Wreak Havok

Not staying put but not moving far

2011-12-06T14:23:00.007-05:00

It's been awhile, hasn't it? Not that I really went anywhere. My focus had just turned away from moving for a time there, thankfully. While it's been fun to dither about financial fears and rock star aspirations here let's turn back to the original and primary focus of this blog for a bit shall we? Moving, that is.

I've been firmly planted in the same Financial District apartment since 2008. A tiresome apartment search set me on staying put for as long as possible. As someone who'd moved at least once a year every year between 2000 and 2008, I was happy to put down some roots. I last moved during the financial crisis's beginning throes and was able to take advantage of all sorts of incentives like no broker fee and a free month's rent. When my original 18-month lease was set to expire I was even luckier, scoring multiple free months on a 2-year lease re-sign.

The market is vastly different now. I get emails from time to time from people reading my old apartment hunting posts from 2007 and 2008 and wondering why they couldn't find similar deals and prices now. I haven't been paying close attention to real estate but I hear that very few New Yorkers are moving right now. Due to the economy most people are staying put in their apartments even if they hate their current place. Additionally many owners are renting out their high-mortgage primary residences and renting a less expensive place while they ride out the poor economy. These two factors combined to leave NYC (Manhattan especially) with a lower vacancy rate then we've seen in years.

Who would choose to move during this crazy time? Me of course. The itch started several months ago and became itchier recently. Little quirks of my apartment that once seemed charming started to annoy. New neighbors shattered a once-peaceful respite. But the biggest driver for me was probably the lack of natural light. Neither of my NYC apartments have been sun-filled nor was that ever a requirement, though it would be a nice perk. In the summer my current place gets decent light but come winter it's kind of gloomy, and with the down economy and stress at work the last thing I need is grey days to wallow in. Grey days with a shitty neighbor's soundtrack and a commiserating dog howling on the other side.

Speaking of dogs, if you're not allergic to them I highly recommend owning one. The dog parks I frequent are like little social goldmines. I get all my neighborhood intel there: the latest Occupy Wall St updates, notes on the movies and TV shows filming down here and the occasional date. When my dog run friends were telling me about rents shooting up in my building I knew the time was here to make a move. Problem is I've become addicted to my amenities. I've got a huge mezzanine, gym and roof deck I hardly use. There's also laundry in the building (I use that of course) and a conceirge service that has dry cleaning, maid service and the like. I get my groceries delivered and my dog walked when I have to work late. I love my doormen. I could not imagine giving it up. The decision was clear: I wanted to move but I also wanted to stay in my building.

Sometimes there are perks to living in a building with a management company. Like when they have a list all their upcoming rental availabilities available to peruse. For the last couple of months I'd been watching the site for something appealing. I wasn't sure what I was looking for until I saw a 1 BR in my building on a high floor. The listing included the floor plan and the building placement. I saw a western exposure with three windows in the apartment and I was sold. Nevermind that the apartment has 1/2 the closet space of my current apartment or that the rent was above my budget. I had to see it.

A quick stop by the leasing office in my building and then I was headed up to a the high floor to check out the apartment. The first thing I noticed was that unlike my apartment, this one was blindingly bright. Though the Financial District is teeming with tall buildings, mine has enough free air space around it that the sun shone in and the view was appealingly clear. I could see through a sea of buildings to Jersey City, not to mention many famous downtown skyscrapers here in Manhattan. The layout was a bit different than my current place, though the square footage was comparable. I would lose my eat-in kitchen area for a breakfast bar which wasn't a big deal. I was worried about losing the closet space -- a huge issue for a clotheshorse like me. The constant light streaming in helped me get past that.

The lack of storage couldn't dampen my enthusiasm, but the rent could. It was significantly more expensive than my current place -- almost $500/mo more than what I currently pay. I hoped that perhaps Occupy Wall St would turn the tides and stem the rent increases. When I tried negotiating the management company wouldn't budge an inch. Free months weren't an option and neither was a lower rent. My building, they explained, was over 90% full and the average time between renters was under 30 days. Vastly different stats then when I first arrived in the building in 2008.

Graphic from the New York Times, read full article

Dejected, I passed on the apartment. I have learned that something better will always come along. Or so I thought. A couple of weeks later you see I got the letter I was dreading from the management company: my lease was almost up and they needed to know if I was staying or moving. And oh yeah my rent was going up by $400/mo if I wanted to stay. Suddenly better wasn't as important as just settling on my plans.

The economy is rough right now and this was going to hurt no matter what. If I wanted to stay I'd need to dip into my savings to cover the difference between my current rent and the new rate -- my salary's not keeping up with these cost of living increases. And if I moved I'd have to dip into savings to cover the costs of moving. Suddenly the high-floor apartment was back on the table. I'd be paying just a bit more than the new rate of my current place and I'd get the benefit of natural light. The move would be less expensive by staying in the same building. Staying in my current place was the most cost-efficient option of the three. But I'd be unhappy that the same place suddenly cost over $400 more while silently cursing my neighbors every night.

If I was going to spend money it made sense to improve my life a bit, so I contacted the leasing office one more time and made a pitch for the high floor apartment while asking for some rent concessions. We finally settled on a number I could live with. A few days later I went to the bank to get the necessary certified checks, signing the necessary paperwork and calling FlatRate moving. (Two moves and one furniture pick-up with them and they've been great every time. Let's hope this next move goes equally well.)

On the plus side, I didn't have to deal with a single broker and my apartment search took about 3 weeks in total. Much less than last time! On the minus side my finances continue to be tight. So it goes. My life is going back in boxes and I am happy. I'm moving up in the world, literally if not necessarily financially.

3rd Floor Etiquette

2010-10-10T23:05:00.002-04:00

When you live in a high rise, it's easy to get lazy. My gym is on the floor below me. (I hardly visit it.) My laundry room is on the floor above me. (I visit it even less.) There's a roof deck I show guests. ("Oh yeah, I'm up here...never.") And a mezzanine that I use, though infrequently.

But my biggest faux pas is without a doubt the elevator. My building has six elevators serving 35 floors. One is the service elevator and I avoid it. One of the elevators has been out since January 2009. I am beginning to doubt it's ever coming back. Of the remaining four, two serve floors 1-21 and two serve the rest. I understand the frustration of waiting -- and waiting, and waiting -- for the elevator. But the dirty looks I get? Not as much.

Hello my (nick)name is roxy. I live on the third floor. And yes, I take the elevator.

It's there for a reason -- to help me get my lazy ass from the lobby to the 3rd floor. Sometimes the use is justified. I've got groceries. I'm hauling one of my many packages up. I'm in dangerously high heels and it's a miracle I survived the subway station stairs so I'm not risking death or ankle destruction in my own damn building.

Mostly though I'm just not thinking. Habit dictates that I enter the building and head for the elevator. At my work, the stairwell doors are locked so I couldn't take the stairs if I wanted to. And I think that's carried over to my home building, where my fried brain says home is where the elevator takes me. Perhaps I'll just blame the internet.

I had some friends over last weekend and they were lamenting their own elevator situation -- two of them to serve 40 floors. Yikes. Their immediate scapegoats for the long waits? Residents of floors 2-4. I found myself nodding and contributing. Damn those low-floor dwellers! Who do they think they are taking up valuable elevator space, what with their 2 floor trips and smug grins and fuck yous as they exit.

Oh wait.

Even in my own building I find my scorn directed at those damn brokers, who ride the elevator one floor from the lobby to the mezzanine to visit our leasing office. I will shoot daggers at them from my eyes. And then two floors later I will happily disembark at 3, happy to be home with my legs no worse for wear. What the remaining riders think of me was never a concern.

Recently though I've been visiting friends in high places. Specifically floors 23, 35 and 44. And I now know the annoyance that is stopping at floors 2, 3, 4, and really anything below 10. It sucks. The building commute inches up with each single-digit floor hit. And it's not really fair. So please accept my apologies, cloud-dwellers. I will try to take the stairs more often.

Except of course in heels.

Introducing the newest member of my family

2010-09-11T10:27:00.001-04:00

Oh to have a dog of my own. It's been on my to-do list for a few years as an adult, and "puppy" was always high on my Hanukkah wishlist as a kid. For the last few years I've been an occasional foster momma to Shiba Inus through a local rescue but my crazy work and life schedule wasn't really conducive to dogs. (Or sleep for that matter.)

When I first moved to NYC my apartment was barely big enough for me, let alone a pet. Since moving downtown the space has been willing; it was just a matter of timing. A couple of months ago I realized I wanted to make room in my life for a pet. I watched a friend's dog for a couple of weeks while she was on vacation and got very used to coming home to happy barks and tail wags. It got me outside and exploring more and it was easier to talk to people with a dog as an icebreaker. Especially a really cute dog!

So I started looking into adoption slowly. Then a couple of weeks ago my rescue sent out an APB about a Shiba pup that needed a new home. I was in! She came home with me on Thursday and has been settling in ever since. Shibas are a challenging but rewarding breed to own and I'm loving my new life as a dog owner. My dog is about 8 months old and 18 lbs -- which makes her easily portable.

I do miss being close to parks like I was on the Upper East Side -- both Carl Schurz and Central Park were just a few blocks from my apartment. On the other hand it means more exercise for both me and my dog to get to the park and that's never a bad thing.

I have not decided on a name yet but am leaning towards Cinnamon. She's found her favorite spot (the couch, of course) and came with plenty of toys to choose from. Not that I won't be getting her more soon enough. We're off to the Union Square dog park later today to make some new friends. Life is good, whether you're a dog or a dog owner.

Sometimes the longest part of the trip is the airport to your apt

2010-07-30T09:04:00.005-04:00

My sister recently came into town from Colorado for a weekend visit. The plan was for her to go up to my parents' in Connecticut first, and then come stay with me later over the weekend. She comes into town often so it's all pretty routine by now. Flies from Colorado to NYC. Takes the bus to Grand Central. Either takes Metro North up to the parents or takes the subway down to me.

