I can't with being a lotto loser

So I didn't win the millions. It wasn't in the cards, or in this case, the ticket.

I got all ready in my apartment for the moment they read out the numbers and I would become a millionaire. I ordered from my favorite chinese takeout place Golden Dragon and set it up on my coffee table and turned to channel 7 at exactly 10:59PM. (I thought to myself, this will be the last time I eat a $7 combo plate again!! From now on it's class central!) The whole thing happened so quickly. I couldn't even register the numbers the guy was reading out loud but they flashed them on the screen again at the end for me to cross check my ticket. 38-7-39-8-48 with a mega ball of 22.

I wasn't even close.

Oh well. What I did win tonight however was a chance to dream. Besides who wants to win all that money anyway?! Money makes people crazy! I watched an E! true hollywood story once called "Lotto Losers" and it was about all these people whose lives were torn apart from winning the lotto. Some of them made bad investments, some gambled it all away. Some had death threats made against them, some had people hounding them for money, some got beat up, extorted, lost it all to drugs, sex, even murder, you name it! I could see people now being like, "That Glenn was sure on a good path, until he won that mega millions and it all went downhill from there!"

I also recalled a movie from the mid-90s called It Could Happen to You. In it, Nicholas Cage is a cop married to Rosie Perez who does nails and they live in Queens. Nicholas Cage plays the lotto one day (i dunno if it was Mega Millions) and goes to a diner after and doesn't have enough money to tip Bridget Fonda, the waitress. So he makes a deal that if he wins the lotto he will split his winnings with her. That night he wins 4 million dollars and keeps his word to Bridget Fonda and when Rosie Perez finds out she goes all Queens Puerto Rican boriqua crazy on his ass!! She has massive shopping sprees at Tiffany's and Bendel's and wears fur and gets red paint splashed on her and gets big breast implants and then runs off with some investment banker who steals all her money and in the end she's left broke living with her mom.

Is that who I want to wind up like?! Rosie Perez?! I don't think so. Could you imagine? And that's just the sort of thing that could've happened if I won tonight so it's probably for the best that I'm right back exactly where I started.

Thank you for helping me realize my dreams though Mega-Millions!! And for keeping my life still in tact.

p.s. my fortune cookie tonight says, "Why not treat yourself to a good time instead of waiting for someone else to do it?"

(Maybe that means I should play again.)

I can't with the mega-millions

Tonight I did something I never did before. I played the lotto. It was the New York State Mega-Millions jackpot which I kept hearing about all day and decided I would play.

A few things helped me reach that decision. A. I'm broke. B. With a lot of things changing in my life recently I figured, "What the hell - I'm feelin' lucky!" and C. I put on eyewitness news today at work and heard Sade Baderinwa talking to Lee Goldberg about it and they both said that they were taking their chances on it as well and that completely sealed the deal for me. If Sade and Lee were going for it, I would too. We would be in this together. (Diana Williams must've taken the night off)

I told my producer Amita at work that I was thinking of playing and had never done it before and didnt know where to get a ticket. So a little while after she left for the day she called me to tell me about a bodega she passed on 44th street and 3rd avenue with a big mega-millions sign outside and I should go there to get my ticket. I packed up and left the office and headed to the bodega ready for my chance at the millions!

When I got there I walked right up to the middle-eastern guy at the counter and said, "HI! I've never done this before but I'd like to play the mega-millions lotto jackpot and don't know what to do!" He didn't seem too impressed by my naive eagerness but handed me a orange lotto slip (my favorite color! a good sign!!), pointed to the back of it for me to read the directions, and made a motion and a kind of grunty noise for me to get out of his face and step aside. I walked over to a little area in the bodega where I saw people were hard at work scratching tickets and penciling numbers and put my ticket on the counter to read the directions. A nice black woman who saw that I was new here said, "Hey baby all you gotta do is check the quick pick boxes and the machines will pick the numbers for you. Or you can choose your own five numbers on top, and one number at the bottom as the jackpot number." I thanked her so much for helping me out and decided that I would let the machine pick the numbers for 3 of my games and I'd randomly pick some numbers for the 2 other ones. (I wanted to feel like I was at least in a little bit of control) There were 5 total on each card at a dollar a pop. I filled them out, paid my five dollars, got a print out of my soon to be winning numbers and put them in my bag and went on my way.

As I left the bodega and went skipping to the train on my way to the gym I started thinking to myself of all the things I was gonna do with the money. I have a dentist appointment tomorrow and I'm still paying off my visit to them from the last time I went. With my winnings from the mega-millions I'll surprise all those girls in the dental office with a big hunka cash and order the braces and veneers I wanted to get but couldn't afford. I'll fly to the next leg of Lady Gaga's tour in the UK and Ireland next month and have front row seats and backstage passes for all her shows. We'll meet backstage and take lotsa pics and I'll be like "I'm putting these on facebook Gaga!!!" and she'll be like "Do it you little monster!!!" and I'll be like "I'll tag you girl!!" and she'll be like, "I need photo approval first bitch!" and I'll be like, "Oh ok, anything for you Gaga!!" and when I meet her I'll finally be rocking that perm I wanted to put in my hair but didn't get because I wanted to save money!

