These are the moments in which I know I’ve found a friend.

Do you remember, back in the Summer of 2008, (08.08.08, to be exact) we were bemoaning our respective fates, and I, in one of my bouts of optimism said “Yeah, but by 09.09.09? Things are gonna be different.”

Since then, I feel we’ve had a bizarre bond. We had our Year of the Terrapin (a creature who lives in less than salubrious conditions) and while things did not exactly get better, there were some notable improvements. (I got my DUI, but then I got sober. You started Georgetown and made friends) 09.09.09 arrived, and then the official New Year, and we spoke of a shared apartment, on the outskirts of some city, hanging out watching Degrassi, with our cats.

2010 was Year of the Crocodile (because The crocodile survived ice ages & meteors, & he probably was like, the bronze age will be so much better, or the pleistocene will be my time to shine, & then it sucked! But you know what he did? he ate a wildebeest, wrote a sad poem in his journal, & kept on trucking, because thats what survivors do).

Things had brought us down, but Fuck That Noise.

I desperately hunted for jobs. You battled girl drama. We commiserated on gchat.

I remember when The-Job-That-Wasn’t-2.0 was up for review, we were impatiently waiting for an answer, because it would make your decision; would you look for a studio or a 2 bedroom?

I got the call at the zero hour.

The night we moved into that hellmouth in Glover Park, we sat on the floor in the living room, eating take-out, laughing in disbelief that we were finally Here, and you said “I think we’ll always remember this night.” Maybe because it was one of the few happy nights in that apartment.

We agree that nothing good happened between those walls.

(However, I still miss you, roomie)

11.11.11 approaches my friend. We’re both unemployed, we’re both trying so hard to get back on our feet and get back together. We’ve only got one more year of this. One more chance. What do you say? Want to make 2012 the year of the Panther? At this point, we have nothing to lose.

Love, your favorite roommate,

Rachel

.

I’m trying to think of something funny, or witty, or offhand to write about, because even I get sick of myself and my own angst. One of my favorite entries from a super-angsty time is “Thirteen Stories About One Thing” (title shamelessly stolen from the movie of the same name – which I’ve seen and remember nothing of). So I figured, it was time for an updated version.

ONE

Me: Maybe I’ll buy a 49ers shirt for [the Redskins/49ers game].
Brent: That’s a terrible idea
Me: It’ll be like when Elaine wore the Orioles hat to the Yankees game.
Brent: Yes, and how did it end for her?
Me: I believe there was heckling.
Brent: I believe she lost her job over that
Me: Well I don’t have a job to lose now do I?
Brent: It’s still a terrible idea.
Me: I want to move to a city that with really loyal fans and wear opposing t-shirts. And don’t say Chicago.
Brent: Well if you want to get sucker punched and have beer bottles thrown at you, you could move to Philly.
Me: Philly sounds like a possibility, yes.

TWO

“I want you to come back home. You belong here. You can do anything here, it’s freaking NYC. The advantage is that you have everyone who loves you here; your family and friends.

-Jill-IAN

THREE

Me: I think he was wearing jeans and um…jeans
Ellie: But the important question is: did he iron his jeans
-a long ago reference that I’d long forgotten. This comment made me laugh all day.

FOUR

Regardless of what you end up doing, you did an incredibly awesome thing moving down to DC and leaving the comfort of the job you had before.Hang in there.  You are still awesome and I’m always proud of what you are doing- whether it’s trying to build a life in DC or in NJ.

-Joe (who always knows the perfect thing to say)

FIVE

Brent: i had a dream that i had written a paper for school but i had forgotten to write a works cited page.  i hate everything.
Me: that’s terrible. ms roeser would have kicked your ass. i had a dream that i found a room in a new apartment, except the furniture was staying there, and it was puzzle/trick furniture, that you had to figure out how to open, and i couldn’t figure out how to open the drawers
Brent: The worst. I need to go to dream rehab. You should come with me.
Me: We would alienate everyone there.
Brent: How would this be any different from normal life?
Me: Touche

SIX

On the very first version of Message-Board-of-Note, many years ago, someone wrote: “Love doesn’t stink. It’s fleeting and imperfect and infuriating and very human. It’s an emotional investment, with all the dividends, interest, and risk the analogy implies, and it should be treated as nothing less.”

