Online Dating Tales, part 2.

Ah yes. What has come to be a rite of passage for my generation: the lovely world of online dating. Or searching for dates. After a conversation with my friend Alex tonight, I decided to hop online to the site I'm on and peruse some options. All week long there's been this deafening clanging in the apartment, and I finally realized that it was just my biological clock. So. I put in some advanced search criteria: male, Jewish, ages 27-37, doesn't smoke/drugs, rarely drinks and has at least gone to graduate school. There were a few really good ones that I emailed one from Tel Aviv who seemed smart and funny, and another who got his PhD at MIT and listed books I liked and was pretty funny in his responses. But then....then, there were those special ones.

Like the one wearing a hat with deer antlers, made out of aluminum foil. Or the one wearing a clown hat and nose. Or the shirtless one wearing a tie, whose screen name was "iwantsexmeow." Or the lawyer whose profile picture was a picture of him, arguing in court. (douchebag much?). Then there was one who admitted he used to be a sex addict. Another one spelled "licorice" as "liquorish," and one who listed Lolita as his fave book - guys, even if it IS your fave book, DON'T list it. Then...this one takes the cake. For the part that says "I spend a lot of time thinking about", he wrote, "What do boogers smell like? I mean, they're in your nose all the time, but why can't we smell them?" YEAH. And these were some of the results I got with the *advanced* search.

Is it so much to ask for an educated, intelligent, somewhat mature, nonsmoker guy who is well read and has good playlists on his iPod? Is it so much to ask for a guy who wants kids sooner rather than later, who hates crowded bars and likes wasting hours in bookstores? Or a guy who will bring me flowers for no good reason? (Although my dad may have spoiled me in that respect - my future guy has a lot to live up to!). Where is the guy who wants to move back to Chapel Hill with me, the guy who likes his independence and knows I need mine, too? The one who likes watching college basketball, who can shit-talk with me about teams?

Many women my age are finding it hard to meet a good guy. And until you've been here, you have no idea how slim the pickings are. You'd be shocked as to how many smoke pot still, or drink frequently (too frequently for my tastes). It's rough out there.

Baby Mine.

I went to the New York Public Library today, since there's one 2 blocks from my apt, to get a library card. They opened at 10, and since I had to sell back some books to the indie bookstore, I got there early. I walked around the 'hood, got a soda....and was still 10 minutes early. So I waited outside the library, which normally would be fine.

Except Tuesdays are storytime. And, like everything else child-related in Manhattan, it's competitive as hell. Apparently you need tickets to go to storytime, and it's first come first serve. So here I am, in the middle of all these strollers - Bugaboos, Maclarens, Quinny Buzz, B.O.Bs (yes, it's sad I know all the stroller brands) - hoping my ankles don't get clipped during the mass rush to the circulation desk. But as I was standing there amongst all the babies, nannies and mothers (no dads in the crowd, I noticed), I felt a little pang of lacking. Lacking in the sense that these mothers are probably around my age, but their lives are completely different. And granted, maybe the fact that I would rip my hair out if I were a stay-at-home mom says something about where I am in life right now, but the thought caught me off-guard. In high school, 30 seems so "old". I'm sure I thought I'd be married with kids by THIRTY. But now, it seems kind of young, to me. I feel like I have so much time to live still ahead of me. In fact, a friend of mine in her late 40s had a baby over the weekend and sent me the picture of her newborn daughter today. But in that moment, I missed Trey, my heart kind of ached for a baby, and I thought, yes, I've been fairly sucessful in academia and am getting a wonderful degree and following my dreams for the first real time ever and it's scary as hell but thrilling at the same time and I'm letting wonder wash over me daily......but they still have the baby. And I'm not sure what to make of that thought. Maybe it's the biological clock on which I keep hitting snooze. Maybe it was just all that nice baby cuteness surrounding me (although the ear-splitting screaming, not so much). I mean, don't get me wrong - I can throw down with the best of them when it comes to childcare. Boppys, tummy time, Exersaucers, Gyminis, Bumbos, Sleep Sacks, Bugaboos, Maclarens, butt paste, Ferber Method, sibling rivalry, good diaper bags, Pack n Plays -- been there, done it all. I've been around so much of that that I already know which styles I'd want for my own kid. Which pacis are good, which bottles cause less gas, good swaddling techniques and how to comfortably carry a kid in a Baby Bjorn? Yup, know all that too. Stayed up much of the night to lay my hand on a baby's chest to make sure he's still breathing, or just to watch him sleep because he's the most peaceful, beautiful thing you've ever seen? Yup, done that. Know that there's got to be a G-d somewhere because the newborn in front of you is healthy and perfect and it's amazing how human life works? Uh-huh. Had a baby/toddler fall asleep on you or in your arms and just sat there for a while, enjoying their warm weight on you and their hand resting on your arm? Yup. See G-d in the smile of a baby or hear it in his toddler laughter? Definitely. Had a toddler spit food in your face while trying to feed his twin sisters? Er, yes. Stayed up all night with said twin sisters because they keep waking up throughout the night at separate times? Oh yeah. I've also had a baby have explosive diarrhea and have to strip him down in the mall bathroom, only to find out there were no baby wipes in the baby bag, and have baby crap all down the front of me (THANKS, BRAD!). So I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that parenting is not easy, glamorous or always fun. But I'm good at it. And I love it. And maybe that's the loss I felt this morning.

