Can a Yankee’s girl ever make it with a Red Sox’s boy?

Despite having a California zip code for the last decade, I will always be a New Yorker. When push comes to shove and I am asked where are you from, my answer is always the big apple. As a native New Yorker, I wear my love for all things New York like a badge of honor.

As many of you already know, I am a basketball addict. Being an avid NBA fan is devastating when you are from NY. I admit that the Knicks suck. I was bred to hate with every fiber in my being any sports team that resides in Boston. So the recent victory for the Celtics, left a bad taste in my mouth. I hope it will encourage Lebron to become a Knick next year and then maybe we won’t suck as much.

I am a self-proclaimed hater of all Boston based sports. The Yankee/Red Sox rivalry is one of the oldest and fiercest feuds in the baseball world. My love for the Yankee’s is in my DNA. I can remember fondly going to games with my dad and my brother when I was just a little tyke. The smell of a Yankee Stadium hot dog still brings a smile to my face. Hard-core Yankee fans and Red Sox’s fanatics follow their teams like a religion.

Just recently I had a conversation that raised the question can Yankee fans and Red Sox fans make it when it comes to romantic relationships? At first I was quick to answer of course, then I went home and really thought about it. I thought back to one of my past relationships, where I did date a native Bostonian and Red Sox's devotee. It was a complete disaster. We were constantly bickering about sports among other ridiculous things. I honestly believe that our desire to one-up each other stemmed from that old feud. Of course those weren’t our only problems. He was pretentious and vindictive. He definitely lived up to his nickname (courtesy of me) the Intellectual Ape.

In this world of absolutes there is still some hope. The one couple that manages to put their baseball allegiances aside are my parents. My dad is a die-hard Yankee's fan and my mom, born in Boston, is a loyal Red Sox's fan. How do these two crazy kids make it work? They avoid the subject at all costs.

Crack-head's list strikes again

I am extremely aware that times are tough and the economy is in the crapper. I am a recent graduate of a vigorous master’s program. Ironically, when I made the wise decision to go back to school, this was not the case. At that time, ad agencies were handing out jobs to bright young Creatives, without even blinking. Now it seems like the full-time jobs, at the entry level, with health benefits are coveted like Willy Wonka’s golden tickets.

Since graduation, I have become the self-proclaimed queen of the small time gig. I have worked for start-ups, non-profits, and many other shops, but I have yet to land something steady. As I scour the Internet looking for something full-time, I can’t help but get discouraged. I keep coming across these jobs listed for “Marketing Assistants”. The duties listed for this generic position, include everything under the sun. Some of the responsibilities make sense and some seem as though the job is really supposed to be three separate positions, but they lost funding. The kicker is the pay. This rock star marketing assistant, doing the job of three people, is going for the bargain rate of $10/hr. Come on - I know interns that make more then that.

Baby’s got blue skies up ahead or at least not as grey…

A few months have passed since I finished graduate school. During this time, I have blown through a range of emotions. I have been happy, relieved, enraged, lethargic, optimistic, pessimistic, pensive, and defeated. I finally feel like I have broken free and reached the other side. Everyone keeps telling me I should be grateful for this reflective time - what they don’t understand is, I love working. I relish solving problems and using my overpriced brain on a daily basis.

I have applied to a plethora of jobs in the last few months. The weekly number is deafening. Some of the jobs have been above my level of experience and some have been below. I know it’s hard out there for everyone. I feel it is worse for those just coming out of school all brighteyed and bushytailed. In my chosen profession, agencies don’t really want to hire someone entry-level. They want someone with experience who can bring in big clients. It seems that “they” just aren’t looking for juniors anymore. They will hire us for freelance or contract positions. It’s not like we need health insurance or anything. We are young.

Where are these blue skies you ask? Once I recovered from my Dexter watching haze, (I think I might be addicted to that show), everything became clear. The next step lies only in my hands - no one else has that power. I am in the mix for a few possible jobs. I should find out soon if anything pans out. For me the real blue sky epiphany lies, not with the action of getting a job, but with my revived second wind. I am a fighter. Now that I have rediscovered that fact, my world is sunny again.

To be continued….

Screw You Father Time

Why do Americans associate age with such a negative connotation?

Eastern cultures think of aging as something to be revered and respected. With age comes wisdom and clout. Here in America especially, California people think of age as something to be stopped. Women go to great lengths to hide their age through plastic surgery and the art of lying. A woman never reveals her true age especially if she is over 30. This month I turned the ripe age of 33 and I refuse to hide it or feel ashamed. I look damn good and feel better than ever. I think my 30’s so far have been fabulous much better than my 20’s. I am finally comfortable with who I am, the way I look, and what I want to be. I am confident that this year is going to be great. I know what I want to accomplish and will be successful. So, to all the people out there who think 30 is the end, I just want to kindly flip you the bird. Bring on 33. I can’t wait to prove just how amazing this year is going to be.

