neither rain nor snow

starting point.

i can't help but wonder if, after my first day at the new job, the horrifying pain in my gut is the universe trying to tell me something. i'm rather hoping that instead it's my body telling me never to eat eggplant again, but one can never be too sure. i'm REALLY hoping that it's just a miscellaneous case of stomach upset that will be gone by morning; the feeling of a spike driven through your abdomen is not a good way to start a new job.

but that is neither here nor there.

returning to the original point, today was my first day on the new job. well, actually, it was more of a preamble than a first proper day--IT orientation, wherein i received the laptop that i will apparently be swapping out tomorrow for a more powerful machine (biggerbetterfastermore!). tomorrow, in theory, is where the rubber meets the road (or something), where i take my shiny new ID (complete with the picture where i look like i've been rolling around on the floor) and move into my shiny new office. with a window. where i will see sunlight. and get to know the three fellow studio mates with whom i will be sharing said office. aside from being completely terrified that i'm not going to be able to pull it off, i'm really looking forward to it.

it's an exciting time, a thrilling time, the first step down the road of my real live career (knock wood), a step that will take me into the land of affordable health insurance and a 401k. as dom is so fond of saying, i'm all growed! and yet not, as my inner child is steering me tonight, here, curled up on my couch and in tears because my tummy hurts more than i can remember it doing before, and the one i love is not here to take care of me. because i don't know when he's coming home. because i think i broke the vacuum cleaner. because i'm tired, and unwell, and tough as nails, and a complete pushover, and stubborn as fuck, and too neurotic to be allowed to live, and can't remember the song i started writing last night. because i've grown inexcusably dull, because i'm disappearing. because i can't get rid of that fucking mouse. because you're probably rolling your eyes right now and telling me to shut the fuck up and stop complaining; because you'd be right. because i can't remember what he smells like and it's killing me.

because tonight, on a day when i'm supposed to be crossing some sort of threshold into a certain kind of adulthood, i am feeling anything but grownup.

less than three

it is my last day here at the office, three days until i start at The New Job.

please, PLEASE let the next two hours and fifty minutes go fast (and also be free of my conscience which is telling me to desperately work in a flurried frenzy to do...random shit that they haven't really specified).

atwitch! atwitter!

and lo, i finally feel old.

i was listening to the radio, and reference was made to pearl jam's upcoming album. along with a short listening guide and explanation for that large chunk of the audience who don't know who or what pearl jam is.

i may never have been a big fan of the band, but how the hell do you make it through adolescence without even knowing what pearl jam IS?

and then i realized that the bulk of the listening audience was in diapers during the grunge era. and lo, at last, i felt old. any second now i'll start cackling about These Kids Today. just wait. orthopedic shoes and sensible hair, here i come!*

*ha ha ha.

m, this one's for you.

i have two days, four hours and seven minutes remaining as an employee of XK:SH:LN:LKNJJJRSGSDF. that's 22 hours and seven minutes to sit in the grand fluorescence and try valiantly to do something, anything, useful in my remaining time.

not to say i'm phoning it in (as i don't have a phone at my desk, that would be remarkably difficult. ba-dum-bum), but i'm phoning it in. despite my best intentions, which were to do my best to put things in order and plow through vast piles of work before leaving, my ability to concentrate is not playing ball. i've stared at the same layout for the last two hours, unable to do anything to it that would be of any use to anyone. as such, i am squarely between guilt and apathy. mostly apathy. and also a good smattering of self flagellation, to be filed under 'why do you even care?'...except i think we all know the answer to that one.

here is what i AM managing to do today:
-search for the standard dimensions of wine labels
-contemplate whether i keep my hair short and dye it blonde or start growing out the electric red mane
-watch the clock
-hatch grandiose plans about how to soup up my portfolio (now that i'm no longer looking for a job, naturally)
-wonder how long it's going to take for season 2 of house and veronica mars to hit dvd once the seasons end
-fantasize about going home and taking a nap
-plot endlessly about how to drive more traffic to the band's website and/or myspace page so that we can get this whole world domination thing going.
-hazard a tentative guess as to when it's going to warm the fuck up around here (late may, is my current guess as to when the temperatures will stop being in the low forties).
-get really excited about this. now with 20% more potential to take over my ENTIRE LIFE.
-listen to eminem.

