Unemployed and Fabulous

HELP! I'm In the Movie SLEEPWALKERS!

2009-11-17T13:20:00.001-08:00

Unemployment: Day 236 in Business Days; Day 317 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 317 days...since they took my job away.

People of the intarwebs! I need your help! Yet again!

The two cats in my deluxe apartment in the sky are driving me insane. This morning at 5am I abruptly and terrifyingly woke up to one of the little feline demons perched right next to my head on the bed. I swear to Bono (and rarely do I ever take Bono's name in vain), but I swear to Bono, I feel like I'm living in that awful Stephen King movie, "Sleepwalkers." Remember that movie?! For those of you that don't, here's an abbreviated synopsis that I condensed from various, dependable sources. (Okay, fine. This is merely a mash-up of a few different summaries written by trusted film critis.) (Okay, fine, again. They're only film critics in the sense that they watch movies and then pompously write synopsises on IMBD -- an obvious and pathetic attempt on their parts to sound and feel important.) People who write things online for no real reason other than to have random people online read them are so full of themselves. Sheesh, stop being so self-important and get a life. And a job. And then give me a job.

So, according to IMBD and me, here is what "Sleepwalkers" was all about. I've taken the liberty of bolding pertinent words and phrases...

Charles Brady and his mother Mary move to a small town. They are Sleepwalkers - "Nomadic shape shifting creatures with human and feline origins. The Sleepwalker feeds upon the life-force of virginal human females. Probable source of vampire legend" - according to the Chillicoathe Encyclopedia of Arcane Knowledge, 1st edition, 1884. They can change their appearance and often appear as cats. This is the modern-day tale of vampires cats who prey on virtuous young women. Tanya is a sexually curious virgin who falls for the new boy in school - Charles - only to learn too late that he's a life-sucking Sleepwalker. Mutating at will from golden boy to savage feline monster, he stalks Tanya to feed his seductive, cat monster mother.

See? My situation is exactly like Sleepwalkers! Here are the obvious connections that you might have missed:

"virginal young woman" = Me (obvi)

"seductive cat monster mother" = my 62 year old fairy godmother/hostess

Tux and Harmony, the kitties = SLEEPWALKERS, doing the bidding of my fairy godmother (obvi)

So here's where you, the people of the interwebs, come in. I need your help in suggesting what I can do to make these cats stay the frak away from me. And don't just tell me to get a door. Obviously a door would be ideal, but we need to work within a world that has no door...no barriers. The focus of your suggestions should be things that will keep the cats away without harming me, the cats, or the castle. Also, the cat curbing must be discreet. I can't make my Fairy Godmother aware of the fact that I know that she's a cat monster.

So please, suggest away. I'm tired. And scared. And virginal. And as the "Sleepwalkers" movie poster so accurately predicts, the Sleepwalkers are feasting on my fear. And it's dinner time.

Help! Don't let this guy eat my face!

My CinderHELLa. Plus, Skunk Funk: Debunked!

2009-11-16T09:22:00.000-08:00

Unemployment: Day 235 in Business Days; Day 316 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 316 days...since they took my job away.

Over the Throg's Neck and through the hood, FROM grandmother's house I go! Or shall I say...flee!!! It's been one week since I was kicked out of my grandmother's house by my wickedly insensitive and self-centered uncles. This latest family drama feels like something out of a Brothers Grimm fairy tale that has yet to be simplified into sweeter bites more digestible for little American children. I don't remember Little Red Riding Hood having to call the po-po's. Here's hoping that in the end of my tale I'll find a job and a prince and get to live in a castle in Brooklyn and eat brie every day without ever getting a muffin top. What? A girl can dream. No "content middles" allowed! Only the happiest of happy endings is acceptable for this modern principessa!

The saddest part about this whole mess is how my grandmother, an 84-year old woman experiencing the beginnings of Alzheimer's, is being manipulated by two big bad wolves and forced to act like the wicked witch of the east Bronx. I was in shock the day following the mayhem when my grandmother asked a family member where I was and wanted to know when I was going to come home. She simply did not remember anything of the day before. She did not remember that she was force-fed a poison apple which transformed her into a raving lunatic who throws family out onto the street. It was like an evil spell had been cast upon her. But I digress.

I've spent the past week recuperating, regrouping and remaining calm despite my most recent upheaval. Many concerned people have written to me and offered all sorts of housing options and support. Thank you to everyone. No castles or glass slippers as of yet, but the offers of drinks and manicures and couches to get some beauty sleep have been greatly appreciated. I would like to report that I am now well-rested, well-liquored, and sporting well-polished nails in the color "material girl." Cause we are living in a material world. And experience is making me rich, baby.

My life is imitating art, and in true fairy tale fashion, I have been blessed with my very own fairy godmother. My father and stepmother (not of the wicked varietal) have a dear friend who lives in their building in Battery Park City. She joined us for dinner the night of the mayhem. Upon hearing my tragic tale, she looked across the table at me, waved of her magic wand and insisted that I stay with her in her four-bedroom, four-bathroom, deluxe castle apartment in the sky. Where she lives...ALONE. Hot damn! - I've finally got a piece of the pie!

But every silver lining's got a touch of grey, as Jerry says, and this lining is no exception. My newly-acquired mansion of an abode comes equipped with two cats. My zip code may have changed, but my allergies and general disdain for animals have not. I'm just not the kind of princess that likes to hang with the furries. The furry touch of grey's names are Tucks and Harmony. Achoo! In addition to giving me the sniffles, these little critters also like to find their way into my room (which doesn't exactly have a door) all through the night and pounce on me while I (attempt to) sleep. I would ask my fairy godmother to wave her wand and make her precious kitties disappear, but I don't want to insult my hostess. I haven't even told her that I'm allergic to her beasts. A magical solution I've concocted consisting of a children's gate and a screen is in the works, but until it's in place, I won't be my regular sleeping beauty self.

During my many waking hours, I've been thinking this past week of all the things, good and bad, that I've left behind in my CinderHELLa Bronx life. One of the first that pops to mind is the fear that at any turn, I will be attacked once again by a skunk. Those of you who have yet to hear this stinky hilarious tale can read it here. But Manhattaners beware!! According to a recent NY Times article sent to me by my friend Mo, the skunks of da Bronx (which are actually quite widespread - who knew?!) are migrating south into Manhattan via the railroad bridge that crosses from da Bronx to Manhattan at Spuyten Duyvil. Yes, that's right. Bronx skunks are invading Manhattan. Fingers crossed that my skunk punk from da Bronx didn't follow me over the Throg's Neck and through the hood of Harlem from grandmother's house, down the FDR, all the way into the pristine kingdom that is Battery Park City! Cats might abound here, but I've a sneaking suspicion that skunks would not be welcome in this animal kingdom. Oh my goodness -- I just had a horrible thought....What if my skunk snuck under my dad's car, held onto the tail pipe, and made its way into Manhattan directly underneath us...Cape Fear style!!! I can just hear that Deniro skunk now: "Barri, come out, come out, wherever you are!" Mental Note!: Call dad and have him check underneath the Prius!

On a sidenote, I find it utterly hilarious that in recent days, all of the google ads on this here blog are for skunk smell remedies. I suppose there are more embarrassing products than Magic-Zymes or Hunt's tomato paste that could appear on the ad bar of my blog. But why can't the ads be for ANYTHING else I've ever written about?! Like maybe, I dunno, U2 tickets on sale this week. Or fanny packs at American Apparel. But no. The logorithms of the google ad machine think that I am, along with my readers...smelly. Well fine. Advertise what you will. But don't count on getting an invitation to the ball!

Jobless City Challenge: Summon urban fairy godmother and find yet another free place to stay while I reinvent myself. Just like Madonna. And Cinderella.

Money Saved: Well, now that I don't have to ride that silly express bus pumpkin carriage from da Bronx (which conveniently stopped running every night at midnight), I estimate that I'm saving myself about $150 a month. Which I will promptly go blow on the latest in glass slipper fashions. Hey, a modern day princess can't wait around for no stinkin prince to bring her shoes.

Am I a ZERO?

2009-11-09T12:05:00.000-08:00

Unemployment: Day 230 in Business Days; Day 309 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 309 days...since they took my job away.

People of the interwebs! I need your help in answering a pertinent question!

Am I a ZERO??? I'll explain...

I have not written here in many moons. My lapse is for many reasons. Mainly it's because I've started doing this really time-consuming and horribly boring thing. You may have heard of it. It's called "working." No no, don't worry, I don't have to change the title of this blog. I'm still officially unemployed and fabulous. But this past month or two I've picked up some promo and temp work that's kept me pretty busy. Setting an alarm for 6am every morning has been a royal pain in the ass. I would say that it was well worth it for the money, but see, I haven't even gotten paid yet for any of these jobs. Which has made finances a little tight since I haven't been able to collect unemployment while "working." I haven't even been paid for a job I did back in the beginning of September. It was a promo job for PowerAde Zero, a new Powerade product that has zero calories. I actually had to wear a t-shirt that said ZERO on it for an entire week. It's lovely the way wearing a t-shirt that says ZERO in large letters actually makes you feel like a zero. (You see where this is going?)

I know what you're thinking. How could I so quickly feel like a ZERO after spending my summer being such a superstar Fringe hero. I should still be basking in the glow of that experience, the amazing reviews, and the massive accomplishment of producing my play on a NYC stage. But having no money and no job and four large block letters on your chest -- Z-E-R-O -- can send you descending down the HERO to ZERO well in zero seconds flat.

But I'm strong like bull. The past year has thickened my already tough skin. It takes more than unemployment, no money and wearing a silly little shirt to make me feel so less than. So just for kicks, I'll share with you the other factors that are making me feel like such a nonentity. What miserable fun!

No Money. I know, I already said I have no money. But not having enough money for a manicure is so sad that it must be mentioned again. And you know I love my manicures! = I'm a ZERO

Sorta still pining over ex-boyfriend, Do Wrong, who has clearly moved on = I'm a ZERO

Discovering that the Artist Formerly Known as My Husband left me for a short lesbian** = I'm a ZERO

And the coup de graces -- Being thrown out onto the street by my own grandmother. Seriously. This past weekend, my own grandmother kicked me out of her house. She was bullied into it by my two evil uncles, and it was for reasons that have nothing to do with me, but regardless, she kicked me out. Me. Her own granddaughter. In true ghetto Bronx style, the cops even had to be called. It was horrible. = I'm a ZERO

Luckily, I'm surrounded by amazing people who helped me flee da Bronx, people who opened their home to me and people who are just simply there for me. One of these people is a new friend who lives halfway across the world in South Korea. (Stay tuned for details of my upcoming South Korea adventure!) After hearing about my ghetto weekend from Bronx hell, he offered some wise words for me to think on:

"The sun literally never sets on the people who care about you and are pulling for ya."

