I almost punched a dude in the face today. So, I'm walking home from work at 10:30 PM. I live in Koreatown, which isn't an awful part of Los Angeles, but it gets sketchy after about 9:00 if you're by yourself. So, I turn onto my street, and I see this girl running down the sidewalk straight towards me. About three steps behind her is an African-American dude about 5'11" chasing her.
She runs up to me, grabs me, and the dude is standing in front of me, looking at me through eyes that are clearly crossed. I pull back to punch him. Then, the girl lets go of me and I realize that it's my coworker BG who lives in my building. She says not to worry, that it was one of her friends and she was just fooling around. She asked me about what was going on in life, and then she left on her merry way. I walked home, my heart frozen in my chest.
Last week, a crazy Asian woman followed me four blocks home. She was screaming at me while I was on the phone with my mother.
Here's the deal: I always walk with some sort of weapon in my hand. My mom bought me a taser for Christmas. I haven't carried it because I thought it was excessive. And it is, if I'm coming home at 6 or 7 and staying in my part of K-Town. But, if I'm going to be getting home after the trains turn into hobo jungles, then I'm going to start carrying it because I don't feel comfortable otherwise. I always make sure that if a female coworker is going home by herself late at night that I go with her as far as I can because, really, LA does a shit job of keeping its public transit system safe and there's almost no police presence downtown after sundown.
Regardless, I always walk with my keys wrapped in my fingers so that if I have to punch somebody, I can hopefully puncture their skin and make them bleed.
It's not about being paranoid; it's about being safe. And because someone acted like an idiot tonight, a completely innocent person almost got their face slashed. I'm working 13-15 hour days and being harassed does not fit into my daily schedule.
But besides that, my day was amazing.
Showing posts with label Los Angeles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Los Angeles. Show all posts
New Job Prospects
K'Fain, Catie, and I always said it would never happen to us. Every single time the question was asked, we would cringe in disgust and immediately refute it.
"Oh, you're getting an English degree. What are you going to do with that? Teach?"
First off, this is offensive. As if the only thing that an English degree gives you the ability to do is teach other people English. I guess that they think that us guarders of the moth-eaten texts must have a single track mind and want to inflict learning on the world at large. Never mind the huge number of publications that need writers and editors. Forget the fact that reading comprehension, higher level thinking skills, creativity, imagination, and an exposure to a wide variety of issues comes from an English degree. And never mind the fact that many English degree holders have gotten very distinguished M.R.S. degrees in life that have made teaching unnecessary. Regardless of these things, no, we shouted, we didn't want to be teachers.
Then Catie got a job as a Parapro and she's getting her Master's in Education.
And I work for a nonprofit out in Los Angeles that tutors in some of the lowest-performing schools in the region.
Tomorrow, I find out if I've got a job with City Year Care Force. I really want it. I know that I do. I think that it's an amazing experience that could very well change the course of my life.
But...
I bought the Kindle edition of Teach Like a Champion because it's not going to be available for another month in book form and I wanted to implement the tips in there into my teaching as soon as possible. I read education-oriented articles. I'm constantly checking out books on contemporary education. I find myself making flash cards, crunching student data, fretting about the achievement gap, and praying not to get the elementary school crud again. But, I love my kids. My third graders are fantastic. My first graders are so full of life. I know that I can make a difference there. I know I can. But, I'm just getting good at this and this job is almost over. I've only got three months left in this job. That's nothing.
I said that I'd never come back for another year in Los Angeles. I can't take it. This isn't my city. But suddenly...I find myself thinking how much better I could be next year. I'm thinking about what I would have to do become a teacher once they stop firing all the teachers out here.
Never say never, I suppose. I just may find myself spouting rhetoric at kids for another year. But I want it to be the same kids. I came here to do a job...and it most certainly isn't done yet.
"Oh, you're getting an English degree. What are you going to do with that? Teach?"
First off, this is offensive. As if the only thing that an English degree gives you the ability to do is teach other people English. I guess that they think that us guarders of the moth-eaten texts must have a single track mind and want to inflict learning on the world at large. Never mind the huge number of publications that need writers and editors. Forget the fact that reading comprehension, higher level thinking skills, creativity, imagination, and an exposure to a wide variety of issues comes from an English degree. And never mind the fact that many English degree holders have gotten very distinguished M.R.S. degrees in life that have made teaching unnecessary. Regardless of these things, no, we shouted, we didn't want to be teachers.
