The Drafts.

Today I noticed this blog had 95 drafts spanning the last 6 years.

My face at that moment. Obviously.

Yikes.

So I have decided to clear through them in the hunt for some gold.

The first one is titled Perverts in the Park from April 19th 2013. Upon opening it up, I realize it is completely blank. Bad start....delete.

Another has no title and the entire contents was a simple list...

Meat Pie
Sausage Rolls
Paddle Pop
Golden Gaytime
Sausage Sizzle

I'm going to go ahead and assume I was quite hungry and missing Australia on that sunny July day. Anyway, delete.

A few weeks later in August I had two separate one lined drafts. It rained in New York Today and then five days later the not quite as clear It rained in New. It must have been a rainy and boring few days. Delete.

My next, more lengthy post is titled wHITE GIRL COMPLEX, and that title alone means I'm probably about to open some really high-brow content.

I don't understand it. This weird world of only eating asparagus and a few raw almonds. Health is one thing but this is INSANITY PEOPLE! The other day a friend of mine almost bore a whole in the floor of her apartment doing jumping jacks because she was determined to lose two pounds before we went out for the night. TWO POUNDS? Cut of your big toe and call it a day people!

Yikes, I was opinionated back in 2013 huh? My favourite line of the whole thing was about having no problem yelling that I was a size 6 from the rooftops. Oh sweet little child, gone are the size 6 days let me tell you, delete.

Two of my favourites from that Fall again have no content, just a cutting headline and a blinking cursor. People I hate followed a week later with Things I don't understand about Guys. Apparently as the weather started to cool, so did the feelings in my 20 year old heart......and boy did it cool quickly

(August 13th, 2013) ...Who decided this was cool? Who decided making women uncomfortable as they walk from point A to point B was anything other than annoying? I can't tell if it is a mans attempt to be flattering, if they really think they will gain anything from such an exchange or whether they just want to swing there penis around because I am man hear me roar.

Yikes, delete (but still a completely valid point!)

By mid-October I had moved on to 50 Facts about Myself. I started 3 different posts on this very topic and never got past #8, riveting and delete. 

On October 29th, I decided to drop a complete cliffhanger.

My life is one blunder after the next. The fact that I am still alive to speak of my stupidity stuns me every day.

The blunder most recently?

AND THEN NOTHING! I'm genuinely curious what that mishap was...delete.

Then things took a really bizarre turn. To preface this, I started this post I'm currently writing before I started going through my drafts, with no idea what was inside. I genuinely didn't think I had every done this before, but I just stumbled on a post from October 30th, 2013 title? Saved Drafts. and don't worry the content is equally as thrilling...

Today I went back and read all the draft post

"Today I listened to a hell of a lot of Fleetwood Mac, ate Crif Dog and then immediately wanted to kill myself because of my poor choices and wanted to rip my ovaries out."

Damn. Nothing really has changed in 6 years....annnnnd delete.

After wading through a few more weeks of Untitled Posts with nothing but a blinking cursor and the odd cryptic post such as Sometimes I... I stumbled into a section of emails I had drafted to an ex-boyfriend...delete, delete, delete, delete, WHY ISN'T THIS DELETING FASTER!

Today I thought about calling the dentist and making an appointment...it made me feel like a real adult. But then I remembered I hate talking to people on the phone and I chickened out. So Close.

Still mostly true. Delete.

Fast forward to February 2014 and a post titled Things I need to STOP DOING

Telling people I can't go out because I feel sick. 

WRONG! NO! The reason I don't want to go out? I went out yesterday and I hate people so that was a massive stretch. In all actuality I have always been quite an introverted person. Don't get me wrong I love my friends and spending time with them but I also love being by myself. It's almost as if being around people, especially large amounts of strangers, exhausts me. I need my own time to recharge and think deep philosophical things....and watch tons and tons of really bad TV shows.

Forgetting to look at the weather. 

My least favourite thing about NYC is that you are constantly forced to take public transport, a)because I hate people remember! b)I love driving. I suck at it! But I have a blast doing it. and c) it means lots of walking long distances and general inconvenience.

