Continued, AKA Reasons to Head South for the Season

I'm still baffled as to the strangers who are reading this, but hey, as mom says, "We all have our mishegas."

Friday, January 13
So I spend literally a couple of days contacting the people I've put down as references on my resume, some of whom I haven't spoken to in a couple of years. I mail the thank-you notes, send the follow-up e-mail, and wash my hands of this interview process. I honestly don't give a shit anymore, as I'm like 90% on my way back to Florida. We all end up there anyway, what's the point in delaying the inevitable? My friends up here are ab fab, but I really can't justify staying here just because I love my friends and have an action-packed social life. The truth is that I can write anywhere, can fail anywhere too, for that matter. At this point in my life, if I have a potential family business to go into or an opportunity to make a career change (and actually have a "career" per se), then better now than later.

I also paint and draw, though not of late. But I do have a fair amount of skill in that area. So when it came down to choosing a career path or major, I went with writing and editing, thinking it was the safer bet. Thinking that it's easier to earn a living as a writer/journalist/editor than a visual artist. However, now, I often say and think, "Fuck, I may as well have gone to art school if I knew I was going to be a 'starving artist' type."

Anyway, back to the weekend. Friday night started out at this bar on Park Avenue South with the girls, and Mr. Devil and his friends ended up meeting us out. They all asked permission to refer to me as "Dish." Oh, what the hell? I suppose there are worse nicknames. Quite a funny picture of Scott and his friend; quite unflattering of me, but I'll always choose humor over vanity. Well, most of the time anyway. I've cropped it to protect the guilty. It merely appears as though Mr. Devil is copping a feel. As we all know too well, appearances can be deceiving.



And, as it turned out, the brother of the person whose birthday we were there for, is dating this woman who lives in my building. I was thisclose to asking her about the rodents, but she has a child, so I didn't want to freak her out.

We ended up at Home until like 4 a.m. hanging out with the guy-friends, though don't worry guys, I am not writing about you specifically cause you always give me shit about it and I don't want to hear it. Couldn't sleep again that night b/c of "the issue."

Saturday, January 14
In the morning, spoke to my friend in L.A. who I haven't spoken to in more than a year, and was so out of it and sleep-deprived that I had to check my cell phone to make sure that I'd actually spoken to him. I had. For a half-hour. Oy vey. I can't stand to be in my apartment, so I bolted in the early afternoon and saw Match Point with my brother downtown. Huge Woody Allen fan, but think this flick is terribly overrated. This guy is totally yummy though; I could stare at him for hours. And he's brilliant in the film; steals the show from the lead guy, who is just creepy.

Matthew Goode

Woody is getting a little stale and quite depressing. I mean, we all know he has fidelity issues and is sex-obsessed, but this is pushing it even for him. There is no humor to alleviate the pathos, so in the end, it's just a big downer of a film. Had dinner afterwards with brother and one of my girls, and I convinced brother and his friends actually to come out with us. We eventually ended up at Aspen, which is very cool decor-wise, but always seems to attract the worst of the worst B&T crowd/wannabe mafiosos. Retarded bouncers gave brother and his friends a problem getting in, and it was so smoky and the people so cheesy, that we split and headed to BED, where our friends were promoting a party. After climbing, literally, seven flights of stairs, we reached the roof of the club. Somehow, we'd missed the elevator.

And, for some reason, it's gotten to the point where we all know everyone at all of these clubs/lounges we end up at every week. Whether it's a matter of having met these people through friends, having seen these people's pictures on Friendster or somewhere else online, it just seems that it's almost impossible to meet people who are really new. And I didn't even grow up here, so I'm the anomaly of the group. My friends who grew up in the area, REALLY know everyone. My point with all of this, is that I'm kind of getting tired of the same old faces and places. After a while, every night out begins to blend together. So by 4 a.m., I was over BED, and we headed out of the club and into a blizzard. After getting an armchair psychology lesson from our cab driver, who was cheated on by his wife and is now threatening her with deportation—cab drivers are the bartenders of today—I finally reached my neighborhood. The snow was really coming down hard, and it was very windy, so much so that my umbrella was getting flipped inside-out. As I was walking down Second Avenue, the umbrella flipped inside-out and knocked one of my earrings out of my ear. The street was covered in snow, the earring went flying God knows how far, it was freezing, windy and dark, and it was nearly impossible to see. I looked for a little bit, then gave up. I've always had a knack for finding lost jewelry, but I went back today and yesterday and couldn't spot the earring.

And one of the reasons I was so upset after losing this earring, aside from the symbolism of it all, was that it was part of a matching set that went with a ring, both of which my mom had given me for either Valentine's Day or my birthday. Natch, though, as I was describing the earrings and ring to my mom on the phone yesterday, she couldn't even remember having given them to me. Anyway, losing a sentimental earring at 4 a.m. in the middle of a near-blizzard seems like a perfect, symbolic end to a really long, disappointing weekend and month.