Living with Jewboo is going pretty well, considering I'm an only child who needs complete quiet in order to fall asleep and he's a neurotic workaholic. It's good having someone to share responsibilities with and look to for support. And have an extra computer to use. My laziness seems to know no bounds and when his computer is right there, all on the desk and easy to use, I don't want to lug my laptop to various areas of the house.
Unfortunately, this also means Jewboo has access to the myriad of useless things that occupy my mind on a daily basis. Below are a list of things I've recently looked into on the information super highway. As I write this list and share it with the blogsphere, I release the shame and embarrassment that comes with it. Thank you for bearing witness to my recovery.
Things I Have Recently Googled
comedy festivals 2013, submissions open
comedy managers
how many calories burned by [insert a range of everyday actions here]
best rueben sandwiches, nyc
how to make corned beef (clearly, I was trying to empower myself)
Happy Back to School, friends!
Here's a clip from a summer set I did at the People's Improv Theater. Give it a view and forward it widely--preferably to any agents or managers you may know.
I want to design my own t-shirt. I wouldn't sell it and no one besides myself would want it because it would say:
I just got back from
and all I got was this AMAZING NEW BEST FRIEND.
And underneath would be a picture of me and Ellen, the sales associate who made me feel like a better person.
This is what happens when I try to sneak out briefly during work to get a set of drawers.
Ever since the blog stopped being a safe space, I've been unable to tell my personal truths in the cathartic way that this blog once offered. I can, however, talk about how I'm feeling, since that doesn't sully anyone's good name and feelings aren't facts.
In short: I'm having a hard time.
See, I'm not very good at "organizing," "making efficient use of my time," or "being a functioning member of society." Whenever I manage to get anything together it's usually because I've been guilted or shamed into behaving in a socially acceptable manner.* Which, of course, means that I'm having trouble living in close quarters with a man and two cats—all of whom I love—that remind me every day that I'm just taking up too much space.
I know that I need to get rid of the half-full Ikea bags full of clothing that I've hidden in the closet—I mean, it's because of them that I've worn the same 6 outfits for the last 3 weeks! And I can't complain about Jewboo's unpacked boxes when I'm using a stack of three of them as a desk for my laptop. As RuPaul used to say: If you can't love [living with yourself], how in the hell are you gonna love [living with your Jewboo]???
She also said, "Don't fuck it up," which I should also take to heart.
With that in mind, I started looking through shelving options on the Container Store's website. I was immediately overwhelmed (do you know there are containers for holding your double-A batteries???) and finally decided to just walk the 50 feet from my office to the actual store.
Actually, what I said to myself was "THIS. ENDS. NOW." before I grabbed my credit card and keys (they won't know I've really left if my purse stays!)
[Yes, I like to think of myself as Bruce Willis in everything ever.]
When I got there, it was all too much. For a store that was all about containing, I felt it was overflowing with stuff that was just out of control! I was about to walk out when I spotted a smiley sales associate with a hip haircut and very subtle blue-grey eyeshadow.
"I need help!" I said, much like a lost child at a county fair. (I've found this is the best way to get a stranger's attention and immediate sympathy.)
"What are you looking for?" Smiley Lady said, much like a kindergarten teacher addressing someone who she knows has just peed his pants.
"I need shelving because I just moved in with my boyfriend and my shit's a hot mess and if I don't get it together we're over, and I was on the website and saw this shelving unit that I want and I was at my desk and decided, 'THIS ENDS TONIGHT' but I can't find it."
Her name was Ellen. She was very patient and had no problem with TMI, which means we're meant to be BFF.
Elllen got married last year and she and her husband have been living in a studio apartment—and they're making their love work!!
"How, Ellen? HOW?" I asked as we stood by the mesh Elfa drawers sold exclusively at The Container Store.
Ellen explained that she's pretty chill and just says exactly what she's thinking.
"Yeah," I said. "I don't see you as one to fly off the handle." I just got her, you know?
Unfortunately the item I saw online actually looked like it was based on the novel PUSH by Sapphire, and I was back to square one, but Ellen helped me figure it out before I had a Mariah Meltdown.
As I left without a drawer unit for my clothes, but with a jazzy clothes hamper, I felt hopeful. I'm ordering some drawers to pick up in store, which is both high-tech and less stressful. I'm probably going to pick them up on Saturday, which is the next day that Ellen's working.
