great. My last real holiday on the West Coast and I spent it with my sister and her friends. We drank and we laughed and we ate candy. And we hopped a barbed wired fence to climb a mountain, for what was definitely the best spot to catch the fireworks show. (total rebels, I know.)

I missed my own friends in LA & OC, but hugging Ventura+my family as tightly as I am in these final hours.. well, it only seems right. I'm going to miss this little home town of mine.

And I couldn't be more proud of myself for the brave distances traveled from the last fourth to now.

I hope you all had a nice holiday as well! See you tomorrow at Blog Brunch? Say yes.

stories about san francisco.

Question: On a scale of 1 to 10... how annoying would it be if I swapped out NYC for San Fran as my city move? 

Haha. I'm not serious about it. But, the thought has definitely crossed my mind the past week.

What a week! Here I am sitting on my own bed in Ventura, feeling rather exhausted, and also, pretty speechless. I feel like I just woke up from a dream. There are not enough high fives I can give myself for making this last minute decision to journey up North for the week. I have loved and been to San Francisco many times, but this last time was by far the best. Whether is was because it was a spontaneous decision or because I had a whole collection of spectacular souls waiting to meet me there, it was just what the doctor ordered for this stressed out lady: a breath of fresh air+some whiskey+the world's finest artisan pastries. Holy whoah. I finally had myself some of those fancy macaroons that errbody be postin' up on pinterest and I didn't think it was possible, but they do in fact, taste even better than they look. Absolutely DELISH.

As for the details of this trip, what can I say and where do I begin? It's always the loveliest of times being beside my best friend. Don't you feel the same way about your best pals? I am fortunate to have many close friends in my life. All of which currently live pretty far away. But Bailey is the best-est of them all, despite the fact she lives the furthest away. We've been keepin' it cheeky and real since the seventh grade where we first met in church youth group, a time we often reflect on with laughter and shame. Ever since then we've been the best of friends, even if we sometimes go months without talking. We just do our individual things and no matter where or when we meet up in our lives, we just pick up wherever we last left off. It's never weird and it's always awesome. And pretty much I just love her to pieces. I mean, what's not to dig about this Courtney Love sort of attitude? You tell me.

We totally had some drinks and got silly. And our beautiful friend Eva (who is also a fellow Ventura native livin' in the San Fransss) joined us which was delightful and sweet. 

As if those girls weren't enough to put a smile on my face, there was also Alexandra and Rebekka who greeted me with warm hugs and hand shakes. I've been reading these girls blogs for awhile now and singing their praises on the double. So naturally, when the opportunity came to meet them in real life, I jumped allll over it! And I'm so glad I did. Both of those ladies are just as amazing and beautiful in person as I imagined them to be, and I continue to feel so grateful for this blogging community that we all belong to. I have been introduced to so many wonderful people here and I can't wait to meet every single one of you someday! (Please if you are EVER in Ventura/LA/Santa Barbara or NYC/New Jersey area starting in August... let me know! I would be tickled to exchange some high fives over coffee with you!)

Sadly, I was too shy to demand a photo or five when we were chillin' with Alexandra and her crew, and was so disappointed about it after the fact, that when Rebekka and I got together for part duex of our meet up, I said, "LET'S TAKE SOME PICS!!!!" So we dids. And then we hung out at Delores Park, which is probably one of my most favorite spots in all of San Francisco. In fact the photo in the last post is one I took of it several years ago. Gorgeous park sitting on top of the city--always filled with colorful characters laying out or picnicing or making music, and dogs! I love all the different dogs that come running through. Sometimes I feel like that park alone is reason enough to want to move to San Francisco. I mentioned this to Rebekka, and she was kind enough to remind me that NY has some pretty amazing parks too. Having just moved to SF from NYC not even a month ago, she would probably know. So that made me THAT much more excited for the move.

In general, this whole time spent in this magical city made me feel much more relaxed and pumped for New York. It definitely confirmed my suspicions of being a city a girl at heart, and I cannot wait to get lost in it all. It's so backwards to what I'm used to--I mean between California and Brazil, I'm used to the laid back, beachy kind of scene. Suburbia to the max. But on water. And I do love the calm of it all,  I love the small town vibe that comes with it, the t-shirt+sandals look, the In and Out Burger, the many collections of palm trees in a row and shoes filled with sand. This is what I've grown up with. And I know that there is a part of me that will miss it. But. It doesn't even begin to compare to the excitement I feel when I'm carrying my feet along a crowded street, even if there is homeless people yelling and/or following me. The excitement that comes with riding public transportation. Haha, I got so excited every time Bailey said that words, "We'll just take BART." I love getting on those trains, maybe because, in part it reminds me of riding the subway trains in NY, or maybe just because it's fun. You experience so many different kinds of faces sitting in those things, and it's just exciting to be getting from one part of the city to another. Even if you are getting completely lost in the process. I actually had to get on a couple of buses all on my own this week, and it was kind of nerve-racking because I wasn't sure if I was going the right way, or if I was for sure on the right bus even. But then when I did get where I was trying to go, it was like, TRIUMPH. I did it! I got to where I was trying to go! You feel so much pride and accomplishment. Just from taking the right bus somewhere.