I saved it in a word file and its survived several computer crashes. The writer is a friend now, so I emailed him because like-like is just as infuriating and very human.

SEVEN

Bitch, get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich.
-Keith (my ex-roommate)

EIGHT

We love you very, very, very much and we want nothing but happiness and kindness for you

-From Ellie & David

NINE

Pacey, to Joey: You fall in love and it doesn’t work out, and you think it’ll never happen again. But believe me, it does. In the strangest of places it does.

Jill-IAN, in response: Oh my god, shoot me in the head

TEN

“Do it, or I’ll throttle you,” he replied. (And added “and if I have to drive to DC to kick you in the ass, I’ll be extra mean”)

I’m not quite sure why this helps, but it does. It’s been almost four years, and I can still go to David when I need someone to kick my ass and not let me get away with whimpering. He will not let me be a wuss, but he’s also always on my side.

****

A few days ago I was angsty. Totally, annoyingly, unattractively angsty, and telling Ellie all about it.

She sent me a plane ticket to visit her in December. I’m going to Minnesota in December.

“We love you very, very, very much,” her email read, “And we want only kindness and happiness for you.”

****

“You were right,” I said to Brent.

“I didn’t want to be told I was right. It’s just that I know how you are and I know why it was a stupid idea,” my best friend responded.

Well of course. He’s watched me be dumb about 87 times. I am ridiculously predictable.

He still answered the rest of my emails, and also helped push me to get out today.

****

And I act like I have faith, and like that faith never ends. But I really just have friends -Dar Williams

Yesterday, I met up with Jill-IAN and Drew in the city, for catching up, wandering around the West Village hating people, and getting delicious Mexican food by our old office. It was, of course, lovely to see both of them. I don’t think we’ll ever all be in the same city and same place in our lives ever again, which makes me a little sad, but we still have the ability to meet up once a year and to go on and on as if nothing has changed.

I know I’m 2/3rd through the 100 day challenge, but I may not be able to do it. In fact, I doubt I’ll be able to write much from up here. Right now, I’m stealing wireless from the neighbors, and I don’t know if I’ll be inclined to make the effort anyway.

Of course, now that I’ve said that, I’ll probably have a million brilliant things to write.

]]> http://rachelnotrebecca.com/2010/08/07/consider-me-on-hiatus-for-7-days-maybe/feed/ 3 http://rachelnotrebecca.com/2010/07/16/and-thats-why-i-can-barely-listen-to-billy-joel-anymore/ http://rachelnotrebecca.com/2010/07/16/and-thats-why-i-can-barely-listen-to-billy-joel-anymore/#comments Fri, 16 Jul 2010 13:50:16 +0000 Rachel Not Rebecca http://rachelnotrebecca.com/?p=7050 .

Two years ago today, after hours of protest, they finally let me leave the hospital. It was a few days after I’d gotten back from the awful Chicago trip with O-L-B, and I had dealt with it by drinking too much, and drunk dialing. I had tickets to Billy Joel, Last Play At Shea (Awesome, because Billy Joel is…was my favorite ever)

But me, being me, and being fully on board with Self Destructive Behavior, fucked it up. I wound up black out drunk and being transported to some hospital in Queens via ambulance. Kristen – a high school/college friend of mine, still has not spoken to me, other than acknowledging I was alive, since witnessing it. I still feel sickly guilty about my behavior, about the stupid thing I did in reaction to a bad situation, and also, still, how I managed to miss Billy Joel’s last play at Shea.

For the most part, I still can’t listen to Billy Joel, who I have loved since childhood. His music has imbued every Important Moment of my life, and I can’t listen to him. That still breaks my heart, that still is the coldest reminder of the destruction I caused to me and my loved ones while at the depths of Depression.