So you can imagine my surprise when I got this call after she landed:
Sis - So I landed. I'm at Newark.
Me (thinking I misheard) - Oh, you're in New York. Cool. How was your flight?
Sis - No, I'm at NEWARK.
Me - What??

Yep, as if gridlock on the ground in the NYC metropolitan area weren't enough, turns out there can be gridlock in the air too. My sister's flight got to NYC airspace 30 minutes early, circled for about an hour and finally was diverted to Newark so they could refuel. And then the plane was going to fly from Newark to LaGuardia. As in about a 5-minute flight, if that. Holy moly.

Funniest to my sister was that the holding pattern put her right over the Financial District, aka my neighborhood. So she was circling over my apartment for about an hour. And circling. And circling. I thought they weren't allowed to do that after 9/11, but I guess those restrictions got lifted.

After all of that, the idea of another takeoff-turned-almost-immediate-landing wasn't exactly appealing. Passengers were allowed to deplane at Newark so she left. (Pity those who'd checked baggage -- the plane's baggage was not being unloaded until arrival at LGA.)

The other issue is of course that getting from Newark into Manhattan is a real pain in the ass. There's New Jersey Transit, which is a joke. There's a cab, which is robbery. And then there's a car, assuming you have one. Which is environmentally inefficient but sanity-wise the best option. Zipcar to the rescue! Being the awesome sister that I am, I grabbed a Mini Cooper to go get my sister.

And the longest part of the trip? Waiting on Varick to get into the Holland Tunnel after finding the Canal St approach closed. Gridlock -- it gets you every time.

In which road trips refresh

2010-06-18T19:54:00.001-04:00

The past 4 weeks yielded more travel time for me than the previous 52 and I am not complaining. Despite being air-aversive I love to travel. While 2009 was mostly the year of not being able to 2010 has gone far better. Sometimes life in NYC is just as much about getting away from it as it is about living here.

First up was my Memorial Day weekend road trip. I was excited about the chance to escape for a bit. I've been working on big projects both at work and for a college class I'm taking, and a weekend away was the thing I needed to recharge a bit. I was ready to unplug for awhile.

Speaking of which, the first rule of our road trip was no technology besides the car. So no cell phones, no cameras and definitely no laptops. I mostly made it. I did cheat by tweeting a few times but mostly so my fam would not worry if I was still alive or eaten by a bear or running off to join a cult. And a friend of ours followed the first 500 miles to make a short film from it. (After a trio powwow we decided this did not count.) The result is that we have some great stories but little photo evidence. Somehow I think this is just the way it should be.

We started out on Friday afternoon and I flew home on Monday morning. (The boys just got home earlier this week after continuing west.) Over the long weekend we touched 7 states: New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina. Of those 7 it was my first time in 3.

Miles 1-250: in which I learned that I am no rebel.
We'd hoped to leave on Friday morning but work took priority. Instead we left around 5 or 6 PM. While we wanted to avoid I-95 as much as possible it was the best route for the initial part of the trip. And on Friday of Memorial Day Weekend it was of course packed. As we sat in gridlock we settled on camping somewhere south of Philadelphia. We crossed back over into New Jersey with plans of camping at the Timberlane Campground near Clarksboro. Unfortunately the place was crowded amd we couldn't find a spot to camp in. An attempt to share a lot with a friendly RV crew was foiled so we left. We returned to PA and ended up finding a field somewhere near Chester to camp in, not too far from the Delaware River. The prospect freaked me out more than I expected. I had flashes of bad horror movies playing out on us followed by a panic-attack inducing vision of getting eaten by a bear. We ate decidedly un-camp food (fast food from a local drivethrough), stared at the stars for awhile and then pitched our tent. The boys kindly offered to let me sleep in the middle so I would feel safer. I did feel safer, just not safe enough to sleep. Every car driving by was a cop car or an ax-wielding murderer in my mind. I finally passed out from exhaustion. So much for being a rebellious camper.

We got an early start the next day and made plans to eat lunch in Annapolis, Maryland. It was time for local roads at this point, along which we consulted several guide books for interesting places to stop along the way. (And by guidebooks, I mean my iPhone. Cheaters.) We were all slowly loosening up too, laughing more and enjoying my awesome 70s rock playlist, crowd-sourced through my Facebook friends. Ah, mixtapes in the digital age.

Miles 250-350: in which song lyrics are discovered and misheard.
After lunch in Maryland we headed south on Rte 2. This part of the trip mostly involved singly along loudly to a bunch of great songs. I'd been dismissive of 70s rock for a long time as dude music. While I'm not entirely unconvinced of this at least I have a newfound respect for the journeyman quality of it.

Some random musings during jukebox sing-alongs:
AC/DC "Back in Black": Would be my enterance song if I was a closing pitcher.
America "Lonely People": Sounds funny when sung amongst a group.
Bachman Turner Overdrive "Taking Care of Business": Hey! This song is about when I used to commute into the city...wait, are you taunting me??
Blue Oyster Cult "Burnin For You": J sang this song to a car next to us in traffic, complete with wonky hand gestures to the lady driver. Got laughs out of both cars.
Credence Clearwater Revival "Born on the Bayou": Makes us wish we were born on the bayou too, chasing down hoodoo there.
Doobie Bros "Listen to the Music": D's vote for easiest song to harmonize with.
Foghat "Slow Ride": Made us wish the Chevelle had hydraulics.
Jackson Browne "Take it Easy": At least he's honest...
Iggy Pop "The Passenger": Should not be sung from the backseat.
Steve Miller "Jet Airliner": Confession -- I always thought the lyrics were "We going to Carolina." Oops.
Three Dog Night "Shambala": Best sing-along song on the trip. A-woo-woo-woooooooooo!
The Who "Baba O'Riley": Inspirational tune for the beginning of each day.

Mile 295 or so: in which I almost killed the guys.
At rest stop in northern Virigina, the boys moved the car while I was using the facilities. They parked behind a big truck so I couldn't see them. They played it just long enough so I started to freak out over whether they'd really left me. Not cool! (But very funny, I admit.)

Miles 300-400: in which we made friends for dinner.
On night two (Saturday) we camped at a KOA campground just outside Virginia Beach. It had been a long day and by the time we made it to the campground we'd missed most of the local restaurants. We were debating whether to chance fast food again (bleh) or to look for a 24-hour grocery. A neighboring RV family was cooking dinner and the Dad made D an offer he couldn't refuse: a 30-minute ride in the Chevelle in exchange for some good-looking burgers and a beer. Done! D took the Dad for a cruise and an hour later we were wolfing down some fine-tasting beef patties.

The next day we made a pitstop at a friend of J's to shower and then continued southward. J and I spent most of the morning nagging D to let one of us drive. When D repeatedly refused to give up the wheel we started doing play-by-play of his driving, critiquing every curve and analyzing imaginary instant replays of his light change takeoffs complete with Madden-esque gems like, "When you gun the accelerator, you're gonna go faster more quickly!" Yes, we're nerds.

Miles 400-500: in which we made airplane noises and climbed lighthouses at the seashore.
We had finally crossed over to the outer banks of the Carolinas, our main destination for the weekend. We stopped in Kitty Hawk to visit the Wright Brothers National Monument and see the field where they tested their aircrafts. It was so cool! There are markers at the beginning and end of the first flight and despite park rangers' pleas not to we ran the length of the flight with our arms out making airplane noises. Like idiots. It was wonderful.

A little later we crossed the Bonner Bridge and went down to the Cape Hatteras National Seashore. Unfortunately the Bodie Island Lighthouse is in the middle of being renovated so it was partially obstructed, but the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse was open and you bet we climbed all 248 steps. Totally worth it too -- the view was spectacular. We hung out on the beach for a few hours before heading back to the mainland.

Miles 500-600: in which I realized NASCAR was so close!
Sometime Sunday afternoon it dawned on me that the NASCAR race that weekend was in Charlotte, NC -- just a few hours away! I started pleading with D and J to take me to Lowe's Motor Speedway for the race. They were of course having none of it but we comprimised and agreed to head to Charlotte. I had to fly home on Monday and wanted to pick a city so I could buy a ticket. Charlotte met the criteria (had an airport with JetBlue) and J knew of a great barbeque place.

I whimpered as we drove past the speedway and again when we passed the shiny new NASCAR Hall of Fame, but the boys were right that the last thing we needed to be doing after spending hours in a car was spending hours watching cars turn left. So my long-awaited return attendance at a race will have to wait a bit longer. (Lace race attended? New Hampshire, 2006.)

Mile 950: in which I said goodbye and the trio became a duo.

Sadly, while the boys got to continue on with their trip I had to say goodbye Monday morning in Charlotte. We had an awesome time and I'm so glad I got invited to join the trip. I hope we get to do it again soon.

Another thing no one tells you about living in Manhattan

2010-06-08T21:42:00.004-04:00

There are tons of things you should know about living in NYC that no one ever bothers to tell you and lucky me, I get to discover all the gross ones! I should warn this post isn't for faint stomachs.

So here the tip is, you can thank me later: if you live in Manhattan, you will see a water bug at some point. Maybe outside. Maybe in the hallway. Maybe in the laundry room. Maybe (gulp) in your apartment. Water bugs are aka co...cockro...gawd, I can't even say it. Just read. They are everywhere! There's a reason why they say after the Apocalypse there will be those things and Cher. My building is quite clean but I live on the southern tip of Manhattan, aka part that used to be underwater. When you expand the island via dirt and trash and then build on top of it these things will happen. Could be worse I suppose...it could be rats. *shiver*

Last year I only saw one in my apartment. I learned the hard way that they crawl up the side of my building and come in through the window. I saw the damn thing come in and then it scampered behind my media center while I screamed in horror. I didn't see it for a few days so I hoped it was dead or crawling across someone's else's floor. But these things live to be over 100 so I was just fooling myself. One night I was having a private iPod concert while working. I was singing Sinatra's "I've Got You Under My Skin" when I saw the water bug crawl by my bedroom door. Oh the cruel coincidence of that moment. I managed to trap it and kill it (thank you, Raid!) but the creepy-crawly effects lasted for days afterwards.

