Hiya --
Well, it's official. I am no longer a resident of New York City... although my stuff is safely stowed in a Chelsea storage locker. At least my possessions get to have a Manhattan address! With the help of Donald, I traveled to Latrobe yesterday, and have a few days to hang out at home before my flight to London on Thursday afternoon. And I can finally say that IAMSOEXCITED to be moving. Getting the last-minute hassles and stresses taken care of in NYC had really sapped some of my enthusiasm for the trip. Between being sad to be moving and having seemingly to fight with everyone under the sun (Chase, Budget, Manhattan Mini Storage etc.), I was starting to feel so disheartened. Now that all that is behind me, the excitement is really taking over, which is terrific.
I was thinking today about all the moving that I have done in my moderately-young life. It never goes smoothly, does it? I lived in the same rented house for the first 13 years of my life, and when we moved, it was quite a change. My childhood best friend no longer lived right across the street. I had a door on my bedroom. And we had two bathrooms, quite a luxury for a girly teenager!
Then I moved to go to college. Talk about traumatic. The day I moved to college, my parents and I were all at each otehr's throats. We had difficulties renting a van to cart all my possessions 2.5 hours up the interstate so finally, after much hassle, were able to borrow a station wagon from a neighbor. We were fighting and picking on each other, so I ran back in the house quickly to say goodbye to the doggie, and when I came back out to get into the loaded-up vehicle, lo and behold, it was gone! My parents had driven off without me. And it took them about 15 minutes to realize their mistake -- which they had only done when my mom turned around to yell at me for not answering her questions. When I saw them drive back up, thirty minutes later, Dad was laughing, and Mom was sobbing. A good start to freshman year!
After college, I moved to the booming metropolis of Pittsburgh to try my hand at being an adult. While there, I switched apartments twice, never really establishing much of a "nest." And then, when it came time to move out of the 'Burgh, I did it superquick, and couldn't have moved fast enough. I wanted a change, and just wanted a chance to start over. Enter New York City, the move to which has previously discussed by yours truly.
And now, another move. This one, though stressful, is not traumatic. I'm sad to leave my family and heartbroken to leave The Donald, but so comforted in the knowledge that you all will always be a part of my life, and in some ways, I'm just taking all of you with me. I'm going to London with crammed suitcases and a very, very full heart. I may be moving, but this time I'm not leaving anything behind. And Praise Jeebus for that.
Cheers!
TGI
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
"That Girl" Reminisces...
Hey lovelies --
I'm taking a much needed break from packing. The kitty and I are cuddled up on the couch watching old 90s reruns, and I must say it's quite pleasant. It's been a rather epic day, resulting in seven crammed under-the-bed boxes, four full trash bags and a whole army of unleashed dust bunnies. Oddly enough, as I was packing up my Brooklyn bedroom,I realized that today, September 13, is my three year anniversary here in New York City.
On September 13, 2007, I made the move from Pittsburgh to Brooklyn. I left the 'Burgh in a hurry, having found an apartment on Craigslist, paid for it sight-unseen, and within seven days, carried cat and suitcase off into the unknown glory of the Five Boroughs. I was rather unhappy when I left Pittbsurgh, and definitely thought of that move as a way to start over. I didn't bring many possessions with me, having thrown away a lot of what I owned in my 'old' life. NYC became my clean slate, my system reset. And I've grown to love it here even more than I could have dreamed.
I came here looking for something. At the time of my arrival, I didn't know what I was searching for. Three years later, I still can't put a tangible definition to it, and yet I can tell with you with total certainty that I found myself here. Now, after 1095 days in the Big Apple, I'm moving on again. But this time, it's different.
In this move, I'm not running away from anything. I'm not driving myself away because I'm unhappy, uncertain, or undefined. I have a life here that I love. I want to come back, and spend another 1095 days living my New York life. My friends here are terrific. My Donald is top of the line. And, for God's sake, it's New York. I love knowing that I'm leaving someplace that I want to come back to. For the first time since living in my parents' house, I feel a sense of home, of belonging. I'll be able to meet London, and then come home to New York City. Not running away, but discovering.
As I get ready to end my first three years in New York City, I'd like to leave you with the Rules of the Apple I've gleaned from my tenure here. While I'm not officially a New Yawker, I assure you that these are rules to live by...
1. Never EVER kick a trashbag on the street. My first week here, on a first date, I was strolling on the Upper East Side, and walked to close to a trashbag for my date's comfort. He grabbed my hand, pulled me away gently and imparted the previous words. Before they had even fully left his mouth, a rat the size of Godzilla fled the black plastic and nearly threw itself into us. So just don't.