And the best part of being in the city? The rich mix of different cultures and the on-going celebration of individuality. I have a hard time putting it into words, but there's a very free-ing feeling that greets you on a crowded city sidewalk. You feel like you can just go outside wearing whatever you like and just be yourself, and people don't just accept that of you, they celebrate it. It's an amazing thing, and an amazing feeling. It's a feeling that in 24 years of living in Southern California, I have struggled to match. Even in LA, where I lived for a good year, I didn't completely feel it the way I have in SF and in NY. It's a different kind of energy filling your lungs, one made up of creativity and unconditional love. And I want more of it. All of it.

After all the adventures with friends, there was one more person who unexpectedly made his mark in this random journey. He's someone who may never again be mentioned, but in my heart of secrets, I pray that that is not the case. I swear I am a champion at small and peculiar affairs. I have had many of them in my short lifetime, each one worth writing a play about. And the struggle to understand and appreciate them goes on and on. I could easily go on and on about how so and what I mean by that, but that's for another time perhaps. For now, I will just say that I was introduced to a very dashing and interesting man via Bailey's boyfriend, Will. Of all things he was Russian, which to me was very interesting since I know basically nothing about Russia. Except that they are responsible for those little babushka dolls that are always still very amusing. Anyway, we hit it off surprisingly well my second night in SF and that led to hanging out the third night, and then spending the fourth night together. Yeah, I was suppose to come home Thursday. Instead, I gave my work shift away and came back Friday. All his fault.

But it was worth it. My favorite kind of people are the kinds I can sit around and philosophize with.... and also make out with. You know what I mean? He lived on the other side of the bay, in a little Italian inspired town called, Sausalito. What was suppose to just be a quick lunch before I hit the road, turned into an entire day spent lounging, walking around his town, exchanging lists of our favorite authors and musicians, films that we both wanted each other to watch. He even took me out to a nice sushi dinner. And I knew he was definitely my kind of guy when the bill came and he asked me if he should tip more than ten dollars on a forty-four dollar bill. God, I love a generous tipper. I would have had sex with him right there.

Don't worry. I didn't. Not there at the restaurant anyway.

And in all of this, I know what you are thinking "uh, so much for your platonic pledge, Jen" and you are right. But sometimes, in the moment of things, something feels right, and damn me if I don't act on those feelings. So I acted on them, and I feel no shame. Maybe a little confusion now, as I try to understand fate and all of its mysterious ways of working. Six days ago, I had no business with any kind of romance, and now there is a Russian in the world who is being missed. I don't know what to make up of what occurred. All I can say is that it was something very nice and special that happened, and I didn't take a moment of it for granted as it was happening.

I think the overall lesson learned this week is just that: To live in the moment and take every ounce of it in. Even if the future has you going somewhere far away. You can't depend or even consider the future all the time in everything you do. Because really, all you have is right now. Five days ago, all I had was a couple hundred dollars and a longing desire to get away for a few days. I was reluctant because it didn't seem like the wisest or the most practical of decisions, but I said, "fuck it" and I went for it anyway.

And in a nutshell, that's how I came to experience my best time in San Francisco to date.

How has your week been? Have you guys ever been to San Francisco? Ever had a short term romantic affair? 

P.S. I'm a thousand years behind on e-mails! I'm working this whole weekend, but will be back in reply action this week! love you alls.

i got my mom tipsy @ a potluck. (& other weekend tales of truth)

It's been a colorful entrance into May. 

I hit it off with not just one, but two potlucks in a row...where I may or may not have put my last blog post to complete shame. We won't confirm or elaborate on that, as I think the attendance of any pot luck speaks for itself. 

( I'm not sorry. Those mini bundt cakes were delicious. )

In addition to being pot lucky over the weekend, I had myself some strange and I had myself some awesome. Strange because I did a lot of drinking over the weekend, which is not usually my style. Awesome because I got my mom to rage with me, which is NEVER her style. I'm still new to the ventures of mommy-daughter drinking, but I have to say--it's quite fun!!!

You know what wasn't fun: uhhhhh, the $68 parking ticket I got in LA the morning before potluck number two. F, man. Total buzz kill motivator. Obviously, I ate and drank my feelings that much more passionately later that afternoon. And you know what--if it wasn't for the ticket, it was bound to happen anyway. I had to make up for loss time from the first potluck, where I managed to play it "cool", and you know, not stuff my face and/or lend suspicion to the fact that I only showed up FOR THE FOOD.

I actually didn't just show up for the food. That first potluck was my first blogger meet up EVER. I knew NO ONE to begin with. And it was a little daunting and intimidating at first. And when they started asking me questions, I felt my voice shake cause I was really super nervous, but then I didn't have any alcohol just yet and I didn't run away to the food table just yet, and it was all OK because everyone was loving and accepting and kind and funny and interesting and just like that, I was further reassured as to why I'm kind of digging this whole blogging thing in a ginormous way. 

And then I attacked those mini bundt cakes. And I'm still not sorry.

Fast forward to pot luck #2. It was my boss' 82nd birthday party and in this case as well, I didn't just show up for the food. I showed up because it was my boss' birthday. And she invited me to attend. And when your boss invites you to her birthday party, you should probably show up. ESPECIALLY if it's potluck. Helloooo.