Have No Doubt

I learned a vital lesson in the last few months - when Doubt rears its ugly head, hit it with a Mack Truck. A few months ago when I finally got my MFA, I was channeling James Cagney and felt like I "Made it, Ma! Top of the world!" All that hard work and borrowed money felt justified. I was so proud of what I learned and the connections I made. That pride and confidence faded fast when faced with the real world. Graduating with idealistic views in a time of economic turmoil is harsh. I knew things would not be easy but I am usually energized by challenge. Recently I have started to feel beat down by the job hunt. The amount of time I spend searching for a job feels like a full-time position. The plethora of resumes and cover letters that I have sent into the Internet black hole is almost unfathomable. The feeling you get after sending out over 25 resumes a week with no response, or fake responses, is Doubt.

Am I smart enough? Do I know the right people? Will I ever be able to pay off my student loans? How can I repay my parents for all the extra help they have given me? Will my brain turn into mush if I don’t use it? Who is really in my corner?

When these inevitable questions enter your mind like a long lost friend, SHUT THEM DOWN. Things are hard right now but they have been hard before. You are smart. There are just a lot of other smart people out there looking for a break too. I have decided to embrace the challenge not just by alcohol and denial, but also by creating something from my struggle. I am starting a blog focused solely on my struggles to find a job in this economy. I will be featuring my own thrilling story as well as stories of others battling the same demons. Please let me know if you are willing to share.

Ladies Just say NO to the Age of Anxiety

I have tackled this topic before in my blog (see my June posting).

Why are we different?

After having a lunch yesterday with one of my best friends (Rin, who coined the term “Age of Anxiety”) I feel it needs revisiting.

Society makes women feel like they MUST have a man and be married, or close to it, by the ripe age of 30.

We must want children. If not - there is something wrong with us.

If you live your life manless, you are somehow in complete.

None of these societal shackles exist for men. For men, being a bachelor is cool, exciting, and even a little exotic. They are considered free and by most women a “good catch.”

I am not some kind of feminazi - just a person with common sense.

Why can’t certain women be alone?

I feel confident in the fact that I may meet someone and fall madly in love. I also accept the fact that I might not. My happiness does not, and should not, depend on if I am part of a couple.

Why are women seen as broken if they are not attached?

I have known so many women who have fallen into this trap. “I am 30 and I can’t be alone. I want children. Let me date a 'nice' guy who has some money who would be a good father. I like the person just fine, so I might as well.”

I refuse to settle. I know there are many different kinds of love and passion fades, but it must be there in the beginning. I might be choosing a life as a crazy cat lady but at least I am choosing a happy fulfilled life on my own terms.

RIP Mighty Whitey my 88 Corolla

This Eulogy is over, considering Mighty died October 17th.

Mighty Whitey, 21, beloved car and friend (Sadly no picture was found).

In Larkspur, CA, on October 17, 2009, Mighty Whitey, a.k.a Captain Many Trips, died in the parking lot of Bed Bath & Beyond. Although most cars are referred to with feminine pronouns, Mighty was definitely a male car. This happened mostly because his second owner, Rachel named him after Jerry Garcia. Her parents purchased the car right before her 16^th birthday from the Penny Saver. Before even getting her license, Rachel began placing multiple stickers on Captain’s rear.

There was never really an accurate count but in the end, although some faded, Mighty had an estimated 25 stickers or so. He was a great first car, full of pep and low mileage. Rachel remembers fondly the first time she took him on the highway. She drove her best friend Cathy home over the Tappanzee Bridge, windows open, blasting The Who, and fearing the two trucks in the surrounding lanes. There were countless memories and friends in NY for Mighty.

When Rachel outgrew the East Coast and traveled to California, Mighty came with her. He didn’t drive cross-country but was shipped out to San Francisco. Once he arrived there, he was driven to his new home in sunny Santa Barbara. He loved the warm weather and some of his rust from the years of snow subsided. He made many trips to Los Angeles, San Diego, and San Francisco. He received his new name from Rachel’s college roommate for multiple reasons.

When Rachel moved to the Bay Area, he was still her number one car for a few years. Then, into his Golden Years, parts started breaking. His visor got stuck, gearshifts malfunctioned, and he had other problems. He was replaced by the Batmobile and reduced to a 2^nd car that took her Mom to drive to the bus. Although his role in the family became limited, he was loved. The family mourns his loss but knows that after 16 years of use, he owes them nothing. RIP Mighty Whitey, you will be missed.