While I spent the majority of the week leading up to my first solo business trip essentially panicking about having to present to major clients, I was pleasantly surprised to find that traveling for free has its own set of rewards – most of which came in the form of my taxi drivers and unlimited Cajun mix from airport news stands.
In NYC, most cab drivers are completely uninterested in acknowledging your existence. You climb in, shout a cross street through the glass partition, and hold on for dear life as Bin Laden’s cousin drives you feverishly through the streets of Manhattan. Living in NYC, I’m completely used to this and think absolutely nothing of it. Which is why I was caught by surprise when every single one of my cab drivers in St Louis and Madison, Wisconsin struck up a conversation with me. In fact, I’ve grown so accustomed to enjoying a quiet cab ride by myself, that I had no idea how to react when confronted with the foreign notion of friendliness. Really, what struck me the most was how personal each one of them got with me. I’m not sure if it’s my appearance that lends itself to talking and opening up, but I highly doubt it seeing as how I haven’t been on a date in months and most people tend to run far, far away from me. In fact, each cab ride felt like a mini date to me. No better or no worse than actual dates I’ve been on with complete strangers.
Driver #1 – St Louis: His name was Frank. He was 65 years old, divorced 3 times, remarried now complete with a mistress and 6 children from 2 marriages. He spoke with a twang and reminded me of an elderly man that would have multiple sets of grandchildren, sending each one a thoughtful Birthday card with a check for $10 and a pack of cigarettes. His demeanor seemed soft-spoken, yet that quickly changed as soon as I climbed into his cab and got an earful about his life. “That third wife of mine was a real cunt – she cheated on me 3 times with my neighbor. That son of a bitch was a cripple too, so that tells you how much of a whore she was.“ Being that it was 9am and I was on my way to meet with clients, I had no idea how to properly process what was occurring. In all of 10 minutes, I had learned the lineage of Frank’s family as well as the fact that his first love (aka first wife) was a sex addict who could smoke a cigarette from her vagina. Yum.
Driver #2 – Madison, Wisconsin: This fiery red-head was named Sandy. As I emerged from the hotel lobby, I spotted her with a cigarette hanging from her mouth and the passenger door of the minivan open and waiting for me. “How ya doin today?” she asked, in a thick Midwest accent. “Fine.” I replied, half asleep at 8am. Just as I climbed in the car, Sandy made a wide U-Turn as I began closing the door and I nearly fell out. “Well Gash Fuck it, I thought you were in the van already! Sorry ‘bout dat!” The last way I would have expected to die was falling out of a minivan at 8am in Madison, Wisconsin. “Oh no problem, I don’t really need my legs anyway” I replied sarcastically. Just as I finished the sentence, I heard the horn blaring and glanced out the window to see a middle-aged woman in a motorized wheelchair darting for her life and out of Sandy’s way. “Dat bitch should use the sidewalk! The road is for cars and I don’t give a hoot who you are!”
As we barreled down the main street Sandy continued telling me stories about her years as a cab driver. “One time dis fat gross motherfucker offered me 50 bucks to touch my shoulder. And you know, I ain’t someone to turn down free money so I let him. But then he tried to grab my tit, so I stabbed him with a pen.”
As abruptly as she recounted stories of “cocksuckers” and “scumbags”, she switched to talking about her son, who was entering the 6th grade.
“He’s just soooo great, and a real ladies man. Gash did you know kids are startin’ to get naked with one another younger and younger these days!? Seems like all of Jake’s friends are knocked up!”
And with that, I thanked her, gave her a hefty tip for entertaining me, and made my way into a client meeting wearing a suit that now smelled of Sandy’s Newport Cigarettes.
Driver #3 – Madison, Wisconsin: When Carl pulled up in the pouring rain to take me to the airport, I thought he had just woken up from a nap. We pulled onto the highway and I caught a glimpse of him sniffing his shirt. “Oh ya, my cat definitely slept on top of this shirt last night. Maybe did a little more than slept” he said, as he looked in the rearview mirror at me and casually winked. I’m not exactly sure how the topic of Sandy came about, but it seems in a small town like Madison, most cab drivers know one another.
“Oh yeah, dat dere is Sandy. She’s a real pistol”. No kidding.
“You know, I gotta give it to her, she’s done real good since her days as a meth head and crack dealer. “
As we continued towards the airport, Carl told me that Sandy used to be heavily into crack and meth, but then sobered up for her kids and has been a cab driver ever since.
In a thick Midwest accent, Carl continued , “And you know, she has 2 kids and one of them is a reeeeal fuickin genius. I mean he’s the smartest person I ever met. Like some type of trilogy.” I knew Carl meant to say ‘Prodigy’, but I gave him a free pass.
It was when he started talking about the long-lived and often times loud sex life of his two cats that I began to tune out. The last thing I really remember before grabbing my bag and heading into the airport was Carl telling me, “You know, sometimes it’s hard to compete with those two cats. If my girlfriend and I are doin’ it at the same time as them, it sounds like we’re runnin' a Gad Damn brothel in Tijuana. Anywhoo, have a safe trip!”
When I got back to New York, I climbed into a cab half-expecting another wholesome conversation all the way back to my apartment. Instead I climbed in, locked eyes with Sanjay the cab driver, and gave him my address. With nothing more than four words, he replied “$65. Not including Tip.” And as we pulled away, he continued screaming into his Bluetooth in Hindi. I sank further into my seat, laid my head back, and thought It’s good to be back.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Where did my life go?
As I sat outside my fire escape on a brisk Manhattan night, smoking my 1 luxurious 5 dollar Parliament in my shorts and a tee-shirt, I took a glance around to take it all in. I hear the sounds of dress shoes making that "clack, clack, clack" sound they make when a person wearing them walks briskly down a concrete sidewalk. A man walks down the street below me in a suit, and I can't help but wonder what he's doing. You know, like what's his deal? Where does he work? Did he just come from happy hour with friends, or is he just on his way home, dead and destroyed, after working a 12 hour day? Is it possible that he, this total stranger, can be feeling exactly what I'm feeling at that exact moment? Does he know his own life?