i'm sure you'll agree that i've been completely productive.

and by 'productive,' i mean 'insert adjective here.'

mmmm, donut hole.

since i tendered my resignation (and we had the infamous "what do you mean, you'll get back to me? what do you have to get back to me ABOUT?" conversation), my boss has pretty much ignored me. he swishes by my desk a lot, slamming doors and sighing really loudly--generally sending poorly disguised angry vibes, broken up only by curt requests for files.

everyone else is trying to get me to eat more of the chocolate doughnuts they saved for me specially.

draw what inferences you will from that particular juxaposition.

slander vs. satisfaction.

i have a story to tell you, about a dreadful client and his non-paying, ludicrous ways, that i can only hope will help you, the freelancer, avoid getting tangled up into his web of stupidity.

once upon a time, i freelanced full time. and one day, i was contacted by a VP at a company who offered me a tremendous deal--such a good rate, that had it panned out even remotely, would have made it so that i wouldn't have needed to take an actual day job. honestly, this should have been a tipoff for me; but, at the time i was desperate for work, and so i accepted their terms, and started on the first round of the project.

suddenly, it's mid-november: the work is in, the payment due. i get half of it the day i drop off the discs, in cash, with the rest to follow once his office gets unpacked and he finds his checkbook. fine. fair enough.

(as a side note, please don't judge me for rampant stupidity here--looking back, it was an entire bullfight full of red flags, but at the time it was something i'd never seen before. and i still had some sort of idealism left in me).

flash forward not one, not two, not even THREE months, flash forward to TWO WEEKS AGO. that's four months, if you're playing along at home. four months of constant emails, phone calls, nagging, the works. he finally deigned to receive me at his office and write me a check. i was thrilled--i could open my new bank account, and the whole sordid chapter was done. done!

which means you can probably guess what happened next.

go on. guess.

if you said 'the check bounced!' then you deserve a taco. go get one; i'll wait.

welcome back!

so when we left, the check had just bounced. i got on the horn immediately, telling homeboy that he had 48 hours to send me the money via PayPal, or he would be hearing from my lawyer. he wrote back to whine at me about how he doesn't have a paypal account, but he could transfer the money into my bank account if i were to give him the info.

let's repeat: he wanted. my bank account. information.

even with the appalling naivete i've displayed in this whole affair, i'm a little shocked that he'd asked me to give him my bank account info. what kind of a moron does he think i am? the man can't write a valid check; does he honestly think i'm going to give him the keys to my proverbial camero? shivvy don't play that.

and so, the step has been taken that i've been hoping to avoid--our lawyer has gotten involved. and while i shudder that it's come to this, i do get a certain amount of reassurance and satisfaction to know that the cavalry is coming into play. a cavalry who signs his emails to me: 'the revenger.'

if i didn't have such a healthy fear of a slander lawsuit, i'd divulge his details right not. as i have no desire to dip any more than a toe in the land of the law, let me leave you with this: if the offer seems too good to be true, and it's located on e 32nd street, and they don't give you your entire payment at once, and they contract you for work they don't end up using? run away.

i really do want to make sure these dudes don't fuck with anymore freelancers; can anyone suggest any good repositories where i can make this information known?

home sweet.

generally speaking, my brain is a pretty opinionated entity; it's also a ridiculous dilettante. this is why my style of dress is frequently reminiscent of masquerade night at the copacabana, and why i occasionally forget what i'm talking about mid-sentence. it's also why i occasionally have dreams and ideas that are completely in opposition to one another. case in point: long term living situations.

