Here I am Again

I just picked up my repaired shoes, and received a finger-wagging lecture from the ancient proprietor to 'never ever' use crazy glue again to fix a broken heel. He then patted my cheek and said that I seemed like 'a nice girl' and that he would be taking money off the cost of repair. I feel slightly icky about this.

On my way back home, I noticed (not hard to do, since there is huge portion of the sidewalk marked off with yellow tape and several men trying to hoist a rickety-looking scaffold up the side of a building) that they are painting the local paint store. Again. They just painted it last weekend. I'm perplexed. Are they doing this because they have an unlimited supply of paint? They didn't like the way the last job came out? There are huge differences in painting the building beige instead of light gray?

I couldn't get my licence yesterday, since I my passport was my proof of birth, and it is expired. Ridiculous. Does the fact that my passport expired change the fact that I was born? In the United States?


Party On, Wayne

So, after vowing to be out late tonight, here I am, home at 11:16, catching the end of Best Week Ever and blogging.

Scheduling, Scheduling

DJ left last night for an out-of-town wedding, which means that I have no study partner, and therefore, for the first Friday in a long time, I will not be going up to school today. This seems like an unbelievable luxury, although I'm sure I'll be kicking myself on Sunday night when I want to watch Grey's Anatomy, and realize that I haven't done any of my reading.

Today, I plan to drop off some dry-cleaning (my black bootcut pants could probably walk by themselves at this point), get a watch battery (I've been telling time by iPod and cell phone for about 7 months), and take two pairs of shoes in for repair (one of them being my favorite high heels which I broke last New Year Eve on the way to a party at the beginning of the night, thus forcing MS to follow me around with crazy glue during the entirety of the party, which didn't work because my balance wasn't too good, and resulted in my limping home via subway around 5:00 am while people viewed my plight and drunkenly slurred 'oh, that suuuuuuuucks').

I'm going to Bumble and Bumble later for my *free* haircut. Yes, most of you don't know this, but I am a hair model, and thus, get my hair 'razor bobbed' every 10 weeks while someone teaches technique using my head, and invariably cuts themselves with the razor. Also, the haircut never really works out to be entirely free, as I am a B&B products whore, and end up spending more than a haircut would have been in the first place on my way out of the salon.

After my 3 hour haircut, I'm going to brave the DMV, as my Jerz license expires on Monday. This will mean that I have a NY license, and for the (rare) occasions in which I get carded upon entrance to a bar, I won't have to endure the doorman's smirk as he imagines that I am a 'bridge and tunnel' girl.

Later, LK and I will be on the Lower East Side, taking advantage of happy hour at one of her favorite bars. Tomorrow is another free day (I am off from my Sexual Assault and Violence Intervention advocacy training) which means that I will a) be out late tonight b) spend Saturday on my couch watching college football and c) have plenty of time to get ready for MS & Groom's halloween party.



My heat and hot water are back on. I just took the world's best and longest shower, and am now curled up on my couch. I also managed to turn in a semi-intelligent Program Evaluation midterm today.

Life is pretty good.



...and the hot water? Still not on.


I should also state that, at work today, aside from not getting to close to anyone who might be able to detect my un-showered state, I've spent my morning:

1) creating a flyer ('Do you use alcohol as a way of coping with anxiety, depression or anger? Come talk to us...') that will take the campus community by storm,

2) eating my weight in chocolate,

3) bitching to the other interns here about the extremely condescending and rude e-mail I received from the Dean of Field Placement in response to a question that I had asked about field advising; also, plotting an equally snotty response to said e-mail,

4) attemtping to make eye contact/converse with the very cute AV technician who is near my office, setting up some kind of presentation for the swarms of parents and potential freshmen who are visiting the campus today, and

5) writing blog entries


My heat and hot water were not working this morning. This is unfortunate for several reasons, but mainly because this means I have not showered for 2 days, and I am at work. It's not really so unfortunate for me as it is for the people around me.

My last shower was on Saturday evening before going to a murder mystery costume party at R & M's (btw., my costume rocked, the theme was, um, Roman toga, and none of my sheets are white, so I hastily purchased a white paper tablecloth from Food Emporium on the way home from Mt. Sinai and attempted to safety pin it to myself, along with some gold leaf bands. Awesome.) Sunday morning, I opted for an extra 1/2 hour of sleep, so I skipped the shower, also reasoning that I had showered the night before and was still relatively clean. Sunday night I got home late from an afternoon of babysitting for The Peanut and was too exhausted to shower.

This morning, I went running, and then got home and turned on the water. And waited for it to get hot. And waited some more. And then called the management company, and finally the Super, who assured me that the boiler would be repaired by the end of the day today. I endured the ice-cold water for about 2 minutes before getting ready for work, but I'm not really what one would call 'clean'.


Home Safely

I just got back from dinner in Hoboken, and I remain thankful that I no longer live in there, as I did for the three years directly after college.

1) You can still smoke in bars and restaurants, and at one time, I would have thought that this was great, but as an ex-smoker who is on her 9th cigarette-free week, this is just annoying.