I'll definitely buy vacations and presents for my family. I might even share with some of the people I work with who supported me in my first time playing the lotto. We'll go out to lunch and I'll hire the Jersey Shore cast to come with us because everyone in my office is obsessed with that show and would adore a lunch with JWoww and Pauly D and Snooks. (I dunno if I'd want Sammy and Ronnie there though because it would be too much drama!) They're all in contract disputes with MTV now anyway so they will need the cash!

I'll sail around the world! I've never even been on a cruise! I'll go back to Colombia where I was born and stay in really nice hotels and sightsee all of South America. Then I'll go to Iceland and New Zealand and Egypt and everywhere else I have wanted to see. I'll buy an apartment in Manhattan and let my friends stay there while I am away on my travels. I'll get a dog and name it Schnickers! I'll buy a house on Fire Island and let everyone stay there in the summers for free! I'll put money aside for my new nephew's college fund. I'll be a hero. Everyone will love me.

When I got on the 7 train to head back to Queens I could feel the winning ticket burning a hole in my bag. I looked around to see if anyone was eyeing me and noticed some lady looking right at me and my bag. "What do you think you're lookin at lady!?! Get your own mega-millions ticket!" I thought to myself.

It made me think of Charlie in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (the Gene Wilder one kids) when he wins the last golden ticket and the guy pulls him from the mob scene crowd that begins gathering around him in the candy shop after he wins. The candy shop owner manages to scurry little Charlie on his way and screams "Run home Charlie!! Run straight home and don't turn back!!" I had to get home with this ticket! I had to make it back to my place safe and sound before a mob scene descended on me and the winning ticket in my bag.

I bet Charlie was as hopeful then as I am now. I guess this why those regulars today in the bodega play the lotto all the time. It gives them their dreams to think about on the way to the train. It puts hope in their heads as they imagine all they'll be able to do for themselves and the people they love once they become a "winner". It's worth it to them for a brief instant on a train ride back to their home in Queens that just possibly they could be holding onto something worth 121 million dollars and not have to worry anymore.

Whether or not I win tonight remains to be seen but the feeling I've been given to realize my dreams this evening has been fantastic.

I better check what channel to watch tonight! (What am I doing?! I really should be packing! Oy!) If I win, I'm totally paying people to pack for me.

Hey, ya never know.....

I can't with the white

Today I painted my walls white. Well, navajo eggshell white from Benjamin Moore. I said goodbye to the orange halls I love so much and left my place white washed clean for the next person who moves in.

I also painted the red wall and column in my bedroom. I left the living room tan, and the kitchen bright yellow (one wall). They'll deal with that. I never did get around to deciding on a color for that pesky bathroom so it's been white the whole time I've been here.

Technically i didn't have to paint any of these rooms back today because I never gave my landlord a security deposit when I moved in here in 2008 but I felt bad because I asked to paint after moving in and they said okay as long as I promised not to paint any dark colors. I said fine which was a big lie because the next week my walls were deep orange and crimson red. Much of today was spent covering these dark colors in my life with a coat of primer and second coat of of the eggshell cream white. I was like fine, I'll leave this place with it being bland and boring and neutral again and so NOT me. Whatever.

The whole process today marks just another step in my moving on process. I didn't paint it alone and had some friends come over to help (thanks to you all. you know who you are.) which was probably best because I have to say I got a little emotional watching the first stroke of white primer hit my gorgeous pumpkin patch orange walls. After getting over the initial jolt of the symbolism behind covering up this colorful era of my life with a coat of boring white, I pressed on and we managed to complete the whole place in a few hours. I turned it into a little party and ordered pizza for my helpers.

When I first moved in here I was quite adamant about doing each room in one of my three favorite colors, orange, red, and yellow and I wanted each shade to be vivid and vibrant and knock you down when you saw it. So I did. I wanted people to know that I lived here when they walked through the door and I believe I achieved the desired effect. My friend Cameron told me my house looked like a circus freak show tent but she's a bitch so I don't listen to her half the time anyway. I've been quite happy here in my circus freak show tent and loved the colors and personalities of each room.

Today I noticed something quite interesting though. When all my colors were covered up and the apartment existed with just these "boring" neutrals and soft whites I actually found it rather soothing and mellow and kind of liked it. While I was already browsing through bright vivid swatches for my next apartment I think I might wanna go a more toned down route. Maybe I can with white. My circus freak show tent is now a dreamy creamy and I'm kinda living.

Why is this kinda painful for me to admit? Am I becoming boring? Maybe I'm more toned down and mellowed out. Maybe I'm more comfortable today existing in life without an erratic color palette and being so in your face all the time. I'm content just giving you soothing eggshell realness and I'm learning that's okay too!

I'm definitely getting older that's for sure. Tonight while taking out the trash I bent over to lift these heavy paint cans I was leaving on the street and I pulled something in my back and it hurts and I have lower back pain now in my mid 20's! Hey but I was actually throwing out the extra red, orange, and yellow paint I found in the closet while cleaning thus further ending that period of my life. I thought for certain these would come with me should we want to use them in the new place but now it appears they're junk.

At the end of today my apartment came out new and fresh looking just as I feel I will be a week from now when I say goodbye to this apartment and now apparently also to the wild color schemes of my life.

So what will we paint the new place? Will I even want to paint at all? Stay tuned....

I can't with more aquarium death

So I came home tonight and the last remaining frog in my tank is dead. Dead. Just two days after Lee Goldfish died, Diana Williams kicked the bucket.