So am I a ZERO? I think I've answered my own question. But feel free to leave comments about how awesome you think I am. My cake could still use the icing right now.

**I have nothing against short people or lesbians. One of my best friends is a short lesbian. I do have something against being left for a short lesbian. Just doesn't sit right with me. It's funny, cause I found out after my marriage ended that some people in my family always thought that The Artist Formerly Known as My Husband was gay. I don't think he's gay. But this whole situation has got me thinking...Which is worse? To be left because your significant other is gay, or to be left because your significant other would rather be with someone who's gay? Either way, I say oy vey.

The Pup Crawl: Free & Furry!

2009-09-23T07:25:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day 191 in Business Days; Day 262 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 262 days...since they took my job away.

To all you unemployeds and employeds out there: Here's a fantastic and free way to spend this Saturday evening. The First Annual Brooklyn Bridge Pup Crawl.

This Saturday, September 26th, the first annual pup crawl takes place along the Brooklyn Bridge in New York City. Take in the Manhattan Skyline (free) and the Statue of Liberty (also free) as you and your beloved pooch enjoy a moonlit stroll (free!). Prior to the walk, your pup will receive a stylish illuminated dog leash to keep visible and to light up the night, drawing attention to the cause. (free! woof!)

The evening will include refreshments for you and your pooch (free!), as well as a special doggie bag with treats (freaking free!) to say thanks for helping to feed other pets in need. If you're unemployed and broke like me, you can eat the dog food in the doggie bag. I'm gonna pour it in a bowl with some free tap water and pretend it's a bowl of frosted mini wheats...mmmm...mini wheats...what people with jobs eat...

The Pup Crawl is donation-based and proceeds provide food to animal shelters across the country. So if you're still gainfully employed, it's a great cause for some of your hard earned.

Don't forget to register! See you at the crawl!

Unemployed & Fabulous: The Movie!...(sorta)

2009-09-06T19:42:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day 176 in Business Days; Day 243 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 243 days...since they took my job away.

On August 22, I performed a matinee of "I Will Follow" and then ran up to Gotham City Improv to perform in their storytelling series called "Mindfields" that evening. Doing two shows in one day felt amazing. It made me feel like a bona fide actress, creator-y person. It was glorious.

Lucky for you, there's video of me reading my story in "Mindfields." If you've been reading this here blog since the beginning, you may recognize it. Enjoy!

http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1237101526885&ref=mf

The Skunk Update

2009-08-18T09:49:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day 163 in Business Days: Day 224 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 224 days...since they took my job away.

Since last night's skunk incident, I have received many personal messages with various home remedies, the most common one being a bath of tomato sauce. Thank you to all who wrote in to help fix my funk.

I would love nothing more than to take a bath of tomato sauce in 95 degree weather. Seriously. I can think of nothing better right now than simmering like a spicy Italian sausage in a vat of tomato juices until I'm good enough to eat. Or at least deodorized enough to sit on the BXM9 without making every passenger vomit like a scene out of "Monty Python's The Meaning of Life" or "Stand By Me."

But here's one of the great downfalls of grandma's house: There is no bathtub. It was removed a few years back so that the old folks here could get in and out of the shower more easily. So I have no way to take a bath, in tomato sauce or otherwise. But from the smell a me, I clearly had to do something. And the overwhelming responses all seemed to call for tomato sauce. And so...earlier this afternoon...with G-ma in the next room watching TCM...I opened 10 cans of tomato sauce...carefully carried them two by two to the bathroom...peeled off my stinky tank top and shorts...stepped into the shower...said ah what the hell...and proceeded to baste myself like a pork chop. I layered tomato sauce on my shoulders and my arms. I dripped it down my back. I rubbed it into my belly and thighs and watched it stream down my calves. I slapped a handful onto my ass, laughing, wondering if a scene like this exists in some porno out there. It must. "EveryWAY Italian" with Giada de Whore-entis.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and worked that tomato sauce into my hair. Somewhere in Soho, my hair stylist, Rick, was just overcome by an unexplained feeling of dread. Sorry, Rick. I worked it into my scalp good as the acidic liquids leaked into my ears. I gently massaged it onto my face and neck. Even with my lips tightly pursed, I could taste the tomatoes sneaking in through the cracks. I imagined my pores opening wider and wider, allowing the raw sauce to seep into my skin, into my insides, into the depths of my very soul.

I was entirely immersed. 30 seconds passed. A minute. Three minutes. How long am I supposed to stay like this?

I realized that nowhere, in any of the many recommendations, did anyone mention how long it takes for tomato sauce to work its magic on stinky skin. In the heat of the tiny bathroom, the sauce slowly hardened to a paste. I could feel myself sweating underneath it, becoming faint. How long had it been now? Only minutes?? Or hours??? What if when I try to move my body, I can't? What if I become encased in tomato sauce, destined to be stuck under its red shell for the rest of my life? Like a Greek myth, what if I've been banished by this Medusa Skunk to an eternity of standing in my grandma's shower in da Bronx, a marinara stone where once my body stood?! My soul still alive inside?!! In a hundred years they'll sprinkle parmesan on me and not even remember why!!! I can't let this happen! I must reclaim my own fate! I found my tongue in my mouth and licked my tomato-y lips. My right hand received the message from my brain and broke free, sending crusty pieces of tomato to the shower floor in its wake. I summoned the powers of Hera, Athena, Artemis, Starbuck and Giada, and pushed that hand toward the faucet. I turned on the water and used its rushing stream to release the broth drying on me. To release my soul.

And hopefully...to release the skunk.

Since my marinara encasing, I seem to be smelling sweeter. So stick a fork in me -- I think I'm done. But does anyone have any recommendations on how to get skunk smell off of an Italian leather bag?

MOTHER SKUNKER!

2009-08-18T01:25:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day 163 in Business Days: Day 224 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 224 days...since they took my job away.

There are fucking skunks in da Bronx! You wanna know how I know? You wanna fucking know how I know?! Tonight, during my usual, shitty-ass, three-quarter-mile walk from the bus stop to my grandma's house in Throg's Neck, something very unusual happened. I turned the corner by a tiny wooded area, I heard a rustling in the bushes, and I was barely able to register the two glowing eyes fixed on me before I heard a mother skunking hissing noise and felt a spray down the right side of my body. HAIR AND FACE INCLUDED! The urban girl in me instinctively first thought I was the lucky recipient of some air conditioner "rain" from a window above. But quickly I remembered my present surroundings and realized there was no way it was air conditioner rain. I was nowhere near an air conditioner. Or a building. And that's when I smelled it.

MOTHER SKUNKER! MOTHER FUCKING SKUNKER! I WAS SPRAYED BY A MOTHER FUCKING SKUNK!!! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME???!!!!! THAT JUST HAPPENED! THIS SHIT JUST HAPPENED!!! TONIGHT! I'M STILL TECHNICALLY IN NYC!!! HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN IN NYC???!!!

The remaining half-mile walk was excruciating. The reek of my own skin made me gag every few steps. Oh the retching! The wretched retching!

I've been in the shower for the past hour and I still smell like Pepe Le Pew. I'm typing this wearing rubber gloves so that I don't stink up my precious mac. I don't know how I'm going to sleep like this. And there's nothing in G-ma's house to take the edge off. I'll have to settle for a xanax chased with a shot of Ouzo. If my life weren't so freaking awesome these days (see iwillfollowtheplay.com), then it would really suck right about now. Instead it just stinks.

And I was wearing one of my favorite blue dresses. Will I have to throw my dress away? Will I have to throw MYSELF away?

Help me. I beg of you, please help me. Stop laughing at me for a brief moment and please tell me how to make this fucking funk get off me.

And then buy tickets to my play, "I WILL FOLLOW" so that I can make some money and move out of this stinking borough. Here! By them HERE! And stop laughing at me!

My Show is Cast!

2009-07-15T07:09:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day 139 in Business Days: Day 191 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 191 days...since they took my job away.

My baby, "I WILL FOLLOW," is finally cast! We had some incredibly difficult choices to make. Over 500 actors and actresses answered our listing in Backstage. We saw 55 of them, a few of whom were close friends to either me, the Director or our Producer. In the end you choose the people best for the part. You have to. But that's not always an easy thing to do and inevitably, feelings got hurt. This first foray into my own professional production has already taught me important lessons about staying professional at all times and keeping friendships away from my business. Lesson learned. But enough about me. Meet the incredible cast of "I WILL FOLLOW!"

JOHN KEABLER - An amazing actor who nailed an Irish accent with his repertoire of limericks during auditions. John is ready to take on the role of 'Bono-God' along with the barrage of other male roles in the play. And he's easy on the eyes, ladies.

MELISSA CENTER - A hilarious lady who has worked in many previous productions directed by our very own Steve Wargo. She impressed us with her improv skills and chameleon-like ability to become all the different ladies in the play. And she's easy on the eyes.

BARRI TSAVARIS - A sun beam of hilarity who is perfect to take on the role of 'Barri.' Her understanding of the character is uncanny. I mean, it's almost like it was written just for her. And easy on the eyes is the grossest of understatements when it comes to this living rainbow.

Full bios can be read at www.iwillfollowtheplay.com. Donations can be made there too, hint hint. Even five bucks will help.

In the past two weeks we've also managed to hire a Scenic Designer, a Sound Designer, a Costume Designer, a Stage Manager, a Publicity Photographer, a delightful Production Assistant, and a Promotions Designer over in Mississippi who is going to fly in for the show and may actually be crazier for U2 than me. Hot damn! And of course there's my amazing Producer, Director, PR Rep and Web Designer who have been with me since early June. I am honored to be working alongside so many talented people; humbled that they are all donating their precious time to me and a play that they too now believe in; thrilled to be steering this ship -- this is what I'm meant to be doing; and excited for the work ahead of us these next 6 weeks.

