Curtains Up

Tonight, on the eve of cashing my first really-forealforeal-big-girl paycheck, I am sinking into a realization like one lowers themselves into a hot, bubbly bath: I am officially living and working in New York — grindin’ in Midtown, rooted in Astoria. I feel like I’m in the grad school of life, stressed until I’m cross-eyed, making a thousand mistakes everyday, hitting every wall face-first and, most incredibly, coming out sweaty but smiling (literally — out of the N train, out of the Hearst sushi line; out of long one-on-one’s with the boss…). I almost forgot how wonderful such sweet, sticky challenge feels between my fingers. And I’m having a difficult time discerning the feeling between “I’m an intern staying for the summer” and “I’m a grown-up staying… indefinitely.”
(This changes, however, with every passing Happy Hour.)

.

On a rooftop in the Upper West Side; "To the big girl life."

.

I thought about it.

SWAK (Sealed With a Kindle)

I’ve been gearing up for the last two weeks (read: Hibernation of the Spongebob Kind) to present some kind of record of this life moment — an account of those first pre-steps to my first, big, official move. I have approximately 12,000 video ideas and an equal amount of accompanying blog ideas. It’s 11:00pm the night before my flight to JFK that I finally sit down to do it.
.
Except I don’t.
.
I find myself (literally, find myself; I must’ve mentally blacked out from the exhaustion of  this weekend’s roadtrips to Vegas and back within 48 hours. Guys, what am I doing with my life?!) –

I find myself writing a letter. To myself.

I did this before I went to Milan, completely forgot about it, found it while I was moving out, and cried happy tears of angsty reflection and WTF, LIFE all the way home.
.
And I’m down to do that again.
.
How sweet would it be to open this up, one long, obese-with-change year later on the anniversary of my big move to New York? By then, I imagine, I’ll have a favorite corner in my new apartment (which will probably consist of 3 corners total, 3 feet apart), a favorite pillow to sit on, a favorite type of not-FDA-approved-but-cheap wine in my favorite Tigger mug from my favorite corner store, all with which to read my letter.
Then Joey & Ross & Rachel and those guys will wander in with their shenanigans again, maybe their duck — you know the one — and I’ll have to shoo them away. Ugh, you guys. Not now!

Right? So annoying.

Anyway, I ended up writing my future self a 6 page letter (Somewhere, Aaliyah is rolling her eyes, like, Overachiever). I’ve clipped off a few excerpts and because I’m tired of getting unsolicited graduate advice, I’ll pass some along to you:

Do this today.

Give yourself something to do a year from now besides Tumblr.
…And then alright, go Tumble about it.
YOU’RE BEYOND HELP.

Roast Duck

Today was an uncharacteristically clear day for South City. It’s my last day here, so I bought some pastries at Valerio’s and went to sit on my favorite wall with a view of the entire town (plus a Blu-Ray showing of takeoffs & landings at SFO). This spot reminds me of Alexis Bledel in… virtually every role she’s ever played. Startlingly beautiful but very quiet and waiting for you to come to her.
.
I sat on that wall for a very long time, watching planes and thinking out the last few weeks & next few months.
My current life as Sandy Cheeks on that one hibernation episode of Spongebob.
My immediate future as Ugly Betty Berna. (TOO REAL)
.

My concluding thought:
I’ve been sitting. For a very long time.
I’m ready to get up now.

ROAST DUCK TO-GO PLS, THNX LIFE

Gra(dua)teful

I had to write my thank you blurb for the TroyPhi Pilipino Grad ceremony today (shameless plug: New Graduation/Job Announcement page!). I didn’t want mine to be lost in a sea of inside-jokey paragraphs and, basically, things you’ve all seen before.

More pics by Enzo on my Grad Page!

Then I remembered the song I squeaked out as a thank you after my 18th Birthday debut, inspired by one of my favorite episodes of Boy Meets World. (Apparently Glee did it, or something? I don’t watch Glee. So no, damnit, they didn’t “do it” — Boy Meets World did!)
This is a case where re-inventing the wheel might’ve actually worked.

Who or What I Will Become

From a NYT Mag profile on Stanley Ann Dunham, Barack Obama’s mother:

“…and then (she) died at 52, never knowing who or what he would become.”

Obama, why'd you shave?

… I’m going to call my mom today and tell her that I’m going to be mentioned in the same breath as Tina Fey, just so she always knows.

And then I’m gonna go do it, just in case she keeps eternal tabs on me.

I’m not tryna lie to my mom.

An awfully pixelated version of my favorite Mom&I picture.

If you’re wondering what I’m trying to do with my life, it’s this:

What’s your old password? Why?

I glanced over while a stranger unlocked his Mac in class today and thought, If I knew his password, I could probably tell a lot about him. Passwords can range from the first arbitrary thing they saw on their desk that day to some real sticky, secrety stuff. What matters is, it’s for your brain only — so I imagine people come up with really interesting things.

• I know a guy whose password is his nickname for his 4th grade crush. He’s 27.
• I know a girl whose password is the French word for “laugh.”
• I know a guy whose password is the car he’ll buy one day, and that’s the day he’ll finally call himself successful because he bought it without the help of his absent dad.

THISSUCKS.

My longest-running, all-encompassing password until around 2002. I don’t remember what it was before that, but one day my computer inexplicably crashed, completely wiping out all 7 of my pictures of my feet and dog, all the ‘NSync lyrics I had saved in Word docs, all of my Rollercoaster Tycoon settings, everything. Natch, I was PISSED.
So when Windows asked me for a new password? I sucked my braces and scowled.

THISSUCKS.

Take that, Gatesface.
I’M TWELVE.

Secrets totally make friends.

Your turn!
Comment: What’s your old password? Why?

(Feel free to be anonymous, or e-mail me at bernadetteanat[at]gmail.com.
I’m gonna keep asking until I get a Tonka trunk of responses. So pass along, if you will!)

What I Learned: Ruby Veridiano, GlamourMama

One of my best-kept secrets about gathering womenspiration & energy to createcreatecreate is reaching out to those whom I stumble upon and say, “Damn, girl. I want your life.” I, we, experience those moments several times a day, and I knew there was something else to be gained from it other than what-am-I-doing-with-MY-life anxiety.

Thanks to some of the good advice I gleaned from 4-Hour WorkWeek, I read about and saw for myself how seldom inspirational people are contacted — not for a job, not to help sell something, but to just talk. And hey, in some of those instances, it did lead to an incredible collaboration or a kick-ass paid job.
You. Never. Know.

I’ve been eagerly phoning my role models for years now, and while I’m kicking myself for not writing these earlier, I want to share the incredible (and free!) bits of wisdom I receive from these geniuses. Which brings me to:

I’m a girl. So?

It’s time to flesh out my feelings on gender issues.
For me.

Let me show you what sparked it:

You-Kulele: Let Me Write You a Song

I’m gonna start songwriting.
About you.

Allow me to explain.

Project Regurgitation: The Perpetual Guest

Our kitchen | September 2010 | Milan, Italy
Penne con Store-bought Pam Pesto