Yes, she told me of her own volition. We're going to start going on coffee dates at Bed Bath & Beyond's cafe and I'll probably get her to "Like" my Facebook fan page. #BFFnotonNBC
*We all know that if I had my way I'd be the star of next season's new show "Biggest Hoarders Loser Intervention," where obese men and women are made to lose weight by kicking their drug addiction and cleaning their health-code-violating compounds.
Sorry for the delay. As you can imagine, the last week has been a flurry of packing, schlepping,* and weariness--but there's been no shortage of blog material. Let me share some highlights--or, rather, lowlights--of the "Great Migration of 2012."
Last Thursday was the beginning of substantial preparation, and it involved a trip to Ikea with my mom.
No, not Jewboo. Why? Well, when it comes to interior design, meticulous planning, and troubleshooting my poor choices, mom's got Jewboo beat by a landslide. She watches HGTV 24/7 and seeing as I consider vajazzling a bold creative choice, I needed her expertise. Add to that the fact that 30 Rock is my design for living, and I just couldn't risk Ikea tearing Jewboo and I apart.
As we attempted to lug disparate pieces of birch veneer onto our trollies (which, of course, had to have sticky wheels that wouldn't respond to steering), my mother went from "Design on a Dime" to "Turn on You on a Dime." I went back to pick up and item and we were separated like two Mormon missionaries just days after arriving in a treacherous foreign land.^ Let's just say that by the time we got in the car, we weren't speaking...because that is what happened.
Because I don't like toiling, sweating, or feeling dumb, I opted for Ikea's delivery and assembly service for the most complicated pieces: the bed frame, the office desk, and the tv stand. As Jewboo sat in Brooklyn, attempting to organize and pack 30 years worth of stuff, I sat in the new apartment waiting for deliveries to arrive. What took place on that day were interactions unlike any I could have ever dreamed of.
They all started with me profusely apologizing because I live on the top floor of a 5th-floor walkup. As burly, surly men hauled dining tables and chairs upstairs, I offered to help and was met with BPEs--"'Bitch, please' eyes." At around 5pm, Chris from Ikea arrived. He called to say that he couldn't find a parking spot and needed me to come down and hold the door while he emptied the truck.
"It's just you?!" I said with what may have been mistaken for disgust and disdain.
I was stressed out and worried--I had 11 different boxes totaling 200+ pounds and they'd just sent one guy. I'd warned them it was a walk-up. I'd hoped there'd at least be a spotter!
I offered to help and he looked at me like I had 3 heads before telling me to just "sit tight." He then proceeded to carry every single box up 5 flights of stairs.
I offered him water. I offered him food. I offered him a warm air mattress. He declined all of it.
"It's just a workout. That's all it is," he said through heavy breaths as he wiped sweat off his brow.
I was officially frightened. No one could be that righteous about heavy lifting unless he'd experienced worse. Every time he came in with a new piece, I stood up because I felt like an asshole for reclining when he was toiling. Once he was done, it was time to start assembling. Over the course of the five hours it took him to assemble items, we really got to know each other--and by that, I mean I got to know about him.
For the first half hour, he talked about the importance of exercise and supported his points with loose quotes from the Bible. "Do you believe in God?" he began. "You know God says by the sweat of your brow comes the strength of your body. That's truth."
I don't know why he needed to question my faith before saying that. I think we all know we need our 30 minutes a day because Michelle Obama says so.
Within the first 5 minutes, I knew he had to have been institutionalized in some way, because everything was really intense, like he wasn't used to having casual interactions with fellow humans and he got most of his information from a prison library. He didn't just make statements, he offered 10 different synonyms, stressing the least important parts of his conversation with such conviction he had to have been convicted.
I don't know if I'm explaining this well. Let me turn it over to Kevin Hart, who really captures the essence of such a man.
Take, for instance, Chris's thoughts on his physical appearance: "Am I bigger than I should be right now? Yes, at this moment, as we speak, presently, I am not at the weight I should be for my height. I am 204 and I should be at a buck-eighty, a buck-seventy-five. I should be approximately 30 pounds less than I am. It is just a fact that I am larger than I should be."
Um, okay. #uncomfortable #lifetimemomentoftruth
He also kept asking me if I was "following" him, as though he'd been used to talking to methadone addicts who were prone to nodding off.
Turned out that Chris wasn't an Ikea employee but actually worked for a company to whom Ikea outsources it's delivery and assembly. (Turns out Ikea's own people can't even put the shit together! You know that's F'd) Luckily, he had experience with all of the items I purchased, so it only took him FIVE HOURS to put everything together.
