Fantasy no. 2

I’ve ordered a bottle of Grüner, $31. Not their most expensive, but not their cheapest either. It’s a special night; we’re celebrating.

The sommelier brings it to our table, displaying the bottle over his wrist. “Thank you,” I say as he pours me a sample. I twirl the wine glass, sniffing. I look at the sommelier suspiciously. I take a sip. I make a subtle face of distaste. “I’m afraid this is corked.” 

The sommelier looks surprised. He surveys the patron in front of him: a woman in her late 20s that has already polished off two bread baskets and really butchered the pronunciation of “Grüner.” Doubting her, he takes a sip.

  “Ah oui! Mademoiselle, I apologize. You are correct! This wine is corked, mon Dieu. Allow me to get you another bottle, on the house.” the sommelier says, dramatically spitting out the wine. He quickly retreats back into the wine cellar to find something more suitable.

My dear friend, Jeff Goldblum, sits across from me at the table and smirks.

Year 1 in Georgia

I've been in Savannah for a year! A year and a month at this point, technically. I've had few people ask me questions about moving out of New York and I can confidently tell them, "It was the right choice for me." My wise friend Sam put it best. She said, "Look. You think you hate New York. You have to move. You'll either move and be happier, or you'll move and miss New York and you can come back happier." She was right. I was stuck in this unhealthy "the grass is greener" mentality. It's scary to leave friends, but I'm really proud of myself. I'm a big believer that you're responsible for your own happiness, and I wasn't happy in New York.

My first few months here, I could feel my icy New Yorker shell slowly melt. It was this crust that always made me expect the worst of every stranger and hold myself in constant competition with everyone. Slowly I had to learn that people just say "good morning" here and they aren't trying to rob me. 

However, I also tell my friends "My decision might not be the right decision for you." I know when I'm happiest. It's when I'm quietly drawing, or reading comics, or laughing at some goofy Youtube video. It's when I can design my own little world. I'm good at being alone. I need it. For me, living in a place where I can afford to live alone is perfect. But that's not everyone! Some people are way more social than me. They're happiest when surrounded by a big group of friends at a party, or at a concert. I kinda hate parties and concerts. I do miss my friends, but I still feel connected through all the dumbs memes I send them. I actually felt a hell of lot lonelier when I lived in New York and saw Instagrams of friends hanging out without me. Now I'm just living my best life. 

I renewed my lease to be in this apartment for another year, but I'm thinking next year I'll look into buying a house.... 

Locked Out

Well, it's day 3 and I got locked out. The door closed behind me when I went to get the mail. Lesson learned. 

Me and Jeff Goldblum. We out here. 

"Good-bye," she murmured, bidding farewell not so much to the apartment as to the self that had lived there.

-1Q84, Haruki Murakami

Psycho

I'm very excited about moving in a few days and I keep thinking of all the good habits I'll start when I move. It's classic delusional behavior. "Oh I'll start working out when I move" "When I move it'll be different and I'll wake up early and refreshed!" I was thinking about everything I want to start doing and I realized it sounded like a Whole Foods Gwyneth Paltrow Patrick Batemen. Then I figured out I'm the same age as Patrick Batemen. So, now this: 

I live in a one bedroom apartment in Savannah, Georgia. My name is Liz and I am 27 years old. I start the day with warm water with lemon. It is the best way to start the day. Then I practice Dr Weil's 4-7-8 breathing technique during a 10 minute meditation while always engaging my core. My core is always engaged. Multitasking is important.  I go for a brisk jog around the park. Then I take a cold shower to close all of my pores. In the shower I will use a gentle face wash and a harsh facial scrub. Afterwards I apply Glossier's Priming Moisturizer then an Instant Pore Eraser. I only use Glossier's Stretch Concealer and a tinted lip balm because my look appears effortless. There is an idea of Liz, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me. Only an entity, something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can like my Instagram posts and maybe you can even sense our life styles are probably comparable, I simply am not there.

An Ode to Apartment 2

Aw, little apartment, I've loved you so much. You've seen me through a lot of hair colors and I appreciate that. I loved sitting in that little spot on the radiator cover, behind the bathroom door, next to the window, and watching the parties the First Floor guys used to throw. I loved lying in my bed, right up next to the window, and watching rainstorms when I didn't have to go outside. I hated you so much when that toilet broke for 2 days, twice. I hated you SO MUCH. I also hated you when we had that rat and Eric and I jumped up on chairs and screamed like in the movies. I loved when people would walk in the bathroom and say "it's so big!" I was really proud of you then. I used to stare up at the ceiling, divided in weird ways, and wonder what you used to be like. You were built in 1901 and no one ever died here! I looked it up; I was surprised. I wondered about old tenants. You must have seen so many people come and go! I hope the new tenants are good. I hope I was good. I'm sorry I lost a lot of hair and clogged your drains. I'll miss that faint glow from the streetlight and your noisy radiator that everyone always thought was the sink running, but I knew. And how I'd yell at anyone that touched your glass door knob because that's not how that door works! You're old and finicky and I love you. Thank you, Apartment 2.

