What a fuck-up.

the routine.

Cut to me drinking cheap white wine out of a mug, vaguely tearfully curled up on the couch, watching When Harry Met Sally as my roommate and her friends smoke pot and sing Beyonce in the spare closet.

oh dear.

I ran into Tony, the love of my life, in Kimmel as I had just came into the rain and looked like a drowned rat. I couldn't even see him when he said hi to me because my glasses were all splattered and fogged up. We chatted for a bit... he gave me a friendly punch on the arm.

A friendly punch.

Never will I ever get to see him naked. Goddamnit.

weathering it.

Nothing like a half hour slosh in wet snow each way to Greenwich Village to be fingerprinted only to be told that your appointment is actually in The fucking Bronx. In Converse sneakers because I'm an idiot.

They actually were pretty nice about the fact that my boss told me to go to the wrong place and fingerprinted me after only like a 2 minute wait.

I'm pretty excited... it doesn't look like any of my toes will have to be amputated.

Fuck the gym. I am going to fold my laundry and curl up with... my homework. And then with my sign language presentation, which I must perform admirably on this evening. Shit. 

Tea kettle, tea kettle, lend me your sympathy.

shit.

And all of that is down the fucking tubes because I am a fucking mess.

stability.

What better time to blog than while squinting, spectacles-less at the computer, dying one's hair? That's what I thought.

I've been doing this thing, where I burn a cd for Pat C. Hoy II, god among men, aka my writing professor and the head of our Expository Writing department here at NYU, I make a cover for it out of a piece cut out from a colouring book page, and leave it unascribed to anyone in his mailbox every week. I understand that I'm a really odd girl. I'm fine with it.

After a semi-lame weekend... not terrible, but not amazing... my trip to the JCH in Brooklyn to my double life as a Jewess was actually really great. All of the Jews were really nice to me and my boss asked me if I wanted to become on staff instead of just being a volunteer, so that's a maybe. She said she has to run it by other administrative people, but if that works out, that's one more day of being paid, so that would be cool. The kids were pretty good, too. I hung out with the same sweet little Asian girl for the majority of it. She's nonverbal and kind of antisocial, which is understandable, given that she has autism. She really does live in her own little world. But she understands what is said to her and she is really smart about things like the alphabet and numbers and stuff like that. She likes to take blank pieces of paper and draw shapes and write words on them. She does this on literally like fifty pieces of paper. The funniest one she did today was a piece of paper that very simply read, "Give me". It was one of the staff's birthdays today... this guy was one whom I perceived to be probably 22... Today he turned 19 and I realized that I was one of the two oldest people there, which changed some of my perceptions.

On my way home on the subway, I realized that my life has reached the stability it hasn't had since before I can remember. The last time I think my life felt stable was when I was dating Dan and it was pretty serious and we spent a lot of time together and it was vaguely like we were married. That was a year ago. I'm not saying I've been seriously fucked-up since that point because of him, but a lot of things have happened since then to make me the fucked-up, totally emotionally damaged person that I was partially during the spring and summer and definitely during the fall. I'm happy now. I don't know what changed, but enough things changed and enough time passed and I feel good. I walk around New York with a smile on my face and my hipster headphones over my ears. I don't know how long this will last, but I'm glad of it for now.

what a week.

Monday night, Carolyn and her friend Aubrie got here. They were to be staying in my dorm until Friday morning. I didn't get to hang out with them much, though, because I had school and work and reading and things to do. At about 7:30, they decided that they wanted to go DC for the inauguration.

After about an hour and a half of trying, they were able to find a way there, along with many of the good people of Manhattan... by taking a bus to Baltimore and then... figuring it out from there. They then took off, about 3 hours after they had arrived. This decision of theirs brought it to my attention that I am not very spontaneous. Had I wanted to go to the inauguration, I would have looked into the great student packages they were offering and figured out exactly how I would make that happen... at least two weeks in advance.

