Oh, New York Part 2

Yes...oh New York. I left off at the risotto, but I believe I failed to mention yesterday's activities. After an amazing brunch in Brooklyn with Olav and Betsy, Betsy and I went to midtown to meet up with an old friend, Josh. He took the bus in from Jersey. We then headed to Ground Zero. I thought there'd be more to see, but there truly isn't much to view yet - it's a huge chunk of space left empty in the chaotic city. Although pretty empty, it did leave a lasting impression on me, just being in that area and remembering that day. It was a somber morning. We peeked into the construction area as much as we could (it was blocked off pretty well) and then strolled into St. Paul's Chapel which is located right across the street. St. Paul's acted as a sanctuary for the rescuers, families of victims and volunteers of 9/11. Inside St. Paul's you can see the posters and flyers and notes that people scattered around the city in the days following 9/11. Viewing these artifacts, you couldn't help but tear up and feel the sadness. (On a sidenote, it was pretty embarrassing when I strolled in to the church as quiet as a ghost, since that is how you are supposed to be, I thought. But then I promptly knocked over a "Caution" sign that was placed on the wet floor, creating a loud SMACK!!! noise; all eyes on Jojo, forever the klutz).

We then strolled through the financial district and eventually wound up in the East Village. We grabbed a drink at the Telephone Bar, this crazy bar filled with telephone booths (could you guess?) and British paintings. Betsy ran to catch a conference call and Josh and I made our way up to Central Park, where we strolled among the sunset-colored leaves and shade of the towering trees. To me, Central Park is Peace. I could have stayed there all day. Eventually we found ourselves at a diner in the Upper Eastside, where I drank the Tiniest Milk Shake There Ever Was and Josh inhaled an egg salad sandwich. Let's just say...not impressed. And then Josh was off for Jersey once again and I on a train bound for Brooklyn to meet up with the girls.

Today I got to play Local. Another fabulous brunch with Olav in Brooklyn (skillet french toast!) and then wandering the streets of the lower east side solo. I discovered some charming shops. I met a woman who collects old books, a man who wanted me to pick a purse that "complimented me" and "brought me up." He held my jacket while I tried on purse after purse and I felt guilty in the end for not buying on. I stumbled upon a nail salon and joined the herds of NYU ladies for a Sunday afternoon manicure. After, I met Raymond, the owner of a wine bar in the East Village. I drank a flight of high end reds at a candle lit table; he took my picture so I could remember. The wine bar itself was original, very New York, but the name was clever only in its simplicity: Wine Bar.

I enjoy New York, but I know I'm not done in LA. New York has a sense of grittiness to it, this feeling of never being done and never being clean. When it rained this weekend, I felt like I needed to shower 20 times a day. Everyone is in such a rush. No one gives a shit where you are coming from and who you are, what you are wearing. Olav gave me a great example: In LA, if someone spoke to you, one might think "Screw you." In New York, you say hi to man on the street, and he actually says, "Screw you." I do like that everyone here has a story; they have this sense of cool that I know I'll never have. It's infused in their posture, how they glance at you when you get on the F Train, the way their sneakers are worn from walking miles and miles of New York streets.

I'm not ready for New York yet, Los Angeles is it for me, for now. I think if I were to leave Los Angeles tomorrow, I would miss it very much.

I'll post pictures when I return from the east coast. Tomorrow afternoon a train will take me to Philadelphia, land of the fashionless and miserable (or, so the newspaper says). Til then.

Oh, New York

I'm sitting here in Betsy's kitchen in Brooklyn, in her historic one-bedroom pad, drinking a glass of pino while she makes mushroom risotto. She and Olav, her boyfriend, have a pretty big one bedroom place considering this is NYC. The place is ancient and amazing. Their landlord has restored the maple floors to their original look and feel, and in the lobby you can see all sorts of ornate detail in the molding and ceiling. The stairway itself is incredibly narrow and that alone makes you feel like you're walking back in time. Lugging my suitcase up that narrow passage was no fun.

Their street in Brooklyn is occupied by families and eclectic Brooklyners (what do you call people from Brooklyn?). A few blocks down, a bakery makes fresh bread daily, and the smell floats down the street, guiding you in. Random clothing stores, vintage wine shops and sidewalk cafes give this place color and personality. I like it here.

Yesterday Betsy had to work, as did Ricer, so I took the train in to Manhattan to catch Free Fridays at MoMA. The line wrapped around the building; the turnout almost made me suffocate. But the museum is neat; a great solo outing. Afterwards, I had just seated myself at a bar near Radio City Music Hall when Betsy called me and I left in a hurry to meet her in the lower east side at Barmarche for dinner. Tasty pesto mashed potatos, bistro salads and wine.