(Ok. Maybe the food did play a significant role in this one after all.)

I thought it would be nice to bring my mother with me. And what I mean by that, is I thought it would be nice to have a friend to chat with when my fairly new co-workers maybe didn't have anything to say to me. Or vice versa. Truth be told, I'm not very good in social settings where I'm not particularly close with everyone around me. And actually, I thought it would be nice to bring my mother with me anyway. Because we don't hang out nearly as often as we should. And it's something I'm working on.

Ironically, my mom faired quite well at the event, despite the fact that she knew everyone there much less than I did. She even abandoned me completely at one point and for more than a hot second (thanks Mom). It was kind of awkward at first... sitting there with that bowl of chips, but then I managed to weasel my way into a conversation that I found myself very thankful for. 

It started with overhearing this woman at an adjacent couch discussing concerns over her daughter's "older boyfriend." 

See now, those are two words I'm pretty tight with. Any close friend of mine knows my tendencies to fancy the older kinds, and any person in my life knows I've had many of the boyfriends. I overheard "She's 21 and he's 36," and it was a sure invitation to raise my hand and say, "I can give you insight there." And then I did. 

Because when I was 20 I met a man that was 37 and we dated for over a year. I'm sure you can do math, but that's almost twice my age, and yeah--- sometimes I look back on it and I judge myself too. But most of the time, I don't. Because it was a real learning experience and that man is actually still a good friend of mine today. It's a little bit tricky and quirky in ways, but he's that interesting character in my life that remains and I'm OK with it. His name is Steve. And that's not really his name. But that's what I call him. And he calls me Ned. And if that makes any sense to you then cheers because you know what's up, and yes, that is in fact where my obsession of Wes Anderson began. 

And since I'm honest like all the time, I will say it was indeed very strange that I should end up having such a conversation with this woman about my experience of dating older men (specifically Steve) because guess who I hung out with between potluck #1 and potluck #2. 

Yup, you guessed it---Steve. I could write a whole separate post on that in-between affair, but that's for later maybe. 

For now, I wanna stick to the awesome exchange I shared with this woman. Because you never imagine how much you can relate with any given stranger, and then when you do it's special. 

My opportunity arrived when this un-named woman of her 50s sitting at an adjacent couch on a Monday afternoon potluck in April graciously welcomed me into a conversation with much intrigue and no platters of judgement. It was almost as if she was desperate to hear my story, and I was happy to share it with her. 

Her pickle: She's worried because her daughter, Anne (character name) is dating a man almost twice her age who just came out of a seven year marriage, and not only is she moving in with him, but she's named him her "soul mate" and "hopes that he will marry her."

To which I nodded, "HA."

Though my past self would have loved to of been able to say Steve and I were moving in together at any point in the past, that was not ever the case. BUT, the "soul mate" and the "marry" bits. Um yeah. I know where daughter Anne is coming from.

And then mother of Anna spoke, "I just worry that what she thinks she knows and wants right now, is not what she will know and want later." 

To which I sang, "YUP."

Though my past self would have never given such a statement any consideration in the slightest, I can now say, I know exactly where Mother of Anne is coming from.

Because here's the thing. Us young folks, in our twenty-something year old skins, we're constantly growing. Constantly changing. And in that---constantly susceptible to believe in just about anything that seems remarkably good. We're dreamers and we put our whole hearts into everything. And it's dangerous and it's risky and it's foolish-no doubt. But this is what being young is all about. It's our time to fuck up---our grand and embarrassing episode of trial and error. Our unintentional landings into the mush pit, that sometimes eats us up like quick sand and leaves us begging for a light that we didn't before acknowledge. This is that crucial time in our lives where we begin to carve out what's important to us. What we need to survive, and what we can do without. WHO is important to us, and WHO we can do without. It's a time where we confuse soul mates with soulful moments. And we mix up loving a person with loving ideas or things about a person. We play with our hearts, and not our minds and we work off feelings, rather than practicality. 

We rush into things.

And who can tell us to stop that we will listen to? 

We're stubborn.

And we think we know it all.

And we don't most of the time.

Chances are, what we want right now, is not what we will want later. 

For some it is-- I guess I can't speak on behalf of every twenty-something year old--- but for Me, myself, I can definitely say, my ideas and my thoughts and my wants and my needs, they are changing constantly. I'm only half-way thru this dark and neon tunnel of what they call your "trying twenties" and I can already tell you I've changed my mind about a kazillion things. But it took EXPERIENCE to acquire all those neverminds, those second guesses, those revelations, those new conclusions, those universally calculated chips at my own developing statue of a woman. 

So what can I say to this mother of Anne other than, YOU SHOULD BE CONCERNED and your daughter is probably making some really stupid choices, but who knows? Maybe she's not. And if she is, she's going to grow so much from it.  And so either way, you must let it be. And have faith that things will fall a part in whatever way they need to in order for things to eventually fall together. When and how and if they will fall a part at all, only the Good Lord knows, but that's where you can most definitely come in and save the day with tissues and chocolate and hugs. Because she might just come running home with shame and embarrassment. Or as I've come to understand--learning and maturing.  Do be there, Mother of Anne to love that child of yours unconditionally. To give her the support she'll need when she's fallen. To give her the encouragement to get back up. Nothing you say beforehand will stop her will. And everything you say after will soothe her soul. 