WTF?! Who has that kind of time? Imagine if I'd tried to do any of that on my own, or if Jewboo and I had sat there struggling with the pictionary-esque directions? I would have started crying within 20 minutes and then stormed out to get a cupcake.
As he moves on to the second item, Chris tells me that I'm missing not one but two pieces needed for the bedframe to be ready for use: the midbeam and the slats. "But it said there were 3 parts to the item and I have 3 boxes!" I yelped helplessly. "Yeah, but you have to get these two things separately," Chris said. "They must be purchased in addition to the 3 pieces. It's additional. They didn't even tell you, did they?" No, they did not, Incarcerated Chris! (InCHRISerated?)
Ikea needs to stop bullshittin' and just change their logo:
Chris explained what I'd need to do once I purchased the pieces (which you know involved a lot of repetition) and told me it'd be fine. He then went back to discussing physical fitness, and explained why ping-pong "is the greatest form of exercise that God gave man."
Hear him out:
"What was the first form of exercise? Fighting. Think about it: you use your body, you build strength, you can do it anywhere. It's man's instinct. [at this point I start to text friends: If you don't hear from me in 30 minutes, send out the dogs.] I mean, I can fight. I used to fight and I'm telling you, I'd be sweating more than I am now. But we can't do that as our exercise. Why? Because we'd hurt our bodies. It's too much stress and risk on the human body. And it's illegal, too [he laughs awkwardly]. Yeah, you'll get in trouble.
"Okay, what's next after fighting? Football. Again, too much physical injury. It's dangerous, no matter how much padding you wear. Then what? Baseball--please!" [I didn't say anything.] "Swimming is good for building flexibility, but there's no strength. Have you seen pro swimmers? They're weak. Ok, yeah, running, that's something, you're on to something." [Again, I didn't say anything.] "But runners are weak, too. They have endurance but they're all bones. Their bodies cannibalize themselves. It's all bone.
"And then there's ping-pong. You ever get hit with a ping-pong? It doesn't feel like nothing. Whether you hit it 60 miles an hour, the most you'll get is a red mark. And you're in combat. You're against your fellow man, but you're never in physical contact. I'm on my side, you're on your side. Always. There's no touching. NONE. At most, I throw you the ball. It's a workout, for real. Believe me. For the record I am saying it's the best exercise. You can quote me. I lost 60 pounds playing ping-pong."
What. on. earth.
It was the longest 5 hours of my life, made worse by the fact that I had no food to eat. Things started to get less intense once Chris asked if he could listen to music as he worked. "SWEET GOD PLEASE!" I thought as I said, "yeah, get in the zone."
He put the speaker at top volume on his iPhone and proceeded to blast 80s rock songs by Huey Lewis and the News, which only made him even more of an enigma.
If only I'd known that Chris would be the most steadfast of all the men who I'd meet over the next week. For the last 5 days our toilet hasn't worked, our shower dribbles like a public-school water fountain, and one of our dining chairs arrived broken and took 4 days to replace. When I called various men in charge, I discovered that the Ikea model had become universal. I was on my own Les Miz style, feeling very third world in my own (brand new) apartment! Jewboo and I have managed to make it through, however, and have actually grown closer (there's nothing like admitting to peeing in the shower to make a relationship stronger).
Here's to a first week of cohabitation unlike any other! At least I'm not Ashton Kutcher, am I right?!
*I'm so Jewish! ^I saw "Book of Mormon" on Broadway two weeks ago and it's changed my life.
How's your day going? I'm actually on a up-swing, largely because of baked goods. Wednesday is my birthday, which always gets me in a mood (What do I have to show for myself????). A need for a quick lunch led me to Hale & Hearty Soups at about 2pm, when I was ravenous. A need to stop feeling crappy led me to exit Hale & Hearty and hit the Crumbs right next door.
As I walked back to my office with an Oreo cupcake, I tried to rationalize my lunch decision. When I reached my desk, however, there was already a package from Crumbs waiting for me!!!! My coworker had gotten me an early birthday gift! Clearly, I was meant to eat a cupcake today. I feel like the world is on my side.