More later...time for some risotto action.

Drained

I worked 'til 2 a.m. last night and then came into the office at 7 a.m. I'm not sure how I'm standing right now. Still need to pack.

Blah. But NYC is waiting!

The Other City

Tomorrow night I am off to "the other city," just that small town they call New York. I haven't been since I was a little tyke with a fading perm and my first pair of glasses. That was the summer my aunt and uncle took my brother and I to NYC, where we took many a walking tours, and I somehow managed to have the perpetual hiccups each time. Between the hiccups and flashes of embarrassment, we managed to do the whole laundry list of touristy stuff: carriage ride through central park, climbing to the tippity top of the Statue of Liberty (what a gal!), literary walking tours, ghost walking tours, Empire State Building, nights spent at the Plaza (when it was still that classic old Plaza!)...and my hunt for my then Hollywood crush, McCauley Caulkin. If you haven't figured it out yet, I was a pretty cool kid!

But seriously, I loved it. I told my aunt that summer that I felt like I had lived there in a past life, if such a thing exists. I loved walking the streets and watching the people, looking into their eyes and wondering where they've been, where they're going.

This trip it's work that brings me out east and friends await me in a quaint home in Brooklyn, where I'll stumble in early Friday morning after my red-eye flight. I'll fall onto a blow up mattress with my friend "Ricer" to catch up on sleep, while Betsy heads off to face the advertising world in Manhattan. I know these girls are the best of old friends when I can just show up so early on a Friday morning and simply sleep for a few hours before I explore. Josh will take the train in from Jersey for an afternoon of NYC surprises and familiar talk and catching up...only this time in a NYC coffee shop, or perhaps at a street corner as we wait for the light to turn.

If you don't hear from me for a few days, assume the city has snatched me up and entwined me in one of its thousands of tales. I'll be taking my pathetic work notebook (the reason why I am now working from home at nearly midnight on my personal computer; don't get me started on that one) so perhaps I'll squeeze in a blog entry or two. After a Monday morning business meeting in Manhattan, I catch a train with Asian Equation for Philadelphia, to return to the west coast for Halloween festivities (so festive, I don't know what they are yet).

Back to some late night number crunchin' and diet coke.

Tales of the Virgin Bird

Roomie and I are hosting a pre-Thanksgiving feast at our Brentwood Chateau. By chateau I mean our tiny abode, with antique appliances and charming decor! One might refer to said feast as the Roasting of the Virgin Bird. We've never made a turkey before, but somehow we thought it'd be a great idea to cram a bunch of friends, cheap wine and some down-home cooking into a Sunday afternoon in November. Bring your own Pepto!

We're excited. If anyone has any good recipes they'd like to share, don't bother sharing them with us and just bring it, ok?

So much to be thankful for this year.

Note: Virgin Bird Feast does not occur for a few weeks but I thought I'd let the anticipation begin now. Stay tuned. A test turkey is on the way...

Fire Fire!

Check out this picture that I took this weekend from the Santa Monica pier (or rather, my brother took this picture). Can you believe that smoke?

Thank God for Girlfriends

I'll say it again: Thank God for Girlfriends. Last night was a great night in Brentwood. I treated myself to a massage (and it was a strange massage - more on that later) and came home and made myself dinner. No pity party for Jo. My friend invited me to an event for the CW Network, but I didn't feel like putting up with the Hollywood types and playing that game "Who knows the most celebrities." Also - I don't know any celebrities, so I wouldn't win. And losing is never fun. My guy friend invited me to drinks in Westwood...but I didn't want to be around new people; I just wanted to be comfortable. And as I was making dinner, I could tell Roomie and her boyfriend didn't want to leave me alone, especially when they threw out a last minute invite to a dinner party they were off to.

But I was really happy. I had a great day yesterday. As I was walking around my neighborhood I couldn't help but smile. My friend ended up coming over and we drank a bottle of wine, and later Roomie came home to help us finish another. What a simple night, and that's all I needed: to laugh with my friends, who will always be there.

But about that massage. I was told that the woman who was going to be my massage therapist, my masseuse....la Massager, if you will--that she used a combo of Swedish, deep tissue and Thai techniques. Sure, I said on the phone, I can hang with that. And it started off just great. But I guess I was unprepared for the DEPTH of her deep tissue (I feel like I lifted weights all night last night), plus...that Thai technique. I was unprepared for her to literally climb up onto the table and put nearly her whole body weight on me. Damn, that hurt. Hurt so good.