Speaking of work, that's exactly what this feels like. A job. I spend most of my waking hours on this show. I work at it. Hard. And it is not always fun and easy. It is not a hobby, like some people in my personal world might think. This is my work. My job. And hopefully, sometime in the very near future, all of this work will catapult me from my status of "Unemployed and Fabulous" to "Self-Employed and Still Freaking Fabulous."

Alright, time for me to get back to work. This ship ain't gonna steer itself.

An Open Letter to the Weather

2009-06-24T17:05:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day in 124 Business Days; Day 170 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 170 days...since they took my job away.

Dear Weather,

Please stop being such a douche bag. It is entirely unbecoming of you. Your mixed messages have lost their thrilling appeal. All you do is take take take, with your self-absorbed, endless precipitation. We are sick and tired of you making us all wet, and not even in the sexy way.

Love,

The Citizens of NYC

Please Stop Loving Me

2009-06-22T19:54:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day 122 in Business Days; Day 168 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 168 days...since they took my job away.

Hallo Intarwebs! I miss ya!

Most of my time these days is spent getting ready for my play's run in FringeNYC, which is only two months away. Crazy! In the past two weeks we held our first reading, hired the amazing Steve Wargo to direct, drafted our web site (which will be launched any moment now!), and got our venue assignment - The Actors' Playhouse - just to name a few happenings!

Yet somehow, amidst all the fringe insanity, I'm still managing to date. Oy vey.

I went on a date tonight with a very nice fella. We got a drink and immediately I was my charming self, as always. But after one beer and barely an hour, he said he was tired and cut the date short. Wait...what?

I'm not used to this sort of rejection. You see, most men fall madly in love with me and can't get enough of what I like to call the Barri-nator (she said nonchalantly with a flip of her curls).

What was it that turned this guy off? Was it when I told him that I live at my grandma's house? In da Bronx? Was it the whole not-working-living-off-Uncle-Sam thing? Was it my engaging, albeit slightly winded, tales of U2 concerts past and the times I met the band? Was it when I admitted that I might still be with my ex-boyfriend if he hadn't left the state? (Dating Demerit to my date for even asking about my exes on a first date.) I mean, I'm just such a gosh darn f-ing catch. What the frak was it?! I probably just wasn't Jewish enough. Yes, I'm fairly positive that was the issue. No other deal breakers to see here folks, keep on walking. Bono jobless ex-schmex.

Yeah, so um, rejection? Not my thang. Well, not that it's anybody's thing. It's not like you'd meet someone at a party and ask what they're into and they'd be like, "I'm totally into being rejected." Obviously I know that it's not anyone's cup a chai. Luckily I've chosen a career as a writer and performer, so I'll probably never have to deal with more rejection. (Blah blah blah flip of the curls.)

My magnetism this evening makes me think of a song by The Cure..."Please stop loving me. Please stop loving me. I am none of these things." Or better yet, my personal song-mantra bestowed upon me back in my formative days by the ever-charming Morrissey: "I've made up your mind...the more you ignore me, the closer I get." Yes, you. You over there. You can't run from me. Ever. What? I'm just kidding. Sort of.

In other news, Grandma has fallen asleep while watching TCM. I wonder if she'd wake up if I put on the Colbert Report...

Don't F*ck, Get a Buck!

2009-06-10T17:39:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day 114 in Business Days; Day 156 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 156 days...since they took my job away.

If you're a teenage mother in Greensboro, N.C., the city will give you a buck each day you don't f*ck. Actually, they give you a dollar for every day you are not pregnant. So as long as you bang safely, you'll still get a dollar a day. I read this today on NPR's web site.

I think that this program should be extended to any woman who is currently unemployed, teenager or not, mother or not. I mean, if my jobless self had a kid right now, I would have to take advantage of all sorts of government programs in addition to unemployment, i.e. welfare, food stamps, etc. Isn't it cheaper to give all us unemployed ladies a dollar a day to prevent us from becoming a larger a leech on society?

I suppose then, in all fairness, that Barack would have to give a buck to all the men choosing not to have children that they can't support. And how would we monitor that? Alright, this whole idea is getting way too expensive. How about someone out there just gives me a dollar a day not to get preggers? And also maybe offer me health insurance not to get knocked up. Like a job. A real job! Where my job description simply reads: The purpose of the Not Pregnant Executive is to remain unpregnant on a daily basis. And yes, I can make myself an Executive - this is my job fantasy.

In all seriousness, this whole idea of paying our country's young women to do the right thing is a bit disturbing to me. There's got to be a better way to encourage girls to make the best decisions for themselves, rather than simply paying them to do so. Yes, it does seem to be reducing the rate of teenage pregnancies in Greenboro, which is a good thing. But what's next? If we teach girls that money is the reason to do the right thing, will these girls grow into women who only make good choices if there's a dollar sign attached to them?

Help Send I WILL FOLLOW to FringeNYC!

2009-06-07T12:17:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day 111 in Business Days; Day 153 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 153 days...since they took my job away.

I attended the FringeNYC Town Hall meeting yesterday and am 110% inspired and energized for this festival. It was an incredible experience to sit in a theater amongst the 200 other playwrights and producers selected for FringeNYC 2009 and listen to Elena Holly, FringeNYC's Producing Artistic Director, explain what's in store for us over the next 3 months.

Part of what's in store for me is paying for this baby. As an unemployed gal, it's gonna be a challenge, but as a fabulous gal, I know I can make it happen. The budget for our production of I WILL FOLLOW is $6,500, only a small fraction of which will be covered by ticket sales. I am reaching out to you, people of the intarwebs, to donate anything you can. I know it's tough times for everyone out there right now. I'm probably a total asshole to ask you for money that you could use to buy ramen or bruised fruit at a discount. But for me, the success of this show means the difference between taking my creative career to the next level and actually making a living doing what I love, or remaining jobless at my grandma's, or worse - returning to a survival job that will surely suck the life out of me. I need your help to get this show on stage...and to get my life on track.

Any amount you can contribute toward production costs is deeply appreciated and will be acknowledged in the program and on our production website (which will be launched later this week). Here are a few examples of ways your donation can help:

$50 rents studio space for one rehearsal
$100 costumes one character in the play
$300 prints 1,000 postcards publicizing the show
$500 outfits the play’s set or buys postage for our mailings

The easiest way to make a donation is to click on this paypal link and use your credit card to make a secure payment.

You can also send a check to:

Barri Tsavaris

Pennyfield Productions

149 E 23 St, Suite 1806

New York, NY 10159

Please spread the word to your friends and family so they too can support a young artist on the verge. If I can get 260 people to donate $25 each, then I will reach my budget.

10% of all ticket proceeds from I WILL FOLLOW will be donated to The One Campaign, a non-profit organization cofounded by U2 front man, Bono, and dedicated to the fight against extreme poverty and preventable diseases, particularly in Africa.

"One love, one blood, one life...we get to carry each other, carry each other."

~U2

Dating the Unemployed

2009-06-05T18:37:00.001-07:00

Unemployment: Day in 111 Business Days; Day 151 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 151 days...since they took my job away.

Today The New York Times tried to put a hopeful spin on the nation's loss of 345,000 more jobs during the month of May. I guess in the grand scheme of things, the fact that layoffs are slowing a bit is a good thing. But it doesn't mean anything right now to the millions of us who need a job today.

While layoffs are slowing down, my dating life careens haphazardly ahead at full speed. It continues to amaze me that men will date a woman who's jobless and essentially homeless. And despite this recession, there's still a decent supply of men in NYC who want to buy me dinner and take me for midnight rides across the Brooklyn Bridge in their beemers. But there's a growing population of another type of man in NYC these days: The Unemployed Man.

I've recently been out on dates with a couple of different unemployed men. We got coffee or we went for a walk in the park or we drank PBR's in a dive bar. I'm fine with doing those sorts of things. Really. But even though I had a nice time on all of those dates, I found myself thinking, well this is fine and nice right now, but how many dates like this will there be before he gets a job and plans something...else.

I know, that's horrible. I'm jobless and it's not like I'm rolling in it these days. The unemployed should stick to their own kind anyway. Right? So why the double standard? The Huffington Post featured an article yesterday about how the recession has been much tougher on men in the dating scene than women. While I feel for those guys, there's no easy solution. Most women I know are even more reluctant than I am about dating a man who's out of work.

It's important for me to point out that there haven't been fireworks with any of the unemployed men I've dated. I like to think that if I did have chemistry with someone who's out of work, that I'd give it a shot. And I'm happy to report that I don't continue to date someone just because he's gainfully employed and takes me to fancy places. But if I've learned anything from my past relationships, it's that money (or lack thereof) truly complicates things. And isn't my life already complicated enough?

Time to get back to work on my company's business plan so that one day I can take myself to fancy places.

Fanny Packs? Really, American Apparel?

2009-06-04T14:04:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day 110 in Business Days; Day 150 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 150 days...since they took my job away.

So in between I WILL FOLLOW meetings today I wandered into American Apparel to check out the latest in florescent spandex, and was shocked by what I found right at the front of the store: Fanny Packs.

Really? Come on, American Apparel. Not even you can make the fanny pack cool. Ever.

It's funny, my friend Liz was telling me just the other day about how she actually wore a fanny pack for a month when she was backpacking through Europe some years ago. I mocked her mercilessly. Now I wonder if she was ahead of her time.

A Bronx Gem, a Bronx Gym, a Thunderstorm, oh my!

2009-06-02T16:23:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day 108 in Business Days; Day 148 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 148 days...since they took my job away.

Today was yet another busy, crazy, emotional day, so momma is sitting down for a well-deserved beverage and some blog therapy.

One of my favorite parts about living at Grandma's is that the couch is so over-stuffed that it also serves as a table (see left). Perfect for when you've got your laptop on your lap and don't want to reach for the coffee table for every sip. Not so perfect by 11pm when your ass feels like you've been camping.

