Why so serious?

All my life, I've lived within a very specific set of circumstances: I've lived at home, with my parents.  Or, I've lived in some college dorm-esque fashion, amongst large quantities of other people.  Now, I live in an apartment.  And even though I have roommates, I find myself having to deal with being, well...by myself.  Being alone.  I've thus come to a conclusion - I'm not very good at being alone.  I get depressed, I get antsy.  I never figured myself as someone who needed other people around, but I guess I am.

The other problem is, I don't have a group of friends up here the way I had a group of friends back home, and that makes me feel extraordinarily lonely.  This, coupled with the pressure I feel to experience an exciting life in the city, leaves me feeling like some kind of social reject.  Maybe I should start hanging out at bars, or something.


Life has been interesting, beyond my neuroses over being alone.  The play went up, performed for small yet receptive audiences, and closed.  It was a really intense experience, particularly during the load-in and build, and I encountered the problem of not having enough functioning lights to light the stage (which I solved, in a frantic two hours before our 10 out of 12).  I had a good time and was sorry to see the whole thing end, even though I definitely needed a rest by the end of it.

I spent Christmas in Westchester, which was really lovely.  I managed to get back to the city before we were completely besieged by the blizzard.  And let me tell you: blizzards suck.  I mean, the city looked very pretty at first, all white and pristine.  But the trains and buses were all fucocked, everything was buried under feet of snow, and now that people have gotten moving again and some of the snow has melted, the roads and sidewalks are covered with a thick black slush that looks thoroughly disgusting.  In a word: eugh.


**

I sometimes feel like, as far as my romantic relationships go, I keep experiencing the same conundrum over and over again.  I wonder what I'm doing wrong, if anything.  I don't know.  I probably shouldn't be pursuing a relationship with anybody right now, since I feel like I'm still sorting a lot of things out for myself.  But, at the same time, why does that process have to be mutually exclusive from the process of, say, dating?  I mean, why should things be so serious? 

There are FOUR LIGHTS!

So, a Facebook-related question.  Why do the same 10 or 20 people always show up in the sidebar on the left of my profile page?  I mean...I have 700 friends, and it's the same group of people every time I hit refresh.  It's a little bizarre.  Has anyone else noticed this phenomenon?

This song came on my iPod this morning when I was coming home from work.  I was on the N train and literally laughed out loud, which startled all the other people on the train (who were asleep).  I then felt compelled to dance down the street to it when I got out of the subway.

Yesterday was a good day.  I went to a run-through of Things We Want, the show I'm designing.  As an audience member, I really enjoyed it - there are a lot of brilliantly hilarious moments (I mean, it's Jonathan Marc Sherman, and there's a grown man wearing a Catholic schoolgirl skirt through a chunk of the second act).  As a designer, I found the run-through to be extraordinarily helpful.  Of course, I took a ton of notes, none of which I'll be able to implement since I think I have approximately seven lights to work with. 

My mother has once again sent me a care package full of shit I don't want or need.  I told her specifically to please only send things I ask for, because I simply don't have the space for extraneous stuff.  She sent me all these clothes I left behind (because I didn't want them), and I threw them all in one of those yellow clothing bins down my block.  And she sent this old bag of coffee that I remember buying at least a year ago, but never finished it because it was seriously vile coffee.  The only useful things in the entire box (and it was a big box) were a cutting board, a dustbuster, and my Ulta eyeliner.  My mother is either getting senile, or she's going out of her way to annoy me.

I should go back to bed.  I got home around 5:30 this morning, and I have work again tonight at 8, and I slept maybe three hours.

a smattering of random thoughts

I went to the Trader Joe's in Brooklyn yesterday, which was clearly one of the best decisions I've made in awhile.  I got a huge bag of sweet potatoes for, like, three dollars.  Which I then had to schlep home on the subway.

Our third roommate moved in yesterday, and she and I went shopping today.  It's lovely to have a full house around here!

My mom sent my pink plastic Christmas tree, and I set it up in the living room.  It's more kitschy than festive, but it makes me giggle every time I see it.

If I hear the phrase "right relationship, wrong time" (or some permutation of it) one more time I'm going to fucking smack a bitch.  Seriously, it's frustrating now.  It's not even commitment that I necessarily want, but I miss having someone to share experiences with. 

I go into tech next week for my show.  I'm designing it on an 8-channel two-scene preset, which is even less technologically advanced than the two-scene preset I had over the summer.  It's not really a big deal, since I knew in advance that the space's capabilities were pretty limited and accounted for that when I started thinking about the design.

CSI: NY is currently my new favorite show.  If only because they talk about places and I can go, "Oh my god, I know where that is!"


Tomorrow: bank, hair salon...PINKBERRY.  And laundry, maybe.  I got a cute new skirt for work and I need to wash it so it doesn't smell like Brooklyn's Target.

seeing the forest for the trees.

I think, if I tried to see the forest, I would be thrown into a serious state of Overwhelmed.  In order to keep from going crazy, I have to look at each tree individually.  I have a lot of trees, currently.

The casting call last Sunday was interesting.  I drove to down into PA (which meant I spent two hours on the train and four hours in the car, both ways) to this hotel where Wilhelmina was hosting the call.  I stood in line, filled out some paperwork, got a number, walked down a long runway in front of 300 other gorgeous people (and a panel of talent scouts), and left.  It was pretty easy and I'll find out in a week or so if they're offering me a contract.  I doubt I'll get an offer but I'll probably turn it down if I do - there's a $2000 startup cost (to pay for my initial photoshoot and comp cards and website fees and shit) that I can't front.

Work isn't bad.  I'm getting better at hostessing and last week some of the other people there actually started to talk to me, and I didn't feel so weird and awkward like I did my first week.