On another note, got a phone call from Grammy about The Breakup. I know I've reached some strange point in my life when Grammy calls to tell me she is praying for me and that "if a man can't commit within a year, he isn't a man!"

To change--and there will always, always be change--and to knowing who you are. To being at peace with change when life seems to unfold in the most mysterious and curious ways....

Late Schmate

My boss emailed us all last night to say that she'll be in late today...at 9 a.m. This wouldn't be unusual for a company that has business hours of 7 a.m. or even 8 a.m. But people at the Flower Shop stroll in anywhere from 8 to 10 on any given day. So what is she trying convey here: I Am Better Than You. That is what the subject line should have read. Or: My Work Ethic is Amazing. You all Suck.

The better part of it was that the guy who ALWAYS comes in at 10:30 a.m., give or take, replied all to the e-mail and told us that he'd be in late, too, at 10 a.m.

It's a beautiful day here in LaLa Land. Slept wonderfully last night. Might have to do with the fact that I actually had a comforter on my bed, rather than looking like a homeless person curled up under a bundle of random blankets...and those ugly pink fuzzy socks (but hot damn! They are warm!)

blah

I hope that wherever he is, whatever he is doing right now, I hope "Chris" is okay. I was at the mall tonight. It was the first time I was there on my own, without him. It felt awful and empty. But now I am "reprogramming" as a co-worker calls it - remaking all of my LA memories and turning them into something of my very own, ones that do not include boyfriends but good friends and just myself.

Hope he is ok.

Also..

I forgot to mention that I can listen to Britney Spears' song about "I am stronger than yesterday!" And blast Beyonce's "I'm a survivor!"

On another note, my uncles have officially dis-invited "Chris" to Thanksgiving dinner. As my brother and friends have been telling me, this is Chris' loss. As Grammy would say: That SUCKER!

Day 2

Day 2. There were no tears last night, no tears this morning. I literally cried all day at work yesterday (quite embarrassing), and was crying so much that I had to leave early. But I think I got enough tears out yesterday to last me a while, and I probably exhausted myself. I was shocked when I was able to talk to friends last night about the situation without crying. But it all comes down to one question that everyone asks: WHY?

I am not sure I’ll ever understand that. I know that we fought, but I also know it was not frequent. And everyone says things in a fight that they don’t necessarily understand or mean…but isn’t that what an argument is? Even beyond that—everyone has their bad days, when they are grouchy and say the wrong thing. Does “Chris” not understand that? My mom said something to the effect of, “Jo, if you weren’t opinionated and outspoken, you wouldn’t be YOU!” And that’s probably true. I hope Chris thought long and hard about this. He will have another relationship one day. They will fight. Hurtful things will be said. Will he be able to handle it? Someone pointed out, “If he can’t get through this, how will he ever get through a REAL problem?” I don’t know, I don’t know.

Once again, I am just so grateful that I have my friends and family, near and far, to get me through this. And despite all the tears, I’d like to point out the shards of silver lining that are emerging from this process.
1. I’ve lost a pound. Just one, I know, but it’s a pound and I still have several more days to go. Can anyone say: single and sexy? Hot JoMamma!
2. I learned how to make pizza from scratch last week at a cooking class with my Mom. Now, I can make homemade, delicious pizza. And eat it all by myself. Said pizza may add one pound.
3. I live in Young People Land (Brentwood). Young men abound—whole herds of ‘em! “Chris” lives in what I’ve heard referred to as Old People Playground. (That is true). It’s cougar country over there…he better get ready for hunting season!
4. I was going to get him a lavish birthday present. I had it all planned out. I was going to go above and beyond this year. But now I’m going to opt to buy myself an expensive coat, purse and manicure. Happy Birthday to Me!
5. Now when I go to the movies, I won’t have to argue with anyone about whether to see Transformers or a chick flick.
6. We were going to go up north next month to celebrate our three years. But now can anyone say “Vegas, baby, Vegas!”
7. Now, instead of filling up my car with gas every 2-3 weeks, I can go every 3-4 weeks. He didn’t live far, but considering that I hardly ever drive, it felt like I was crossing the Sahara to see him. An eco-friendly break up, I tell you.
8. I’m going to get my groove on. I’m going to listen to all the stations with the best jams, since “Chris” listened to the “deep stuff.” Before you know it, I’ll have braided my hair and have grown one kick-ass booty, while driving around in my low-ridin’ Acura.

And that’s all for now.

I will get through this. I will get through this.

