Retired.

Life is, well, let's just say different. So, new blog!

QueensBoyBrooklynGirl.blogspot.com

Goodbye, PlaysOne. Be well.

Soundtrack Edition (7)

Been awhile, eh? In the meantime, here's a idea of "life" right now... And if you're not already listening to B&S, you clearly should be.

(Track 7) Belle & Sebastian, "I Want the World to Stop"

Here comes the sun

Last week, one of my closest friends in New York abandoned me. Can you believe that? He just up and moved to that other coast. Freaking Los Angeles! Except that he's going to do something amazing -- something that a lot of people, especially here, and especially me -- can only fantasize about. Yes, that's right, he's off to Hollywood to make porn.

Kidding.

Really.

He left me to write. He's going to be incredible. He IS incredible.

But enough about him. This blog is about ME, remember?

At his second going away party (dude knows how to make an exit), I met one of his college roommates for the first time. This guy had just flown into NY because his play is about to be produced. His. Play. Produced. Incredible. We got to talking about writing and the writer's struggle to make time to do what you love to do while still working 100 hours a week in a job that can actually pay your rent. Or close enough.

Early in the conversation he asked me what time I wake up in the morning. A complicated question for me because, well, it varies wildly. But without going into my running schedule, or my work schedule, or lack thereof, I said eight. He replied, "get up at five." I pretended not to really hear him. But then he made his case. And it was similar advice to what the books and the blogs and lions, tigers and bears suggest - you just have to train yourself to make the time. But, unlike the books, etc. this guy had literally just flown in because rehearsals were starting on HIS play the next day. So he did it. Why would I not take the sage advice of someone sitting in front of me saying this is what you have to do to do what you want.

I woke up at 5am this morning. I had my alarm set for six, except that I wasn't really sleeping much anyway -- too nervous that on my first day of doing this I would crap out. So I showered, ate a delicious bagel, and have been sitting here staring at my computer for at least the last hour. Daylight is beginning to fill the living room window. I accomplished this blog post. Which, well, is something. Rome wasn't built in a day, you know. And my writing is equal to or greater than that of Roman scholars. I mean, obviously. Have you not read this always-riveting blog?

So I hear you're depressed...?

One of the really great things about the internet is that it lends itself to a very open exchange of one's feelings. A subject that I would write about in my journal when I was fifteen, I now have the option of allowing others to read those thoughts via a blog. Sharing my journal with someone at fifteen would have been taboo. Now it's what people do, and I love that. And if I'm not comfortable enough with someone reading it, I won't write it. At least not here.

Obviously, I've written quite a bit about my episodes with depression, and I'm grateful to have had a place to go to feel heard when I needed to. But sometimes I don't want to be heard. Sometimes I want to disappear into the background. Sometimes I even want to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge. As someone who has experience long and short episodes of deep depression, I know my triggers and can now recognize them before they take me out back and beat me over the head with a blunt object. Oh, and they can hit like a sonsofbitches.

BUT! Today my therapist gave me a nice piece of advice to combat one bad day's feelings before they become a monster.. Write down the things that you like about your life/job/relationship etc. on an index card and put it in your wallet/desk/etc. Then look at it when you're feeling less than good. Simple. Love.

Snapshot

A brief insight into my only interests, as evidenced by my purchases yesterday at the Housing Works used bookstore:

Is it a girlcott for me?

Rachel was the first one to inform me of the anti-gay scandal of misappropriated Target funds and the subsequent boycott. I'm not exactly sure how it flew under the radar for me, as I generally pride myself on being pretty well informed. In a strange way, my reaction to this news was visceral. A store that I love, that I respect, has, in essence, betrayed me.

I actually have a deep love for Target. It has, for a very long time, been one of my favorite stores. Not just for their low prices and quality. Target has often been a safe-haven of shopping for me. Over the last several years, when I was feeling especially down, I often found myself there for the bright lights, human contact and discounted make-up. I always spend an inordinate amount of money there, but I am rarely remorseful. From what I knew, Target treated their employees well and still managed to remain very competitively priced. And sometimes you just don't want to spend $9 on hand soap. Target always had a fairly nice representation of eco-friendly products, and that was just more for me to love.

Once before, I had a similar reaction to a brand I enjoyed utilizing their resources to "invest" in something I disapproved of -- Snapple. I used to drink Snapple Apple like it was my job. And not just any job, but a job that I enjoyed. Then, a few years ago, my then-boyfriend's mother told me that the upper management at the company supported the anti-abortionist movement. And I was done. I had one last ceremonial Snapple Apple, and said goodbye.

I fully believe in individuals supporting - with their time or funds - a cause that they find worthwhile. I accept that sometimes those are not the same causes that I find worthwhile. Not everyone is an Earth-hugging, bleeding heart lefty. I mean, sometimes I don't know why they're not, but they aren't. But in the cases of Snapple and Target, at least for me, I cannot support those efforts when they so strongly disagree with my own opinions. I am in love with and live with someone of the same sex. I support gay marriage, even if I'm not actively pursuing it for myself. But I also support all marriage. I've never had an abortion, but I strongly believe in a woman's right to choose. If I had a car, I would also not purchase gas from BP. It's my choice to do so, just as its the company's choice to support platforms that I find appalling.

I feel hurt by the decision of Target's masterminds to contribute to a campaign that is so outwardly anti-gay. I wish I could overlook it, especially since I do love the store, but I can't.

I'll be accepting suggestions on new places to shop for hand soap that costs less than $9.

Older is so much better

Ive mentioned to a few friends lately that I am anxious to turn 29 in a few months. I've often gotten a puzzled look. Yes, 29, not 30. I am so ready for 30. Bring 30 on with a big ol' party and lots of cake and champagne. Twenty-nine, less so.

The anxiety that I feel about 29 is a lot like the anxiety I felt at 17 and 20. Something big is coming, but you still have a whole year to wait out. I'd rather just be there already. Perhaps, in some way, because most of my friends have already hit it and I'm one of the younger ones. I'm envious. I don't like lagging behind. Why didn't my parents just have sex just a year earlier? I mean, really, they clearly weren't thinking about me then. How their only child would one day feel ready to turn the big 3-0 but still have a year and four months to go. Rude.

Overheard in NY

Overheard today at Starbucks: "So I just don't wanna talk about any of this money financial shit today, okay?"

Random Dude, I hear ya.