Then Catie got a job as a Parapro and she's getting her Master's in Education.
And I work for a nonprofit out in Los Angeles that tutors in some of the lowest-performing schools in the region.
Tomorrow, I find out if I've got a job with City Year Care Force. I really want it. I know that I do. I think that it's an amazing experience that could very well change the course of my life.
But...
I bought the Kindle edition of Teach Like a Champion because it's not going to be available for another month in book form and I wanted to implement the tips in there into my teaching as soon as possible. I read education-oriented articles. I'm constantly checking out books on contemporary education. I find myself making flash cards, crunching student data, fretting about the achievement gap, and praying not to get the elementary school crud again. But, I love my kids. My third graders are fantastic. My first graders are so full of life. I know that I can make a difference there. I know I can. But, I'm just getting good at this and this job is almost over. I've only got three months left in this job. That's nothing.
I said that I'd never come back for another year in Los Angeles. I can't take it. This isn't my city. But suddenly...I find myself thinking how much better I could be next year. I'm thinking about what I would have to do become a teacher once they stop firing all the teachers out here.
Never say never, I suppose. I just may find myself spouting rhetoric at kids for another year. But I want it to be the same kids. I came here to do a job...and it most certainly isn't done yet.
Slavery-Lite
So, I was sitting in the office tonight, quickly catching up on e-mail, trying desperately to get out before my 12 hour day somehow turned into a 13 hour monstrosity. Behind me, I heard my friends Jake and Celina talking about get together for next Saturday night. Something about selling people. Something about what people should wear. I turned to Jake and he handed me the invite that had apparently just been made.
Two things about this invite:
1. It is a remake of the famous Grant Wood painting "American Gothic." I fucking love making homages to "American Gothic."
2. It is this Saturday night at a familiar locale in Koreatown.
When I asked what was going on, Celina said that there was going to be a date auction, but that I already knew that. Which was news to me. Because I hadn't heard anything. But she continued, "Yeah, it's going to be Joe, Amanda, Will, and you, so far. Richard said he talked to you." We both turned to look at Richard, who was sitting across the room, staring at a computer. He didn't say anything, and Celina just looked away and rolled her eyes.
"This is the first you're hearing about it."
"Yeah. That's about the size of it."
"We're having a date auction to support the arts. Don't you like the arts?"
What sort of question is that? Loaded, for sure. "So, will you do it?" Only in my time in LA have I been asked to be an item at an auction after it was already announced on Facebook that I'd be there. I have such a weird life and such crazy inventive friends.
"Sure, why not?"
The thing is, date auctions always make me a little sad when they're taken too seriously, so I hope this one is light-hearted (I plan to show up dressed like my thug life roommate, so there you go). Plus, I've done date auctions before Improv, and even though I hated them (and always could find a reason to push it further back in the calendar), it isn't the end of the world. It just all boils down to my very human fear that no one will pick me or that I will be picked last. Which is dumb and probably won't happen and even if it does, who gives a fuck? It's for charity, and it didn't cost me a damn thing. And I'm doing a friend of favor.
God, there better be free booze there.
Two things about this invite:
1. It is a remake of the famous Grant Wood painting "American Gothic." I fucking love making homages to "American Gothic."
2. It is this Saturday night at a familiar locale in Koreatown.
When I asked what was going on, Celina said that there was going to be a date auction, but that I already knew that. Which was news to me. Because I hadn't heard anything. But she continued, "Yeah, it's going to be Joe, Amanda, Will, and you, so far. Richard said he talked to you." We both turned to look at Richard, who was sitting across the room, staring at a computer. He didn't say anything, and Celina just looked away and rolled her eyes.
"This is the first you're hearing about it."
"Yeah. That's about the size of it."
"We're having a date auction to support the arts. Don't you like the arts?"
What sort of question is that? Loaded, for sure. "So, will you do it?" Only in my time in LA have I been asked to be an item at an auction after it was already announced on Facebook that I'd be there. I have such a weird life and such crazy inventive friends.
"Sure, why not?"