The day began with a trip to Jenny's Lucky Nails on East Tremont for a fresh mani. Momma's got another busy day of meetings tomorrow and needs to look her best. Momma doesn't know why she keeps calling herself "momma" but for whatever reason it's what she does when she's really crazed. Momma's totally crazed right now! Anywho, no happy ending or content middle to report, sigh. But I did witness the most HI-larious Bronx scene at the nail salon. As Jenny or one of her sisters applied Essie's "Secret Stash" (which btw, is totally hot pink gorgeous) to my nails, a very typical Bronx broad in her 40's sat at the station next to me. Let's call her Bronxy Balzy. So Bronxy Balzy, clad in in her brown, polyester, too-tight-round-the-Bronx booty, OMG-could-you-at-least-where-a-thong pants and matching too-tight-round-the-bronx-boobies, white and brown striped button down immediately eyes the Asian man in his 50's who sits down to sculpt her tips. "He's gonna do me?!" she booms. Followed by "Well, if you're gonna do me, we're at least gonna have a conversation. You speak English?" and "Come on, speak some English! Before I'm dry I'll get you speaking English!" and my absolute favorite "How about you take me on a date? You know what a date is? You can take me out for Chinese!" At which point she turns to me: "He doesn't even know what I'm saying, I could be saying anything!" The best part was that every time she shouted at the poor man, she put on a faint Asian accent. Like that would make him understand her better. It's the true gems like this that make the playwright in me appreciate the time that I'm spending up here in Throg's Neck. Cause who wants to go see a play about Brooklyn hipsters? Snooze. But a play about Bronxy Balzy? Show time!

Next stop was Fusion Fitness a bit further up the avenue. Or is it Fitness Fusion? Like it matters. In less then 3 months, I'm going to be starring in my play on stage in front of hundreds of people. The time has come to tone up. I don't have that much work to do. Luckily I'm blessed with a pretty nice canvas even with the macaroon-macaroni build-up of unemployment. Clive Owen and Jake Gyllenhaal and Gerard Butler can each attest to that. (What? A girl can dream.) But I've decided that momma's body is gonna be banging for opening night. My current regiment, which consists only of jogging with the sailors, ain't gonna cut it. So I've broken down and joined a gym. A Bronx gym. Much cheaper than a Manhattan gym and much closer too. I'm on a month-to-month plan cause I refuse to even think about living in the Bronx for more than one month at a time. The class schedule is...fascinating. My choices appear to be "Zumba," "Curvy Divas," and "Brazilian Self-Defense." I assume "Brazilian Self-Defense" will equip me with skills you need when being attacked by a petite Indian woman wielding a wooden stick of hot wax right in the direction of your hoo ha.

An Excerpt from This Class:

Jedi Master: Barri, young padawan, use the force to battle the dark side of the full Brazilian."

Barri: But master, my boyfriend, like, totally wants me to embrace the full Brazilian.

Jedi Master: Of course that's what Palpatine wants! Bare hoo has everywhere for his Empire. You must learn to defend your lady parts. Which is why I offer this Brazilian defense course on Tuesdays and Thursdays at Fusion Fitness.

Fascinating. But I think I'll start with "FRESHitUP with FRANK" on Sunday at 11am.

On the 2 mile walk back to Grandma's, the Heavens opened up and onto me. Genius over here was caught minus an umbrella (ella ella) and finished up the last mile in torrential rain. At first it sucked, but once I started slipping in and out of my flip flops and laughing out loud, it wasn't so bad. All I kept thinking was, oh man, grandma's gonna kill me if I track a mess through the whole house, grandma's gonna be so mad when she sees me. I envisioned her making me take my sopping wet clothes off on the porch as she threw a path of towels to the bathroom, all the while shouting at me in Italian. Which made me laugh even harder. Here I am, a 30-year old woman, thinking a thought I'm positive went through my head at 10 years old. We change in so many ways throughout our lives. Sometimes it's nice to discover something that hasn't changed.

It makes me think of a song sung so sweetly by, who else? Bono -- "I lost myself in the summer rain, I lost myself....Just as you find me...always I will be...a little bit too free with myself."

Jobless City Challenge: Cheap Bronx gym, cheap Bronx mani, Priceless Bronx Gem

Money Saved: $40 (difference between joining NY Sports Club in Manhattan and Fitness Fusion/Fusion Fitness in da Bronx) FRESHitUP here I come!

I WILL FOLLOW accepted into New York International Fringe Festival!

2009-06-01T20:59:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day 107 in Business Days; Day 147 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 147 days...since they took my job away.

I have not written in many moons. But worry not. Unlike my silent period back in March, this lapse in bloggin is not due to macaroons and SVU, but rather to a happy, busy, wondrous, exciting, fantabulous, creatively amazing reason. My first full-length play, I WILL FOLLOW, has been accepted into The New York International Fringe Festival. Holy hot damn Bono, this is for realz.

The timing couldn't have been more opportune. It was three weeks ago. I was on the verge of receiving a job offer that would have sent me to San Francisco, the very same city where I left my heart back in February. Now, I'm an East coast gal through and through, but I decided that New York City had chewed me up and spit me out. My marriage failed, my boyfriend dumped me, my job dumped me, and I lost my apartment. All of the signs were telling me to make my grand exit from the big apple... to start fresh on the opposite coast. Maybe switch up my sexual orientation for a bit. I even began browsing apartment listings in San Fran. And then, literally the very next day after my heart and mind decided to leave, I found out I got into the fringe.

Since then, my life has been a fantastically frenzied flurry of meetings and readings and plottings and plannings. I'm suddenly busier than I've been since I had a shitty job. But this brand of busy is far from shitty. But enough about me - let me tell you about the masterpiece!

I WILL FOLLOW chronicles the true tale of one fan's 20-year search for U2, magic, men and religion. Yes, I wrote a play about how much I love U2 and how they've guided me through my life.

As amazing as all of this is, I'm still a bit stressed out. Even the smallest play is expensive to produce, and funding this baby with no job is going to be a challenge. But if I had to juggle a demanding day job on top of this show, I probably wouldn't be able to give this play all the time, energy and love that it needs to be the best it can be. And so I've decided that being unemployed and not landing a job yet is actually a blessing. I don't need to eat between now and August, right?

FringeNYC runs in downtown Manhattan from August 14-30, 2009. Of course, I'll write here when I know my venue and performance times, and you can bet I'll regale you with rehearsal stories and tales of how much I heart a band. And my life. But you can also read more about the festival at www.fringenyc.org.

As Bono often says when he visits me in my dreams..."She's gonna dream up the world she wants to live in. She's gonna dream out loud."

Jobless City Challenge: Produce a Play on a Shoestring Budget. Who's writing me a check?!

May is National Masturbation Month!

2009-05-11T20:38:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day 92 in Business Days; Day 126 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 126 days...since they took my job away.

According to a recent article in The New York Times, the nation's unemployment rate has risen to 8.9 %. Also according to The New York Times, being jobless is bad for your health. Awesome. Just when you no longer have health insurance, you develop all sorts of new ailments.

But fear not! May is National Masturbation Month! For all you unemployed people out there who have a little extra time on your hands, I say put those hands to good use. The Better Health Channel and Fox News are in agreement that masturbation can improve your health in a variety of ways. And if you're looking for a cheap thrill, there ain't nothing cheaper than tuning the antenna or dialing the rotary phone. I didn't make those up.

If you've got some of your severance package or tax refund left, I highly recommend an awesome cheap find from Jimmy Jane: the "Indulgences Pocket Pleasure Set". It costs only $22 and is worth every penny, even the ones spent on shipping. If you happen to be in L.A., you can pick up one of these little numbers at Fred Segal.

Happy May! Happy de-stressing!

Shoes or food?

2009-05-05T17:30:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day in 88 Business Days; Day in 120 Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 120 days...since they took my job away.

Shoes or food? This is one of the tough choices every unemployed woman must make with every unemployment check deposited.

This week I chose shoes. Eek!

But aren't they just the most precious, totes gorge lil' numbers you've ever seen?! And I got them on Bluefly, so theoretically, I saved money even though I spent money. Just humor me.

Wanna see more shoes that other women put before food? Check 'em here! And here!

In order to justify their cost, I want to start getting use out of them immediately. Since I have no job or social life, this means that I've taken to wearing them around grandma's house in my pajamas.

Additionally, in order to make up for their cost, this is what I will be eating this week. My dad brought over the monthly supply of Activia from Costco! Thank Bono, cause I don't know how else I'll digest all them carbs.

And yes, that is baby's breath you see looming above the doughnuts. I live at my grandma's house. Baby's breath is a breathin' most of the air around here.

Perri, my Personal Action Coach, says I need to explore whether I simply think these shoes are pretty or whether they serve some sort of emotional need. I think it's a little bit of both.

Jobless City Challenge: Find a way to afford my latest shoe must-have by applying culinary creativity.

Money Saved: -$120 - Yes, that's negative money, but when you consider that the original cost was $475, I actually saved $355. Humor me!

Be the Butterfly: Personal Action Coach, Perri Gorman, to the Rescue!

2009-05-04T23:11:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day 87 in Business Days; Day 119 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 119 days...since they took my job away.

This just in: I have a Life Coach. Actually, she's a Personal Action Coach. That term is so hot, it ain't even on wikipedia yet. My coach is Perri Gorman and she is the founder of BE THE BUTTERFLY.

I know what you're thinking...Personal Action Coach? For realz? What could a complete stranger possibly tell you about your own life and actions that you don't already know? Besides, I already get that here. So I was incredibly skeptical before my first meeting with Perri last week. I was expecting the obvious: stop sleeping until noon, stop watching Law and Order all day, stop using the adult section on craigslist as your primary job search source, stop shooting whipped cream into your mouth at 2am while standing in front of the fridge, yes those calories do count, etc. But I kept an open mind because her background includes over 10 years as an executive recruiter, coursework at The International School of Coaching and study of feng shui. And because curiosity killed this cat. I hadn't seen her since high school. Yes, Perri and I knew one another in the days of uni-brows and foot-high hair. Mine, not hers. Perri was cool in high school; I was not.

And so, all these years later, Perri stumbled upon this here blog and offered to help me morph from my current caterpillar state into the butterfly I deserve to be.

During our first session, Perri asked me many questions about what I want to do and what steps I could take to get from point A to point B. In my case, that's from unemployed couch potato to employed story teller. Don't know what point B is? No problem! She helps you figure that out, too. Have more than one point B? Also no problem. She helps you prioritize goals. For example, I also want to get involved in more charity work, start my own production company and go back to school for my Masters. But we decided it's most important right now for me to focus on turning my writing in work. Cause a girl's gotta eat. And buy shoes. All of the questioning was more like a conversation than an interrogation, and I came to many conclusions on my own. By the end of the session, I couldn't believe that 3 hours had passed.