I see so much of myself in this city. The struggles of surviving, the stress of work and life and money, and yet I'm still here. Making it. Or at least trying to, like everyone else. But it's not just the city that's a struggle. It's not unique to just New York.
Life as a whole is a struggle, and at times an ugly bitch of one. Like Renee Zellweger without make-up in HD. But as I sit on my flimsy fire escape, nervous that it could give way and I could plunge 3 stories to my death, I look out and see so many opportunities for myself. I smile because my world has changed. One year ago, I was working in DC at a job I was bored to death with and desperately trying to find a way out. And when I packed my things for NYC and arrived. I got out of the car, took a deep breath, and told myself, "I'm here. I made it". That was far the from truth. I could have stopped at "I'm here." Because what lay ahead of me was something I would never come to expect.
The last 6 months have been the hardest of my life, to say the least. Between apartment nightmares, financial hardships, an excruciatingly stressful and demanding job, I felt I was reaching a point where I would just collapse and spontaneously combust, like a fireball that leaves behind an insignificant pile of ashes for the trashman to shovel into a bag and forget about. And then a stray dog meandering the city sniffs it, lifts his leg and slowly urinates. In this city, you can feel significant and insignificant all at the same time. But I look to see how far I've come, and I realize how much stronger I am then I ever gave myself credit for.
I've come to realize that change, in any form, is one of the most difficult and exciting and terrifying things all at once. I made a change because I felt it was the right thing for me at the time. I took a huge risk with my career and my life that at times seemed hard to justify. At my first job in New York, I was sprinting to keep up with the pace and the amount of work I needed to learn and perform just to stay afloat. Long hours, stressful and demanding clients, and a plethora of other factors that came together to form one big ball of "What the fuck happened to my life? Where is it?" I had quite literally been blindsided.
During this time, I was miserable. It took months of hard work and determination just to get out of DC and get to this one point, and this one point sure felt like a big sack of warm shit. I went through some of the darkest moments trying to evaluate my life and everything that was going on. Did I make the right choice coming here? Did my job fulfill me? A huge part of it was a dire unhappiness with the stressful environment at work. But was this really the only thing causing me anguish? Well let's examine the evidence:
1.)I'm quite literally the only person that can come to NYC, piss away my savings, attempt to walk everywhere as a substitute for a gym, and gain 15 lbs. I feel like Christina Aguilera stuffed into a burlesque costume and waddling around in my now too-tight-for-comfort jeans. Well it must be my demanding job that doesn't give me the time or energy to go to the gym. That's what I tell myself.
2.) I'm single. What the fuck? What ever happened to movies like Serendipity and every other movie ever shot in NYC that tells some fairy tale of two strangers meeting in a coffee shop or underground rave, falling in love over a $15 Latte, and walking hand-in-hand down 5th ave into the sunset? Shouldn't I have found the love of my life whilst almost getting run over by a cab and being saved at the last second? I'm furious. But I tell myself it's because I just work too much and don't have time to date.
So I was getting fat, not going on dates, basically putting everything on hold and using my long work hours and stressful life as an excuse. But then it dawned on me 1 day, as I sat in a bar at the shitty Port Authority Bus Terminal drinking beer and reviewing pics of my old trips with my coworker Colleen. She was horrified at the transformation from who I was in those pictures to the person that was sitting directly across from her, binge drinking a lukewarm Miller Lite. A picture of me half naked swimming in the crystal clear blue waters of the Aegean Sea in Greece. Was I happy here? Maybe for the moment. But I sure as hell was thin. And that made me happy. But was I truly happy as a whole? I was on a two week vacation from the IMF, where I was unhappy, so probably not. What happened to my life? Slowly through the "professional years" of my life, I lost control of it, and I needed to get it back. Where did it go? Who stole it?
To get my life back, I had to re-evaluate some things. First, I had to take a look at the things that are causing me immediate unhappiness - Work. Second, take a look at how I got into that situation to begin with - I settled for a job that was not the right fit only because I so desperately wanted to escape DC and come to NYC. Third, what do I do now? How do I fix this?
It just so happens that in order to get your life back, or at least regain some sense of control and a sense of self, you have to take action. That's what I've concluded. I'm a firm believer that if you don't like something, try to change it. And if you can't change it, find ways to direct yourself away from it. You can take measures to change the shitty situation you're in, or you can choose to remove yourself from it. Those are your two options. If work is unbearable, find out why. If the reasons behind it can be fixed, then fix them. If not, then it's best to remove yourself from the situation completely and wave a titty to your boss on your way out the door. It's JUST.NOT.WORTH.IT. Expand your horizons and open your eyes to what lies beyond your office walls. The moment I saw clearly how I could do this was the moment I started getting closer to finding my life again.
I worked hard to get here, worked even harder when I arrived, and worked hardest in order to leave. Not to leave NYC, but to leave my less-than-desirable state of grim that I've fallen into. I've sulked. I've complained. I've cried. I grew numb. I lost faith in myself. I grew afraid of my future and what it would look like. If I kept going like this, you would have found me in the corner of my apartment rocking back and forth and staring at the wall while repeating the words "This is not my life" to myself.
Admittedly so, it can sometimes be fun to feel like shit. Sometimes you just want to play the victim and wrap yourself in this cozy blanket of misery because it gives you an excuse to point all those fingers away from you. Because looking at yourself and your decisions would be too unbearable if you had to find out the truth. And as long as that blanket is wrapped around you, you feel a false sense of comfort and familiarity. A comfort that you think you'll miss if you had to let it go. This is how I lost my true happiness and my life to begin with.
