I Read Sometimes

"For several years I had been bored...a dense, blanketing malaise. It seemed to me that there was nothing new to be discovered ever again. Our society was utterly ruinously derivative. We were the first human beings who would never see anything for the first time. We stare at the wonders of the world, dull-eyed, underwhelmed. Mona Lisa, the Pyramids, the Empire State Building. Jungle animals on attack, ancient icebergs collapsing, volcanoes erupting. I can't recall a single amazing thing I have seen firsthand that I didn't immediately reference to a movie or TV show. A fucking commercial. You know the awful singsong of the blase: Seeeeen it. I've literally seen it all, and the worst thing, the thing that makes me want to blow my brains out is: The secondhand experience is always better. The image is crisper, the view is keener, the camera angle and the soundtrack manipulate my emotions in a way reality can't anymore. I don't know that we are actually human at this point, those of us who are like most of us, who grew up with TV and movies and now the Internet. If we are betrayed, we know the words to say; when a loved one dies, we know the words to say; If we want to play the stud or the smart-ass or the fool, we know the words to say. We are all working from the same dog-eared script.

It's a very difficult era in which to be a person, just a real, actual person, instead of a collection of personality traits selected from an endless Automat of characters.

And if all of us are play-acting, there can be no such thing as a soul mate, because we don't have genuine souls.

It had gotten to the point where it seemed like nothing matters, because I'm not a real person and neither is anyone else.

I would have done anything to feel real again."

Something I read from a book recently that I thought was interesting. Especially the part about us all working from the same script. We know just what to say and do in certain situations cuz we've seen it done "properly", not by parents or real-life people, but by someone on television. Crazy.

How real am I? How much of me is what I think I'm supposed to be? You all know I'm big on GENUINE. But, we've got to really fight for it now-a-days.

Anyway.

-Age

At This Point, I Would Literally Live in a Big Apple

I’ve had one thing on my mind for days now. Well, a lot of things really but they all boil down to one theme.

I DON'T WANT TO BE HOMELESS...please.

Since Bulgaria, life’s been a whirlwind of traveling and planning and to-do listing.

I flew into LA and met my parents, brother, and sister, who I spent the next two weeks with, catching up and annoying one another just like we always do. Just about the time I began to remember with striking clarity just why I moved out of my parent’s house, it was time to move on to the next adventure.

My very best friend and her family were planning a trip to Kauai and I was invited along! It was a dream vacation, a majestic place that no person in their right mind would ever leave willingly. Then a week later we left...

a red-eye back to LA.

The exact same day, only a few hours later, was my red-eye to New York. I got no sleep on either red-eye and was to the point where exhaustion didn’t quite seem to cover it when I dragged myself to the baggage claim to take all of my worldly possessions…to Brooklyn.

I decided to be bold and take both of my exactly-50-pound bags on the subway. HAHAHA. Silly, silly California girl. The subway’s underground. You have to use the stairs. Big, giant bags and four different subway lines turned into 2 hours of me sweating my way to our hostel. Three  lovely gentlemen helped me with my bags at the different stops and I’ll forever be grateful to them – already men here are more polite than in that other place I lived for 2 years.

The hostel smells. The staff are stupid. That gives Bulgaria 1 point for having much better hostels than NY.  I can’t wait to leave this place. It’s pricier than I’d like too. (A guy who works there yelled at me one day for spilling milk - I've never wanted to punch someone more)

I should pause here to let you know that I am moving to New York for graduate school. I’ll have 2 other roommates, both friends from the Peace Corps: Tom and Katelyn.

When Tom and I arrived at the hostel, we left almost immediately and not just because of the smell. We had an appointment with a broker and we wanted to get the search for an apartment started as soon as possible. Our broker’s name was Vu and he had taken the subway to meet us at our hostel because the first apartment he wanted to show us was only a few blocks away. Turns out he doesn’t know Brooklyn too well. It was more than a few blocks and it took us forever to get there. But, luckily, along the way we got to talk about what a terrible neighborhood our hostel was in and then heard gunshots an appropriate 2 minutes later. We laughed. Sometimes all you can do is laugh.

