Adventures of the charmingly odd

Night Musings


I like writing rambling, personal blog posts. I love reading them from bloggers and I wished that my favorites would take a break from writing edited down, appeal to the masses, sponsor friendly posts to sit down and write some gritty, solid, good life stuff.

Since this is my corner of the universe, let me ramble for you a while, my friends.

Today I had my first Calmare treatment. I was nervous about it all weekend and last night I kept Steve up by tossing and turning until he just grabbed my hands to kept me still and close and calm. I didn’t have to be at the doctors until 11:15am, so I tried getting as much sleep as possible to conserve energy. I slept until 9:30am and immediately started freaking out. I just felt like everything was going to go wrong: that I would get there late, that traffic would be scary, that the treatment wouldn’t work, that I would be late to work afterwards, etc etc etc. I walked around the house talking to the dogs and trying not to freak out about everything under the sun.

A lot of things did go wrong, such as the clothes I put in the dryer the night before apparently didn’t dry at all. There were car accidents all over the Garden State Parkway. I made a wrong turn and my GPS had to take me all over to fix the mistake. Traffic was awful. I basically cried the whole way there because I was having a panic attack but took enough anti-anxiety medications to counter act it so I just cried and sang along to my iTunes on shuffle.

However, I got there 15 minutes early, found a super cheap gas station (only $25 to fill up my tank with 93!! I love having a MINI) and got a parking spot right outside the office. The receptionist let me post date the check until I get paid on Friday so I’m not broke until then. A woman walked into the waiting room and asked, “Who does that super cute MINI belong to outside?!” I was obnoxiously proud ^.^

But then the doctor was running 30 minutes behind and I was a half hour late to work and the Parkway is full of insane drivers so I was totally stressed out afterwards again. I finally caved and asked my mom to take to my next treatments (9 more days to go!) because I just can’t handle the stress of driving there and then being “electrocuted” for 45 minutes and then drive again. Thank god she was as nervous as me and said she was more than willing to drive me to the doctors and work AND pick me up from work to cut down on beating up my body.

I could explain the treatment more in depth right now, but you can check out previous posts for that. I’m so exhausted right now. That’s what I told my doctor today: I’m exhausted all the time. I sleep as much as possible and I’m still exhausted.

Steve is great: he knows on the weekends that I always have to take a nap to recharge. He doesn’t mind, that means he gets to take his motorcycle out without feeling bad leaving me alone. Steve is great about everything in general.

I remember how, when I was in such a terrible relationship, I would read other blogger’s talk about the amazing people in their lives and I wished with everything I had that I could find something like that. Steve is everything I ever wanted, and more. He’s perfect for me. 

Being loved is the greatest experience I will ever know.

Life is rough guys. Really really really rough and complicated. But I swear to god the good makes up for all the shitty stuff.


This One Time… I Got Stuck in Kevin Bacon’s Basement

For about six months I was tutoring the teenage girl who lived across the hall from Kevin Bacon. For the purpose of this story, this girl will be known as Marissa henceforth.

kevin1_2451128bNow Marissa and her family, and Mr. Kevin Bacon across the hall, lived in a gorgeous building right on Central Park West. From their dinning room, where I mostly worked, I had a spectacular view of the park and I was envious every day. Their bathroom was the size of the apartment I was living in. Each floor had only two apartments, and this family shared a space with the man who fought for the right to dance.

I only saw Kevin Bacon twice during my time working there: once when I was walking up to their building and he was getting into a cab outside, and then again when I came to their floor as he was walking in his front door. Does this mean there are zero degrees of separation between us?

Now, sometimes my employers would go out of town for the weekend and they would ask me to sleep over with Marissa and her twin sister, Joy. The girls, despite being juniors in high school, had fake IDs and access to clubs where they knew the bouncers, so their parents didn’t make them come home until 2am. When I would sleep over, I wouldn’t have to head over to their place until midnight.

I would pack my backpack and ride my pink Schwinn Windwood bike and matching pinkschwinn-26-womens-pink-windwood-cruiser-bicycle helmet and ride over to their luxurious building. I had become friends with their doorman, Philippe, and he would let me sneak my bike into the basement instead of having to leaving it outside overnight where homeless men could have stolen it and sold the parts on the Lower East Side.

Now, the word ‘basement’ does not do this space justice. It was like…a hall. It 30 foot ceilings, two basketball courts, pool tables, two locker rooms, and an entire wall of bike racks for the families that lived there. On this particular night, I took the elevator down underground and parked my bike near the edge of the basketball court, because why not?