Every celebrity I saw while living in New York

Jake Gyllenhaal
Anne Hathaway *under a parasol
Justin Long
Zosia Mamet
Nick Lachey
Vanessa Minnillo Lachey
Ana Gasteyer
Alison Harvard from ANTM
Sean from Degrassi
Katherine McPhee
Kahlen from ANTM
Bianca from ANTM
Counselor Pat from Heavyweights
Amir Blumenfeld
Taran Killem
Paul Dano
Phil of the Future *eating a bagel
Michael Angarano
Andrew Ranells
Ray from Girls
Kevin Corrigan
Leonardo diCaprio *served him pumpkin pie
Anna SophiaRobb
Rosie Perez
James Murphy *gave him back VERY wrong change
Carrot Top
Kyle MacLachlan *riding a scooter
Gretchen from Kimmy Schmidt
Danny Devito *walking a weiner dog
Jackson Galaxy
Ice Cube
Gilbert Gotfried
Ben McKenzie *<3 

FAQ

What's up?

I'm moving to Savannah, Georgia. 

Is Amanda okay?

For those of you not in-the-know, Amanda is my BFF since middle school. She currently lives a 10 minute walk away from me and I can often be found at her house watching Fixer Upper on her giant TV. Honestly, this is the first question people ask me. I think Amanda is sad for her, but more happy for me because she is a good friend. We also didn't go to college with each other and made it through ok, so I'm not too worried. I foresee a lot of FaceTiming in our future. When reached for comment, Amanda said "Ask me in 6 weeks." 

When do you move?

June 1st. I recently signed a lease and I'm very excited. I'll be moving out of my current apartment April 30th, then couchsurfing in NY until May 17th, then going home to Ohio for the rest of May. 

Do you have a job?

No! I don't! That's scary. However, I've been doing freelance design during these transition months until I move (March-May) and it's been going well. I plan to keep that up when I move and try to get a restaurant job partly to meet people/get out of my house.

Do you know anyone down there?

No! Not a soul. Luckily I'm pretty good at being alone, and I moved around a lot when I was a kid, so I'm ok at making friends.

Are you getting a car?

Yes! My parents got me a little red Jetta that I've named Brünhilda; Hilda for short. I'm kind of nervous wreck when it comes to driving, so I'll have to get used to that.

Why Savannah?

Well I've been wanting to move out of New York for a long time. It's too expensive. Ultimately, I am a homebody that just wants to have a little house, drink some wine, and take my dog for walk. That's hard to do in New York (okay, the wine part is easy, but that's easy everywhere). Also, I'm 27 and although I've had some great roommates, I'd like to live alone. And have a dishwasher because I HATE DOING DISHES. Ok, so that's all "why not New York."

I was planning to move to Portland, mostly because it looked cool on Portlandia. But then I agreed to go on a very quick trip down to Savannah with some friends and I loved it. The weather's warm, the houses are beautiful, but there's still some art school weirdness I appreciated. It's cheap and pretty walkable too. Not a ton of design jobs, but I'll figure something out.

Insomnia

I can't sleep. My brain is in this loop of "Why did you do this? Damn, this is expensive. Will you make enough money? Did you just ruin your life? How do you set up address forwarding? What are you doing? Should you get a new bank?" Normally I can numb this whirring with some mindless Kendall & Kylie app, but I have to wait 4 hours for Perry to text me so I'm out of luck. Dammit, Perry!

So I'm moving to Savannah, like quit my job, broke my lease, scheduled the movers, MOVING. I don't have a job in Savannah. Or any friends. Hence the general anxiety and stress.  

Now is when Logical Liz comes out to make me feel better. "You want this. This is smart. It's expensive now, but make it to Savannah and then things will be cheaper! You can ride your little bike around and go to the beach and never wear that big puffy coat you hate! You'll probably get a car. Remember how fun driving a car is? You can finally get a dog!"

"Right. Look at these rescue dogs. Am I ready for a dog? Dogs are a lot of work. What if I get a shitty dog??"

"Ok, ok. Table the dog thoughts. That went south quickly. Moving is what you need. You need a new chapter! An exciting new adventure! You'll be fine. A lot of changes are coming, but take it one day at a time. Right now? You need to go to sleep and go to your last day of work tomorrow. Take a break from worrying about anything beyond that. Sleep."

End of an ERA!