The morning after, (that past night, I had apparently drunk dialed my own mother, so deep was my cry for help) I boarded the bus to Jersey and came home. That, in many ways, remains the worst day of my life, although if we’re competing, it may be second only to March 18, 2009, which I’ve still not written about here.

I made a lot of drunken phone calls the night I was in the hospital. To O-L-B, and also to Dru, the other Libertarian boy I had stupidly gotten myself entangled with.

The whole week leading up to that incident was so awful. I was hurtling toward it, what with my stupid decision to drive to Chicago with O-L-B and then, to share a room with him.

Thank god for David. Thank god for this random Internet-Stranger-Friend, who had already saved my life months before, when he acknowledged the validity of my feelings, and recognized that yeah, I had a problem, and I wasn’t crazy to think so. Last night, I was out with other people from Message-Board-of-Note, and it reminded me how incredibly grateful I am to have found this internet community, that by all rights, I shouldn’t be a part of. I rarely, if ever, posted on H&R. It is by fate, coincidence, whatever you want to call it that I wound up on Message Board of Note, that I wound up driving to Connecticut with O-L-B as my passenger, and meeting David in person, and then, that Thanksgiving. Well, there was that Thanksgiving.

I have this text message, from that date, two years ago saved. I remember what I wrote. I was waiting for the bus in Port Authority, and I lamented “I just don’t feel like I have anything to get better for.” That text message isn’t saved. But I remember it, because I remember so distinctly what it was to feel that way.

David’s reply: “You have yourself to get better for jackass. What else would need?”

I did get better. It took awhile, but damnit, I Got Better. It was the easiest and hardest thing that I have ever had to do in my life. Staying Better is just as hard. I don’t think I could have done it, were it not for the perfect combination of job/awesome boss, my amazing AMAZING, Internet-Stranger-Friends, and my old friends.

But that text message stands out to me. That day was horrible, and that week had been horrible, and David answered my texts/calls, even though he knew that it was me for was doing the fucking up, he looked past that and still said “You have a lot of good qualities. It’s a pity you’re willing to overlook them and dwell on your flaws”

Lately, I’ve been managing to listen to the song “Vienna,” one of my favorite Billy Joel songs, which is oh-so-appropriate for my current situation. Because, I got better. Not right away, and not easily, and not without my hand being forced, but I got better.

And even though I can’t listen to most of my former favorite songs, I think that may still be the coolest thing I’ve ever done.

I know I’ve talked about it 1000 times in this space (but it’s my space, and I’ll repeat myself if I want to) but I still don’t know that I will be able to properly convey how much this job has truly been among the things that saved my life since I came back to Jersey in shame two years ago. July 17, 2008, actually. That was the date I knew I was coming back, and that I was coming back for awhile.  Six weeks later I was very lucky to start this job. This job made me feel capable of something again, even when it was just putting together a bunch of meeting materials. The lack of questions I was asked is why March 18, 2009 and everything after were not nearly as horrible as they could have been.

This job saved my life.

Joe’s been in California, apartment hunting, so I haven’t been harassing him with my usual rounds of cover letters and questions. He emailed last night to agree to feed my cat next week (even though the cat is a racist) and I can’t wait to tell him about My Plan. I would not even be capable of thinking about making this plan if it were not for Joe being my sounding board and support system. He said recently, that he never would have imagined the weird friendship we’ve developed, where we hang out and talk endlessly about careers and existential crises (mostly mine) and dating. I’m sure there’s a sector of the population who would call it fate that I ran into him one morning at the bus stop in O-town, almost three years ago now. That, and several other bus rides, is how he came to be the person who drove me to work the week I was stuck and who reads constant drafts of my schizo cover letters.

Joe has saved my life.

Joe is also the reason that Brent and I talk now, constantly exchange emails. We’ll never be the same as we used to, but we shouldn’t. He was still there at my one year in March, because he understood why it was such a big deal. They all did.

