Friday, September 20, 2013

maturity level 1000

i don't know why this is so funny to me.



but i watch it over and over.

Thursday, September 19, 2013

a little place called home

i got photos for all you crazies who somehow care. it's not much, but it's something. and i'm not living on a bench in central park, so it's enough of a something for me. So for the grand tour...
look! a kitchen! it might seem small to you suburbians. but, trust me, this is a big deal. it has a pantry? money, people. it even has a full-size oven. call the neighbors because we're having thanksgiving right here! seriously. this oven is huge. and new and shiny and beautiful and i may be in love.

hard wood floors throughout the place. is it glamorous, sure. and shiny, too. but oh boy the upkeep. it's been less than a week and i'm already crazy about the dust always and constantly visible. still, it sure is purdy. and, yeah, that's a fireplace. of course it doesn't work and never will, but that beautiful exposed brick--that's a hot ticket in this town. i can say that (exposed brick) and people's jaws will drop with envy.
and, sure, we have a table before we have a couch. it's like i always say: priorities! not really. the couch wouldn't fit through our tiny hallway so...we're working on plan b. still, there's a table.

the bathroom is a bathroom. it's small and it will be crazy to share with four girls. but everything's new so that's something. and if you know me at all, you know i'm a master at organization. these girls don't even know what's coming.

then there's a room off to the side. and another down the hall. but the true masterpiece, the great hall, the piece de resistance--that would be my room. ah, such splendor.
if it looks impressively huge, it is. and if you think, "oh, that's small" you're crazy. come to the city and i'll show you small. this room is tres gorg. unfortunately, it's not all mine. we're working on finding a fourth girl to share it with me because, oh yeah, i can't afford rent if it was just mine. but that's okay because there's plenty of room and i already have my gorgeous corner all my own.
exposed brick--that's right! exposed brick in my bedroom. living the dream, guys--a full closet. and a window nook just for me. why just for me? because i moved in first and i'm allowed to make executive decisions like that.

and i have the fireplace too. non working and whatever, but i put it to good use as a bookshelf-whatever-place. that's master interior design right there.

and here, here is where my beautiful parisian painting would hang if i had it. it would look beautiful--nay, glorious. alas, i left it at home. one day though. so, for now, this spot is saved.

so there you have it. you may now shower me with praise and envy.

Saturday, September 14, 2013

enough with the vagueness

after a nightmarish couple weeks, I have put the world's greatest mystery to rest: tv is not real. all those fabulous apartments everyone seems to afford?

yeah, no.

i ain't living in some penthouse suite on central park. i couldn't even manage a studio loft by myself. or a private room. but, hey, i'm in new york. and that, folks, is what we call a silver lining.

i got an apartment! in new york!

//dance break//

bona fide resident right here.

//dance break//

so. details. a lovely three bedroom in central harlem with four girls, myself included. it's a little small, but, hey, it's not nearly as dumpy as my provo apartment. this is newly refurbished. wood floors. exposed brick. high ceilings. floor to ceiling windows.

look at me talking fancy.

but it really is nice. my mom will be impressed methinks.

as long as i blindfold her through the streets where i live.

just kidding. it's just harlem! got a certain charm. and, hey, if you're ever looking to get some african hair braiding done, there's about seventeen options in the area.

you know what they say. location, location, location!

**photos forthcoming**

Friday, September 13, 2013

one way to a nervous breakdown

housing in new york is hard. trust me, the tears that went into this search. for a city that has so many people, it sure doesn't want you to stay.

it's a mess of brokers, realtors, fees, applications, documents. it's roommate hunts and auditions, listing priorities and deciding what you can live without. it's rewiring your entire brain to think that, yeah, 1000 square feet at $3200 a month is a steal of a deal. it's suddenly thinking about things like crime rates and laundromats and ward boundaries. it's location location location. or maybe affordability is king. it's considering commutes and public transportation. it's thinking about how many groceries up how many flights of stairs. it's finding a group of people to live with based solely on shared desperation to not be homeless, and getting to know them only later. it's feeling very far away from home and suddenly looking down at a twelve page contract being asked to sign and finally realizing...

this is home.

and signing that year lease?

it's settling, maybe. and dancing on this precipice of justifying or ignoring that fact. because it's hard, this limbo of not being settled. and you jump at what you're handed because housing goes fast and roommates are hard to come by and pleasing everyone to the point of actually signing is nigh impossible.

then, suddenly, it's having to furnish a whole apartment. sign up for internet. decide whether or not to pay for air conditioning for the next few weeks just because this heat wave makes winter seem a lifetime away. and it's splitting costs and fees and rent between strangers, just hoping they don't somehow leave you hanging out to dry.

it's wondering where you buy a broom in the city. it's wondering how you fit a mattress in your room. it's realizing how much walmart meant to you only now that it's gone. it's having to consider how you get what you want--a desk, a bookshelf, a curtain rod--from point a to point b, and if you can carry it yourself or if you should just shell out $50 for delivery.

it's enough to drive a person crazy. and so you go a little crazy.

maybe more than a little.

but then...it's done. i guess i'm a new yorker now.

and that's what's really crazy.