having spent a lot of time rattling around our apartment in the last three months (sharing it only with a noisy, tenacious rodent who is clearly far smarter than i), i've been giving a lot of thought to living space. when this mood falls upon me, it typically translates into me fantasizing about my dream house, the place i want to move into and never leave. this fantasy is usually in technicolor, incredibly detailed to the point where i can almost taste it. i dream of a victorian house, with wide-board hardwood floors and a claw-footed bathtub; enough rooms so dom can have his reflexology studio and i can have a study of my own, painted red and lined with pictures and clutter; obscene quantities of bookshelves and closets; a pistachio green kitchen with a butcher block and a ceramic sink; a covered porch; a fireplace; a pantry; a really great shower. nothing too big, nothing too fancy--just big enough for the two of us. and possibly a dog.

the problem with this little scenario is that my little 26-year old heart is entirely loath to contemplate living in a non-urban environment at this juncture, and unless i discover i'm secretly an arabian princess, it's unlikely that i'll ever be able to afford the home i dream of in such a place. the solution, i suppose, is to hope that eventually my brain gets over life in the big city and its revulsion of the suburbs. of course, that would require a lapse in its inherent stubbornness, so who knows when that is going to happen.

maybe if i'm lucky, at some point i'll go through this whole 'growing up' business that everyone talks about, and the solution will make itself clear.

but as with so many of these things, that is neither here nor there.

i will say...

...that of all the things i am looking forward to at this new job of mine, i think that 'heated bathrooms' may actually top the list.

my pleasures are simple.

awash in a sea of bourbon.

the good: the show, the friday night gathering, the sleeping until noon the next day, the jenny lewis show, lady l's pre-birthday cake baking gathering.

the bad: filling out lots and lots and lots and lots of forms; getting in a further tangle with my bank; having a client's check bounce, resulting in a negative balance on a bank account just over a week old; the shrill, vapid teenagers we stood near at the jenny lewis show.

the ugly: goddamn mousezilla II. anyone got a cat they can lend me?

happy birthday to me!

today, i survive my quarter-century crisis and move safely into the end of my mid-twenties. thank goodness.

for my birthday, i received a new job (woo!) and all the accompanying stress of quitting my current job, which i happen to like; a truly fun, exciting show with the band; the BFI critical reading of Buffy the Vampire Slayer; and, with luck, a great night tonight with food and booze and friends and goodness.

while these things don't really make up for the fact that dom remains on the other side of the ocean instead of here celebrating with me, they are putting a smile on my face and a spring in my step. all i need now is to get rid of my headache and have a nice power nap.

because really. i've dry-swallowed an advil, inhaled some thai food and broken my boss' heart. i'm spent.

so...

interesting things are afoot around here (in theory). not least that the band is playing the knitting factory tonight at 9pm (and we encourage you heartily to come see).

that, and tomorrow is my birthday.

excitement ALL up in here, yo.

in other news...

i am planning to make a summer mix in honor of the impending non-frigidity of new york's trademark pseudo-spring.

i'm looking for the kinds of tracks that remind you of summer--remind you of driving down the freeway with wet hair and bare feet and the windows open; making out in the woods; drinking beer on the porch with your friends; lying still and feeling the air settle over you like a blanket. i want memories of that. what songs warm your skin?

suggestions?

the breakup.

i decided today to break up with my bank. after nearly ten years as a loyal customer, i got fed up with being treated like a miscellaneous fungal growth by the great monolith that is citibank ('shittybank,' to those in the know). for years i have put up with their dreadful customer service, their absurd fees, the draconian rules that govern their accounts. i have put up with it, mainly because i didn't want to deal with the hassle of changing banks.

and boy, didn't they just know it.

today, however, they pushed me too far. and i am only sad that i actually have to set up a schedule through which i can close my accounts--i can't just pull out today.

the story goes a little something like this: two weeks ago, i requested that they furnish me with what they call a consular letter--basically, a piece of paper that says yes, you have an account here. here's how much is in it, here's how long, blah blah. we will need to present it when dom goes into his visa interview. it's not an overly complex item; i also had to get one from HSBC, an endeavor which took approximately five minutes to print out and put in my hand.

but i digress.