Phone Breakup

Who breaks up with their three year girlfriend on the phone? I was feeling really crappy about this, and I do miss "Chris" a lot - but a good friend pointed out to me that if he had really cared, he would have grown a pair of balls and broken up with me in person. (Nothing like a phone call to really show you care). Second, if he has so much built up resentment toward me....that doesn't just grow in a few months. He should have said something BEFORE I picked up my things to move to LaLa Land.

I am going to hang in here and get through it. I deeply believe that everything that happens is meant to be. I am not going to just drop LA and quit because he is here. Everything in this city reminds me of him, because I went through it with him, visited it with him, experienced it with him. But I will change that. I have other people in my life who care about me deeply, and I am so grateful to have them in my life, especially at times like this. And I didn't move for a crap job, I'm here for a reason and am building my resume.

This isn't going to be easy. This may take a lot of tissues boxes. Hell, it'll take a lot of wine. But I'm going to try to look on the brighter side. Here's to new beginnings, wonderful friendships and just being grateful for what you have, each and every day.

To being single. To just being....Jo.

nightmare

I'm living a nightmare. After three years of being in love with who I thought was the guy of my dreams, he has broken up with me. I am in complete shock. I am still not completely sure of what went wrong. All I know is that I was not the person who can make him happy. I feel awful, like our history with each other was a lie.

I feel alone and empty. I know I will miss him very much. He was my best friend.

The Mondays

“I’ve got a case of the Mondays,” I declared this morning, reciting the famous line from the movie Office Space. And I did. Or so I thought. I could hardly sleep last night, tossing and turning, and a bit cold (my comforter is at the dry cleaners due to said slim fast shake spill last week) and the sky seems to be holding off on raining; there’s a morning mist in the air. And it’s a typical Monday here in the Flower Shop. It’s me and the two creative coordinators in the office. Apparently our other teammates don’t see a need to waltz in to the office until about lunch time these days. Plus, I tried for about 20 minutes, unsuccessfully, to plug in my archaic work notebook (probably one of the first versions of a notebook ever to be built) into its equally ancient docking station. On top of that, before I can even log into my computer, I receive a flood of calls about IT issues over the weekend and other problems.

It was about 30 minutes into the day, that one of the coordinators emailed me and told me: Sorry to be so crabby....I'm actually very sad. I went into the emergency with my Mom at midnight on Friday until 4:30 in the morning. She was experiencing major dizziness and a headache on top of her head. She was fearful of a stroke coming on or maybe just a side effect to the antibiotics she has been taking for a stomach virus. After four hours, the doc found "a spot" on the xray in her head. She needs to take a full MRI sometime this week with her regular doc to figure out what the heck "the spot" is. It's the size of a nickel.”

So I wrote her back and told her I feel like such a jerk for complaining about my minor problems while she was going through such a hard time. But it puts things into perspective. This is a woman who lost her father before she even graduated college. And now she is thinking the worst and is terrified of losing her mom, too. And I’m complaining about my shitty docking station.

So, I can’t complain anymore. And if you’re out there having a “case of the Mondays” maybe you shouldn’t be complaining either. A reminder: Don’t sweat the small stuff.

JoJo's Pancake House

I knew last night was a good night. I woke up this morning with an ugly pair of pink fuzzy socks on, my make up from last night slightly smeared and the stamp from the bar still holding strong on the back of my left hand. Good stuff. Last night it rained in LA. While I usually like to hole up when it rains, I had other plans.

Maryland kids and I swung down Wilshire until we reached the ocean, and then made our way through the night of Santa Monica to Main Street. I liken it to a Mill Ave back in Arizona. We grabbed dinner and drinks at the Library Alehouse (for those of you in Arizona - this Library is not like THAT library on Mill!) and then rain through the water to World Cafe for more libations.

Anyway, I made pancakes this morning. I burnt quite a few since I can't seem to handle our gas stove, but other than that, I'd call 'em tasty. Dad would be proud.

Since I get thousands of hits to this site (catch the sarcasm?), I know everyone must be wondering why I changed my blog title and background color. "Why did you do such a thing, Jo?" you might ask. "Because maybe I didn't want it to be JUST about LA," I'd answer. It bothered me, the whole "Goodnight LA" thing. Maybe I thought it was cool at first, but maybe I was trying too hard. And then every time I'd post, I'd think "Oh, man, it's got to be about LA." Now it's just about Jo, with a whole lotta LA.

Rest of the day: walk around Brentwood and work. It's a beautiful day.

Yuck!

I spilled my morning slimfast shake all over the place this morning. I was looking for my remote control....and tipped over the shake onto my:
- Nightstand
- Part of my comforter
- Down the wall behind the nightstand
- There a big chocolate-colored stain on the floor UNDER my nightstand
- And on to a variety of books and trinkets.

