Tag Archives: NYC

I’m Living In Brooklyn Now!

brooklyn

So, this is a follow up to my last post, which chronicled the completely insane week of July 31 to August 7.

I’m happy to say, I survived. And I’m now living in Williamsburg, Brooklyn… and I don’t hate it. That’s right! I don’t miss the Upper West Side at all, because Brooklyn is

so.

damn.

cool.

Yep… totally happy. Wow, I love all these obnoxious cafes, and ugly fucking hipsters who have too much money and no jobs! HOW COULD I POSSIBLY HATE A FUCKING PLACE LIKE THIS? 

In Williamsburg, people are still wearing fedoras. MOTHERFUCKING FEDORAS! 

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This photo should tell you everything you need to know. I want to punch that girl in the face.

I went to Whole Foods yesterday and they have an oat milk vending machine…. Humans of planet earth… please, let me repeat :

OAT MILK VENDING MACHINE.

oat milk

If there actually was a God, he would obliterate this fucking hellhole into oblivion.

Right now, Im at a cafe and there is a guy next to me with glasses, pierced ears, shaved head in the back, spiky hair up front, in a gross tank top, with tattoos, wearing a fanny pack cross his shoulder, black jeans rolled up to his knees, with white tube socks, and Adidas sneakers that looks like they’re from the 80’s (AKA: He bought them for $100 from one of the many insanely expensive “thrift” shops in Williamsburg. He’s drinking an ice coffee that he ordered with, of course, oat milk.

Remember when hipsters loved soy milk? Then they hated it. And then it was almond milk, but that too wasn’t the miracle cure they had been hoping for. Then, there was that brief fad of “raw milk”. But now, it’s oat milk. Williamsburg smells of the greasy farts of too many hipsters who consume nothing but oats.

OH MY FUCKING GOD. I’m not making this up. Now a group of 3 hipsters just walked in to order and this was their conversation:

hipster 1: Yo, dude, we need to get a shot of you on the train. It will be, like, great for the vlog.

hipster 2: Man, this is going to be such a great collaboration. I’m so happy that we connected.

hipster 1: Yeah man, we’ll call the video something like, Freestyle in Manhattan, or like, Brooklyn, or whatever.

Hipster 3 remains silent. Probably knowing deep down how completely meaningless his life is.

hipster

But like I said, I’m not upset. It’s a great neighborhood. Everyone here is totally cool. Like, the coolest. They’re so trendy, self-obsessed, and glued to their social media that they’re honestly the best people in the world.

How could you not like this neighborhood?

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My Life Went To Hell In 1 Short Week…

hell

So, let’s flashback to July 31st… Ah, I was so young, so naive. So innocent.

I thought I was about to move to an apartment on the Upper East Side. I was packing up my things because we had to vacate the apartment by midnight.

But then, at 3pm, my new roommate texted me to say that he decided to go with someone else…

CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE THAT?

And I was losing my apartment 9 hours later…..

AND THEN I WENT INTO MELTDOWN MODE.

rampage

***Actual Footage of Inside My Soul on July 31, 2019***

 

I was scrambling.  I was desperately messaging apartments and texting everyone and anyone I knew saying I needed a couch to sleep on.

The hours went by and no responses came.

It was now 11pm. I went into critical meltdown mode. I had to realize that it was possible I might have to hop in a cab and head to the airport. I had to accept that this could be the end of my time in New York.  The thought of a hotel for a night crossed my mind… then I saw the prices for last-minute hotels in NYC during the summer months, and I quickly discovered that wasn’t an option.

I had to get serious.  I said, “What can I carry on a plane home, and what can’t I.”

My lamp. My desk. Had to go

My pillows, sheets, blankets. Had to go. 

All my books. Magazines. Notebooks. Had to go. 

Clothes I hadn’t worn in a while. Had to go. 

les mis

I was near tears, throwing my entire life onto the curb of 82nd street.

THEN, FINALLY AT 5 MINUTES BEFORE MIDNIGHT, a guy I had slept with a few times messaged me. “Sure, come over.”