In other news: There have been intense happenings with Jewboo. Of course, since the blog has ceased to be a safe space for my emotions and dramatizations, I've had to confide in my main gay via gchat. But obvi I can't keep anything to myself for too long, so I must share the transcript.
me: THIS JUST IN: JJSiii:!!! me: From Jewboo at 9:53am: Hey dear, now that my job situation is taken care of, maybe we can now start discussing seriously moving in together? How does that strike you? Just wanted to float that out there. JJSiii: I assume this is a good thing? me: Yes! While visiting his parents, we even took a quick gander at RINGS. JJSiii: RINGS? STOP IT. I HAVE BEEN OUT OF YOUR GCHAT LIFE FOR TOO LONG. me: SERIOUSLY. We were visiting the parents and we went to the mall and he went into video game store and i went into one of those shops--like, Kay Jewelers or something--cause that's my idea of true romance. and then he met me there and we looked for, like, 15 minutes together I TRIED THINGS ON JJSiii: oh my gosh, oh my gosh. Shit is serious. I'm, like, planning your wedding in my head. By planning it, I mean that I'm thinking about how much I want to be at it. JJSiii: EVEN THOUGH I'VE NEVER IRL MET THIS MAN. me: YOU MAY BE GIVING ME AWAY you know i need one of my main gays to give me away JJSiii: OH MY GOSH, OH MY GOSH. This is such a caps-lock occasion. I'm basically fanning my non-existent Cindy Lou Va-Who-Who, because this news makes me WET WITH EXCITEMENT.
So, as you can see, there's a lot happening. Of course, there is no proposal on the horizon BUT we are talking about cohabitation, which is more than enough ch-ch-change for one decade. Of course, the big issue is Harlem vs. Brooklyn, and you know where I stand.
Really, guys, my aversion to Brooklyn isn't my fault--it's in my blood. Before I was born, my mom and dad lived in Brooklyn and when my mom was pregnant she planned to have me at Harlem Hospital, cause it was way better than the BK hospitals at the time. Can you imagine a woman with her water broken hopping in a cab, saying, "Get me to Harlem, stat!"
Clearly, this was before the days when cab drivers profiled.
As luck would have it, I was born a few weeks early, just when my mom was having a follow-up appointment with her doctor. When she hopped off the exam table her water broke and I came out a few hours later. I knew we couldn't wait until returning to BK.
The main issue is that I am living in a ridiculously large place in the heart of Manhattan. I'm beyond lucky and I don't think it's smart to abandon prime real estate I'd never be able to afford otherwise in a city that everyone wants to be in. Jewboo's reasoning is that the Harlem house comes with substantial mama drama, and he doesn't want to be subjected to it--or, even worse, in the middle of the two of us. And I get that. Most people who come over for a meal start talking about moving in; Jewboo isn't just going with what's easiest or trying to take advantage, which I respect. Plus, I'm done with being under my mom's thumb, too, and there is a lot of pride I have to swallow in order to be where I am. But.... Mama didn't raise no fool. You don't cast off a brownstone for a shoebox when you're increasing your household size. Me + Jewboo + 2 cats + all of our creative endeavors which would make great use of extra rooms as offices and rehearsal spaces = sucking it up and taking advantage of a sweet deal. Perhaps it's because Jewboo has never really seen himself as a "have not" and knows nothing of NYC besides expensive shoeboxes, so he's not really hung up on it. I think our standards directly relate to our expectations, and I will be the first to admit that I am spoiled when it comes to accommodations. Besides, the idea of moving every 2 years as you inevitably outgrow the space (after all, our Emmy collection will take up most of the shelves) isn't appealing.
Plus, I must say I'd love it if those two cats had a special closet for their litter box--you gotta confine that smell, people. I'm not trying to come home to the smell of "Not-so-Fresh Step." Of course, this is a totally luxury "problem," but if it's possible, why would you live any other way?
Then again, as we start a new phase of our relationship, it would be nice to start fresh, in a newtral space. And I'd love to be able to decorate and start from scratch and build a place together--and not have my mother popping over whenever she felt like it, ragging on how badly I maintain a house, like a demeaning Steve Urkel.
I don't know. I love the boy and definitely want him to be my forever friend, but I also don't believe in oppressing myself if I don't have to or denying myself a luxury simply because there are a few strings attached. I mean, there are always strings attached to stuff. It seems like it's more beneficial to work on establishing boundaries with mom than it is to abandon the Harlem house--wouldn't you say it's throwing the baby out with the bathwater?
Your comments/suggestions would be much appreciated. Perhaps you can help me frame it in a way that a Jewboo can understand.