Since then I don't really open my apartment windows during the warmer months. They are old windows in my nice old high rise so they have no screens. It's OK -- if I want a breeze I just go up to the roof deck. Unfortunately the maintenance staff doesn't know my neurotic rules so while working on my apartment the other day (after my closet rack collapsed under the weight of all of my clothes, hee) they opened the windows. I came home and gave my best horror film "Noooooooooo!" as I slo-mo ran to the windows. It was too late though! It was too late.

For the other morning, what did I see? You guessed it. Another damn water bug scampering by my bedroom door. Once again I managed to trap and kill it. The thing was huge! Practically the size of my Apple remote. Bleh! Bleh! Creepy crawlies. Not a fan.

So how do you keep your apartment water bug-proof? Well, you can't. But there are some things you can do to minimize the risk. This article has a good rundown. They're attracted to cold, dark and damp spots. So keep your floors clean, your sink empty and your garbage tended to. Don't store cardboard in your apartment either -- this is one of the most common mistakes. Critters are attracted to it. You can get new moving boxes when you move. It's so not worth it. Hopefully your neighbors are clean too.

A few of my friends had infestations and let me tell you it's not pretty. So be warned. You will see one; it will be gross and you will have to deal with it. My apologies in advance.

The road is calling and finally I can answer

2010-05-12T17:55:00.000-04:00

I've had roadtrips on the mind recently. I re-read The Motorcycle Diaries a few months ago and followed it up with Travels with Charley. Guess I must have been influencing my friends subconsciously. Earlier this month during a Stone Street excursion my friend D announced that he had finished restoring his car and wanted to go on a Memorial Day Weekend road trip to celebrate. Even better? He wants me to come.

I was excited for too many reasons to enumerate. Here's a few though. First, I have not owned a car since I moved to NYC and man do I miss driving. I know this sounds like the oil barron's lament but I love driving on twisty, windy roads alone with my thoughts. Or alternately with my music blaring and me singing along. And nothing beats cross-country drives.

In college the thought of three months without my car over summer break was devastating to me. So every summer my little red 1992 Saturn SC coupe (with pop-up headlights!) and I drove 1940 miles from Fort Collins, Colo. to Bethel, Conn. Lots of people complain about I-80 being corn, corn, and more corn but dammit if I didn't love every mile of it. I will never forget cresting a hill in Iowa to a gorgeous rainbow in August of 2002 heading back out West. (I will also never forget stupidly outrunning a tornado in Kansas on I-70 in May of 2001 with my sister. That was the day my sister and I learned what it was like to drive 145 mph. Don't try that at home, kids!) My senior year I had bought a SUV and was moving back home so I actually did the trip thrice in two weeks. I miss those trips now. It wouldn't be as much careless fun now paying $3.05/gallon for gas I guess, or whatever gas is these days.

Another reason I love road trips? Bonding. I tend to be in my head a lot of the time but I love how car trips can be an excuse for stifling technology in favor of, oh I don't know, actually talking to each other. I suppose today's minivans with their in-headrest screens could kill the need for conversation. Luckily D owns a 1968 Chevelle SS. So that's not going to be an issue.

One more thing to love -- seeing the country. Living in NYC is like...well it's like being an asylum quite honestly. We're barely holding our sanity together. (Some of us just gave up.) And the standards of life here are insane and unrealistic. So it will be nice to escape and be reminded of how the other 99% of people live. My parents still chuckle that I was such a farm kid growing up but I ended up somehow living in the biggest city in the US. Don't get me wrong. I love living in NYC and wouldn't trade the last 5 years of my life for anything. I just need to get out a little more.

D also invited our friend J. And now the three of us are making plans. We've decided to avoid highways whenever possible. I have never done a true back-road trip so I'm thrilled to be giving it a shot. D is in charge of planning the route. Problem is we can't decide whether we want to go South (my personal preference), West, or North. Any of them would be fun. I just like the idea of South because I've never really driven South.

J is in charge of finding places to stay. I have a feeling we're going to be camping it which is fine by me. My sole concern is that I hope they take bathroom breaks into consideration since I am a chick. And I will not be using a bottle on the side of the road, thanks.

And me? I'm in charge of the music of course. The car used to just have an AM radio but D has upgraded it to a nice digital player. So I'm assembling a playlist. I proposed a 70s classic rock theme and the boys heartily agreed. I've been having a blast the past couple of weeks researching the best songs to include. I can't say this is a genre I knew very well. Still, I knew many popular tunes from the stations my parents listened to growing up and my friends have been great resources for more. Right now Three Dog Night's "Shambala" gets played at least once daily on my iPhone.

The setup is perfect. Three friends driving in a restored classic car across the countryside, music blaring and camping out under the stars. Hmm. This also sounds like the beginning of a bad horror movie. I'm sure we'll end up with at least one great story out of the trip. Here's a nice list of road trip books. I am downloading a couple to my Kindle to read at night. Guess I can't totally leave technology behind.

I am counting down the days until May 28.

The weight of the wish

2010-05-05T18:09:00.006-04:00

I have had the great fortune recently to welcome two mentors into my life. Both of them are invested in making me a better businesswoman not only for my own sake but also for their own success. It's been amazing and I already feel like a winner for it. In my professional life I've been lucky -- I've only had one nasty boss and I have no regrets about being rebellious enough to tell her just how much she sucked. Since then though I've changed jobs (twice), had great bosses each time and now I've settled into a leadership role of my own. A wise man once told me that successful leaders reiterate common sense repackaged as new lessons. And that's more or less what my mentors are doing. It's not so much that I'm learning new skills as I am refining and smoothing the ones I have. I'm learning a ton of new things -- but in a way that I'm building on top of what I have.

Still it's surprising how many ! moments I've been having. I always thought of myself as analytical and scientific in nature at work. Recently I've come to realize that I am also oddly emotional outside of work. One of my mentors has been emphasizing the importance of goals over wishes to me. It boils down this: rarely does one get their wishes but often do they achieve their goals. One part of my brain says: duh! The other part says: huh.

A couple of weeks later I am still profoundly affected by this. Truth is I wish for things all the time...the winning lottery ticket, to be a rockstar, to run into my favorite actor at a bar, to get free rent, to make more money, for untethered investment money for my side project, etc. Meanwhile my goals tend to be more boring but also more realistic. But in the past I wished for things and felt like they came true. Now I'm having a mental wrestling match because I'm better at polishing off goals but more passionate about my wishes. Which is right?

In investigating the answer I've accidentally re-exposed some long buried fears. If you write something down as a goal suddenly there are two options. Success and failure. Achieved and unachievable. Accomplishment and regret. A wish on the other hand suggests a touch of destiny. An outside fate partially controlling the outcome so that you can reassure yourself that a watchful eye is rewarding you or so you don't have just yourself to blame if an idea doesn't pan out. A goal has an awful lot of personal responsibility attached to it. A wish is something you can alternately embrace as a cause and laugh off as a pipe dream.

At work I have no problem with making goals. It's at home where wishes rule my life. Up until now I've been comfortable with that. But I wonder if some of the disappointment I've felt recently is because I'm too scared to write my wishes down to make them into goals. Am I scared that they won't come true? Am I scared that I won't "get" my wishes? Or am I just scared of forcing myself to apply reason to something that is otherwise emotion driven?

I sit here now with a pad in front of me. I am trying to make myself write some of these wishes down to make them into goals. It's a lot harder than I thought it would be.

Angst, angst and more angst

2010-03-21T21:46:00.001-04:00

I've found a new obsession -- "Supernatural." Over the past couple of months I have grown from just liking the show to being downright engrossed in it. I can't stop talking about. It's a great distraction from the stresses of life, love and the economy. The show is so well-written. Often times I'll start episodes thinking ok, this is going to be cheesy only to be surprised by some awesome, action-packed demon hunting turned well-played message. The dialogue is snappy too, very meta and cliche-aversive while every episode packs at least one good laugh. Of course since the show is on the CW it's also filled with teenage angst channeled through the body of 30-somethings playing 20-somethings. (Including, disturbingly, a younger brother who's supposed to be a year younger than me.) I find myself identifying all too well with said angst, whether channeled through cool-but-dead-inside Dean or alive-but-doomed Sam. Well, maybe more with Sam, the right-brained-in-touch-with-his-emoness thinker in the duo.

Either way, angst! The weight of the world on your shoulders. To be experienced as long, sullen, sideways glances during long car rides. Or copious amounts of bitchface exposition that seem to be angrily directed at the person in front of you but are actually more a reaction to the internal thought process. Being in one's head can be dangerous sometimes. I acted too mature during my teen years and now I seem to be reverting back to the emotional development I missed along the way.

My life is fine, pretty great in fact; this blog is the channel through which I can vent right now. Still -- and I'm sure every 20-something goes through this -- I'm dealing some hard to suppress feelings of personal disappointment. Specifically not attaining those probably-unrealistic-but-no-less-important dreams I dreamed out loud as a teen. The ones I am now too scared to speak for fear someone might hear them and laugh. And every time I think I've finally let them go they come back to haunt me. Maybe Dean and Sam could help me perform an exorcism??

Just this past weekend that haunting was in the form of Jenks, my bandmate from high school who was in town to visit some old mutual friends. I'm still in my hermit phase so I had no idea he was even here until the phone call came on Friday night. I haven't spoken to him in two years. Yet like all my friends no matter how long we are apart we can pick up right back where we left. Only thing was I don't think either of us really knew where that was (something about him burning our demos after some choice words from me as I recall) so instead we reached back a bit further.