I couldn’t believe it. I was still in the game. But, I needed to pack light. This random guy was already doing me a favor, I couldn’t bring my entire life over to his place. I needed to accept that all the stuff on the curb was gone. Out of my life.

 

I stayed with him for 2 days. I worked during the day, and visited apartments at night. And oh man, once I lowered my standards…. the places I found…..

There was the Indian guy in East Harlem who wanted me to share a twin-size bed with him. There was an apartment of Korean guys who had walled off a section of of their living room with plywood to create a “flex bedroom” (AKA: A small, windowless box made of plywood) and they wanted $1,300 a month (not including utilities) for it. And there was another place on the Upper East Side I found on Craigslist. It was a super tiny room in a 4-bedroom apartment for $1k a month. I thought, ONLY 1k A MONTH??? I’d living in a closet on the Upper East Side for that!

amy sedaris

The broker wanted first, last, security, and a 1k broker fee.

I asked, “You want a broker fee for an apartment I found on Craigslist?”

…He stopped responding to my texts.

Then, the guy I was staying with goes, “So…my boyfriend is staying over for the next few days, and he gets really jealous so you have to go.”

I texted my friend and didn’t even ask to stay with him. I simply said, “I’m coming over.”

I got to his place and fell asleep on his couch, I was so dead. The next morning  I woke up to visit an apartment in Williamsburg, AND BAM! That was it. The neighborhood was great, my roommate was fuckin hot, and super nice, and we clicked instantly, and then he said, “But, I just moved in and need to set up the apartment, so move-in isn’t until August 10. I couldn’t pass it up though. So I instantly gave him the deposit.

I get back to my friend’s and he goes, “Look, I have to go out of town for a birthday, and I don’t really feel comfortable with you being here when I’m not.. so, you have to leave.”

I went on Orbitz, booked a flight home for that night and called my mom from the taxi to JFK.

“Hi Honey! What’s going on?”

“Hi mom. My flight is going to land at about 9:20pm, I need you to be at the airport to pick me up.”

(silence.) 

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“You’re coming home tonight?”

“Yes.”

(squeal!) “Oh ok!!! We’ll be there! I can’t wait to see you! Do you need me to pick up anyt….”

(Click.) 

I didn’t have time to speak to her. I had to call work to arrange being gone for a week.

airport

So, after a plane ride, and a ride home from the airport. I hopped in bed, safe in my childhood bedroom.  Little did I realize that I had been running around so much the past few days that I hadn’t been eating or drinking.

The next morning at 9 a.m. I shoot out of bed. I had a massive Charlie horse in my right calf. I jumped up, and instantly get woozy and light-headed and collapse. My parents are both at work already. I try to stand up again, and I get woozy again, and collapse. I try a third time, and start losing my vision when I stand up. I collapse again.

I decide that maybe I need food and water. I try to walk downstairs to the kitchen and again, I can feel my vision blurring and my head getting all wobbly. I collapse. Then, with no other option, I call 911 and literally have to say the lines, “Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.”  I’M NOT EVEN 30 YEARS OLD! 

 

Long story short. They come and tell me I seem dehydrated, but my blood pressure and sugars seem fine. I go to the doctor just to be safe. I get bloodwork done and a cardiac test. Everything comes back fine. It was just exhaustion and dehydration.

So, that’s how, all within less than 7 days, I lost my apartment, stayed on 2 people’s couches, had to fly home, and even call 911…

But. I’m not giving up. I’m still in this. I head to back to New York tomorrow. I won’t give up. New York won’t win. I let Australia take me down and I’ve never forgiven myself. New York City and all you cuntfuck New Yorkers who live there… you’ve made a powerful enemy. game on.

 

~ The Dark Horse

(this post was way too long to proofread.  Sowwyz!)

 

 

 

 

 

Taking Time for Yourself is Important

nyc

So, I’ve been here in New York City for about a month and a half now, and it has been one hell of a whirlwind.

Working on my thesis, and interning in TV, and writing for a magazine, and editing for a literary journal – It has been non-fucking-stop. And I love it. I absolutely love how busy I am and how much fun the work I do is, and how there is potential for my future now.