My roommate is moving out at the end of this month and it's beginning to sink in. We moved to New York together 3 years ago to this very apartment. It's unheard of in New-York-time (a New York Minute? idk). I feel like I've lived through "Just Kids" in these past 3 years, but a more boring version. Replace all the drug use and hanging out at the Chelsea Hotel with falafel eating and lying in our respective bedrooms.

All this change got me cruising down memory-lane, by way of the iPhoto highway. The hairstyles! The birthdays! The travels! The jobs! 

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"Hipster Camping" before my furniture arrived- June 1 2011

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Eric sitting outside the realty office the day he moved in- June 4 2011

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Brunette! Glasses! Long hair! I still have that checked shirt though.

Am I getting emotional about this? A little bit? My favorite Eric-roommate memories are probably asking him to go on a walk with me at 10 pm on a weeknight and he'd always say "sure." And the fact that he let me be me in all my weirdness without a hint of judgement. And that he watches X-Files with me sometimes and doesn't get annoyed when I talk over it. Oof I have a lump in my throat. The real kicker is, his initials are ERA <3

Perception v. Reality

Me: Well I don't watch that many TV shows.

Roommate: Really? I feel like you watch a lot of shows.

Cute Moment for Posterity

I left a bar tonight and saw three puppies having the most adorable puppy fight. Tiny puppy barks and general gnawing. I stopped to pet these three little pit-bull puppies (I live in Brooklyn, come on) and they were so cute. Their owners were three very typically Brooklyn pit bull-owners, aka muscle tee and a diamond earring. The pups names were Boi, Tupac, and Rihanna to give you some further context. Tupac gnawed on my hand the whole time I was petting him. As a puppy, it was adorable. "Wittle tuff guy," I baby-talked to this poor dog. Scarily enough though, I admit that when Tupac grows up, he would have just chewed off my hand.

Rihanna was the odd-pup out, constantly getting ganged-up on. Her owner scooped her up like a baby and kissed her little brown and white head. "Yo! Leave her on the ground," said one of the other tough guy owners. Rihanna's owner just said, "But I want to give her kisses!" I melted.

March Is Transition Month

So after turning 25, I did not immediately blossom into a super-put-together Gwyneth Paltrow-like creature of grace and maturity. In fact, I spent that first day in a t-shirt that says "Chill" and an airbrushed hat that says "Princess."

I'm taking baby steps though. My mantra is "March is Transition Month." This is my month to get it together. I'm allowed some days where I pick dry shampoo and an extra 15 minutes of sleep over a shower.

I went shopping today for some new clothes after I realized even my "nice" sweater had unidentified schmutz on it. I'm transitioning my wardrobe from crusty skater's ex-girlfriend to young professional woman who knows what a 401k is. Also on my to-do list: learn what a 401k is. I was really proud of myself because I went into Forever XXI but bought NOTHING. "Just say no to the graffiti-print crop top, Liz. You're beyond that now."

I also cleaned my room (INCLUDING DUSTING) last night and actually took a shower this morning. Some more grown-up goals: go grocery shopping this week, do some meal planning, join a gym, get a new non-Ikea dresser that isn't broken.

Adult Human

For the first time in a long time, I really felt like I had my life together tonight. It was so small, but great. I cooked myself dinner, successfully set up my new TV antenna, watched a bit of TV, cooked chicken to put in my lunch, made myself a healthy salad for tomorrow, did all the dishes, and put my clothes away. I realize these are things that should be commonplace for me by now, but they aren't and THIS FEELS SIGNIFICANT OKAY. I'll be unconscious and dreaming of taxes or whatever adults dream about by midnight.

I'm turning 25 soon.

Fantasy no. 1

I walk through the 8th Avenue subway stop, passing a troupe of particularly talented break dancers. A large crowd is gathered around them, enjoying the show. I stand near the outside, impressed but I'm on my way to appointment. "Well, I can spare a minute," I think to myself.

I make eye contact with one of the dancers. Suddenly, he grabs my hand and pulls me into the middle of the circle. I smile sheepishly, my face bright red. They try to get me to dance and I move awkwardly, trying to be a good sport in front of such a large audience.

Then the song changes and I look at all the dancers with a smirk. We break out into an elaborately choreographed routine. This is some So You Think You Can Dance level shit. The crowd goes wild. Next to us, a pile of money accumulates. We had planned this all along.

On Blogs

My New Years Resolution was to write more. At the moment, "blog" is as close as I get to "write." And here we are.

I'm struggling with this blog because WHY. I love writing when I travel because there's a point. Girl experiences new place, is an idiot, hilarity ensues. Or at the very least, it's vaguely interesting to read about because it takes place in Prague. What do I write about now? Girl goes to work, has an okay day, watches Oddities on Netflix? I live in Brooklyn, which I admit is interesting but I am not doing interesting things inside of it.

