Sucks you have a job!

Maybe it is a sign of my maturity, or perhaps this acceptance to grad school came at the right time, but I have to say that I am quite proud how I am spending my days as a member of the unemployed. Last year, around this time, I took a few weeks off between jobs and that was a mini-disaster: flying off to London to tell off the London fag (I did find out he was a faggot though!), drinking into oblivion most nights in the name of “sowing my final wild oats” before my career called, moping around Lincoln Center, and not engaging in the smartest decisions—because it was sensitive to race relations for me to walk through the projects at 4am, drunk, in heels, with an I-Pod blaring. Like, you know, it would be racist for me to think that a lone white girl can’t walk through the projects late at night.

Are we surprised I came down with meningitis three weeks later?

But this “break” is different. Perhaps it has something to do with timing; I am not trying to cram a shit load of partying into a short two week span? Or maybe it’s knowing that I am off to grad school, and I am realizing that I have a lot of thinking to catch up on! Three years of working have left me unable to think and speak only hr speak—the corporate version of 1984. “Let’s status so you can bring me up to speed about the current challenge with the client. Let me know if there is any push back.” Uhm, What the fuck was just said? Like, can you speak to that point?

Instead of the words of Locke, Voltaire, or discussions surrounding social construction and nation-state rolling off of my tongue, I replaced my educated vocabulary with words coined by the HR department to help facilitate a non-threatening work place. It’s no wonder I spent the past three years not fighting the mental atrophy. Being a lazy woman, it is so much easier to turn a blind eye, and let loose in a bar and unwind in front of a TV. Who the fuck wants to read Anarchy, State, and Utopia when they come home after spending ten hours managing a media plan?

But this time it is different. I am spending the next few months before grad school, feeling out whether I have the self-discipline to work as a writer. And so far, the answer is no, in case you were wondering.

Instead of writing and trying my hand at fame, with my free time, I am discovering that there is a whole world outside of the office! Imagine your weekend, not the weekend where you are so fucked up and send just as much time hungover, but the weekend where you go out and play. Kayak, run outside, go to a museum, anything other than drinking. And this is how I am filling my days! Not to sound like a cliché, but it is almost as if I am rediscovering life. It is such a wonderful feeling not to feel as if you have to live for the weekend because you spend five consecutive days frustrated, stressed, and without control.

Tuesday I went to the beach with Rachel. Yesterday I went to a baseball game. This morning I was in Central Park running at 7:30am, with complete abandon and not checking the time obsessively to make sure that exercise doesn’t run over into shower time.

And now I sit in my living room, sipping on lukewarm tea contemplating taking a nap before pilates at noon.

This fucking rocks.

So, with all of this free time on my hands, it allows me to indulge in my obsessions, one of which is really bad commercial music. As we were pulling out of the wedding ceremony, at the wedding I attended last weekend, the Panic! At the Disco song came on. Lost in the catchy tune, I only heard the words wedding and toast and champagne. I chime, “this is so apropos!” and blast the fucker. Pax, is like, “Uhm, not really.”

“No, dude, it’s so fitting. We leave a wedding, and now this song plays.”

However watching the video:

I see that yea, you really don’t want to have that song represent anything.

But the video is fucking awesome. Reminds me of the Mr. Brightside video where I developed a crush on the lead singer of the Killers because he donned make-up and acted theatrical. Let’s say I have a new crush now. I don’t know, maybe I am a closeted lesbian man, but there is something so sexy about a man in eye liner acting dramatic.

As if there were any questions how I fell in with the London fag.

Off to LI for the night, mom turns 58! Now, if only I got her a present. Any suggestions posted before 5:30 will be appreciated. Remember, she is a LI Jewish mommy, so anything with obnoxious logos plastered all over is A+ I got her Tiffany's for Christmas. And under $100. I love mommy but, I am broke.