The thing is, date auctions always make me a little sad when they're taken too seriously, so I hope this one is light-hearted (I plan to show up dressed like my thug life roommate, so there you go). Plus, I've done date auctions before Improv, and even though I hated them (and always could find a reason to push it further back in the calendar), it isn't the end of the world. It just all boils down to my very human fear that no one will pick me or that I will be picked last. Which is dumb and probably won't happen and even if it does, who gives a fuck? It's for charity, and it didn't cost me a damn thing. And I'm doing a friend of favor.
God, there better be free booze there.
Thanksgiving
My mother says that my last few entries haven't sounded like me. I guess working in the elementary schools has quelled my sardonic-ness and my penchant for language. I just hope it doesn't destroy my wit to be working in schools. Anywho, that's something to obsess about late at night when I'm falling asleep, not on this fine day off.
No, today is a day to talk about Thanksgiving. I don't do Black Friday, so today is recovery from the event.
I hosted my first Thanksgiving ever yesterday. My family was all split up, and my mom, dad, and Morgan went to see my mom's family in north GA. I didn't fly home because I'll be home in a month anyway. So, I hosted Thanksgiving for some of the City Year folks that didn't have any plans. So, the final guest list ended up being smaller: me, Sophie, Tom, Kat, Jyrell, Valerie, Charles, Will, and Jake. Everybody brought stuff, but my job was to make the stuffing and the turkey. I figured if I was going to host, I could at least knock out the "must-haves."
So, I started on my mother's dressing recipe. Made the eggs, no sweat. Crock-potted the hen, no problem. Made the cornbread. Okay, some issues. There is no self-rising corn meal in California, so you have to make it out of normal corn meal. And then I forgot that there was a difference in baking soda and baking powder, thus nearly poisoning my entire T'giving party with an overdose of sodium bicarbonate. Luckily, Val tasted and made a face like she was dying, so I went back to the grocery store late Wednesday night to buy ingredients to redo the cornbread correctly.
Day of, I got up early (like 7 AM...so, technically, I slept in two more hours than I usually would have done on a Friday) and started making the turkey. I have never made a turkey before, so I didn't really know what was going on. I took out my thawed turkey, removed all the bits (that always make me want to vomit, touching raw meat. Why is poultry so much more disgusting than anything else?), and prepped it, put it in the oven, and waited around. Watched a documentary on Burlesque dancing. (This post is becoming a boring point-by-point...)
People started arriving and I started chugging mimosas. Football and tennis were watched. I made dressing and helped Val finish up the vegetables. We made a spread that covered my entire dining room table. Some people said some things that they were thankful for and we all dug in. We had so many leftovers, it looked like we hadn't even touched the food.
Then, we played some drinking games. Some people got plastered. Everybody passed out. People army-crawled to throw up. Then, we cut some pies and ate some more. I fell asleep from being up so early, and loved it.
My first T'giving by myself was a success...and I'm going to write up a list of the things that I'm thankful for a little later today, but for now, I'm thankful that the day rocked.
Some memorable quotes from the day:
"I met the bar-back of my dreams last night."
"(Name removed) is coming over? Shit, I can't be nice when I'm drunk!"
No, today is a day to talk about Thanksgiving. I don't do Black Friday, so today is recovery from the event.
I hosted my first Thanksgiving ever yesterday. My family was all split up, and my mom, dad, and Morgan went to see my mom's family in north GA. I didn't fly home because I'll be home in a month anyway. So, I hosted Thanksgiving for some of the City Year folks that didn't have any plans. So, the final guest list ended up being smaller: me, Sophie, Tom, Kat, Jyrell, Valerie, Charles, Will, and Jake. Everybody brought stuff, but my job was to make the stuffing and the turkey. I figured if I was going to host, I could at least knock out the "must-haves."
So, I started on my mother's dressing recipe. Made the eggs, no sweat. Crock-potted the hen, no problem. Made the cornbread. Okay, some issues. There is no self-rising corn meal in California, so you have to make it out of normal corn meal. And then I forgot that there was a difference in baking soda and baking powder, thus nearly poisoning my entire T'giving party with an overdose of sodium bicarbonate. Luckily, Val tasted and made a face like she was dying, so I went back to the grocery store late Wednesday night to buy ingredients to redo the cornbread correctly.
