The problem with adventures is that while you're busy having them, you don't have time to write.
Hence the silence of late.
So much is going on right now that a short post feels necessary, yet I have so much to say. Maybe once my life dust settles, again, a little, I can tell you more, but for now, a quick update.
1. My novel in a month has morphed into a novel in however long it takes me to finish. I'm excited about the 22,000 or so words I've written. I love my stories and the characters and the themes I've seemed to fall into--tragedy, love, sadness, loss, the strength of the human spirit, relationships, faith. I'm excited to get back to it, as I've been busy the past two weeks, what with
2. MOVING INTO MY VERY OWN APARTMENT!!!!! Those of you who have been listening to me complain about my current living "situation" can now rest easy that I will no longer have an evil roommate to complain about, as I have found the most adorable, sun-filled, cozy little one bedroom there ever was, all to myself. Thanks to the new job, I am finally able to afford to live on my own, and God or fate or what (or who) have you sent this lovely gift my way. I can't wait to move on Friday and finally have some dedicated space for writing, and a quiet street outside my window, and freedom to come and go as i please without someone looking over my shoulder. The commute is longer, and I'm moving out of Manhattan into Brooklyn, but I'm excited to have more time to read on the train to and from work every day, and I can't wait to explore a part of New York that I'm so unfamiliar with.
3. My new job has been verrry busy lately, and I'm still learning the ropes, but my good friend Okie is just a few desks away, and he makes sure to keep me grounded with a morning reading of Rilke or a fun fact about Thomas Jefferson or to just check on me when he hears me screetching "Oh my God, you want WHAT? WHEN?" into my telephone. I'm also getting over the awkward "new girl" hump and am getting to know my coworkers, who, for the most part, are awesome. Especially the socially awkward editors. I feel right at home.
Did I mention that my new apartment will be within walking distance of at least 4 of my friends?!? How lucky am I?
Remind me to tell you about riding the Coney Island float in the Village Halloween Parade with Leslie and dressing as Bristol Palin for my friend Holly's Halloween party.
All my love and Autumn bliss,
Lizzie
Showing posts with label adventure. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adventure. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
NaNoWriMo 2
Last year, I wrote a novel in a month. You probably know that already. But in case you missed last year's crazy ridiculousness (on my part), it's all blogged on my "writing blog" which I've since kind of abandoned because everyone knows it and i didn't really want my grandma reading about who I fucked last night. Which was no one, btw, in case she's somehow honed her grandma skills to finding this blog. ANYWHO, all promiscuity aside, I am again going to be joining several friends in the National Novel Writing Month challenge, which is to write 50,000 words in 31 days. MOST people do NaNoWriMo in November, but we all think that's silly because it only has 30 days AND we most of us travel for Thanksgiving and can't write when we're in a turkey coma. Also, we are not most people, are we? No. I think not.
So, as this is the second time I've done this, I gotta admit, I'm going in a little cocky. I know this is not a good thing. I know that I'm going to crash and burn at some point. But I can't help it. I'm all like "Whatever, I did this last year. I can do it again." Ahhh, the mighty (me) are about to fall. I know it, and yet I'm doing nothing about it.
So, basically, me and 5 of my friends are all going to begin our own 50,000 word novel beginning at midnight tonight and ending at midnight on October 31. That boils down to about 1,667 words per day. We have all modified the original "rules" somewhat to fit our own goals, etc, but I'm a purist and a type-A anal retentive, so I'm basically doing it the way it was originally set up to be done. I'm starting with a new story, I'm going to write at least 50,000 words.
So, I may not have much to say here for the next month. If you want to follow my novel-writing progress, I will again be posting on my writing blog, The Naked Writer.
ONWARD!
So, as this is the second time I've done this, I gotta admit, I'm going in a little cocky. I know this is not a good thing. I know that I'm going to crash and burn at some point. But I can't help it. I'm all like "Whatever, I did this last year. I can do it again." Ahhh, the mighty (me) are about to fall. I know it, and yet I'm doing nothing about it.
So, basically, me and 5 of my friends are all going to begin our own 50,000 word novel beginning at midnight tonight and ending at midnight on October 31. That boils down to about 1,667 words per day. We have all modified the original "rules" somewhat to fit our own goals, etc, but I'm a purist and a type-A anal retentive, so I'm basically doing it the way it was originally set up to be done. I'm starting with a new story, I'm going to write at least 50,000 words.