And so marks the end of my little aquarium adventure.

I had never asked for this aquarium. Last August for my birthday my sister came to visit me and instead of getting me a cute american apparel gift card she thought it would be cuter to buy me an aquarium with a filter and gravel, the whole nine and 2 swimming frogs. I have always been a huge fan of frogs and have them peppered throughout my apartment. There's one suctioned to my shower wall, a crystal one in my bedroom, ceramic frogs lining my bathtub, frog magnets on the fridge, frog salt and pepper shakers, you get the gist. So anyway, my sister last year thought "oh glenn just LOVES frogs, i'll buy him some"

But they were alive, and swam, and ate, and pooped and instantly I felt this added pressure in my life one feels when they have to take care of something. Being faced with that new responsibility I immediately thought to myself that I would've rather had the cash.

And now they're all dead. I wonder why this could all be happening just as I am ready to move back to manhattan. As if they weren't meant to take the trip. Maybe the trip would've killed them. Maybe they can't with manhattan and never wanted to leave this place. I spoke to Dane about having them in the new apartment and the whole thing being a big pain in the ass between the feeding and the cleaning and buying supplies and he said he would take care of them for me just make sure I keep them alive for the move. So much for that idea. It's as if he knew they wouldnt make it either.

The other day someone told me the gay bar down the street from my apartment out here in Astoria closed recently too. It was called Lavish Lounge and was a complete disaster but sometimes had cute go-go boy strippers and fun poppy music that I liked to dance to. I could smoke hookah there too when I was still a smoker and enjoyed a few dates there and nights with friends. Hearing that it closed also seemed symbolic to me because I remember it being brand spanking new when I first moved out here and now it is gone too, just as I'm ready to be gone myself.

What could it all mean? The frog is dead. The fish is dead. The gay bar is dead. I guess things really do occur in threes. Or does this all cosmically mean that it really is my time to move on. My stint out here in Astoria has run its course. The death card in tarot decks doesnt necessarily always mean a death but it symbolizes the closing of one door and the opening of another.

Jersey Shore on MTV ended tonight too! The guidos and guidettes all said their goodbyes and will move on to bigger and better spin-off reality shows just as I will be moving on to a frog-less, fish-less, 2 bedroom in the sky, in a new neighborhood with a different local dive gay bar. It's like my own little spin-off reality show of life. If only I had Snooki to keep me company!

Closure seems to be occurring in many ways around me at the moment and I can't help but take notice. I'm a bit sad that my aquatic friends all bit the dust but it seems as though it was their time.

I should have Mason read my tarot cards. She's been a real Miss Cleo these days. I wonder what else might be in store for me.

So R.I.P. to Diana, Sade, Lee, Lavish, & Jersey Shore. This fist pump's for all of you, wherever you may be.

I can't with murdering my goldfish

In last night's blog I wished my goldfish dead. I came home last night and he was. I killed him. I killed Meteorologist Lee Goldfish.

Well I didn't necessarily wish him dead as much as I ended my entry with saying that I don't love him. Which was not the truth. But how does that song go? Youre nobody til somebody loves you. And let's face it, if you're nobody you might as well be dead. Sometimes that's all that keeps us going, the love of others. And last night I said I have no love for him and came home to find him belly up being sucked up by the filter. I had to fish him out (whoa, i never noticed that pun) and flush him down the toilet.

His life was a short one but I guess long by goldfish standards. (right?) He was given to me by my friend Jim last October, on the night I decided to have a game night at my apartment with no games. No one even brought games either, they just brought me soda and snacks and a goldfish. I added him to the tank I already had with my two frogs, Diana & Sade. (Named after Diana Willliams & Sade Baderinwa from Eyewitness News on ABC 7)

My friend Bill who works at ABC wanted me to take a picture of the whole tank for him so they could air it as a little story about a jewlombian in Queens who has an aquarium with exotic creatures named after their anchors and weatherman. Just as I was getting them ready for their close-up Sade died. I found her belly up and Mason (who was living with me at the time) had to handle that situation for me and dispose of her properly. Sade always ate all the food in the tank and never let anyone else eat so I think she ate herself to death. So for about 2 months now it's just been Lee Goldfish and Diana.

Now Lee Goldfish is dead. I was wondering how I was gonna move him to the upper west side anyway. He never did get his piece of the pie.

So what can we learn from this? Don't say you don't love a living thing when you don't mean it. You never know when they might go.

R.I.P. Lee

I can't with my cubicle nightlife

Here I am. After midnight. Sitting at my office desk. Sometimes my job requires me to work late at night in a edit where we put together an actual show and hopefully when done we have a finished product that tells an interesting life story of some ultra glamorous person. Tonight it was Charlie Sheen who beats his wife, threatens her at knifepoint, and has a lot of sex with people other than her but makes people laugh (so ive heard) on Two and Half Men so all is forgiven I guess? Check your local listings. Whatever.

Anyway, I'm sitting here and I'm actually like not tired at all. I've been here since noon today and probably should be exhausted but I just put on my music and am surprisingly alert. I dont think I mind working nights at all I just kinda cant with being in an office. I just went into the xerox area and thought the lights in there were motion activated like the bathrooms around here but they're not and I wound up jumping and dancing around like an idiot until I went looking for the switch.