So fine, I'm not spontaneous and they are. They do things like go on buses all night to go to DC for Obama and I do things like go to class. I'm boring. I get it.

Classes were good, though. After now having had two of Pat C. Hoy II's writing classes, I can assert with great confidence that most of the people in the class are better at this stuff than I am and are very smart. Ironically, the class this semester is about reviewing films. Why is this ironic? Last semester, the class that made me want to slit my wrists on a regular basis was the basic film class I took for a core requirement. Fuck.

This will be different, though. There are two final essays that the class builds up to, one being about film. The other one can be about a book. Thank goodness. I chose When Harry Met Sally to review for my essay. Obviously. Our first assignment relating to that (and not to the reading we also have to do) was pretty cool. We had to pick the "two most vexing scenes" in the movie and write a paragraph about why we find them vexing.

Treatment of Child and Adolescent Mental Illness looks like it will be good, too, and with Chadly and Jenna, I think it will definitely be a good one.

Cognition looks hard, and it's a huuuuuuge class crammed into a lecture hall with barely any extra seats. I know only one person in it, and I don't sit with him (so far). I make myself pay attention. Lots of note-taking.

And ASL 4 is a huge class, too. For a sign language class, that is. But it's been fun. The first two days were good. I am a little scared of its kicking my ass, but let's be realistic. All of these classes are going to kick my ass in one way or another.

I start babysitting for Christopher next Thursday. Yesterday I went over and Estera showed me the places they like to go when they go out. The three of us went to this cool fish store that has this really intimidating and fucking crazy parrot, to a pizza parlor, to a park, and to Baskin Robbins. I guess there's another park they prefer to go to, but in the winter they close at 4... and Chris doesn't get home until like 3:45 anyway, so that sucks. And they like to take a train to go to Barnes & Noble, but we didn't do that.

In an hour, I am going to meet my first mentee (if that's what they are even called) Wendela. I get fingerprinted on Wednesday and get my PPD on Friday. After all the paperwork stuff is done, I hope to start working with that ASAP.

Tonight tonight we are going out and I am so exciteddddd. The only people missing are Rachel, Abeer, Amy, and Sam. This whole study abroad thing is a bummerrrrr.

misconceptions

I don't know how I continue to have ridiculous adventures. It has been brought to my attention that I am maybe one of the least spontaneous people in the world. I'm not sure how I feel about this revelation.

On the upside, I drew Erica a very cute picture of what we would look like if we were baby chickens, I definitely got the babysitting job, and I get to listen to Pat C. Hoy II, god among men, speak tomorrow for an hour and fifteen minutes.

caffeine-addiction restarts... yesterday

Yesterday was a pretty long day. After babysitting some kids last minute in a hotel the night before that, I tried to sleep... and failed. Woke up and went to the gym. Upon my return from the body temple, I had a voicemail from the mom... I had taken their hotel key. Woops! She was very cool about it and asked that I leave it at a nearby restaurant in an envelope with her name on it, as she had reservations there later that night. I apologetically obliged and then hopped on my usual Sunday train to the Brooklyn JCH to volunteer with kids with autism for a few hours, where I lead a double life as a is-she/isn't-she Jewess... They aren't sure if I'm Jewish - some think I am, some probably don't, some probably don't care... for instance, the following conversation snippet.

Mike: Whoa, you have blue eyes?!

Me: Yeah...

Mike: Sick! (he said this enthusiastically, in that male way that actually means something positive)

I worked with little Jamie again, which was fun, as she has no behavioural problems at all, and I felt like we actually made a connection as she climbed on the ballet bars in front of the mirrors in the dance room and we stared at our reflections. She mimicked my facial expressions and we danced to the music and did all kinds of acrobatics. It was great. If only my fellow workers were as friendly... Not that they're unfriendly, just cliquey.

Anyway after that was done, I got to leave in the snow and go to dinner with my two favourite Southern ladies, Bit and Suzanne. After some dinner and gossip, brought to you from India and North Carolina... and California, of course, we enjoyed a giant slice of carrot cake.