My old friends have saved my life.

I had actual work to do this morning; a change of pace, as summer here has been dead. Last summer, I exchanged countless emails and was distracted by dozens of gchats with people from Message-Board-of-Note. David, I hardly think of as being from there anymore, such a good friend he was to me when I really needed it. I still have the text message he sent me after that awful, awful seven days that started with the ride to Chicago and ended with my in the hospital: “You have yourself to get better for you jackass. What else would you need?”

David has saved my life.

The rest, some who I’ve met, some who I haven’t, made me feel as if I was part of something other than just my head. From these internet strangers, I’ve gotten career advice, CDs in the mail, and, with Ellie, countless hours of ridiculous conversation about Hugh Laurie, kittens, and petty-judgmental-thoughts. They made me laugh, they agreed that O-L-B was a jerk, they looked after me via text message, and once, at thirteen days, when I fretted how little time that was, Timothy replied “No, do you know how many HOURS that is? Right now, 13 days is awesome.”

The Message-Board-of-Note saved my life.

And then there’s me, who bemoaned the fact that 2010 is half over, and that I’ve gotten nowhere. That, on a Friday afternoon, I am sitting barefooted and cross-legged in front of my computer at the same job that saved my life, unmotivated to finished the three job applications that are 3/4^th done, and also, already ready to give up on dating because it isn’t that much fun, and the distraction it provides isn’t worth the opportunity cost. I am twenty seven years old, very much single, and still answering phones, among my many other responsibilities.

But I am 190 or so days into 2010, whereas two years ago, I didn’t even know 190 hours. I’m pretty pragmatic (some days, pessimistic), still filled with regrets for the could haves, would haves, and should haves, and still could afford to lose at least another five pounds.

But there are days that I hope. There are days that I am able imagine that I will one day have a life that is not this. I still can’t picture myself with someone else, and I can’t imagine a successful career, and really, there’s nothing tangible in my vision of My Plan. But there’s just this vague sense that I can do something else, and that one day, I will have a life again, that things will get better, because they already are. I am quite far away from the depths of Depression and darkness and utter stupidity that made my life a living hell for most of 2007 and 2008.

And I got myself here. I proved my worth and I got myself this job. And then, after many false starts, I rallied the troops and I finally got myself the help I needed, that came in ways I never expected it could. And that’s why, on an ordinary Friday afternoon, I’m sitting here writing this sappy, over the top, melodramatic entry, because I didn’t really realize what happened.

Because somehow, when I wasn’t paying attention, I managed something I didn’t know I was attempting.

I saved my life.

]]> http://rachelnotrebecca.com/2010/07/09/how-to-save-a-life/feed/ 2 http://rachelnotrebecca.com/2010/06/21/morgan-freeman/ http://rachelnotrebecca.com/2010/06/21/morgan-freeman/#comments Mon, 21 Jun 2010 14:07:04 +0000 Rachel Not Rebecca http://rachelnotrebecca.com/?p=6907 .

I unexpectedly dissolved into tears of I-don’t-know-what while on the phone with Joe on Sunday afternoon. Michael’s attack, which I know he did not intend as cruel, upset me, because it played on my fear of being completely misunderstood, and thus thought naïve or ridiculous or whatever.

Thank God for people who understand me.

Joe reminded me that there are going to be weeks like this, where I’m going to wallow. And when I told him about all of Michael’s suggestions, he agreed that they were a little over the top. And that, regardless, I shouldn’t do anything that feels blatantly unnatural.

Essentially, Joe, who knows me better than almost anyone, believes that in order for this job hunting thing to work for me, I have to be myself. That all the rules and suggestions and nouveau ways of job hunting are not going to work if I’m being inauthentic. And while it’s true that the definition of insanity is going the same thing over and over and expecting different results it would be equally insane to try to morph into what I think someone else wants me to be.

I’ve tried it with boys. It doesn’t work with them and it’s not going to work with jobs.

And this is why Joe is the comforting, Morgan Freeman voiceover in my life.