Of course, I'm enjoying working as an electrician.  While I'm still getting the shaft in some ways because I'm the new kid (at focus call, I think I focused maybe six lights), I like the other people I work with and the work itself is comforting.  I think I'm working as a board op through Christmas and the New Year, which is fantastic.  December and January are notoriously slow months in the theater scene around here.

I went with some of the other kids from school to a backstage tour at the Gershwin on Saturday, and it was FUCKING INCREDIBLE.  I got to get up close and touch the costumes, and practically felt my heart flutter when I checked out the lighting rig.  So amazing.

Today I bought fresh produce at the market, and made sweet potatoes for dinner.  I have a lot of trees but I can manage them all, one day at a time.

What would happen if you said yes, instead of no?

I woke up yesterday totally sick.  Cecilie was sick with some kind of head cold last week and I think she gave it to me.  In any case, I was totally miserable and pounding Zicam like it was my job, because yesterday I had a business meeting in the city with the producer of the show I'm doing off-off-Broadway.  He wanted to show me the space and answer any of my questions before we shake hands on the deal.

Well, I arrive at the theater to find him waiting outside - apparently, there was a matinee performance going on and we couldn't go in and look around.  Annoying, but we couldn't do anything about that.  I was ready to tell him good-bye and walk back to Times Square, until he asked me out to lunch.  And, well, I hadn't eaten anything, and I really wanted to have a cup of tea...so I said sure, okay.  We went to this cute French/American place and I had a to-DIE-for omelet.  The conversation really started going, and then all of a sudden our business lunch became a full-day romp around New York City and Brooklyn.  It was so much fun!

While we were out, I got an email.  Yesterday morning I'd emailed the two major MEs in the city, and one of them emailed me back and offered me a load-in gig on Wednesday.  I'm so excited about it - I'm a bit of a work junkie like that. 

Anyway.  So.  I'm the kind of person who responds to intriguing ads on craigslist, like this one.  I kind of responded to it facetiously, because Wilhelmina is a huge and very well-renowned modeling agency.  I sent them all the necessary information, a headshot (my FB profile picture),  and a full-length shot (which I took with my iPhone, using my mirror).  I figured I'd never hear back from them, because the volume of responses they get is, assuredly, enormous.

Well, today, I received an email from one of their talent scouts, inviting me to their casting call this Sunday.  Which I'm TOTALLY GOING TO.  I mean, I doubt I'll get picked for representation, but what a cool and random opportunity.  It's in Pennsylvania, though, so I'd have to drive out there.  But hey, so far, I don't have any plans for Sunday.  Why not go to a casting call in Pennsylvania?

Kate does not get stood up.

So I did, in fact, get a lighting design gig through OKCupid.  I went out with the producer last night, on a date/business meeting at a really charming bar in Prospect Heights.  I, of course, got hopelessly lost trying to find it (Grand Army Plaza is confusing in the dark!) but I think being a city noob is an endearing quality.  I think.  I had a super fancy drink that took me close to three hours to consume (bourbon, Cointreau, bitters, champagne, and something else.  And a lime slice) and we had a really lovely time.  Tomorrow I'm going to the theater to check out the space.

I spent the day in Manhattan today.  I went to Times Square, and officially hate it.  There are four kinds of people in Times Square: confused tourists carrying maps, promoters wearing sandwich boards, those who need to stop every three feet for any number of dumb shit reasons (texting, taking pictures, corralling children, etc), and annoyed natives.  And pigeons, eugh.

If a guy tells me he likes my pants, is that just a new way of saying he likes my ass?

let me get your heart racing in my skin-tight jeans.

So, all those boxes I packed last week made it to the apartment today.  Six boxes in total, with the seventh still in transit.  Finally, I have the rest of my clothes!  And dry goods.  Seriously, I've been living off of almonds and bread the past few days.  I had all these cans of soup, but no can opener, so I'd gaze longingly at my favorite black bean soup while nibbling bread and feeling sad.  But now, I have a can opener, along with all kinds of other goodies. 

I slept late today, and then lounged around the apartment (I couldn't really go anywhere, since I knew my packages were arriving today and I had to sign for them.  Although what are you supposed to do if you're not there?).  It made for a really peculiar day.  Unpacking was fun though.

This apartment has an Aiphone and neither Cecilie nor myself have figured out how to use it.  We really ought to, since I think we can use it to buzz people into the building.  I'm also still trying to understand the intricacies of my combination washer/dryer. 

I think we have a third roommate, but unfortunately her room is currently filled with cardboard. 

Tomorrow I go check out this club I might start working at, and I'm super super nervous.  I'm worried that all the other people who work there will be super gorgeous and tall, and I'll be all short and awkward and I won't get any tips.  And I'll spill a tray of drinks, or something. 

And, my thoughts on last night's episode of Glee?  "OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT!"

hustle with the quickness.

It's a really difficult transition, to go from running errands easily in two hours with a car to riding the subway and walking everywhere to do the same amount of errands in five hours.  And, I'm completely exhausted.  I got home just before five and wanted nothing more than to eat dinner and lie down, except it was wayyy to early for either.

I did put up my curtain rod (if you ever happen to need one and you get the cheapest one at Target, ignore the directions.  They're horrendous) and now I don't feel like the people across the street and the people one block over are watching me undress.  (Of course, up until this point I had been changing in the bathroom, which reminded me of that awkward stage of college when you weren't sure if your roommate was cool with you being naked in the room while she was in it.)

And now...now I don't really have anything to do till Thursday evening.  I kind of hate not having plans, or work, or something.  Although I feel like I should easily be able to find things to do, I almost don't know where to begin.

The woman sitting next to me on the uptown train this morning was tweezing her chin hair the whole way into Manhattan.  It grossed me out.  I was in such close proximity to her!  And then some douchebag on the J was doing a crossword puzzle and clicking his pen incessantly.  I was very, very close to going up to him, snatching his pen, and breaking it in half. 