I had always thought that hard work pays off, eventually carving a path towards some uncertain future and, within that uncertain future, a feeling of happiness lays amidst the fog in the distance. Well it's not only hard work that carves this path, but it's also your own ambition to want more for yourself. I know that I will always want the best for me, which means I will strive to go to the next level, and maybe even skip a few along the way. I'm no longer an entry-level 22 year-old college grad, so I won't take jobs that pay me entry level with the promise of some great opportunity for growth that may or may not exist. That was mistake #1 I made in NYC. I'm not a robot at a desk all day, because I'm a person that becomes stifled by the lack of creativity while I'm forced into processes and spreadsheets and repetitive motions day after day. And that, that right there, is how I started to lose sight of my life in the first place.
At the IMF, I felt suffocated by the environment and the city and the auto-pilot route my life had taken. I was unchallenged, coasting through life like a little flower girl at a wedding, walking down the aisle all la la la and throwing rose petals on the floor while people complimented me for doing such an outstanding job. And yet what was so outstanding about it? A drunk midget could do the same, which was exactly how I felt about my job. I was going through my life and my career not knowing that soon enough I could blink and ten years would have gone by. And then, all of a sudden, I realized I had gotten too comfortable. So comfortable that the thought of leaving scared me. And because it scared me, I left. I felt myself losing my life, becoming one of those people that works for the same company and after 25 years turns around with a blank stare, offers you a tired smile and says, "I have 432 days left until I retire. Want to grab a cup of coffee before this meeting?"
And when I left, I took the first opportunity I could find just so that I could reunite with my beloved New York. What is it about this place? It's disgusting and smells of sewage but my masochistic side loves it.
My hopes and dreams of a new life were literally pulled from under me within my first six months. I was blindsided by the work, the environment, and the demands of my job. For 6 months a fog overtook me and I was blinded. I had no idea what was happening. I couldn't see. Not one bit. But I knew I was still in New York. I could smell it and hear it, but I couldn't see what was there. Everyday for 6 months, I walked home like a zombie. And then one day after numerous nervous breakdowns, I sat in that bus terminal with Colleen and looked at pictures of myself from only 2 years ago. I was happy there in that moment. I want that happiness back. But I don't want it for only 2 weeks while I'm on vacation drinking margaritas naked in a pool somewhere. I want it always. And it's fair to ask to have it always, because we are human beings and we are living one life of ours that collides with millions of lives of others. And in there, amidst the chaos, lies happiness. Maybe the ambition I feel to want more for myself is what makes me happy. And maybe what they say is right, that enjoying the journey is mostly what it's about.
And now, through all of this, that blinding fog has lifted. As I sat outside on my fire escape, I had a greater sense of clarity for where I wanted to be in my life and what I wanted for myself. I'm no longer settling for a job where I'm unchallenged or constantly stressed or overwhelmed or taken advantage of. I want to give myself the choice of not settling. I have standards for the places I'm willing to live, the people I'm willing to date, and even the toilet I'm willing to shit in. So I had to set some standards for where I work.
Don't settle for being in a place that is slowly taking your life, because once you realize it and a long time has gone by, it's hard to find it again. Some of the greatest successes that ever come are as a result of removing yourself from your comfort zone. Without risk and excitement and some nerves along the way, then the journey isn't worth it. Take risks, be uncomfortable, know yourself, know your value, know the right questions to ask, know that somewhere within you lies ambition and worth. And no job, or even relationship, is ever worth the fog that blinds you to what's been there all along.
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'
I see so much of myself in this city. The struggles of surviving, the stress of work and life and money, and yet I'm still here. Making it. Or at least trying to, like everyone else. But it's not just the city that's a struggle. It's not unique to just New York.
Life as a whole is a struggle, and at times an ugly bitch of one. Like Renee Zellweger without make-up in HD. But as I sit on my flimsy fire escape, nervous that it could give way and I could plunge 3 stories to my death, I look out and see so many opportunities for myself. I smile because my world has changed. One year ago, I was working in DC at a job I was bored to death with and desperately trying to find a way out. And when I packed my things for NYC and arrived. I got out of the car, took a deep breath, and told myself, "I'm here. I made it". That was far the from truth. I could have stopped at "I'm here." Because what lay ahead of me was something I would never come to expect.
The last 6 months have been the hardest of my life, to say the least. Between apartment nightmares, financial hardships, an excruciatingly stressful and demanding job, I felt I was reaching a point where I would just collapse and spontaneously combust, like a fireball that leaves behind an insignificant pile of ashes for the trashman to shovel into a bag and forget about. And then a stray dog meandering the city sniffs it, lifts his leg and slowly urinates. In this city, you can feel significant and insignificant all at the same time. But I look to see how far I've come, and I realize how much stronger I am then I ever gave myself credit for.
I've come to realize that change, in any form, is one of the most difficult and exciting and terrifying things all at once. I made a change because I felt it was the right thing for me at the time. I took a huge risk with my career and my life that at times seemed hard to justify. At my first job in New York, I was sprinting to keep up with the pace and the amount of work I needed to learn and perform just to stay afloat. Long hours, stressful and demanding clients, and a plethora of other factors that came together to form one big ball of "What the fuck happened to my life? Where is it?" I had quite literally been blindsided.
During this time, I was miserable. It took months of hard work and determination just to get out of DC and get to this one point, and this one point sure felt like a big sack of warm shit. I went through some of the darkest moments trying to evaluate my life and everything that was going on. Did I make the right choice coming here? Did my job fulfill me? A huge part of it was a dire unhappiness with the stressful environment at work. But was this really the only thing causing me anguish? Well let's examine the evidence:
1.)I'm quite literally the only person that can come to NYC, piss away my savings, attempt to walk everywhere as a substitute for a gym, and gain 15 lbs. I feel like Christina Aguilera stuffed into a burlesque costume and waddling around in my now too-tight-for-comfort jeans. Well it must be my demanding job that doesn't give me the time or energy to go to the gym. That's what I tell myself.
2.) I'm single. What the fuck? What ever happened to movies like Serendipity and every other movie ever shot in NYC that tells some fairy tale of two strangers meeting in a coffee shop or underground rave, falling in love over a $15 Latte, and walking hand-in-hand down 5th ave into the sunset? Shouldn't I have found the love of my life whilst almost getting run over by a cab and being saved at the last second? I'm furious. But I tell myself it's because I just work too much and don't have time to date.