Except "I told you so." That one, I prolly don't recommend.

-----------

This was only a fraction of the beautiful conversation I had with this woman. Turns out we had another past situation in common, not me and the daughter of this woman, but me and the woman herself. It's an experience in my lifetime that I will eventually work up the courage to offer here. But on the couch that recent evening, it was quite the joy to connect with this woman in ways I haven't been able to connect with another being on such novel experiences. Like I said, thankful my mom peace'd out into the kitchen for her fourth glass of wine. Cause it pushed me to reach out and converse. And relate. And then when it was over, my mom returned and she topped my fourth glass of wine off and then together, we giggled the remainder of that little potluck away. 

On the same album, different song: How gorgeous is the second potlucks' hosts' garden/land?? We were all in complete awe and envy. 

Speaking of mothers and daughters, I snagged this shot of my co-worker and her daughter. I love it.

Oh yeah and one more thing. The hosts of this particular potluck (number two) are not just regulars at our restaurant.. but uhhh they are Academy Award Winners!!! No joke. Here's the evidence to prove it. I nearly pee'd my pants from excitement/too much wine when I looked over and thought out loud, "Holy shit, those are Oscar trophies!"

LEGIT.

some words on patience.

image found here

I wanna talk about patience. 

Why? Because it's something I lack. Quite often.

Not so much with others as I do with myself. 

But I am getting better at it: the being patient with myself and I wanna share the how so with you.

During my lowest of low times in college, I sought out a professor who I strongly admired and somehow felt could offer me up some light/encouragement. It was one of the few times in my life, when I felt so lost and desperate that I actually willingly asked for help (something I'm usually reluctant to do.) Anyway, I sat in his office and cried and cried and asked for words of enlightenment and he not only graciously and lovingly provided me with a whole lot of that, but he also gave me a book that he said he believed I would greatly benefit from. 

Here is said book:

Now, to be completely honest, at first glance, I didn't think much of this book. I mean it just looked like too many words for a front cover in a very generic font. And "The Life Series 101" ? Mmmkays. Even the claim from Oprah at the top wasn't enough to really capture my intrigue. While I was thankful for the gift and kindness of my professor, I definitely tossed this one aside when I got home and stayed rejuvenated off what my professor had to say, rather than anything this book could possibly have to offer.

It wasn't until the beginning of this year, in the grueling process of moving back in with my parents that I picked this book up and said, "alright, Peter McWilliams. What chu got for me?"

Turns out, he's got a lot. More than I ever imagined. I read every word of this book and was completely blown away by all the fantastic and logical insights this brilliant man had to offer. And in such simple terms too. I think you can guess that one of the most valuable of his chapters to me was the one on patience. Here's some words from Mr. McWilliams that really hit home:

"Patience is our compassion for the distance between what we are now and what we know we can be."

"Because we have such fertile imaginations, we can envision ourselves scaling mountains one moment and swimming oceans the next. To get from the mountaintop to the beach, however, takes a certain amount of time. If we're on the mountain and want to go to the ocean, that's fine. But if we strike against ourselves for not being at the ocean right now, we're being impatient."

"The journey from here to there will never be completed. Such is life. Have compassion for the distance  between where you are now and where you're going next. (Where you are now, remember, is the goal of a former moment in time.)"

Wow, right? At least for me this was. And especially in the moment. It was almost as if God or some spirit lead me to pick up this book and read these words that I so desperately needed to read at that time. That stressful and lonely time when I quit my full-time job, dropped my whole life in Orange County which included the majority of my friends and the dude I was seeing at the time, and came back home to Ventura. It was time when I came to accept a lot of things about myself that I didn't like and I knew I needed to work on. And I wanted to work on them. And not only did I want to work on them, I wanted them to be fixed right away. I wanted the huge transitions I was making in my life to go more smoothly and to be way less awkward. I wanted things to just be more easy and more clear. I wanted things to feel right, instead of confusing. I wanted all the second-guessing to be gone, and the certainty to be present. And in all of these wants, I found myself to be the captain of impatience. Which only caused me more stress than I was already experiencing. This book proved to be some very strong medicine and it helped me work through a lot. And in good time.

This was only several months ago. Which is shocking in some ways, because it only goes to prove how faith, patience, diligence, and the right attitude can make you soar, and much quicker than you would think. It's not an overnight journey, not by any means. But if you can take things one day at a time and set your goals loud and clear before you, well, you're setting yourself up for success and improvements, at a very like-able and generous pace.

Some time right before I picked up this book, I somehow knew it in my mind that I needed to get my goals down on paper. I needed some sort of hard copy reminder of why exactly I dropped everything in my life and switched lanes completely. As if transitioning wasn't hard enough, I was heartbroken, and had also just gotten into car accident that was my fault and broken my macbook--all around the same time. I also came home with no room or place to put all of my furniture, since my room at the parents had inevitably become a place to store things. All of which didn't even include a bed. So for the first two weeks of moving back home, I not only had to crash on the couch, but had no place to put any of my belongings. No car to drive. No macbook to turn to. No job to go to. Things were just messy, no doubt, I felt empty and all I wanted was the comfort from the man I had broken up with and my friends who were all now so far away. I even just missed the Trader Joes I went to on a regular basis and my gym in Irvine. Everything I had come to know in a span of three and half years was now gone. You can bet your bottom dollars there was an immediate party of regret, second-guessing, and "oh no, what have I dones." I needed a hard copy reminder of why exactly I dropped everything in my life and switched lanes completely. So I went to Barnes and Noble and I bought a pretty notebook. One of the cheaper ones, mind you, because at that moment I was unemployed with maybe twenty bucks to my name total. (With no sight of a future paycheck anytime soon. It was a scary time, indeed.)