I like people-watching, bagels, and the fact that I bought two bras for $4 from a store having a massive clearance event.  They're super cute bras, too - the kind you wish you could wear on the outside because they're that adorable. 

do not attempt to measure flame. burns may result.

The past three days have been a hectic, ridiculous blur of activity.  This will be a long entry.

On Saturday, my aunt and uncle drove me and all my shit to the apartment.  Moving in was surprisingly easy; my uncle found a parking spot close by and between him, me, and my roommate Cecilie, we got all my things up to the apartment quickly and easily.  I unpacked my kitchen things and bath things, unrolled my cot mattress and comforter, and fell asleep obscenely early.

Yesterday, I spent most of the day at Ikea.  I finally understand why Ikea is so damn inexpensive - because customer service is almost impossible to come by.  You really have to put on your best sad, lost Bambi eyes in order to get some help in there. 

So, I went into the showroom first, which was very attractively set up but somewhat difficult to navigate, thanks to the bazillion other people there trying to furnish their apartments.  I went into each area and looked at all the items I had already selected from their website.  Once I finished in the showroom, I went down to the self-service furniture area, which was populated by people blindly wandering the aisles with flatbeds, trying to figure out how to get their desired bookcase unit down from a shelf that's approximately two stories up in the air.

After muscling my two chests of drawers, desk, and chair onto a flatbed, I noticed something disturbing.  There was a decided lack of Ikea staff on the floor to help with the large, heavy items, and I had a shit ton of large, heavy items still to procure (including a double bed and a sofa).  After standing at the bin containing my bed (which was on a shelf at my head height) and frowning, unable to fathom a way to get the bed down myself, I abandoned my two flatbeds and tracked down the one guy working in that area.  I gave him my best helpless face, and he grabbed a guy from another department and the two of them helped me get the rest of my things, and then wheel my three flatbeds and one shopping cart up to checkout and delivery.  They were really sweet; I'm sure they had a bunch of other things to do and they didn't have to help me after we got in the checkout line.

 Now.  So, that was all a little overwhelming in and of itself - I've never dropped so much money in one afternoon, and there was just so.  much.  stuff.  A bed, a mattress, two five-drawer chests, a desk, a chair, a couch, a coffee table, a giant paper floor lamp, a nightstand, and lots of small things like water glasses and curtains.  My head was spinning with all of it.

I scheduled for home delivery and assembly for today, and the guys arrived with the stuff around noon.  Everything was going okay at first, until they started nitpicking the order.  For example, the order listed all the pieces I had paid to have assembled.  On that list was a "chest."  This, apparently, is not the same thing as a "five-drawer chest."  A "chest" just has one drawer.  After several minutes of extracting this information from one of the functionally illiterate assembly guys, I was ready to spit nails.

"So you're saying," I said with growing irritation, "you won't build it because it doesn't list that it has five drawers?"
"Yes," said one of the guys.  The other, whose spoken English was much better, added, "We can only build one drawer."
"You're fucking joking.  That's retarded," I exclaimed.  "You're going to build the fucking thing or I want my goddamn money back."

They exchanged a few words and started putting the chest together.  Now, if you remember, I had two chests, but the order only listed one, and they told me they could only build one.  I told them this was fine (Cecilie very kindly offered to help put it together). Somewhere around this time, the Cablevision guy arrived to set up our internet, and the place got hectic.  I then noticed that, very quickly, the guys had assembled both chests of drawers.  They were finished assembling everything, and were now demanding more money to pay for the labor for making that second chest.

"Are you kidding?  I told you guys not to build it!" I said.
In garbled, shifty English, one of them essentially told me, "Well, I built it, so now you have to pay me."
The other guy piped up.  "You have to pay him.  Give him something!"

I was fuming.  I refused to pay, both because they did what I told them not to, but also because I gave the last of my cash to the realtor today to pay for the processing fee for my paperwork.  But they both stood there stonily, not going anywhere.  I asked if they could send a bill, and they gave me some bullshit excuse about how the guy who built the chest didn't actually work for the company and so they couldn't send a bill, and couldn't I just pay him now?  I was thoroughly annoyed - both with them and with myself, for not monitoring them more closely.  But, I had a plan.  I went and got my checkbook, which immediately made both guys' faces fall.

"No cash?" one of them asked.
"No.  Just checks," I replied.  "That's all I've got."

They exchanged a few words, and said they'd take the check.  I gave it to them and told them to leave.  As soon as I shut the door, the first thing I did was call customer service at Ikea, and I filed a formal complaint with the delivery and assembly company.  Then, I called my mother and told her to put a hold on the check.  I'm still furious.  What a load of shit.

But, the upside?  I have a beautiful room and a beautiful living room, and Internet!  Tomorrow I'm going to Target to get a bed skirt and some nails so I can put up my curtain rod.

Not all my adventures today were bad.  I walked up and down my block in the sleet, because I'm curious about the neighborhood and feel like I should try and get used to the cold weather.  Let me tell you, there's all kinds of fun things near me!  I stopped in an ethnic beauty shop and a green grocer and enjoyed the atmosphere and culture.  I'm a little intimidated by everything - I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb, like some white country bumpkin.

I met a guy in the elevator.  He got on at the second floor with his bike, and I discovered that he, too, had just moved in.  He was very chatty and friendly, and said I should stop by his apartment and hang out with him and his roommate sometime.  He seemed nice.  I want to make friends with the people who live in my building!  It'll be like college again.  But without, you know.  Grades.

I'm tired.  If you read through this whole entry, I commend you and will bake you a cake.

I named him Henry.

Back at the end of September, I woke up one morning and imagined that it was the day I was leaving for New York.  I was gripped by such a panic that I had to take a Xanax.  For a moment, I couldn't actually believe that I would welcome the day it came time to leave.