Later, I was talking to Brent, about important subjects such New Jersey politics, bureaucracy, the last 30 minutes of the movie The Net (I love that movie. Vintage Sandra Bullock), I told him about my conversation from Saturday:

“My friend Michael has the delusional idea that I am Dagny Taggart style ambitious, where in reality, I am unconfrontational and not aggressive”

“Yes. Not enough moxie IMO”

“Yes. Actually that’s EXACTLY it.”

And besides Brent and I, I think Joe is the only other person on the planet who will get why there are points involved for the use of moxie.

Moving on.

I’ve been thinking of submitting something to Drop of Ink, but of course I’m letting myself get overwhelmed by the subject matter. No matter what I write or submit on love or loss, it’s certainly not the first or final word on the subject. Yet when I’m writing something, or editing something that’s going to be read by others, I feel the need to make myself seem more profound then I really am. Or at least, write something epic.

The boys and I went to Trivia Night again on Thursday, and pulled off another win. There’s another team there that goes every single week, that told us they always win…except when we’re there.

Little Things From Trivia Night That Make Me Happy

1) The category was movies, and Brent says dismissively “Well, if it’s something from 1994-1997, then Rachel will know it.” (I protested that I also know a lot of movies from 2002-2004) And then when the question came up it was “In Speed, what speed can the bus not drop below.” (I have seen Speed approximately 19,000 times, AND it’s been on TV frequently lately, and Brent and I quote it constantly)

2) Arguing with the boys about what we’re Neil Armstrong’s first words when landing on the moon. (They went with “One” from the famous “One small step for man,” while I argued for “Houston” based on my many viewings of Apollo 13 where they view the moon landing in the opening scene, and you know LOGIC. I was right, they were wrong, but we only missed out on a point.

3) Girly questions on Tom Hanks movies and Dove

4) The final question being an obscure geography question (although with Sporcle games, I don’t think it was THAT hard). What US state capital has the smallest population?

We got it right, other team got it wrong, we won 2 Yankee tickets, which I let the boys have, and now they have to buy me something pretty.

I do not want to think about work this weekend, as I have still not sorted files, submitted expense reports, or a number of sundry tasks I should have done yesterday. The work will still be there on Tuesday, and I will, as usual get it done before noon. Knowing this, I should not let myself have an anxiety attack on Monday night.

The brownies are almost done. And then I have to go see if I can find a white polo shirt.

It started with retrieving a stranded Joe from the bus stop on Thursday night, hearing all about his visit to Berkeley, and then driving home from his house with the window down, playing “Change,” because it remains the most perfectly apropos song.

 Friday, work was ridiculously quiet, as it was an official holiday in most places. Friday night Joe rescued me from absolute boredom for diner-ing, because what else is there to do in suburban Jersey? Anyway, talking with Joe about his grad school plans and having him listen to me babble (for the hundredth time) about job hunting, and laughing over ridiculous things, made me realize how much I am going to miss him. He’s been a really good friend to me these past few years. I could not have asked for a better person to be stuck in Jersey with.

 Saturday the weather was beautiful, which I kind of hate, because I am NOT an outdoorsy person. I am an indoor person, through and through, and nice weather makes me feel guilty for not going out and “enjoying the weather.” I like walking around the city in nice weather, but I don’t like hiking or most other outdoor activities. Instead I found myself cute, high heeled, strappy sandals THAT I CAN ACTUALLY WALK IN. This is a major achievement. Many years of dismal failures, and to think, I found summer footware salvation at Old Navy.

Anyway, Brent was home for Easter, and was very bored so I cajoled him into going to 7-11 with me around 10 on Saturday night (again, because what else is there to do in suburban Jersey?) and then went for an un-wacky drive. But it was nice. It was also the first time we have hung out one on one in over three years.

Sunday morning my Facebook status read “You are the one(s) who kne(o)w me better, than anyone ever will again.” Because it’s true.

Now I’m playing hurry up and wait. Both for a project to finish and on a plan to make.

