Home Alone

I am tonight, waiting for the Texan to get home from work. Not until close to midnight tonight. To occupy my time, I'm doing some freelance stuff for work, and watching Fellowship of the Ring for the one hundredth time. It's a movie I find comforting. I often switch it on to fall asleep.

I calculated my finances today, and realized that I actually make $30 LESS a month than I have to pay out in rent, student loans, credit card bill, and metro card, all of which I listed as priority expenses. Unfortunately, I also have to eat and do laundry, so the biggest chunk of that (student loans) doesn't get paid off in full each month. I'm going to have to do a combination of the following:
1. Go to the old boss and grovel for my part-time job back
2. Pick up at least 60 hours of freelance work a month (impossible)
3. Find a bank to refinance my loans, so I'm not trying to pay Sallie Mae $700 a month

The best part about being late on my Sallie Mae loan is that they call. all. the. time. In the past two days, I've had 16 phone calls (only 2 with messages) and an email. I've given up answering the calls. Here's the thing I wonder...why don't they just make a note when I tell them that I'm completely broke? I've even given them the day of my next paycheck, so they'll know when to expect more money. I'm sure they don't get paid 8 times a day...if I have no money to give you at 9 am, what on earth makes you think I'll have money at noon? or 2? or 4? Nothing logical points to that.

Student loans basically equate to highway robbery. In this day, it's very rare that I could get a good job without going to college. And because I'm a middle class white girl, there aren't a whole lot of scholarships targeted at me. And believe me, my senior year in high school, I did everything I could to get money for school. There was just no way I was going to come up with enough to pay for four years at a university, even though I did go in-state. And I had a part-time job all through school, lived in reasonably priced housing. My only real splurge was my semester abroad (which, granted, probably accounts for close to half of what I'm paying) but I don't regret that semester for a second. But man...how many kids right out of school make enough cash to pay this kind of loan back? And it's rough especially, since my folks told me they'd help me out, but aren't actually in the position to.

I'm going to do my best to stick it out here in the city, but man. I can't be behind in my student loans forever. At least my tax return should help with that somewhat.

In the past two days, however, I've only spent 4 dollars on food, which is astounding. I bought a sun-dried tomato sandwich at the deli next to work and ate half of it yesterday, half today. I had a bag of chips in my desk, and I drink water. For supper, I've been lucky. The Texan made delicious sloppy joes last night, and there was an extra left for me tonight. He's also bringing home hummus and pita bread on his way here from work, so I'll go to bed full and happy.

Tomorrow though, looks like I'll have to spend again.

/stressed

Sloping, Part 2, and a Saint

So, after Bierkraft and some minor distractions as we walked down the street (like coat hooks in the shape of robots), we made it to our next stop: The Gate. We ordered our first beers sort of randomly. Unfortunately, I did not have my notebook, so I cannot make a full report of these beers.

Round one saw T with a Scottish Ale, AK with a German bock, and me with this beauty. The best part about the Hop Devil is the nose on it. It's not the overwhelming hops scent that comes off a lot of the American "strong" IPAs, but instead, it's got that slight tang to it, that smells a little bit like fresh grass and a little bit like pot. I opted for the cask conditioned version of this, which meant the beer was outstandingly fresh and clean across the palate, but not quite the blistering cold I like my IPAs to be. An enjoyable experience.

We played gin for hours, it seemed, on a back patio full of splintered wooden tables and benches. There was a little dog called Zeus wandering around, sticking his tongue into discarded glasses, nosing into a pizza box.

To one side of us were a group of bicycle racers, still in their tight shirts and pants, splitting big plates of fries and pitchers, swapping races stories and taking inventory of injuries collected.

On the other side were a group of 20somethings wearing sunglasses and great hats, playing dominoes for cash. When my friends excused themselves for a smoke, I dug into my bag to start reading that awful book I picked up at the coffee shop. While I was reading, one of the domino guys had a Budweiser backwash explosion, and I shook my head at him, sort of laughing to myself. The ringleader called me out on it, and we started chatting.

Domino King: What're you reading?
Me: Some shitty book (show him the cover).
Domino King: Where'd you get it?
Me: Um, some coffee shop up the street (wave, point, flail).
Domino King: Ozzie's? You're new here.
Me: It's true.
Domino King: Where you from? How long you been here?
Me: Indiana...and about 6 months.
Domino King: You live here? Only one more question, I promise.
Me: Nope, I live out in Bushwick (I notice my voice gets hard and little defensive when I say this, as though daring him to belittle my burned out apartments and midnight street fights).
Domino King: (winces). Ouch. And what's your situation?
Me: Um, I'm not really sure what that mean.
Domino King: (while his friends laugh) Perfect answer. Enjoy your beer.

