Fancy Footwork

I'm totally seeing Chromeo tonight.

Totally.

Inexperience

Did you watch the VP debate? Sarah Palin danced around those questions like her shoes were on fire. She sure is patriotic, but ready to become the vice president of the United States. . .? Not in her lifetime.

Interning today was stressful. I have to solicit shoe images for the shoe column that was due Tuesday. No one is responding to my queries despite countless phone calls and emails. The slow response has been making me think, what's the point? They're only shoes. Then I begin to think what a waste of paper magazines are in general and I become frustrated that I'm participating in such a superficial and mindless publication. Sure, sure, we write articles pertaining to health awareness and charity work, but in general it's a magazine listing luxuries for rich people.

Last night I was trying to figure out how to get my emergency teaching certification. In the process I stumbled upon a degree program to become a reading specialist. It sounds pretty cool, though I'm not sure if I'm qualified as I'm sure there is some sort of speech pathology mumbo-jumbo that I never learned in college. Still, how cool would it be to help kids read? When I was little I loved to read, I still do. And my love for reading spurred my love for writing thanks to Harriet the Spy.

I just feel more scattered than Denise Huxtable (and Sarah Palin) and so unsuccessful compared to peers. I'm frazzled and lost and kind of scared at this point. I'll be 30 in 3 years. I have a degree that lately I'm deeming useless and not much experience with anything. And a boyfriend? Will I ever get married? A nervous breakdown is not approaching, but maybe just a depression. I feel like a bum.

Tomorrow my sister and I go meet another leasing agent to check out two apartments. Hopefully I get him. I mean, we get one of the apartments. This guy is cute though and I couldn't tell if he was digging me the last time I saw him at a showing. I'll figure it out tomorrow, but first I need decide what to wear. . .

L is for losing my life in the ghetto

I found a new apartment I like.
I think it helped that the leasing agent was super cute. The view of the Philadelphia skyline is breathtaking.
Before that apartment I trekked all the way out to Fishtown for a super cheap two bedroom. It's an up and coming area in Philly which for some reason I really like. It's a Williamsburg wannabe.
Dee was the woman showing the apartment. She was a big lady, boisterous, with huge movie star glasses. She wore a black and white track suit with pink sneakers. Really bright lipstick. She was great. She could sell a library of books to a blind man. Unfortunately her house had no closets and for a duo of sisters who have hampers full of clothing, closests are a necessity. We parted, not after having a few chuckles over our current president. As she was walking me out she asked me which direction I was going in. I said I had to figure out how to get back to Center City. "Oh, I'll just drop you off at the L!"
Whatever the L is, sounds good. For some reason I am Philly-challenged. My sense of direction becomes defunct right before the Girard Avenue exit on 95. After confirming with her one more time the L went into Center City I hopped in this lady's SUV and we headed to the SEPTA line that was going to lead me safely into Center City. Steering the wheel with one hand and flailing her other hand while cursing America's financial crisis, she drove through a stop sign, gasping as she realized we almost died. I laughed nervously. Then she asked me what I did for a living. I said I was trying to become a writer. She said I was really beautiful, like Audrey Hepburn.
She could have been being nice for three reasons:
1) She really wanted me to lease the place
2) She felt bad about driving through the stop sign and putting my life in danger
3) She put my life in danger again by dropping me off at a notoriously dangerous L stop.
"Sorry about the stop sign, here's the L, it's not the best L to drop you off at, but you'll be fine." I was just grateful for her dropping me off at this foreign stop that would save me from another $15 cab fare.
Before I had both legs on the ground she sped off. It didn't seem that dangerous to me. It reminded me of the nice parts of the Bronx. And if any of you know anything about the Bronx. . .I climbed the steps to the train, a goofy white girl with a big goofy white girl grin, passing crack heads and people with jeans so baggy they must have been packin' lots of heat.
I stared at the SEPTA map waiting for an epiphany. Even now I can't even tell you what L stop I was at. There was a police officer standing, watching passengers walk by. I assume cops at all L stops is standard. I walked up to him, not wanting to waste more time staring mindlessly at a diagram of a city that makes my brain hurt, and asked him where to go.
"Why are you at this stop?"
"My leasing agent dropped me off here."
"HA! Don't buy a house from her if she dropped you off here."
"Uh, what do you mean?"
"Where are you from?"
"Jersey."
"Yeah, you shouldn't be a this stop."
"It doesn't look that bad."
"A lot of things don't look that bad. . ."
After chuckling at my brush with death, muggings, rapes, assault, etc, he got me on the L and I continued apartment hunting in the city with no hard feelings towards the leasing agent who put my life in danger.
The only thing that sucks is I can't remember what stop is was that I got on at, so I don't know how to avoid it.

I'm bored.

I'm ready to pull my hair out. Boredom has lead to frustration. My recent apartment debacle has also been a source of frustration. Joblessness due to lack of apartment is assisting in the enhancing the frustration I am feeling. My two internships are also breeding stress.

I'm not sure if I'm happier here than in California. Living with my parents is stress free, surprisingly. Living with my roommates back in California was unfortunate. Still, I had a lot of friends in California and plenty of stimulation outside of work. My life has slowed down considerably since moving home.