But, here I am, in Winchester once again (oddly enough, in the same hotel room I was in when I came back from Stockbridge), with a car packed full of random shit that can't be shipped.  And I feel okay.  I'm nervous.  My mother cried this morning before I left, which of course made me cry.

I'm nervous, but I'm not freaking out.  To me, this is like going off to college, or Williamstown, or BTF.  Another adventure, and it would be odd if I wasn't nervous before the start of an adventure.

So, I'm going to relax in my hotel room and watch some Hell's Kitchen.

an urban hip-hop revival of the classic children's story? Because it looks like a bunch of DAMN VARILITES ON THE FLOOR.

I think I've experienced the two best moments of my day already.

First one.  I went over to campus to say my farewells to everyone.  I was in John's office, with John and Chris, being all chatty and whatnot. 

John: (discussing my Facebook status updates) "So, are you making up song lyrics, or are you just pissed at a boy?"
Me: "I'm pissed at a boy!"
John: (turns to Chris): "Told you so."

For everyone playing the home game, John is my former adviser and lighting design professor, and Chris is my former theatre history professor.  I love my teachers.  Of course, John has watched me go in and out of dating/relationships for over three years now, and is used to my academic and professional life being underscored by some kind of personal drama that at some point I will go to his office and bitch about.  His parting advice to me was, "Kate, there are a lot of men in New York.  Pace yourself."

Side note: I really would like a stable relationship.  Really.  They just don't seem to happen to me, though (for further details, re: that post in October where I analyzed this in greater detail).  I hate dating.  Dating sucks.  Not that I want a relationship simply because I hate dating, but...dating is tedious sometimes.  And it's so hit-or-miss.  You guys know what I mean.  Right?

Second one.  So yeah, I have a profile on OKCupid.  (Don't judge me.  I've had it for years.  Judge me because I have a profile on PlentyofFish that I keep around because I get twenty to thirty messages a day, and it entertains and horrifies me.  I mean, some of the messages are really sweet, but the butchering of the English language makes me wonder what people are getting taught in their English classes these days.)  I get a message from a guy who turns out to be a producer, and he's producing an off-Broadway show and is looking for a lighting designer.  I sent him the link to my portfolio.  If I get a job through OKCupid, I will laugh, or vomit, or both.

I'm hungry, I need to pack my car, I leave tomorrow morning, I didn't put gas in my car.  Damn it!

all we can do is keep breathing.

I hope everyone went out and VOTED THEIR FACE OFF today.  For serious.

Thursday, I move out.  I'd say 80% of my life is packed up right now.  I'm waiting until the very last seconds to take down my lamps, since I can't stand my overhead lighting.  It makes everything (including myself) look like death.

I have a job interview for next week!  I spoke with the manager of one of the clubs I applied to.  Sounds like easy, well-paying work, and I would only have to work a few nights a week.  Which means I can spend my days doing career-related things.  This setup will either be awesome, or totally sketch.  I'm not really sure which.  All I know is I need to hit the ground running with the money-making - mostly because I'm paranoid of running out of money.  I can't impose on my parents; they already are having such a tough time money-wise (they're both successful entrepreneurs, and they get slammed with taxes all the time).  I know they'd help me if I needed it, but I really don't want to need it.

Something bit my face a few days ago (a spider?  Eugh) and it's kind of left this huge red, raw patch on my left cheek.  It looks SO bad, and feels super tender and sore.  I've been slapping Neosporin on it like there's no tomorrow, and it's only kind of helping.  It's cramping my style.  I hope it heals before my interview next week, because I answered an ad specifically for pretty model-type girls and I sent them pictures of me with clear skin. 

I'm going out for ice cream tonight.  Hooray! 

another odd craigslist job posting: "realtor needs weekend showers." Oh. Okay.

Why am I so tired?  It's 8 o'clock.  Granted, I was up at 7 this morning, and I've spent the day packing and making phone calls, I still don't think I should be so close to falling asleep right now.  Yikes.

But, my hallway is filled with boxes to ship, and boxes to go into the car.  I'm slowly deconstructing my room and packing it, which is thoroughly odd (that's why I'm doing it slowly, in stages).

I've been responding to job postings on craigslist and monster.com, since I want to start working right away and it just doesn't look like theater work is going to come up right off the bat.  I'm looking at lots of jobs at clubs and bars - things that require pretty faces and bodies, and not so much a particular trade or skill.  I've come to realize that I have no experience in anything but theater.  I've never been a waitress or worked in retail.  I was the electrics UA and did legal transcription (which I hated.  Don't do it, ever).  My outside skills are nil, and I don't have the time to get quality experience in a trade.  But, I can exploit how I look to make ends meet, and I'm okay with that.

Ugh.  So tired.  Maybe I'll just go to bed.

It took me a minute to figure out why the craigslist ad titled "Female Sewer Needed" looked so strange.

Nobody chooses to be a freak. Most people don't realize they're a freak until it's way too late to change it. No matter how much of a freak you end up being, chances are there's still someone out there for you. Unless of course, they've already moved on. Because when it comes to love, even freaks can't wait forever.

**

This morning, my mother and I went to Wal-Mart to buy all the accouterments for setting up house.  And, well...there are a lot of accouterments.  Every aisle, I was like, "fuck, I need that...and that...and this...and two of these."  I have to buy all new bedding, for example (since my new bed is bigger than my old one, HOORAY I FINALLY HAVE A GROWN-UP BED), and weird things, like...paper napkins.  Spices.  Large quantities of Splenda.

Stephen and I went out to lunch at our favorite shitty Japanese restaurant, where I decided it would be supercool of me to drip white sauce all over myself (please, keep your nasty comments to yourself).  He and I had a lovely time; I always feel much better about life after I talk to Stephen.