It’s amazing. It’s like I’m finally getting the things I want. My hard work is paying off!

 

However, having said that…

I’m definitely also working a little too hard. I’m working 7 days a week. (I’m even feeling a little guilty for taking a few minutes to write this blog post rather than do editing for the literary journal). And that’s a problem. 

I’m starting to feel the effects of burn-out.

sleep

 

I wake up in the morning, even after a 7-ish hour sleep, and I can feel that I’m only recharged to maybe 80%. I can feel the sluggishness setting in. I can feel the bags under my eyes forming. The dreaming and yearning to go home for a little vacation where I drink grandma’s ice tea and play Minecraft and ride my bike. I can feel the wanting a break. A rest…

 

AND THEN I WAS WALKING THROUGH CENTRAL PARK ON MY WAY HOME FROM WORK ONE DAY…

CP

And in Central Park, you can dedicate park benches and write little messages to loved ones, remembrances to deceased loved ones, and all that general plaque type stuff that you see on benches around the world.

And for some reason, I’m walking passed this one bench, and I happened to look at it, and it said,

“If you could just learn to slow down…”

 

And then my name was written right after that.

No joke.

Not kidding. 

I stared at the bench. I’m not one to believe in secret meanings or the universe sending me messages, but something about this.  It was like exactly what I needed to hear at the exactly the right time. It was so surreal.

 

So now, It’s Sunday, and I’m going to work…but I’m also going to take breaks. I’m taking some time to write this blog post, because I love my blog and it makes me happy to write it! I’m also going to go for a little walk at some point this afternoon too.

In short, I’m just going to slow down a little bit. 

Now, I was going to add a GIF into this post about writing. Something to show that I was taking time to write or whatever… and then I found all these horrendous Bradly Cooper GIFS that are just tragic, and make me laugh.  So, for your pleasure, I think I’ll showcase some wonderfully bad Bradly Cooper typing GIFS.

coop

Ok, so here’s Bradly in some sort of writing rainfall.  WHAT IS THIS EVEN FROM? Is this from that movie where he plagiarizes everything from Shakespeare or something? Wasn’t he in some movie called The Words? Or something like that?

 

coop1

FULL BLOWN LITERARY HURRICANE! 

This is the type of shit that could life Dorothy’s house right up out of Kansas.

 

Alright, enough Bradley bashing. Remember to work hard, but to also take time for yourself. Your career is only one component of your life and only one component of happiness. Remember your health and your social life are important too!

 

~ The Dark Horse

 

 

 

 

Living The Dream… And It’s Truly Surreal

nyc

So, I’m here in New York City, and everything has spiraled out of control into the best thing ever. I’m here because I recently got an internship in television. Then, last week, I was published for the first time. Now, I also have a paid position blogging for a travel magazine. I had no idea when I started blogging back in 2014, desperate to reach out to others because of my depression and anxiety…that I would ever get a paid blogging job.

DOES ANYONE KNOW WHERE MY LIFE WENT? 

WHO IS THIS NEW GUY I SEE IN THE MIRROR? THE ONE WHO IS MORE CONFIDENT TAHN I EVER WOULD HAVE IMAGINED? 

(touches face with hand) IS MY SKIN EVEN LOOKING BETTER? 

People of the world, I ask you this…

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

girl

 

You always see the storylines in movies and books that tell you hard work pays off in the end.  But you never actually believe it right? (At least I didn’t). I always thought that happiness was something other people could obtain. Happiness wasn’t ever meant for me. It seemed like no matter what I did, everything would blow up all around me all the time.

I kept telling myself, “I am working hard, right? Is this all in my head? Is every other human trying even harder? Am I lazy and undeserving and just don’t know it?”

But I guess it goes like this: A train weighs about 18,000 tons.

It takes a lot of energy to make 18,000 tons move. It isn’t like the flick of a pinky can make it happen. And that’s what I was. I was a stopped train. I was a chicken running around with my head cut off. I was desperate, lonely, in pain, had no connections, was working in retail (and was doing a horrible job because I was bored to death everyday) so I wasn’t exactly building my resume.

And then I started working towards making my life better. 