2) The men (or, more accurately, boys) in Hoboken still think that the most effective way to demonstrate their interest in you is to ask how you're 'doin'. I wish I was kidding about this, because it's such a cliche. But no, still true.

3) There are still long lines in front of bars that suck. Bars in which loud, thumping music can be heard from blocks away and the entire atmosphere just looks...sweaty. And cologne infused.

4) The PATH train is still as loud and crowded as I remembered. There are still drunk stupid girls who are just so tiny and so precious that they can't be expected to keep their itty-bitty balance while the train is in motion, and thus, it's not their fault when they sway into you repeatedly, or dig their spike heels into your feet. As a rule, they never apologize.

5) And then someone pukes on the PATH train.

6) And the guidos who are sitting directly across from you start to make rude comments which are loud enough to be heard over your iPod about the lesbian couple who are sitting beside you.

Now I'm home, and it's reading 'no program data' on every channel of my television, so I don't know what I'm watching. My parents don't have digital cable, and thus never have information at the bottom of the screen about what's on. I don't know how they watch tv this way. This is very disconcerting.


Fame Whore

They're filming on campus today. It's for a show that will be on The WB called 'The Bedford Diaries'. I've been distracted by this all day, and have been leaving my office at regular intervals to 'use the bathroom' or 'make myself more tea' when really, I'm just trying to catch a glimpse of someone famous.

But I'm not sure that Matthew Modine qualifies...


In Memoriam

My friend J's father passed away yesterday. The news about his health over the past week had been progressively worse each time I spoke with my friend. I was, and still am, amazed by her strength and calm. Through everything, she had only wanted the best for her father, regardless of the emotional costs to herself and her family. My heart aches for her. I feel helpless.

I will always remember J's father for his strong opinions (which he was never afraid to share), his booming laugh, his enthusiasm for UConn women's basketball, and his great love for my friend.


Anger, Exhaustion and Tears

I was up until 1:00 am finishing a paper last night, and this wasn't due to my usual disorganization. This was because the paper was part of a group project, and one of the group members didn't get her materials to me until 6:00pm yesterday (the original deadline was Friday). This person then has the nerve to ask DJ and I (DJ being the other member of the group) to talk after class. So we step into the hallway, and she launches into this whole thing about how she doesn't feel included or comfortable in the group and she doesn't want to be treated like a baby and she's all stressed out and blah, blah, blah. The best part of this whole tirade is her comment that DJ and I can't understand her because we manage our stress and have 'perfect little lives'. I guess it just goes to show that other people's perception is their reality; I never feel like I'm handling anything the right way, but to her, I am.

Then I go to therapy, and spend 20 minutes talking about how angry I am at this person, and the next 20 minutes analyzing exactly why I sent M an e-mail yesterday after my resolution to never ever contact him again, and then the remaining 10 minutes crying my eyes out.

Obviously, the only remedy for this kind of day (other than climbing into bed and pulling the covers up over my head) is an iced venti skim mocha and a slice of oatmeal banana bread.



The East side and the West side of Manhattan are very separate, like two different countries. Each has its own cultures, norms and values, but most importantly, its own, very distinct citizens. I live on the (clearly superior) West side, and, if asked, profess to know nothing about the East side. 'I have never gone out there', I might say, or even, 'I don't understand why anyone would want to live there.' The East side is foreign to me, it feels cold and distancing. I feel that the people that live there are either a) just-out-of-college frat boys or b) incredibly rich assholes. I know there have to be some cool people there, I just have no evidence to support it. I mean, my ex-boyfriend from college is on the East side, but we graduated 11 years ago, and he still falls into category a.

Today, I had training at Mt. Sinai, on the dreaded East side. And since the 6 train wasn't running, I had occasion to walk several blocks (joyfully, of course). And I felt...out of place. Like everyone knew that I didn't belong there and that I was scuttling back to my side of town.

I don't trust it, but I'm making an exception for the Lower East Side tonight. I'll let you know how it turns out.


I Rock...Sometimes

I had my last cigarette 8 weeks ago today. And, as NJQuitnet has so helpfully reminded me, I've saved $336.00 and added 6 days and 11 hours to my life. And I haven't had 847 cigarettes. Wow. That's a lot of time that I've not spent leaning out my kitchen window blowing smoke into the airshaft, or not standing outside of a bar while my friends are inside. I've only been seriously tempted once, and that was at my birthday party, and at that point, I was mostly just pissed off and wanted to smoke to remind myself of how much of a badass I am. So, 8 weeks. Yay me!

Last night, DJ and celebrated Yom Kippur at her apartment. I'd always known it was the day of atonement, but DJ explained that, for her, the holiday wasn't so much about repentance but about resolutions for the coming year. We drank some wine, we ate dinner, we talked. I was finally able to tell her what has been going on in my head lately. I couldn't look at her while I did it, but it was okay. I felt safe, and I felt loved.

So now here's the trick...to be able to tell everyone in my life what I am feeling, and know that it will be okay.