But it's something to look forward to.

real life:NY

The readjustment to being back in NY hasn't been the easiest. Every time I'm walking down the sidewalk and another person is walking in the opposite direction, or walking their dog, I always glance up at their face, hopeful that we'll say hi to each other, acknowledging the other's existence. But it never, ever happens. Ever. In NC, this would be considered rude. In Southern Village, even children would say hi if they passed you on the trails or in the neighborhood. I miss that. Such a thin, seemingly insignificant thread, but it ties us to one another. And sometimes, when you're barely hanging on, a tug on the thread reminds you that hope exists, that connection is still there.

In NY, they'd probably take scissors and cut you loose.

Things have definitely more stressful. Applying for two types of fellowships and for spots to get into an amazing class, reading book after book after book (this week I have Nabokov and Styron...uplifting, huh?), and papers looming on the horizon. And, of course, writing Something Brilliant for workshop and critiquing classmates' work. I love the books, for the most part, but I've been distracted and my productivity hasn't been as much as I'd like. I found a professor I've connected with; she's in fiction, though -- and I get the feeling that the genres don't really mix that much, despite what they say here. I know departments are very territorial, which is disconcerting. I'm still trying to figure out where me and my writing fit in, where my niche is. I'm stressed about finances, stressed about classes, missing Carolina and hoping I get that summer internship at Algonquin. There just never seems to be enough time to do everything I need to.

November already....

So. It's November. Last weekend I went back to Chapel Hill, and it was wonderful. I didn't want to come back. The people were nicer, the atmosphere was nicer......it felt like home. I felt like I had "my people" there. But here I am, back in the city. And it's not as bad as before. I've found a great sushi place that's pretty affordable, and my friend M and I go at least once a week. Last night after workshop, M, J and I went for dinner there. I'm never disappointed with the food. I've settled in a bit more to my 'hood, and have a basic routine. The cost of things still gets me, especially because I haven't been able to write any articles for over a month and a half now. No articles = no money coming in. Which was NOT part of the plan. But in some weird way, things have evened out, because I am swamped with schoolwork, fellowship applications, etc. So the time I would have written articles is now devoted to schoolwork.

It's going to be a long stretch to the end of the semester. Tons of reading, papers, etc. I basically have no life, I have so much work. But I do love it. When else am I going to have nothing else to do but read and write? When else am I going to be around such talented peers and instructors?

blah.

Wow. I can't believe October is more than halfway over. The semester is definitely in full swing. We're all a bit overwhelmed with reading (this week I had 4 books to read.....I still have one book to read for Thursday). It's intense, I have to say. And as our professor mentioned tonight (and he's an editor at a major publishing house here in the city), the program has certain expectations of you once you're done.....like going downtown to a publishing house and publishing your damn book. And the program attracts a certain kind of ambition. (or masochism, the two might be interchangeable in this instance). But although the pressure is building, I have to say I do love this environment. I am the type of person who, when I'm busy, I take on MORE things because having a lot to do gives me structure, it lays out expectations and I have clear directions on where to go, what to do and what needs to be produced. I'm applying to be on the editorial staff/reading board of Columbia's lit mag, and Friday is an info session on becoming an Undergraduate Writing Fellow, which is when grad students teach parttime and take classes parttime, so it takes you an extra year to finish the program, but your tuition and health insurance are paid for, and you get a nice little stipend. I think 22k. Of course, EVERYONE wants this. So that will be some competition. Everyone is so smart and talented here, so it will be a tough situation.