Telling people to suck my dick.

I don't have a penis which is reason enough to stop, but

Still all true. DELETE.

A post titled I've been looking for you Lone Star? 

With just a single picture...

Google tells me this is a quote from Dallas Buyers Club. My roommates and I did sit around and watch this around about that time, so I mean...checks out, but delete.

I've been listening to Kelly Clarkson's Christmas album wrapped in red on repeat for 3 days....it's March. Deleting, while simultaneously rocking around the fucking Christmas tree. 

While Run, Run Rudolph blasts away happily in the background I come across some pure, confused 20 year old emotions...yikes...

(March 14th, 2014) The important thing to remember is that there is a reason the names you hear around in stories from your new love are in the past. If there was still something there, they would probably not be with you. 



(March 22nd, 2014) At one point this boy had literally been my other. We spent all night watching terrible TLC shows, he made me watch hockey before I was ever a fan, we got kicked out of the studio together for being too utterly obnoxious. He was always there. Even when I screamed at him to not be, he was there. He was the most familiar thing in this foreign city, and I made this stupid decision to discard that.



(March 23rd, 2014) Is it possible for your morals to grow?



(March 24th, 2014)Today whilst having a little chat with my roommate he said something that literally embodied every thing I've been feeling these last couple of weeks.

"I don't even feel like they are my good friends, they are just people I get drunk and have fun with."

My last post from March 2014 was simply titled March. and was completely blank. I'm sure it was supposed to be a scathing review of the month I had just emotionally battled through because seriously...yikes. Don't worry little me, I'll keep your long winded March posts exactly where you left them.

Everything is coming up April...

Hey do you ride bikes? Do you want this bike? I will sell you this bike.
No thank you.
I look black don't I? But I'm not, I'm Panamanian. Don't I look black?
Uhmmm...I guess?
I'm not though! I'm Panamanian.
That must be nice.

and of course,

Dermot Mulroney isn't aging as well as 14 year old Jordyn would have liked.

Delete, and a personal apology to Dermot Mulroney, I am still very much in love with you.

Holy Shit, remember how I said we left dramatic emotions in March? Wrong.

This time I wasn't crying because of the physical pain I had surging through my veins leaving me hot, but instead to mourn the loss of the fresh, young girl with a life untouched by this venomous city. That girl was gone, brutally maimed and replaced with whatever this was, a battered and broken little girl living deep within this strange robot exterior.

Hmmm....2014 is off to a smashing start. 

The next entry is titled Kardashian Nation and contains just a single line,

The other morning I woke up covered in cereal and clutching an empty bottle of wine.

She's back ladies and gentleman, she is BACK....and delete.

By June I had decided to look a the positive with a post titled Things I love. What was on the list?

Cool Ranch Doritos
Puppes

Well.....it was a start. Delete.

June continued with a single post titled Haunt Me.  That contained just a single excerpt from a conversation...

"Hey Jordyn, I read your blog the other day where you said you liked certain words. My favourite word is ejaculate. Isn't that a great word? Like you literally ejaculate the word ejaculate from your mouth."

I literally have no idea who had originally said that, but I am judging them. Delete.

An August post titled I Haven't Packed was written right before a trip to New Zealand and contained just a single screenshot...



Great content. Delete. (Sidenote. That picture of George Clooney covered in spots from W Magazine that was my background is still one of my favourites!)

Bored yet? Great, let's crack on!

Time to wade through some mess...

Said Mess. 

(November 8th, 2014) breaking the law breaking the law- infraction.
cerebrattttion.
Opposite.

I am as confused as you are.

Anyway as the emotional and messy months of 2014 come to and end, I decide to begin reminiscing about my thrilling childhood.

Once in the 3rd grade my best friend and I decided we needed the worlds largest ball of blu-tac. I'm not sure where exactly this fascination came from, but we did a lot of weird things (we had pet rocks with googly eyes, we made flyers for our own chocolate factory we planned on opening, and we avidly supported left handers day). So this thought was not unusual and so we went about collecting blu-tac. It was an addiction, a really weird, nerdy addiction. It wasn't until the posters began to fall from the walls of the classroom that people really started to get suspicious. Eventually our master plan was foiled when the ever sweet Mrs. Patterson had enough of falling artwork and demanded we stop stealing her precious supply. Heartbroken we gave up. To this day I'm not sure what exactly happened to that giant (albeit a little bizarre) ball of 'tac but I'm sure he is living well...or in the trash...who really knows.