It's very quiet here. Not even security is in the building. Just moi. Thank god I have a tv at my desk tho. Shania Twain on idol tonight was major.

Recently I was talking to a few people about my need for a part time job working in a club doing something bar-like. I have never worked in any sort of place like a bar, or even a restaurant but it seems simple enough and i could really use the extra dough rey mi! Plus I'm up late, I work well at off hours, I like talking to and meeting new people and why not? I think I have just the right chutzpah for the job! I would totally be like a coat check boy or barback or money taker at the door. (I don't even know if those are the right terms for these jobs) I just don't wanna do drag or anything. That would not be pretty.

My parents would always tell me to get little part time jobs when I was in college making no money and when I was out of college making no money but to be honest I always thought that idea was really beneath me. I actually thought that being broke and sinking further into debt with all my expenses was SO "in" and being responsible and having enough money to live comfortably and pay your bills was so NOT the look.

My I guess times have changed. When people start off in a career, such as myself now, I think it's very popular in this new decade of recessionista glamor that we also have some sort of supplemental income on the side doing something where we're getting out there and in the thick of it, meeting people, hobknobbing, and taking coat tickets, taking cards, taking names! This is nyc baby! Plus I love music and I live to dance. But not by myself in Xerox rooms at 1 in the morning to turn the lights on. Anne Murray sang that even tho we aint got money I'm so in love with ya honey. She was singing to her son in that song I think. Cuz she loves him so who cares if she's broke. I don't have a son, or even a dog. I have a frog and goldfish and sometimes i don't love them. So i need money.

Why is this all just apparent to me now? Thanks Anne Murray. Canadians are so wise.

Anyone hiring?

I can't with the goodbye

Today I told my barber I was leaving Astoria. He's been cutting my hair since I moved here 2 years ago and I love him. He's Colombian like me so at first he was confused why I didn't speak spanish but then he got over it and fell in love with my jewlombian ass. His haircut is cheap, quick, around the corner, and right next door to the greek lady I drop my laundry off at. I told her I was moving today too.

Then I went to the gym and when my workout was done I canceled my membership with Club Fitness Astoria. I told the girl at the front desk I was moving and needed to cancel and then she pointed me to the lady who canceled it for me and I told her I was moving and how much I would miss Astoria and my awesome gym. I told time warner I'm moving, and the post office, and con-ed, and the guy at the bodega, and my neighbor the other day who lives across the hall. I keep thinking about the Bangladeshi guys who work at Subway who I see all the time and having to tell them because they've seen a lot of me once I became broke and the $5 footlong came around. How will they take it once I break the news?

Do any of these people care? I feel like their reactions of gasping and forced frowns about me leaving are obligatory but people move. Life is very transitory. We pick up, we move from place to place, we experience experiences with people we need in our life everywhere we go, no matter where that is. (I already saw the new Subway I will be going to for my $5 footlongs while I was touring my new upper wide side hood)

Tonight I was reading an article about rich manhattanites who live primarily in their high rise apartments in the city and have weekend getaways within the confines of the city. It seems that in this city you really can get everything, including a break from the city. A midtown stock broker can take a $30 cab to an island off brooklyn to enjoy his escape from the city. A subway ride takes another manhattan millionaire to her beachside retreat in Far Rockaway when she needs to "get away". Perhaps even though i'll soon become a manhattanite myself again it feels good to know a piece of me is still a train ride away in a familiar little community i've formed in my time here. It has definitely been my escape from the city. If i ever miss it, I can always come back and visit. It'll soon be considered my little staycation destination.

Some of these people might miss me, some might not, some wont even know I am gone. I left the bum who hangs out at the broadway station a bottle of wine a coworker gave to me around the holidays once but he was sleeping so didnt see it was me who left it. He doesnt even know who I am. But he's part of my routine here and i will miss that part he adds to my day just a little.

Whether these people wil miss me or not, I may never know. But still, saying goodbye to them lets me feel like I will be missed and that I was at one point noticed. It's nice to feel like you were noticed.

Maybe I'll come back for my haircut. We'll see.

I really can't with $cientology

Something you should probably know is that Scientology is a dangerous and greedy cult masquerading in plain sight as a church. Last night I was walking along 46th street in front of the theatre where The Addams Family is gonna be minding my own business and this really tall gangly blonde girl with huge glazed bug eyes ran up to me and shoved a dianetics flyer in my face and asked me if I was interested in seeing a movie.

I can't with her. This girl was a not a stranger to me and i recognized her immediately. I know what movie she was talking about too. I had met her almost a year earlier when I took a friend to visit the scientology building in midtown when he expressed interest in finding out more about this controversial "religious" movement based on non-scientific self-help principles developed in the 40's and 50's. We watched the movie (aptly titled Orientation) and took a mini tour of the basement where the very same blond girl pressured me to buy a book and proceeded to warn us of the dangers of psychotic drugs. She accosted me then and was now accosting me again and although normally civil to them I decided to entertain her yesterday evening in a discussion about her beliefs.

B.S.(Blond Scientologist or BullShit, take your pick) "Are you familiar with the book Dianetics or interested in seeing a movie right now?"

ME: "Yep I have read Dianetics and Science of Survival as well as a number of other books"

BS: "Oh yea? Ok what is Dianetics about then if you say youve read it?"

