3rd Floor Etiquette

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.