See I wasn't just a weird adult, I was also a pretty weird child. My partner in Blu-Tac crime is also the friend who unfortunately took a dunk in our very dirty pool in the middle of winter, and who cut me off as a friend the Summer before 6th grade. What a great time in my life to remember, deleteeeeee. 

By the time my next draft rolls around it's already July of 2015 and I have some really hard hitting information to share.

How does Harry Styles rock white skinny jeans so well? This should be a major turn off...but I'm totally into it.

The saddest part of this post is that shortly after, my brother informed me that Harry Styles actually looks exactly like my old roommate which became a sight I couldn't unsee and therefore the end of my Harry Styles phrase. RIP + DLT.

November of that year brought us squishy friend moments...

Sidenote, There are very few things I truly miss in my life. But that friendship is one of them. Alas, we roll on.

The next few drafts fall into two categories,  completely blank or personal emails to individual people never intended to be posted to strangers online.

Finally, I have reached my last draft.

Today I threw up on myself, washed my clothes in the sink at work, stated a juice cleanse (and followed it up with a rice crispy treat), and then hysterically bawled my eyes out watching Survivor.

22 is fun.

22 is easy.

Talk about a full circle moment....TOLD YOU I LOVED SURVIVOR!

Let Me Tell You Astoria

I've had a couple of different blogs in my day.

This is my most long running, but maybe not my favourite.

That crown sits with Let Me Tell You Astoria, a blog I started when I was 17 and right about to move to New York City (Astoria...obviously...I still think that's a great name!)

I vividly remember when the idea to start blogging struck. We were sitting around a lunch table, on the verge of graduating high school and splintering off in different directions when suddenly it hit us. Let's all start blogging as a way to keep in touch. 

One friend who was in Staten Island branded herself Living In The Forgotten Borough, and would write deep posts about blogging being a form of therapy. Another was Lost in Boston who retold tales of watching ladies faint in CVS and cute dogs roaming the streets of her new home. I wish I could remember the rest, but unfortunately we chose to use Xanga as our platform of choice, so I'm not able to link to all the fresh out of the hometown womb goodness we all shared with the world. But let me tell you, it was great. 

I signed off every one of my own posts with the same sentiment, With Fingers Crossed, and honestly I don't think I could sum up that time of my life any better. 

I feel like I remember every single second of every single day during my first six months in the real world. It was this blissful bubble of what if's and figuring shit out, filled with tearful phone calls and not being able to afford my rent. Recently I downloaded all my archival footage from that old bubble, and honestly, it could have happened yesterday....

My first New York home. A shared apartment in Astoria with a complete stranger found on Craigslist. She was around my age now, Bulgarian and would have loud shouting phone calls and even louder sex. We would spend some nights talking about our weeks, and some weeks without talking at all. I remember the smell of this apartment so vividly, I remember the way I felt inside it. I remember the market at the end of the block that was open all hours, for me to stop at 2am to buy bread, fruit, chocolate and chicken salad. I remember the oversized care package my Mum sent me full of food, candy and Subway gift cards. I remember the time I sat on my front stoop crying because the boy I liked was with another girl. I remember the drunken night that left my new friend Alina asleep on the couch in my room. I remember the time my roommate left a giant tree right outside my bedroom door that I lovingly kicked in the dead of night....it could have happened yesterday...

An 18 year old in a laundromat. Fun fact about this picture, my hair is actually 100% fake. I can explain...Picture if you will, a naive little girl on the corner of Lexington and 22nd St is approached by a complete stranger. I love your hair...where do you get it done? The stranger asks leaving said little girl flattered and willing to talk. At the time I had no idea this kind of marketing existed, so I handed over my debit card information and bought some pampering service at a random salon on 5th Avenue before tottering into class, confidence boosted. Fast forward a week or two, and there I was getting cut and colored, living my best life. The fateful moment came where the hairstylist spun me towards the mirror to reveal his work and my entire heart almost fell through the floor, my hair was gone. Picture a buzzcut with front bangs, that was my life. I cried. I have never cried at a haircut before, but there I was.