So I was getting fat, not going on dates, basically putting everything on hold and using my long work hours and stressful life as an excuse. But then it dawned on me 1 day, as I sat in a bar at the shitty Port Authority Bus Terminal drinking beer and reviewing pics of my old trips with my coworker Colleen. She was horrified at the transformation from who I was in those pictures to the person that was sitting directly across from her, binge drinking a lukewarm Miller Lite. A picture of me half naked swimming in the crystal clear blue waters of the Aegean Sea in Greece. Was I happy here? Maybe for the moment. But I sure as hell was thin. And that made me happy. But was I truly happy as a whole? I was on a two week vacation from the IMF, where I was unhappy, so probably not. What happened to my life? Slowly through the "professional years" of my life, I lost control of it, and I needed to get it back. Where did it go? Who stole it?
To get my life back, I had to re-evaluate some things. First, I had to take a look at the things that are causing me immediate unhappiness - Work. Second, take a look at how I got into that situation to begin with - I settled for a job that was not the right fit only because I so desperately wanted to escape DC and come to NYC. Third, what do I do now? How do I fix this?
It just so happens that in order to get your life back, or at least regain some sense of control and a sense of self, you have to take action. That's what I've concluded. I'm a firm believer that if you don't like something, try to change it. And if you can't change it, find ways to direct yourself away from it. You can take measures to change the shitty situation you're in, or you can choose to remove yourself from it. Those are your two options. If work is unbearable, find out why. If the reasons behind it can be fixed, then fix them. If not, then it's best to remove yourself from the situation completely and wave a titty to your boss on your way out the door. It's JUST.NOT.WORTH.IT. Expand your horizons and open your eyes to what lies beyond your office walls. The moment I saw clearly how I could do this was the moment I started getting closer to finding my life again.
I worked hard to get here, worked even harder when I arrived, and worked hardest in order to leave. Not to leave NYC, but to leave my less-than-desirable state of grim that I've fallen into. I've sulked. I've complained. I've cried. I grew numb. I lost faith in myself. I grew afraid of my future and what it would look like. If I kept going like this, you would have found me in the corner of my apartment rocking back and forth and staring at the wall while repeating the words "This is not my life" to myself.
Admittedly so, it can sometimes be fun to feel like shit. Sometimes you just want to play the victim and wrap yourself in this cozy blanket of misery because it gives you an excuse to point all those fingers away from you. Because looking at yourself and your decisions would be too unbearable if you had to find out the truth. And as long as that blanket is wrapped around you, you feel a false sense of comfort and familiarity. A comfort that you think you'll miss if you had to let it go. This is how I lost my true happiness and my life to begin with.
I had always thought that hard work pays off, eventually carving a path towards some uncertain future and, within that uncertain future, a feeling of happiness lays amidst the fog in the distance. Well it's not only hard work that carves this path, but it's also your own ambition to want more for yourself. I know that I will always want the best for me, which means I will strive to go to the next level, and maybe even skip a few along the way. I'm no longer an entry-level 22 year-old college grad, so I won't take jobs that pay me entry level with the promise of some great opportunity for growth that may or may not exist. That was mistake #1 I made in NYC. I'm not a robot at a desk all day, because I'm a person that becomes stifled by the lack of creativity while I'm forced into processes and spreadsheets and repetitive motions day after day. And that, that right there, is how I started to lose sight of my life in the first place.
At the IMF, I felt suffocated by the environment and the city and the auto-pilot route my life had taken. I was unchallenged, coasting through life like a little flower girl at a wedding, walking down the aisle all la la la and throwing rose petals on the floor while people complimented me for doing such an outstanding job. And yet what was so outstanding about it? A drunk midget could do the same, which was exactly how I felt about my job. I was going through my life and my career not knowing that soon enough I could blink and ten years would have gone by. And then, all of a sudden, I realized I had gotten too comfortable. So comfortable that the thought of leaving scared me. And because it scared me, I left. I felt myself losing my life, becoming one of those people that works for the same company and after 25 years turns around with a blank stare, offers you a tired smile and says, "I have 432 days left until I retire. Want to grab a cup of coffee before this meeting?"
And when I left, I took the first opportunity I could find just so that I could reunite with my beloved New York. What is it about this place? It's disgusting and smells of sewage but my masochistic side loves it.
My hopes and dreams of a new life were literally pulled from under me within my first six months. I was blindsided by the work, the environment, and the demands of my job. For 6 months a fog overtook me and I was blinded. I had no idea what was happening. I couldn't see. Not one bit. But I knew I was still in New York. I could smell it and hear it, but I couldn't see what was there. Everyday for 6 months, I walked home like a zombie. And then one day after numerous nervous breakdowns, I sat in that bus terminal with Colleen and looked at pictures of myself from only 2 years ago. I was happy there in that moment. I want that happiness back. But I don't want it for only 2 weeks while I'm on vacation drinking margaritas naked in a pool somewhere. I want it always. And it's fair to ask to have it always, because we are human beings and we are living one life of ours that collides with millions of lives of others. And in there, amidst the chaos, lies happiness. Maybe the ambition I feel to want more for myself is what makes me happy. And maybe what they say is right, that enjoying the journey is mostly what it's about.
And now, through all of this, that blinding fog has lifted. As I sat outside on my fire escape, I had a greater sense of clarity for where I wanted to be in my life and what I wanted for myself. I'm no longer settling for a job where I'm unchallenged or constantly stressed or overwhelmed or taken advantage of. I want to give myself the choice of not settling. I have standards for the places I'm willing to live, the people I'm willing to date, and even the toilet I'm willing to shit in. So I had to set some standards for where I work.