And I just got back from dinner with my family.  We went to PF Chang's, a restaurant I generally dislike.  (Have you seen the nutritional information?  If you haven't, don't.  You won't want to eat anything they have.)  But, Mr. Chang's establishment has a keen eye for good-looking guys.  There were a lot of good-looking people there in general, actually.  So, I flirted appropriately, more to amuse my grandmother than anything else.

**

You know, when I think about it...I know a lot of ugly people.*

I mean, I do.  I know a lot of people in general, and it makes sense that a portion of them are ugly.  I don't mean just physically ugly, but ugly on the inside.  There are many flavors of unattractive, and I see them in spades in some people.  And several of them have a common trait beyond their massive imperfections - they're in functional romantic relationships.  (With other ugly people.)

And, I know a lot (a lot) of really beautiful, wonderful people.  And they're, with a few exceptions, single.  Or like me - in and out of relationships.

This phenomenon confuses me, and has confused me for the bulk of my adult dating life.  I mean, I consider myself not bad-looking, and I'm not an asshole.  Sure, I have my imperfections - I spent three years throwing up 90% of what I ate (haven't thrown up in over a month now - yay me!), I have a hard time with money, I have trust issues in relationships, I can be flaky and flighty during the dating stage, I'm vain - but I'm working to make things better.  So what is it about me that drives men away, ultimately?

Considering that at the end of the day I think I'm fucking fabulous, I don't have a great deal of self-pity.  I don't weep into my pillow wondering why I'm the anthrax to the opposite gender's Senate (oh GOD, I don't even know where I pulled that one out of.  Hi, 2001, it's been nine years).  But, it's something I've been rolling around in my head for some time now.  I can't really say I'm dating the wrong guys, since I'm the common denominator in all my failed relationships.

I don't know.  I mean, I'm so young, and I have so much life to live.  If this is still happening to me in 20 years, maybe I'll get really worried.  But for now...it's just one of the curiosities in my life.

** 


I should be packing, but...Project Runway is so much more fun.


*not YOU.  Well, maybe you.  No, not you.

she's making granny circles again.

After rewatching the entirety of Grey's Anatomy, I've now begun rewatching Project Runway.  It keeps my mind from spinning out of control like a top.

I've begun packing, and my mother is being such a downer.  She wants me to take all my winter clothes, because I "can't buy anything, ever.  Again."  Unfortunately, I won't wear most of my winter clothes, for whatever reason (they don't fit right, they don't look right, I don't like them, they've been worn too many times and they're falling apart, etc), but even when I pick all the winter clothes I will wear from my closet, it's still a sizable quantity of wearable goodies.   I don't want to waste precious storage space on things I'm not going to wear.  Seems foolish.  And, the decree that I can't ever buy anything ever again is just ridiculous.  I hate it when she makes overblown statements like that.

I've been having the most vivid, linear dreams.  It's like watching a weird indie film in my head every night.  My subconscious is making really unfortunate choices about the starring characters, though.  People I'd rather not think about, people whose voices I really don't need to hear right now.

It's Halloween (well, Halloween Eve).  I've been invited to a bunch of parties but haven't committed to anything.  I'm probably just going to end up going to bed early.  I'm still so incredibly tired, and next week is going to be all over the place.  Looks like I'll drive Wednesday and Thursday (with my car full of clothes and things that would break if shipped), unpack the car and go to Ikea on Friday, and then get myself set up in my new place.

I don't go to sleep to dream.

I'm in a Fiona Apple mood.

The weather is really bad right now.  I'm staying up to watch the weather, so I can wake up my mom and dad if we need to go downstairs and hide in the coat closet.  Of course, I'm amused by the PSA aired inbetween the weather updates, which led off with, "Tornadoes are the DEADLIEST, most VIOLENT  KILLER STORMS, EVER."  Way to make us feel better about it, guys.  I also enjoyed: "If you're in a mobile home...you should not be in a mobile home." 

"All the ingredients are there for a tornado.  It's like Grandma's apple pie.  If you have the perfect ingredients, you get the perfect pie.  We have the ingredients for a...perfect...tornado."  OH MY GOD, I LOVE SOUTHERN WEATHER ANNOUNCERS. 


Ooooooooh, lightning!  Oh fuck off, tornadoes.  I want to go to bed.

**

You know what's a beautiful feeling?  Freeing yourself from emotional investments that were not paying off.  It's exhausting, to pour your feelings endlessly into a vessel, hoping to fill it - and then, even though you discovered a hole in the bottom, you continue to try and fill it, and suddenly not only are you unable to fill the thing, you no longer want to.  What are you doing?  Why are you wasting so much energy?   And then you stop, and look around, and notice that there are so many other vessels in the world, open and welcoming to all the emotion you have to give.   Open and welcoming and willing to fill your vessel, too.  (Not in a dirty way.  Get your mind out of the gutter.)

It's the most hard-won feeling I know.  I haven't won it all the way, yet, but I'm certainly getting there.  I want to stop waking up feeling that ache.  It gets better every day, though.

**

I got the application for my apartment.  I'm a little nervous about the "references" section.  I have no previous landlord.  I'm also not sure where I put last year's tax forms.  They're in a box.  In my house.  Somewhere. 

disappointing you is like choking the Little Mermaid with a bike chain.

Is it really bad that I'm both a) watching old episodes of Grey's Anatomy and b) deciding which episodes to watch based on the gory medical subplot?  Like, I just read an episode summary and said, "Oh hell yeah, the guy who lit himself on fire!"  Or, "I remember that kid who impaled himself on the tree."

I think I slept 10 hours in the past week.  Even last night, in my hotel room, I couldn't seem to fall asleep.  You know that hollow feeling you get in your stomach, and the ache you get in your legs, when you're just bone-weary tired?  That's where I am right now.  Physically and emotionally.  But on the whole, I'm in a good place, despite the ridiculous exhaustion.