Here is said notebook:

And on the very first page, on December 8, 2011, I wrote out my goals.

Some of those goals obviously have changed, hence the crossed out status. (I'm a little ashamed that the volunteer in elementary school classroom got booted.. but there is much time yet in this lifetime for such things.)

And still, I can't help but to do a little happy dance that may or may not include a secret tear or two. Because I have accomplished so much in both body and mind since that ever so difficult time in Dec/January. I have to be proud of myself for hanging in there and not only giving myself the gift of patience, but the clear path of where I want to go. Since the time I jotted those goals down, I have not only fixed my car, my macbook, my heart, and my ridiculously high college loan payments, I've gotten myself a job, paid off almost all of my debt, gotten this blog going, gotten my room back, and above all---gotten the confidence back that the choices made several months ago were the RIGHT ONES.

I mean, here I sit, single and happy, with a blog, a very small, but growing readership, an entire circle of new friends, a strengthening of relationships with my family, a renewed appreciation for Ventura, and the intent to buy my plane ticket to New York this week for July. (It has been officially set for July ! :)

Life is good, and I'm just so glad that I've stayed patient and strong up to this point. And I hope I can continue to do so, as I know that there is much transitioning yet to come. I mean, I am moving across the country for crying out loud. Haha, I think the toughest awaits me still!

But I have faith. And I run towards the things that scare me, rather than away from them. I choose the uncomfortable rather than comfortable. Because that's how I choose to live my life. Because that's what I believe to be living.

And what about you? How do you and patience get along? If this post has encouraged you to go out to Barnes and Noble and start your own diary of goals and self-compassion, will you say so? It has proven to be one of the most important things I have ever done for myself, and if you're in a place of "I don't know what the heck is going on" or "I don't know why I've gone in this direction or that", I encourage you to do this. Give yourself a clear purpose. If you don't know what that purpose is yet, think about what you love. Think about the places you want to go. Think about the things you want to be. Start with those things, and see where it takes you. And while you're at Barnes, pick up Peter McWilliams book! It will fuel your heart and your mind, this I promise. (By the way---there is no shame in browsing the self-help section at the bookstore. In my opinion, that should be the busiest section! What a worthy cause, to seek self-improvement. I applaud every individual I encounter in that section.)

As always, I am delighted to hear from all of you whether it be in the form of comments or e-mails. I'm not only here to share, I'm here to help. To connect, and to give support.

There is only love.

And patience :) Don't just give it to others---give it to yourself. 

Just In Case You Were Wondering Exactly How Weird I Am...

Here ya go. I'm feeling a little reminiscent of those college week day nights where I didn't feel like doing my Shakespeare reading, so instead I grabbed my room mate and demanded we make home bideos of us being ourselves, which needless to say=grade A weirdos. Eh, we're theater kids, after all. Feel free to unfollow me after this post. Or recommend me/my blog to any weirdos out there you might know. And when I say weirdos, I'm talking about the off beat awesome people of the world, not serial killers...thanks/love you. (I would hope you don't know any serial killers.)

PS. That's my college apartment we were playing in. Lots of memories in that little nook of mine. We called it the "Fungalow". It was our attempt to match the fun idea of having a college living situation that had a name... like all the guys in our drama department who lived together in a house and called it "The Dude Ranch". I was really hoping the Fungalow would catch on, and it would be the new fav. hang out spot for all the cool kids of UCI, but that didn't quite occur. Then Chris, my former room mate above (who I shared apt with) moved out and into The Dude Ranch.. ouch. Well, I don't blame him. They had a garage with a ping pong table in it and a driveway where you could park for free. All I had going at my place was shitty parking and a wall collage.

Hey now, it was a pretty sweet collage at least--- check it out.

And my old spacious room that I miss a lot lot now compared to my current room at the parent's place, where cleaning=stuffing things away in any space available which = none, which = a seemingly messy/ scattered room constantly.

I sure do miss you, Park West. You were a time in my life that now only exists as a memory. In many ways a sorta sour one, but in other ways, a very happy one. I lived a lot in that little college apartment of mine.

Afternoon Buzzin' w/ Some Lady Friends.

For the recs, that basil-something cocktail was my first touch of hard liquor this whole year. Not like that's a sticker-worthy statement or anything, but I'm just sayin'. Drinking just doesn't fulfill me the same way gelato does. Or dollars in my wallet. Or easy times on the treadmill. Or mornings that are pleasant. 

Needless to say, I did order myself a drink today. I'm not about to say no to a $5 cocktail. Sister, please. If I show up to a fancy restaurant, prepared to maybe spend $12 on a single drink, and the server/angel then notifies me that that $12 drink is actually only $5 because by the grace of God I have arrived during Happy Hour, um.... that's the Good Lord telling me to have a drink. And enjoy it. Well, done and done. 