Don't settle for being in a place that is slowly taking your life, because once you realize it and a long time has gone by, it's hard to find it again. Some of the greatest successes that ever come are as a result of removing yourself from your comfort zone. Without risk and excitement and some nerves along the way, then the journey isn't worth it. Take risks, be uncomfortable, know yourself, know your value, know the right questions to ask, know that somewhere within you lies ambition and worth. And no job, or even relationship, is ever worth the fog that blinds you to what's been there all along.
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'
Saturday, February 4, 2012
7 Luxury Items That Will Make You Want To Marry Rich
When living in a city as expensive as New York, you begin to realize a few things: 1.)Wages CERTAINLY do not equal cost of living 2.) You're constantly and, more so frantically, looking for alternative ways to make money (i.e. A food/prostitution cart. You get a 'handy' and a hot dog for one low price!). 3.)You think babysitting on the weekends is a good idea. Therefore, you create a profile on Care.com. Except you forgot one thing - you're a man in your mid-20's whose profile on a childcare site now reads, "I love children, and I'm so eager to meet and bond with yours!" Top it off with a picture of you bouncing your cousin on your knee during her 4th birthday to go that extra Care.com mile 4.) Realize you're now probably a registered sex offender.
None of these things ever really pan out and I end up just leaving the office completely exhausted yet still worried about how I will pay my rent and afford a new puppy. But while most people consider luxury items to be swanky things like a Mercedes, extravagant cruises or fake teeth made of gold, I've found that in my life the luxury items are much more "in your face" and more difficult to avoid, which leaves me constantly yearning for a list of my luxury items that I feel I deserve but cannot afford. What can I say? I just reek of pure class and high society. The following are 7 things I now consider luxury goods:
1.) Cheese. This is worth mentioning twice. Cheese is delicious and I enjoy consuming it quite often. However, the other day I was walking through the grocery store's refrigerated aisle and came across a delicatessen of fresh cheeses. As I grabbed to reach a pack of Munster, I realized that 8 slices would cost me $7.99. That, I find, is absurd. But it's New York, and apparently cheese is flown in from some magical land and tunneled through the underground passageways of the city by magical gnomes that deliver these packets of cheese fresh everyday. This, in turn, hikes up the price. Moral of the story: I can no longer afford cheese. Solution: Befriend a woman with supple breasts so I can churn my own. YUM.
2.) Doritos. I have always loved Doritos with an intense passion that one would love Oprah or a a crush that consistently ignores you. However,the stingy Chinese man at the Deli on 54th and 9th thinks it's OK to sell a bag of Doritos for 4.99 - and that's not even the family size! I try to scoff and passive-aggressively hint that his prices are outrageously high, but he just whistles and says, "ISA MANAAAAAHATTAN!" He also has a $10 minimum for credit cards, which means my Doritos actually end up costing me $10. Mr. Dim Sum tricks me into buying packets of gum and scratch-offs to meet the minimum. Gum + Scratch-off + Doritos = $10. Rude.
3. Jeans. Back in my youth, I used to spend at least 100 bucks on jeans. The other day I realized that every single pair of my jeans started getting those pesky holes in the crotch from when you wear them too often and your legs rub together (my legs have never NOT rubbed together, which I find unfair but whatever). Needless to say, I desperately needed a new pair. So I journeyed to The Gap, shopped alongside a family from Arkansas, and bought a fresh new pair for $23. How refreshingly middle class!
4. Alcohol. I'm not one to really compromise on alcohol, but when I'm paying $12 for a vodka soda poured from a plastic bottle it tends to annoy me. Especially if I'm at a bar in the Lower East Side with a name like "The Drunken Slut", "The Skinny Fat Man", "My Little Pony", or any other so-called "grunge bar" with an obnoxious name. Last weekend I went to a bar called "Fat Baby" where a man that looked exactly like Jesus poured me some vodka into a tiny glass and charged me $13. What the fuck? So my solution is to simply black out before I leave my apartment. If I can't achieve that in time, I pack a fashionable flask full of my favorite liquors. Suck a dick Fat Baby.
5. A Puppy. I'm always walking around the city seeing people with well-groomed dogs. Not only that, but most of these dogs are wearing coats and sweaters that are more expensive than anything I own. The worst are the gays. They can't have 1 dog, they just HAVE to have 2 dogs because they're just that much trendier and cooler than everyone else. Why have 1 Pomeranian when you can have 2 or 3? Fuck it, give me the entire litter so I can walk up and down 5th Ave with my family of perfectly groomed dogs that say, "Fuck off homeless lady. My 2 oz turd is worth more than your 2 shopping carts full of used hairbrushes and half-eaten hot dogs." Luckily my roommate Dan curls up on the couch and eats off the floor, so I can hold off on the puppy for now.
6. Cable. It costs me $144 a month, but sometimes I just need to Keep up with the Kardashians.
7. Organic Dry Cleaning. A few months ago I decided I would get my sheets dry cleaned because I just felt extra bashful that weekend and decided to splurge. Well, I mistakenly took them to an "Organic Dry Cleaners" and ended up paying $77 for a Korean man to throw them in the washer, spray some Febreeze on them, hump them twice, and fold the fitted sheet into a triangle. When I asked what exactly made this dry cleaning "organic", he just nodded yes and gave me a coupon to a Kim-Chi restaurant that I believe is owned by his nephew. Honestly, I should just pee into a glass and sell it as organic lemonade. But seeing as how it probably consists of 10% alcohol, I'll sell it as home-brewed organic Pale Ale.
None of these things ever really pan out and I end up just leaving the office completely exhausted yet still worried about how I will pay my rent and afford a new puppy. But while most people consider luxury items to be swanky things like a Mercedes, extravagant cruises or fake teeth made of gold, I've found that in my life the luxury items are much more "in your face" and more difficult to avoid, which leaves me constantly yearning for a list of my luxury items that I feel I deserve but cannot afford. What can I say? I just reek of pure class and high society. The following are 7 things I now consider luxury goods:
1.) Cheese. This is worth mentioning twice. Cheese is delicious and I enjoy consuming it quite often. However, the other day I was walking through the grocery store's refrigerated aisle and came across a delicatessen of fresh cheeses. As I grabbed to reach a pack of Munster, I realized that 8 slices would cost me $7.99. That, I find, is absurd. But it's New York, and apparently cheese is flown in from some magical land and tunneled through the underground passageways of the city by magical gnomes that deliver these packets of cheese fresh everyday. This, in turn, hikes up the price. Moral of the story: I can no longer afford cheese. Solution: Befriend a woman with supple breasts so I can churn my own. YUM.