Today, I awoke at the very early hour of 6:45 and returned to Brooklyn, this time to meet a boy named Christopher, his current babysitter, Estera, and his mom, Janice, to see what it would be like to be his babysitter two afternoons a week... and I'm gonna do it. Christopher is going to be ten in March and has autism. He loves trains. He was a sweetheart.

Carolyn and her friend Aubrie will be at my apartment for a few days starting this afternoon. I hope it stops snowing so that I can take them outside and do some touristy shit. The rest of this week (and my life), I'm going to be too busy to do anything like that and will just be sending them out into the world, saying, "Have fun! Come back when it gets dark!"

I am going to be so tired this semester. My two jobs and classes are going to kick the shit out of me. But I think I will be happy. That is the goal.

good morning.

Sometimes waking up at 9:30 in the morning and forcing oneself out of bed feels pretty damn good, after the first few minutes of regret and drowsiness are over. Back to my usual habit of hitting up the only Trader Joe's in Manhattan just after it opens. I'm feeling pensive today, maybe because I don't have much to do, except go the gym and do some laundry. And clean up the apartment before the animal handler comes and call Gilda and go get some wine.

The pictures of me and my friends that are all over my walls are more representative than the pictures I brought in frames of me and my friends before freshman year, except for the Camp pictures. But out of all the kids from home (non-Camp) that I am pictured with, I am still friends with two and a half of them: Whitney, Mike, and sort of Chris. And Jennessa, I suppose. Okay, so three and a half of them. Or four, if we're going to be kind to poor Chris, which I so rarely am, and who is far happier than I am on a regular basis, and so should not be referred to as "poor Chris" any longer.

I got the job I interviewed for on Wednesday, so I am hopefully going to have two jobs. One as a babysitter to a 9 year old boy with autism two afternoons a week. And the other, the interview job, as a mentor in the life coaching program at a company called JobPath, mentoring and helping one, two, or three, depending on how schedules work out, young adults around my own age with high-functioning autism. I am pretty excited by the prospect of working again.

School is kind of like my job, and work is kind of like my extracurricular - in my brain, that is, though both are entirely necessary. School this semester is going to be hard and take up a huge amount of my time. Drunken nights are probably going to become mostly a thing of the past, and I am either going to be working or studying just about all the time. I don't mind that, though, even though I don't know how interesting Cognition will be to me, and even though writing for Pat C. Hoy II will take probably hours, twice a week. Late nights, coffee, study. I don't know why, but studying actually sounds fun to me.

I'm kind of tired of being a drunken, staggering fool, as fun as it was and always will be, I'm sure. I think my classes this semester are going to be harder, less intuitive, and more ass-kicking than last semester, though Child and Adolescent Psychopathology and Developmental Psychology, classes that came pretty easily to me, will always be near and dear to my heart. I like being a homebody. And if being a homebody involves a drink or two, well, that's fine, but once school starts, those nights where I would drink a bottle of wine in one sitting are going to be a thing of the past. No bars, no clubs. Snuggling at home and watching a movie or playing Uno or something simple, having a good conversation. It's all I want. Maybe this is a function of so many of my friends being abroad - I wouldn't doubt it, but still, I am ready for school.

My Cognition textbook is waiting for me in the mailroom downstairs. I'm scared of it, but hopefully in the next four months, I will be able to get something out of it.

wish i could shut my playboy mouth

Totally typical night. Huge tub of cookie dough, massive bottle of wine, The Office, Dylan leaving at like 10, a run to the Russian liquor store at 10:30 in arctic conditions wearing a coat over my pajama pants, making pasta for me and Tim at 2:30 in the morning after we watch Y Tu Mama Tambien and Weeds, making inappropriate comments via text (though not too bad).

I had my first phone conversation with the love of my life, who probably knows that he is the love of my life, because he constantly refers to me as "bud" or "amigo." Bastard. I say that with love.

