I have 9 lives... well, probably closer to 6.

Alright, New York City.
You and I are standing on our last leg.

You set me up with horrible roommates, took my wallet, put me through a completely debilitating job hunt, laughed at my attempts to make friends through Craigslist, cursed me with a self-deprecating crush on a man who graduated from college when I was 13 years old, gave me a 48-hour deadline to relocate my living situation, and chopped off the gangrenous limb that doubled as a relationship even though I totally wasn't ready to give it up yet. Additionally, you placed me under a lawsuit, absorbed over $10,000 of my money, slaughtered my self confidence, and suffocated me with the hottest, nastiest summer I could have ever possibly hoped to endure in an extremely urban setting. Well, you know what NYC? I hate you.

Not so far from the truth.

... Sometimes.
Because when you're not working hard to find new, exciting, and totally twisted ways to leave me pondering what it would feel like to leap with wild abandon from the Brooklyn Bridge, you manage to give me some pretty funny stories and interesting experiences to keep me coming back for more.

Today, I met my future roommate. She will be my roommate starting Wednesday night. For anyone out who keeps up with my absurdly dysfunctional life (if you're bored, you're boring!), here's what it's looking like for the next week. On Monday, after work, I will pack up everything I own. On Tuesday after work, I will spend quality time with my sister for the first time in over a month. On Wednesday, after work, I will hire a car service to pick me - and all of my belongings - up in East Elmhurst, Queens, and dump me off in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, where I will be living for the next 1 to 4 months. On Thursday, after work, I will pack for Vermont. On Friday, I will spend nine hours on a train. On Saturday, I will attend the Spectacle of Sin in Burlington. On Sunday, I will rearrange my storage unit and see most of my friends for the first time in five months. On Monday, I will spend nine hours on a train. I'm tired just thinking about it all [laughs].

Do you ever think about the things you need to get done and wonder how the hell it's going to happen? My personal mantra, as of late, has been: This, too, shall pass. Maybe, with this new living situation, I will be able to relax and feel good about it enough so that I can decide whether or not I still enjoy being in New York City. Lately, Boston has been calling to me. It speaks to the part of my brain that craves a smaller populous and a simpler, cleaner subway system. And friends. Friends are good too.

Goodbye, 24.

It is the day after Halloween and I am exhausted. Do you ever feel like you need a weekend to recover from the week and then a weekend to recover from the weekend? Well, I feel like that a lot and I definitely feel like that today. However, much to my surprise, despite the fact that it was my first Halloween in New York City, I only had one drink yesterday, and it was with brunch. Perhaps my post-holiday coma is my body's disgruntled response to being forced to trundle around in heels all day? My Achilles tendons are killing me. However, there is a bottle of delicious wine in the fridge that I grabbed from the Union Square farmers market this weekend. I think a glass of wine, some cheese, and pajamas might be in line this evening. Some clean, quiet solitude would be nice. And if I'm lucky, perhaps I can catch a rerun of the first episode of The Walking Dead on AMC. Ooooh, I might even get to go to bed early!

These are the things that excite me. I feel old.

Speaking of which, I've lived to reach my silver year, which means that anxiety, stress, and misadventures haven't killed me yet. For my birthday, I got to dress up and attend my workplace's annual Halloween party. Okay, well, it took place during work hours, so there wasn't much choice in the matter. In a feat of what I felt was cleverness, I painted half my face to look like a skeleton, donned nice business clothes, did my hair and (half) my makeup, and slapped on a tag that said: Hello, My Name Is Corporate Zombie. In retrospect, I now see that my sense of humor is somehow too subtle - or dark and self-deprecating - to translate to an office party atmosphere, and though my face paint was lovely, Ronald McDonald and Mario won the cash prizes. I'm not entirely surprised, but I'm not bitter about it either. I think I've just resigned to the fact that I am, in fact, a black sheep. But that's okay. I heard a saying once that "normal" is nothing more than the setting on a dryer. I can prescribe to that way of thinking.

Acclimating (yes, still)  to New York City continues to be challenging. Post break up, my last relationship provided a great twist ending (I never saw it coming!), I've been summoned to small claims court over damages to a cheap IKEA couch that occurred during a week when I was pet sitting in Long Island City, and I - great migrant wanderer that I am - may soon be out on the street with my suitcases again, looking for the next place to live or couch to crash on. This time, I have high-rolling fantasies of an overpriced, shoebox-sized studio in a relatively safe part of Brooklyn where I can come home from work, kick off my sneakers, and play guitar if I want to. Or shower with the door open. Or cook naked. Or have friends come to visit without fear of being disrespectful by simply existing in the same space. I just want a place and things that are mine. I'm tired of needing to lean on other people. At the moment, these may seem like lofty ideals, but I'll get there eventually. New York City may chew me up, but it hasn't spit me out yet. I'll pat myself on the back for the mere accomplishment of survival. I'm still hanging in there.

On the other hand, October has been a splendid month full of strange and wonderful adventures. I went to a bohemian/gypsy-themed dance with live Balkan brass music, participated in the largest zombie crawl in New York City, and attended a vintage swing-era party at the Brooklyn Lyceum where I danced with such wild abandon that three members of the band approached me afterward to tell me how awesome I was. I checked out a steam punk picnic in Prospect Park, where I was kindly introduced to an eclectic, charismatic, and accepting group of people who I would very much like to see more of. I watched my childhood best friend, who I've known for 20 years, get married and something about that experience really got to the heart of me. Joe traveled up to visit me from Vermont. We went to a late night Brooklyn Halloween bash where we a band composed of giant, 8' alien puppets rock out on stage, went to an Edward Gorey Halloween Spectacular, and marched in the Village Halloween Parade, after which we witnessed a fight amongst a big group of bedazzled Elvises and tuxedoed penguins get broken up by the police. It was pretty hilarious.

On Wednesday, I am starting Lindyhop lessons (because if I wasn't cool already, wait 'til I can swing dance). This weekend, I'm taking a trip to Boston. In mid-November, I am visiting Vermont for the first time since I left, where I will reunite with my beloved and dearly missed friends and stir up trouble in Burlington with Daelynn, which shouldn't be too difficult.

So, goodbye, 24.
Life keeping rolling on.