Seemed like good old days at first as we met up at a dive bar in the village for one beer (me) and several (him). He greeted me warmly and called me fat (it's true right now, sadly) so I punched him in the gut and called him old and grimy (also true). We joked about the old days for awhile until I commented that this was like living Bruce Springsteen's ironically named "Glory Days" about 20 years too soon. Jenks agreed and we transitioned into a conversation about the past two years. Me: trying out but never making a great band, damaged pipes that are more leaky these days than brassy, working towards financial stability, struggling with letting go of the desire to be a musician. Him: forming a new band, touring for a year, breaking up, getting a real job, silently suffering. Yet neither of us is in bad shape. We both have steady jobs, nice places, good friends, etc. It's weird that our lives are just fine and yet so not what we wanted.

I guess it's a bit different for him since he's a few years older. He says it's too late now for him to start again. Such a liar but no amount of persuasion by me could sway him. Instead he spent most of the hours after midnight trying to convince me it's not too late to start a band, that I have one last chance before 30 (which by the way is still a couple of years away). It's not that I doubt him; I just doubt myself. Especially the time commitment. If I had the means to dedicate myself full-time to music I'm sure he's right. But if I had the means I might also be lazy and less driven about it. It's always been weird how I can make anything I want happen when I put my mind to it; yet I can't put my mind to the one thing I really want. There's always an excuse: I have to be focused on work (true); I have to be focused on my finances (true); I have no time (lie).

At work right now I have an amazing opportunity to grow in ways I'd always hoped for professionally. Musically I have zero opportunities and I'm further away then ever. In high school I knew A&R reps. In college I knew label reps. Now I know no one. And I would have to start over -- I was never very good at bass and I should probably learn guitar, plus I'd want singing lessons to gain my range and confidence back. I want to be strong and confident and just do it. But I am scared. I don't really even know about what.

So I churn with angst instead. Disappointment that I'd give up before I really begin. Jenks meant to give me a pep talk. I think he might have added a nail to the coffin instead. We parted well; I might go to Boston to visit him next month. But of course what did I do after we said goodbye? I went home and wrote lyrics to 3 damn good songs. Now I am searching for the confidence to finish them. Maybe I will postpone that exorcism request.

For the first time in my NYC life, I'm NOT moving

2010-01-17T23:20:00.003-05:00

Oh my god, I'm putting down roots. I was beginning to doubt the possibility of ever living in the same apartment for more than a year but it's happening. And it's such a relief. Despite all of the turmoil of 2009 I am going to be able to stay in my apartment. I'm so relieved not to have to apartment hunt again or pack everything up again or start over in a new neighborhood again. Financial District, you are my home! Finally I feel like my apartment is mine.

I'm still going to be skating on thin ice for awhile but I think I see the light at the end of the tunnel. It started two weeks ago when I went to dinner with two of my close galpals. We were celebrating our successes (one friend is doing so incredibly well at work, the other is in school learning about stuff that sounds so cool) and venting about strife. Mine was of course feeling financially squeezed and wondering what my next step was for my apartment. My lease is up in March. I was afraid management would raise the rent. I was dreading it.

My friends must be good luck because the very next day I got a letter from the building. They offered me (and I'm sure, every other tenant whose lease is almost up) the opportunity to stay in my current apartment for another year or two at the same rent, plus incentives of x months free depending on the resigned lease length. It was an unexpected joy. I'd heard of friends getting similar deals in their buildings but didn't expect it for myself. It was like a mini-miracle.

I'd been working on getting myself back into the moving mindset to save money so for a week I tried to fool myself into thinking I would be happy moving. But by the weekend it was clear I'd be miserable. So I talked it over with some close friends and my family and together they helped me decide that staying is the best decision for me. I am still going to continue looking for freelance work to make ends meet and I think will apply at a few retail places again.

I can't express how great it feels knowing that I get to stay put for at least another year (and probably two). I look forward to being on solid ground not only for my own benefit but so that I can start helping others again, one of my humble pleasures. For now I can only volunteer but I have a feeling someday soon I can start contributing in ways above time. Maybe someday I'll even own a place! With a husband! Dream big roxy, dream big.

Weird is the new normal...a look back at the decade from the 10,000 foot view

2009-12-21T20:17:00.003-05:00

10 years ago I had no idea which square state was Colorado.
9 years ago I had never attended a free concert.
8 years ago I had never climbed a mountain.
7 years ago I had some of the best friends a girl could ask for.
6 years ago I was wondering whether I should live on the East Coast, the West Coast or in Ireland.
5 years ago I was just wondering how I'd pay the bills.
4 years ago I was living on my own for the first time.
3 years ago I had the best roommates ever and dreamt up a sitcom based on our lives.
2 years ago I was making big plans and fulfilling a lifelong dream.
1 year ago I was wondering where love was.
This year I am noticing that everything is starting over again.

I was home sick on Friday and I ended up watching "Big" on HBO. I haven't seen the full cut of the movie in years. A few things struck me as I was watching the movie. First, this movie is so earnest it was hard to watch parts of it. Second, I recognized 90% of the location shots because unlike movies today where Vancouver fills in for NYC (no offense, Vancouver) "Big" was actually shot in Soho. And third, as a kid you know everything. When you have an idea as a kid you are stopped by nothing. You make it happen.

Looking back on the last 10 years it's easy to be critical about all the things I hoped to accomplish but haven't. But lately I've been feeling some of that good old optimism so instead I choose to look back on the goals I have reached as well as some happy accidents. Going to Colorado State was for sure a happy accident. As a junior in high school I wasn't excited about college at all, though I was excited about getting the heck out of Connecticut. And mostly that worked out well. My first jobs out of college were rough but working at the paper in Danbury was a happy accident. Moving to NYC was a lifelong dream achieved. And it's a lot tougher than it seemed. The girl who hates technology ends up working in the field. My last two jobs have been happy accidents, ditto the awesome friends I've made along the way. I went on a tropical vacation; I went to Europe just before my kiddie passport expired; I stalked bands and made friends with some; I chased boys and let some chase me; I stayed out all night and I slept all day. Enjoying the little victories is sometimes just as sweet.

Of course the story has also been filled with twists, turns and shocks. A lot of the time I find myself thinking that a situation turned out oddly. But now I see that for me weird is the new normal and I am really bad at predicting how a situation will turn out. It's not so much that I leave things to chance now. I am slowly getting better at accepting destiny as much as I determine my own fate. Whatever will be will be and all that good stuff.

Much as there are some moments I'd love to erase, much as there are some that I'd like to redo, I don't want to let go of this moment of youth. The next 10 years may be the best of my life. Maybe in 10 years I'll realize these last 10 were it. I am ready to say goodbye to this decade yet I don't want to let go. I am still working on making peace with time.

Grabbing my health by the horns

2009-09-19T07:52:00.000-04:00

Last week's September 11 anniversary was bearable and for that I am thankful. I thought about it a lot in the morning, especially now that I live down in FiDi. The worst was hearing the parade of sirens go by -- that really got me. I stopped by the reflecting pool on the way to work to drop off a flower in D's honor. I still think of him every time I see a fire engine go by.

Otherwise the same three topics (music, money, health) are still swirling in my head. For this month health seems to have come to the forefront. Whatever this cough I have is I still have it and it sucks. It's now a dry, hacking loveliness that sometimes makes me gasp for air. It feels like I have something stuck in there. Back to the doc once blood tests come back, hopefully he can help me figure out what the hell this thing is.

In the meantime I started looking for a nutritionist. It's obvious I'm going to need some help getting myself in order so professional help can't hurt. Especially when covered by my work's actually kind of awesome health care. I found a recommended nutritionist right by my work. She even had after hours appointments which is a huge plus. Located in a fancy Soho dermatologist's office, the place was a bit intimidating but the doc herself was great.

I met with her for almost 2 hours. I was honest with her -- no sense in lying when my physical appearance belies -- about my diet and activity level. We went through my food and exercise routine. We talked about what kinds of foods I like and I don't like. We discussed attainable goals. She gave me some materials to read and helped me assemble about 20 different meals to try over the next 3 weeks. It actually got me kind of excited!

It's not like she didn't say things I already know. You have to burn more calories than you eat to lose weight. You have to exercise. Etc. Truth is I just need someone kicking my ass a little bit about it. I went to Whole Foods and bought $100 in groceries. I almost went into shock. I think I usually spend $25/week on groceries. Then I realized that all the crap I've been ordering in has been pushing me over $100 easily and then I didn't feel so bad. The hardest part is going to be giving up soda. I'm really not sure I can do it. But at least I've cut back to 1 can per day for now.

I already feel a bit better. I'm going back in 3 weeks for a follow-up visit. Hopefully there will be good news.

I have seen Fashion Week, and it is great

2009-09-14T16:38:00.004-04:00

It's Fashion Week here in NYC and I must admit I'm really getting into it this year. In high school and college I was quite the junior fashionista. When I re-arrived in NYC I had the opportunity to walk in a plus-size show for a friend who styles (plus size! I'm an 8 for goodness sake!). In 2006 I attended three shows in the tents and in 2007 I was at one. But more recently my body and budget issues have put my fashionista aspirations on the back burner. Over the last couple of mmy freelance projects have revolved around fashion. Though the industry is kind of messed up in terms of ego savagery it's been fun to get back into the exciting whirlwind that is FASHION, all caps.

This year I was particularly interested in getting into Leifsdottir's Spring 2010 presentation. I realized it too late and didn't start making calls to the peeps I know until the beginning of September. I didn't have high hopes. Though I had no luck through my connections it was great to get in touch with friends, some of whom I hadn't spoken with in a couple of years.

Usually the response I got was, "Can't do Leifsdottir but I can get you into X." I was shocked! I got invites to some great shows. All I had to do was ask!