I set my alarm for 11:45 so I can wake up, buy a Lady GaGa ticket, and go back to bed if I choose. I think I will stay awake. Maybe. Maybe not. Actually, let's be realistic, I'm going back to bed.

I gave into the animal handler, so he's coming in tomorrow night. Goddamnit. And tonight I am supposed to go to Max Brenner with Laurel, so that should be interesting and high-calorie.

I hope that I get a phone call from the company I interviewed with today, rather than Tuesday, but that might be a little too optimistic. 

I need to cut my fingernails. And eat vegetables. And work out.

any takers?

I am the only girl I know who will break up with a guy before they are even dating because he's too nice.

He's not just nice. He's considerate, respectful, and mature.

But that is not what I have ever wanted in my entire life. Give me a sarcastic, bitter, self-absorbed asshole with a heart of gold.

God I'm a narcissist. I guess it's shorter to say, "Give me the male version of myself."

quick thoughts from a fast girl

The sweatshirt is actually XXXL and I am obsessed with it.

My interview was FANTASTIC!

And, today I came to the realization that if I dated the animal handler, I would OWN his scrawny ass.

I think I'm going to watch Garden State and eat chocolate chips. I am this close to running across the street to get cookie dough.

hot child in the city once more!

I am back in Manhattan, huzzah! My health kick is probably semi out the window. Fuck you Weight Watchers, I've been semi trying you since I was 9 years old. I am still going to go to the gym and eat lots of veggies, but goddamnit I am 19 years old, I am going to drink alcohol whenever I goddamn feel like it. Perhaps I will be less of a drunkard - I've done enough stupid drunken things to fill up a whole lifetime - but I will still drink! Huzzah!

I am pretty glad I checked my email to hopstop where my interview tomorrow is, because, turns out, it's at 11 instead of 12. And I had set my alarm for 10:30. Riiiiiiiight. But yeah, all I have to do tomorrow is go to my interview and go to the gym. Oh, and the grocery store so I don't starve to death with the dining halls still closed. Right. And maybe I'll get down to the NYU bookstore and get that last book and the oversized sweatshirt my mother promised her grungy daughter she could purchase with the AmEx. Men's XXL, please and thank you! Goddamnit I am a classy woman.

Today I had a revelation and it was this: the only men I actually want to be married to in my fantasies are the ones who are already married. And sure, on the list there's really only three. Ben Folds, Jon Stewart, Hugh Laurie. And yeah, they're all in their forties. And yeah, I'm nineteen. But I really don't see the problem.

Except that I do and it's huge.

Oh well. Maybe I'll get a job tomorrow. Then at least I will have something to live for other than school and booze.

I didn't mean that to sound depressing. If you're reading this, Mom, I'm not gonna kill myself, I swear.

full of bran and feeling grand

I don't know about uppers, but Slumdog Millionaire was a great movie. I loved it. My mom, not as emphatically, but no one ever said Peggy and I were the same person. The little kids at the start of the movie were so cute I died inside. Abeer and Ankit must have been precious as babies.

Pretty much spent the rest of the day being woozy and out-of-it, per Eliza hangover, and talking to Fred. I kind of think that that's going to happen... especially since Tony calls me "bud." I don't think that boys desire to have sex with their "bud," no matter what When Harry Met Sally would have me believe. Better to see where things go with the animal handler than to ruin a perfectly good "bud"ship because I happen to be madly in love with him.

I orgasmed orally over the homemade butternut squash soup my dad made me...yum... watched Weeds and the Golden Globes until I was way too tired and went to bed at like 10. How gorgeous did Mary- Louise Parker look? Even though I'm SURE she didn't even expect to win against Tina Fey. It was Tina Fey's YEAR. 2008 belonged to Tina Fey. I'm fine with that - she is a goddess. She can do no wrong. But Mary-Louise... oh my god... I am going to see her in Hedda Gabler. I have decided. I am going.

Best thing about my life right now: I will be back in New York tomorrow night. I am so excited.