I left in a flurry, wandering over to Madison Square Park to go and meet up with a friend (the aforementioned Living in the Forgotten Borough) We spent the day walking around, eating candy from Dylan's Candy Bar and Indian food from Pongsri in Murray Hill. I almost forgot about my hair until I saw my reflection in the Subway window while crossing the Queensboro bridge on the way home. I was days away from starting a new job, and had plans to meet up with a guy I was mildly obsessed with (....more on that some other time!) yet I actually wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

I went home and instantly got to googling my options. That was the day I learned that lace wigs were even a thing, and luckily enough just a few blocks over was a salon that specialized in just that. Now please bear in mind that at this point in my life I was incredibly poor. I was just about to start my $9 an hour job, and would just be making enough money to scrape by. But I threw all that straight into the wind, and shelled out a hefty chunk of my savings for this hair. It was shiny and new, almost my exact hair color, and the answer to my tears. I left that salon floating, hair swishing around me. Confidence safely returned to my body....it could have happened yesterday.

The Picture I took the exact moment I got home with my new hair....mildly threatening...

A few months ago I was back in New York City visiting my brother, and we took a wander through McCarren Park. I got felt up in this park once. I retold while pointing to the exact tree it happened under. Let me explain...When I first moved to New York City my first friend was a girl called Stephanie (I have had three separate close friends called Stephanie in my life....it get's confusing.) We went to school together, and were surprisingly the only people we met at school who were new to the city and without a friend. So we stuck together. One day in particular she messaged me about a free (our favourite word at the time) play of Little Mermaid taking place in the park, so we went along. Full of Polish food from Krolewskie Jadlo, we sat with a group of 15 strangers under a tree, and watched the Little Mermaid (the dark and scary version....see above monster....Disney who?) play out in front of us. All of a sudden I felt a hand on my leg...weird. I pretended I didn't notice, hoping it would stop. There it was again, this time higher, and rubbing. I looked at Stephanie for help but she didn't notice. Psst, I whispered to no avail. Being young and scared of this strange man, I let it happen. This went on for a good 15 minutes before I was able to get her attention, HELP, my eyes screamed. With the creepy beast puppets still floating around above us, we got the heck out of there. Our pierogi filled bellies laughing at the scene we left behind....it could have happened yesterday...

Oh Fashion's Night Out. Now for those of you unfamiliar, Fashion's Night Out was a night in the fall where the retailers of New York City would join together to celebrate...well...fashion. It was put on by Vogue, and was filled with free champagne, celebrities and stores all over the city held parties with exciting attractions to entice a crowd. In 2011, FNO was so exciting to me. Leighton Meester was singing in Tiffany's, Sarah Jessica Parker was signing books at Manolo Blahnik (the line was so long we couldn't get in....BUT Stephanie did snap this picture as she was being whisked off in her car) and I was young and full of free champagne...it could have happened yesterday...

My first night out in New York City. Two girlfriends and I spent the night dancing at Avenue before retreating to dive-y El Sombrero on the Lower East Side for cocktails amongst the hoards of other college kids doing the same exact thing. It's always good to know the bar's that don't card (Here is looking at you Blarney Stone on 47th....the number of nights I spent in you. Oh Blarneys, I hated you dearly but miss you fondly) Speaking of, I actually visited El Sombrero by accident a few years back, I genuinely did not recognize the place. Gone was the dirt and crime, I was so shocked I took to Yelp in true, New Yorker fashion!....it could have happened yesterday....

Sometimes you just have to give credit, where it is due.

Oh 18, you lovely, beautiful, mess. Thank you for happening. Thank you for the night I climbed a three-story fire escape. Thank you for the night I spent hysterically crying on the phone to the boy who, for some reason, was were I dumped all my 18 year old confusion. Thank you to the afro'd Greek man who said he loved me every Sunday in the laundromat. Thank you to Cuban SpiderMan in Times Square for his nightly fist pump. Thank you to my Mum for sending me rent money when I couldn't get it together. It all feels like it truly happened yesterday. 