Living in NY is getting better, I have to say. Do I love it as much as I did when I was younger? Nope, not at all. But do I hate it with the fervor I had a month or two ago? No. I admit, having restaurants and places open 24/7 is nice, and the falafel here can't be beat.....except in Israel. And Zadie Smith is coming to Columbia Thursday, which I am SUPER excited about. (I have to get a book of hers for her to sign). I am looking forward to going to Chapel Hill next week, though. I need that, I need to get back to familiar people, familiar places.....a slower pace for a few days. A friendlier atmosphere.

Something unexpected IS happening though. I'm finally realizing that I'm an adult. I know, I'm 30, I should have realized this ages ago, right? But I often feel like I look 15 and feel like I'm still that awkward high school girl. Except I'm not. And being here, among 22, 23, 24 year olds, I realize that I really am an adult. This week's New York magazine had an article about the new generation of young adults......and I'm not in it. I am the verrrrrry tail end of Generation X. I have more in common with them then the generation after me. It was very, very odd to read this and feel so disconnected. And this morning, brushing my teeth, I realized that the white and silver hairs on my head have exponentially multiplied. As in, my bangs and the hair around my face definitely show a shock of white. That was sobering. As was last week, after going out with some classmates and having a few drinks, and waking up the next morning, feeling like complete shit. 5, 10 years ago, four beers would have been a WARM-UP. Now, it's enough to cause a massive hangover and wish I never drank at all. The whole thing is just really......odd. I mean, I've been paying bills and rent for years, so it's not like I was living at home and being babied....but this feels different, somehow.

ramblings.

Today I am missing Chapel Hill and North Carolina so much it takes the breath from my lungs. The longing comes on so fierce that it actually stuns me for a second. Maybe because we've reached that point in the semester where the momentum from the beginning is starting to wane, and we need to just keep pushing til the end. The intensity of this program is no joke. I can see why I was told that many people don't work during the program. Which leads me to another stressor.....the website I typically write for is undergoing some changes, and I haven't been able to write anything for 3 weeks - it was originally supposed to be 3-4 days. I've emailed people about nanny jobs and have been looking online for other writing jobs, but no luck, especially part-time or freelance. Ideally, I'd like freelance, to work around my schedule and work. The bookstore near me isn't hiring, and they're actually not so friendly, so I'm not sure I'd be happy there. So, yeah. Combine not working with NY cost of living and paying bills/loans, and you've got some homesickness for NC.

fear and loathing in NY.

"I am not afraid. I was born to do this." I recently saw this quote on a bracelet and I loved it. It was said by Joan of Arc. The more I thought about it, though, I wondered whether the two had to be mutually exclusive -- not being afraid, and doing what you were born to do. My thinking is that even if you're meant to do something, you can still be scared shitless. Following your heart and dreams and destiny is scary. It's normal to be afraid. Personally, I think if you're not even the tiniest bit afraid, you don't have much invested in whatever you're doing.

School is going well. Very, very busy. My eyeballs are about to fall out of my head, we have so much reading all the time. But when else in my life am I going to HAVE to read 3-4 books a week? When will I ever have this time again? I won't. So I'm enjoying it now. Sometimes I'll be like, shouldn't I be doing something else instead of sitting here, reading? Nope, I have to read! Very thankful for this. I think about this every time I go on campus - how close I came to not coming here, how many times I turned them down....but it was meant to be. And aside from not loving NYC and the nerves about coming here, I don't regret it. The professors are amazing, they really love what they do and care about us and our success, and though the students are competitive, they're nice, overall. I would definitely recommend Columbia to people thinking about the MFA......is there debt? Most definitely. All of my friends here are on federal loans, but that's most people at this school. And you never know what fellowships or aid can open up.

I never really think of writing as an "art", but it is, obviously - it's housed in the School of the Arts. It's odd, being an art school student. Very different than the sciences. The license to pursue creativity in every way is new to me. I've found that I need to approach books and stuff with a different mindset than I had for psych and public health. It's hard to get back into that after NOT doing it for so long. And I don't know how it is for fiction or poetry folks, but for us nonfictioners, we're constantly being told to delve deep into our stories, say things that haven't been said, to write where there's heat.....sometimes it feels a little like group therapy. Which I guess I should have expected a little bit. I mean, a bunch of writers? I don't know what will happen in the winter, when seasonal affective disorder kicks in and we all become tortured, depressed artists.