2.) Doritos. I have always loved Doritos with an intense passion that one would love Oprah or a a crush that consistently ignores you. However,the stingy Chinese man at the Deli on 54th and 9th thinks it's OK to sell a bag of Doritos for 4.99 - and that's not even the family size! I try to scoff and passive-aggressively hint that his prices are outrageously high, but he just whistles and says, "ISA MANAAAAAHATTAN!" He also has a $10 minimum for credit cards, which means my Doritos actually end up costing me $10. Mr. Dim Sum tricks me into buying packets of gum and scratch-offs to meet the minimum. Gum + Scratch-off + Doritos = $10. Rude.
3. Jeans. Back in my youth, I used to spend at least 100 bucks on jeans. The other day I realized that every single pair of my jeans started getting those pesky holes in the crotch from when you wear them too often and your legs rub together (my legs have never NOT rubbed together, which I find unfair but whatever). Needless to say, I desperately needed a new pair. So I journeyed to The Gap, shopped alongside a family from Arkansas, and bought a fresh new pair for $23. How refreshingly middle class!
4. Alcohol. I'm not one to really compromise on alcohol, but when I'm paying $12 for a vodka soda poured from a plastic bottle it tends to annoy me. Especially if I'm at a bar in the Lower East Side with a name like "The Drunken Slut", "The Skinny Fat Man", "My Little Pony", or any other so-called "grunge bar" with an obnoxious name. Last weekend I went to a bar called "Fat Baby" where a man that looked exactly like Jesus poured me some vodka into a tiny glass and charged me $13. What the fuck? So my solution is to simply black out before I leave my apartment. If I can't achieve that in time, I pack a fashionable flask full of my favorite liquors. Suck a dick Fat Baby.
5. A Puppy. I'm always walking around the city seeing people with well-groomed dogs. Not only that, but most of these dogs are wearing coats and sweaters that are more expensive than anything I own. The worst are the gays. They can't have 1 dog, they just HAVE to have 2 dogs because they're just that much trendier and cooler than everyone else. Why have 1 Pomeranian when you can have 2 or 3? Fuck it, give me the entire litter so I can walk up and down 5th Ave with my family of perfectly groomed dogs that say, "Fuck off homeless lady. My 2 oz turd is worth more than your 2 shopping carts full of used hairbrushes and half-eaten hot dogs." Luckily my roommate Dan curls up on the couch and eats off the floor, so I can hold off on the puppy for now.
6. Cable. It costs me $144 a month, but sometimes I just need to Keep up with the Kardashians.
7. Organic Dry Cleaning. A few months ago I decided I would get my sheets dry cleaned because I just felt extra bashful that weekend and decided to splurge. Well, I mistakenly took them to an "Organic Dry Cleaners" and ended up paying $77 for a Korean man to throw them in the washer, spray some Febreeze on them, hump them twice, and fold the fitted sheet into a triangle. When I asked what exactly made this dry cleaning "organic", he just nodded yes and gave me a coupon to a Kim-Chi restaurant that I believe is owned by his nephew. Honestly, I should just pee into a glass and sell it as organic lemonade. But seeing as how it probably consists of 10% alcohol, I'll sell it as home-brewed organic Pale Ale.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Not a Sermon, Just a Thought
Have you ever found yourself at those crossroads in life where you second guess every decision you've made that has gotten you to where you are? Those moments where you kind of snap into a sudden burst of realization and you think to yourself, Holy shit, what have I done?! Where you wonder if everything you did that lead up to this very moment was the right thing, and if the results were worth it. I've been having quite a few of these lately.
A year ago, I was sitting at my desk in DC, doing a job I had no passion for and feeling like I was just going through the motions, like a robot with its batteries going on red. I remember thinking to myself When is this going to change? and feeling like if it didn't soon, I would just implode. My life was not where I had wanted it to be, and my soul yearned for something more. Something Better. I knew that it was up to me to change things and that I had two choices: I could sit and complain and accept the fact that I was unhappy and frustrated, living a life of quiet desperation that would never truly be my own. OR, I could do something about it. After all, this is my life and I'm in control of it.
For some reason, I had always had this false sense of hope that something amazing would present itself, as though a gift wrapped from the heavens would fall into my lap and I would open it, look inside, and find the perfect job, the perfect relationship, the perfect bank account, the perfect body, the perfect house, the perfect life, the perfect everything that could so nicely and adequately fit in this box. And then I would take my perfect smile, look up to the sky, whisper "Thank you", and live my life happily ever after. How moronic. I don't know why it took me so long to realize it, but that moment is not coming. Maybe it was the way I grew up, going to the best schools where you and your peers are constantly told, "You're special. You guys are going to be someone, and be the best of the best." And then in college, where it seemed like life, if only for a split moment, could actually be as easy as the notion that You take this many credits, you do well in them, you pass and you move to the next stage. And then after all this, you reach the last stage, where you graduate and then find a great job and live happily ever after. When was anyone going to stop and tell me, "Um hey, excuse me sir, guess what! All those things you were taught to believe and think to be true? Yeah, they were mostly lies. Sorry."
It took me until I turned 22 and had my first pretty much terrible office job experience for me to realize that it was all a lie. Or at least that it wasn't what I was taught to expect. And then various mid-life crises later, I continued to realize it - the lies that people told me. If things were that easy, we would all be living the perfect lives. Nothing is perfect, and that's ok. But I've come to realize that much of life is about compromise. There's moments where you'll find yourself more frustrated and unhappy than others and you'll think only about all the imperfections that are consuming you, which allows you to quickly lose sight of the amazing things that surround you. Not everything is always bad all at once - you just think they are.