2. When walking down the street, should something drip on your head, don't look up. Assume it was an air-conditioner. It's probably something much, much worse. But would you really want that hanging over your head, metaphorically speaking? Just keep walking.
3. Time is an "ish." Deal with it. I am a prompt person. Always. But in NYC, just for the sake of sanity, assume that there is a ten minute window for timeliness. Giant strollers blocking subway doors, tourists brandishing ginormous umbrellas, random bag checks by the NYPD... it all conspires to screw with your schedule. Just accept it, and move on. And don't block the damn doors.
4. Apartments are luxury items. Anytime you meet someone here for the first time, the first thing they'll ask is where you live. And how your place is set up. Is it a railroad? Does it have a bathtub? And, for the love of God, does it have exposed brick? A doorman gives you instant status. But should you happen to live in an Outer Borough (egads!) prepare yourself forthe look of horror on the UE-Siders faces when you utter Brooklyn. But it's ok. We know that's where all the cool kids live.
5. Buy a grocery cart. Seriously. Does it look hip/cool/trendy? Nope. But it beats the hell out of carting a gallon of milk, a turkey and a six pack home from the good grocery store seven blocks away. So do it.
To all of you darlings everywhere, I love you. Thanks for being my pals through all this craziness!
Love,
TGI
I'm taking a much needed break from packing. The kitty and I are cuddled up on the couch watching old 90s reruns, and I must say it's quite pleasant. It's been a rather epic day, resulting in seven crammed under-the-bed boxes, four full trash bags and a whole army of unleashed dust bunnies. Oddly enough, as I was packing up my Brooklyn bedroom,I realized that today, September 13, is my three year anniversary here in New York City.
On September 13, 2007, I made the move from Pittsburgh to Brooklyn. I left the 'Burgh in a hurry, having found an apartment on Craigslist, paid for it sight-unseen, and within seven days, carried cat and suitcase off into the unknown glory of the Five Boroughs. I was rather unhappy when I left Pittbsurgh, and definitely thought of that move as a way to start over. I didn't bring many possessions with me, having thrown away a lot of what I owned in my 'old' life. NYC became my clean slate, my system reset. And I've grown to love it here even more than I could have dreamed.
I came here looking for something. At the time of my arrival, I didn't know what I was searching for. Three years later, I still can't put a tangible definition to it, and yet I can tell with you with total certainty that I found myself here. Now, after 1095 days in the Big Apple, I'm moving on again. But this time, it's different.
In this move, I'm not running away from anything. I'm not driving myself away because I'm unhappy, uncertain, or undefined. I have a life here that I love. I want to come back, and spend another 1095 days living my New York life. My friends here are terrific. My Donald is top of the line. And, for God's sake, it's New York. I love knowing that I'm leaving someplace that I want to come back to. For the first time since living in my parents' house, I feel a sense of home, of belonging. I'll be able to meet London, and then come home to New York City. Not running away, but discovering.
As I get ready to end my first three years in New York City, I'd like to leave you with the Rules of the Apple I've gleaned from my tenure here. While I'm not officially a New Yawker, I assure you that these are rules to live by...
1. Never EVER kick a trashbag on the street. My first week here, on a first date, I was strolling on the Upper East Side, and walked to close to a trashbag for my date's comfort. He grabbed my hand, pulled me away gently and imparted the previous words. Before they had even fully left his mouth, a rat the size of Godzilla fled the black plastic and nearly threw itself into us. So just don't.
2. When walking down the street, should something drip on your head, don't look up. Assume it was an air-conditioner. It's probably something much, much worse. But would you really want that hanging over your head, metaphorically speaking? Just keep walking.
3. Time is an "ish." Deal with it. I am a prompt person. Always. But in NYC, just for the sake of sanity, assume that there is a ten minute window for timeliness. Giant strollers blocking subway doors, tourists brandishing ginormous umbrellas, random bag checks by the NYPD... it all conspires to screw with your schedule. Just accept it, and move on. And don't block the damn doors.
4. Apartments are luxury items. Anytime you meet someone here for the first time, the first thing they'll ask is where you live. And how your place is set up. Is it a railroad? Does it have a bathtub? And, for the love of God, does it have exposed brick? A doorman gives you instant status. But should you happen to live in an Outer Borough (egads!) prepare yourself forthe look of horror on the UE-Siders faces when you utter Brooklyn. But it's ok. We know that's where all the cool kids live.
5. Buy a grocery cart. Seriously. Does it look hip/cool/trendy? Nope. But it beats the hell out of carting a gallon of milk, a turkey and a six pack home from the good grocery store seven blocks away. So do it.
