So it was fun, and funny, to hear it this week. You living vicariously means 1) always, always, always pulling the cord that turns the ceiling fan on instead of the light, 2) sleeping on an air mattress that deflates throughout the night – but hey, we do sleep with an electric blanket, so at least we’re warm, 3) making pb&j big girl lunches for our big girl job and 4) we might have just gulped straight from the milk carton.

You all still with me?

I hope so.

But I think, after a few weeks of getting prepared for New York life, I think… I’m ready to LIVE my New York life.

And it feels great!

I have an apartment. One with exposed brick walls, wine bottle wall paper, black pantries… If the place didn’t come decorated enough on its own, cousins and aunts helped my cousin and me this weekend. After trips to Target, Walmart, Bed Bath and Beyond, Big Lots, Marshall’s, Pier 1 Imports, Goodwill and the grocery store…

We have salt and pepper shakers that match the island.

A teapot that matches the wall paper.

Urns (URNS?) that match the candle that matches the quirky decorative stove in the room we don’t know how to use. I’m thinking hammock.

We have a home.

A home I might have been cursing for being uncleaned between tenants – and the last tenant was a male with terrible aim – but a home that is bright and shiny and mine.

It’s a bit comical – my bed is an air mattress. My cousin: “You know, if I were to walk into a girl’s room and she had an air mattress, I’d be like ‘Oh, yeah… Let’s rock this thing.’”

It’s a work in progress.

So, now, sitting at my kitchen table, coffee mug by my side, music playing from my bedroom…

It feels great. And more stories get to come this blog’s way again.

I’m not sure about what.

But I’m six weekdays in to life as an employed person again… and it’s more than wonderful.

Thank goodness – we all know I was coming to New York February 4 either way.

But I definitely landed where I’m supposed to be.

Case in point, my manager and I can bond over being Syracuse grads and a mutual love of Hall and Oates. Really, what more do you need?

Car, job, apartment.

And heck, there might even be a boy. But that’s personal (and I do have a filter, dontchya know). Plus, why embarrass him?

Totally random side note, isn’t that singer in the last post cute?

Happy sigh. Goodnight from New York, everyone.

Peace, love and all sorts of knickknacks.

I just was insanely and fantastically busy.

Let’s see – Monday we found out I have the credit score from h*ll due to a $24 modem. Awesome.

And I can’t quite put together what I did Tuesday.

But Wednesday? Visited an apartment. Loved the apartment. It has an exposed brick wall, already decorated kitchen, decorative old-fashioned stove in the dining room… Love.

And thus the mad rush to beat the next three people with showings to leaving a deposit. Just made it.

Lots of work. Everything related to what comes with signing a lease for an apartment. Should I mention I’m moving in with a couple suitcases and an air mattress? Starting from scratch here, folks.

Keys to the apartment Friday.

Keys to the car Saturday.

Family in town Saturday and Sunday.

First day of work today.

Insanity.

Insanity.

Insanity.

I haven’t slept much. I just got in the biggest fit of giggles of my life, doubled over laughing, tears down my face, on the cleaning supply aisle at Walmart.

But I just had a fantastic weekend, with photos and video better for sharing than the sentences I’m able to construct at the moment.

Anyone who has followed this blog at length knows I spent the summer drinking too much coffee because I had a big ol’ crush on the barista.

Well, he’s lead singer in a band, too (btw, the band in the Relay promos I made and posted a few weeks ago!).

So, yes, it’s just fine being back in New York after six months away. Especially after my 11-year-old sister visiting from CA had one of the coolest days of her (and my) life by learning the ins and outs of what goes on at a recording studio the day after she found out she made Honor Choir.

It’s good to be back.

Photos and videos, from this weekend.

I left Southern California Saturday morning with three suitcases and a carry-on bag with five things capable of taking pictures and three blank journals. Did I look like I like to document life? You bet.

We landed in Vegas at 11:11a.m. Made a wish. So did Randy, guy in the exit row who was celebrating his birthday. I know this because the overhead lights were turned off, every passenger closed their windows, and then we all hit our call button and reading light “birthday candles” and sang to him.

It was pretty great.

I stepped off the plane and sat at the first slot-machine I saw. Wheel of Fortune theme. I put a $5 bill in, got up to $27.50, walked with a $20 bill.

But then I had another two and a half hours.

So I lost a $5 bill.

But awhile later I was bored and I still had another hour.

So I put in another $5. And… got up to $40.25!

And a few minutes later, I left Vegas +$30.25. Not a bad layover.