Since I was a little boy, I would come to New York with my parents and be in complete awe from the magic that I felt existed here. I would see it on TV, come visit friends, and tell myself over and over One day my life will be here. So I took charge of my unsatisfying life and did everything I could to get here. I saved money, I worked at a job I disliked and stuck with it to keep me ahead of the curve. I networked and fought and clawed my way through the barrier of that NYC skyline and I made it. I remember while going through the process thinking to myself It's hard now, but the ending will be so perfectly worth it. Perfect, right?
Well, since I've arrived here I think it's safe to say things have been a little less than perfect. Transitions are always difficult and no matter how you prepare for them, you WILL receive your fare share of surprises, and some of them may seem insurmountable. I dealt with a less than desirable apartment hunting experience (that you can read about below)but I fought through it and all fared well in the end. Everyday in NYC is a financial struggle in the beginning, and don't be fooled by anyone who tells you that it's not. It most definitely is, but it's something you prepare for and make changes to accomodate for it. You compromise between the things you want and the things you need and make decisions based on what you can afford. For instance, I've come to realize I can't afford cheese in Manhattan super markets, as it costs about $8.00 for a pack of 6 slices. I love cheese, but this is my compromise. Until I get a raise or become rich and famous, I won't be able to afford cheese. That's life. That's compromise. And actually because I happen to love cheese so much, it's actually a sacrifice as well. And to get what you really want in life, you have to make those compromises and sacrifices to get to the glory that lies ahead. Somewhere up ahead, it's better. It just has to be.
My first few months at work in New York City have been very hard as well. Adjustments are a challenge, and so is learning an industry from the bottom up, working 10-12 hour days, and doing a job that in most other places would require 2-3 people to do but here, it's only you. None of this is easy. I can't begin to describe how hard this transition has been and how close to defeat I've gotten - and it's only been 4 months! But everyday I tell myself This is what I wanted; it was my "dream" to live here and make a spectacular life for myself. Not yet DAMNIT!. Deep inside I know this is where I belong, and I'm certaintly not going down without a fight.
And as I've been having these really awful, long, frustrating days at work where all I want to do is just run outside the building with my hair in my arms, screaming at the top of my lungs, and just give a big "fuck you" to all the roadblocks that keep getting in my way, I've found myself again in a situation where something needs to change. No one is coming to rescue me. It's up to me to survive and become the person I envisioned for myself here. I'm in the city I want to be, and that alone required me to pull strength and perseverence from out of my ass and make it happen. And that was me, I did all of that. I fought to change what I was unhappy with and did it, which means I can certaintly do it again. I can't allow my unhappiness and frustrations to take over my life like they used to. I have found myself thinking Holy shit what have I done? Did I make a mistake coming here and losing all of my savings, giving up a high paying job in DC just to be more unhappy at work than I was before? I know one thing: I do not and will never regret what I did. I just need to learn how to make things work for me and at some level believe that they eventually will.
So just because things have been hard and it's easy to feel defeated and sad, I have to realize that there's things within my control that I can change. And this is something that so many people won't often realize, but happiness is a choice just as much as misery is a choice. We choose to be miserable if we continue to stay in a situation that makes us miserable without doing something about it. If you're miserable at work, find out why. If there's a reason behind it that can be fixed and addressed, then take control and fix it. If not, then take control and find something else. But never lose control of your own life, even when it feels like you're constantly slipping on ice and grasping for something to hold on to. Take control of these things because I can assure you that there is no magical fairy flying around on the cusp of delivering you a perfect solution or a beautiful escape. And if you're happy, enjoy the fuck out of each and every second of it because THAT is what life really is about.
By focusing on all the things that were stressing me out and going wrong, I lost sight of all the amazing things I have in my new life here. My friends, my coworkers, my apartment, my awesome roommate (who also doubles as a pet cat because he does nothing but sleep and poop), my karaoke skills that are a new hit in the West Village bars, all of these things are what make my life here pretty fucking great. So I have to make positive changes in terms of career and work because I'll be damned if they will take me away from everything I have here and everything I did to get here. Finding what you love to do and loving where you live are two exceptional foundations to happiness and self acclamation.
The other day, after an incredibly long and stressful day at work, I was walking home with my co-worker, Iris (who moved here from CA ), having one of those moments where we think What the fuck? Is this our life? Is this really what we wanted? And then, at that very moment, we both look up and spot a pair of 65-foot tall tits on an H&M billboard and smile at one another. "Of course we want to be here," she says. "Where else can we be walking home from work and look up to see a pair of 65 foot tits staring right down at us, as though taunting and laughing at the silly moment in time where we doubted ourselves." And that's how I knew that, often times, magic can come in the set of two very gigantic 65 foot breasts under an H&M ad. And I want to be where the magic still exists.
"No it won't all go the way it should, but I know the heart of life is good."
A year ago, I was sitting at my desk in DC, doing a job I had no passion for and feeling like I was just going through the motions, like a robot with its batteries going on red. I remember thinking to myself When is this going to change? and feeling like if it didn't soon, I would just implode. My life was not where I had wanted it to be, and my soul yearned for something more. Something Better. I knew that it was up to me to change things and that I had two choices: I could sit and complain and accept the fact that I was unhappy and frustrated, living a life of quiet desperation that would never truly be my own. OR, I could do something about it. After all, this is my life and I'm in control of it.