And boy was I buzzzzin' off that one. I guess extended sobriety/being a super light weight in general will do that to you. BUT HEY. This is all besides the point. 

The point here is that I just had an absolutely charming and wonderful lunch with two of my most favorite college pals. The three of us hadn't seen each other in awhile, so it was really nice to get together and catch up. Heck, it was nice for me to get out of my little bat cave of a bedroom. My life has become quite the neapolitan of work/blog-related things/and hanging out in my pjs all day as of lately. All great, no complaints. But like Gretchin Rubin points out, "no matter what the people are doing, they tend to feel happier when they're with other people." Heard that.  So I called up some homies (via the Facebook) and said "Lunch, ya?" (Spoiler alert: They said YA!!!!!)

Meet Claire and Anais. These two pretty faces are very special people to me. As a transfer student coming into UCI, I struggled to break down the towering fortresses of a very tight-knit drama department. As a whole, college was not (I repeat, not.) the most joyous of times. Just let my tumblr tell you. I struggled to fit in, struggled to feel connected to my peers, struggled to feel worthy, capable, certain of anything. Looking back, a poor attitude and a strong lack of self-love/belief had much to do with that "struggle", but that's not to say that people were warm and welcoming towards me when I arrived. They weren't. Not even a year or two years later. It was a very cold place for me, and I hated being unique to that feeling, while everyone else was laughing, holding hands and having a swell time. It made me feel like something was wrong with me. Like I really was that "weird girl", but maybe not in a good way after all. When in fact, I am that weird girl, but I do believe in a good way, and nothing was wrong with me, I just wasn't in the same space or the same frame of mind as all those kids were. I wasn't as passionate as they were about acting, I wasn't as competitive as they were about getting casted. I wasn't as social as they were constantly. I wasn't as interested in discussing Glee and Spring Awakening and auditions and projects and shows everyday, all day. Suddenly memorizing lines for a scene felt like going to the dentist to get a cavity filled. I just wanted to put it off and reschedule and not have to "deal" with it. I wasn't a true "drama kid" anymore (which in itself was a very scary and doleful revelation). What was once a favorite past-time of mine; playing dress up and putting on shows with the kids in my mom's home daycare, what was once a full-time hobbie of mine; participating in community theater and being a drama nerd in high school/junior college, was now just that- a past-time. My interests had changed. And my proposed post-college agenda was much different than all my fellow college mates. It was an agenda that no longer included pursuing acting at all. It goes without saying, I found myself surrounded by people who I just didn't share that much in common with. It wasn't until my final quarters at UCI (conveniently) that I started to really grasp this and was able to accept the fact that not only a. I probably/definitely picked the wrong major (though I can argue against that now in ways) and b. I really wasn't genuinely going to fit in with my classmates... ever. And I did try, believe me (and not in just a Courtney Robertson sort of way, ha), there were times in which I reached out, in which I conversed, in which I engaged. But that awkward disconnect always seemed to be there. And I always felt like a cartful of lame for even trying when the interest and the effort wasn't genuinely reciprocated. 

****Almost always. Luckily, there were a few kindred spirits who came out of the wood work. And Praise God for it. Just because two people don't share a majority of the same interests doesn't mean there isn't an opportunity to connect with each other in some other way. But it takes two to tango in such a movement, and I can only say thank you and thank you and thank you some more to these two ladies for digging and taking an interest beyond my acting resume and my all-time fav musical. (Which is CATS by the way. Just kidding. West Side Story.) (Not sure if that answer is much better, but I like to think it is a little bit. Seriously, who can stand CATS? Or better yet, Phantom of the Opera. Seriously city vacationers, you're going to spend your broadway experience seeing Phantom??? I pity you.) (I take it back. No, not the pitying. The saying West Side Story isn't a legit fav. Sure, it's been done over and over again, but I'm talking the original film here, with Natalie Wood, in all her brilliance. If you don't know what I'm talking about, shame. on. you. Go watch West Side Story. Now. I mean, after you're done reading, commenting, following me on Twitter, and 'liking' me on Facebook that is. [winky winkssss !]) (Thanks.) (I digress.) (I KNOW.) (And actually, I feel like I just contradicted myself a bit there with all of that theater ranting. The truth is, musical theater will always have a special place in my heart, and I do talk about it still and appreciate it, I just no longer eat, breathe, and dream it anymore. That's all.) Ok. Where were we? Oh yeah, I love my friends! And it was truly so magical to see them today.

What I looooove is being at this age, (that yes, at most moments is confusing as fuck), but also the most opportunistic period of our lives. It's so exciting for me to hear my friends talk about the possibilities of au pairing abroad or working on organic farms in foreign countries or investing in creative business ideas, or auditioning for grad acting programs in Australia. I feel so blessed to share that excitement and that inspiration with them. To be a genuine supporter! And in return, feel the love and support as well. 

I guess this is what friends are for, huh. :)

Before, I take this post to a closing, I did want to share something awesome with you. Anais was telling me about the book/project Soul Pancake. Have you guys heard of this?? I gatta go get me a copy of this book like now, because it sounds too awesome. Well, anyway, Anais had the opportunity to participate in one of their projects outside of the book and here it is ! In addition to a great lunch with some great friends, this video really made my made day. (Thanks Anais/which heart guy are you????)