Two days later, I’m sitting here hoping to get the keys to the car I’ve put a deposit on at the dealership. But everything is a process…

The car salesman is great. Said I look and sound like Helen Hunt, and I have a good handshake, too. Maybe he’ll be my first new New York friend.

But the process.

He asked for my driver’s license. Being a “New Yorker” for just over 36 hours at this time, I produce a CA license from my wallet. That’s not 6-points of identification in NY, so he asks what else I’ve got.

Well, old habits don’t die quick. I pull out my passport.

“Seriously, who carries their passport in their purse?”

I know, right?

Credit app time. Employed? Uh… I will be in a week. Annual monthly income? Uh… in a week… Home address – aunt’s house. Nearest closest relative – um… my aunt? Can I just list my dad in California?

I look at my new friend. “I’m not doing too well here, am I.”

But then my second NY friend, the finance man, and I meet. 

Here is the mission: 

Put down most of the payment for the car. About 70%.

But then, take out a car loan for the remainder so 22-year-old me with no credit history can build some credit.

Great.

Except when the finance man says, “Sooo… your credit score came back really low.”

HUH?

Like, laughably, joke low. He said “You only have one thing on your credit history – an overdue payment from (name) cable company?”

No, I personally closed that account over the phone. My roommate lived there two months after me, but I did it all by phone. The only thing she had to do was return the -

And the word “modem” hangs in the air.

NO.

So with the promise he’d call the banks to find out loan options to solve this little fiasco of “I need credit to get the bank loan, and now I need the bank loan to boost my credit”… I get on the phone with the cable company.

So maybe this was a little my fault. Maybe I could have followed up.

But a minor frustration. I paid my bills online for two years. I got an e-mail a week from them with regard to statements, promotions, updates. If I had a question, it was dealt with by phone or e-mail.

“Yes, we sent you a letter. It got returned to us.” 

Right. Because I hadn’t thought to get a forwarding address from my college apartment, because the only mail I received were the paper copies of the cable bills.

So I asked, after two years of predominantly online activity, with my e-mail address and phone number on file… there was no attempt to reach me that way? When the account has been closed – doesn’t that suggest maybe I moved? At all? Said with exasperation because my credit score is in the tank because of a $24 modem.

Best line from the company I bought internet from for two years:

“Yes, our company does not send many e-mails.”

1) Yes, you do. Annoyingly often- Just not for subjects of vital importance, apparently.

2) REALLY?

Argh. Come on.

End of rant.

Thank goodness they don’t happen often.

Maybe twice a year.

Life is just fine.

If with a super-sized interest rate and potentially apartment-less without a co-signer.

Sigh.

Credit score schmedit score.

Moving across the United States = zero time to write.

I do miss writing every day.I woke up homesick for Lisbon a few days ago, the last place I drafted a children’s book. I miss having a camera on me at all times – I forget to pack it and miss capturing all those couples holding hands, the sunsets, the funny signs… I dropped habits I’d hoped to keep. There hasn’t been a journal in my purse lately and I stopped saving receipts. I certainly stopped walking everywhere. I haven’t talked to enough strangers.

I’ll work on that in New York.

Two days and I’ll have landed. I packed my bags today. Ella isn’t coming with me, but Eeyore is.

Move to New York, search for an apartment. My new job (I couldn’t be more excited to meet everyone) starts soon after.

Which reminded me. A couple years ago, the owner of the restaurant I worked for looked at me and, in front of multiple people, said “You remind me of a cartoon character.” When I asked what in the world that meant, he said “I don’t know! I can’t place which one.”

So seeking comfort, or at least understanding of whether or not a cartoon character comparison was a good or bad thing, I asked a male coworker, who came up with “I think it’s because you have such big eyes. Like, really big eyes. And your mouth. Probably that.”

Another coworker, who I’d end up living with later, just said “HAH! I TOTALLY SEE IT!”

My new coworkers haven’t met me face-to-face yet. I hope I don’t scare them off with my E.T.-like features.

Which, based on home videos we dug out of my garage yesterday, have always been around. And let me tell you, I might have more smile in my upper teeth than most people need in their entire mouths, but I really dodged a bullet when I got braces. 1st, 2nd and 3rd grade me… rough years.

I do miss the overalls, though. The 90s were great.

Things that make me happy: This parking lot. Camera-less yesterday like the dummy non-tourist I am now, I drove back today because it really made me smile.

The CAMP, Costa Mesa, CA

I don’t know how to dress for it. I wore flip flops the other day, but for fears sitting outside would get chilly in the early evening hours, brought the same coat I’d wear out to a January in New York dinner. Sandals and snow coat. Good look.