I walked away with a clear vision of point B and a homework assignment: email Perri with the first steps I intend to take on my path to becoming a butterfly. One of the first to-dos on the list is to declutter. Perri recommends that you declutter in three different ways:

Physical Decluttering- This is the obvious one. Get rid of anything and everything you don't need. But not so easy for me (see photos below).
Energetic Decluttering - We often put our day-to-day actions on autopilot, causing energetic clutter. This is about creating different actions that will breathe new energy into your life. In other words, try watching The Price is Right instead of Law and Order and switch up your bon bon flavor. I jest, of course.
People Decluttering - This is the toughest one, I think. This requires you to stop associating with people who stand in the way of point B. Luckily, I don't keep much people clutter. I'm wicked good at un-friending people on Facebook. Rip that bandaid off! I'm also not friends with any of my exes (including The Artist Formerly Known As My Husband). I don't have superfluous friendships and I keep those tough but necessary relationships with crazy family members at arms length. However, I think the people decluttering goes deeper than this. If I were truly free of people clutter, I would not obsess on a daily basis over my ex boyfriend, Do Wrong. I may not be in contact with him, but he continues to clutter my mind. I admit that this one will take some time.

In the meantime, I'll start with the physical decluttering. By the looks of things, I should probably get cracking. On the upside, I take pride in knowing that I have a superhero power: the ability to make any space look as though a bomb hit it using only my bare hands and the contents of two suitcases. Should this skill be on my resume? I'll have to ask Perri at our next session. Before and after photos are being posted for your enjoyment.

A room with a view.

Shoe village!

Aerial shot of my bed. Oy.

Check back for the after photos!!! And if you'd like Perri to help morph you, visit her website or email her at theperri at gmail dot com.

Jobless City Challenge: Be open-minded to new tactics and possibilities.

Money Earned: None yet, but I'm beginning to see my dollar potential.

Cheap Doings This Weekend in NYC

2009-05-01T08:05:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day 84 in Business Days; Day 116 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 116 days...since they took my job away.

It's Friday and there's still a recession. We're all looking for some inexpensive ways to pass a lovely NYC weekend. Here are some cheap goings-on that I've found.

Tribeca Film Festival

The Festival runs through Sunday, so you've still got time to check out a few flics. You can purchase tix online, but if it's the day of the show, you'll have to just show up at the theater an hour beforehand and cross your fingers. That's what I did last night for the 11pm show of Midgets vs. Mascots. This shockumentary is not for the politically correct or faint of heart. I'm fairly certain many midgets and mascots were harmed in the making of it. But hot damn, did I laugh my ass off. Who knew Gary Coleman had a third leg?! Don't ask, just go see it. There are two more shows - Saturday at 11:30pm and Sunday at 10:30pm, both at AMC Village VII. See the trailer and purchase tickets here.

WILLPILOT Show

This fantabulous band is putting on a free show Friday night (tonight!) at 11pm at Spike Hill in Williamsburg. If my last bus back to da Bronx weren't at midnight, I would so be there. Go check out their "special brand of punk soul americana" for FREE! They're worth a trip out to hipster-land, I promise.

The Iron Mule Comedy Film Festival

On the first Saturday night of every month, this group hosts an evening of hilarious short films. They're back this Saturday night with 6 new movies and their very first short from Norway! Join them for the screening at 8pm and after party at 92YTribeca. Tickets are $10, which is still cheaper than going to see the latest shitty blockbuster for $12.50.

Comedy Night at BAMcafé

BAMcafé Live is holding a free comedy night on Saturday, May 2 at 9:30pm as part of their 1- Year Anniversary celebration. The lineup looks great (including Wyatt Cenac from The Daily Show), so I plan to schlep my ass from da Bronx to Brooklyn to check this out. Did I mention that it's FREE???!!!

Being jobless and poor is no excuse to sit on your fat ramen butt and watch every incarnation of Law & Order all weekend. Elliott and Olivia will still be there on Monday, I promise. Get up, go out and save some moolah!

Interested in having me write about your cheap NYC doings here? Email me! It's easier than writing yet another cover letter and I'm way cuter than your recruiter.

Hi Ho Sailors!: A Bronx Tale in Photos

2009-04-28T10:46:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day 81 in Business Days; Day 113 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 113 days...since they took my job away.

Since I'm not sporting a gym membership these days and I happen to have cute new little running shorts, I decided to try to find the Maritime College campus that was supposedly 10 minutes away from G-ma's house, according to Great Uncle Nick who lives downstairs. If I've gotta live up in da Bronx and put much of my Manhattan social life on hold, why not cougar it up and try to find me a hot, young, local sailor? However, according to a conversation with friends the other night, I'm actually not a Cougar, but rather a Puma, because I'm young-ish and don't have any money. I can dig that. And seriously, all the older men I date have the maturity of infants, so why not at least find one who still has all his hair and a six pack?

There have got to be plenty of these young Navy fellas looking to earn an extra stripe. Are stripes what sailors earn? Do you dare me to find out?

Why do people in da Bronx with minuscule backyards insist on having a gazebo? You live in da Bronx. Your gazebo won't give you a Westchester zip code. Schmucks.

Welcome to the Maritime Academy! Welcome, indeed.

Navy? Yes, please!

Which way to the sailors? Only one way!

There's my pretty track, right on the water.

Pretty, pretty water. I'm just gonna lean over to get a better look at ya. Oh, please, help me! I've fallen over the thick metal barricade and over all of those rocks and into the water that's two feet deep! Somebody in uniform please come to my rescue! My shadow is ready for sailors, too.
Da Throg's Neck bridge, yo.

Gosh, can you even believe I'm still in the Bronx? I wish this blog had a scratch 'n sniff option, cause this is the smell of heaven.

This is where I should be hanging out. If I'm going to Puma it up with someone 10 years my junior, he should at least be 1st Class.

Hmmm. A whale. Is it mechanical? I'll ride that mechanical whale.

The President's house. I wonder if there's a First Lady...

Do you think if I pitched a tent in the fort they would charge me rent?

A ship! I must be getting close!

I'm in the parking lot now. Taking a picture of a cadet's car. Living on the edge. Cause dat's how we roll up in da Bronx. East side, yo. "For God, For Country, For Freedom"...For Me!

Look really closely. No, not all of you at once! Jeez! Okay, one at a time. See them? See? Playing volleyball on a sand court way up in the distance? We're getting close!

Ooh ooh! There's one! Running way up ahead of me. Can you see him? Way way ahead? Shit, he's too fast. I thought I was supposed to be a freaking Puma! What the frak?! I'm sure I look totally normal...trying to run fast enough to catch up to my prey while holding a camera in front of my face and adjusting the zoom lens. A vision of hotness indeed. Puma it up, girlfriend! Live the dream!

The sun is going to set soon, so alas, it's over the Throg's Neck and through da hood to grandmother's house I go. No sailor contact made today, but still a successful scouting mission. I think I'll go running tomorrow!

THE END

Jobless City Challenge: Get exercise with no gym membership. Find young man who doesn't come from an interweb dating site. Explore new territory. Smell the ocean.

Dollars Saved: $96 (the cost of one month's membership at New York Sports Club)

Awesome Cheap Find: Running Shorts

2009-04-27T18:43:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day 80 in Business Days; Day 112 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 112 days...since they took my job away.

Since I can't afford a gym membership right now, I've decided that it's time to start running again. The weather is getting gorgeous and all the unemployed, depression-induced macaroons smeared in peanut butter haven't exactly kept me svelte.

I decided that I needed some new running clothes, but didn't want to splurge on the Juicy Couture track suit that seems to be the requisite workout attire up here in da Bronx. And so I went slumming in Old Navy. It's not that I have a problem with inexpensive clothing - I'm always on the prowl for a good deal. I just have a problem with the mass markety, uniform-ness of Old Navy. I don't want to be wearing what every other person on the street is wearing. And ok, fine, I think the stuff just looks cheap. But when you're sweating like a pig running through the northeast Bronx, you don't really need to be a fashionista.

So yes, I went to Old Navy. And I found the MOST AWESOME little running shorts! For $10 a pair! What makes these little shorts so amazing is the built-in brief made of breath-through material, allowing you to go commando (sans underwear). I know, I know, I can't believe either that I put a piece of clothing from Old Navy right up against my hoo ha. But I'm telling you, these shorts are worth it. And there's a teeny little inside pocket for your key! Brilliant!

They also make my booty look fantastic. I tried to take a picture to show you, but it's really hard to take a picture of your own butt when you don't know how to work the timer on your camera.

They also come in a gazillion colors, but seem to only carry 3 colors on the web site. You might just have to go slumming in person like me if you want to pick up the pretty purple ones I got.

Jobless City Challenge: Find running shorts for wicked cheap.

Money Saved: About $20.

The Jewelry Jihad

2009-04-27T10:16:00.000-07:00

Unemployment: Day 80 in Business Days; Day 112 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 112 days...since they took my job away.

I had a dream last night, or rather, a nightmare. It was the day I was laid off. It was actually the same exact scene as that fateful morning back in January. The only difference? The reason. And the fighter planes outside the window. It'll help you to know that I worked for a jewelry company. Here's how it went down:

Horrible Boss #1 with Orange Hair: I'm just gonna get right to the point - we have to make cutbacks and you're on the list to go.

Horrible Boss #2 with Orange Face: It's not performance-based.

Horrible Boss #1 with Orange Hair: It's because of the jewelry jihad.

Fighter plane races past window.

Horrible Boss #2 with Orange Face: Yes, the jewelry jihad.

Horrible Boss #1 with Orange Hair: We need you to leave right now. And leave your jewelry behind for the jihad.

I woke up panting and thrashing about in cold-sweat covered sheets. Gross. At least at grandma's house there's laundry in the building. I sat up and grabbed my blackberry, it's blue glow illuminating the crucifix above the headboard. I looked at the clock. 3am.

I stripped the bed and went down to the cellar. It's amazing the way the walk down those steps smells like a million moments from my childhood all at once.

I threw the wash in and sat on top of the washing machine, letting the sound and movement lull me into deep thought. Why is there a religious war against jewelry? Why was I on the wrong side of it? Why am I only finding out about this jihad 4 months later? Isn't this something they should have brought up during my review? If I join the jihad, will I get health insurance?

