I promised not to sugar coat anything. I’m going to be myself, not lie about what is going on in my life to save face. So here goes…
I almost set my living room on fire Wednesday night. Not on purpose! Everything is OK. Mom, don’t call me, I’m fine. I was watching TV, looking up airfares online and decided give myself some ambiance. I have a couple gorgeous smelling candles, but they are all about burnt out. I decided to finish off one of my faves, a gift given to me 2 years ago from an old girlfriend of mine. Sadly, I don’t see her much these days—unless I’m watching channel 1 news.
So, candles lit, alls well when I notice it’s not smelling so good anymore. I look up at my bookcase, where the candle is, and the whole fucking thing is on fire! The entire candle, which is housed in a glass vase and placed on a wood and glass jewelry box, It’s smoking and flaming and freaking me out! I’m not completely stupid, so I go to the kitchen and grab some oven mitts; I race back to the living room (I live in NYC, the distance from my kitchen to living room is like one long leap), and grab the engulfed candle. HOLY SHIT the oven mitts catch on fire, the glass vase cracks in half, and there is wax everywhere. I drop the entire ensemble into the kitchen sink and throw on the water. Glass, wax, flames spring alive and all over my counter and sink. The fire is out. No lives lost. Want an ironic end twist? That candle was a housewarming gift.
I’d love to say that in the last 48 hours that was the train wreck, but I haven’t gotten to last night. But before we go there let’s talk about IRAs and 401(k)s. I don’t know much about them, but my financial advisor, Evan, over at Ameriprise is always telling me to keep an eye on my contributions. I have participated in every 401(k) any employer has offered me. I think if I never stopped working until 70, I’d have like $40,000 to retire on. I don’t get it. I really am not financially savvy, so he does my bidding. He’s aggressive and when the numbers are low on my statements, he manages to pull them back up, so I just let him work. He says there will be more than 40k, I’m not too sure. My plan of marrying rich better work out.
Anyways, I need to rollover my Vanguard account (from my former employer) to Ameriprise. When I send Evan the info and numbers, he’s like where’s the employer match? Dude, no idea. Seriously. I haven’t looked at this since 2011 when I signed up. Do they even match? One would think. Did I do something wrong? Seems that way. So, I gotta follow up… another item on the to-do list. If only I paid attention to this stuff while I worked there. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. Now, go check your 401(k) and don’t be me.
OK, so last night (face to table). I’m walking to my new favorite bar, to hang with my new favorite bartender friend and my UES wing-woman, Dona. I’m listening to The Mamas and the Papas California Dreaming. It’s cold as hell, and the song warmed my heart. “All the leaves are brown and the sky is grey, out here for a walk on a winter’s day… California dreaming on such a winter’s day,” seriously perfect lyrics for the moment and soundtrack to my life. I have a great feeling about the night. Well, what I should have been listening to is a song that would go more like, don’t get drunk because you’re going to commit emotional suicide.
All’s well, until about 2am. Nothing good ever happens after 2am, btw… just go home! It hits me like a train and I become wrecked. I’m leaving. I’m leaving a place I’ve called home for years. I’ve made friends and enemies, I’ve had my heart broken, I’ve broken hearts, I searched high and low for the perfect sconces for the perfect lighting in my bedroom. I’ve made this place MY place. And I’m giving it all up and my poor, poor new bartender friend, who has known me for about 3 seconds, is like, fuck, this girl is drunk and emotional. He was kind about it, but I knew he was like, fuck, this sucks. (Side note: when I told See-Jay, fellow unemployed copywriter friend about this, he said, “I hate when girls cry right before we hook up.” That’s a direct quote.)
I’m pretty sure I ran home, crying. I made it to bed, and the evidence in my kitchen suggests I ate string cheese before calling it a night. Mara is throwing me a going away party on Saturday night, I may not drink. I can’t go out like that (lies, all lies).
In happier news, my stuff is listed on Craigslist finally because I made a big decision. I don’t care how awesome the NJ agency is, and I hope one day they give me a chance, but I can’t stay in the Northeast. West coast, here I come!