I am, without a doubt, ready to begin the next phase of my life.  I have my gorgeous apartment with gorgeous furniture (mmm...IKEA), I'll have work.  The whole world is on the verge of opening up for me.  It's enough to make my head spin with all of it.

I really do love the city.  Nowhere else makes me feel the way I do like New York - I walk down the street and feel fierce.  I mean, at home, I wouldn't go out rocking a fire engine-red lipstick with giant sunglasses and a black fur tube scarf that looks uber-couture.  But in New York?  The sidewalk is my personal runway show.  Marching down Madison Avenue with MIA on my iPod, smiling at all the cute boys who walk past and dutifully ignoring the catcalls and whistles.  At the same time, I'm looking at everything, seeing everything, remembering everything and storing loads and loads of visual information in my head, to be inspired by later.  The city is energizing, and I'm comforted by the fact that I didn't want to leave it.  It means I'm making the right choice.

Really, it's not a bad life at all, is it?

I have a weird desire to go to Chinatown.

so, I found that gorgeous apartment in Brooklyn.  The girl I interviewed with didn't pick me as one of her roommates, but referred me to a friend of hers upstairs who was also looking for roommates.  I went and interviewed with her, and she and I hung out for almost four hours, having a really nice time.  Now, last night she was supposed to decide on her roommates, but she texted me and said she was showing the room for one more day, in order to make sure she had picked the right people.  I'm assuming I'm one of those people, and will only be genuinely annoyed about the delay if she ends up picking someone else over me.

So, for the past two days I've been resting, and exploring Westchester.  Yesterday I went to this fabulous mall in White Plains.  It was easily one of the fanciest malls I've ever been in, and spent some quality time gawking at some of the hideous purses at Louis Vuitton. 

I was approached by a model scout at the mall.  He said I had "extraordinary cheekbones."  I was like, "I bet you say that to all the girls who walk past."  Kind of like the police officer at Grand Central station who pulled me aside for a random purse check.  I think I said to him something facetious, like, "I bet you check all the pretty girls' purses."  He laughed.  They always laugh.  But I declined the model scout's offer to join his agency - those things are usually scams.

I'm tired and would love to go home tomorrow or the day after.  We'll see.

sinister phase one complete.

Well, apartment searching isn't exactly sinister.  Just tiring and annoying.  If the roomshare in Brooklyn doesn't work out, I'm going to pick up a sublet in Queens.  It would be for two months, which would give me time to find work, and find a more permanent place to live.  And I wouldn't have to make a ridiculous commute from Westchester into the city everyday.

My birthday was...well, it was okay.  I did some shopping and tried to stop wishing it wasn't my birthday.  Because if it wasn't my birthday, I wouldn't feel so down in the dumps about being by myself, wandering the city aimlessly.  It was just a really lonely day, and all the beautiful clothes for sale couldn't make me feel better.  I guess I was also feeling discouraged because my apartment search has been so...not what I expected.  I think if that hadn't been weighing on my mind, I wouldn't have felt so sad.  Plus, no one wants to be alone on their birthday.

24.

so I looked at three places yesterday.  The first apartment I went to was in Woodside.  It was a cute apartment, pretty spacious, but I didn't love the kitchen.  The room I'd be subletting was off of the living room, and separated by an accordion door.  So, not terribly private, but not awful.

The second place I saw was in the East Village, and it was super gross.  The whole apartment - which consisted of two small bedrooms, a tiny and mostly useless kitchen, and a bathroom - could probably fit into the master bedroom at my parents' house.  (Granted, they have a massive room, but you get where I'm going with this.)  It was also a fifth floor walkup.  So, while the location was really stellar, the apartment itself would make me claustrophobic, and I could probably never bring anyone over to visit.

The third place is the place I really want.  It's in Park Slope, in a brand new luxury building.  The apartment is totally gorgeous.  It had a really lovely kitchen - with two ovens, two sinks, and a dishwasher - and huge windows overlooking the tree-lined street.  There's a lot of closet space, and a washer/dryer unit in the apartment itself.  And a parking garage.  And video surveillance outside.  And it's about five minutes from four trains.  The trick is, the girl who currently is leasing the place (and leasing the other two bedrooms in it) has interviewed a lot of people to fill the rooms, and I don't know if she'll pick me.  I'll find out tomorrow, and I'm really crossing my fingers for this one.

I saw a place in Brooklyn today that was nothing to write home about.  I did, however, have to take my shoes off before I went inside.  The place was in an adorable brownstone, though, and really close to the subway station.


Here's the short list of other amusing things that have happened during my trip so far and/or rants I've compiled:
-I woke up this morning when one of the cats came in and sat on my face.
-I missed the 12:24 train by literally three seconds.  I was running down the glass staircase, waving my arms and yelling "WAAAAAAAAAAAAIT," but alas.  I had to wait for the next train...at 1:24.  Railfail.
-I'm sorry, but the Apple store on 59th and 5th is NOT a tourist attraction.  The cube is cool but why are you taking pictures of inside the store?  It only looks like every other Apple store ever.
-Tourists: stop asking me where things are.  I don't know where things are, because I don't live here.  I'm sorry I look like a generic New Yorker, in my black turtleneck, black stiletto boots, and big sunglasses.  However, I see that iPhone you're carrying.  The Maps app?  You should try it.
-There was a homeless man on the 6 extolling the virtues of copious marijuana use.
-I haven't seen anyone famous but I've seen doppelgangers for at least 10 people I know.
-The catcalling really needs to stop.  No, sir, I will not marry you.  Thank you, yes, I have a nice ass.  Thank you for alerting everyone within 100 yards to it.
-Barnes and Noble is actually a glorified public bathroom.
-I had a lovely dinner with my cousin Michael at a cafe at 10th and 2nd.  It was the first real food I've had since I had Indian food with Grant yesterday.  I think the protein bars are turning my insides solid.
-I think they should install personal alarms on every seat on the commuter trains.  So you could set your alarm for Grand Central, fall asleep, and the alarm would wake you as the train pulls into the station.  This may also be good for the express trains, but probably a lot harder to execute.
-Why don't we have Pinkberry in Greensboro?