To all of you darlings everywhere, I love you. Thanks for being my pals through all this craziness!
Love,
TGI
Thursday, September 9, 2010
"That Girl" is a TwinPop!
Hey Peeps --
I'm taking a much needed break from the 144 heavyhanded pages that make up Martin Buber's philosophic text I And Thou (for school of course). As I sit here, I'm tempted to write about the material I'm reading, which, although dry and a bit caught up in religion for my interest, is rather captivating, I know that, at present, that would be just a way of playing chicken with what I'm reaaaaaally thinking about.
Since I play That Girl in this blog, it's only fair to introduce you all to the Donald in my life (not his real name, of course.... but play along). I've been gliding along for the past few years as a single gal in the city, no commitments, no strings, blah blah blah. At times, I've been exceedingly lonely, mostly thanks to the Facebook photo albums of the beautiful babies being had by friends, etc. But, as is my way, I usually just channel all of that into my artistic pursuits, and focus on running a theatre company and seeing art. And it's cool. But wouldn't you know it, three months before I embark on this grand adventure, your That Girl goes off and falls in love. Oops. And yay.
My Donald is a pretty grand specimen, if I do say so myself. I can actually hear him in my head as I type, grumbling because I'm calling him Donald. We have a good time together, and oddly enough, he seems to "get" me. Without my having to explain the weird things I think or do. Mostly, I think that one of the big big things I love best about this guy is that he has nothing but support for what I'm doing. Outside of my uber-awesome mom and dad, I haven't encountered that kind of unconditional support very often. We're sort of a hilarious, less homicidal melding of The Joker and Harlequin meets Felix and Oscar. And it works. Well. In short, he is the cheese to my macaroni, and I think that he's a keeper. Time zone differences notwithstanding.
But don't get too excited, Mom. I'm still leaving. In three weeks. To have a blast in London. For 365-ish days. And I couldn't be more thrilled. But just like a buddy popsicle, I do feel a little pull as I get ready to make the move. I'm going to have an international heart for the next year, it seems, loving both my life in London and my time with the Donald. I wouldn't have even bothered to carry things with him this far if he weren't so supportive. That made all the difference. So let's do this. With the help of Skype of course!
Back to the Buber... which I just accidentally misspelled as the Bieber. Sort of hilarious, actually.
Love,
TGI
I'm taking a much needed break from the 144 heavyhanded pages that make up Martin Buber's philosophic text I And Thou (for school of course). As I sit here, I'm tempted to write about the material I'm reading, which, although dry and a bit caught up in religion for my interest, is rather captivating, I know that, at present, that would be just a way of playing chicken with what I'm reaaaaaally thinking about.
Since I play That Girl in this blog, it's only fair to introduce you all to the Donald in my life (not his real name, of course.... but play along). I've been gliding along for the past few years as a single gal in the city, no commitments, no strings, blah blah blah. At times, I've been exceedingly lonely, mostly thanks to the Facebook photo albums of the beautiful babies being had by friends, etc. But, as is my way, I usually just channel all of that into my artistic pursuits, and focus on running a theatre company and seeing art. And it's cool. But wouldn't you know it, three months before I embark on this grand adventure, your That Girl goes off and falls in love. Oops. And yay.
My Donald is a pretty grand specimen, if I do say so myself. I can actually hear him in my head as I type, grumbling because I'm calling him Donald. We have a good time together, and oddly enough, he seems to "get" me. Without my having to explain the weird things I think or do. Mostly, I think that one of the big big things I love best about this guy is that he has nothing but support for what I'm doing. Outside of my uber-awesome mom and dad, I haven't encountered that kind of unconditional support very often. We're sort of a hilarious, less homicidal melding of The Joker and Harlequin meets Felix and Oscar. And it works. Well. In short, he is the cheese to my macaroni, and I think that he's a keeper. Time zone differences notwithstanding.
But don't get too excited, Mom. I'm still leaving. In three weeks. To have a blast in London. For 365-ish days. And I couldn't be more thrilled. But just like a buddy popsicle, I do feel a little pull as I get ready to make the move. I'm going to have an international heart for the next year, it seems, loving both my life in London and my time with the Donald. I wouldn't have even bothered to carry things with him this far if he weren't so supportive. That made all the difference. So let's do this. With the help of Skype of course!
Back to the Buber... which I just accidentally misspelled as the Bieber. Sort of hilarious, actually.
Love,
TGI
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
"That Girl" Picks Five!
Hiya --
Now that my visa application is safely in the hands of the Border Agency, I've secured housing in London, and I'm keeping a close eye on airfare prices, this whole 'moving to a foreign country' thing seems ever so much more real. As such, I really can't put off beginning the arduous packing process, both to pack up the few things that will accompany me, as well as to pack of the majority which shall be left behind.