Friday was by far the craziest day. After failing to get an invite to Leifsdottir through friends by sheer luck Anthropologie's PR firm invited me directly. I could not have been more excited. I put in a 3/4 day at work and then went to the presentation. Unfortunately my partner in crime F had to bail so I went by myself. It was such a beautiful presentation and I loved just about every single piece. The presentation was my first time blogging about a show and I had trouble editing myself because I was so pleased with what I saw. Here's the post.

Friday was GROSS in NYC -- rainy and cold and more like October or April than September. Soaked to the bone, I ran from 38th St & 7th Ave to the tents to make Nicole Miller. Thank goodness these shows always start late. My friend J was understandably pissed that I was late but once the show started all was forgiven. I loved Ms. Miller's show. She had an intense peacock modern print in several pieces that I found intensely awesome, even from the second-to-last row.

I was a bit embarrassed by how underdressed I was. I usually break out the DVF for Fashion Week and had my Pilar dress set to go. The rain completely messed with my plans. I ended up in jeans, a white tank and a grandpa cardi. Not exactly front row material.

I did much better on Saturday. Rain again killed my Pilar plans but I did wear a fabulous pair of wide leg trousers, awesome 4" ruffle heels and a Theory blouse that was flatteringly...umm...flattering. I was lucky enough to see Christian Siriano's show on the promenade. Again I was in the second-to-last row but I heard that many people didn't even get in so I have zero complaints. His collection was stunning even from that far back. I saw later in the online pictures just how cool the prints he made were and there were several pieces I only wish I was famous enough to have an occasion to wear. My friend F tried to introduce me to Tim Gunn but the poor man, dapper as ever, was swarmed.

And yesterday it was a dream come true as I somehow got into Diane Von Furstenberg's show. I kept pinching myself...could not believe it was real. I broke out a Missoni dress and a pair of Cole Haan heels. Looking at some of the frocks inside the tent I would have been safe in DVF. I love almost all of her stuff but last year was a rare miss for me. I liked what I saw for 2010 a lot better. I didn't think her show photographed very well. The photos I've seen have not captured the movement her pieces had.

The end of the weekend was almost a relief. I have an invite to one more show: Nanette Lepore on Wednesday. I would love love LOVE to go but it's smack in the middle of work. Not sure what I'm going to do. But in terms of seeing shows Fashion Week has already been quite the lucky success.

Finding a doctor in NYC: just as hard as it looks

2009-09-03T21:05:00.003-04:00

I don't get sick very often anymore but when I do I am down for the count. Anything lung-affecting is the worst; I've suffered from decreased lung capacity since I was a kid. About 2 weeks ago I started coughing. I was so pissed because I know I got sick at the hospital. I was there for a consultation. I walked in healthy. I walked out sick. I knew it was pretty bad when I started waking up in the middle of the night to cough. Then came to lovely phlegm and waking up with a burning throat. There was no avoiding it: I needed to see a doctor.

Since college I've pretty much avoided the regular doctor. I've been good about the dentist and the lady doctor. But I'm young, spry and healthy. Plus health insurance is so friggin confusing. How much is my co-pay? What kind of doctors can I see? Etc. And forget asking friends for referrals -- all my friends are doctor-aversive like me. Cheating sickness by way of not seeing the doctor.

I had been going to a walk-in clinic so I tried there first. The doctors are mostly medical students doing their rotations and they're pretty nice. The doc I saw took a throat culture which came back negative, decided I didn't have the flu and recommended I take Sudafed and cough medicine. And that was it. I tried both, and while I slept (and snored, I'm sure) like a baby I woke up feeling worse and worse. After a few days I woke up one morning with what felt like blood in my throat. It was so nasty. So I went back and they gave me cough medicine with codeine. Which again helped me sleep but I wasn't getting better. I needed a real doctor.

I turned to my insurer's online physician finder. It was helpful in terms of proximity but less than helpful in terms of anything else. In a city like New York I feel like it's important to have a certified, friendly, highly-recommended doctor. And you'd think there'd be plenty of resources for finding just that doctor. But there's really not. New York Magazine publishes an annual list of Best Doctors but it's like those Who's Who books...you buy your way in. The few websites devoted to doctor ratings had little to no information about most of the doctors.

So it became a crapshoot. The first listing I tried was a nightmare. It turned out it was affiliated with Social Services, which made for all kinds of interesting characters at the office. There were also a bunch of unsavory characters. I was lucky enough to go on a day when they were having a recovering alcoholics group come through. It was the first time in New York I felt scared. I left before my appointment.

Third time's the charm so after failures with walk-in clinics and physician finders I called a friend of a friend who is a receptionist for a plastic surgeon in the city. She found a doctor right by my work. It was nuts. I called his cell phone, then he had me call his Brooklyn office to make an appointment. It's like some kind of secret code you have to follow. But he had after hours appointments so I didn't complain.

The next night I went to the office which was above an upscale retailer. I checked in and started filling out the forms. It was just me and a couple in the waiting area. By the third page I realized they were asking an awful lot about my sexual history. Then I started noticing the office decor. An African fertility statue. Literature about cord blood. Some ad for a pregnant New Yorkers network. Oh my god, I realized. I was at a family practice, not a general practitioner. I almost left but I was so miserable and just wanted to see some doctor, any friggin doctor.

Still it was kind of mortifying when the doctor called me back and the first words that spewed out of my mouth were "uh, I may have made a mistake, I'm not pregnant or anything, I just have a cough!" He just laughed an explained that he was an MD and that the other doctors in the office specialized in fertility and family medicine. Oh. Glad we got that out of the way! The second mortifying moment was when I had to weigh myself. I know I have packed on some pounds in the past month or so and I'm already taking steps to rectify the issue. Still, it was pretty devastating to see the scale land on the heaviest weight I've ever been in my life. Just by a few poinds, but still! I'm surprised I didn't lose a pound in carbon dioxide by how much that deflated me. Not the end of the world certainly but considering I've actually really picked up my exercise routine it's unnerving.

The doc turned out to be pretty cool though. He proscribed some Zithromax for the cough (hello again Zithromax...you and I met many times through Tonsilitis in college). Then he talked general health with me for a bit. My parents are both type II diabetics and lord I do not want to suffer the same fate. Doc told me to go get some blood work, hands me a form, recommends I hook up with a nutritionist, and wants to see me again in 2 weeks to follow up. It's just the beginning but this could be the beginning of a beautiful doctor-patient relationship. I think I found my NYC doc, and it only took 3 years.

Where the hell was this clothing 10 years ago when I needed it??!?

2009-08-15T16:34:00.000-04:00

If I had a time machine, I would go on a shopping spree right now for rockstar clothing. Then I would go back in time to 1999 when I was 17, actively in a band and could actually wanted and needed this stuff. Now I just want it. Man I want this clothing badly. But at 27 with no band, not even a hint of one and damaged vocal chords...yeah. I could probably pull this stuff off on the weekends...no, maybe not. Even though I can pull of fashion chameleon pretty well I just can't see myself pulling off rockstar daily anymore without a legitimate reason.

Walking around Soho today was an exercise in jaw dropping. I'd expect to see this kind of stuff at Topshop or Mango or Necessary Clothing or the like. H&M? Maybe. But walking around Express and Guess seeing the look was both awesome and so friggin unfair.

Some of the options:

I would have killed for these looks at 17. Time. Machine. I cannot tell a lie -- I might buy a couple of these anyway. Just to parade around my apartment when I sing along with my Apple TV at the top of my lungs. It's a good thing my building has thick walls. Or for when I go to concerts as infrequent as that is these days.

Even Nanette Lepore is getting in on the act:

It left me a little speechless. I am just so jealous of all the peeps who will be rocking these looks while I stick to preppy chic. Not that I mind preppy chic, it's just more buttoned up than rockstar.

My guitars are staring at me right now. And they are frowning.

I am shopping my closet and unhappy with the goods

2009-07-28T22:26:00.004-04:00

Deep thoughts at Central Park

So I'm on a spending budget for the first time in awhile (cue world's smallest violin, I know) and of course as part of this I am shopping my closet. It's kind of nice because I have 3 closets but it also kind of sucks because it's opened my eyes to just how disordered my fashion sense has become in the last 12 months.

I can recall it clearly about 13 months ago. I had finished paying off my credit cards a few months earlier and was banking money. But it was also when my stress + available credit card limits combined for the perfect storm of spendthrift. The upside was that I bought some truly fabulous clothing pieces. The downside was that I can clearly see that I was thinking in terms of impulse (ooh, need that, want that) instead of practical, more outfit-driven terms. I'm not really mad at myself because of the happiness it brought me at the time -- and I seriously needed that pickmeup -- but the collateral damage sucks. There is the credit card debt which I think I've whined about enough at this point. Making payments for now until I can afford to clear them for good.

Then there is the realization that I have very few complete outfits. This is part one of why I keep shopping. I have lots of 3/4 outfits: tops with bottoms but no shoes. Or shoes but no real outfit direction to pair with them. Accessories that are good for dressing up but I'm not going out much right now. Fabulous dresses without an event to wear them to. Who stares at their closet every morning wondering what the hell to wear? I do. The sad part is that I have lots of stuff that I love. But very few complete looks.

I've also realized that I completely fell away from my rules of shopping. I am having the typical personal shopper's crisis! I can dress other people just fine (and damn well if I may toot my own horn a bit) but ask me to put myself together and watch me accomplish mediocre at best. I bought bohemian and preppy and modern and classic with blatant disregard for how items would work together or what I needed vs. wanted.

Right now I'm working up the guts to go through my closet and honestly discard the items I don't wear. Some items I hope to sell but most I'll probably donate. The problem is the superficial attachment to the clothing. Oh, this top makes me look thin! I wore these jeans on a hot date! This cardigan is soooo comfy! Etc.