Rain, rain, go away...

I'm sitting in my office, watching the rain continue to pour down. My skirt and feet are still wet from my walk to the subway this morning. I am trying to warm up by drinking chai tea. I am also eating Laffy Taffy, but I'm not sure what that is doing for me, other than spiking my blood sugar levels.

I don't know how my friend MC managed to live in England, where it rains all the time. We're going on one week of this in New York, and I am already feeling miserable.



I've said exactly 5 words today:

'Shit!'...when I woke up at 8:54 after turning off my alarm clock that had been set for 7:21

'Sorry'...when I was asked for spare change from a homeless man in the subway station

'Sorry'...when I attempted to close my umbrella and accidentally shook the rain all over someone

'Sorry'...when I burst into work 20 minutes late

'Sorry'...to myself when I dropped my coffee and it spilled all over my shoes

Also, the look I am sporting today might possibly resemble 'drowned rat'.


The New Math

Winter-white sweater + coffee + travel coffee mug + subway = ruined sweater

Television ads for the Radio City Christmas Spectacular + October 10th = rage

Leaving my apartment = spending money

10 mini 3 Musketeers + leftover coffee = lunch

Paper due for Contemporary Social Problems + internet + solitaire = procrastination


I want to be the dog...

So, you're walking across town in the rain. And you've just completed 8 hours of intense training in sexual assault and intimate partner violence survivor advocacy. The subways were slow and crowded. And you're wet and tired and your umbrella is about the be blown inside out and you can't see through your glasses because there is rain all over them and all you want is to be on your couch with the remote. So you're growling and snarling and rolling your eyes and you're about to start shoving people because you're frustrated and they're in your way.

And then you see an adorable man who is walking an adorable pug and you smile. Because the man is holding his umbrella over the dog, and in the process, he is getting soaked. And you tear up, because that is possibly the sweetest thing you have seen all day, if not all week. And suddenly, getting home isn't as important.

And then you realize that life is even better than you thought, because you have a Boston Kreme donut in your refrigerator.


Just trying to help

A tip for today, from me to you. Don't bring your breasts to work. My top seemed perfectly reasonable in my bedroom mirror this morning. Now I am in the office, and when I look down, all I see is boob.


This is going to hurt a little bit...

I just got out of the weekly clinical meeting at my internship, which lasted for about 2 hours. It's always interesting to me how uncomfortable I am in this meeting, and how much I resist volunteering any information to the group, even though I have lots to share. For example, today's topic was social anxiety disorder, and I have a client who has some of the elements of this condition. I didn't say a word.

I know that my reluctance is partly due to the fact that I've always been a bit shy about participating in group discussion. The bulk of the problem, though, is that all of the full time staff here have their doctoral degrees, and this fact matters very much to them. In last week's meeting, one staff member made disdainful reference to people with 'only' graduate degrees who are employed as counselors. Her statement went something along the lines of 'I can't believe that they would allow people with graduate degrees to provide counseling. That's just wrong.'

Okay. Those of you who know me personally (and those of you who regualrly read my blog) understand that I sometimes feel like I am unqualified to provide counseling. On occasion, I examine my position here and I wonder just how I was able to trick my employers into letting me provide these services. During these times, I feel like I have no idea what I am doing. This makes the objectionable comment even more problematic, because, without her knowing it, she's tapping into my fears about doing this job, and being able to professionally do this job when I graduate in May (which will be here in no time at all). I marvel at the fact that I will be able to practice with two years of study in this field.

Most of the time, however, I know that I am meant to be a social worker. Since I've started this program, I've researched and studied and put in extra time because I know that it means something. I work so hard at equipping myself with knowledge and at examining my reactions so that I am prepared. It feels like I am living and breathing this profession. That is likely to be the case for the rest of my life.

So I'm angry...angry that one statement can make me feel this way. I'm particularly bothered that it came from someone whose profession is defined by the ability to listen and empathize non-judgementally. And since I don't even have my degree yet, and am providing counseling in her center, how 'wrong' does she think that is?



I'm tired tonight, exhausted actually, and it is manifesting itself in a number of ways. I've been dangerously close to tears or laughter all day, both with the potential to be hysterical. I'm eating constantly, not because I'm hungry, but because I'm trying to give myself enough energy to stay awake. My hands are a little shaky from all the caffeine, and I keep rubbing my face and yawning. My thought processes are a little slow (or, slower than usual).

I know exactly why I am so tired. MC was in town on Sunday, and we stayed up until about 3 :00 am obsessively watching 'Rescue Me'. The goal was to get through the entire first season. Luckily, she had more sense than I did, and floated the idea of going to bed at episode 10. Last night she wasn't here, and, left to my own devices, I decided that I needed to watch the remaining episodes. This was not problematic other than the fact that I started watching at 11:30 pm. And that I had to finish writing a paper when I was done.


Fall in NY

The perfect outfit for New York in October is, apparently, a corduroy skirt, t-shirt and flip-flops. Because it is 80 degrees. But still, fall.