When we got to the apartment, it was in a much nicer, quieter area and we felt a wave of relief. We were shown a 3-bedroom apartment on the second floor. It was perfect. Newly remodeled, exposed brick, nice kitchen, big bathroom, and two adjoined bedrooms so Katelyn and I can whisper at night about new boys we met and what noises ducks make when they get a good idea - these are the variety of things we talk about on a daily basis. There’s a park across the street, a Baptist church next door, and within the first 20 minutes a very friendly lady welcomed us to the neighborhood. We were sold. We started the paperwork without even considering another apartment.

Then a rollercoaster whirlwind of expenses and forms and second-guessing and biting of fingernails made us teeter back and forth between continuing with this plan and ditching it and starting all over. Without a broker. Don’t use brokers, people. They be pricey, yo.

But we wanted out of that hostel. It was taking our money and it smelled. Seriously, the kind of dank, damp smell that makes you feel dirty even after you’ve showered and scrubbed. Bleck.

Currently, we are still trying desperately to get this one apartment we love but things are looking bleak. Our broker is plugging away, trying his darndest to get us something. Anything. It’s not looking good. We’ve started to go back to Craigslist and look for temporary sub-leasing places. We’ve found a few that seem promising. We’ve also found a few that are complete scams. Hey, people, don’t ever wire someone money if you don’t know them personally. Even if they promise to mail you the keys to their too-good-to-be-true, incredibly affordable 2-bedroom apartment. They’re lying. Some people are jerks but I know there are people sweet and innocent enough out there to think something like that sound legit. It’s not.

Anyway, now we're looking at other apartments as well that aren't as appealing but much more realistic. We're beginning to accept the fact that this elite city is going to humble us before it allows any one of us to feel like true New Yorkers. Fair enough. Bring it on, New York. We can play this game. We were in the Peace Corps. We are the definition of resilience. 

Yesterday, I was eating a sandwich in a cute deli called Potbelly near my school, sitting on a bar stool by the big front windows, watching people walk by on the busy streets of Manhattan when I saw this little girl being pushed in a stroller. She was probably about 2 ½ and looking up at all the buildings, dragging her little toes along the ground, and looking completely content with life. Completely taken care of. For a split second I wished I was her. That happens sometimes. I see a kid maybe, I don't know, acting out some great epic battle scene in his mind right there on the sidewalk, or singing out loud to herself, not caring at all who’s watching and I think how great it must be to have no cares, no worries. But I’m not 2 ½. I’m 28. Better get my shit together, huh?

-Age

Don't Brush Those Near Me

So you know how everyone has those really specific pet peeves? Those things that just really bug them but are a little, maybe, irrational. Everyone has them. For instance, some people hate to hear other people chewing. And not chewing-with-your-mouth-open kinda chewing or smacking-your-gum-really-loud kinda chewing. EVERYONE hates that. Hear that? Everyone. Don't do it. Have some self-awareness. I'm talking about the kind of chewing that is perfectly normal but could be kinda loud cuz it's nuts or cereal or something. Some people can't stand to hear even that. It's not really fair but it's the way they feel and they can't really help it so, since you know that about them and you generally like their company, you don't sit next to them when you eat or you turn the TV or radio on or something. Easy fix.

I personally cannot stand to see people brush their teeth. If people like to brush their teeth for about 5 straight minutes cuz they have ADD and can't stand over the sink for more than a few seconds without getting real antsy and then walk all over doing things while simultaneously brushing, I always appreciate it if they stay the hell out of my area. Stay away. It's gross and I hate it. Even if it's in a bathroom I'm sharing with someone, I'd like to take turns. I'll brush, quickly and efficiently, and then you can brush once I've left. If I was ever in a serious, committed relationship where the guy got so comfortable he tried to give me a toothpaste kiss or even a toothpaste smile, I'd punch his face and walk out the door. Gross.

But, I figure, since everyone has something and accommodating their eccentricities probably isn't all that difficult, we should just suck it up and make them comfortable. Right?

That's how I feel. You could feel differently but it doesn't really matter.

-Age