I need a focus; a purpose. "My blog has no purpose," I told my friend Gaby over $12 sandwiches in DUMBO. "Hey, just like your life!" she retorted like a JERK. (Shoutout to Gaby, hey Gaby). I could go off on a giant tangent how my life really doesn't have much of a purpose right now and that's kindaaaaa stressful, but another day my beautiful friend. Another blog post.

I'm not going to write about my daily life because I just lived it, geez, give me a break. Also, it would reveal the troubling amount I think about bagels everyday, so no thanks. I'm certainly not a lovely productive DIY blog with weekend tutorials because I live far away from Michael's Craft Emporium okayyyyyy. I'm not a collection of witty essays and interviews with my hip celebrity friends. Today I wore leggings as pants, so a fashion blog is out of the question. I also can't inspire myself to lose weight so don't expect my help there. Are there other blogs? I don't know dude, enough of this paragraph already.

Ultimately, I'm going to play the entitled I Do Me card of my generation. Yes, that sounds super pretentious and condescending on my part, but I'm actually being sincere. I'm writing here because I enjoy it. I will continue to post whatever. Second shoutout to Resident-Jerk Gaby who also said, "You're all my least favorite kind of blogs but in a way I like! Travel and food! Next you'll start blogging about motherhood." (No plans to start blogging about motherhood anytime soon)

Wednesdays are blog days. Blog updated Wednesday. Yeah today is Thursday but chill out.

On Instagram

First off: I like Instagram. It's in my Core Four.* Initially (April 7, 2012), I thought Instagram was stupid. I'm not saying it's NOT stupid now, but I enjoy it. One of my first posts was a picture of my friend Hayley and I bleaching our mustaches. That is how little I cared about my Instagram persona. I'm still not particularly invested about my Instapersona, but I enjoy it. I get to see photos of my friends, live vicariously through photos of celebrities doing generally normal things, and when I post a picture it's another thing that gives me validation through notifications. You know, blah blah blah Millennial stuff.

However, there's a dark strange and seedy world of Instagram that I only dare observe and only very vaguely understand... TEENS. There are the most ORDINARY teenagers ever with 214K Instagram followers that pop up on the Popular page. I just have so many questions. How did they get so many followers? These kids do nothing. Sure, they're teenagers; they go to school and basements and shit, but they don't sing or act. They just post a dozen selfies during the course of the day. The comments on their photos are a mix of "I hate you" and "ur gorgeous I LUUUV u." Why do they hate them?? Why do they love them?? 

One such teen was recently featured on True Life: I'm an Internet Celebrity. He was the most regular teenage boy I've ever seen. He could literally be any boy at any high school in any state. What is this phenomenon? I'm actually toning down my reaction to this whole thing because a very small part of me is afraid of these teens finding this blog and cyber-bullying me. I'm a grown woman (Beyoncé shout out) and I don't want to incur the wrath of teenagers on the Internet.

I've never felt older than when I go on the Instagram popular page.

*Core Four is a term I just made up to describe the social media/apps I immediately check upon waking up and pretty continuously throughout the day. Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat. Tumblr is a close 5th that will probably overtake Snapchat pretty soon. I bet a tech start-up in DUMBO is going to steal my definition of "Core Four."

On Hangovers

I get bad hangovers and I hate it. The headache, the queasy stomach, that general feeling of dread; I've been there. Oh have I been there. I've actually been telling people for YEARS that I'm allergic to alcohol because I always get allergy-like symptoms the day after drinking. I have a runny nose, puffy eyes, and sneezing fits. Mind you, this perceived allergy did not stop me from drinking. Now I think it's just the dehydration. I could Google it, but I'm pretty busy blogging right now. 

Hangover's suck, duh. But there's something interesting that happens with hangovers. I stop caring. I'm super indulgent and do exactly what I want to do, which is usually very little when I'm hungover. I eat whatever I want because I feel so physically horrible. I've essentially battered my brain around so badly the previous night that it goes on strike.

Normally I have a little nagging conscience that says "Hey Liz, don't eat that greasy cheesy breakfast sandwich. It's not good for you! Let's make some nice scrambled egg whites, okay, sweetheart?" When I'm hungover that conscience is right next to me moaning and groaning and saying, "Cheeeeese. Put ketchup on it. Put it in a bowl and eat like a trough. Don't you have more cheese in the fridge? Yeah, more cheese you filthy animal. Ugh I hate us."

Obviously, this is not great behavior, but I do respect the mighty hangover's ability to turn off my insecurities, doubts, worries, and all those other dumb neuroses. My body is out-screaming all of those with a powerful war cry of "FRENCH FRIES!!!"