At the very least, I thought winter for single-girls-not-looking meant wearing jeans and not having to shave. Best five months couple days per week every year.

But no. Not here.

So I went to the pool. The lounge chairs are locked up and covered – it is January, we wouldn’t want them to get weathered in Southern California’s lack of weather – but you can find yourself a nice grassy place to tan.

Not that I tan. Kinda big on the whole no-cancer thing. To be honest, tanning makes me bored. And kinda sweaty. Ask me how I feel about baths and I’d tell you the same. Worse, because my mother told me I’m not allowed to bring my Kindle by the bathtub. Forget that.

But sometimes when it’s 78 degrees and I’m moving to Albany in six days, I decide it’s ok to “tan.” To go from pale to less-but-still-pale and to make it look like I’ve stepped outside once since I got back from Europe six weeks ago.

So I sit outside and read Tina Fey’s Bossypants for the second time (once upon a time, before I figured out what I wanted life this blog to look like, I reviewed it). I’d still like to grow up to be her.

And then as the sun drifted behind the one cloud in the sky, obscured further by trees I’d poorly positioned myself near, I started thinking about countdowns. Every once in awhile I’ll have these thoughts – starting somewhat panicky or stressed, fleshed out first in a well-worded “W!+!%*&!#^&^#*!” e-mail to a friend or two, before showing up here a little calmer a few days later.

Just like a lot of my friends, everything done in recent years has had an end date.

High school, college, internships.

Study abroad there, summers here.

And some countdowns are sad to see end – when the days of summer in NY left got small enough it turned to “48 hours” of which the last 3 are a mad-dash of all the packing/car cleaning I didn’t responsibly do in the previous 45.

And some aren’t rushed to but still good ends to get to – surviving Europe, for example. 122 nights in hostels? It was nice to get to the “I DID IT!” moment, and it didn’t come a moment too soon.

But as soon as I fly to Albany next Saturday… there’s no next end date. No booked plane ticket exit to anywhere, no imminent goodbyes after the see you soons said in California.

There’s a ton of stuff hidden in my aunt and uncle’s house (under the bed, in the closet, in the drawers) to reclaim. I told them I was coming back.

There’s all my work clothes left in NY in August, because I knew I was coming back.

There’s all my make-up left in that mad-dash airport run from four weeks ago.

A job (yes, there’s a job now!). A car and a couple car payments. An apartment to decorate.

There are people to see again.

People to meet.

A life to be built.

And it’s exciting.

And it’s a little scary.

As all adventures should be.

I remember my great-grandmother having “Love is…” clips from the newspaper at her house when I was little. Just a few, here and there, cut-out and stuck with the pens and pads of paper. Maybe a few were on the fridge. A small association between them and her. I’ve loved them ever since.

I was thrilled to see my aunt and uncle collect them, too. And far more of them.

This one is in my purse now. Most people wouldn't pick this one from the bunch. My uncle: "This guy is your dreamboat."

It started when we started predicting how many children we’d all have. Actually, it started when Cassie said she had a food baby. Then the predictions.

Cassie: I want at least four.

Janae: I’m going to have two.

Mom: Yes, two is good for you. One is good. You’re not stopping at one, though.

Janae: I hope it’s a boy and a girl. If not, two boys.

Mom: Have fun with your two girls.

Janae: They’re going to be really freaking girly.

Mom: They’re going to be twins. And really bratty.

Jacob: They’re going to watch Sixteen Candles everyday.

Mom: Okay, here are the predictions. 2 (Janae), 3 (Cassie)…

Cassie: I’m going to have four.

Mom: But she should really have 3. Then 3 (Jacob), 2 (Carly)… and Ella. Whatever Ella has.

Jacob: Thanksgivings are going to be awesome! 10 plus whatever Ella has.

Me: 17. She’ll have 17.

…Dogs.

Mom: And they’ll all still be living at my house.

Ella: I know where babies come from. Your bottom.

(Silence)

Ella: There’s a hole.

Us: Factually, yes.

Mom: Would any of you adopt? (Ella is adopted)

Jacob: No.

Janae: His wife might.

Cassie: Carly is going to be the one who adopts her three kids from Africa.

Janae: I’d adopt. I’m pretty sure I can’t have kids. Gut feeling.

Mom: You… have… a feeling you’re barren? HAH! Sorry, I just wanted to use that word.

Cassie: I’d adopt. But I think I’m like Mom. Four kids and then my uterus explodes.

Mom: MY UTERUS DID NOT EXPLODE!

