"She said, 'Don't I know you from the cinematographer's party?'"

It’s been one year and nine months since I drove the sixteen hours from Milwaukee to New York City with Mr. Baxter the Cat by my side. I surprised a whole lot of people back home when I initially announced those intentions. Some openly wondered if I was trying to channel Carrie Bradshaw, as if making this move meant flitting around 6th Avenue in $400 pumps. But anyone who really knew me realized that such an accusation was completely absurd.

Moving to New York had nothing to do with chasing the glamorous life. (If you could see my current get up which includes yoga pants, holey socks, and a hoodie that’s seen much better days, you’d understand). However, I must admit that I do enjoy the fact that at almost every social event I attend, I meet people in the most fascinating fields. Actors, photographers, publicists, writers, directors, designers, painters, web developers, film makers, composers, playwrights…it is so common in this town that I’m waiting for the day that it no longer thrills me. It certainly doesn’t surprise me anymore when I hear, “Oh, yes, I did wardrobe for Kate and Leo!” or “I worked with Glenn Close on that set!”

Yet, as a writer, it is surreal for me to be connected at all with this cohort of people who are putting their blood, sweat, and tears into major projects. Up until recently, I doubted that I could put myself even near this category of artist types. Yes, I write but I have no ridiculously cool projects being produced/recorded/edited/shipped to Asia. I still felt very much on the fringe. I'm obviously not a 5th Avenue shopping, cosmopolitan sipping, banker lovin’ type. I am most definitely not cool enough to join the tattoo sporting, chain smoking, pint swilling’ artist crowd either.

With my identity as a social worker long gone, I didn’t know how I fit in anywhere. And as of today, June 30, I am one step further away from my social working days. My license as an Advanced Practice Social Worker in the state of Wisconsin officially has officially expired. This means that if I ever want to go back to social work and my employer demands licensure, I will have to go through the whole grueling process of re-taking that damn test. I am okay with making this transition but it does make it more confusing when I think, so where do I fit in anymore? Such a lack of connection is jolting.

However, this sense of disorientation came to an end recently when a fellow writer friend and I were chatting over coffee. She mentioned that she was so broke waiting for freelance gigs that she was sustaining herself on peanut butter sandwiches and oatmeal. It occurred to me that peanut butter and oatmeal were my staples, too. And the ex-social working, non-Bradshaw wannabe within realized that I was no longer on the fringe because there it was…an invitation to group membership. I was officially a “starving artist”. And for some reason, that made me smile.

Daddy's Day

I am learning that I get overwhelmed easily. The phrase, "Sorry that I forgot (fill in the blank), I 've been so scatterbrained lately!" has been written in one too many emails these days.  So it shouldn't surprise me that last Sunday while running late to meet a friend for birthday margaritas, I was suddenly hit with a sense of panic. "Shit!" I yelled out loud as I grabbed for my cell phone, punched in my parents' number, and blurted, "Happy Father's Day!" as soon my dad answered.

"Ummmm, you're a bit early," he laughed, not at all offended by my apparent inability to read a calendar.  And then I went from feeling scatterbrained to just feeling like your run of the mill jackass.  It's bad enough that I completely spaced on my mom's birthday a few months ago (for the first and only time in my life, I hope!) but now I can't even keep Father's Day straight?  Then again, who can remember all of these holidays when there's no specific date to memorize? I can remember Halloween and St. Patty's but why all these holidays with elusive dates? The fourth thursday of November, the first Monday of September, the second Sunday of May and the third Sunday of June... (that's where I got flubbed up.  Why can't these two at least both be on the second or third Sunday??) And don't even get me started on Easter!

So anyway, I wrote "FATHER'S DAY!" on this week's to do list and made sure to get a card in the mail (albeit late as usual). I despise buying "Father's Day" cards for my dad.  Thanks Hallmark, but our relationship isn't a mushy one where I thank him incessantly for everything ever. Frankly, that kind of thing would embarrass the crap out of him anyway.  He's more the type to put tires on my car to show his affection toward me.  Anyway, that rules out about half of the cards from the get go. Then, I must deal with the the fact that according to what's on the shelves, 95% of fathers have golfing addictions and/or an aversion to ties. The idea of my workaholic father on a golf course (when he's got a garden to plant, a lawn mower to fix, or a more properly working sander to build) makes me laugh out loud.  And I think I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen him in a tie. 

So that generally leaves about two card options for me. But this year, my local Walgreen's surprised me with a very fitting sentiment.  The theme of the card involved things breaking, fathers fixing them, and how they curse about the cheap foreign parts they are forced to use in the process. Yep, that's my dad.  Just throw in the phrase, "Goddamn Mickey Mouse crap!" in reference to anything bought from Home Depot and you've just met Ron.  If it's not from Sears or Fleet Farm, he will just build his own damn tool then, thank you very much!

So hopefully, he will have a good Father's Day. He deserves it. He is the reason I have the work ethic I do.  I have most definitely inherited his honest, hard working disposition which has translated to never living above your means, always being insured, and maintaining some type of savings account. It also means putting your all into every task, no matter how mundane, because it is a reflection of the person you are. (And we are no family of slackers!)  So thanks Dad. The hard work is starting to pay off.

GoodSearch is darn good stuff!

I, like many others, am addicted to the google.  Like a good boyfriend, Google is always there for me to try to solve my problems and assuage my fears. So I completely understand the lack of desire to distance oneself from the oh-so-dear search engine. But for a moment, un-google yourself from its sticky tentacles and instead check out GoodSearch. Although I don't know about their holier-than-thou branding (am I going to sprout wings if I utilize them?), I'm a fan of what they do so really, who cares if I feel like some unworthy heathen every time I see that golden halo?

Anyway, here's the deal.  You get to pick a charity and then every time you search through them, Goodsearch will donate to said charity.  According to their FAQ's section, Goodsearch donates 50% of its revenue to charities that users choose. How awesome is that? And considering that I spend an embarrassing amount of time searching for information, like what's going on with Iran's elections  (all right, all right, I mean where I can find a good deal on black Mary Janes), I feel pretty good making the switch.  Oh, and don't forget to check out GoodShop where you can find deals with giant retailers like Apple and Amazon. And they'll donate 3-20% to your designated charity if you buy there. Yipee! Hey, it *does* feel good to search, doesn't it?

Oh my, maybe I *am* worthy of the halo!

All I'm saying...

is that it's June 7th and 48 degrees. Thank you, Wisconsin, for reminding me why I had to move away. Why do you torture so?