I did make another very important, life-changing decision yesterday and it was this: "Fuck low carb." I had Total for breakfast today and it was so grand. I think I am basically just going to do WeightWatchers and work out and we'll just see if I slim down a little bit. I am a very chunky girl, I understand, and I also understand that I'm kind of built to be this way. I have very broad structure, bone wise. Whatever. I could lose 20 pounds. It's all about portions, my friend. All about portions. I'm going to turn this into a food journal, too, to keep myself accountable, since I am the only one who reads this anyway, so I guess here goes. I don't know how much I weigh - I'll check when I get back to New York on Erica's scale, since that's the one I'll be using for 4 months, but I am eating for as if I am less than 150, since I want to be less than 150, which means I get to eat 18-23 points a day. Today for exercise I am going to powerwalk on the treadmill (I hate to run) for 4 miles, which, at the pace I go, turns out to be just shy of 54 minutes.

1/12/08

Breakfast Points

1 cup Total Raisin Bran 2

1/2 cup light soy milk 1

1 cup or so pineapple 1

Mid-day Food

Apple 1

1 tiny peanut cutter cup 2

Basically half a package of spinach 0

Tofu 2

Dinner

Large chicken breast 4

Balsamic marinade probably 2

Vegetables of some kind  0

Salad dressing 1

Apple  1

Cool. Looking at coming in at 17 at 9 pm. And I am STARVING. Oh well.

Today I went and visited my high school. It was kind of nice. All the teachers I visited had really nice things to say to me and were excited to see me. Kind of like a tiny self-esteem boost. First I went to see the Campus Ministry people, who love me because I'm a cool kid I guess, even though Jesus and I aren't supertight. I saw all of my old English teachers, even Sister Marie. I love that tiny Irish nun. Queen Rids was pretty cool, too. Stopped by Mulholland's room... that man is glorious. Obviously Celestino was the highlight of the visit. He's such a cool guy. Best teacher I've ever had, in a Dead Poets Society kind of way, not in an actually academic way. I also hung out with Spellmire for like half an hour, which was hilarious.

I think it takes graduating from high school to realize that your teachers are real people. Maybe it's because I taught kindergarteners after school last year and worked with actual teachers. Or maybe it's the leaving high school and going to college, where the teachers talk to you differently. I'm not sure. Spelldaddy and I could sit down and talk about some crazy fucking exploits for a while, though.

Ms. George and I are friends on fbook now and I think Mulholland and I will be shortly - insane! Anna-Lisa admitted to creeping on the comments I left on other peoples pages - scaryyyyy - so I added her so that she doesn't have to creep anymore, and then I saw that Mulholland, love of my life senior year of high school, has a facebook, so oh my god we are going to be fbook friends yayyyyy.

I feel like I'm getting old. I know I felt this way two years ago, but now I feel it for different reasons, I guess. I think I am going to cut back on the alcohol. Not quit drinking, obviously, but save it for occasions, unless it is a single glass of wine. One glass of wine after a long day at class/work won't hurt. When it's not a single glass of wine, definitely cut wayyyy back. A glass of wine is 2 WW points. And while I am only semi-doing WW and mostly am just editing my diet and making time to exercise, you know, it's like 114 calories a glass.

I am worried Cognition and Pat C. Hoy II, god among men, 's class will kick my ass. Also ASL 4 is going to be tough. Treatment of Childhood Mental Illness might be my easiest class. WEIRD.

We will make it, though.

New York, here I come!

I need direction to perfection

How does everything change in like... 30 seconds? I get to the party and I feel great. I drink my weight in beer, feeling only vaguely buzzed, get a ride home with Alex, life is good, life is good, life is good, happy 25th Scotty. Then I go home and go to the bathroom and when I come out of the bathroom my mom is standing right outside the door and scares the SHIT out of me. Cut to me waking up the next morning wearing a sweatshirt and underwear.

I guess I blacked out and threw up. How does that even happen AFTER someone leaves the party? What the fuck.