(Now exiting van onto silent neighborhood sidewalk)

Cassie: It has holes in it.

Mom: IT DID NOT HAVE HOLES IN IT! WE WILL CONTINUE THIS CONVERSATION INSIDE.

Cassie: Well, it tore.

Mom: IT DID NOT TEAR! GET IN THE HOUSE!

Ella: I’m going to have three boys and a girl.

Us: Sounds right.

Carly, meekly: Why… does everyone always think I’m going to be the hippie of the family?

The rest of us: BAHAH!

Cassie: Because you’re gonna be. I can totally see it.

Jacob: I can totally see her.

Me: I can totally see her smoking pot.

Mom: Because you’re the nicest and most natural. And most loving.

Ella: OKAY. I’M A LOT HAVING BABIES.

Great line.

Dad and I drove to San Luis Obispo this weekend to see our cousins. Our car was hydroplaning in the rain on the way up the coast – 12 days until I’m driving in snow again! It’s almost the big Albany move date.

But that’s another post.

Talley Vineyards

Wine tasting, catching up with cousins, a Trader Joe’s run… a perfect California day.

After dinner, we walked upstairs to see the restaurant’s outdoor patio. The restaurant is next to a creek and the setting is absolutely beautiful. I crossed the wooden bridge to take a picture.

My dad and cousin Josh were across the bridge by the restaurant while I snapped these shots.

They were still standing there when a new male friend came over.

With a big grin.

“So… you getting any nice shots?”

Hah! I’m getting hit on in front of my dad. This is awesome.

I can’t handle this smoothly. But before I can say anything, again:

“You getting any nice shots?” Big ol’ smile.

So I say yes! I am, it’s beautiful here.

And he giggles.

“So… you’re getting nice shots?”

I glance over at Dad, who is 100% aware of what’s happening. I have little game as it is – this is too funny for me to respond to smoothly.

I giggle and say yes.

The guy smiles. “Good. You’re getting nice shots.”

And now I’m laughing. There’s really nothing I value more than being able to have a good conversation with someone, and this is looking exceptionally promising.

Dad calls out, “Honey?”

I said I had to go and walked away. He could have been The One.

I’ll never know.

What I do know is I loved Dad’s reaction. Happiness. And “Good job!” In further me+dating discussions, he also told me he could see me dating up to a “30-to-33-year-old”.

This is me putting that in writing.

Not a bad night for 22-year-old me and any future under-34 boyfriend of mine.

Dad and I had booked a hotel room at the Madonna Inn. The Madonna Inn opened over fifty years ago. Each of the 110 rooms has a special theme, and is decorated according to the theme. Paris, Italy, Old Victorian… The Jungle… The Cave… Americana. Tacky? No. AWESOME.

We’d originally been placed in the “Time of Your Life” Mardi-Gras themed-room. That was fitting – I’d just written a blog post titled that. Dad had called ahead to check on our reservation and asked, “There’s not anything inappropriate in that room, sexual… right? I’m with my daughter.” He was told just masks on the walls.

But when we got there, we had our choice of rooms. A free upgrade at a hotel only at 60% capacity.

I flipped through the book. No cave or jungle available, and Paris – Italy – King’s Castle seemed far too generic.

And then I saw our room. “Old Mill.”

When you flip a switch, the characters above the beds and desk move around. I was incorrectly referring to them as the three “glockenspiels” (picturing Munich’s Marienplatz tourist attraction)… But a glockenspiel is an instrument; these were just moving characters. Either way, fantastic and fully functional.

So was the water wheel.

As I’m runnning around taking photos and videos of our absurd, glittery, over-stimulating room, the doorbell rings. The security guard is there to tell us the hotel left something in our previously-assigned room and would be bringing it back for us. We asked him what it was and he said, “I think it’s more fun if I just bring it.”

Five minutes later, he was back at the door, and with a glance to both of us…

“Happy anniversary.”

We have no idea why, or who… We have no idea. But it immediately flashed us back to my 22nd birthday in Barcelona, Spain.

August 18, 2011

We’re very prude spouses.

If the “glockenspiels” and water wheel weren’t enough, the toilet seat was heated. It really freaks you out when you don’t expect that. It also had a pressure-adjustable bidet.

Sent me back to another Spain flashback, this time from Madrid.

August 21, 2011
For someone about to live in hostels for three months, and fairly comfortable anywhere, I’ve been living comfortably these first few days. How you ask?

Life is good.

Bubblegum Alley, San Luis Obispo, CA

Five months later… Life is still good.

Favorite from the weekend. Pure bliss.