So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Adieu
So, that happened.
I have been going through this weird, unbelieveable roommate situation that is finally coming to a conclusion. We have now all gotten booted out, due to my roommates making my landlord nuts about the whole situation, and I’m moving back to my hometown.
Don’t for a second think that it’s because of that psychotic, homewrecking, alcoholic, wanna-be Italian grandmother (she’s about 3 seconds from covering the place in doilies. I kid you not. I wake up every morning, fearful that I will walk out of my room, and she’ll be standing there in her mom jeans, hand on hip, glasses on the chain around her neck-she owns all of these things-and scream at me, ‘When you gonna find nice boy and seetle down?’ as she pushes a bowl of oatmeal in my hand and proceeds to finish putting plastic on the furniture) of a roomie I have. Or her silly cronnie either. Ok, so I haven’t blogged about her yet, so here’s a quick rundown:
*very religious, has had conversations with me about the sanctity of marriage, having kids, loving one person, in the eyes of god, yadda, yadda
*Brings a married man home in the wee hours of the morn to her boudoir, lights out, candles on, crappy, mournful Italian music plays until he leaves, conveniently, before we get up. After all, he does have a wife and kids to go home to.
*studied geology in college. Even went so far as to study it in grad school, which she will brag about. Often. Yet, is a secretary/waitress. And not for a geologist or a geologisty restaurant either.
*discusses (at great length) how global warming is just a platform for political candidates and is not a real threat, recycling is unnecessary and wrong, except for countries like Italy (again with the Italy shit. It never stops. She’s from Baltimore, ok?) which are small and have a greater need to recycle, while big (landmass wise) countries like the US can simply pile their trash up in, say, Idaho (no, you da ho) and leave it at that, since it would take more energy to recycle it than it is worth. I’m pretty creative, but even I can’t make this shit up. I actually had this very conversation with her.
There are a whole other host of issues with Crazy McBeal over there, BUT, not the point. The point is, I’m going home. NYC is big and exciting and fast and crowded and kind of confusing and can be real lonely if you don’t come out here with some sort of network of folks. I’ve met some great people and had some amazing times, but the last time I went home, I got the heart flip flop landing in my home city. Tiny little airport that it is, while coming back here was just like, eh. (not the Canadian ‘eh’, just the breathy sort of half hearted utterance of a sy-lable)
But, I’m thrilled to be going back. I have already secured a new place (the rent of which is less than half of what I’m paying here), I’m lining up some freelance work, talked with a guy, who I online stalked to find contact info, who works with independent films in the area and hopefully can work part time in a boookstore. AND, I will be living across the street from the absolute bestest, late, late, late night pizza, greasy, we-will-deep-fry-anything joint. So much for that healthy, weight losing, working out thing I had going. It was fun while it lasted. Come on, I’m 30 now, isn’t a size 6 sort of ridiculous at this point? Really, what am I an Olsen twin? I think not! Beer and fried goodies please!!
So, my next several posts, will be my farewell to the city. What I will miss, what I will gain. What I most definitely will not miss, and the boys I made out with along the way.
Tune in….
The glory days
Again, a little late on this post, but we’ll get there!
I went back home for Labor Day. Some wonderful friends decided that we needed to get our college friends together for a little reunion. Oh yeah, we were all in a sorority together. Let the ‘drunk’, I mean ‘good’, times roll! 
We were quite the group of chicks in college. We could flip cup the basketball team under the table, inhale a buffet table of snacks and goodies and still look gorgeous and fantastic. And on top of that, these are some of the most intelligent, driven women I have ever met in my life.
So, being a year (some 2) years out of school, we have accountants, a girl with a national magazine, one with the Lt. Governor of IL, law school students, world traveler/teacher (oh yeah, she’s that good) and several other ladies that have gone on to lead successful, important careers and make amazing life choices.
But man, can these girls drink.