Day of, I got up early (like 7 AM...so, technically, I slept in two more hours than I usually would have done on a Friday) and started making the turkey. I have never made a turkey before, so I didn't really know what was going on. I took out my thawed turkey, removed all the bits (that always make me want to vomit, touching raw meat. Why is poultry so much more disgusting than anything else?), and prepped it, put it in the oven, and waited around. Watched a documentary on Burlesque dancing. (This post is becoming a boring point-by-point...)
People started arriving and I started chugging mimosas. Football and tennis were watched. I made dressing and helped Val finish up the vegetables. We made a spread that covered my entire dining room table. Some people said some things that they were thankful for and we all dug in. We had so many leftovers, it looked like we hadn't even touched the food.
Then, we played some drinking games. Some people got plastered. Everybody passed out. People army-crawled to throw up. Then, we cut some pies and ate some more. I fell asleep from being up so early, and loved it.
My first T'giving by myself was a success...and I'm going to write up a list of the things that I'm thankful for a little later today, but for now, I'm thankful that the day rocked.
Some memorable quotes from the day:
"I met the bar-back of my dreams last night."
"(Name removed) is coming over? Shit, I can't be nice when I'm drunk!"
Los Angeles Life Begins
I stopped writing online when I got to LA. For some reason, I just felt like I didn't have the time. And I'm not going to promise to write everyday. But I've found my feet. The job starts tomorrow. And once again, I'll publishing stories from this WaHo Life.
By the way, I have yet to see a Waffle House in Los Angeles. I'm beginning to believe they don't exist. And the IHOP is simply not the same.
I'm kind of tapped for stories right now. It's not because I have nothing to talk about; it's because there is way too much.
This weekend was really amazing. Friday night, had an incredibly chill group of people over including Creon, Chris (nee Brittany), Gabby Torres, Allen, Tristen, Joe, Amanda, Mara, and Valerie. Then, Saturday, I went to a party at Lindy's apartment, spending most of the time with the beautiful Kathy Sanchez. Bought a camera on B'way, so expect pictures soon (some are already on FB). Went and saw Painted Churches at the Group Rep in North Hollywood (review pending as I left my program in Kat's car). Chilled out, did laundry, and decided the path to sanity.
I make these vows to myself:
1. There is nothing noble about suffering.
2. I will remember what attracted me to LA and I will exploit those things.
3. If I decide to quit, I will work for one more week and give everyone at CYLA the chance to talk me out of it.
But now, I have to go to sleep since I have to wake up in six hours.
By the way, I have yet to see a Waffle House in Los Angeles. I'm beginning to believe they don't exist. And the IHOP is simply not the same.
I'm kind of tapped for stories right now. It's not because I have nothing to talk about; it's because there is way too much.
This weekend was really amazing. Friday night, had an incredibly chill group of people over including Creon, Chris (nee Brittany), Gabby Torres, Allen, Tristen, Joe, Amanda, Mara, and Valerie. Then, Saturday, I went to a party at Lindy's apartment, spending most of the time with the beautiful Kathy Sanchez. Bought a camera on B'way, so expect pictures soon (some are already on FB). Went and saw Painted Churches at the Group Rep in North Hollywood (review pending as I left my program in Kat's car). Chilled out, did laundry, and decided the path to sanity.
I make these vows to myself:
1. There is nothing noble about suffering.
2. I will remember what attracted me to LA and I will exploit those things.
3. If I decide to quit, I will work for one more week and give everyone at CYLA the chance to talk me out of it.
But now, I have to go to sleep since I have to wake up in six hours.
Weekend Rundown
Spent this weekend visiting people and saying goodbye before my move to LA.
Nerd Fest ('09?') was a lot of fun. Catherine worries far too much about making a good impression and making sure everyone has a good time. Basically, the evening went really smoothly, and everyone who was in the mood to mesh had a decent time meshing together. I played poker with a gaggle of straight men (who made me feel beyond nelly), did the vodka thing, talked to people about volunteer work, learned about others, told stories, heard an impassioned rant on healthcare advertising, delivered a misleading tweet, made Catie briefly paranoid about my enjoyment level, gave two back massages, and crashed on a couch two feet shorter than my 6.5 foot frame. The next day, we had Chick-Fil-A.
Catie sent me to Rome with some Amish Friendship Bread for K'Fain. This baggie of mush looks like your sending someone a yeast infection. Apparently it's good though.