My mom... vaguely annoyed. Apparently I'm her stupid child. I prefer scrappy. I prefer to be her SCRAPPY child. Oh well.

I had tea with an old friend this morning, made me feel old too. She's 26 years old, a yoga instructor and a special ed aide. She doesn't really drink anymore and is going back to school to do alternative medicine. She's kind of new age now. I don't know. It's like that line in my favourite Killers song, "All These Things That I've Done." I fucking love that song. I'm so much older than I can take. I know I'm only 19, no big deal, but I don't know if I ever expected to be this old. I think I thought I was gonna be a kid forever. Looking at my friends I realize that most people act the same way in their late 20s as they did when they were 19, but they're old, too. Not old-old, like elderly, but old like a fully-grown person with jobs and life and problems and probably depression and shit like that. We're all fucking depressed. But everyone has always been like this, they just didn't have a name for it before we standardized psychology.

I told my mom I am going to kill myself when I start to feel frail. I want to help people for a living, but I never want to need help myself. Maybe it's a weakness of mine, but either way, I am like a quarter or so through with my life and I am not sure what I have to show for it. Where did middle school go? Where did high school go? Where did my fucking first year of college go? I feel like I'm losing track of things. Remembering years does not take years. I feel like memories can never represent what things actually were - in that case, why bother trying to remember? I don't know. What happens to your life if you're too busy trying to remember your life? I guess you stop having one.

My mom and I are going to see Slumdog Millionaire. I think that should be fun. Supposedly it's like taking a handful of uppers.

hello carolyn.

In honour of my upcoming writing class under the guidance of Pat C. Hoy II, god among men, and perhaps in honour of the depression I most likely have, which gives me a little writing itch, and perhaps in honour of the fact that I am still in California and therefore am most likely bored out of my small skull, I have come back to this place... and deleted the two posts I had made a year ago, as they are from when I was happy, apparently. I guess this place will be practice for writing class.

I am kind of bumming out right now and listening to Death Cab for Cutie, because I guess I am just that kind of girl, but I'm also post-panic attack, due to the most recent trip to the shopping mall, sending me into a delicious spiral of nausea, anxiety, and headachey joy. I think I have social anxiety. I'm a psychology major, I should fucking know. I am also trying to decide if I am going to crash my friend's birthday party because I didn't score an fbook invite, but think it is okay if I go, or if I am going to do what I actually feel like doing, which is drinking a bottle of wine and watching either Weeds or When Harry Met Sally or both. Both options involve alcohol, however, only one involves being social and trying to find a ride home/deciding to pass out and spend the night on the Doty floor once again. So I guess we shall have to wait and see where I end up.

I decided yesterday that I prefer to be called Eliza, after spending the last decade or so of my life as Liz. How did this blessed event come to be, you ask? Well, it all happened because my friend is an accountant for Mimi's Cafe.

I know. That's frustratingly vague. I'm an asshole like that.

Anyway, since my friend Mandi is an accountant for Mimi's, she gets free lunch, so she asked if I wanted free food. Of course I do. I am waiting for her at the place and I put our name down on the list. I have a 30 second debate with myself - can I pull off the name Fantasia? I decide that I cannot in approximately 3 of those seconds, and give the name Eliza. It's a legitimate variant of Elizabeth. I feel no guilt for giving this name. When asked how to spell it, I reply, "Elizabeth without the 'beth.'" I like being able to say this. I decide Eliza sounds pretty. The love of my life tells me he likes the name Eliza better than Liz because it's less common and apparently rolls off his tongue. I want to roll off his tongue. 

I promptly change my facebook name to Eliza and request that my friends observe the switch. Some are more compliant than others.

I am fucking tired. I feel shy. I haven't really felt like this since middle school. No bueno. Maybe I am going to have to take the college shrink up on that referral thing. Goddamnit. I want to re-read The Hobbit. My copy is in New York, where I will be in approximately 3 days. I guess I can wait.

If I go to this goddamn party, I must cheer up right now. Or soon.