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.