And now, bed.  Tomorrow is my birthday.

you thought that I would die without you but I'm living.

talk about the worst drive ever.  I drove from Winchester to to Westchester, and the weather was just horrendous.  Not with rain, but with some seriously insane wind!  It knocked my car all over the road and I felt like the puck in a fierce game of air hockey.  So I didn't drive, so much as wrestle, my car up I-81.  I'm exhausted.

Tomorrow I have three viewings set up.  One in Woodside, Queens, another in the East Village, and the last in Park Slope, Brooklyn.  I'm hoping I don't meet up with any unfortunate surprises.  Like, someone opens up their door and I'm staring down the barrel of a shotgun or something.  I'm feeling uneasy about all of this, but it's an uneasiness I recognize.  Kind of like how I felt before I left for college, and knew I had to room with some stranger.  But this time, I do get to pick which stranger I live with.


**

I've turned a new leaf in how I perceive and feel about my body.  I think it's starting to stem from all the yoga I've been doing.  There's something so incredibly calming about the connection between the mind and the body and the heart - about syncing them and finding, even for a moment, a glimpse of understanding about the self.  It's helping me realize there are things much more important than being the skinniest girl I know.

The other morning I weighed 118 pounds and I fit into the pair of jeans I keep around to see if "one day, I could fit into these."  (I mean, I had to do some serious wriggling to get into them, but it happened.)  And I looked in the mirror, and tried to feel as though I had accomplished something - and it was an entirely empty victory.  Losing weight is an activity that has always elicited a feeling of great pride within me, and now, I don't feel anything for it.  I'm glad, because my clothes will finally fit better, but I don't feel those twinges of joy and elation that stemmed from all the emotions wrapped up in my warped body perception.  As in, maybe I'm not as sick as I used to be.

it's never easy to be chosen, never easy to be called.

Because of nasty weather up North, I've broken up my super long drive into two days.  Which is a real blessing - I couldn't get any sleep last night and I think I would've fallen asleep somewhere around Scranton, and driven off the side of I-81.  Into a field of cows or something.  Or off the side of a mountain.  Whatever.

I have five different apartment viewings set up, or almost set up.  I'm really nervous, because not only am I confronting the impending problem of finding a place to live, but I'm also meeting potential roommates.  And shit, it's just hard to make a good first impression when you're nervous.  Especially since I'm planning on getting entirely lost (but not in Yonkers, hah, a little Neil Simon joke there, for those of you paying attention), and getting lost just makes me frazzled.  Maybe I should carry my GPS on me.

A (cute, admittedly) employee at a state rest stop was hitting on me.  Getting hit on is always a source of entertainment for me.  It's particularly entertaining when I look like a schlump, with smeary eyeliner (because my eyes were itchy and I was rubbing them) and poufy hair (I think I used too much product this morning) and boring travel clothes (black turtleneck, dark skinny jeans, black buckle boots).  Granted, he was in coveralls.  I guess it's all relative.

My birthday is on Monday, and I'm unexcited about it.  I've passed all the fun birthdays.  Sometimes I feel my age, but most of the time I don't.  So moving up a year isn't as marvelous as it was when I was a kid.  I did, however, buy a cute pair of black ankle boots to celebrate (ADORABLE) and a seriously fierce black leopard print bra (HOT) and then, a sandwich.

And now...Project Runway for awhile, then bed.

"you're about the board the Sue Sylvester Express. Destination: HORROR."

w: 120.8

I have no appetite.

This is an extraordinarily strange feeling.  I've had such a specific relationship with food for the past several years - usually a very strong love/hate one, where I was often voraciously hungry and obsessed with food.  Where it was all I could do to not eat down the house (and consequently, become the size of a house).

Now, I'm struggling to eat.  Nothing tastes good.  Nothing looks appetizing.  I keep a diary of how much I eat, and how many calories, and I'm barely touching 900 calories a day.  I'm glad I'm finally losing weight but I'm scared to eat so little.  But I'm simply not hungry - or if I am hungry, there's nothing I feel like eating, so I drink tea to fill me up.

I'm in a thoroughly peculiar place, emotionally.  I've been rejected, but not really.  I have no plans, but not really.  I feel lost, but I'm not really.

One of the designers I worked with over the summer gave me some good advice.  He told me that there was no hurry.  That I didn't have to rush to New York, rush to get paid design work.  That things would happen in their own time, and to be persistent, optimistic, and kind.  I need to keep those thoughts in my head, because I think 99% of my freaking out is because my plans aren't happening fast enough.  And that if they don't happen fast enough, nothing will ever happen for me.  And while there may be some truth in that, I'm not going to let "nothing" happen to me.  I just need to accept that it's going to take longer than I originally planned.