After that's done I will have to revisit my rules which are something like:
1. Only 2 impulse items per season (I have sucked at this rule since moving down to NYC)
2. You should not own more than 2 items in the same color
3. If you cannot think of 3 things to wear with an item, you cannot buy it
4. If you don't wear it within 10 days of purchase, it goes back! (unless purchased at end-of-season sale)
5. Just because it's on sale does not mean buy it
6. Dressy pieces must be bought with an intended use
7. You can justify an expensive buy ONLY IF you believe the cost per wear will work out to be $5/wear or less in the course of 6 months
8. If you see someone else in it on the street and can't style it differently, it goes back
9. Don't give into discount goods unless you will honestly love it next year too
10. If you can't pay it off within 2 billing cycles you can't buy it

I am looking forward to and dreading the upcoming purge. I am also swooning over so many fall pieces I can't buy. Hooray for the reintroduction of budgeting, boo for the lack of disposable income. All in all I'm in pretty good shape...now if I could just find someone to sublet my apartment....so I could get back on-topic!!

If I were waffling any more, I'd need syrup

2009-06-13T16:54:00.004-04:00

Money. It's that lame omnipresent thought that is probably making me age at twice the normal rate. In case you had not heard the economy is not so great right now and here in NYC it's one of those weird undercurrents. I've had too many of my friends lose their jobs. And it sucks. I hate every second of this whole Great Recession.

On the selfish front I've been watching my credit card balances creep back up for several months now. I am the pendulum that swings back and forth between saving all my money (I was pretty damn rich in 2005-2007!!) to nearly broke (college). Right now I'm doing OK. I'm not living paycheck to paycheck. I have a money market account. But that account is at its minimum and I pay a penalty if I drop below that minimum. I have a small savings cushion but I'm saving that for a real emergency, liking suddenly needing to get out of NYC.

Two of my friends and I took out one of our unemployed friends out for dinner this past week. At dinner we were talking about getting stiffed on freelance gigs. It's happened to me recently and my poor friend just got shafted on about $5,000. She's been jobless since February and she and her boyfriend are dangerously close to losing their apartment. He works but it isn't enough to make full rent payments so they're close to being evicted. She's so smart and talented at what she does (web design) and it is INSANE to me that there is no job out there for her. It's certainly not for lack of trying on her part.

This of course got me pretty freaked out. I started thinking about my own finances. And in my typical exercise in extremes way I settled on the idea that I needed to do something right away to shore myself up financially. I called T and asked if one of his financial friends could assess me. He sent me to a friend who is a financial planner to the rich. The friend, G, kindly agreed to see me on Thursday evening. His midtown office is on the 40-something-th floor of a snazzy high-rise with views of Midtown East. I felt pretty VIP even going there. (The security guards were freaked out by my currently-purple hair. Just as it should be.)

So G and I spoke frankly. We talked assets -- my paycheck, stuff I own (not much), stocks I own (none), investments (ditto), 401k (one withdrawn early, one teeny). Then we talked debts. College loans, credit cards, etc. I ducked in my chair. "Remember what it was like to be in your 20s making under 100k!" I pleaded. "I started at 150k out of college," he replied with a smirk (he was making a funny, I know it doesn't sound like it). Damn finance people.

G's advice wasn't really surprising but it still sucked. He told me I was spending way too much of my income on rent, even for a NYC resident. I already knew this but just didn't want to admit it. He recommended moving somewhere super cheap for a year or two to pay off my credit cards and then start thinking about buying. He also said I needed to cancel all of my store credit cards and consolidate the rest of the debt. I explained all the reasons why I want to stay in my apartment. Starting with that I've never been happier in a home. But G cut through it all -- "Those are emotional reasons, Roxy," he said. "And you can't use emotions to pay bills." Or take classes. Or travel. But damn if home isn't where my head clears.

Back in my awesome apartment that I can't really afford I was mulling my options. A big part of me just wants to stay where I am. My mental health has made such a 180 for the better since I've moved in. But it's a big risk. A second option is to get a roommate. I'm not really sure that my floor plan would allow for that. And the third option is to move. I could move into another apartment, or I could go into a roomie situation.

I'm usually good about making a decision and sticking with it. But I keep waffling on this one. I know what I should do but I also know what makes me happy. Happy may not pay the bills but it makes me sane enough to earn them dolla bills. So that's something.

Then and then and now

2009-05-31T19:32:00.006-04:00

Pershing Square (outside Grand Central) in the 1940s

What is it about photos that stirs the soul? Many thanks to Gothamist for helping me discover these Flickr photo collections of NYC from various eras. I love looking at old photos of New York City. It's amazing to see how far the city has come. Some of the photos from the 1800s look almost fake in their simplicity -- there were trees! And barns! In the city proper! To look at photos of what is now a burgeoning urban zoo from way back when is both a tribute and a eulogy.

Take for instance Trinity Church, located on Broadway downtown where Wall St. begins. Many famous figures are buried there, including Alexander Hamilton. So the place has been around for awhile.

Here it is in the late 1800s:

Unbelievable. This shot was taken from east of the church on Wall St, facing west. Townhouses of no more than 7 stories! Above-ground power lines! A general lack of din! Not many people. A far cry from the crowds and noise of today.

Here it is in the 1940s:

This shot is from the same angle as the one above, but further west on Wall St. That's Federal Hall on the right and the Stock Exchange on the left. Love the truck in the shot -- an instant frame of reference. Look at the people's clothing...look at how open the area is. No fences or cops like today. A bygone era but approaching today. The church itself looks so different. I can't say if it's the sun, the film or the technique. It look likes a movie set.

And today:

Tall buildings everywhere. People everywhere. And yet still so damn beautiful. I wonder if George Washington ever walked or rode up Wall St. -- he must have, right? And now there is a statue of him here. I realize that New York City is much younger than, say, Athens, Rome or even London or Paris. And yet there is already so much history here. When I walk around down here in FiDi I can't help but think about the millions that have tread before me. What were they like? Where did they go? Were they happy? What was the city around them like?

I am normally extremely camera-shy and by proxy I'm not usually into people photos. But the human element in the Flickr NYC collections are mesmerizing. Their eyes alone say so much. Such proud people. I like looking at photos from the 40s/50s/60s to see what my parents' lives were like growing up here. And from the 10s/20s/30s to see what my grandparents' lives were like (two of my grandparents grew up here, two immigrated just before WWII). Though I can't explain why some of the photos make me cry. The photos of the 70s and 80s don't touch me as much. It might just be too close to now, a real or fake memory rather than an era I never knew.

I wonder what our time will look like to future generations. Many of the current city movements are about a movement back to nature -- no cars in Times Square, Summer Streets, etc. -- yet many new skyscrapers are under construction reaching higher into the sky than ever. As our historical records become digital I hope we don't lose the qualities a photo can bring. One simple click makes an amazing time capsule. That's a pretty powerful tool.

Weekend of free

2009-05-23T20:51:00.003-04:00

It's Memorial Day weekend and here in the city that means many of the residents flee out to the Hamptons for the weekend. I enjoy the emptiness, which I prefer to think of as a little more room to move around. When I lived on the Upper East Side it was almost comical how few people were left -- it was like "I Am Legend" up there. Down here in Financial District though it was still pretty crowded with tourists in town for the long weekend. I only mind when I'm trying to get to the 4/5 subway line and everyone is trying to take pictures of George Washington.

The last few days have been much better. One thing I do appreciate about myself now is that no matter how hard I try to be moody and depressed it never sticks. I can do it for 2/3 days max. I used to be able to go for months. I am so glad I've grown out of that and receded into optimism. It's tiring being sad. Plus NYC is just always so alive. The kinetic energy is impossible to repulse for too long. T stayed a few extra nights because he was in protector mode and I totally appreciated it. I of course responded by giving him a had time. Especially when I did the math and realized that he's turning 40 in a couple of months! Or 39 again as I used to tell an old acquaintance. We played it loose -- he hung out with friends while I was at work.

One common thing that happens here (and really everywhere) is that my friends will disappear for months at a time and then reappear just as suddenly. So it went this past week with my friend J, who works in the fashion industry doing something international. A buyer maybe. On Wednesday nite T and I went out to dinner at Brasserie with her and then went to the Top of the Rock -- one of my favorite places in the city. Just adore the view.

My big project this week was all about music. My first project is a poster. I took the lyrics to one of my favorite songs and designed it into a text art poster. It came out really cool, I must say. I finally got around today to researching printing costs. A friend had recommended Zazzle and the cost was going to be $180 or something ridiculous like that. But Zazzle was having a 70% off (!) sale so I ended up paying $60. Pics to come once the finished product comes.

The other was hanging up my basses and guitar, something I'd been planning to do since January. It was nerve-racking. I couldn't get the wall anchors in and neither could T so I decided to risk it with just the screws. I tested on the Ibanez (far left) first because, well, it was the cheapest one to replace. It stayed up overnight and so up went the other two...after a trip to Home Depot. The wall hanger's actual hanger piece had a long screw that was pertruding too far out the back to mount flush. A nice store associate offered to saw it down for me. Thanks nice guy!! I hope that having my guitars out and available all the time will inspire me to write and play more often. So far though T and I are just staring at how pretty they are.

Earlier today T once again proved how he's got mad skills. We were riding down the elevator when he ran into an old friend and somehow got us invited to a party in my own building. I could only laugh...I have a lot to learn from him or someone. We declined though. He left for Jersey for man stuff and I have plans to go surfing tomorrow if the weather holds up. I can't wait either way. These days off are so refreshing.

Ancillary causes

2009-05-19T22:15:00.005-04:00

Like most people, I spent most of college broke. For the first three years I spent any extra money I had on clothing. Not beer. Not food. Not drugs. Clothing. And it made me happy enough. (We've all got our vices.) I didn't really have discretionary income until senior year, which probably not coincidentally was the first year I gained weight in college.