So, I may not have much to say here for the next month. If you want to follow my novel-writing progress, I will again be posting on my writing blog, The Naked Writer.
ONWARD!
Monday, September 15, 2008
a brooklyn adventure
whilst walking to work this morning and letting my mind wander aimlessly across the desert that is the stretch of First Avenue between my apartment and the new job (Side note: I work a BLOCK from the UN and I had no idea until this morning! Security risk? Yes. Worth it for the possibility of meeting wealthy, well-dressed, and [fingers-crossed] dashingly handsome international diplomats? um, yeah, obvs.), and the thought floated across my consciousness like a nimbus cloud that though the blog is called "Adventures in LizzieLand", I don't often recall my actual adventures. I then surmised that could be due to the fact that I've been relatively hermitlike of late and haven't had many adventures, but then...well, nevermind. this has gone on long enough.
So, to give you a real-life ACTUAL adventure of the Lizzie and Sideshow variety, I give you..."Time Warp: Lizzie and Sideshow Enter an Alternate Universe."
It all started when Sideshow asked me if I wanted to hunt photo booths with her to take some candid shots for her NEW! website in development.
And then I found out about the Bullseye Bodegas that were in town "For a limited time only!"
And so the list grew until we had grandiose and very detailed plans for Saturday, including, but not limited to, the following:
1. Go to Bullseye Bodega and drool on things we don't need and so won't buy because our apartments can't possibly fit one more ounce of useless stuff.
2. Find photo booth. Take silly photos. Repeat.
And here's where it got crazy
3. Go to Brooklyn. Look at friend of friend's dad-owned apartment for rent.
4. Stop by Beacon's Closet: shop and drop off old clothes.
5. Use $15 pizza place gift certificate that will never be used otherwise because we never go to Brooklyn.
6. Maybe, if we have time, stop at a kitchy Polish bar I know for 32-ounce $3.50 beers.
Yes, friends, not only were Sideshow and I going to Brooklyn, we were going to WILLIAMSBURG, land of hipsters, ironic mustaches, and unhealthily skinny skinny jeans. And we had 4 good reasons for going there.
Oh, we had such lofty ideals. Oh, were we going to get so much done. Then SS texted at 11 am. "Late night last night, hung over, no photos, look like crap" (my paraphrase), to which I labored over an equally hung over response for the next 10 minutes. "Late night here too, look like crap, no photos okay." At which point, had we been smart, we would have just given up and gone back to sleep.
Our 2 pm meeting turned into 3:30, and we decided to tackle Brooklyn first. The guy whose dad owns the apartment I wanted to see called to say he didn't have the keys, so SS and I headed straight for Beacon's Closet, which turned out to be a hot, crowded, hipster mess. We lasted approximately 2.4 minutes before grabbing her bag of clothes (they told us to be back at 8! There was no way were staying IN BROOKLYN until 8 pm) and high-tailing it out of there. Several headache-inducing outfits later (that is, on the waifs we passed...Williamsburg must be having a severe food shortage, we surmised), we finally found the calm in the hipster storm...the Polish bar with a bartender older than my grandfather and the blessed, beautiful, cold, sparkling 32-ounce beer in a styrofoam cup. We lamented about how we don't want to move to Brooklyn and especially to Williamsburg, discussed our confusion about the skinny-jean phenomenon, and expressed our relief that no hipsters, apparently, could see this bar through their slatted fushia sunglasses.
Until, right after I received my second GIANT beer, 15 of the little buggers came stumbling and yelling through the door of the bar, beelined it to the jukebox, and began playing the MOST TYPICAL BAR SONGS EVER. Which caused an equal and opposite reaction in SS and I: to loudly make fun of them, their dress, their musical choices, and to say that we were having such a lovely time until they showed up. We were just drunk enough to be able to convince ourselves that we were being funny, not rude. Also, that we somehow were not on THEIR turf and so had some kind of right to not be invaded. Ah, retrospect.