However, when I went to use the elevator to go back up, I realized it had just turned 12:01 am and that meant the elevators had automatically locked, for security reasons. I wandered around the massive hall, looking for a flight of stairs. Unfortunately everything was locked, which I’m sure was a major fire hazard. I began to mildly panic.

I walked in circles, looking for any way out of there. I tried my phone and I had no cell service and it was unlikely that Marissa and Joy would care that I wasn’t there when they stumbled back home drunk. The only window was 20 feet above me and it had bars in front of it. If there was a zombie apocalypse, this is exactly where I wanted to be. But until then, I was getting desperate.

How could I explain this one? “Sorry m’am, I wasn’t there to make sure your daughters didn’t need to have their stomachs pumped from partying all night because I got stuck in your basement from when I was sneaking my bike down there. I’m sorry.”

 I finally noticed a security camera by the elevator and started to furiously jump and wave my arms in front of it. Sometimes Philippe would hide around the corner of the lobby to text his girlfriend during her night classes, so there was a chance he wasn’t actually watching the footage at that moment.

Five exhausting minutes there I heard the elevator sound off and open before me, as if by magic. I then let myself into my employer’s ridiculously nice apartment, took a very long bath in the tub the size of my bed, and helped myself to their stocked fridge.

Things were even more surreal when the girls came home and we started watching “The Game Plan” starring The Rock as well as Kyra Sedgwick, Kevin Bacon’s wife. At once point I said to Marissa, ‘That’s your neighbor across the hall” and the girls let out an unimpressed “ohh”.  I then asked them, “The TV is loud, do you think she can hear her own voice coming from your apartment? Wouldn’t that be weird?” They then burst into a fit of giggles and I excused myself to fall asleep in the guest bed that looked like Sleeping Beauty’s because of course, why wouldn’t it?

daniel-day-lewis-gangs-of-new-yorkI didn’t find this out until afterwards, but Daniel Day-Lewis also lives that in that building. So technically I was stuck in his basement as well, and it’s too bad I didn’t have his number because he could have easily saved me. Or at least talked to me in his President Lincoln voice and told me stories about working with Steven Spielberg. I don’t know if Kevin Bacon could have done much except for swing from the pipes in the ceiling but I would have welcomed seeing some of his dance moves.


The Things They Don’t Teach You at School

“I’ve been making a list of the things they don’t teach you at school. They don’t teach you how to love somebody. They don’t teach you how to be famous. They don’t teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. They don’t teach you how to walk away from someone you don’t love any longer. They don’t teach you how to know what’s going on in someone else’s mind. They don’t teach you what to say to someone who’s dying. They don’t teach you anything worth knowing.”

 Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 9: The Kindly Ones

They don’t teach you that your first kiss doesn’t have to perfect. They don’t teach you that when you’re sixteen and you get to third base for the first time, that it’s okay to feel bored by the whole thing. They don’t teach you that most people can’t be trusted and that just because someone is older than you, it doesn’t mean that they know better than you do.

They don’t teach you that it’s okay to not love someone that you did the day before. They don’t teach you how to protect yourself from getting hurt. They don’t teach you how to trust again once you were hurt.

They teach you how to recognize a heart attack but not a panic attack.

They don’t teach you how important it is to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. They don’t teach you that so much of what you’ll need to know can be found in movies, not textbooks. They don’t teach you to watch Spielberg or Coppola or Fincher or to read Pullman or Rowling or Martin.

 They don’t teach you how to pay bills or how to do your taxes or how to tell if the apartment you’re signing a lease for is a scam. They don’t teach you that a company that has an open bar from 9 to 5 probably isn’t actually a good place to work.

They don’t teach how to put your guard up. They don’t teach you how some songs will haunt you forever. They don’t teach how to handle all the emotions you feel. The Pythagorean Theorem has never helped me in my life, but if someone had taught me how to point out warning signs in a relationship, it would have saved years of heart break.

They don’t teach you how to put your guard down. They don’t teach you how to figure out what kind of sex you like, and how you like it, and that it’s okay to like it however you want. They don’t teach you that you don’t need other people but wanting people is okay. They don’t teach you that loving someone is just as scary as not being loved.

They don’t teach you how to be a good friend or a better girlfriend or a daughter someone can be proud of. They don’t teach you that not everyone has to like you.  They don’t teach you how to comfort your mind when your body is failing you. They don’t teach you that it’s okay to just stay home from work when you’re feeling mentally exhausted.

They don’t teach you how to breathe.
Or that standing in the snow is healing,
Or that just being held cures sadness.

That being loved can teach you how to love yourself.

That happiness can be found in money because it provides security and sweaters and coffee, but that happiness is mostly found on Sunday mornings
In front of a fireplace, with a good book, and someone next to you.


