Just over 6 weeks left in the year and it's got some potential to trail off in an interesting way. Finally.

I'm channeling my employment fears into a grad school application due December 1st. Since I haven't had to do this type of thing in going on 10 years, the procrastinator in me really appreciates that I can submit my forms online...at 3am in my pajamas. The only thing I have to mail in is my transcript. I don't remember fondly trekking to the big post office on 8th Avenue in the middle of the night trying to get that crucial postmark before midnight. Gotta love modern technological advances.

The weeks leading up to the election were predictably insane and I spent just over an hour standing on line in the old neighborhood on the day itself. I was exhausted and finally getting around to a late dinner at the Raccoon when the official call came in. I only smiled and felt like I took the first deep breath of the whole day. The neighborhoods I passed through had fireworks and kids all over in the streets, but I just happily bypassed through the crowds to go home and sleep.

The weather is strange and wonderfully bipolar. At least I think so until the steam heat makes my apartment temperature unbearable and I dress like it's beach time instead of mid-November, then go outside and freeze in the cold. Not sick yet, but knock on wood. Then again, that's why I drink so much whiskey. Definitely for the germ killing properties.

After all this time, I've decided to get a tattoo. It's an idea I've been kicking around for a few years, trying to figure out what's a spot on my body that won't be too prone to expanding and contracting. I've decided on the inner wrist (once it's back to full motion range) and Excelsior as a bit of a tribute to 5 years of Latin, also the NYS motto, and generally good phrase.

The last couple of weeks have been a blur and at this moment, I'm just trying to make it through the next 10 weeks without financial/employment meltdown. Some random highlights: I finally got to Ikea to buy some much needed apartment gear, but don't really have the motivation to put that shit together. I got myself a shiny new cell phone. I have some ideas of starting a band fiercely gathering steam. I also went to Anthony's fun birthday party. And if dancing and glowing in the dark (thanks to paint) at a gay sex orgy ever comes up in an "I Never" game, got that covered.

There's been some annoying lowlights springing off the last wordy post. That random who spent too much time talking about his thwarted sex life and I ended up being chatty for a while. I found out that he was garbage picking freegan and the ick response overwhelmed the typical "that's random enough to intrigue me" train of thought. But, what really deaded him was the utter lack of a sense of humor. Some of the Raccoon folks had a house party and he was so spazzy about chatting with me that he spilled a whole cup of beer all over my clothes, the horror I tried to downplay with some jokes. But, he was so twitchy that he couldn't even laugh about it. One night a bit later, I dragged Alafairnadia to bingo night and introduced them. Her first words were "so I hear you eat food from the trash..." and he bolted. And hasn't spoken to me since.

I overheard him the other day at the bar ranting and raving to that same friend from that night somehow getting onto the topic of a long ago incident that occurred outside of another local bar. The scene he was setting started to sound vaguely familiar and I had a memory flashack to the night I met Trigger, he was aggravated by this local kid who he lent money and was being weaselly about paying it back. I didn't meet the object of his wrath at the time so it took until this Sunday for the connection to be made. Beef with Trigger aside (because he's volatile at best and that situation is none of my business), that kid referred to me as a fat girl that was preyed on at the bar in the story, so he can eat a dick. Let's chalk up that whole convoluted saga to the brain keeping me out of trouble for once.

I don't think it's a secret that things are generally sucking for me right now. 27 and everything that makes up this life is overwhelming and I'm on major lemonade duty. You just get kinda sick of wallowing after a while and I'm trying to make a point of having some goddamned fun again.

To that effect, I made a real effort this weekend to have a good time. Friday evening saw me rolling downtown with Faiks and N, having a much needed cocktail klatsch. I've hit the point where telling stories about the recent makes me laugh instead considering smacking myself, so that's a start. From there, off to my usual perch at the Raccoon, with a bizarre batches of randoms taking the seats cattycorner from me.