So, as "Bohemian Rhapsody" blared in the background and I yelled to SS over the music, "God, wow! I love this song! This is such a great song! I can't believe they're playing THIS song! THey NEVER play this song in bars!" and the hipsters returned our annoyed and disparaging looks, a tall, skinny-jeaned, ironic-mustached, and flannel shirted young man bought two beers and set one in front of each of us.
"Calm down," he said, with a wry smile.
And then we felt like assholes and shut up, or at least quit yelling our obscenities.
We flirted with two brothers who were jerks but not hipsters before leaving the hipsters to the 60-year-old woman who reminded me of my grandmother and had taken over the bar from the ancient man who kind of reminded me of my grandfather. We traipsed to the pizza place, where the guy behind the counter said "Come back and spend some money next time" and the other one told us that his girlfriend was 4'11". The strange out-of-place feelings we had gave way to giggling about everyone and everything that seemed "different" and we got our sausage pizza to go, vowing never to return to this alternate universe where we didn't understand the dress code and the natives bought us beer to disarm us into thinking they were harmless and, could it even be?, nice.
So, to give you a real-life ACTUAL adventure of the Lizzie and Sideshow variety, I give you..."Time Warp: Lizzie and Sideshow Enter an Alternate Universe."
It all started when Sideshow asked me if I wanted to hunt photo booths with her to take some candid shots for her NEW! website in development.
And then I found out about the Bullseye Bodegas that were in town "For a limited time only!"
And so the list grew until we had grandiose and very detailed plans for Saturday, including, but not limited to, the following:
1. Go to Bullseye Bodega and drool on things we don't need and so won't buy because our apartments can't possibly fit one more ounce of useless stuff.
2. Find photo booth. Take silly photos. Repeat.
And here's where it got crazy
3. Go to Brooklyn. Look at friend of friend's dad-owned apartment for rent.
4. Stop by Beacon's Closet: shop and drop off old clothes.
5. Use $15 pizza place gift certificate that will never be used otherwise because we never go to Brooklyn.
6. Maybe, if we have time, stop at a kitchy Polish bar I know for 32-ounce $3.50 beers.
Yes, friends, not only were Sideshow and I going to Brooklyn, we were going to WILLIAMSBURG, land of hipsters, ironic mustaches, and unhealthily skinny skinny jeans. And we had 4 good reasons for going there.
Oh, we had such lofty ideals. Oh, were we going to get so much done. Then SS texted at 11 am. "Late night last night, hung over, no photos, look like crap" (my paraphrase), to which I labored over an equally hung over response for the next 10 minutes. "Late night here too, look like crap, no photos okay." At which point, had we been smart, we would have just given up and gone back to sleep.
Our 2 pm meeting turned into 3:30, and we decided to tackle Brooklyn first. The guy whose dad owns the apartment I wanted to see called to say he didn't have the keys, so SS and I headed straight for Beacon's Closet, which turned out to be a hot, crowded, hipster mess. We lasted approximately 2.4 minutes before grabbing her bag of clothes (they told us to be back at 8! There was no way were staying IN BROOKLYN until 8 pm) and high-tailing it out of there. Several headache-inducing outfits later (that is, on the waifs we passed...Williamsburg must be having a severe food shortage, we surmised), we finally found the calm in the hipster storm...the Polish bar with a bartender older than my grandfather and the blessed, beautiful, cold, sparkling 32-ounce beer in a styrofoam cup. We lamented about how we don't want to move to Brooklyn and especially to Williamsburg, discussed our confusion about the skinny-jean phenomenon, and expressed our relief that no hipsters, apparently, could see this bar through their slatted fushia sunglasses.
Until, right after I received my second GIANT beer, 15 of the little buggers came stumbling and yelling through the door of the bar, beelined it to the jukebox, and began playing the MOST TYPICAL BAR SONGS EVER. Which caused an equal and opposite reaction in SS and I: to loudly make fun of them, their dress, their musical choices, and to say that we were having such a lovely time until they showed up. We were just drunk enough to be able to convince ourselves that we were being funny, not rude. Also, that we somehow were not on THEIR turf and so had some kind of right to not be invaded. Ah, retrospect.