This isn't the first nightmare I've had recently. Last week I dreamt that my ex-boyfriend, a.k.a. Do Wrong, was attacked by a knife-wielding maniac in an alley. No, I wasn't the maniac. I don't know what any of these nightmares mean. Interpretations are welcome. Until I can afford me some expensive therapy, I'll just have to settle for free laundry downstairs.

Jobless Adventure: Face unemployment demons of subconscious in middle of the night. Get rewarded with laundry in the building.

Money Saved: $10 per laundry session (I'm using "drop off" prices). Although I probably need to start seeing a shrink again for about $200 a session. Maybe I could settle in the middle and just go get another happy lucky massage for 69 bucks. But there is something so indescribably therapeutic about seeing laundry hanging on a line, isn't there?

Beads in the Belfry

2009-04-24T16:14:00.000-07:00

Unemployment - Day 79 in Business Days; Day 109 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 109 days...since they took my job away.

I go back and forth on almost a daily basis trying to decide whether or not Facebook is the greatest thing since Bono's voice or a complete and utter detriment to my productivity and society in general. Today I think Facebook is just plain delovely.

Through the FB, I have reconnected with my friend Nina from high school. She is now a talented jewelry designer with her own jewelry

business up and running. It's called Beads in the Belfry and the pieces are all handcrafted by Nina herself. She has given me the opportunity to host an online jewelry party for Beads in the Belfry over the next week. Mother's Day and graduations are a comin, so this is a great time to buy her handcrafted artisan jewelry. And if the beautiful jewelry isn't incentive enough, every purchase made by one of my peoples gets me a 20% cut.

My favorite piece, featured above, is called Gallactica Heavenly. I like it because big rings rock, plus it makes me think of Battlestar Gallactica, the greatest television show to ever grace a Friday night. It's $150. But there are many less expensive pieces if you're unemployed like me but still want to give mom something swell. My other favorite piece, par example, is the Copper Kalimba ring (at right) which is $35.

We all get to be winners here people. You get to give a unique piece of handmade jewelry to your mother, grandma, sister, daughter, mistress or your mistress' mother or grandma instead of a tacky bouquet from flowers.com called "Elegant Wishes" or "Abundant Love" (I didn't even make those up). Mothers secretly hate that crap. So do mistresses. And mistress' grandma's? Don't get me started.

And did I mention the free gift? Yes, every purchase gets a free gift! I'm hoping that my free gift is something I can eat or live in.

As for Nina, she gets a happy new customer. And me? Well, maybe, just maybe, I get to eat next week with my 20% cut. But only if you mention my name when you check out!

As Destiny's Child says, "Say my name, say my name!"

Oh, and my name is Barri. Sounds like Manilow (at right).

The party runs from Saturday, April 25, 2009 - Saturday, May 2, 2009. Visit the shop here: http://beadsinthebelfry.etsy.com/.

For more information or to host your own party, contact Nina at beadsinthebelfry@gmail.com.

Jobless City Challenge: Tool around on Facebook, reconnect with an old friend and ask YOU to support a young jewelry designer.

Money Saved/Earned: 20% of Nina's hard-earned dough! I'm no mathmagician, but I believe that equals zero unless you make a purchase now!

My Happy Ending. Yes, the dirty kind.

2009-04-22T16:40:00.001-07:00

Unemployment: Day 77 in Business Days; Day 107 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 107 days...since they took my job away.

I have a job interview tomorrow. A huge job interview. For a great job. With a fantastic company that shall remain nameless. This potential situation has been in the works for 2 months. I've already met with a big wig there twice. Tomorrow I meet with five more people. I've been in anxious anticipation of this meeting for what seems like eons. And yet tonight, as I near the verge of what everyone keeps telling me is such an amazing opportunity, I find myself terrified and sick to my stomach. No no, not for reasons you'd assume. I'm not very nervous about the interviews. Nope, that would be too easy for a complicated freak like me. What I'm terrified of is that they'll love me, make me an offer I can't refuse, and put me back behind a desk and in pumps, stripping away all this freedom I've enjoyed for the past three months.

I know, I know, this so-called "freedom" that I speak of hasn't been all fun and games, that's for sure. I lost my apartment. I'm shacking up with grandma in da Bronx. I question my self worth on a daily basis. I got a little fat. And then too skinny. And then a little fat again. My social life is in the crapper. I've contemplated doing all sorts of ridonculous things for money, ranging from giving blood to donating eggs to being a dominatrix. So it hasn't all been a bed of roses.

But there has been a silver lining. I've had the chance to travel a little bit, albeit on a Payless-shoestring budget. And I've had the time to focus on a lot of my creative endeavors. And I've made such considerable headway in stalking my ex-boyfriend online! Restraining order, here I come! Major thank you, by the way, to my dear friend Missy, who told me today that everyone goes crazy and stalks their ex and wants to scream at them "I love you! I hate you! I love you!" I'm not sure I believe her. I don't think my robot of an ex is experiencing those urges. But it makes me feel better knowing that at least Missy does.

But back to me! I'm terrified of having this newfound freedom taken away from me. Poorness and idleness and Law-&-Order-ness aside, it's been nice to have "me" time. It's been nice to think about what's truly important to me and how I really want to earn a living for the rest of my life when I stop eating macaroons and get off my fat ass.

But I've got to give this interview my very best shot regardless of these last-minute jitters.

I always get a manicure before a big interview. I haven't had reason to get a manicure for a while. I was gonna just go to Jenny's Lucky Nail on Tremont Ave up here in da Bronx (do you think "Jenny From the Block" is her jam?), but when I was downtown today, I passed a new spa on Lex and 80th. They were having a grand opening, 30% off special, so even though it was Manhattan prices, the discount kept it within my poor ass budget. While Kim, the very smiley Korean woman, filed away at my nails, my heart pounded as I dwelled on my potential amazing opportunity slash prison sentence. So when Kim offered me a special half-price 1-hour massage, I decided to splurge on some pre-interview relaxation.

So, um...have you ever heard of a Happy Ending? Um, right, who hasn't. (I just chuckled to myself at having capitalized "Happy Ending," like it's something official like a book title. "How to Win Happy Endings and Influence People!" "Who Moved My Happy Ending?" "Rich Dad, Poor Happy Ending" "HAPPY ENDING!" Ok, just had to try that on for size. The immaturity stops here, I promise you. For now.) I always assumed Happy Endings were the stuff of urban legends...of Playboy, soft core porn, college boy fantasies. Until today.

I didn't exactly receive a Happy Ending. That would require a penis, I think. And an...um...ending. But Kim did get a little freaky with her fingers at one point. Okay, it happened twice. Oh dear me! The first time my butt clenched as a reflex and I let out a mini yelp, but I gave good old Kim the benefit of the doubt and assumed it was an honest slip of the wrist. Down there. For 10 seconds.

But the second time?! Really?! That's when I realized I must be the lucky recipient of some uptown massage table action. It didn't happen at the end of the massage. And it wasn't...um...completed. So I don't think Happy Ending is the appropriate terminology. Let's call it a "Content Middle." Turns out you don't have to go to Jenny's Lucky Nails in da Bronx to get lucky.

I wonder if this job I'm up for is a "Content Middle." A little tease that would keep me somewhat satiated for a bit, but not really the big bang Happy Ending that I crave and need. And don't I deserve that Happy Ending? A real, true, honest to Bono explosion of fireworks that makes me giddy at the thought of the alarm going off on Monday morning? I guess all I can do for now is go to the interview, give it my best shot, and hope that one day I get lucky...and happy, at the workplace.

Kim, wherever you are tonight, I want you to know, as rap group '2 Live Crew' said so sweetly back in '89, "Me so horny. Me love you long time." And can I add tip to the credit card?

In other news, I think I buried the lead.

Jobless City Challenge: Take a chance on a new establishment in order to save 30% and get unexpected nookie bonus.

Money Saved: About $35. Special Price Manicure and Massage Complete with "Content Middle" - $69. Cheaper then a membership on J Date! And no, the irony of the total cost is not lost on me AT ALL.

Over the Throg's Neck and Through the Hood to Grandmother's House I Go

2009-04-10T07:30:00.000-07:00

Unemployment - Day 69 in Business Days; Day 95 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 95 days...since they took my job away.

The rent in my lovely Brooklyn apartment that I adored was $1500 a month. With no paychecks coming in since January, in March I had to make the tough decision to give up my apartment and stay with family for a bit. And so I put everything I own (with the exception of two suitcases) into storage and made my way over the Throg's Neck and through the hood to Grandmother's house in the Bronx. For anyone else who is unemployed, trying to save money, and moving, I highly recommend that you avoid hitting your dad's car with a U-Haul truck on moving day. I also recommend that you don't leave your MacBook in the cab of the truck and then return the truck after business hours, only to realize later that night that your laptop is missing.

When living out of two suitcases at your grandma's house, it can be tough to choose what to bring with you and what should stay in storage until your life stops sucking so hard. Here's how I handled this conundrum...

Top 5 Things You Leave off the packing List:

Condoms - Somehow I don't think I can bring myself to utter the words, "Hey sexy, how about you hop on the express bus to Throg's Neck with me and come back to my grandma's house for some hot booty moth ball action. Grandma'll make us a nice frittata in the morning." Shudder.
Any shoe with a heel over 1 inch - The walk from the bus stop to grandma's house is half a mile. Unpaved. Uphill. Both ways.
Tofu - Or any other food product that will confuse the crap out of grandma. When grandma found my tofu in the fridge, I spent an hour trying to explain to her what it is. She has Alzheimer's, so I have to tell her what tofu is about 5 times a day.
Handcuffs - The headboard in the guest room probably dates back to the old country. Additionally, see #1.
Strobe Light - Or anything else that might induce a seizure.

Top 5 Things You Do Pack

A copy of A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf - To serve as a daily reminder of why you are living at grandma's in the Bronx instead of sleeping in your best friend's living room between the turtle aquarium (equipped with turtle that enjoys doing backflips at 2am) and the coffee grinder that's programmed to automatically grind every morning at 6:00 am.
Tank tops, shorts, flip flops, ice packs - Grandma likes to keep the thermostat at a healthy 78 degrees.
Wifi Router - Grandma heard of the internet once and thinks it's the Devil.
Ear Plugs - So that when the TV volume is turned up to 11 because grandma is hard of hearing, you can concentrate on something other than the current Turner Classic Movie.
Prunes - Hey, when in Rome...