ME: "It's about the reactive mind and the analytical mind but like I said I have also read a number of other books about your church"

B.S. "Such as?"

ME: "Such as Blown for Good, The Scandal of Scientology, My Billion Year Contract, The Complex. They're really great reads written by ex-members that you should check out."

B.S. "Oh yea and why do you think I should read any of that?'

ME: "You're asking me to read a book AND watch a movie and I'm not allowed to make any reccommendations to you? That seems unfair."

B.S. "Yea but all those were written by criminals and murderers and rapists"

I LAUGHED then said that.... ME: "I think that a lot of that information is perpetuated within your church and fed to you as facts. The real criminals are located in the senior management of your organization"

She cackled so loud at that like a crazy person then said... B.S. "Dianetics is the number one best selling self-help book of all time!!! I gotta go over there, someone is waiting for me"

ME: Chowder!

The bottom line is that this girl is probably a very decent person. Most scientologists are. But when one gets involved in a cult, they are insulated so fully that they only hear the ideas and concepts manufactured by individuals within their close knit community. While physical contact with the world around them is inevitable (unless detained in Scientology prison camps known as the RPF) mental discussion about scientific flaws in their formula and factual evidence proven in supreme court about the crimes of their cult are considered strictly verboden (called Entheta in the cult) for which if they are exposed to they will have to be rehabilitated back from (go to Ethics or RPF). And any scientologist who wishes to remain in good standing within the church is trained to literally run away from all entheta for fear of being considered a potential trouble source (PTS) or even worse, a suppressive person (SP)

I have never been in scientology myself but have always been fascinated by the workings of the mind and more specifically, cults, and have done my fair share of research both in favor of it and against it. So what the fuck is it?

Scientology is the idea that the soul is an immortal spiritual being (a thetan) and the body is a vessel that is being used by this thetan. The mind of this body being used by this thetan is made up of 2 major parts, the analytical mind and the reactive mind. Scientologists believe that the reactive mind records all our harmful past shit - surgeries, break-ups, alcoholic parents, rape, homosexual thoughts (which is considered low tone in the church), blah blah blah. Experiences such as these, stored in the reactive mind are called engrams. (i know)

What scientology claims to do is a method to erase these engrams to achieve what is referred to in scientology as a state of "Clear." A clear is said to no longer be using their reactive mind (they also claim clears can fly, move mountains and objects, control minds, and control the universe.) This method they use is called auditing which is really just basic hypnosis. It is very expensive to achieve this state and takes years of auditing (aka years of mind fucking hypnosis). Their sole goal is to "clear the planet" and control the world's money and minds. Once clear (completely hypnotized and mind fucked) you move on to upper levels of the cult, (OT levels they are called, or Operating Thetan) which is when all the alien space opera stuff comes in and dont even go there with me right now.

Along the way (the "way to happiness" they call it) they steal your money with this phoney garbage, order you to disconnect from your friends and family not in scientology, subject their members to harmful torture within the church rehabilitation programs should one decide to get out of line, command a militant army (known as the sea org) who have signed billion year contracts to the church (remember your soul is immortal, your body is worthless), and have clauses in their teachings which allow them to get away with lying, cheating, stealing, and murder in order to further their way. (Yes this is all available for the reading - See their Fair Game Policy) It is a crude mafia more than a religion and is able to operate publicly through litigious threats, bribes, scams, and lies.

The notion that people are entitled to believe whatever the fuck they want is fine. Believe in aliens! (I do myself, duh!) It's the fact that scientologists use hard sell tactics in their recruiting techniques designed to sell you (literally for thousands of dollars) an invisible product based on false science to people when they are at their lowest that makes it wrong. They recruit in prisons through their program Criminon and in drug rehabs through their Narconon program and on the streets in your town by telling you what your problem is, how they can fix it, and then how much it will cost, even after lying to you at first by saying it will cost nothing. Free Stress Test anyone??

A huge earthquake occurred in Haiti a few days ago and our hearts go out to the families affected. While looking at donation sites for relief funds it was brought to my attention to beware of scammers who have set up false accounts around the world looking for your money under the guise of helping people in Haiti in need. The idea that someone would set up a personal account to receive aid funds might sound diabolical to a lot of you but this is sort of how scientology operates. They look for eager people who are willing to help with changing the world in a positive direction and then steal their money by making them believe they are contributing to the greater good.

I do believe this blonde girl the other night on 46th street is inherently a good person who wants to change the world for the better. But she is fed lies by her church about the world around her and given a language and code to live by which is only understood by a small number of people (other scientologists) forcing her deeper and deeper into the comfort of her sect, a secluded world which manifests a clear aura of paranoia about the world around her and the motives of outsiders.

It is very hard to leave scientology when it is all you know. Such is the way with a lot of things in life; It is an investment. When we invest our time and energy and money into something it becomes increasingly easier to convince ourselves that its good and we dont want to hear it can be bad, even when it might be the truth. I watched the lovely bones on dvd last weekend for free and it was complete junk! Had i paid $12.50 to see it in the theatre i think i probably wouldve told myself it was a lot better than it actually was.