I went over to UNCG last night and saw a dress rehearsal of Oklahoma!.  It's a good production of a musical I've never liked, so my thoughts on it were mixed.  The best part, actually, was seeing some of my friends and old teachers.  I've been missing being around people - I feel so isolated and lonely.  I've taken to driving out to the park and sitting in the sun and reading books and just enjoying being around people.  Once the show officially opens, everyone will be on more flexible schedules, and I can finally just hang out with people.

the show must go on.

every therapist, every counselor, every mentor, every teacher has told me not to hide my emotions.  I think this is because for years and years, I did keep things to myself, in such stifling quantities that when the dam finally burst (at the age of 19, in the middle of tech for my very first show), I broke down so completely that I picked up my things, left school, and went home for nine months.  And hid.

but my therapist urged me.  "You can't keep hiding how you feel.  You can't keep feeling ashamed, or guilty, or embarrassed, about your emotions."  Talking to her about all the things I felt got easier with time, and I realized that I did start to feel better for the talking.  It felt like receiving absolution.  As the months and years passed, I progressively stopped hiding, and let people into my life, in a more emotional sense.  I even learned how to still remain calm and relatively emotionless and untroubled at work, and not let that accidentally impede on whatever openness I was cultivating in my personal life.

mostly, being open earns me praise.  My later therapists enjoyed seeing me, and could often give me sound advice, because I could speak openly and honestly about my life and my reactions to it.  I was an asset in group therapy, because I set a good example and made other girls in the group less self-conscious about speaking frankly on difficult topics.  The more I could talk, to share how I felt, the more advice and help I could receive.  Nothing about me was a mystery to them.  I had no poker face.

Life, however, is not all therapy, and I'm now faced with the question: were they all wrong?

I'm discovering that maybe my level of openness is inappropriate.  Maybe there are things better left unsaid.  It had never really occurred to me that my frankness could be a burden to other people - maybe because I never felt burdened when other people were open with me about whatever troubled them.  Maybe because I scared myself so badly when the pendulum was swung in the other direction, and I never wanted to feel that way again. 

when I think about it, I think I pretend that being open about my problems and my emotions is the end solution.  "Oh, I can talk about it, so clearly I'm dealing with it."  Or that being open about it even excuses some of the behavior - like, "oh, that's just how Kate is, hahaha."  But I'm not dealing with it, and it just isn't who I am.  I enjoy being open but there is a time and place for it - I'm not this inappropriate.  Worse, I'm glancing at all my problems sideways, and I can't do that anymore.  Because I'm not hurting just myself anymore by doing that - I'm hurting people I love.

It's time to face things head-on, with a big, brilliant smile on my face.

the day after christmas.

when I was a little girl, Christmas was easily my favorite holiday.  Not just because of the presents - although that was certainly a big part of it - but because it was this one day each year where everyone was happy, light-hearted, and carefree.  When we all ate good food and nothing could really go wrong - how could anything go wrong, when surrounded by loved ones and good cheer? 

The day after Christmas, though, was my least favorite day of the year.  For me, the feeling of the "day after" would begin as coffee was served after Christmas dessert - signaling the end of the meal and thus, the end of a beautiful day.  I never wanted it to end, because tomorrow we would have to continue about our normal lives, and deal with the realities of life that we had forgotten about for this one day.  So on the day after Christmas I was in an inevitable funk, a depression I couldn't lift myself from.  I dreaded the idea of waiting another full year for that same feeling of joy I felt on Christmas.  I'd cry the whole day, filled with such an inexplicable anguish that alarmed anyone not immediately acquainted with my behaviors.

today, I no longer cry the day after Christmas.  I outgrew that reaction early on in my teenage years.  However, I have not outgrown the deep depression I feel at the end of, say, a wonderful vacation, or a visit from a wonderful friend I don't see enough.  I begin to suffocate with the idea that I will never experience something so incredible again - that maybe I won't again be able to afford that vacation, or that special friend and I will have a falling out and lose what made our friendship - and the visit - so enormously meaningful.  The "day after Christmas phenomenon," as my mother sardonically calls it, is very well alive in me right now.  And it's literally making me crazy.

it doesn't much help that now I really have to get cracking on moving to NYC, but I know that doing so is going to make me feel better.  I'll feel better once I'm in New York and, in a way, closer to the things that mean the most to me.  I feel disconnected and far away, and it isn't helping me one bit.  I'm terribly afraid of being forgotten, or getting lost in the shuffle, but maybe once I get up there I can better plant my feet and feel more secure in some of the choices I've made.

but in the meantime, I can only hope that the day after Christmas feeling passes.

"you can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. honestly."

w: 124.4 (but it's seriously all water.)


yesterday was brilliant.  I went over to campus and found some of my favorite people.  Happily, not all of my best friends have high-tailed it out of the 'boro.  Tomorrow a bunch of us are getting lunch together at a truly epic Japanese restaurant in town.  So excited.  Less excited about the huge quantity of sodium in all the food, but I'll drink a lot of tea to compensate.


I'm totally stressed out.  Tonight, Mom and I are meeting Rachel and her mom to discuss our impending move to New York.  John suggested that I move to Queens - the prices are better, and the trains take you straight into midtown.  As much as I'd love a Manhattan address, maybe it's better to start off somewhere else.


I'm working on my website, and that's just annoying.  It's not enough to buy the domain name; you have to buy hosting privileges so you can put things on your site.  Then you have to buy an email address to go with the site.  And on top of all the protocol, the codes, the how-to guides that might as well be written in Klingon, I actually have to build my site.  Fortunately, iWeb is quite helpful in this arena, and I've built a cute little site that's good enough to get started with.  If only I could figure out how to correctly upload an iWeb site into a personal domain....

9.5

w: 121.2

when I get panicky, I start eating vegetables.  Huge quantities of them.  And I drink gallons of green tea.  Like I'm trying to drown or push something out of my body.


being home is comforting, but lonelier than I imagined.  I realized that all my friends have moved away, or are still here in school but busy with their own lives.  I've been spending my days unpacking, reorganizing, going out by myself, idly shopping for things I don't need but seem to be filled with the promise of filling up whatever emptiness I'm experiencing.  As much as I love my alone time, I know too much of it is dangerous for me.  I can already feel myself getting restless.

the weather here is beautiful right now.  I'm thinking about going to the park with a book - you know, doing one of those supposedly calming, idyllic activities.  Or I could take a nap. 

I really am glad to be home.  I'm still exhausted, though, and still covered in scratches and bruises from the summer.  I feel gross.