Weighty issues aside I remember being so excited about my senior year. I was finally living in a cool apartment. I had a little bit of money to spare. I was getting ready to launch a fabulous career in journalism and/or the music industry (ba-dum-chick!). Every door seemed to be opening. My life seemed well in order.

So it was a shock what a disaster 2003-04 was. That year I also joined a sorority. It was something I'd wanted to do but didn't have the money for until 2003. But for some reason I got a major friend backlash about the whole thing -- they said it wasn't like me and that I changed. Maybe I did change, it's hard for me to say objectively even looking back now. I do remember feeling pretty lonely and commiserating that while one side of my life (the financials) seemed relatively in order, the other side (the social) had fallen into disarray. Much of my life felt out of control.

It helped spur me back East and eventually the move into NYC. That was a good thing. I had to make some difficult decisions. They say you're still forming who you are in your 20s and I re-examined my personality a bit. It felt weird doing it -- I literally evaluated my type of attitude and the way I reacted in situations. For a year or two I focused on consciously changing myself to be what I thought was more socially acceptable. While my social side slowly recovered to a semi-respectable state my financial side a-tumbled. Rent-poor became a term I got all too familiar with. Now an adult I had a serious conversation with myself that went something like, "Self, do you agree to become rent-poor if it means you're in a good neighborhood close to friends and happy?" "Yes, self, I agree." "Terrific, now stop talking to yourself, it's weird."

I think 2007 was probably the best year in terms of financial/social balance since college. In 2008 my financials started turning for the better and oddly enough, my social scale begin to tip downward once again. And now here I am in 2009 with the best pay I've ever made, rent-poor once again but loving where I live and yet goddammit I am fucking up the social stuff. In some ways it's worse because I feel like I am making the effort and yet the efforts are not yielding the results I want. I want to improve myself yet I'm not sure the concessions and changes I'm making are doing it. People must see through it? I'm not sure.

New York City is a tough, tough city to be social in when you don't know anyone. Even harder when you are still building yourself. At least that has been my experience. We are in so many ways a city of loners, a city where everyone is goal-oriented and driven towards their own personal goal. We often forget to step aside and see each other. I plead guilty on this as much as anyone. So if my failure comes from trying to please others and forgetting to please myself I don't mind taking a step back to become myself again. The issue is I've forgotten the right mix. I know small bits and pieces but the passive ingredient I introduced into my personality has overwritten some of harder pieces. It's an everyday battle to find the right balance. I am laughing as I write this because it sounds self-involved and silly. I must have missed this lesson when I was 4 -- how to make friends and influence people. Or maybe I just like crashing into walls. Repeatedly.

Poor T. He's crashing on my couch for 3 days in the middle of this existential breakdown. The guy just wanted to see the Financial District again for a few days. Ha, he had no idea what he was in for. He has suggested I make "Tubthumping" my personal anthem. It's a start.

---------------------------------------------

On a much lighter note, I made T watch "The Bachelorette" with me last nite. During the show I was telling him that I would totally do that show. Much to his chagrin. He came from the logical side saying that the people on the show were there for all the wrong reasons. I came from the modern romantic side saying it would be way easier to find one guy out of a group of 25. (Romantic, right?) Then came the previews for the rest of the season where we already see that poor Jillian finds out that some of the guys were just playing the game rather than actually trying to love her (!), that some were just fame manwhores (!!) and that some maybe left girlfriends back home (!!!).

I turned to T and said I would never, ever do the show. He patted me on the head. Lesson learned.

Driving is hell in NYC (in case you didn't already know)

2009-04-12T19:33:00.003-04:00

Hey, look! It's Tudor City. I totally almost lived there until I looked at a few apartments and cried. They were so ridiculously tiny. Like 200 sq. feet tiny. And when they built Tudor City people didn't have kitchens in their apartments (they ate in mess-hall style cafeterias) so you would see one of the closets sacrificed to the gods of hot plates and dorm fridges. But that is not what this post is about.

And oh hey there's the Chrysler Building with Tudor City! Great shots right? You don't usually see shots from this angle. You see I got these great pictures while sitting on the FDR. Yep. I was in a car. Driving. Don't worry, I wasn't taking pictures while zooming along at (ahem) 40 mph because that's the speed limit. Nope. I was at a standstill thanks to gawd awful city traffic.

On Wednesday it took me 2.5 hours to get to New Rochelle for a Seder. It should have taken me an hour tops. I should have predicted traffic would be hell but I had no idea how bad. I didn't want to take the train because my cousin doesn't really live near a train station. So instead I decided to get a Mini Cooper from Zipcar and zoom and sing at the top of my lungs. I left work early and started the commute at 4:30 from Battery Park City.

(Quick tangent: There is no Mini Cooper on the east side of Financial District. What gives Zipcar? That's your friggin flagship vehicle. Oh and PS the cars at the Cedar St garage are always messy inside and have less than 1/4 tank. I have animosity against my neighborhood Zipsters. Thanks especially to the person who left a Starbucks soy latte in the BMW 328 overnight! My car ride was so pleasant in 30 degree temperatures with the windows down to alleviate the smell.)

My cousin had given me directions going up the West Side but my friend who'd left 30 minutes before me called to warn me off that path. So I thought I would just zip up the FDR drive to the Triboro aka RFK bridge to 95. Oh man. What a mess the FDR was! At 5 PM I hadn't made it to Houston St. At 5:30 PM I was just passing Tudor City. At 6 PM I was near tears at 96th St. Side streets were no better. It was the massive Passover commute!

I have never hit such bad traffic on the FDR. When I lived on the Upper East Side I'd just get on at 96th St and sometimes it would be stop and go. This was just stop. The only good news was that I got to take in the pretty scenery. I went through two CDs before I cleared Manhattan. I almost turned around twice -- the only thing that stopped me was that the traffic was equally bad going southbound. And the WORST was all the idiot drivers weaving in and out of traffic trying to gain any position. I picked the left lane and stayed there almost the whole way up.

Wait though. It gets better. Around the Queensboro Bridge I heard sirens behind me. Thinking it was an emergency I moved over. Except it wasn't an ambulance. It was the Mayor's caravan. Yep, that's right. The Mayor who takes the subway to work was apparently in such a rush to get home that they had to make a traffic jam even worse. I hope he made it in time for dinner!

I almost didn't. I was ridiculously late. So was everyone else though. And for contrast, the trip home took me 40 minutes. And it would have been shorter but I got caught by the toll shift change entering Manhattan. I wasn't even speeding! I didn't have to brake around corners though...god bless Mini Coopers.

The give and take

2009-04-04T10:35:00.002-04:00

Despite all the great things about living down in Financial District there is also lameness. And things that are just weird. I guess because everyone lives in converted business buildings infrastructure is still catching up. Let's start with the biggest FAIL: it seems like nothing is open here on the weekends (especially not food places). Hale & Hearty Soups is all my all-time winter favorite and I have not one but 2 within 5 blocks! Too bad both of them close at like 4:30 PM during the week and don't even bother opening on the weekends. There is no decent pizza place close by that's open on the weekends. At least there's a Chipotle. Duane Reade? Yeah it's the only drugstore down here and it's frickin closed on Sundays. Au Bon Pain? Closed on Sundays. Kudos are due to the Gristede's on Maiden Lane (which, uh, Google Maps says is an unverified listing) which is open decent hours. Unfortunately it's a small grocery store even by NYC standards so while it's great for the basics it's more like a big Bodega than a grocery store. Yeah, that's right, I said Gristede's. This is the nicest, newest one I've ever seen. It's obviously a privately owned affiliate and the owners do a great job with the small space. They do not deliver though. That's a bummer on a rainy day.

Oh and if you have a bank don't plan on visiting it down here in THE FINANCIAL DISTRICT. Because it ain't down here. There's no Wachovia branch. There is this dinky little ATM on Broad Street which is great for taking money out but not so much for putting money in. I'm old fashioned -- I like giving money to peeps, not machines. But don't worry, there is a Tiffany's, a True Religion and a Borders. So at least we've got those necessities covered.

The other weird thing is the lack of local businesses. Restaurants aside everything is a chain or mini-chain. I recently learned that my Uncle used to own a grocery store on Pearl St and my Dad worked bagging groceries there as a kid (this was in the 1950s or 1960s). A little piece of family history! That store is long gone, replaced by I don't know what because I don't know the exact address. There doesn't seem to be much of that stuff down here. It's kind of weird.

Apartment Therapy's Small Cool Contest is Back

2009-04-02T22:38:00.002-04:00

Yeah that's right. No posts for two months and now two in one day! I just wanted to take a moment to give a shout-out to Apartment Therapy's Small Cool contest. I entered last year and though I didn't even make it out of the first round it was such a fun time. It made me feel SO great to even make the site. And my goodness my apartment looked SO CLEAN. It was like that for exactly 2 hours I think. I also think my apartment was completely different than the modern minimal mantra AT pushes. They never re-used any of my photos in posts. I appreciate that they posted a different aesthetic from their own in mine though. I heart them.

So far this is my favorite entry but please do head on over and check them all out. And comment if you like 'em. Trust me, the entrants really appreciate it.

Slacker!

2009-04-02T22:27:00.004-04:00

Well, hi. I know I know. That I've fallen down makes me a bit sad but I'm gonna use that tired old "life got super busy and then the economy went to hell excuse." So let's see, where are we? Oh right.

I've lived in the Financial District for almost 4 months now and I LOVE IT. I'm enjoying it so much more than the Upper East Side. No offense at all to the UES -- it's not you, it's me. It turns out that NOT living that close to shopping is much better for my wallet. And while I really miss Central Park I've replaced it with the conglomerate of South Street Seaport-Battery Park-the West Side bike path. My commute to work is much more roomy. Trying to find a lame-ass club has been replaced by visiting one of the local pubs or restaurants. It's probably also the safest neighborhood -- incredibly limited to cars with tons of police around both the World Trade Center and the Stock Exchange. I could go on (and I probably will).