Netflix and Panic.

A Dordyline panic attack live in action. (With added "She cries at everybodies party..." comment from random friends mother at the end.....this was my life)

I was an incredibly shy child.

I bawled at the very thought of a Happy Birthday serenade, I crawled on the floor to avoid visitors, I ran away from sleepovers early in fear, and I worried daily.

I never understood my emotions. My family labeled me dramatic, I bottled it up and the world kept spinning. I didn't know how to properly communicate the hefty weight that lived in my chest, or the wind that constantly blew though my head muddling the sound of the world around me. I didn't know how to explain the worry that twisted my organs into balls of bloody matter trying to burst through my skin.

I didn't know how to let anybody know, so I just cried and got on with it.

As I grew, this constant fear and worry manifested itself in peculiar ways. Instead of a mysterious presence running rampant within my body I would try and tie it to tangible things. I would google the likelihood of dying in a car accident, of being doused with acid, or losing mobility of my limbs. I would research how you take care of a sick relative to feel prepared for a future that may arise. I would google how to prevent SIDs in the children I didn't have and wake up my (now ex) boyfriend with a groan...

"I turned the brightness down! How did you even know I was awake this time?" I would complain while furiously smashing my keyboard looking for answers. He would angrily pull my computer away and demand I go to sleep before rolling over and dozing off, most likely to the sound of my accelerated heart smashing against my ribs.

At times, it consumes my entire life. My obsessive compulsive tendencies take over my mind and body, counting steps as I walk and massaging my cuticles in order under the table or during long Uber rides. Counting keeps my mind calm, it keeps me guilt free that if something happens I will not be at fault, because I did my counting.

I'm 26 (well, almost) now, and I wish I could say I was learning to cope, but that would be nothing but a fallacy I want myself to believe. Heck, just this morning it crawled into my Monday....

"Only three pumps of bubble bath? You only want your parents to live for 3 more years" The cloud appeared forcing me to dump 50 full pumps of bubbles into my bath leaving my body slimy, but my brain satisfied.

I used to cope by living a life filled with interesting and obscure stories to keep eyes off my mind. I would roam around town desperately searching for people and experiences to fill the time in between panic attacks.

I loved spending a blurry hour or two in a dive bar with a few friends before running outside, sticking my hand in the air and falling into a yellow cab heading for another adventure.

"Sing-Sing"

"Goldbar"

"The corner of Orchard and Grand"

I would command before staring out the window as New York City wizzed around outside. Three seconds later I would jump out, brush past sidewalk smokers and push my way through a crowd to find my friendly faces.

I would go and go and go some more until I was forced to stop, disappearing fast and quick to cry and worry and overanalyze every thought and emotion I had ever felt.

"Where did you go last night?" My friends would push as I laughed it off with an air of mystery.

"I swear you are doing porn..." A friend once pushed, after I would not explain where I had run off to the night before.

How do you tell someone, who doesn't understand, that every now and then you need to explode in order to rebuild yourself to somewhat resemble a person?

How do you explain that the mysterious week you didn't answer any texts and completely dropped off the grid, you were actually alone in your apartment sitting around waiting to go to sleep again.

How do you pull someone into an experience you don't even understand yourself?

When you find out, let me know.

I have taken up painting pictures while listening to audiobooks to calm my mind....I have no actual artistic talent, but hey it sure keeps my mind busy.  

My Name is Jonas.

Greetings from 6:30am!

Just digging my way out from under a snow bank to let the world know I am alive...freezing cold, and  sick of a climbing over mounds of snow to get anywhere...but alive! 

See you next time when I present my latest findings titled,"The Big Melt: Why are there so many fucking puddles in this city?"

She's my $oup Queen

In order to write this I have had to take my hands out from under my 34 bed covers and already I feel the blood slowing and starting to freeze. Remember that really warm December we had? Where we laughed in the face of cold? Yeah.....that's not here anymore.