Jobless City Challenge - Swallow Pride, Give Up Apartment and Stay With Family

Dollars Saved - $1500/month

Zitamin Daughter

2009-04-03T17:24:00.000-07:00

Unemployment - Day 64 in Business Days; Day 88 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 88 days...since they took my job away.

Today The New York Times reported that the unemployment rate has risen to 8.5%. http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/04/business/economy/04jobs.html?_r=1&hp

I’m not sure if that’s supposed to make me feel better or worse about my personal unemployment predicament. More unemployed people is more competition for jobs. But it does make me feel less alone.

Unemployment is hard. It is depressing. It is LONELY. It can turn even the most active, creative person into a human bowl of mush. Due to my own mushiness of late, I have been unable to write here for a while. The stages that the unemployed person goes through on the way to mush are as follows:

STAGE 1 – Excitement at the weight lifted from shoulders after being released from wretched job and awarded decent severance package.

STAGE 2 – Realization that decent severance package will only last for so long followed by decision to get fun, part-time work while pursuing passions.

STAGE 3 – Realization of non-existence of fun, part-time work and unprofitability of passions. Beginnings of panic appear. A bag of Fritos and episode of Law & Order: SVU here and there provide temporary relief.

STAGE 4 – Realization of non-existence of even the most miserable work. Panic in full force. Frito and Haagen Dazs consumption increased, along with size of ass. While on dates, your referral to characters from Law & Order: SVU by first names is alarming.

STAGE 5 – Work is a distant memory and becoming a seemingly future impossibility. Instead of going on dates, you decide to spend a quiet Friday night at home watching Elliott and Olivia on an SVU marathon while googling your ex-boyfriend. Corner deli has no more Fritos or Haagen Dazs. You eat a whole package of raw cookie dough and discover merits of peanut butter spread on coconut macaroons. What? It’s protein.

STAGE 6 – You stay up until 3am on a regular basis for no reason and do not rise until 11am. You plan your daylight hours around USA, TBS and TNT’s programming of various Law & Order shows. Your proudest recent accomplishment is knowing exactly which network is playing which Law & Order when and coordinating the changing of channels so that you never have to leave your Law & Order induced fog. Google has saved your ex-boyfriend’s name as a default search, including variations with his middle initial and with his current state of residency. You only shower if you plan to leave the house and you don’t leave the house very often, so you do the math. You are officially a human bowl of mush.

Various people in my life have begun to take notice of my mushiness. My stepmother sent me an email yesterday with a link for cool blogging tools. The subject line of the email read: “For the blog that you are not writing.” Ouch. My friend Dave posted a snarky comment on my facebook page two days ago publicly pointing out that I have no recent posts. “Where has your writing spirit gone?” he asked. Double ouch. My ass told me it was going to start kicking itself if I didn’t get up off of it sometime soon. Triple ouch.

And so, at the urging of my step mom, the fear of further facebook taunts by Dave, and the threats of my own derriere, I am back.

And…drumroll, please…

Yesterday I worked! Yes, it was only a 1-day job, but it felt great to be useful, productive and around other people. I’m learning that these are the basic things that the employed person takes for granted.

I was hired to be an improv performer for the product launch of a new low-cal beverage being made by a popular beverage company. I probably shouldn’t say the name of the product here, so let’s just say that it rhymes with Zitamin Daughter. So, Zitamin Daughter took over a large portion of Union Square yesterday from 9am-7pm. The theme of the event was fitness and all the ways that you can burn 10 calories just by doing normal activities (10 calories since this new drink only has 10 calories). My job was to portray an overzealous fitness instructor while wearing a ridiculous fitness outfit provided by Zitamin Daughter, including headband and wristbands. Hot.

But the outfit wasn’t the only hot thing. The day was hot. Sunnier and warmer than we all expected, resulting in hilarious wristband and headband tan lines. Drenched in sweat and bedecked in dumpy black sweatpants, I didn’t feel like I looked too hot. However, I did somehow manage to get a marriage proposal. It went down like this:

Short Scruffy Middle-aged Man Bearing Resemblance to Mom’s Horrible Ex-Boyfriend: I just gotta come over here to say you are a beautiful woman.

Sweaty “Fitness Instructor” Not in the Mood: Um, thank you. Did you know that new Zitamin Daughter10 only has 10 calories per serving?

Short Scruffy: You are so beautiful, like a princess. Let me take you out to dinner at a real classy joint.

Sweaty: How about instead you try a Zitamin Daughter10 in Pomegranate Blueberry? It’s naturally sweetened!

Short Scruffy: I’m Italian and we treat women good. Gimme a chance to treat you good like a queen.

Sweaty: Zitamin Daughter10 has all the vitamins you need for the day. Have one in Orange-Orange! Now!!!

Short Scruffy: Aw, come on, I would marry you and treat you good like an angel.

Sweaty: Sir, I don’t think my boyfriend would like that. So you need to take a Zitamin Daughter10 and walk away. Tropical Burst is full of awesome deliciousness!

Short Scruffy: Ha. You ain’t got no boyfriend. You’re pretty like a princess, but I can tell you, you ain’t got no boyfriend.

Sweaty: I do so have a boyfriend and I also have a security guard 10 feet away who will escort you out if you don’t leave now.

Short Scruffy: When you wanna stop lying and get treated like the princess I know you are deep inside, I’ll be here and we’ll go for a real classy Italian meal. You ain’t got no boyfriend. Bitch.

Bitch? Fine. There are worse things to be called. What bothered me more about this douche bag is that he called me out on my lie: I have no boyfriend. It made me wonder…Is that just what every stupid man says when a woman he’s hitting on says she has a boyfriend? Or is it written all over my face that I have no boyfriend and I desperately want one? Is it also written on my face that I have no job and desperately want one?

This got me thinking – If given the choice, would I rather score a job or a boyfriend right now? And which is harder to land these days in New York City? According to an article today from The New York Observer, “In the greater New York area, single women outnumber single men by 210,000.” Awesome! (http://www.observer.com/2008/straight-women-new-york-citys-mating-market-worst-country)

Equally depressing, on March 26th The New York Times reported that there are currently 335,000 unemployed people in New York City, almost double the amount unemployed one year ago. Rad! (http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/27/nyregion/27unemployed.html?ref=nyregion)

I’m no mathmagician. I’m still trying to calculate how many times I’ve showered this week. But it looks to me like I won’t be landing a job or a boyfriend anytime soon. Maybe it’s time to just buy a camcorder, pack a few Zitamin Daughters for the road, and go gallivanting to foreign places for a bit…

Jobless City Challenge: Work for 1 day for Zitamin Daughter

Dollars Saved/Earned: Approximately $200

Humiliation Earned: Negligible, as I told no one I’d be doing this

Sunburn Earned: Worthwhile. How often does one get to show off an armband tan line? Not often enough, that’s what I say.

No Line on the Horizon

2009-03-03T15:24:00.000-08:00

Unemployment - Day 42 in Business Days; Day 58 in Human Days

It's been 7 hours and 58 days...since they took my job away.

"I want to feel sunlight on my face. I see the dust clouds disappear without a trace."

The sun shone. The sky bright blued. The snow reflected, blinding like love. The air crisped and the wind walloped wildly. It was the afternoon of March 3rd and the smell of fresh U2 filled the streets of New York City like honeysuckle in summer.

What makes this day so special? Why, it's U2-sday!

U2's new album, No Line on the Horizon, was released today. I've only listened to it 4 times all the way through, so it's still a bit early on to give a detailed review. I plan to dissect each track on this here blog over the next week, so stay tuned. What I will say right now is that I was excited to hear sounds on the album reminiscent of the band's very first album, Boy. I fully support the reinvention of U2 throughout the years, and I do believe that is it only through constant self-discovery and experimentation that a band can stay relevant and capture new and younger listeners. However, it was loverly to hear a connection to U2 olden days.

Usually when a new U2 album comes out, I wait in line the night before at whatever music store is doing a midnight release so that I can purchase the actual, tangible album (deluxe edition, of course) as soon as is humanly and crazy-fan-ly possible. This time around, though, I decided to forgo the midnight mission and instead buy the album first thing in the morning on iTunes. I feel guilty about abandoning my tradition and not owning a physical copy of the album, but I have a few sound reasons:

1) The snow. I've braved a plethora of outdoor elements for my boys over the years, but I'm only willing to stand overnight in slush for the possibility of actual contact with the band.

2) I'm officially couch-surfing (more on that some other time - today is about U2). I have a limited amount of space in the two suitcases out of which I'm living. As someone who is out of work and homeless, I must lead a simple material life and only carry on my back the belongings of absolute necessity. How can I possibly add a CD to a suitcase containing 7 pairs of shoes and a 6-month supply of Devachan conditioner? Nope, time to scale down.

3) Dough. It costs less money to download the deluxe edition of No Line on the Horizon than to buy the physical album. That's money I can use to pad and insulate the cardboard box I'll sleep in later this year when U2 concert tickets go on sale. Wait -- if I'm already living in a cardboard box, and then I bring the cardboard box to the concert venue for waiting in line overnight, does that mean that I own a mobile home? Hmmm.

All in all, it's been a glorious U2 day. I received many communications today from various friends with U2 sightings, thoughts on the new album, and good old U2-sday well wishes. Even a man I went on two dates with six months ago and never heard from since found me on gmail chat to share a U2 story. I love it. I love being that U2 girl. I love being the first person that people think of when something U2-y happens. It just makes me feel all warm and Bono-y inside.

But I have mixed feelings about one particular person who sent me U2 communications today. Yup, that's right. The Artist Formerly Know As My Husband. He sent me a text AND an email to let me know that the band was having lunch at Maison on 53rd and Broadway with Mayor Bloomberg. "Happy Bono hunting" he said. Immediately I laughed and texted back with a meaningful song lyric. But as the day wore on, I grew more and more irritated by the messages. Yes, I'm happy to receive any information on the band's whereabouts, especially since the tragic demise of the Bono-Radar. But do I want to receive it from TAFKAMH?

U2 was always my thing. My obsession. My religion. The one thing that brought me more peace and joy than anything else. And today is an extremely important day in my U2 world. A high holy day. And while I certainly don't object to anybody else worshipping U2, I'm not so sure I want The Artist Formerly Known As My Husband trying to enter my U2 temple and interrupt my U2 bliss.