Since I’m from the city we went to school in, I had some family to visit and thought I would plan effectively so that I would make it through the weekend. We had:
drinking/fish fry on Friday night
booze cruise Saturday morning
out/drinking Saturday evening
brunch/drinking Sunday
I thought I would be smart. I bowed out of the booze cruise that was scheduled for Saturday AM to visit some family and cruise the city (I had my mom’s car which offers a freedom I haven’t felt in NYC.) I just wanted to reminisce a bit and ’save’ myself for the evening ahead. Nothing prepares you properly for a drunk, sorority girl reunion. Nothing.
Friday was sort of the ‘mellow’ night. We still got pretty happy on drink, but it was more of a controlled imbibing than the free for all we would feel on Saturday. As I drove around Saturday AM, I was pretty sure I needed a nap. Damn, I can feel the ‘getting older’ sinking into my bones. It is sucking the life force out of me. No nap was in store for me, though, as I had made a hair appointment for Saturday afternoon so that I would avoid the trés expensive NYC haircut. I felt so smart. When I called for the appointment, she said that cuts were from $35 on up. I made the appointment and asked what that stylist charged. $40. I asked for a $35 stylist. Cheap does not pay off, my friends.
I cringed as she lobbed off the first chunk of hair, but went along because I didn’t want to make her skittish and unsure of herself. It was like trying to befriend a squirrel.,”I just want to be friends. Please don’t give me rabies. Help me, help you.” So I went along with it. I was a bit tired and trusted her professionalism. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. Remember in the Brady Bunch movie how the dad always designed houses that looked exactly like their house? I had that chick. Except it was with hair. And her hair was mullet in nature. I had watched her pick it out as I was waiting (yes, a pick. I know, I know, the screaming alarms going off that I mildly shrugged off) It was sort of the trendy sorta hipster mullet that doesn’t quite have the double wide trailer, truck up on blocks in the yard look to it, but the mechanics are still sheer mullet.
But she tried to pull it off in that way that stylists often do. The ‘length’ assurance. As she patted my new layers down (I told her layers didn’t work on me, but like the non-English speaking stylist I had that one time, these sorts of statements don’t translate so well. Apparently it’s not a language barrier, it’s a layer-doesn’t-work vs. stylist barrier) she yanked on the bottom layer, illustrating to me ‘See? You still have your length!’ Right. Just because what used to be the full length of my entire head of hair has now been reduced to a handful of strands that pop out from underneath ‘the party in the back’, does NOT mean you have maintained the former integrity of the length I had.
So I walk my urban mullet out the door and tell myself not to cry. We’ll drink soon to forget. I meet up with the girls, fresh from the booze cruise, with some pitchers and burgers on a patio. Nice. I went in for a pitcher (of Miller Lite, I might add. Can I get a woot-woot! They don’t have good old Lite here in the city. This is Bud town) and the bartender only wanted $6 from me for it! I was floored. Six bucks will get you ‘A’ beer here. Maybe.
We hit up our old stomping grounds that night, already a bit warmed up and ready to go. It was a little harder to organize flip cup this time around. Was the get drunk quick novelty gone? The goofy tables the bar had ‘upgraded’ to didn’t help, but we put forth a good effort and managed to make it til bar time!
We cuted it up for Sunday brunch. We were hurting a bit, but played it off reasonably well. Sort of. Once the waiter brought our friend a carafe of water with foot long straws in it, everyone knew we had some hydration issues. But the rest of us made it through a couple of cocktails, then dragged our feet all the way back to my friends place where we proceeded to lay around on various pieces of furniture and areas of the floor. The only attention we afforded Pirates of the Caribbean and Goonies, was keeping our eyes open. A little bit.
It was an amazing weekend. My friends are wonderful, incredible individuals. The flight home was interesting. As we descended on NYC, I tugged on my urban mullet and felt sad. I miss how I called my mom on Saturday afternoon and went over to her place. Just like that. To have a random all nighter, watch movies and reminisce.
I miss home…
But more on that to come!