To make matters worse, just last week this was my current situation...

Nobody lays about and does nothing without Billy's approval.

I was warm...and well rested...and not much else...but hey at least I was those two things!

Now, after 101 airplane Bloody Mary's, I am back in New York....freezing and jet lagged to the nines.

The Sound of...imminent jet lag. 

I never get jet lagged when I go down to Australia, instead my body syncs right up with my families hey-lets-wake-up-at-5am lifestyle, but coming back? This is where I well and truly fuck myself.

Take Monday for example, I fell asleep at 4am and woke up at 5pm, much to my surprise. As I saw the small rays of light through my window, I figured it was the sunrising and that I had won the game, but alas, that was the sun throwing up one final peace sign and laughing in my face as it vanished just moments later.

Last night I skipped sleeping all together. I figured there was no way I would be able to rest when my mind was so awake, so I simply moused around in the darkness while the world slept. When the sun began to rise in the early hours I figured that I would begin to feel drowsy as is generally the case when I force myself to stay awake until the sun returns.

To prevent this I stuck in my headphones, walked around in the freezing cold and slowly lost feeling in my nose. Nothing says, "stay awake sucker" like some freezing cold wind to the face.As I walked past the grocery store, my body was at peak frost bite and therefore my insiders were at peak "give us soup you bitch"

So I did.

Take THAT winter time

Because health....and because cold.

I was feeling very awake and productive....just casually adult-ing (well with a minor hiccup, caused by the fact that I definitely don't own a can opener....ingenuity...oh and the fact I don't know how to change the lightbulb in my bathroom so I have to have candlelit showers....so, only really minor adult-ing)

Oops.

And then 2pm hit....I was crashing. I had a great plan to simply have a power nap before going to bed at 9pm and waking up fresh as a daisy tomorrow morning. I set my alarm for only an hour and half (I used a sleep calculator...that's how serious I was) and I snuggled down to sleep.

As soon as my alarm went off? I laughed in it's stupidly loud, blaring face.

And now here I am...it's 1am and I just woke up, completely well rested and set for another night of pottering except this time it will be followed by a 9 hour shift of yawning and potential tears.

Great life choices, self.

#lifefacts

Many things in life are a given: Every day the sun will rise in the east, rum and ginger beer will always be the ultimate duo, an offering of burritos should always be accepted with a smile and it will always be absolutely impossible to keep a pack of drunk girls out of a photo booth.

Tune in next time for more words of wisdom from me...

...Jordan Turner...

...life guru.

Know your worth.

Current Mood:

Let me quickly preface this post with one simply fact about myself. If you make a statement that I don't agree with I need to open the discussion. I'm not a nod and inwardly shake my head kind of person, I'm a grade-A-hey-explain-that-dumbass-thought-to-me-please type of girl.

The other day for example a friend of mine made a comment about another woman's shorts being too slutty.  This lead us down a long road full of pitstops including, "it's her fault if a guy comes up and touches her" and "No, I'm not a feminist....far from it" which ended at our final destination of "what about men? I'm a meninist!"

By this point I had paced the length of 54 football fields and started aggressively clapping every word I spoke. Even as I write this in reflection I can't get my thoughts clear as this very topic enrages me to my core.

The base of this entire post is to make one singular point so let us start there.

Feminism.

The very definition of feminism is the equality of the sexes.

If you are a human (female or otherwise) and you don't consider yourself a feminist, I can't associate myself with you. To simplify this further, if you are a female and don't consider yourself equal to any man on the street, I can't be near someone who doesn't value who they are as a person, and if you are a man who doesn't consider me his equal, well something suddenly came up that involves me being far away from you.

It's a pretty simply idea, and one I'm unapologetically unwavering on. I'm not saying we should all burn our bras and punch every man in the face for fun, I'm simply saying, know your worth and don't expect anything less.

To not consider yourself a feminist when we live in a world where a strong man is labeled a boss, where a strong female is labeled a bitch and where a promiscuous man is a pimp, and a promiscuous female is a slut will never be something I can accept.

Know your worth.

