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7. Take Different Risks

It’s not like I never take them, and trust me, I’ve had my fair share of crazy nights – “(gasp) Daaamn, girl, who knew you were such a TANK.” I’ve come a long way from my middle school days of bracie face, unkempt hair, and a wardrobe complete with trending items from ‘The Children’s Place’ and ‘Kids R Us’. 7 years later, I’m strutting down the streets of Manhattan, living in an apartment on the Upper East Side (though in all honesty, 87^th street isn’t as glorious as it sounds), attending the top fashion school in the nation (just to clarify – no, I am not a FMM girl). Who knew I would be one to have a club promoter (that is if a short, scrawny, and blond Jewish boy can be considered a legitimate promoter), would learn to throw back shots of patron with absolute ease, or develop the ability to manipulate that poor guy at the end of the bar into thinking he has a chance (it was so nice meeting you, thanks for the cab ride!). Ask anyone who knew me freshman year of high school, they would never believe this would be me several years into the future. Who knew, I guess I’m full of surprises.

It all began as a sort of introduction, initiation if you will, to becoming a part of the city that never sleeps. I didn’t have a high school sweet heart (3 months with a break in between does not count), the popular kids didn’t invite me to their parties (well, senior year was just an out of control train wreck), and ultimately there was nothing I felt I had control over. Except for getting out of my small hometown, moving to where dreams come true, and living the life of the fabulous.

Which is exactly what I did.

Except, it hasn’t turned out to be as glamorous as I’d hoped. There are hours that probably add up to days of my life that I don’t remember. I’ve spent New Year’s Eve in a hospital (I should, however, notify the NYPD that Mister Jose is hitting on emergency callers while their best friend’s head is bleeding). I’ve woken up on the subway in Harlem at five in the morning. I’ve had more to drink than an Irishman on St. Patrick’s Day. And finally word on the street is that having a date rape drug slipped into your drink isn’t too much fun either.

Thank goodness that has never happened to me.

So by taking risks, I don’t mean allowing the guy you’ve been eyeing all night to shove his hands down your pants; or dance a top the bar to David Banner instead of Ke$ha; or trying a mixed drink besides the water down cranberry vodkas you have every night. I mean, take different risks – spend some time in the daylight, maybe even alone.

Spending time on your own can be quite nerve-racking, you have to have a certain type of confidence in yourself. Alone doesn’t necessarily mean you’re lonely. Just try it sometime. Sit on a bench in Central Park or by the river and read that New York Times bestseller; or sip on a cappuccino at that quaint little café down the street; or visit art galleries on a Thursday and sip on champagne with new classmates; or call up an old friend and have brunch on the Upper West Side; or brave it solo and visit that exhibit you’ve been dying to lay your eyes on. You never know, you may meet a new someone that will make your heart skip a beat. Take a chance, life is full of surprises (I know, I know, so cliché).

I will end with this - take the ultimate risk: trust the possibilities a risk might bring you.

6. Smile More

It was during my sophomore year of high school that I was indirectly told I needed to smile more, I was prettier when I did. I was your typical boy-crazed teenager, crying to the emotionally whiny lyrics of Dashboard Confessional, asking why why why wouldn’t the attractive boy who played trumpet in the band ask me out already (don’t ask, looking back I have no idea why I wasted two years of my life on that pretentious long haired, xkcd-loving dork who wore tee shirts donning Rubik’s cube graphics). My life was a Taylor Swift song, I was fifteen and I would have believed it if he told me he loved me. Except the girl I sat next to was a brunette named Catherine, my best friend who’d I met in 5th grade, and neither one of us ever dated a boy on the football team. Unless by football, Taylor means the British version - that we both did.

Anyways, point of this whole schpeel is that ever since then, I’ve smiled more. In fact, around him, I smiled all the time. I developed a state of mind of never wanting to come off as weak, emotional, or pathetic. I still carry this around with me and whether or not it’s for the better or worse, I still have yet to figure out. But I do know that because of it, I have become the strongest person my friends know (or so I’ve been told by a few of my bests, lovethemforeverBIFFLESFORLIFE) and that, I take much pride in.

ANYWAYS. To re-emphasize, I started to smile more. It wasn’t that I previously was a depressed life hating emotional wreck, encircling my eyes with black goop and drowning myself in the darkest colors I could find (wait, I did do that - it was laughable). It was more that I learned how to smile through the pain and through all the hurt. And by doing that, the pain wasn’t so painful anymore. I mean, really, every sixty seconds spent sad is a minute of happiness you’ll never get back (excuse me while I ink that down my ribcage because ISTILLHAVEYETTOFEELSOMETHING). I became the girl who is always tied together with a smile (oh @taylorswift13, you just know me so well #twinz).

Point is, I learned what makes me smile. Brisk autumn walks with leaves crunching underneath my heels make me smile. Kittens make me smile and squeal like I’ve never before seen such adorable little balls of fur that are just SOCUTEOHMYGAHHH. Clean laundry, a freshly made bed, and a pair of new shoes make me smile. Everything having to do with Christmas makes me smile because I’m a five year old who believes in miracles on 34th Street and Santa Claus IS REAL. Elphaba dancing to the Cell Block Tango down in Alphabet City makes me smile, it’s a bitch of a living! Pulling all nighters, sprawling over drafted patterns, and stabbing myself with a sewing needle 100 times every hour makes me want to kill myself, but I smile like a fat kid eating cake when it’s all over. Waking up to the sun shining through the window, to the smell of coffee, and eggs sunny-side up with biscuits make me smile. Corny jokes, corny moments, corny movies make me smile (and hysterically laugh like a hyena). Attractive bartenders make me smile and blush all at the same time (#swoon). Traveling to far away neverneverlands, or just across the border and exploring horizons I’ve never seen makes me smile. Other people smiling because I’m smiling makes me smile. Most of all, surrounding myself with the people I love most makes me smile. It’s a privilege really, having such people in your life and most times, they go under appreciated. So remember, having them around is what makes life worth it. Hence resolution #4: Find time to socialize more - which can be interpreted several ways. For me, keeping in touch and preserving friendships is a huge part of it (but go ahead and be a Samantha Jones if you so choose, who’s judging?).