We cheers, and my friends come back, and we get into rounds two and three and four. The beers were light and dry and perfect for the setting sun kind of afternoon we were having.

Afterwards, I left T and AK, who were heading to a show to see Deer tick. I headed into the city to spend time with the Texan and some friends, celebrating a new job, which we did at Rudy's, with $7 pitchers and too many free hot dogs.

The Texan and I were a little tipsy, so we sang songs on the train on the way home. Some Irish songs, and some Motley Cru, and some Magnetic Fields.

Yesterday, we spent time around St. Mark's. Lunch was had at the delicious, and mostly affordable S'mac. We split a medium order of cheeseburger macaroni (think Hamburger Helper, only fresh and with a layer of crunchy cheese on top) which ran us $9 and we were full for the rest of the day. The only problem with that place are the damn chairs. They're just too bulky for the tiny space of the restaurant and the close proximity of the tables to one another. Beyond that, a delightful place for lunch.

A second hand shop yielded a great yellow cardigan sweater for $10, and a smoke shop down St. Mark's place took another $20 from us. The Texan had a bubble tea (he's enamored with Asian culture) and we just walked and chatted and soaked in the city until it got too cold. Then we headed to Beacon's Closet off the Bedford stop, where I got a Beerland, Texas teeshirt, and the Texan bought one that has Santa eating a hamburger. He calls it Santabuns.

After we made it back to Bushwick, we hit up the grocery for chili fixins and chocolate chip cookies, all for the reasonable price of $8, and spent the rest of the night in my room, trying out our smoke shop purchase and giggling and eating cookies and watching Frasier.

A perfect Brooklyn weekend.

Coming posts to discuss:

National Poetry Month
A tasting of the 8 beers I have in the apartment
Why I feel awkward dressing for summer
How to be a good assistant (am I, Bossman? I think so!)

Sloping

Friday was a little bit dark and rainy, so post-work I hosted a GRATED gathering at my place. All group activities are referred to by the initials of those that partake.

We finished off most of the homebrew, so my brewpartner and I have plans to start batches 5 and 6 this week. We're doing an Ultimate Pale Ale and a German Mai Bock.

Yesterday, the weather perked up again, so I spent time with my new favorite couple wandering around the wonders of Brooklyn. We walked through Williamsburg to Taco Chulo, a long time delivery favorite of AK and myself. The house margaritas are a little pricey ($7) for the size, but the chorizo nachos are worth every penny.

From there, we continued our walk until we reached the Bedford stop and had to that crazy thing that is the bane of every Brooklynite's existence: in order to reach another neighborhood in Brooklyn, we're forced to take the train into Manhattan, and then back out into Brooklyn. Come on, MTA! Don't waste time and money on another Manhattan line, give us some more inter-Brooklyn travel.

When we reached Park Slope, I made a beeline for our first destination. Bierkraft. When I was done squealing like a little girl, I got down to business. Here's what I ended up with:
Well's Banana Bread Beer
Haymaker Honey Wheat (ouch. Looks like I should have checked the forums before purchasing)
Smuttynose Hanami Ale
Dogfish Head Midas Touch
Lakefront Organic E.S.B.
Kelpie Seaweed Ale

Four regular sized bottles, two oversized, for the easy price of $22 and change. I'll definitely be back to take advantage of the Growler situation they've got going on. It's always fun to bring fresh tap beer to parties or. You know. Home for dinner.

Our little trio continued our walk, hitting up Ozzie's coffee shop, where T picked up a tiny tiny coffee, and I picked up a free book that's pretty awful. The Abstract. And don't believe that Amazon review. From what I can tell, it's full of shit.

I've much more to say, which I will do tonight, but right now, I'm getting an evil look from my Texan, who's ready for lunch and Shiner bock.

It's Spring!

My boss mentioned the other day that I should start a blog, so here I am.

I've done the blogging thing before, but always just sort of thrown myself into as more of a journaling, with no real purpose. I got bored (or distracted), and it sort of quit happening. I'm going to try to keep that from happening this time.

I've been in Brooklyn for about 6 months now. My move to the city (which I still call it, in my small-town, rural way) was somewhat serendipitous and more than a little rocky (a breakup, no job prospects, a WoW habit that reawakened my sleeping disorder, a few too many nights polishing off bottles of beer or whiskey alone).