(For the record, I did not like Rent, at all. I remember when it was super popular, and I didn’t see it until later in its run, but HATED)

This year, objectively, the changes have not been as obvious. I am in the same job I was a year ago. I live in the same place (…still back at my parents house). I haven’t fallen in love or even had so much as a date. Much of the time, I’m bored. Suburbia drains the life out of me.

But then other times, like last Thursday night, I feel that there is no other place I could be, and no other way I could have gotten here than exactly this way.

Brent, Jon, Joe, and I went out to celebrate my one-year. This was originally supposed to include Lisa, but she’s recovering from surgery. We took a (very bad) picture of the four of us, but I look at it, us all looking awkward and stuff, and these are my boys. A year ago, I wasn’t on speaking terms with one of them. My relationship with one of them was fairly cold and way more off than on at best. And yet, they rallied. “Why didn’t you call us?” Jon (the one with whom my relationship was fairly cold) asked. “We would have helped you.”

Jon has had the occasional coffee with me, and because I always kind of feared Jon thought I was a total flake, his encouragement means a lot. Brent was once the person I labeled my best friend. And he was. Until three years ago when I fucked it up, royally. I hurt him worse than I have ever hurt someone in my life.

But there he was last night, telling me it was good to see me getting things together, with a cryptic note that I was better than I was three years ago. He is still, in so many ways, my best friend. We are not as close as we once were. In our nearly 20 year friendship we have hugged maybe 2 dozen times. But we still finish each other’s thoughts with just a glance.

And then there’s Joe. Joe, who took me out to lunch on weekends. Joe, who has helped me write and rewrite cover letters. Joe, who one week, when I was stuck and fretting, and didn’t want to ask my parents for yet another favor, drove me to work, about an hour (round trip) out of his way. It’s funny, because late into high school, Joe and Brent became close and I was jealous. And then, like many groups of high school friends do, we had a falling out of sorts, and Joe and I barely spoke for years. But he is the one I hugged the hardest Thursday night.

They are my favorite people on the planet, and the people that know me better than anyone. This is not to discount the other awesome things and people, which in themselves deserve their own entry. But really, there are a thousand scary-relevant song lyrics reserved just for this.  (I already did that here) In my car, I unabashadly sing along with songs that talk about old friends, and home, and hope, and love.

There is an immense amount of love in my life. Even if I were to only count the three of them.

Friday, I took the train into the city and as usual, had time to kill before my train to DC. I was walking around Penn Station, having my usual internal freak out about how the city still feels like home, and I have this deep, visceral love for it that can’t be put into words, and why am I trying so hard for DC when NYC is home? I can’t describe it, but even in the blocks around Penn Station, where no respectable native would find themselves for any longer than necessary, there is just something that feels right.

(For the record, even if NYC is home, it’s home in an entirely different way than Jersey is. )

And then I got to DC, and the weather was beautiful, and I spent Saturday evening walking around the Capitol Hill north district with Michael, and I thought “Well…I guess I could do this too.”

I like to project, in case you hadn’t noticed.

Anyway, the weekend was quite nice and it was very good to get out of Jersey for the weekend, even though getting back on Sunday was a hassle. Now I’m back at work and it’s rainy, and I hate the federal government. Basically, they’ve taken all the worst aspects of the U.S. Healthcare system and found a way to make them worse in one ridiculous, ineffectual bill. My prediction is that anyone who currently has issues affording healthcare will still have issues affording healthcare 5 years from now. Also, if the rhetoric-realism chasm is too deep and allows for Sarah Palin to step in and win in 2012 I…well, I’ don’t know what I’ll do. Probably write an outraged blog entry about it.

Grawrl. I’m conflicted on who to side with. Just reading facebook statuses from both sides of the argument last night was frustrating.  I don’t believe health care/insurance is a fundamental right, but I also don’t believe that the Obamacare is shades of socialism. But I don’t think it’s anything to celebrate, regardless of which side of the issue you fall on.

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