Yesterday morning I met up with a friend I made through one my bests during the months of this past summer. We had brunch at this lovely restaurant called Northern Spy on East 12th Street down in Alphabet City (Cute and quaint, I highly recommend this restaurant - the ‘Polenta and Two Eggs’ is one of the most delicious brunch items I’ve ever had). Come to the think of it, it was the first time we’ve hung out sober. I hadn’t seen him for about five months and I was excited to hear about all that had changed in his life since we’d last spoken in August - girlfriend, college graduate, and now fellow New York City resident. It’s a friendship I hope we will maintain, that will continue to grow, and will lead me to meet more wonderful people.

Here’s to crawling out from under my hermit shell, cheers!

Resolutions.

They come with every brand spanking new year. Time and time again, without fail, people come up with something they would like to achieve before December 31st creeps up behind them and announces the end of yet another year they won’t get back. Things we all desperately want to accomplish, people we all promise we’ll visit, and places we’re determined to explore. It’s only January and we have all the time in the world to get to that list we scribbled on a used restaurant napkin, stuffing it into the back of our favorite pair of blue jeans, only having it go through the wash to come out a crumbly mess. It’s July and all the yesterdays have passed because every today is for relaxing by the ocean and we’ll get to that thing (what was it again?) we promised ourselves we’d do tomorrow. It’s Christmas and well, there is no way we’re going to be able to lose all this fat, write that novel, and visit our long lost friend in Australia all in one week, so we’ll just save those resolutions for this new year and start next week!

Now, I don’t know about you, but every year this infinite cycle of tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, promotes my ultimate failure. After becoming vegetarian way back in middle school, I can’t remember the last resolution I successfully accomplished before that year’s end. But 2012 seems like a promising year to finally, one by one, cross off the items written on that crumbled napkin. After all, according to the Mayans it will be the end of us this year and well, it would be nice to feel as if I’ve achieved something for myself before the earth explodes into nothingness.

With that said, here’s my measly list of promises I’ve resolved to fulfill in 2012 (or before the ground is no longer beneath my feet):

1. Lose all that fat. Well not really, seeing as how I’m 5’3”, weigh 115 lbs (since before I finished that bag of Hershey’s Dark Chocolate Pieces), a previous gymnast, and not some anorexic bitch. It’s more about losing the love handles, welcoming back the six pack, and re-toning all four limbs. I’m not asking to be a model, just a Victoria’s Secret model. 

2. Sit in a coffee shop - shot of espresso, toasty croissant, hipster attitude and all - with my fellow pretentious friends, Leo Tolstoy and F. Scott Fitzgerald, reading the classics (or a regular book of a lesser ‘classic’ value) I haven’t yet read. At least one or two every three months. My list of must-read novels include The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (because this mentally deranged psycho girl fighter is the Regina George of the moment), Perks of Being a Wallflower (because I want a moment where I can swear we were infinite), every word written by Jane Austen (because I love my old-fashioned romances when sex isn’t parent approved until you’re married at 17 years old), all stories by Nicolas Sparks (because I love my disgustingly sappy, heart wrenching romances that never happen in reality), Tale of Two Cities (re-reading because my father insists it’s the best book he’s ever read even though I read it in high school and it was the worst of times), and finally finishing Anna Karenina (me being the most hopelessly romantic chick out there, of course the most well-known love story would make the cut). All this starting with the story that made Audrey Hepburn’s breakthrough film possible, Breakfast at Tiffany’s by Truman Capote. 

3. Bring my GPA up at least 0.2 points higher than it is now. But seriously, I need to actually start caring about my work and creating designs that make me feel worthy of something. Attractive straight men do not exist at FIT, so really, what’s distracting me?

4. Find time to socialize more. Which means crawling out from underneath the hermit shell and going to that oh so trendy and swanky joint in Manhattan or Brooklyn to hang out with friends I haven’t seen since yesteryear (or maybe just my roommate). This doesn’t include continuing to drink one too many vodka cranberries and making horrible life decisions (or maybe it does). Because really, no matter what those sappy romantic comedies starring Hilary Duff like to preach, who’s going to fall in love with a loner?

5. And finally, stop wasting time. Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans. It’s so cliche and deep I want to tattoo it along the back of my shoulder in that pretty script font because it’s so meaningful to me and I JUST WANT TO FEEL SOMETHING FOR ONCE. Note the sarcasm. But I’m actually serious about the not wasting anymore of my young and precious days part. 

Long story short, I just want to be a better, happier, and more productive version of myself.

So, I am a 20-something in New York City sharing a one-bedroom with my best partner in crime with the intention of starting this blog as a way to keep record of the next year, in hopes that I will accomplish at least one thing on this list - you all being my lovely witnesses. Why I want to reveal the inner workings of my heart and mind to a web-isphere full of strangers? I have not the tiniest clue. Maybe I just want to be heard, maybe I simply want an audience. So sit back, relax, and enjoy my story.