It wound up being great, though. I met this girl and these fellows, who essentially scooped me up, set me on my feet, and helped me get into the swing of life here. On the same day I moved out of my ex's apartment, I got an email for a job interview. Two fancy-dressed interviews and a stellar resume later, I was happily ensconced in a little half-cubicle as an editorial assistant at an up-and-coming indie publishing house.

[The Puerto Rican teenagers outside my window have suddenly started screaming at each other...I can't tell if it's joyful or angry. Definitely angry. The girls are shouting in Spanish and English, talking over each other like blue jays screeching, and their voices are peppered with the sounds of slaps. They're below my window and I can't see them, but the boys across the street are standing so still, wide-eyed and just watching. I wonder if it's some kind of reversed mating ritual, the females puffing up their voices in a kind of vocal strutting.]

For the first couple of weeks, I was nervous and felt out of place, as I always do in new situations. I'm a listener, an observer, so it's hard to fold myself into a new group of people.

[The fight outside is escalating...there are names and threats being thrown down as challenges, carhorns beeping as drivers try to push through the scrum, boys egging the girls on with things like "Sucker punch her!" and "That a way, girl!" An increase in volume and a sound of skin on skin is not good. If this were Indiana, things would have been solved by now, a quick couple punches to the face, a handshake, a shot of whiskey. Or the cops would've been called. This seems all about the build up...and now their voices are fading, as though they're moving down the street.]

Fortunately, though, after a couple of weeks, I was officially assigned to a senior editor, a real boss so I had consistent things to do. Bossman is busy and after working for 6 months, I have edited as many books. He also, it seems, takes his job as a mentor seriously. He is forever explaining to me how things in "the industry" work, or offering gruff congratulations when I do something right.

The workplace is relaxed (Big Boss, the man in charge of the whole shebang, wore secondhand jeans with holes in them to work today) which is good. I can happily wear old jeans and my Chucks, which is good, since I'm sitting at a desk for hours and hours a day.

Even though I hate sitting, my desk is a pretty cheerful place. It's haphazardly organized, so nobody else could find anything, but I can lay my hands on any book, manuscript, or contract in the pile. I am a constant target of disapproving looks and unsubtle hints from the office neat freak, who insists that I use file folders and alphabetization. Little does he realize, my filing technique is unstoppable. I also have postcards, my brothers wedding engagement picture, poems from my friends, and pictures from the Super Dictionary tacked up with thumbtacks shaped like wasps and ladybugs, and also some that have words from some mysterious book pasted on them. Oh yeah, and this calendar.

Enough about work. I just wanted to lay the groundwork so that when I tell stories later, you'll understand a little bit about what I do.

The whole reason I started this blogging project today, other than Bossman's prompting, was because it's spring, and it finally feels like spring in the city. I walked down 8th Avenue today and almost kept walking past my building. I felt like I'd been freed from some wintery purgatory. I shed my heavy coat, put on some sassy earrings, and felt a little bit like Marlo Thomas. New York shook off her dead skin and shone today, ladies in dresses, men in bright colors, all of us with wistful looks on our faces, remembering our college days in the Midwest where days like today would be a cause for blowing off class and sitting in the front yard with friends and cold beers. Maybe we'd get the grill out and send the soberest kid off to the grocery store for cheap burger patties and hot dogs, and more beer and maybe fireworks, if we could find enough money under the couch cushions.

Instead, we bring the spring to the office with us, in our clothes and our smiles, our plans whispered over the phone to skip out half an hour early for drinks at an outdoor bar.

Poem for the day: One of the gorgeous Bucolics by Maurice Manning. These don't have titles, they're just numbered. This book is exquisite, and a perfect way to start the spring. This particular poem is one of my favorites to read just as I'm dropping off to sleep, a good way to start the dreaming portion of my evening. A caveat: no punctuation mean this can be a little tricky to read, but trust me, the tiny perfection is worth the tinier frustration.

III

the night is trotting toward me Boss
as if you tapped it with a switch
or clicked your tongue against your teeth
it's coming down the pasture soon
I'll hear the leather tackle squeak
I'll see your ankle swinging in
the stirrup Boss you ride the night
but you don't need to hurry no
you've been this way a time or two
before you've hauled your wagon full
of stars it's all old hat for you
you get here when you get here O
I guess you like the same old thing
it's funny but I like it too
I like it when you ride the night
across the sky as if it were
a nag a worn-out horse you don't
mind riding O you get along
your horse is made of silver Boss
it clips like sleep it clops like you

Beer of the day: Homebrewed Schwarzbier "Mr. Black"

Song of the day: No music today, just "This American Life" on NPR