I'm still not that much of a fan of Bushwick even though I spend a shitload of time there nowadays. I've been hanging out steadily at that bar for over a year now (time flies!) and it's kind of amazing how the little world around it has changed over time. Right now is prime next wave of kids flooding into town and the demographics some nights are hilarious. New New York is weird and a bit alienating to me sometimes. Everywhere is supposedly super safe and wonderful where even ex-frat boys and sorority girls are slumming it in a ramshackle Bushwick railroad. Everything's fun and games until someone gets mugged...or killed. I'm semi-traumatized by a Raccoon friend telling me last week about a girl that was raped, strangled, and thrown off the roof three doors down from her and how she was scarred by letting curiosity get the better of her and looking out the window at the scene. They make everything look much prettier on TV than it is in real life. The worst part of the whole thing is that it didn't even make the news or the local neighborhood blog, which advertises itself as some kind of bullshit authority. Fucking crazy shit happens all the time. Some aspects of the city never changes.

As I was sitting on my stool watching TV, this pair of randoms sat near me. The guy half was a drunken tool and making a spectacle of himself. I shot him a few withering glances and then for whatever reason, they tried to chat with me and I wasn't having it. Then he got the brilliant idea of making noises and faces to get my attention and I ghosted them. I was definitely heartbroken when they went away. The next set were a guy and girl, having a hilarious conversation that about how she slept with every other guy in the neighborhood and might as well give him a chance too...except for them being "homies." I covered my face to stop from laughing out loud and later let him know that I had heard everything. He was a pretty good sport about it.

I've been trying to improve my shitty eating habits and I had a minor victory later on the way home when the local diner over there was closed (no 4am breakfast for me) and when I got off the train near home, so was the Crown and I resisted the urge to go two blocks out of my way for White Castle. Every little bit counts.

I lounged lazily Saturday until the family decided to make a guerilla visit. The funny thing about living alone now is that I'm constantly fielding calls from the 'rents checking up on me. Never when I'm in bed on a crying jag, but that's a good thing I think. It's good to know that someone will be checking up on me after a day or so if I fall off the grid. This place has been a bit of a trial. I had a major problem with my kitchen sink that stretched on for weeks and ended up getting fixed after going through the ceiling of my downstairs neighbor, installing a new pipe, and all sorts of ridiculous shit. But I felt proud last week that I put up my curtains by myself (complete with installing the brackets) despite my general decrepitude. I entertained here with a sink full of dishes and tried to get my dad to help me solve the broken futon mystery (missing pins is the answer) until they felt satisfied that I wasn't totally falling apart and left me alone. In my playlist is this random remix of Lollipop, so I wasn't thrilled when my little brother (9!) was saying that it was his favorite song. WTF? Kids nowadays...

I ended up getting bored later in the night and went on a wild goose chase for dinner and a potential party down in Dumbo. That didn't work out at all and I went to the Raccoon to see what was up. It was pretty quiet and I chatted with everyone until heading off to that fave of mine monthly warehouse party. Last time I went, I got exposed to a band that I'm playing to death nowadays, so I had high hopes. I ran into some Raccoon buddies and was having a shenanigans-free time until we merged with another crew and then it all became a blur. I woke up at 8:30 in a very compromising position in an art cave statue with the party very over. The space is unreal with the lights up and no people or music. Everything that looks so mysterious and fun in the dark or with flashing lights takes on a comical air with the bright sunlight washing over it. I stepped out into the morning feeling like a vampire and fell deeply asleep once my head touched the pillow. I had a very good time.

I'll admit that I came out on a Monday night looking for trouble...of some sort. I was in the midst of moving inertia and it seemed like good a night as any to abandon myself to whiskey and conversation and see who I ran into. I was in the midst of a sentence when he appeared next to me and my friend. We gave each other a mutual dismissive glance when he tried to interrupt. Keep it moving, buddy. Then he ordered a Jameson and High Life and went projectile about a minute later. That deserved an eyebrow raise.

He babbled about bad falafel and rushed to clean it up and we at his end of the bar laughed cruelly. Who would think that'd lead to any sort of a conversation? Then again, you're not me. I was looking for trouble and I found it.

Five months later, I'm trying to shake the badness. This year has been epically disastrous. Almost ironically since I've been so focused since December on not making the wrong decisions and instead choosing the bad option every step of the way. I've spent a lot of time thinking of that old conversation about finding your fit. Farmer apparently was right and he's got plenty to show for it, but my gut always seems to be wrong. That self-imposed exile year and change was obviously a waste of time if the first one out of the gate knocked me square on my ass worse than before. The Boy almost doesn't look so bad in comparison now. But, let's pretend I never said that.