So, as "Bohemian Rhapsody" blared in the background and I yelled to SS over the music, "God, wow! I love this song! This is such a great song! I can't believe they're playing THIS song! THey NEVER play this song in bars!" and the hipsters returned our annoyed and disparaging looks, a tall, skinny-jeaned, ironic-mustached, and flannel shirted young man bought two beers and set one in front of each of us.
"Calm down," he said, with a wry smile.
And then we felt like assholes and shut up, or at least quit yelling our obscenities.
We flirted with two brothers who were jerks but not hipsters before leaving the hipsters to the 60-year-old woman who reminded me of my grandmother and had taken over the bar from the ancient man who kind of reminded me of my grandfather. We traipsed to the pizza place, where the guy behind the counter said "Come back and spend some money next time" and the other one told us that his girlfriend was 4'11". The strange out-of-place feelings we had gave way to giggling about everyone and everything that seemed "different" and we got our sausage pizza to go, vowing never to return to this alternate universe where we didn't understand the dress code and the natives bought us beer to disarm us into thinking they were harmless and, could it even be?, nice.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
this is my brain on drugs
Hello my darling farphenugens! (yeah, that's how you spell that) (no, i don't know what a farphenugen is) (stop asking fucking questions)
It has been so long since we've communicated via blogoverse (yup, just made it up. like universe, only with blog at the beginning. and yes, i've copyrighted it, so don't even think about it) (yes, even though I just made it up) (shut your mouth! I'm talking!)
hummm, right. So, didja miss me? Because I missed you. Terribly. While i was frolicking amongst the radioactive waste in Lake Michigan and ducking from pretend gangsters in Chicago's south side and hitting on hot artists with families [shameless, i know, but i was on vacation...free pass!] at jazz festivals. oh, also ripping the tails off of boiled crawfish and sucking the sweet spicy creole-seasoned succulent flesh out of them while i stared into their lifeless beady black eyes. and picking their antennae out of my teeth. and THEN, i missed you even more whilst jazz-fingering my toes into the sweet moist north carolina sand while the dictator, king prince nephew Kole directed my sand-castle construction and water carrying duties ("Get more water!" he cried. And so I did.) and then watching my sister be obliterated by waves that were at least 4 feet above her 6 foot high head (awesome. seriously. awesome.) and riding waves via boogie board and learning (the hard way) just which bikini bottoms were conducive to wave riding. and which, unfortunately, were not.
henceforth, i will always recommend a one-piece for wave riding, though i feel that the one-piece interferes with one's ability to catch the eye of passing adult married males with children (the only kind available, apparently, during the first week of September in the OUter Banks).
As you can see, I barely managed without you.
OH, hai! Do you know what time it is?? It's time for me to take some more sinus infection medication! Hold up...one sec...ahhh, very nice. Congestion, begone! Right, and those were the nighttime kind, so i probably should wrap this up before i pass out in a pool of my own slobber and mucus.
and i still don't understand why noone wants to date me. hum.
on the bright side, i'm 3 for 3 on getting my used tissues in the garbage can from across the room.
so, to conclude, i had a lovely time on my vacation, and i really did miss you (even if i pretend to be strong and say that i didn't), and i just started a new job yesterday, and I'm getting a new roommate next week, AND I'm planning on doing the National Novel Writing Month with a few writer friends again in October. So, lots going on! oh, AND i have a sinus infection! (i forgot that part) but hopefully that'll go away soon.
And now, to fall into a drug-induced stupor, but not a pseudoephedrine-induced stupor. because the meth people ruined it for all of us.
assholes.
It has been so long since we've communicated via blogoverse (yup, just made it up. like universe, only with blog at the beginning. and yes, i've copyrighted it, so don't even think about it) (yes, even though I just made it up) (shut your mouth! I'm talking!)
hummm, right. So, didja miss me? Because I missed you. Terribly. While i was frolicking amongst the radioactive waste in Lake Michigan and ducking from pretend gangsters in Chicago's south side and hitting on hot artists with families [shameless, i know, but i was on vacation...free pass!] at jazz festivals. oh, also ripping the tails off of boiled crawfish and sucking the sweet spicy creole-seasoned succulent flesh out of them while i stared into their lifeless beady black eyes. and picking their antennae out of my teeth. and THEN, i missed you even more whilst jazz-fingering my toes into the sweet moist north carolina sand while the dictator, king prince nephew Kole directed my sand-castle construction and water carrying duties ("Get more water!" he cried. And so I did.) and then watching my sister be obliterated by waves that were at least 4 feet above her 6 foot high head (awesome. seriously. awesome.) and riding waves via boogie board and learning (the hard way) just which bikini bottoms were conducive to wave riding. and which, unfortunately, were not.
henceforth, i will always recommend a one-piece for wave riding, though i feel that the one-piece interferes with one's ability to catch the eye of passing adult married males with children (the only kind available, apparently, during the first week of September in the OUter Banks).