Cheers! To life, love, and friendships. Oh, and Happy Hour.

The Plansies.

Hello.

Welcome to my very first post [ exclamation point(s) ]

I have to be honest by saying, constructing first posts (along with a lot of "first" things in life) is no mission short of intimidating.

Given the fact that creating a blog in which I hope and pray brings me lots of readers and lots of money is not my objective at all here, there shouldn't be nearly as much pressure as I'm feeling right now to highly stimulate your reading palates with these first collections of thoughts...but strangely, there is. Hmm.

On second thought, Yes. I quite like the idea of developing a hip club of kindred spirits via my own virtual babbles. And well, if I should at some point happen to be bribed with some benjis to babble on further, I think I quite like that idea too....(although, the world is highly susceptible to my babbling/ramblings one way or another/with or without incentives).

Really, I'm just here, sitting in front of a really nice expensive macbook that's not my own, in a bad ass little apartment in West Hollywood (that's also not mine), typing with fingers that are mine, because I wanna get into this whole blogging thing for real REALs. And here's why!

One) I'm tired of people telling me my life should be documented in a number of ways. Because it's apparently that cray.

Fuck it, not "apparently", it is. My life has been pretty crazy thus far. And yeah, I will write books. Later, when all my chapters are gathered. Since at 24 years old, my life is only just beginning... so They (who are older and wiser) say. And ain't that a converse duo of resassuring and daunting as hell. Yippeee!

Two) A new chapter IS here and I'm about to embark on some EPIC SHIT and would like to have this cute little internet cubbie in order to:
ay. hold myself creatively accountable for the fabulous plans and goals I've made for myself.

&

bee. Keep attainable records of all my experiences, reflections, and all the unshackled opinions along the way. 

It's been six years now since I merrily walked the line across a football field to retrieve my high school diploma, and in those six years there have been both wonderful times and wonderfully difficult times endured. I do wish I had links to all those blogs to get us all caught up here, but unfortunately, writing discipline has never been a close friend of mine. Again, here's my attempt at changing that. 

I'm a recent college grad living in Southern California. The year is 2011, very soon to be 2012. In the last two months I have quit my full-time job, moved back home with my parents, broken my $1400 macbook, crashed my car, and broken up with someone I was crazy about because I couldn't confirm he was crazy about me.

 Lots of dramatic life changes...and lots of awful luck...all at the same time. Cool, right?

The aftermath: clouds of stress, frustration, confusion, heartbreak, feelings of inadequacy, and fear. And a whole lot of lashing out at various innocent bystanders. Sorries, everyone :(

Can I say it's been the hardest time of my life? No. It really hasn't. 

Is it the most suck ass transition I've ever found myself in? Yes. No doubt. 

Do I feel as though, my decisions, although rash, were the right ones? I think so. I really just went with my gut feeling. 

Is it hard to accept that my gut feelings were possibly right? Yes, very much so.

Welcome to my inner dialogue.

Needless to say, it's been a battle of emotions lately. But the good news is, progress has been made. And the better news is, a plan has been established.

In order to better assist my plan of attack, I've assembled a series of guidelines to keep in mind as I move forward. They are as follows!

1. Stop second-guessing decisions I made. I made them for a reason, and I am courageous for making them. Now be courageous in trusting them.

2. Don't let anyone, including myself, judge me or make me feel like less of a person because I am in a period of transition in my life. I am in my early 20s. I just graduated college and I'm getting ready to move on to the next chapter in my life. It's ok. Everyone goes through transitions, at all different stages of their lives, and especially in their 20s (I mean why else do they call it the "trying twenties"?) 

3. Embrace my sadness and continue to cry whenever I feel the urge to. This is ok too. Fuck, I am only human. And I have a vagina. Yes, I will cry and be emotional. I let someone very special (and HOT) in my life go, who I opened my heart to (dang it), and with any loss, it is important to mourn. My heart will surely heal (quickly, I pray), but there is no skipping the feelings of loss and sadness, no matter how many times you've been let down/disappointed/broken hearted. There just isn't. Especially when you actually liked the fucker. And this time I really did. So, yeah, this is a bit of challenge right now, lettin' this one go. Especially in the midst of everything else that is going on. But I will let go. And I'm not gunna let yet another failed relationship discourage me from keeping my heart open always and remaining in tact with the fact that I am a great fucking catch and someday my Ryan Gosling will come. 

4. Cry, but also laugh. Laugh at all the bullshit. And Keep breathing. Continue to remind myself, that no matter what, life goes on. No one stays stuck in the same place forever feeling the same way. Unless they're on drugs. Thankfully, drugs are no hobbie of mine. While I have, at times, been shamefully intrigued by the idea of turning to drugs/alcohol to escape the bitches of life, I have always quickly and confidently settled for jelly beans. Those damn little things are just so tasty, and much more affordable/accesible than whatever  it is they're cooking in Breaking Bad. Not to mentions, jelly beans make me happy. They really do.  Even though I essentially have them to blame for my broken macbook. No, I wasn't a complete careless idiot trying to climb a ladder up to a loft while trying to simultaneously carry my macbook and a handful of jelly beans up with me. Absolutely not. Which brings me to my next point.