Why do I care so much? Because asking for help is a huge personal hurdle for people and is what helps us get better. Psychiatrists and psychologists who treat the mind WITH PROVEN SCIENCE have been able to help myself, and countless others, get through difficult periods in our lives. The fact that an organization is not only denying people opportunities to get checked out by medical professionals in their times of need but also charging them thousands of dollars for useless , non-scientific services is not only morally and ethically wrong but criminal and should be prosecuted. (Plus they're wildly homophobic but that's for another day)

If that blond girl ever does ask me for help, I would be there for her.

R.I.P. Jett Travolta

(I'm so getting sued, lol)

The following is graphic, so be warned.http://theunfunnytruth.ytmnd.com/

www.xenu.net

My new home, and closets

I've been keenly aware the past few days that I haven't been blogging and sharing my life with y'all. We'll it's been partly because I've been busy looking for an apartment but my search is now over. I've found a new home. She's in Manhattan on the Upper West Side. (I thought it was in Morningside Heights but Dane researched it and told me that the cut off of the Upper West Side is 110th and since our new place is on 109th, I stand corrected.)

And just like that, it's real. Come January 31st - Bye bye Astoria.

The process was surprisingly painless. Dane did all the work and just told me where to be and when. We saw a few places on Saturday, all in Hells Kitchen, but they were too small and we'd be on top of each other. So we moved on to day two in the low 100's and the second place we saw we liked and in an instant we said, we'd take it.

We schlepped down to the brokers office after that, filled out papers, faxed more papers the next day, waited patiently, got approved and signed the lease less than 48 hours after we agreeed to make west 109th street our new home. And that's New York kids.

An interesting thing to point out about our new pad is the fact that there arent any closets. Well that's an exaggeration, there is one, in my bedroom but no other closets in the rest of the apartment except for the ONE in my bedroom. So interesting I find this fact that it seems to be the only thing I have been able to think about when I think about the new place I will be sharing with Dane for at least a year.

Why I am so fixated on closets at this time could be for a number of reasons. From an obvious standpoint it's just the simple fact that I have 3 now in Queens and am able to safely tuck away things I dont use all the time in them and now I will have to purge some items that I thought might be precious but will have to face as really being junk.

Or perhaps I still feel safe knowing I have a place to put things I want to hide and don't want that luxury taken from me. But what could I be hiding? Old clothes? My air-conditioners? MYSELF?

For years growing up I was considered "in the closet" and thought I'd never come out. But I eventually did and started living a life collecting what could be considered today the "skeletons in my closet" but what happens when I start to live a life in a new home without any closets, or should I say one really big crowded one? Does that mean no more skeletons? No more secrets? Is my life on display for anyone to see? Do i care?

Dane seems to be optimistic about going to the container store to buy closets he can put together.

I wonder, what could he be hiding?!!

I can't with no more free bikram

I have been scamming bikram yoga nyc. In case you dont know bikram yoga is HOT yoga or yoga taught in like 115 degree heat. You shvitz, you pose, you get centered, you get the point. I was introduced to it by Mason who was living in my living room for 2 months last year and it gave us something to do together as a family unit.

Anyway, Mason had me sign up for the unlimited introductory week ( i had never taken a yoga class before in my life) and it entitled me to unlimited classes for 7 days for the discount price of $22. This was my romancing week. Mason even bought me my own mat! I fell in love with the sweat and the cute american apparel shorts i wore during class that i hadnt put on since fire island and especially the way my body looked in the mirror when I contorted into these faboo poses! I felt taller, I felt leaner, I felt refreshed, i was LIVING. The dancers pose is my favorite.

After that week ended I wanted more. But I wasnt gonna pay the $25 per class when I was accustomed to such bargain priced exhilaration. A few weeks after that ended a friend of mine who saw through my facebook that i had been taking bikram told me that they were offering a new spesh, 30 days for $30!! I was so excited but there was one catch - The spesh was only available to first time students.

So i borrowed my fathers credit card, signed up for class under his name, Donald Payne, and went to a bikram location that I hadnt been to before (there are 4 in manhattan) When I showed up for my first class the desk girl asked me for ID and I nearly died but she said I had a believable face and allowed me to go to class sans ID as my new alter-ego, Donald.

In my first class as Donald the yogi woman asked who the first time student was and after a bit of hesitation when I saw no one else was raising their hand, I slowly put up mine. She asked for my name and I told her Donnie. She misunderstood me and called me Danny the entire time and from that point on my bargain basement bikram pseudonym "Danny" was born.

That was 30 days ago. I have been to 9 classes since that day as "Danny" and love the luxury of not only being able to schedule time for my yoga poses and centeredness in this crazy city but being able to do it for only $1 a day.

Today I went to register for one but Danny's introductory month has run its course. Danny is debating spending the $25 for a class but he really cant afford right now with everything else going on.

Maybe he will find another bikram school with introductory offers. Danny would appreciate any and all suggestions.

Namaste.

I can't with falling for lesbians all the time!

This morning I was on the train and I fell in love. I was on one end of the car on the N train from Astoria into Manhattan and I spotted one of the hottest guys I had seen in a while. I moved to his end of the car (in a very casual non-chalant way of course) only to get a better look and admire him up close. After a couple stops his phone goes off and he take off his glove to reveal a complete Spa Belles manicure and talks into her phone like a true independent woman.