(Quick side note: Apparently iTunes wants me to be sad right now. We're rocking the Death Cab for Cutie and the Steeltrain. Kathleen loaded me up with new music to shift the balance of my collection towards a more upbeat/higher bpm music. Mostly, I'm pleased with her selections.)
Going up to Rome was weird. I loved getting to just spend chill time with K'Fain and Chris. I haven't gotten the chance to do that in months...when neither of us had stuff that we were supposed to be doing. When nothing bad was happening. When it was just chill. The stress of school was lifted, and personal crises were being resolved left and right. Problem solving.
On the Hill, I don't know what to say. I'll miss Shorter, and I can easily see how I could go back for another year and meld it back into my life. I fit there. I could easily go back. But, it's not a challenge anymore, so I guess that means that I need to move on. I'm too young to plateau, as comfortable as that would be.
I move to LA in about 30 hours. I can't sleep. I feel like I want to throw up. I'm super excited. I'm nervous about my safety. I'm worried about getting robbed. I'm worried about money. I'm worried that people will look down on me for my Southern roots and education. I'm worried that I'll be behind the curve. I'm worried that it's going to suck before it gets awesome.
But it's a challenge, and I don't back down from a challenge.
Nerd Fest ('09?') was a lot of fun. Catherine worries far too much about making a good impression and making sure everyone has a good time. Basically, the evening went really smoothly, and everyone who was in the mood to mesh had a decent time meshing together. I played poker with a gaggle of straight men (who made me feel beyond nelly), did the vodka thing, talked to people about volunteer work, learned about others, told stories, heard an impassioned rant on healthcare advertising, delivered a misleading tweet, made Catie briefly paranoid about my enjoyment level, gave two back massages, and crashed on a couch two feet shorter than my 6.5 foot frame. The next day, we had Chick-Fil-A.
Catie sent me to Rome with some Amish Friendship Bread for K'Fain. This baggie of mush looks like your sending someone a yeast infection. Apparently it's good though.
(Quick side note: Apparently iTunes wants me to be sad right now. We're rocking the Death Cab for Cutie and the Steeltrain. Kathleen loaded me up with new music to shift the balance of my collection towards a more upbeat/higher bpm music. Mostly, I'm pleased with her selections.)
Going up to Rome was weird. I loved getting to just spend chill time with K'Fain and Chris. I haven't gotten the chance to do that in months...when neither of us had stuff that we were supposed to be doing. When nothing bad was happening. When it was just chill. The stress of school was lifted, and personal crises were being resolved left and right. Problem solving.
On the Hill, I don't know what to say. I'll miss Shorter, and I can easily see how I could go back for another year and meld it back into my life. I fit there. I could easily go back. But, it's not a challenge anymore, so I guess that means that I need to move on. I'm too young to plateau, as comfortable as that would be.
I move to LA in about 30 hours. I can't sleep. I feel like I want to throw up. I'm super excited. I'm nervous about my safety. I'm worried about getting robbed. I'm worried about money. I'm worried that people will look down on me for my Southern roots and education. I'm worried that I'll be behind the curve. I'm worried that it's going to suck before it gets awesome.
But it's a challenge, and I don't back down from a challenge.
Quick Update
I'm moving to Los Angeles on August 26th. I know that I've said this before, but it still doesn't feel real. I have no concept of what my life is going to be like once I make it out there. But, hopefully it will be fantastic. There's no sense in worrying about the things that I can't affect change in. It's amazing how Zen things feel a lot like emotional laziness.
-One of the only reasons I keep my Netflix is so that I can rewatch Margaret Cho comedy specials all the time.
-I have written over 120 short freelance articles in the last month.
A few quick things:
-There is no healthcare reform without a public option. Anyone who says otherwise isn't looking at the Census Bureau statistics.
-One of the only reasons I keep my Netflix is so that I can rewatch Margaret Cho comedy specials all the time.
-I have written over 120 short freelance articles in the last month.
-I am traveling to Rome on Saturday to see people. I can't f'ing wait.
Questions on Life, Writing, and Obama
Okay, I'm working on a really sketchy internet connection up here in Swainsboro/Twin City at the manse of Mandy's mother, whom I have always called "Net-a." So, I'm probably going to be making comments over the next few days that don't have appropriate links or research, but trust me, I've read up on it, and if you want some confirmation or links, shoot me a comment.