If you've ever helped me move in the past (and if you HAVE, my deepest apologies), you'll know that my prize possessions are the unenviably heavy books I insist on carting from house to dorm to apartment etc. like my own travelling bookmobile. You know how some people are comfort eaters? Well, That Girl International is a comfort reader. There is nothing that makes me feel more at home than picking up a favorite book, turning to an earmarked chapter, and soothing myself with literati buddy. It's like a cozy written hug. I am aware, however, that the printed word is not easy to cram into a suitcase, especially when one also has clothes, shoes (and only two suitcases!) to consider. As such, I've decided to limit my book selections, outside of those needed for school of course, to five choice tomes for my trip abroad. I put a lot of thought into this list, and though I'd share, for you own interest. Please note that the reason why having my OWN copies of these books is so important is because I am an avid notetaker and highlighter, even in leisure reading, so these volumes are more valuable than library copies of the same text.
1. The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera -- I love and hate this book. I love it because it is sparsely yet clearly rendered. It's philosophical but still amazingly down to earth. I hate this book because it rocks my world every time I read it. I can't go without it.
2. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safron Foer -- This book goes with me because it is not only an incredible vision of a grieving/healing process, but also it's a portrait of, in my opinion, New York City at it's best. It showcases empathetic, loving, charismatic people working together. I love this book. I also love the voice of the narrator, who is a child with a very very old soul.
3. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling -- Of course. Because it's the culmination of a richly drawn adventure series? Because it highlights the growth of an extraordinary character into adulthood? Because it brings about a denouement 10 years in the making? Maybe. But mostly because it is pure magic. And the best bathtub read I've ever found.
4. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov -- First and foremost, this book must go in my suitcase, because it is my favorite. I wouldn't feel right without my battered edition sitting on any desk I called my own. This book is an odd choice I realize, as it's not technically a comforting text. And yet, personally, it sort of is. I picked up Lolita for the first time at my parents' house when I was far to young to understand it. And it confused me. So I stopped reading. I picked it up again a few years later, read the whole thing, and puzzled over it for a few days. Then in college, I read it as an extra for a class. I found that my earlier readings, although not profound at the time, had stayed with me, and sort of laid the groundwork for my understanding. Every time I read this book (which is a lot), I see something different between its tattered covers. And for that, it goes with me.
5. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, translated by Pevear and Volokhonsky -- This particular translation is a sheer joy to read. The poetry of the language makes this old Russian novel a complete and utter page turner. I can happily get lost in Vronsky, Levin, Anna etc. for hours at a time.
So that's it. My five travel buddies. I just hope the rest of my collection doesn't get lonely while I'm gone!
Cheers!
That Girl
Now that my visa application is safely in the hands of the Border Agency, I've secured housing in London, and I'm keeping a close eye on airfare prices, this whole 'moving to a foreign country' thing seems ever so much more real. As such, I really can't put off beginning the arduous packing process, both to pack up the few things that will accompany me, as well as to pack of the majority which shall be left behind.
If you've ever helped me move in the past (and if you HAVE, my deepest apologies), you'll know that my prize possessions are the unenviably heavy books I insist on carting from house to dorm to apartment etc. like my own travelling bookmobile. You know how some people are comfort eaters? Well, That Girl International is a comfort reader. There is nothing that makes me feel more at home than picking up a favorite book, turning to an earmarked chapter, and soothing myself with literati buddy. It's like a cozy written hug. I am aware, however, that the printed word is not easy to cram into a suitcase, especially when one also has clothes, shoes (and only two suitcases!) to consider. As such, I've decided to limit my book selections, outside of those needed for school of course, to five choice tomes for my trip abroad. I put a lot of thought into this list, and though I'd share, for you own interest. Please note that the reason why having my OWN copies of these books is so important is because I am an avid notetaker and highlighter, even in leisure reading, so these volumes are more valuable than library copies of the same text.
1. The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera -- I love and hate this book. I love it because it is sparsely yet clearly rendered. It's philosophical but still amazingly down to earth. I hate this book because it rocks my world every time I read it. I can't go without it.
2. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safron Foer -- This book goes with me because it is not only an incredible vision of a grieving/healing process, but also it's a portrait of, in my opinion, New York City at it's best. It showcases empathetic, loving, charismatic people working together. I love this book. I also love the voice of the narrator, who is a child with a very very old soul.
3. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling -- Of course. Because it's the culmination of a richly drawn adventure series? Because it highlights the growth of an extraordinary character into adulthood? Because it brings about a denouement 10 years in the making? Maybe. But mostly because it is pure magic. And the best bathtub read I've ever found.
4. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov -- First and foremost, this book must go in my suitcase, because it is my favorite. I wouldn't feel right without my battered edition sitting on any desk I called my own. This book is an odd choice I realize, as it's not technically a comforting text. And yet, personally, it sort of is. I picked up Lolita for the first time at my parents' house when I was far to young to understand it. And it confused me. So I stopped reading. I picked it up again a few years later, read the whole thing, and puzzled over it for a few days. Then in college, I read it as an extra for a class. I found that my earlier readings, although not profound at the time, had stayed with me, and sort of laid the groundwork for my understanding. Every time I read this book (which is a lot), I see something different between its tattered covers. And for that, it goes with me.
5. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, translated by Pevear and Volokhonsky -- This particular translation is a sheer joy to read. The poetry of the language makes this old Russian novel a complete and utter page turner. I can happily get lost in Vronsky, Levin, Anna etc. for hours at a time.
So that's it. My five travel buddies. I just hope the rest of my collection doesn't get lonely while I'm gone!
Cheers!
That Girl
Saturday, September 4, 2010
"That Girl" Has a Place to Live... She Thinks!
Hey ladies and gents -
I've been so slammed with plans and preparations for my puddlejump that I have neglected you, my two readers. But I promise to make up for my negligence with a whole crapload of exciting news.
First and foremost, I am playing the waiting game on my student visa, having finally acquired all the funds, documents, photos and fingerprints necessary to satisfy the British Consulate. My materials are happily in the hands of the Brits, and hopefully, any day now, I'll be officially cleared for my studies. Oh, and I paid the $300 fee required to send me a piece of paper saying I'm legal. :)
In even bigger, more exciting news, I *think* I found a place to live in the jolly ol' Londontown. The flat, located on the Picadilly line, is a cute little Victorian place, occupied by two fun women and their two lovely cats. We skyped today and we have a lot in common, and spent about 40 minutes chatting and laughing. All in all, I think it sounds like a grand arrangement. They're both creative and liberal, which is an important consideration for me. They have cool jobs, are very friendly and warm, and looking for a roommate who can also be a friend, much like I am! And did I mention that they have CATS?!?! As I'm sad about leaving my Layla in the hands of my mom and dad while I'm gone, it'll be delightful to have some warm fuzzies around in the UK.
I have just under a month to go before the big move, and I'm so excited and so scared in equal (and conflicting) parts. It sounds silly I know, as I've been planning this for awhile, but it's all starting to feel very real, veeeeery fast! I need to find someone to take my room in my NYC apartment, pack and get a storage unit etc. etc. etc. It's a crazy time in my life. I'm just so hoping that the fear gives way a bit in the next few days. It'll make my life so much easier to just be completely psyched instead of ready to throw up my breakfast/lunch/dinner at any given moment!
Love,
That Girl
I've been so slammed with plans and preparations for my puddlejump that I have neglected you, my two readers. But I promise to make up for my negligence with a whole crapload of exciting news.
First and foremost, I am playing the waiting game on my student visa, having finally acquired all the funds, documents, photos and fingerprints necessary to satisfy the British Consulate. My materials are happily in the hands of the Brits, and hopefully, any day now, I'll be officially cleared for my studies. Oh, and I paid the $300 fee required to send me a piece of paper saying I'm legal. :)
In even bigger, more exciting news, I *think* I found a place to live in the jolly ol' Londontown. The flat, located on the Picadilly line, is a cute little Victorian place, occupied by two fun women and their two lovely cats. We skyped today and we have a lot in common, and spent about 40 minutes chatting and laughing. All in all, I think it sounds like a grand arrangement. They're both creative and liberal, which is an important consideration for me. They have cool jobs, are very friendly and warm, and looking for a roommate who can also be a friend, much like I am! And did I mention that they have CATS?!?! As I'm sad about leaving my Layla in the hands of my mom and dad while I'm gone, it'll be delightful to have some warm fuzzies around in the UK.
I have just under a month to go before the big move, and I'm so excited and so scared in equal (and conflicting) parts. It sounds silly I know, as I've been planning this for awhile, but it's all starting to feel very real, veeeeery fast! I need to find someone to take my room in my NYC apartment, pack and get a storage unit etc. etc. etc. It's a crazy time in my life. I'm just so hoping that the fear gives way a bit in the next few days. It'll make my life so much easier to just be completely psyched instead of ready to throw up my breakfast/lunch/dinner at any given moment!
Love,
That Girl
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)