This is not the first time this has happened. The whole falling for a girl and thinking she's a boy. Now I dont want to generalize and call this female a lesbian because chances are she isn't but she had a cute little tomboy haircut with a side sweeped bang with black boy boots and a leather jacket over a hoodie big enough to conceal any size bosom that might have been hidden underneath.

But indeed, the lady looked like a dude. Or how does that song go? Dude looks like a lady?

I identify as a single gay male and lately I've noticed that I've been falling for a lot of women mistaking them for guys. What does this say about me? Could I secretly be attracted to women? Maybe I want to be with a tranny? Maybe I'm bi? Arent we all bi in some way? Isn't that what that Liam Neeson movie was all about?

Last night I was watching the latest installment of the real world on mtv: The Real World D.C. In it, one of the housemates, Mike, identifies as bi-sexual. He is also a complete jesus freak. In last night's episode bi-sexual Mike has a total make out session with the other jesus freak in the house, Ashley. The next night bi-sexual Mike goes out to a gay club with all the other housemates, meets a guy, pretends not to know gay music, brings him home, makes out on the pool table with him in front of jesus freak Ashley and then has the guy stay over so they can have sex. Jesus freak Ashley (also Mike's roomie) decides not to spend the night in the room with them. Poor girl.

Initially hearing that there was a bi-sexual guy on this show (or in the world) i kinda laughed because when I was growing up hearing a guy was "bi" usually meant "bye bye" and talk to me once you figure that all out. Aka, once you come out of the closet. But honestly isnt it according to science that sexuality is rather quite varied and complex?

Lets say this girl i spotted on the train today looked exactly as she did this morning but was actually a guy. Would we have exchanged numbers? Would we be sexting right now at work? Would this make me any less gay because I was attracted to a feminine boy? I don't think so. The point is I noticed she was a girl and that was the end. She was just SO the look and I was into it.

While I dont think bi-sexuality doesnt exist I do feel that for whatever percentage of the world identifies as bi-sexual, a big percentage of that percentage is still figuring it out. I am comfortable enough to say that even though I had girlfriends in high school I am gay and am attracted to boys (regardless if they look like girls). I dont think its about the initial attraction or what we say we are, it's about whether we chose to close the deal or not. I mean were talking about sex here people.; not "bi-attractual" or "bi-mental" or "bi-physical" or "bi-makeoutal"

So bi-sexual Mike made out with a girl, so what? He really closed the deal with a dude and isn't that what matters? Did i mention he's into jesus??

I can't with moving again in NYC

Almost 2 years ago I went outer-borough and decided to move to Astoria, Queens. I was young, I was bright eyed, and although at first very hesitant to move off the island of Manhattan I soon found myself really liking the above ground trains in Queens that I could talk on my cellphone on. It wasn't long before I was completely inebriated by the intoxicating smell of street pitas and Greek pastries and I found myself very happy with my one-bedroom respite on the western tip of long island. I painted the walls orange, my favorite color, and finally hung a shower curtain in my bathroom which was deemed "too gay" by my previous roomies when I was living in hells kitchen. For the first time in my life I was living alone. I was comfortable, I could go-on-with-my bad-shower-curtain and ain't no one was gonna stop me. It's still hanging there now.

Fast-forward to today and I'm getting ready to pack up this apartment that in 2008 signified my independence for a 2 bedroom apartment somewhere in Manhattan with my friend Dane.

It's a little bananas that I'm now moving from Queens to Manhattan in order to save $$ but hey that's the way the housing market muffin crumbles. We havent even begun to look at any places yet but the idea of moving back in with someone, especially a best friend, has me a little verklempt and I can't. I mean the idea of moving in general is itself a pain in the ass but I feel like im closing the door on a period of my life where sleeping with the bedroom door open had meant I was successful. I remember when I first made a label for the mailbox in the hall and it just said G. PAYNE on it and I deliberated over and over again about what font it should be in and what color and size because this life by myself in Queens was a reflection of me and only me and no one else was there to carry the burden of tenants torn apart in my new building over a potentially tacky mailbox label.

So how'd this all happen? I was miserable in an accounting job that I wouldnt necessarily call, "dead-end" or "go-nowhere" cuz it was sure going somewhere but it was just somewhere I knew I didnt want to be. So upset I was with the direction I was headed that for a while I made my unhappiness with accounting known on the job and with good reason I was fired and left to fend for myself with the help of severance and Uncle Sam's funemployment. I worked a series of pay by day television production jobs (some for no pay at all!) and slowly managed to move my resume into the direction of somewhere I did want to be. Eventually (about 5 months after being fired) my resume was good enough to be hired as a full time production assistant with Biography and I am still there today, quite happy making other people's lives just as interesting as mine.

But the price of happiness in this city sure can be draining. Making such a move in these economic times has taken it's toll for sure. I am making considerably less than I was when I was handling reconciliations and employee reimbursements. I have to pay for my health insurance as I am a freelancer and now I am debating going without it entirely and just not getting sick. I dont go out to dinner as much. I haven't been on vacation in a year. And I guess that's good cuz I cant afford much of a vacation these days anyway.

So here we are. Poor but happy. They say money can't buy happiness but can you really be happy in this town if you can't afford to do all it has to offer? Millionaire heiress Casey Johnson died yesterday and all her riches couldn't save her life. Do we need personal disasters in life to make us grateful for what we have?