Anywhere else you could possibly go after New York would be, a pleasure cruise.

It's 3:05am on a Friday night and I'm laying in my bed...alone...pondering.

I've lived in New York for years now, and that alone is very hard to comprehend.

What happened to 2011?

Most of my time here was a blur.

A blur of alcohol and nights. I spent months dedicated to different people, yet in reflection they seem no longer than the blink of an eye.

New York is weird....or at least my New York is weird.

Being here doesn't feel like life.

My day to day doesn't exist.

Living here is like fake living, and the days seem to pass much quicker.

You don't have time to be, because you are always going with no end goal.

When I first moved here I worked nights, and followed up all shifts with alcohol.

I don't think I even saw daylight for months on end.

New York broke me in a way.

Many ways.

I've reached a point now where I am unhappy surrounded by it.

Unhappy with the same people, places and things, always, everywhere.

So I avoid being surrounded by it.

Today I woke up at 10am and forced myself to go back to sleep so I would have less time to kill.

That isn't living.

In the past these feelings would force me into a relationship.

Another way to kill some time.

Killing time so one day I can wake up at 52, wondering where all my years went.

The truth is, I'm full of talk.

One minutes I'm moving to California.

The next I'm going home to Australia.

A few more fleeting moments and I'm back in New York forever.

Last year I went home to visit my Mum 4 months in a row to get away from this place.

And I cried every night before I had to return.

I'm unhappy and anxious here....always.

Which is why I'm leaving.

The how doesn't even matter.

Simply the where.

So bring me a map on a cork board and a lucky dart and I'll figure the rest out later.

Write a letter that you will never send.

Wednesdays.

WhAt Is A bLoG?

 Everybody and their mothers has been messaging me today about plans for tonight...like who hurt these people? Do they not know it is freezing outside? Stay indoors, read a book.

I think maybe I've been doing too much of that considering I'm drawing a blank as to what is actually been going on...I mean Valentines happened. I spent majority of the day standing outside of a Methadone clinic in the snow handing out Valentines to strangers, not even the cute European tourist who offered me a kiss could make that task even remotely pleasant.

 I then made my day even worse by hanging out with a rapper...not my rapping ex....or the rapper I hung out with to make said rapping ex mad.....a different rapper....as someone who doesn't believe in having a "type" I'm starting to really eat my own words...

(Just kidding...unless Harry Styles becomes a rapper...in that case, yes rappers are my type)

(Say rapper one more time, idiot)

But hey, it wasn't all negative!

As a pre-diagnosed cold hearted asshole, I'm not big on the love....but I fuck with the candy and cupcakes involved...(also, did you know there is now a #love sweetheart? like what kind of 21st century tomfoolery is this? dumb.)

I've come to realize I've now lost all blogging ability...

I simply ramble some words, chuck in a few ill placed and often exaggerated ellipsis, litter it with a few awful pictures I randomly found in the black hole of my iPhone camera and call it a blog.

I've lost my touch.

RIP me.

Help!

 I've recently become obsessed with the The Beatles. The music has always been appreciated simply because I have ears and I think the rest is history, but as of late I've become more and more fascinated with the men behind it.

It all stemmed from a dream I had, and somehow melted in to me just watching documentary after documentary, interview after interview. It's quite sad really as it has kind of cut into my Harry Styles obsession but hey there is plenty of crazy to go around!

The last interview I watched was a recent interview with Ringo Starr, where he basically spoke for ten minutes about how he really is the luckiest person in the world. It's no secret that he was far from the best drummer in the world, yet it's what he loved and it's what he got to spend his entire life doing. He spoke about being a musician and thanked his lucky stars (pun intended) that he gets to call it a career for he has never truly had to work a day in his life.

I want that.

Well I mean...not the drumming or the fame...but the obsession, the love of ones job. I want to love something so much that it doesn't feel like work. I don't want to choose whether I live to work or work to live, I don't want it to matter because I want my work to be a part of me as cliche as it seems.

I could watch JK Rowling talk about Harry Potter all day. She loves what she has created, she knows every single facet. She is obsessed.

I want to be obsessed.