I'll admit it: I get a kick out of telling people that I live on Wall St. Waaaahhhllll street. When I place orders over the phone reps ooh and ahh. Despite the negativity directed towards the stock exchange (two blocks away!) or AIG/AIU/whatever (one block the other way!) Wall Street means something to people. And the superficial side of me gets all buttered up when people coo.

As an added bonus, the Financial District is old New York City. I can give George Washington a very high-five for me/low-five for him if I want on my way past Federal Hall (that is, when they're not shooting lame-ass Domino's pizza commercials there). Many of the streets around me are cobblestone and a proliferation of mounted police officers means I can hear the sounds of the way it used to be. My street is typically pretty dead once Deutsche Bank clears out all the Towncars between 8:30 and 9 PM and I am totally OK with that. I walk out of my building, turn left and have an awesome view of Trinity Church. Just don't try finding a taxi to get home here. You will have to direct them.

And just to rub it in to my former self a bit more...my apartment is 50 times better than my old place. In fact part of the reason why I stopped blogging for a bit was because I honestly thought it was a mirage. I couldn't really be living here. If I said something they would find out (whoever they are) and come drag me out, kicking and screaming the entire way back to dorm-style living in one room. I went to Colorado on vacation and was afraid I'd come back, try to get into my apartment and come to grips with the fact that it was all a dream. But now I have come to realize that yes, I really live in a doorman/elevator building; yes, I really have more than one room; and most importantly yes, I really have a dishwasher.

Not that life is all peaches and cream. I am incredibly rent-poor right now. I knew this and budgeted for it...sort of. I have promised myself not to touch my savings. I had spent the final couple of months at my last job spending myself back into debt. Damn that stress. And really things would have worked out fine at the new place if not for the economy...I would gotten a raise at my 6-month review and maybe even a bonus. Instead I'm just happy to have a job (and one I enjoy to boot! again!) and quietly suffering over bills each month. After rent and expenses I've committed myself to using my disposable income to pay down the cards, but there's not much there. Some nights I can't sleep because I'm so worried about my finances. I don't want to end up like my parents.

I had even considered breaking my lease and moving. But lord I can't do it! The mental health I have gained living in a calm situation is worth saving $1000/mo by moving out to Queens. Really I'm counting my blessings to have this kind of pain to deal with. I know my apartment is below market rate. So I hope to use this time of no disposable money as fodder the next time I want to go spendthirft. For now I'm creatively looking for free events and staying home a lot. But who am I kidding? I'm kind of a homebody anyway. I blog. I code CSS for fun. I play video games. I'm like a 13-year-old boy.

And then the last busy factor came courtesy of a guy or two. No need to get into the messy details, but they're gone now. T is still around and we're currently chatting back and forth about Lost a lot and applying it to our faux relationship. We pretend like NYC is the Island and say really outlandish things. Things like "if I had traveled back in time to 1997 when you were mid-20s and working in the city but had been my current self we would be together!" (me) or "if I had been moved forward in time by the island from 1995 to 2006 in Connecticut we would be co-habitating right now and you'd be pouting about me not inviting you to poker night" (him). Instead we're like Sawyer and Kate -- back in the same place but years apart; him giving me 10 stupid yet endearing nicknames and me giving him exceedingly long glancess without dialogue while corny dramatic music plays. Yep, I'm a geek.

My life is much quieter today

2009-02-01T13:15:00.007-05:00

We'll get back to our regularly scheduled blog in a few days but first I have to get this off my chest. And I have to say I'm so sorry to the two kitties in the photo above.

You see, as I settle into my new apartment I wanted to realize one of my dreams: having a pet. I grew up with horses; I trained dogs and scuttled around barn cats. And now that I finally live in more than room again I figured now was a great time to get a pet. Really I wanted to get a dog but I just can't do it. I'm not home enough to care for a dog and I don't want to give up my social life in order to care for one. Also, I liked the idea of cats as independent animals. Sure they'd want pets and love and for me to clean the litter box but mostly they'd kind of do their own thing. Perfect pets for an on-the-go 20-something.

So I settled on a cat. After talking to several of my friends who have cats they recommended that I get 2 so they could keep each other company. Easy enough. My first thought was to get kittens because they are just so damn cute. But I adopted right after the holidays and the pickings at ASPCA, AC&C and even North Shore were pretty thin.

At North Shore I met two adorable calicos named Erin & Evelyn. About a year old, they were calm and friendly even in the madhouse environment of an animal shelter. I knew they were the kitties for me and so I adopted them on January 4th. They were immediately rekindled Latke and Knish -- my (belated) Hanukkah kittes. On the way home Knish meowed the entire way...who are you? Where are we going? Are we there yet? I talked to them for the entire drive, telling them we were going home.

Once home I opened the carrier and allowed them to come out when they were ready. Knish came out right away but Latke spend most of the first day in the carrier. They didn't eat much for the first few days and I was really scared the second day because Knish spent almost all day sleeping in the carrier coughing and sleeping and I thought she was really sick.

Luckily both cats were healthy. Soon their true personalities came out: Latke was the more aloof and active kitty. She spent her time up on my windowsill cooing at the birds across the alley. Knish always wanted to be by my side. Or, more accuarately, on me. Literally in my lap at all times. Very needy kitty. For the first week or so I allowed her to climb all over me unabated but soon I grew weary of this.

Knish -- always RIGHT there.

I started training her that climbing all over me without permission was not OK. We made some good progress but every time a guest came over she would fall right back into it...climbing all over people. My biggest issue with this is that she liked to give love bites to people's faces. Nothing like BFF M's kitty Tolstoy who straight out bites but a bit alarming to someone meeting her for the first time. The worst was that she would do this to people in their sleep. I had four friends crash with me at various times over the past four weeks and each time I heard someone wake up saying "OW!" to a facial kitty love bite.

I was totally willing to work on this, though it worried me so. They did the typical kitty things like scratching anything but the scratching post (I tried both fabric and cardboard) and even a sofa cover didn't really dissuade them. Nor did bitter apple spray.

Latke -- watching.

Overall though they were great kitties. Not scratchers, not really bitters, good dispositions, endless source of entertainment. The issue for me became two things: 1 -- my alergies started acting up and 2 -- they always wanted to be right with me. The second item really disarmed me. They meowed constantly. Not just when they were hungry. They meowed when I went to the bathroom. They meowed when I left; they meowed when I came home. They meowed when I was right there sometimes. Knish was much worse than Latke. Her meow sounded like, "mom" to me. Mom, mom, mom, mooo-ooom. All the time. In an attempt to help my allergies I closed my bedroom door at night and she would sit right outside almost all night just meowing. It got a bit better as time went on but it was grating. A couple of nights I gave up and let them in but Knish just wanted to paw my face and give me love bites. I couldn't take it.

It became that everything they were doing started to annoy me. They would run around the apartment playing in the middle of the night and crash into things. They would scratch the door to my bedroom and the walls (which I found so weird). They clawed my rug; they clawed my couch. Knish loved to run my rolls of toilet paper. I put a little bell on it so I could catch her in the act but eventually I just closed all the doors to my other rooms. I got them playthings -- squeaky balls, mice with catnip and a fishing pole so we could play together. Except the cats were kinda dumb with the mice -- they always batted them under the stove and fridge. You'd think they would learn to play with them somewhere else, and I always presented them on the opposite side of the apartment...but no, every day I had to fish the toys out.

One day a bit over a week ago I caught Knish ruining yet another roll of toilet paper. Incensed, I chased her around the apartment with a water spray bottle telling her no. After a minute of it my faculties came back and I said to myself, "Roxy, what the hell are you doing???" I couldn't justify my actions but in that moment something became clear: this just wasn't working. I was beginning to resent the cats for forcing me to change my life. I know that's incredibly selfish and it pains me to admit it. They made me happy sometimes yes, but more often then not they were making me frustrated. I have such a tough job at work that all I want to do is come home and unwind. But the cats wouldn't let me unwind. They wanted attention -- which was reasonable -- but I just didn't want to provide enough. My skin is rashed, my nose is runny and my eyes itch. But mostly, I just want to be alone.

I gave myself a few more days to change my mind. The responsibilities: feeding, changing litter, etc. didn't bother me at all. Oddly, it was the peripheral stuff that was getting to me. And even though I felt incredibly guilty I realized it was best to take the cats back to North Shore. It would be worse to keep them and resent them. Maybe I would eventually grow up a bit and learn to love the cats. But chances of that didn't look good. This just solidifies that I am a dog person. They were great cats but their temperment was not right for me. I feel like 99.9% of people would have loved to have these two cats. What the hell is wrong with me? They would do better in a family I think, where someone could always be paying attention to Knish.

So on Friday I called North Shore and made preparations to bring the cats back. And my god it was awful. Latke just laid quietly in the carrier for the whole drive, but Knish was giving this terrible gutteral meow. Almost like a moan...no no no please no. I was bawling the entire way. I felt terrible. I feel terrible. How unfair and immature of me was this? The only comfort is knowing that North Shore is no-kill. I sat in the parking lot crying for 20 minutes, giving myself one last chance to change my mind. I didn't. The staff didn't ask me any questions except if the cats were healthy. I kept it under control until they brought the empty carrier back out. Then I totally lost it.

To say I am disappointed in myself doesn't even begin to cover it. Some animal lover I am. I couldn't even deal with two kitties. The projections made mental leaps in my head -- if I couldn't deal with two cats how would I ever deal with kids? What is so wrong with me that I resent two other beings in my life? It wasn't like they were asking for much. Today my life is much quieter than it was yesterday. And I feel so much worse. This regret is terrible. I don't regret bringing them back, even though I almost called to get them back. The regret is getting them in the first place. How unfair of me. How immature of me. I am totally beating myself up here.

And I owe two little kitties an apology. I hope someone better than me adopts them soon and forever.