As you can see, I barely managed without you.
OH, hai! Do you know what time it is?? It's time for me to take some more sinus infection medication! Hold up...one sec...ahhh, very nice. Congestion, begone! Right, and those were the nighttime kind, so i probably should wrap this up before i pass out in a pool of my own slobber and mucus.
and i still don't understand why noone wants to date me. hum.
on the bright side, i'm 3 for 3 on getting my used tissues in the garbage can from across the room.
so, to conclude, i had a lovely time on my vacation, and i really did miss you (even if i pretend to be strong and say that i didn't), and i just started a new job yesterday, and I'm getting a new roommate next week, AND I'm planning on doing the National Novel Writing Month with a few writer friends again in October. So, lots going on! oh, AND i have a sinus infection! (i forgot that part) but hopefully that'll go away soon.
And now, to fall into a drug-induced stupor, but not a pseudoephedrine-induced stupor. because the meth people ruined it for all of us.
assholes.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
What happens in Vegas...ends up on my blog
Today-published worst photo of me ever in existence anywhere ever ever, which will most likely result in a) some future employer finding and firing-slash-not-hiring-me-in-the-first-place, b) my being left at the alter-slash-never-having-another-date-as-long-as-i-live, c) going to a great party and meeting a cute boy who i drive off with in his convertible and then oops! remember that i need cigarettes so ask him to pull off for a sec and then see THAT image staring straight back at me from a cover of some magazine with a caption that reads "Single and Fabulous?" (wait, i think i've heard that one before...), or d) all of the above.
I'mma go with D. I believe this was directly before the Great Stripper Pole Incident of 2008, during which, in my enthusiasm, I whipped around the pole and directly into the brick wall behind it, scratching/bruising my shoulder. I blame the guy who installed the pole. Clearly, he's never seen what goes on with those things.
And after THAT description, D. Definitely D.
Which is fine by me. I clearly have a fallback plan.
Seriously, though, besides that night in Vegas, I had a pretty mature, responsible trip. Here is a short list of
STUFF I DID IN VEGAS!!!
1. I laid by the pool
2. I watched other people have sex on their balcony (to be clear, I was staring because I couldn't figure out what was going on, not because I KNEW and just wanted to watch)
3. I rode the roller coaster at New York New York (no, not the crazy ridiculous scary one on the top of the really tall building. the one that's on the ground in front of a hotel that's supposed to resemble our fair city) (and no, i don't think there is a comma between the New Yorks. I think they did that so people didn't get confused between the HOTEL and the ACTUAL CITY. Because from what I saw in Vegas, I think it was a distinct possibility.)
4. I can haz cheezburger hat
but thankfully i cant haz frankenstine hat
(that wasn't very funny, was it? oh well, moving on!)
5. I won $75 on penny slots...
...while practicing to be my great grandmother.
6. I successfully evaded the giant baby eagles at the Bellagio. (barely.)
7. I waved a bagel around in a hungover stupor
8. And (with no photographic evidence, or at least none i can find to steal)...I danced in the Second Annual J*erleader and WHORE Dance Competition at Rollercon. And all I got was an illegible patch. (and by WHORE, I'm just making a silly inside joke. HAHAHAHAHA, LA is WHORES. MWHAAAHAHAHAHAHA.) Hopefully, photographic evidence to come soon. To hold you over, here are the signs we used in the routine:
I'mma go with D. I believe this was directly before the Great Stripper Pole Incident of 2008, during which, in my enthusiasm, I whipped around the pole and directly into the brick wall behind it, scratching/bruising my shoulder. I blame the guy who installed the pole. Clearly, he's never seen what goes on with those things.
And after THAT description, D. Definitely D.
