The time has come

“And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.” – Max Ehrmann

Last night after a whirlwind tour of Georgetown that included Café Bonaparte, Paolo’s and Café Milano, I cried. No, I sobbed. I sobbed in such a way that the girl walking in front of me down M Street, turned around while I was on the phone with my mother, to ask if I was OK. Because apparently someone bawling outside Sephora is unusual. I should have told her that they didn’t have my blush color and that just pissed me off a bit.

The good thing about mothers is that they know just the right things to say and to do, even if you are doing the whole shoulder shake sob thing from 400 miles away. As my mother gently reminded me that I don’t do change well. I actually find change to be some awful act of God in retaliation for all of those times I lied about who stole all the quarters out of the family ‘treat jar’. Or perhaps it’s because of that time I drove to the mall, well before I got my license. I lied about that too.

I thought I was badass and deciding to quit my job in search for something else was taken rather lightly. An outer body experience or something that told me that it was perfectly OK to uproot my life from my best friends and move to a place where it snows from October to April. A place where no one knows what the fuck ‘table service’ means and the closest Trader Joe’s is in Scarsdale. But really, I was handling it all quite well. And my mother even said that I could live with her forever so that I could keep my apartment down here. I really think that tears are the best way to a mother’s soul or at least the best way to get my mother to say something that she’ll find really regrettable by next Tuesday.
I needed a good cry. That’s all. It’s a lot – more than a lot and in combination with other huge changes – to take in and absorb and to be OK with. One of those changes, though not nearly as monumental is this site. It has moved. To here: http://nopasanada.org

It’s .org because .com and .net were taken. And much like I treat people who tell me that it snows in Albany, if you tell me that I am not an organization, I’ll punch you in the baby maker. Obviously there hasn’t been too much change.

The long goodbye

"Be well, do good work, and keep in touch." ~Garrison Keillor

I’m currently holed up in my house drinking fruit punch out of a plastic Front Page mug. I swear that each and everyday I get more and more classy and this, ladies and gentlemen, is the reason for why the boys are falling all over me.

Slowly I’m preparing myself for the inevitable and yet it doesn’t seem all that real yet. I’ll be seeing friends up until my departure. And thus far my friends – nay, family – have wined and dined me and plan to do so until my departure. It’s amazing what suddenly leaving can do. Everyone wants to do drinks and dinners. I’ll even be imbibing the fermented drink on the Lord’s day, that’s what my schedule has become. Thus I’ve woken up every morning of the past week with a hangover.

My only question is why no one wants to come over midday and sit and watch Little Children while I fold my laundry and find bills from 2004?

Another question, how does one show sincerest apologies to their liver? Do flowers work? A nice and well thought out card with masterful prose as to the wonder and lovely thing that it is? Or shall I just appreciate it a little better and be kinder? That always helps.

Not just a river in Egypt

"This isn't a conversation about this being over. I'm not like, putting a period at the end of this. I'm putting like... an ellipsis on it."-Andrew Largeman

After one year, ten months and five days today is my last day at work. I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry but for now it's quite odd how I'm just going through the day as if it's like any other day. I might actually be in denial. I've been to the gym, I'll get ready, walk to work, get tea and it will be just like every other morning. At the end of the day though, it won't be a simple 'see you in the morning, HB.'

Actually I lied, I'm pretty sure I might cry.

How to get the girl

“The problem most men have is they don't know how to talk to women...” – Cal

The dry cleaner that Ken Mehlman and I frequent, is located at a busy intersection, where families with dogs and dads with babies strapped in a bjorn stroll, while driving tourists question how to get to the other end of the street at the opposite side of the city. My response is a standard: keep going straight for five miles. They perk up and I mutter "too bad, sucka, it'll take you like 45 minutes."

They – the dry cleaner – leave the doors open on nice days, as it was on Saturday afternoon. I had literally rolled out of bed after a night of a very poor Beirut performance and slipped on my practically crotchless jeans and the t-shirt I had slept in with my Vineyard Crew 80's-esque sweatshirt. I had rushed out without brushing my teeth in my haste to get to a mani/pedi appointment. My hair was pinned up with 17 bobby pins and a headband to keep the afro-mass o' curls hybrid at bay. I had hairs coming from strange parts of my face and no makeup to cover up the random chin hair or ten.

All of this while standing at the dry cleaner waiting, until a black man came up to the door and leaned on the frame.

"Pssst. Hey girl"

I looked up and saw a gangly man with an oversized Skins t-shirt and gray sweatpants on. He had fuzzies in his hair. I then closed my eyes quickly promising my first born child to the Lord if he just made the stray man go away.

I went back to rummaging around in my bag looking for a credit card. When the woman at the desk asked if he needed any help.

"No, I'm just trying to holla at her."

He then went back to interrogating me:

"Girl, you gotta boyfriend?"

" Can I take you out on a date?" [insert off color and horribly un-PC joke about the location, say to Taco Bell? Or perhaps BK, where I can have it my way]

When it was finally my turn I ran up and whispered my phone number handed my credit card and turned back around and wouldn't you know, that motherfucker was still loitering outside waiting for me to come out so he could sweep me off my feet. Perhaps he would take me to McDs for my filet-o-fish fix.

Upon completing the longest dry cleaning transaction ever in the history of the earth, I sprinted outside and there he was standing on the sidewalk. So I sprinted across the street and was almost a causality of woman versus Lexus. All to prevent myself from being love interest of random street man. And here I’m thinking that I’ll never find anyone – at least according to Oprah – but then again, there apparently is something mighty attractive about a woman with plaque covered teeth, a bird’s nest on top of her head and reeking of Natty light. I am every man’s dream.

Mailbox

“A pessimist is one who makes difficulties of his opportunities and an optimist is one who makes opportunities of his difficulties.” ~Harry Truman

I’m queen of the half stories. The stories that there are to tell that maybe I can tell at a later date but just cannot right now. Regardless, I have to look at the little things as fucking awesome. El madre threw a kick ass party at Love that involved an open bar with top shelf vodka and my new coworkers who I know that I will grow to love.

It’s just a lot right now. I’m overwhelmed by several different things all trying to diverge right at my frontal lobe. I fear an implosion of infinite proportions and yet I’ve managed to stay steadfast and not spew brain bits all over my bay windows.

Last week, I ran one of my final errands to the Social Security office to obtain a new card. An office that is in the HOOD and involved different groups of people taking a number. Some were there for hours I was there for exactly one hour, which involved a screaming tiny baby and an old blind man who didn’t bring a single piece of identification. Though I came prepared and today in the mail, just days later, came my new social security card. So! I am now an actual US citizen that doesn’t have solely use a passport to prove that I was born in Albany. But really, who the fuck would lie about such a thing? That’s like pretending to be born in Scranton.

In addition to the new Social Security card came my Employee tax ID number, which means that I can freelance my way through life without fearing paying $10,000 to the IRS as well as my tax refund of like $10 , a coupon to Bed, Bath and Beyond and The Queen. Which means that I get to stare at Helen Mirren for as long as I’d like and that is the true source of my happiness.

There comes to a point where you just take what you can get. Life is hard and it fucking sucks so god damn much some days to the point where you wonder if all of this is really truly possible. So you allow yourself to relish the little things: a refund, a DVD, a form of identification. For those are the only things that can keep you going. It’s just realizing, way deep down inside, where you think there is absolutely nothing left, that there is a little glimmer of hope. Even if it is just worth a few dollars, it’s something.