Living in NY? Expensive. Sometimes I still get sticker shock over the most basic things. I have to remind myself that not only am I back up North, but I'm in one of the most expensive cities in the country. I miss Chapel Hill every day. I miss the people, I miss the landscape, I miss my work, I miss it all. I'm beginning to fall into a routine and developing the habits I had as a New Yorker before, but there's something different, something a little softer and nicer about me this time around. I do still miss the everyday human connections. Sometimes I find them here, when a thug-looking kid gives an elderly person their seat on the subway, or when someone holds the door for me. I try to wish cashiers a nice day when I buy things. Kindness means so much more to me now.

workshop blues.

Well. Things are going better here. I don't actively hate NYC every minute of every day; sometimes I even enjoy walking around my Upper West Side neighborhood. I like getting exercise without meaning to, and a falafel place nearby, and Pinkberry.....but it still, in my heart of hearts, doesn't beat Carolina.

I had my first workshopping experience this past Wednesday. I gave two pieces to my workshop group the week before, and they critique it. How we usually do it is this: we talk about what we liked first, then give our criticisms. Well, she asked about my pieces.....and no one said a thing. NO ONE. Really? You mean to tell me no one liked parts of it, or my voice, or a line or two? It was like pulling fucking teeth. It was excruciating to sit through. It was good to hear the criticisms and read them - too general, need more detail, etc etc - they're right. But it was the way it was handled that completely destroyed my morale. I came home, never wanting to write again. Somewhere deep in my heart I knew I couldn't suck completely; Columbia wouldn't have given me all this money if I were really terrible. But it was just so disheartening and demoralizing. I haven't written anything since then, and am gripped with anxiety every time I sit down to write. I don't even want to write anything personal or dear to my heart for next workshop, for fear it will be torn to shreds. And now I'm paralyzed when I go to write, thinking I'm not doing it right, that I suck, etc.

I know I need to push through this, that MFA programs are meant to weed people out. And if your writing doesn't hurt you when ripped apart, it's probably a piece of shit to begin with. But I guess I wasn't prepared for it.

They say revision is the best revenge...

still in NY.

My second week of classes is over. I love them. Like everyone has said, this is an academically rigorous program. Not only do they emphasize writing, but they heavily emphasize reading. It is a little overwhelming, I admit, but I think I can do it. I'm just struggling to find that balance of school/work/relax. Walking onto campus, I am always struck at just how beautiful it is. And how lucky I am to be there.

That being said, I'm still very homesick for NC. I was in Butler Library today, which is the main undergrad library here - it's one of the main buildings on campus, right in the middle, with gigantic Grecian columns. Inside it is a distinguished mix of marble and chrome and tile, with glazed wooden desks in book-lined study rooms. Very "Dead Poets Society." I used to love Butler. And to some extent, I still do. I've always found comfort in books. But today, a gray and dreary day, I could not find a book. The stacks - floors and floors and floors of endless rows of books - were overwhelming, and my eyes filled up with tears so fast I couldn't stop it. I felt completely lost. Even books brought me no solace. Then I went to the coffee shop in the library to get a ginger ale, and paid with my debit card. After the transaction was done, I thought she'd give me my receipt, so I stood there. She looked up and was like, WHAT? I patiently asked for a receipt and she rolled her eyes, gave a big sigh, and made a big deal of straightening up her register before giving me my receipt. I just felt like saying, "There's no need to be so mean."

I was in the school store the other day, which is a B&N store, and went over to the sports section, thinking I'd browse through a Carolina basketball book. None. There were NO Carolina basketball books. Not even the classic Duke-NC rivalry book "To Hate Like This is to be Happy Forever." (Which I originally bought in NJ, not down South). I was shocked. Like, seriously. I stood there, dumbfounded that not a single Carolina basketball book was there. I mean, Carolina IS college basketball.

So yeah...it will be 3 weeks tomorrow that I'm in NY (not that I'm counting or anything), and still having a major adjustment. I still can't get over the cost of living here. It's absurd. I don't even know if I took enough money out for each semester to live on. I don't know how people do it anymore.

leavin' on a jet plane.

For the first time since moving here, I'm really happy. Why? Because I just booked my ticket to North Carolina for October. *sigh*.

I love my classes. I love school. Why aren't I loving NY? Why is this such an adjustment this time? I'm not sure, and it's something I think about daily. I mean, it's in front of me every day.

Anyway. Now I have something to look forward to.