Questions that I'm struggling with in my life:
--I worked almost my entire life to become a mature, responsible adult. Now that I have graduated college (which was always the penultimate goal of attainability beyond which lie only wild dreams), I'm afraid that I didn't allow myself the chance to have a childhood because I thought that I was better than that. Is it possible to go back? And if not, then what's the use in regretting what didn't happen? You gotta dance with the girl you came to the dance with.
--Why is Shorter so anti-box wine? Five liters for $14 as opposed to a 1.5 liters for $9...as they say in Smash when you opt of out of Brawl because you don't want to fight on Norfair or one of the crappy levels that your host has built: no contest.
--What should the subject of my next play be? I'm thinking that I want to swing at another comedy...I might finally get around to doing The Tift Theatre Proudly Presents. I mean, it was conceived about twelve feet below where I'm sitting right now. My mother runs a community theatre in small town south Georgia. And the band of misfits, town icons, freaks, and normal citizens that have come to inhabit her circle are a dramatic farce begging to be exploded and placed on the stage. You know what, I'm going to map out some characters tonight before I go to bed.
--Why am I unable to live up to the promise of my "devil may care" last days at Shorter? I already feel like I want to apologize to those that I perceived to have wronged by not being my best self to them. Damn my upbringing. Damn my soul.
--Why did President Obama defend the Defense of Marriage Act (DoMA) with rhetoric from the Bush administration? Why hasn't he appealed Don't Ask, Don't Tell (DADT)? Why hasn't he made a public, bold statement of support to the GLBT community that was not only words but married to actions? Why hasn't he publicized his personal views on these issues? What are his views on the dramatic speed-up of the legalization of gay marriage in Iowa, Vermont, and possibly New York? There are no answers, and the man that made me toast a new generation of politics and say that, for the first time in a long time, I was proud to be an American, has let me down. I need a vote of confidence. I need progress on something. Anything.
--What should the first movie Jamel and I review be? I haven't forgotten about our project, but I've been unexpectedly busy the last few days.
Okay, I'm out. I'll talk to everyone soon. Oh, in the LA update, the house fell-through for financial reasons and lack of two roommates, so now I'm once again on the prowl. If you hear of anything, let me know!
Questions that I'm struggling with in my life:
--I worked almost my entire life to become a mature, responsible adult. Now that I have graduated college (which was always the penultimate goal of attainability beyond which lie only wild dreams), I'm afraid that I didn't allow myself the chance to have a childhood because I thought that I was better than that. Is it possible to go back? And if not, then what's the use in regretting what didn't happen? You gotta dance with the girl you came to the dance with.
--Why is Shorter so anti-box wine? Five liters for $14 as opposed to a 1.5 liters for $9...as they say in Smash when you opt of out of Brawl because you don't want to fight on Norfair or one of the crappy levels that your host has built: no contest.
--What should the subject of my next play be? I'm thinking that I want to swing at another comedy...I might finally get around to doing The Tift Theatre Proudly Presents. I mean, it was conceived about twelve feet below where I'm sitting right now. My mother runs a community theatre in small town south Georgia. And the band of misfits, town icons, freaks, and normal citizens that have come to inhabit her circle are a dramatic farce begging to be exploded and placed on the stage. You know what, I'm going to map out some characters tonight before I go to bed.
--Why am I unable to live up to the promise of my "devil may care" last days at Shorter? I already feel like I want to apologize to those that I perceived to have wronged by not being my best self to them. Damn my upbringing. Damn my soul.
--Why did President Obama defend the Defense of Marriage Act (DoMA) with rhetoric from the Bush administration? Why hasn't he appealed Don't Ask, Don't Tell (DADT)? Why hasn't he made a public, bold statement of support to the GLBT community that was not only words but married to actions? Why hasn't he publicized his personal views on these issues? What are his views on the dramatic speed-up of the legalization of gay marriage in Iowa, Vermont, and possibly New York? There are no answers, and the man that made me toast a new generation of politics and say that, for the first time in a long time, I was proud to be an American, has let me down. I need a vote of confidence. I need progress on something. Anything.
--What should the first movie Jamel and I review be? I haven't forgotten about our project, but I've been unexpectedly busy the last few days.