5. Shit happens. Whether I'm at fault or not. Take things one day at time. Fix the damage made....and maybe next time don't be a moron and climb ladders with my hands full... or drive in traffic on the 405 freeway when I'm a complete emotional disaster. Bottom line, life is full of headaches. And you just gatta deal.

(Thank you to all the wonderful, wonderful friends and family in my life who have helped me make these valid and valuable discoveries. I am forever indebted to your love, your support, and your ever-generous wisdom. And to the makers of Jelly Bellies. My feelings have never tasted so good.)

Now, with all of that being said. Here's the line up!

1. Get my ass a job immediately. Any job. I just need some means of income right now. I can upgrade to something better, if need be, but for right now, just get work. 

2. Get my finances in order. Pay off my debt. Start making payments on my school Loans. Fix my macbook. Fix my car. SAVE FIVE GRAND. And then......

Move to New York.

Yup. That's The Plansies (or as some would still say, plan).  And the inspiration behind creating this blog, the driving force behind my born-again determination, and my next great adventure.

There's been a few things in this short life of mine that I have been absolutely certain of. One of them is that George Clooney doesn't get any less sexy with age slash there will always be a photo of him hanging in any shower of mine. The other is my undoubtable desire to live in New York. I have visited a handful of times, and there's just no words to describe the way that place makes me feel.

I want to wake up every morning to bagels and taxi horns in my cup. And go on runs in Central Park. And subtlely stare (if that's even possible) at people on the subway and try to imagine their stories...where they're going, where they're coming from, what they had for breakfast, who they bank with, when was the last time they got laid... was it good, etc. And meet some nice Jewish boys. Maybe an Italian one--withlotsofmoneyI MEAN-- a family deli. I wanna ride the Circle Line... whatever that is...my new yorker mechanic won't stop talking about it. And go to Broadway shows whenever my little musical theater heart pleases. I wanna continue my role as a true American and max out all my credit cards (again) in Soho. And sit in chic cafes with my non-fiction reading material, that hopefully only good looking men in their mid to late 30s will ask me about, as I sip on my non fat latte. I wanna find out who exactly I gatta screw to get into the Blue Note....and screw them. I mean yeah, if that's what it takes. I wanna hear some live jazz in the Blue Note...what. And finally find myself in the company of people who walk fast, so I don't have to hustle my way around them and their strollers. Speaking of strollers, I wanna meet a "Manny". And eat way too much pizza, obviously. And freeze to death in the winter, I KNOW, but who cares. I will be in NEW YORK! Wrapped in coats and scarves and buzzed off city lights and boisterous chaos!

I couldn't think of a better time, then now to do it. With school finished, and no real investments made in my career yet, no boyfriend, no apartment leases... now is the time.

I'm already at a practical and social advantage, in that many of my fellow graduated college classmates are currently living in New York, and my wonderful cousin has agreed to house me for the first month or so while I seek out housing and work (Thanks, M!). Having spent the last seven years working in restaurants, it shouldn't be to difficult for me to find a serving or even managing job. Aside from writing books, plays, movies, and starring in all of them, I'd really love to open my own restaurant someday. What better city than New York to further gain experience in the restaurant business, right?  Really, it's just a matter of saving a little money, buying my one way ticket and going. 

And I'm going to do it.

I'm moving to New York. 3 bucks, 2 bags, 1 me. (And my Wes Anderson DVD collection).

Life is short. I don't want to be swinging on a porch (or chilling on an assisted living bench) someday thinking, "Oh, the things I didn't do, but wish I did." Who knows what will happen. Maybe I won't even last longer than six months in New York, but it's not really about what works out and what doesn't work out, is it. It's about the experience. And what you learn from it. And what you can cross off your bucket list and say, "Did it." "I wanted to do it, and for better or for worse, I did it. I don't have to look back and wonder about it."

This blog is about tracking my journey to New York. But even more so, this blog is about tracking my own personal growth this year as a young female adult, who has a heavy heart, and yes, often times, a very heavy mind. I am both a dreamer and a realist. A warrior and a worrier. Wise, but often naive. Ambitious..and lazy. Optimistic and cynical. Incredibly compassionate, but also very impatient. I trust easy and I always see the good in everyone. Because of this, I'm pretty much always extremely vulnerable to heartbreak and disappointment. Somedays I wake up and fantasize about the husband, the kids, and the white picket fence. Other days I wake up, and confidently shout, "Fuck conventional living. Career? Marriage? No, fuck that. I'm going on adventures." Most days I wake up and just feel very blessed to be alive, and very blessed to be who I am, even though I waste so much energy stressing over just that, "Who am I?" "What am I doing here?" "Why don't I feel super awesome, when I know that I AM, damn it." Mostly, I am happy. I recognize that life is good, and I have a hunger for it that is strong, no matter how confusing or rough it gets at times.

I don't know exactly what it is I should or shouldn't be doing. But with that being said, why not just do what I want to do.. and go from there.

So here's to it. Here's to 2012. And new beginnings. To this moment right now in this cold & somber place, filled with tears and deep breaths. To life and to growing. And blogging. And extremely long posts (get into it.)

Cheers.