For some reason, I had always had this false sense of hope that something amazing would present itself, as though a gift wrapped from the heavens would fall into my lap and I would open it, look inside, and find the perfect job, the perfect relationship, the perfect bank account, the perfect body, the perfect house, the perfect life, the perfect everything that could so nicely and adequately fit in this box. And then I would take my perfect smile, look up to the sky, whisper "Thank you", and live my life happily ever after. How moronic. I don't know why it took me so long to realize it, but that moment is not coming. Maybe it was the way I grew up, going to the best schools where you and your peers are constantly told, "You're special. You guys are going to be someone, and be the best of the best." And then in college, where it seemed like life, if only for a split moment, could actually be as easy as the notion that You take this many credits, you do well in them, you pass and you move to the next stage. And then after all this, you reach the last stage, where you graduate and then find a great job and live happily ever after. When was anyone going to stop and tell me, "Um hey, excuse me sir, guess what! All those things you were taught to believe and think to be true? Yeah, they were mostly lies. Sorry."
It took me until I turned 22 and had my first pretty much terrible office job experience for me to realize that it was all a lie. Or at least that it wasn't what I was taught to expect. And then various mid-life crises later, I continued to realize it - the lies that people told me. If things were that easy, we would all be living the perfect lives. Nothing is perfect, and that's ok. But I've come to realize that much of life is about compromise. There's moments where you'll find yourself more frustrated and unhappy than others and you'll think only about all the imperfections that are consuming you, which allows you to quickly lose sight of the amazing things that surround you. Not everything is always bad all at once - you just think they are.
Since I was a little boy, I would come to New York with my parents and be in complete awe from the magic that I felt existed here. I would see it on TV, come visit friends, and tell myself over and over One day my life will be here. So I took charge of my unsatisfying life and did everything I could to get here. I saved money, I worked at a job I disliked and stuck with it to keep me ahead of the curve. I networked and fought and clawed my way through the barrier of that NYC skyline and I made it. I remember while going through the process thinking to myself It's hard now, but the ending will be so perfectly worth it. Perfect, right?
Well, since I've arrived here I think it's safe to say things have been a little less than perfect. Transitions are always difficult and no matter how you prepare for them, you WILL receive your fare share of surprises, and some of them may seem insurmountable. I dealt with a less than desirable apartment hunting experience (that you can read about below)but I fought through it and all fared well in the end. Everyday in NYC is a financial struggle in the beginning, and don't be fooled by anyone who tells you that it's not. It most definitely is, but it's something you prepare for and make changes to accomodate for it. You compromise between the things you want and the things you need and make decisions based on what you can afford. For instance, I've come to realize I can't afford cheese in Manhattan super markets, as it costs about $8.00 for a pack of 6 slices. I love cheese, but this is my compromise. Until I get a raise or become rich and famous, I won't be able to afford cheese. That's life. That's compromise. And actually because I happen to love cheese so much, it's actually a sacrifice as well. And to get what you really want in life, you have to make those compromises and sacrifices to get to the glory that lies ahead. Somewhere up ahead, it's better. It just has to be.
My first few months at work in New York City have been very hard as well. Adjustments are a challenge, and so is learning an industry from the bottom up, working 10-12 hour days, and doing a job that in most other places would require 2-3 people to do but here, it's only you. None of this is easy. I can't begin to describe how hard this transition has been and how close to defeat I've gotten - and it's only been 4 months! But everyday I tell myself This is what I wanted; it was my "dream" to live here and make a spectacular life for myself. Not yet DAMNIT!. Deep inside I know this is where I belong, and I'm certaintly not going down without a fight.
And as I've been having these really awful, long, frustrating days at work where all I want to do is just run outside the building with my hair in my arms, screaming at the top of my lungs, and just give a big "fuck you" to all the roadblocks that keep getting in my way, I've found myself again in a situation where something needs to change. No one is coming to rescue me. It's up to me to survive and become the person I envisioned for myself here. I'm in the city I want to be, and that alone required me to pull strength and perseverence from out of my ass and make it happen. And that was me, I did all of that. I fought to change what I was unhappy with and did it, which means I can certaintly do it again. I can't allow my unhappiness and frustrations to take over my life like they used to. I have found myself thinking Holy shit what have I done? Did I make a mistake coming here and losing all of my savings, giving up a high paying job in DC just to be more unhappy at work than I was before? I know one thing: I do not and will never regret what I did. I just need to learn how to make things work for me and at some level believe that they eventually will.
So just because things have been hard and it's easy to feel defeated and sad, I have to realize that there's things within my control that I can change. And this is something that so many people won't often realize, but happiness is a choice just as much as misery is a choice. We choose to be miserable if we continue to stay in a situation that makes us miserable without doing something about it. If you're miserable at work, find out why. If there's a reason behind it that can be fixed and addressed, then take control and fix it. If not, then take control and find something else. But never lose control of your own life, even when it feels like you're constantly slipping on ice and grasping for something to hold on to. Take control of these things because I can assure you that there is no magical fairy flying around on the cusp of delivering you a perfect solution or a beautiful escape. And if you're happy, enjoy the fuck out of each and every second of it because THAT is what life really is about.
By focusing on all the things that were stressing me out and going wrong, I lost sight of all the amazing things I have in my new life here. My friends, my coworkers, my apartment, my awesome roommate (who also doubles as a pet cat because he does nothing but sleep and poop), my karaoke skills that are a new hit in the West Village bars, all of these things are what make my life here pretty fucking great. So I have to make positive changes in terms of career and work because I'll be damned if they will take me away from everything I have here and everything I did to get here. Finding what you love to do and loving where you live are two exceptional foundations to happiness and self acclamation.
The other day, after an incredibly long and stressful day at work, I was walking home with my co-worker, Iris (who moved here from CA ), having one of those moments where we think What the fuck? Is this our life? Is this really what we wanted? And then, at that very moment, we both look up and spot a pair of 65-foot tall tits on an H&M billboard and smile at one another. "Of course we want to be here," she says. "Where else can we be walking home from work and look up to see a pair of 65 foot tits staring right down at us, as though taunting and laughing at the silly moment in time where we doubted ourselves." And that's how I knew that, often times, magic can come in the set of two very gigantic 65 foot breasts under an H&M ad. And I want to be where the magic still exists.
"No it won't all go the way it should, but I know the heart of life is good."
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