Okay, I'm out. I'll talk to everyone soon. Oh, in the LA update, the house fell-through for financial reasons and lack of two roommates, so now I'm once again on the prowl. If you hear of anything, let me know!
Post-Grad Plans
For those of you that don't know, I'm moving to Los Angeles at the end of the summer. My job with City Year Los Angeles starts on September 1, but I have to be there a little bit earlier to do registration and whatnot.
I started looking for apartments tonight. I'm still outside the 60-day window, so mostly I'm just getting a feel for neighborhoods and price ranges. I know that things are ridiculous, so I guess that's why it's not freaking me out too badly. Four of us CYLA people are going to be living together. We're looking for a two-bedroom in Korea Town. The cheapest apartments are 1300 but usually they run in the 1500-1800 range and up from there. Between the four of us, that'll be about half of our monthly combined income. Woohoo AmeriCorps jobs and volunteer pay.
I don't know why moving out to Los Angeles makes me want to panic sometimes. I mean, I know that it's totally understandable. Reasons that it should freak me out:
I think that it makes me panic because I'm afraid that I'm going to fail and end up doing something that I don't believe in because I couldn't cut it out there. I've never really failed at anything that I've really wanted to do. In fact, I usually am spectacularly successful. I have high expectations for myself...and I don't want to disappoint myself or others.
My hometown breaks down like this: 60% are perfectly content staying here forever, 30% screamed so loud about getting out in school, but they had no follow-through and they ended up back in Tifton, broken, pregnant, getting married, dreamless, goalless, and full of compromise. The last 10%...well, we're the one's who went off to school...the one's who left town. Of that, maybe 4% of us will get our degree. And maybe, just maybe, a couple dozen of us will leave the state of Georgia and go on to fantastic things.
I want so much more than where I come from. It's a nice place to hail from, but you have to go somewhere else to hail from there. So, I guess what I'm saying is, I'm going to have to fuck my fear. Because I can't stay here...and I've made a commitment.
As a wise woman once texted me when I almost killed some people outside a Carraba's: It's a challenge now, and we don't lose challenges.
Damn straight.
I started looking for apartments tonight. I'm still outside the 60-day window, so mostly I'm just getting a feel for neighborhoods and price ranges. I know that things are ridiculous, so I guess that's why it's not freaking me out too badly. Four of us CYLA people are going to be living together. We're looking for a two-bedroom in Korea Town. The cheapest apartments are 1300 but usually they run in the 1500-1800 range and up from there. Between the four of us, that'll be about half of our monthly combined income. Woohoo AmeriCorps jobs and volunteer pay.
I don't know why moving out to Los Angeles makes me want to panic sometimes. I mean, I know that it's totally understandable. Reasons that it should freak me out:
- Rome, GA (population: 45,000) is the largest place that I have ever lived. My hometown, Tifton, GA has a population of 28,000, which is about 3/10 of a single percent of the size of LA. There are more than 10x the amount of people in my hometown in the five square miles of Korea Town.
- This is the first place that I'll have lived outside of the normal education plan. I lived at home and then college. This is the first place where I really have to take care of my self.
- I don't know how to survive in a city. I really don't want to be in charge of apartment hunting and whatnot in my group, but my type-A personality just won't let me take a backseat.
I think that it makes me panic because I'm afraid that I'm going to fail and end up doing something that I don't believe in because I couldn't cut it out there. I've never really failed at anything that I've really wanted to do. In fact, I usually am spectacularly successful. I have high expectations for myself...and I don't want to disappoint myself or others.
My hometown breaks down like this: 60% are perfectly content staying here forever, 30% screamed so loud about getting out in school, but they had no follow-through and they ended up back in Tifton, broken, pregnant, getting married, dreamless, goalless, and full of compromise. The last 10%...well, we're the one's who went off to school...the one's who left town. Of that, maybe 4% of us will get our degree. And maybe, just maybe, a couple dozen of us will leave the state of Georgia and go on to fantastic things.
I want so much more than where I come from. It's a nice place to hail from, but you have to go somewhere else to hail from there. So, I guess what I'm saying is, I'm going to have to fuck my fear. Because I can't stay here...and I've made a commitment.
As a wise woman once texted me when I almost killed some people outside a Carraba's: It's a challenge now, and we don't lose challenges.
Damn straight.
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