so, two weeks ago (more than, actually), i request a consular letter, and am assured by the woman that it will arrive in 5-7 days. the days pass, and there is no sign of the letter. no sign, no sign, and still no sign. so, i call in to check on it; i am informed that they keep no record of these things, and as such cannot check up on its progress. needless to say, i'm peeved, but figure i'll give it till the end of the week to materialize.

it doesn't. so, i email customer service, who characteristically ignores me, and then decide to bite the bullet and call them. so this morning, the trusty cel phone and i leap once more unto the breach, and get kicked off their automated system three times for our trouble. i ultimately have to pretend i'm either a moron who doesn't know her mother's maiden name or someone committing fraud in order to get through to an actual person. a person who puts me on hold for fifteen minutes before i can tell him i want the letter, i want it now, i want it overnighted, and i want the fee waived. who keeps me on hold for so long that my phone begins to die. yeah.

generally, when i'm speaking to someone in customer service, i try to be pleasant with an underlying tone of bitchiness--it's not their fault whatever has gone wrong has gone wrong (usually), but i want them to know that I AM NOT KIDDING. i tried to keep to this formula in dealing with this guy, and succeeded fairly well, until he informed me that his supervisor flat out refused to waive the fee.

"but it's citibank's FAULT i need this thing rushed in the FIRST PLACE!"
"i'm sorry, miss, but she says she will not."
"..."
"miss?"
"please inform your supervisor that her unwillingness to serve a customer in the wake of a company error has made me decide to close all my accounts here. this is appalling. please be certain to let her know that she has lost a customer."

i then proceeded to write an incredibly vexed letter to customer service, in which i was able to use the word 'aghast,' and i felt much better after it. probably not as good as i would have felt closing my accounts today. alas, arrangements must be made and the visa procured before i can do anything rash.

but oh, my goodness. am i hatching an even more vexed letter to send to the president of customer relations (if they have such a thing) when i do finally move my accounts. because that shit? is wack. and i'm pissed.

rarr!

dumb days.

you know those days? those days that are just dumb? those days where you wake up and just know that nothing good can come of being awake?

i'm having one of those today.

i'd like to say it's been a while since i've had a dumb day, but that would be a blatant and egregious lie; these days have been touching down with alarming regularity in this little hamster cage that is my life. these days, where all you can do is try not to bang your head against a wall while the same old discussion/project/fight/problem rears its ugly head, making like the dandelion and refusing to die. and i hate to say it, but i sometimes feel it's sucking the fight out of me. while on a certain level i know that will never be true (one of the side effects, for better or worse, of being independent to the point of stupidity is that you find it extremely difficult to say die for long), i find myself frequently embroiled by circumstances where i feel there's just no point in kicking against the pricks, so to speak. and that, THAT is where it gets dangerous. it's the moments when i hold my tongue that the trouble begins.

it's not healthy.

it IS frustrating. life should be more than an exercise in arguing; or redoing the same thing over and over and over again; or waiting in limbo.

i'm tired, and sometimes i just want to give up. go be a file clerk in nebraska or some such shit. but that would be a criminal waste of an extremely expensive education. unlike, you know. what i'm doing now.

oh, and by the way...

insert shameless plug here.

this is your two-week notice.

focus.

so, i spent last night participating in a focus group in midtown manhattan, making my mark on the new york professional scene (ha!). i was part of a small cross section of bright young things called upon to give their opinions about a proposed organization for social and professional networking. it was interesting, though i suspect that i was asked to participate in order to add color to the proceedings-i was the odd man out in the following ways:

1. i was, professionally speaking, the underdog. most of the crowd in this group had cushy jobs at notable ad agencies, where they'd been since their careers began--i was the lone hardscrabble case, relatively speaking. for the purposes of this exercise, i was the voice of all young professionals who decide midway through their twenties to try something new, something for which they're untrained and untested, and get there by hustling, busting their ass, and basically being too fucking determined to take no for an answer.

2. coincidentally, i was also the only person there who lived in an outer borough.

3. which might explain why (depending on who you ask) i also had the biggest mouth in the room.

go figure.