Started from the bottom. Got back into school, working at Whole Foods to pay rent.

Then, unpaid internships led to…more unpaid internships…which led to really poorly paid internships…

train1

 

The engines on the train were heating up, but because the train wasn’t moving, I considered myself a failure. I didn’t notice the rumbling sounds of power underneath my feet. I didn’t see the steam rising from beneath the bowels.

Then those poorly paid internships led to well paid internships, and I started putting on events at school, and then suddenly I’m here in New York City, and it seems like possibility is everywhere. Suddenly the world doesn’t seem like a place that will always oppress me and keep me down. (Well, they can try, but fuck them.)

train2

I’m on a train chugging full speed ahead, and now I’m looking out the windows as the world swooshes by, wondering how the fuck I made all this happen.

Never ever stop believing in yourselves.

We got this!

 

~ The Dark Horse

 

New York, I Have Arrived!

nyc

 

Somehow. Someway….

It happened.

I’ve finally arrived.

I’m in the land of Joan Didion, Robert De Nero, and Anna Wintour.

And It’s so insanely exciting and cool and terrifying and thrilling and wonderful and stressful.

I mean, people, listen to me, I am currently writing in a cafe in Manhattan, surrounded by brownstones with iron fire escapes, and the sounds of honking and all the rest of those very New Yorkish things.

nyc1

 

And obviously that sensory overload is good and bad. Sensory overload can lead to anxiety. And I’ll be honest, I’m getting a tad of it.

It seems like too much has gone right. I mean, who lands a good job in New York, finds an amazing apartment at a great price in a wonderful neighborhood, has good roommates, and…. is actually happy?

Does anyone else out there feel like happiness is one of those things that other people get, but the we don’t?

It’s like I’m waiting for the floor to drop at any moment.

Like, maybe this job will fall through. Or the owner of the apartment will sell, and I’ll have to move….or worse, what if I can’t find a place afterwards? And then I have to leave because the stress has caused me to have a mental breakdown and lose my job? It seems like I’m so used to pain and misery that I no longer have the ability to even believe that a good life exists.

It seems that whenever something good starts to happen, a hurricane alarm goes off deep within me. Some old sailor starts screaming, “Batten down the hatches!” I start to brace for the bad to begin again.

perfectstorm

AND YOU KNOW WHAT?

THAT FUCKING SUCKS AND IS UNFAIR.

 

And you know what else? I’m really fucking over it. Done. (Or for all you eighteen-year-olds out there, I’m #done).

 

It isn’t fair that I have to live a life convinced that I don’t deserve good things. Or think that I’ll never be happy.

Fuck that. 

And Fuck all the people out there who have conditioned me to be this way. 

Fuck all the kids from my grade school who called me faggot.

Fuck all the kids in high school who spat on me, and who told me they’d beat me up if they ever saw me in the bathroom.

Fuck the teachers who stood and did nothing.

But double fuck the teachers who made comments themselves. I’m looking at you freshman year health teacher who told me I’ll die of AIDS simply for being gay.

And also to my old German teacher who was openly homophobic. 

Not to mention EVERY SINGLE religion teacher I ever had, who told me I would go to hell. 

Fuck my old boss at Aeropostale who made fun of me for having depression and anxiety. Im sorry that you’re a grown 37-year-old woman who’s life has amounted to working in a bumfuck mall in a cornfield in Ohio selling cheap clothing to little girls that fall apart after a month. 

Fuck everyone in Ohio who discouraged me from dreaming big. Who told me the world would eat me alive. Who told me I’d never be good enough. Who told me I was stupid. Who told me I was ugly. 

FUCK ALL OF YOU. 

CUZ GUESS WHAT MOTHERFUCKERS, 

I live in Manhattan now. And I just got a job in television. And I’m finishing up my Master’s where I’m putting together a book full of my essays. 

So, here’s my cock. suck it.

nyc2

Werk.

 

I’m ready to embrace a life of meaning. A life where maybe I can even help change other people’s lives. A life where I’m happy and fulfilled. And I’m done even remembering what a bunch of boondock Ohioans tried telling me about life.

~ The Dark Horse