Which is fine by me. I clearly have a fallback plan.
Seriously, though, besides that night in Vegas, I had a pretty mature, responsible trip. Here is a short list of
STUFF I DID IN VEGAS!!!
1. I laid by the pool
2. I watched other people have sex on their balcony (to be clear, I was staring because I couldn't figure out what was going on, not because I KNEW and just wanted to watch)
3. I rode the roller coaster at New York New York (no, not the crazy ridiculous scary one on the top of the really tall building. the one that's on the ground in front of a hotel that's supposed to resemble our fair city) (and no, i don't think there is a comma between the New Yorks. I think they did that so people didn't get confused between the HOTEL and the ACTUAL CITY. Because from what I saw in Vegas, I think it was a distinct possibility.)
4. I can haz cheezburger hat
but thankfully i cant haz frankenstine hat
(that wasn't very funny, was it? oh well, moving on!)
5. I won $75 on penny slots...
...while practicing to be my great grandmother.
6. I successfully evaded the giant baby eagles at the Bellagio. (barely.)
7. I waved a bagel around in a hungover stupor
8. And (with no photographic evidence, or at least none i can find to steal)...I danced in the Second Annual J*erleader and WHORE Dance Competition at Rollercon. And all I got was an illegible patch. (and by WHORE, I'm just making a silly inside joke. HAHAHAHAHA, LA is WHORES. MWHAAAHAHAHAHAHA.) Hopefully, photographic evidence to come soon. To hold you over, here are the signs we used in the routine:
Monday, July 21, 2008
Drunk, married, and tattooed
As I (literally) stumbled to the bathroom this morning around 7:30 am, a couple of unusual things occurred to me. First, that i was still relatively drunk. Second, that I was wearing a wedding ring. And third, that I had a tattoo of two dice with the word "Lucky" in a banner underneath on my left bicep. All three of which surprised me in a "I'm noticing this and not really sure what's going on, but I'm going to roll with it" and a "Huh, I didn't think this actually happened to people" kind of way.
Am I in Vegas, you ask? No. Am I in a bad movie starring Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz? No. Should I be worried that even BEFORE my big Vegas vacation next week, I'm already waking up drunk, married, and tattooed? Possibly.
But, as is generally the case, there is a perfectly logical explanation for all of this, which i vaguely remember in my drunk-to-hungover haze. And that is the second annual GGRD Jeerleader Viva Las Vegas Fundraiser, which was last night at Fontanas, the highlight of which was Minnie Pearl Haggard eating fire. But also complete with Audrey Scorne applying a temporary tattoo to my left bicep in the bathroom before the event, my drinking several vodka cranberrys and two huge Coney Island Lagers, and the second annual Jeerleader-Bob wedding, officiated by the one and only Hellvis. And which ended with me walking home drunk at midnight and having some homeless guy ask to see my tattoo and another guy say in a very menacing voice, "Safe travels." If I hadn't been so drunk, I would have been way more creeped out by that. And then ending the night by eating tortilla chips in bed and reading my journal (? i know, right?) and falling asleep and having a dream in which i was drunk.
I'm going to consider this my dry run for Vegas.
Am I in Vegas, you ask? No. Am I in a bad movie starring Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz? No. Should I be worried that even BEFORE my big Vegas vacation next week, I'm already waking up drunk, married, and tattooed? Possibly.
But, as is generally the case, there is a perfectly logical explanation for all of this, which i vaguely remember in my drunk-to-hungover haze. And that is the second annual GGRD Jeerleader Viva Las Vegas Fundraiser, which was last night at Fontanas, the highlight of which was Minnie Pearl Haggard eating fire. But also complete with Audrey Scorne applying a temporary tattoo to my left bicep in the bathroom before the event, my drinking several vodka cranberrys and two huge Coney Island Lagers, and the second annual Jeerleader-Bob wedding, officiated by the one and only Hellvis. And which ended with me walking home drunk at midnight and having some homeless guy ask to see my tattoo and another guy say in a very menacing voice, "Safe travels." If I hadn't been so drunk, I would have been way more creeped out by that. And then ending the night by eating tortilla chips in bed and reading my journal (? i know, right?) and falling asleep and having a dream in which i was drunk.
I'm going to consider this my dry run for Vegas.
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