At work today I was researching the Chernobyl disaster. In April 1986 a nuclear power plant in the Soviet Union blew up and sent dangerous radiation out in the air for miles and miles around. People in nearby cities were told that in order to escape the damaging effects of radiation poisoning they were to evacuate their homes they had lived in all their lives and flee overnight, forever. It is still considered the worst nuclear power disaster in the history of this planet.

The drama I am attaching to packing up a one bedroom in Queens and moving to Manhattan with two months notice all the while transferring my cable and movie channels and forwarding my netflix is by far no Chernobyl exodus. We do what we have to in order to be safe, and hopefully in the long run, happy. Yet somehow my fall from financial grace last year at the time felt like my own nuclear power meltdown. And while today I know I will be safe regardless what borough I am living in, the people of Chernobyl weren't so lucky and though they relocated miles and miles away, some even in other countries, the damage had been done and they are to live with the effects of their radioactive meltdown for the rest of their lives for generations to come.

So I think it's helpful to see that all disasters - from the minor to the globally catastrophic - share something in common. They all breed a change in a persons life, helping them to move in a direction they may not have gone on their own. And does one come out a stronger person as a result of the move? I guess that's up to the situation but you cant argue that they are indeed probably safer than they would be had they stayed put.

So come February 1st, I'll be giving up my orange apartment and perfect mailbox label for a 2 bedroom compromise. Dane will be there for me to share in the burden of our new mailbox label however there will have to be discussion as to whose name is first on it. He said he'll allow an orange wall but just one and we'll pick the shade together. I suppose some days I'll be able to sleep with my bedroom door open but instead of it signaling success it will mean Dane's gone home to Pittsburgh for the weekend.

Maybe I won't need to bring my shower curtain though; perhaps we can pick out one together.

What's a Jewlombian?!

Now that I started this thing I've been thinking all day about what to blog. Should I blog about going back to work and telling everyone how fabulous my new years was? Should I write about the awful date I had tonight with the go-go-boy-with-the-heart-of-gold who wouldn't put out cuz he's looking for a "deeper connection?" Or should I vent about how it's almost 5 days into the new year of eating better and i still ate a meatball parm hero for lunch and a falafel sandwich with fries for dinner and didnt go to the gym?!

Well since those I guess are just as simple as they sound I decided to write about what it means to me being Jewlombian. Being that I love my portmanteaus as much as the next girl, Jewlombian is just my Brangelina/Bennifer way of saying that I'm Jewish by nurture and Colombian by nature (oh and also really really gay).

I was born in Bogota, Colombia but was adopted when I was a couple months old and flown back to the US (first class I am told) in the arms of my adoptive parents who are both very much alive and kicking and still married today. My mother is a nice jewish girl from Queens and my Dad was raised half jewish, half protestant in Brooklyn and together they raised my sister (also adopted) and I to be good little jews ourselves. I knew how to say "oy vey is mir" way before I had learned any word in spanish yet was constantly reminded by my tanned skin and Shakira good looks that from the outside I was as latino as they come. Still today I am a bit embarrassed when I go to the bodega and get tripped up in spanish small talk that I must interrupt to explain that I speak no spanish but am indeed Colombian. Hell, my white co-worker Adam Miller speaks better spanish than me and i secretly wish I could understand his little kiki sessions daily at 5PM with the Colombian cleaning lady but hey I can still make a mean latke and wittily insert yiddish into my vernacular daily and let's face it, that always makes for better "schmoozing" than spanglish anyday! Yinglish anyone???

The other day at my job I came across a show we did about a girl named Oxana Malaya. Oxana was raised from the age of 3 to 8 by a pack of wild dogs in the Ukraine who took her in when her alcoholic parents forgot she even existed. These wild kids are called "feral children" and when little Oxana was discovered in the 90's she sparked great interest in the scientific community about whether we are products of our families (nature) or of our environment (nurture). Although able to speak her language today she is still known to bark on occaisions and has had boyfriends for which this is a dealbreaker. She still feels most comfortable around dogs.

To that i say woof woof bitch, where's my boyfriend? My date tonight sucked!

I can't with my first blog post ever

So here I am. One more blogger, amidst the millions.

After going over and over names of what my blog should be I decided since a lot of I CANT has been coming out of my mouth in 2009 I figured what better way to start of the new decade of recessionista decadence than with I CANT WITH THIS BLOG because lets face it - i kinda could NOT with creating it. I feel like im stepping into a new era of geek-dom and I cant.

I cant has been able to sum up a lot of what Ive been going through this past year living in NYC. I cant with the gym. I cant with dating. I cant with Queens. I cant with Snooki (ok i can) and the two word phrase I CANT has become a go-to mantra when I dont feel like exploring something deeper than my general contempt for something i usually know nothing about.

Im starting this to help me see not only what I cant with but also also WHY I cant with it as well.

I couldnt with my high paying accounting job last year so I got fired and took very low paying production jobs that I SO can with and I am very happy. However this change has left me broke, buying groceries to make lunch, having to move back in with a roomie, and making sacrifices in my life (HELLO!! NO GAGA TICKETS PEOPLE!!) which have surprisingly left me stronger and in some ways more fabulous trying to survive in the greatest and most exciting (and expensive) city on earth.

So again, Ive arrived here with my blog. Just another powerless, broke yet fabulous queen. Grateful for each day and I always can with that.