HAPPY FRIDAY!

Needless to say, I never did get to drink that shake, and am now at work enjoying "Bagel Friday." So much for eating well! I'll have to work on that stain later.

On an another note, it is going to rain today, which I really like, especially since I missed the monsoon season in AZ. Tonight - possibly the bars in downtown Santa Monica.

Too Cool for School

I love school. That is why I sent my resume to one of the directors of marketing at UCLA a little more than a year ago, when I was just starting my Los Angeles job search. In response to my snail-mailed letter and plea for a job, I got a phone call and a request for an interview. Nothing ever came of it then (there wasn’t really a position open) but she and I have stayed in touch, and I finally met with her this morning for a cup of coffee.

I took the winding, shady drive up Sunset Blvd, which led me through Brentwood, Bel Air and, finally, to the lush green campus in Westwood—all of these neighborhoods in just short of 10 minutes. Once again, just parking on campus and walking by students buried in their oversized sweatshirts, lugging their book bags in the early morning, gave me a thrill. I found the director in the back of a small cube-infested office and made myself at home in a chair with the fabric sliced on one end. Eventually we made our way up to a café for coffee, where I proudly whipped out my freshly updated resume.

It was a short cup of coffee. We talked for a bit, but it didn’t take her long to announce that I wouldn’t be happy with UCLA’s smaller salary scale. She also told me that many people romanticize about working in an educational environment, that she just thinks I wouldn’t be challenged there; I’d grow frustrated, bored. I thanked her honesty and after about ten more minutes, I was left to finish my coffee, still steaming, by myself.

What is it about school that people romanticize about so much? Why is there such a draw, for some, to the academic environment? Being on such a classic campus makes you feel as though you’re in a film. Everything is set just as it should be: the red brick buildings and ivy-covered walls; the manicured lawns; just being surrounded with those who possess a desire to learn. Maybe I think about school so much since I miss it. Since I’ve gotten through it, and—like anything in the past—maybe you hold on to it because you simply survived, and grew from it.

Maybe I’ll rule out working at UCLA for now, but not forever. I’ve sent that director some flowers this morning, and she’ll be getting a Christmas card from me. And an email about every six months after that.

Back in the Saddle

"Writing is the greatest, and writing the truth in particular. Your little slice of it. You've got that, and you've got your body, and I think that's it." - Michelle Tea

I realize that I haven't written in a while. In fact, an angry fan shot me an email this morning (oh, you know who you are!) begging for more. (I wish!) Well, here it is. I wish I had an excuse for not blogging, but I don't. I was in Arizona this past weekend, and that's all I've got for you. Going back to Arizona is like taking a resort vacation. In the desert, I don't worry about laundry, about cleaning, errands I need to run. There, I sleep in my old bed that smells of home, I get to snuggle with Walter and I have access to a chocolate cookie stash that rivals Mrs. Fields (I like to think my recent 5 lb. weight gain was due to all the food at work, but I think it's been concentrated on those few weekends I've come home. Thanks, Momma!)

Anyway - back to the point of this blog. I realized I needed to write more, so I figured a blog would help. And it has. But not enough...I can't even post everyday. To take things a step further, I signed up for a writing class at UCLA: Writing the Personal Essay. I think that's always been the genre bucket I fall into: personal stuff. Journaling. Essays. Random poems. Commentary. Even long-winded emails might count. The class is every Tuesday night for the next 10 weeks and I have already fallen in love with it; it's like therapy. Tonight I walked into a room of others that are like me in the sense that they share the love for this craft, but they are unlike me in so many ways: The long-haired rocker that appeared to have not taken a shower in several weeks, a songwriter, he calls himself; the graphic designer girl with the high pitched voice; the anesthesiologist that took care of wounded soldiers during Vietnam. The guy named Seth who proudly declared, "Seth loves SEX!" during the ice breaker name game. And a clinical psychologist that starts the story, yet can never finish, and who wants to tell tales of lessons she's learned....from the other side of the couch. Regardless, we're all there for the same reason, and writing about personal things - sharing those personal things - can make a person very vulnerable. I think I'm going to hear a lot of interesting things in this class, and they may not all be happy.

It felt amazing to be on campus, to have walked into that old brick building UCLA calls Royce Hall, to carry a backpack and actually write with my HAND and not with a keyboard (my hand cramped up after two paragraphs - pathetic.) It just feels great to feel inspired again. I knew that I belonged in that classroom tonight.

To writing on Tuesday nights. And getting to know yourself just a little better.

Goodnight LA.