Even on the mundane level, even if my love is something as simple as working in an office for the rest of my life, I want to find it.

I like my job right now, but it's simply a stepping stone on cobbled path and I'm dying to get to the destination.

I know they say you shouldn't wish your life away, but if we could speed up the discovery, or at least give me some kind of road map on how to get there my deepening frown lines and frustrated tear ducts would really appreciate the break.

21 is hard.

The most interesting woman in the world.

Is it too cliche to complain about winter?

Because I am really at my breaking point with winter.

I'm ready to regain feeling in my extremities, and the perpetual hot mess in me is extremely ready for the sidewalks to be something other than giant slabs of ice for me to bust face on. I could continue for days, nitpicking ever minor detail of winter I dislike....but I'll save you the time...to be fair, winter isn't my only concern.

Weather in New York is the worst.

Sure, those few short weeks of fall and spring are quite lovely...but for 87% of the year, the weather is quite awful. Too hot and crowded or too cold and well....hellish.

You can't win them all it seems, New York has many wonderful things but alas, weather will never be one of them.

My dad constantly tells me that when all you can talk about is the weather you have a problem, it's the default small talk so with that in mind I must quickly segue away.

I'm way too interesting to be talking about the weather...

I bought a coloring book the other day...

Don't judge me! I've been dealing with a lot of indoor snow storm time....aaaaand we are back on the weather.

Ok fine, the word "interesting" is relative.

Haters.

Australia Day.

(Margaret River '04)

Dear Australia,

I love you bitch....

I ain't gone never stop loving you....

....bitch.

xoxo

2015

January is more than halfway over so I believe it's time for me to start committing to change this year.   For the last few years I haven't been overly happy with my situation. I've mentioned it before, a constant feeling of dishevelment that I can't seem to shake. I feel as if everyone around me has their lives together in every sense of the word and I can't even master one little portion. I used to mask this with constant movement. If I was always out... busy... intoxicated, I never had time to truly reflect on how much I wasn't actually doing. I've since ramped up my flakiness and have been spending a lot less time on my distractions, allowing me to mentally grow the fuck up and realize that I can actually make progress at any time....I just have to kind of...well...do it.

So that's what I'm doing...I'm doing it....

Whatever the heck "it" is...well I'll figure that bit out later.

Dead, dying and dripping in vomit.

I haven't been blogging....

Because I haven't been doing anything...

Well besides dying.

*Enter lengthy rant bout how sick I have been* 

Luckily for me I'm beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel...and by that I mean I no longer have a million degree fever, although I do still have this intense, 50 packs of cigarettes a day cough... You know the kind of cough where people wince and look over at you just to check and make sure that your lung didn't come hurtling out of your esophagus....it's honestly a giant party.

But apart from death, life has been tame.....with a side of boob castles...but tame none the less. 

Boob......castle....

Oh wait silly me, something super exciting did happen today.... I stepped in two different piles of vomit on my walk home tonight (aka why couldn't you all just barf into your purse like that strung out blond girl on the N train?) New York on a Saturday night is an ever classy location. A man even ran up behind me to inform me that I had in fact stepped in vomit, as if me yelling for the world to fuck me again wasn't clue enough that I understood what was happening. Actually, I think it is actually programmed deep within us to inform someone whenever you are aware that they in fact have another persons regurgitated lasagna on their person. A fact I learned a few years ago when a friend and I were walking home from the bar and he very gracefully penny boarded back first into a stray pile of chunky street potatoes and a car full of hyped up dudes pulled over to mock his misfortune....to be fair he did just kind of lay there for a minute and splashed about in his puddle of love....he kind of deserved it. 

Speaking of deserving it (boom segway), can we all take a minute to appreciate the fact that my little brother deserves a kick in the nads? Why is that? I hear the crowds bellow....please see below visual representation...

Never have I ever been more disrespected! 

I guess this is probably payback for all those times I used to beat the crap out of him until he told me I was God...and perfect....and beautiful...and....

I pity the man who marries me.

Oh and I cut all my hair off.....

Also, I'm going to really need someone to inform me how to properly face, because I haven't mastered it yet.