Ramblings on Resolutions (So Long 2014!)

I like New Year’s Resolutions. I like the faux feeling of a fresh start and setting out goals to accomplish. I also don’t get bent out of shape when I don’t achieve them though. My goals every year are the basic I-want-to-get-my-life-together type deals.

Mine this year are simply:

-Get my health under control
-Finish the first draft of my novel

These were also my New Year’s Resolutions last year and although they didn’t get 100% accomplished, a lot of big steps were taken in the last 12 months to open up space for them to happen this year. I’m now in a safe place physically and emotionally to do the things I want to do!

While writing this post, I got my Verily newsletter in my inbox (I hate email newsletters with a passion but I love Verily’s, check them out!) and I read this great article on New Year’s Resolutions. If, like me, your goal this year is to take care of yourself, this is a great article to get in the frame of mind of health.

Things I Plan on Doing (which are different than resolutions)

-Add to my LOTR tattoo
-Get more into astronomy
-Continue with blogging
-Read more books ( keep track of them!)

2014 has been really life changing for me, but you probably already know that. But by chance you don’t, check out a previous post ‘Thank God for a Fucked Up Year’.

And so I will leave you with:


My Wholly Profound and Delightfully Understated Moments of 2014

– Sitting in yoga class, late on a Monday night. The studio was on the top floor in a building in Lincoln Square and the massive, greenhouse windows were open. A snow storm was just starting. A peaceful escape from my crazy life.

– Sitting in my shrink’s office and her asking me what was more important: being happy or living in New York. It was the first moment I realized that I had to move home.

– Air France had an exhibit on the Lower West Side and I was so excited to check it out. In a room with lights hanging from ceiling to floor, to give the illusion of being in the sky, the person I was dating at the time got into a pointless yelling match with a tourist and I thought to myself, “ No more. No more of this.” 

– Standing in Penn Station on the April morning I moved home, with a suitcase and a bag. A massive light fixture fell from the ceiling, nearly impaling the college students next to me. If I ever needed to sign to leave, that was it.

– My parents took me out to eat down the shore on the 1 year anniversary of when I got hurt, and I was sullen and ungrateful. I then went home and watched 8 hours of Orange is the New Black.

– Sitting on my back porch writing a letter at my typewriter. It was June 11th.

– Laying down on my couch in the basement on the 4th of July, skipping fireworks and redownloading Tinder

– Sitting on a bench next to a bay, watching a thunderstorm approach. And kissing.

– Hugging Mara at the San Diego Airport for the first time!

– Walking around San Diego Comic Con completely comfortable in my own skin.

– Losing every shit I had when meeting Randall, the voice of Honey Badger at SDCC, and asking him to record my voice mail.

– Standing out on my front lawn at 3 in the morning. Finding the Andromeda constellation.

– Gaslight Anthem playing “Break Your Heart” live at PNC Arts Center.

– Sunday mornings at Starbucks reading a paper, Sunday afternoons watching football, Sunday nights falling asleep on the couch in front of a fire.

– Waking up on Christmas morning next to my favorite person.

– And undoubtedly, when I get to kiss him at midnight, it will be the best ending to 2014 and start of 2015


There is this quote from the Season 1 Finale of Ally McBeal that I always think of this time of year. So I will leave you with this:

“If you think back and replay your year, if it doesn’t bring you tears either of joy or sadness, consider it wasted.”

Here’s to all the crying in 2015<3


A Holiday Short Story Tomorrow!

Hello everyone! Merry almost Christmas Eve!

Now, if you follow me on Twitter (I’m slightly more entertaining over there) then you are aware that for the past few weeks I have been working on a Christmas short story to be published on this blog. I’m happy to say that it is FINALLY almost done and will be posted tomorrow for you all to read!

Though this story is in essence about two people who meet off of Tinder, it’s not the story of how Steve and I met at all. The two main characters are not us, no matter how much I steal from real life. Steve would also like me to point out that he is disappointed that there is no sex in my story as, and I quote, “if you’re going to write a story about me on the Internet, at least include how good I am in bed.” So here you go: my boyfriend is really good in bed. (Sorry mom. And Steve’s mom. If you’re reading this.)

I would also like to point out that this is a very different kind of story than one I’m used to writing- normally I write angsty historical fiction that takes place in the 1940s. Not modern day simple holiday romances. I was really worried about posting the story because I feel it’s not up to par with my normal work and it’s not very…intellectual. But fuck it, it’s Christmas and I love reading cheesy romantic sweet stories on Christmas.

So tomorrow I’ll post  my gift to you: thanks for another wonderful year being my Internet friend<3




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