Saturday, September 7, 2013

a little soapbox special


i guess this is a thing now. and that's fine or whatever. their thing. i don't care. 

but it got me thinking about feminism. which i'm all for. and it got me thinking about how i really don't fit in with most feminists. which got me riled up. and i was bothered. and then i was sitting here wishing there was someone to vent to, but, oh yeah, i'm alone out here. and then i remembered this blog. and i just had to say...

i don’t get why empowering women has to be so much about trying to be like men. that’s backwards to me. to be a feminist is to believe in the feminine powers—not to discount them and fight instead to be “one of the boys.” 

sure, I don’t want to be my (future) husband’s property or only find meaning through home making and casserole cooking, but I also don’t really care to wear suits and ties or act like--pardon my french--an ass just so men will look past my breasts and accept me into some elite club of masculinity. because, frankly, i don't want any of that. 

i don’t have to wear pants to church to feel like god recognizes me as an individual. and I don’t need the priesthood to feel like a VIP in this gospel.

rather. 

i want men to get off their high horse of entitlement and women to look up from centuries of traditionalized servitude and think, yeah, i'm a woman and that's not a crime. i can wear a dress, and that's not a crime. i can not want to be the main breadwinner and i can not want to be CEO of some major company--or i can--and that's fine. what's not fine is believing that femininity is an enemy of feminism. or thinking it's your curves or long curls or love of cooking that's holding you back. 

genders aren't inherently evil. they are individually powerful. i love being different from a guy. what i don't love is being treated less than for not being a guy. or using possibly female-inherent qualities as an excuse to disappear into a role behind a man because that's what tradition dictates. 

no, thank you. 

i'm loud and opinionated and passionate. i'm not a very good cook and i tend to hate arts and crafts. but i won't be ashamed to wear dresses or be a mother. i'll never be a housewife--even if i'm a stay-at-home mom. but you know why? because i believe in equality, not uniformity. or homogeneity. or indistinguishability.

to me, identities are inherently individualistic. for both sexes. 

to me, when women scream and yell to be treated like men...it sounds like they're admitting that to be a woman is to be less than. it's buying into the lesser-sex crap. and that's not fair. 

i don't believe in the battle of the sexes. because why does one always have to be at the bottom? men are great. women are great. the gender stereotypes should be more blurred--i believe that. but i'm sick of feminism being about men and masculinity and girls screaming "we can play your game just like you."

to me, that's not what this is about. 

to me, it's about finally recognizing that women are strong. they're individuals. they're each a soul held in a body perfect for them and their dreams. and stereotypes should never be enough to limit anyone. that's the crime here. a woman can't be held back for wanting to be an executive. and a man shouldn't be held back for wanting to be a stay-at-home dad. and it shouldn't have to be such a conversation about who's winning or who's selling out.

women can be who they want, whatever that is. just like men. 

that's what feminism is to me. and so when we get caught up in "breaking" gender stereotypes just by playing into the masculine version...

i guess I don't get it. 

but maybe i like louboutins too much. they really are my weakness. 

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Monday, September 2, 2013

a New York minute

i kinda sorta maybe expected to post some epic picture of the empire state building or time square and be all like "hellooo, New York!" 

but that didn't happen. 

see, I'm not playing tourist. and it's made my first time in this city feel kinda anticlimactic. i mean, I've been to east village, west village, midtown, soho, TriBeCa, little Italy. i've eaten a Molly's cupcake, a new york slice, a levain cookie. i've seen broadway, Times Square, the Met. i've gotten views of the Empire State Building, freedom tower, etc. 

but I've taken zero pictures. 

one because i really don't want to look like a tourist. 

Two because I'm still in denial that I'm actually here and that this is my new reality. 

(it's all very surreal).

but really...I'm looking at everything rather unromantically. Less dreamy vacationer, more potential resident. 

i'm feeling out the city I suppose. Asking questions like where's the subway line. what are the good restaurants. where do you avoid tourists. how do you catch a cab. how far is walking a block versus an avenue. where's the best place to get groceries. etc/infinitus

so, no, it doesn't feel real and I haven't had this big breathtaking moment of realizing I'm in New York or really suddeny falling in love with it.  

but. 

it also doesn't scare me. somehow, it all feels familiar. and easy. and I'm like, "yeah, okay, I'm living here. nbd."

I'm sorry that I can't really explain it, this disbelief matched with indifference. It's not what i expected, but it's all sorts of familiar too. 

it's beautiful and gritty and loud and busy and intimate and diverse and impenetrable and colorful and active and lazy and huge and small all at once.

i don't hate it here. i'm not scared to be here. I think I can make it here. it's just a city after all. and while that may not exactly be ten parts enthusiasm, it's still something. 

right?