Tomorrow I'm going to look at some apartments thanks to our inability to move into a place we signed a lease for on Friday. The property was in disarray when we tried to move in Friday and Sunday, so we terminated the lease and my sister and I find ourselves still living at home. Hopefully we find a place tomorrow.

My internships feel very superficial and shallow. I love fashion, I do, but writing about $1,000 shoes provides no stimulation or gratification. It actually feels pretty pointless, especially in times of such economic duress. My dad is urging me to find a creative job at an ad agency or with a media outlet which confuses me. Sure, I used to go to art camp, but when did I ever display interest in the creative arts past senior year of high school? Rarely. I do enjoy being creative with the written word, but I haven't touched a paint brush in years. When I think about when I felt most creative it's probably when I was volunteering or working with City Year when I felt most inspired. It's obvious now that my energies need to be funneled into a job where I am helping others. My biggest obstacle will be transforming a resume consumed mostly with retail jobs to a resume that screams, "Let me help you!"

In other news, when I finally find a place in Philadelphia I'm going to sign up for hustle lessons. That will be my platform for dance greatness, for sure.

So far. . .

My sister and I landed a place in West Philly. If all goes as planned we move in on Friday. Our leasing agent is a flake and has been extremely slow in responding to our wishes. She's also reneged on letting us move in this weekend, though she claims if it's inconvenient for us to move in on a Monday then this Friday will suffice. Who moves in on a Monday?

The place is huge and has plenty of room for dance parties though it is farther than I deem ideal for having the quality social life I deserve. My friend who lives in the area assures me it is a great place and my worries have been quelled a bit. I'm excited to move again but I'm not sure what the hell I'm really doing which seems to be the general theme of my life. So far, I'm ok with that.

Tomorrow I go to my internship that after a week I'm already really bored with and unenthusiastic about. I will just have to suck it up, grin and bare it. It's only two days a week, I think I can handle that. Right???

here comes the bride, all fat and wide

Bridal magazines? Who would have thought I would be buying bridal magazines as soon as I returned home? You would think having a steady boyfriend would necessitate buying bridal magazines or maybe being a psycho single marriage fanatic. But I have no boyfriend and am in no hurry to pass through that threshold, though I do see a wedding (or plural version) all in the name of OPEN BAR AND BIG DANCE FLOOR.

Here I am with Modern Bride, Inside Weddings and New Jersey Bride (teased hair and everything else gaudy glaring from each page) thrown carelessly out on my bedroom floor for research purposes. My first assignment for my magazine internship is writing a bit about Bridal Shoes. Because I am such an expert. Because I know so much about weddings and what goes into the perfect wedding.

When I was interning for the fashion boutique website I had to write bits about stores I had never been to in cities I had never visited. After I had written a few columns my boss threw a cocktail party. After freelancing (for free I will grumpily remind you) in sweats for a few months I got gussied up and showed my face to co-workers I had never met. They all raved over my column, "You are so funny! And so lucky you get to travel to all those boutiques!" Yeah, I fucking wish. Time to jet over to Chicago? While working 7 days a week? Yeah right. And even if I didn't have time, money to stay in hotels and fly to distant places as an intern? Were these ladies on crack?

Still, their naivety was quite flattering. I had written well enough to fool even the most keen fashionista. Perhaps my writing and research will allow me to fool even the most astute bride-zilla?

In other news, I'm getting fat. My mom commented on love handles. "You better watch those." She wasn't being a bitch, though out of context that is as bitchy as they come. The past three weeks of moving and obligatory moving booze and food fests and the extinguishing of my work regiment have exemplified the fastidious nature of fat around my waist. I complain about this with a glass of wine by my computer.

Tomorrow I will run, right after I finish researching wedding shoes.

Baby come back?

I made it to the east coast in one piece and feel at peace with my decision to be here.

My sister and I have been looking for apartments in Philadelphia.  If all goes well we will have a place in Fishtown by the end of the month.  The rent is cheap and the location is prime. 

Friday I had a preliminary meeting with my new boss at my new internship.  She encouraged me to email my fellow intern who started two weeks ago.  I sent him a one liner and received 500 lines in return.  He seems like a go getter with plenty of experience at publications.  This is unfamiliar territory for me.  Unlike my past internship where I sat in my house at my desk in sweatpants and researched and wrote with the TV on a low volume in the background at 12am, this requires office presence and the ability to collaborate with others.  My past jobs have demanded I work with others, but collaborate?!  This internship is going to stimulate parts of my brain that have been dormant since college.  

Tuesday I have an interview in Philadelphia for another internship.  When am I going to stop interning and start getting paid?  Hopefully by January 2009.  My portfolio is non-existent and I need these people to give me positions in order to beef up my sad looking resume.  I really believe this magazine internship is going to help me in a big way.  Though it may not segue  into a job immediately, it will give me skills I never learned in college or at my past internships.

And how about getting paid?  Who knows.  There is the possibility of working at Urban Outfitters on South Street if I end up moving into Fishtown, but if I stay in New Hope there is a bookstore job waiting for me.  Though living at home has been stress free thus far it hasn't even been a week.  

I miss my friends in California, but regret about moving hasn't struck yet.  I don't miss much.  Yet.