I tried to turn the tables and think of what I would do in his position. If I saw Batman on the street, I would think immediately of The Artist Formerly Known As My Husband. It would be an involuntary reflex. But would I call him to tell him? I can't help thinking -- What would Bono do?

Jobless City Challenge: Buy new U2 album on iTunes. The cheapest I was able to find a physical copy of the deluxe edition is for $23.08. I purchased it on iTunes for $17.99.

Money Saved: $5.09! Also probably saved a tree.

I Left My Heart in San Francisco

2009-02-14T20:08:00.000-08:00

Unemployment - Day 40 in Human Days; Day 29 in Business Days

It’s been 7 hours and 40 days…since they took my job away.

"I've been terribly alone and forgotten in Manhattan. I'm going home to my city by the bay. I left my heart in San Francisco..."

It is Valentine's Day in San Francisco and I can't get Tony Bennett out of my head. No job, no Valentine, and a new city make for one contemplative gal. While I may not have come to San Francisco with a Valentine, I am certainly leaving this city with one.

The love affair began as soon as I arrived on Wednesday night and has been hot and heavy since. Well, more like cold and rainy, but you get the idea. Nothing like 50 degrees with a 110% chance of showers to get you in the mood! (Mental note: Bikini and sandals not required for next trip to San Francisco in February. Heck, razor not required either. The standard uniform seems to be a North Face vest. Sigh. What’s a NYC girl to do? But as we say in the dating world, that’s “fixable.” Like bad facial hair on an awesome guy – fixable.)

So I can get past your lackluster fashion. Especially since it's been years since I've fallen this hard. I know the makings of that uncontrollable ‘L’ word all too well. I recognize this bud immediately for what it is. Crap – I am falling in love yet again. As I walk up your hills, in and out of your shops and down toward your bay, my heart swells. My chest pounds with excitement as I turn each corner, wrapped in your arms of fog. There’s something thrilling about only being able to see two feet in front of my face. Anything can happen – good or bad – and I walk into you blindly.

You reveal yourself to me one fog-a-licious piece at a time. City Lights, Chinatown, The Mission…all worth the burn in my thighs and damage to my new boots…the effects of navigating your steep streets. Working this hard to get from one place to the next makes each destination that much more pleasurable. Even Alcatraz adds to your allure…a bad boy side to your clean-cut, ever-recycling self. Heart, have you met Sleeve? Oh yes, says Heart. I live on this gal’s Sleeve.

I imagine that I’m living here with you. Spending every day with you. I could do it. I could just leave NYC. Cara, my amazing friend and tour guide, tells me that in San Francisco, people don’t care if you’re an i-banker or a barista at Starbucks – everyone hangs out with everybody. And it’s a rare thing for people to talk about their work when they’re being social. How delightfully European! What a wonderful thing, I think, particularly since I don’t have any work to talk about these days. My typical NYC conversation these days goes like this:

Potentially Awesome Guy with Soul Patch (fixable): So what do you do for a living? I’m an i-banker who pulls in 200k before bonus.

Awesome Gal Who Has Taken Great Care to Remove Facial Hair: I don’t do anything right now. (awkward chuckle, flip of curls)

Potentially Awesome Guy with Soul Patch (fixable): But what do you do for money?

Awesome Gal Who Has Taken Great Care to Remove Facial Hair: I collect unemployment. For now. But I have great potential…um, as an earner. And as a creator. I think I’ve got a novel in me. And a film. It’s a post-apocalyptic comedy of errors.

Silence.

Awesome Gal Who Has Taken Great Care to Remove Facial Hair: And I’ve got birthing hips.

Silence.

Awesome Gal Who Has Taken Great Care to Remove Facial Hair: And a flat-screen TV. With HD.

Bueller? Potentially Awesome scratches his soul patch and checks Blackberry. Not so awesome after all.

I think of Manhattan briefly and wonder if it’s thinking about me. Does it miss me? Does it even know I’m gone? Will it accuse me upon my return of cheating on its mean streets? Or does it barely notice I’m not there what with its 8 million other lovers?

My friend Cara volunteers at the Old First Church in San Francisco. She goes there on Saturdays and serves dinner to the homeless. Her friend Jeff and his dad cook this dinner for 150 people. On Valentine’s Day, I went with her to serve dinner. I was already in love with this city, but I wanted to see a side that tourists don’t see. It’s easy to fall in love when all you see is a beautiful, cobble-stoned marina and a quaint farmer’s market with over-priced gourmet fig spreads (and chilaciles that makes you think you’ve died and gone to scrambled egg heaven). I wanted to see all of San Francisco. I’d rather know my lover’s idiosyncrasies and dirty little secrets sooner rather than suffer shock and disappointment later. (Jaded? Who, me?)

I’m not gonna lie – homeless people smell. Not good. But so many of the people I met on Valentine’s Day weren’t “bums.” Many were just people down on their luck. A job lost, some poor planning, and bam – you’re out on the street. I talked to a man named Arthur. That’s my dad’s name, I told him. And I’m Barri. Why’d your dad name such a pretty girl after a boy?, he asked. He told me it was a shame for a beautiful woman like myself to only come to the church dinner once, but that he just might move to New York City to see me again. I laughed. To my surprise, it wasn’t a fake laugh. He asked what I did for a living and I said that I’m out of work right now. He looked at me and nodded. That’s tough, he said. It’s not easy. But you’re a bright gal, you’ll get back on your feet…just don’t forget who you are. He didn’t quite understand why I was serving dinner to a bunch of homeless men on a Saturday night, and Valentine’s Day to boot! You could be out seeing the city, he said. I think you’re out of your mind to be here. But I thank you for it.

And so my love this Valentine’s Day is San Francisco. My Valentines are my friend Cara and all of the lovely people she introduced to me…Arthur and all the other diners at the Old First Church…and the city of San Francisco itself. But the next time I come home to you, San Francisco, it'd be swell if, as Tony says, “your golden sun would shine for me.” In the meantime, I leave a piece of my heart with you.

Jobless City Adventure – Serve Homeless Dinner in San Francisco
Money Saved: Cost of Dinner, ~ $50. Experience: priceless

The Wheel Deal

2009-02-09T17:46:00.000-08:00

Unemployment - Day 35 in Human Days; Day 25 in Business Days

It's been 7 hours and 35 days...since they took my job away.

I write today from Los Angeles, CA. It's my birthday. My 30th birthday. On a fateful November day three months ago, while I still had a steady paycheck, I decided that I wanted to spend this momentous milestone somewhere other than New York City. I had a broken heart and a chill in my bones, neither of which showed signs of departing anytime soon. If they won't go away, I thought, I'll go away. Two days later I booked my flight to LA.

Even with a job I needed to do the trip on the cheap, so I arranged to stay with my stepbrother, who so far has turned out to be a host and playa of incomparable talent. When I lost my job, I seriously considered canceling this entire trip. But four of my friends had also booked flights to join me. I couldn't be a no-show for my own birthday party. Not to mention the fact that a refund for my flight was out of the question, especially now that airlines have begun charging fees every time you use extra oxygen to sneeze or burp. The money was spent; the trip was on.

Under better economic times, I would normally take a car service to the airport. But I heard that it was possible to take the subway to JFK, and if I could do it without dying, I could potentially save forty bucks. That's forty bucks that I could use to buy a plastic tarp and welcome mat for my cardboard box. And so I hopped onto the MTA web site to search for this magical mystery route. Turns out it wasn't just an urban legend. From Brooklyn you can take the J/Z to the JFK Airtrain at Sutphin Blvd. (The J/Z train is not to be confused with rapper Jay-Z, who according to wikipedia may or may not have gotten his name from the J/Z train lines when he had to take the subway to the airport in the days before he made it big.)

And so, on the day of my departure, I applied a final coat of lip gloss, put on my indigo dress coat and caramel knee-high boots, heaved my laptop and oversized purse onto my shoulder, and ventured down the stairs of my building with a suitcase that had just made it into the next weight class with the three extra pairs of shoes that I shoved into it at the last minute. (Mental note: In future, close suitcase at least two hours prior to departure and refuse to open it even when last-minute packing urges reach unbearable heights. Also, stop writing run-on sentences.)

In retrospect, maybe I should've done a dry run the day beforehand of the icy walk from my apartment to the J/Z subway. I would never produce a show without a dress rehearsal, so I don't know why I choose to embark on my endeavors off of the stage without rehearsing. Must be all my improv training...life haphazardly imitating art. The 10-block walk over patches of salty ice with my 50-pound suitcase in tow was far from pleasant. Especially when one of the suitcase wheels broke. But the little voice in my head kept pushing me forward...forty bucks forty bucks forty bucks. I turned a muddy corner and the green awning of the Hewes Street station appeared in the distance like the Emerald Palace. There's no place like LA, there's no place like LA, there's no place like LA.

The Hewes Street J/Z subway station is elevated, which was highly convenient for my situation. I stood at the bottom of the steps and looked up at the staircase before me. I made it through a half mile of ice and hidden puddles through the depths of Mordor...I could make it up these steps. I dragged the suitcase one step at a time. I think sometime halfway up I even began muttering "heave ho, heave ho, heave ho." It's hard to say for sure -- there wasn't much oxygen reaching my brain at that point. I just want to take a moment to point out that three Hasidic men passed me on the way up the steps and not one offered to assist me. One even bumped into me and then gave me a dirty look as if I was some vile pest who owed him an apology. This is not the first time I've encountered rudeness from the men of this community in my neighborhood. But I'm here to tell stories, not pass judgement, so I'll get on with the story.

I wouldn't be able to get my suitcase past the normal entrance, so I made my way to the black metal emergency door. I turned toward the booth and made eye contact with the husky woman perched inside. (She was no Barb.) I pulled out my Metrocard, pointed to my luggage, and smiled a smile that if it could talk would say, "Hi there, kind MTA woman! I am just a poor, lonely traveler who seeks your kind assistance on my arduous journey. Please, dear lady, recognize my need, accept my tole, and let me pass." Smile smile smile. I swiped my Metrocard and turned back to the booth. Smile smile smile. I tried to open the large metal door, but it was still locked. I turned to the booth once again. Smile smile smile. She just stared at me. I flashed my pearly whites again and pointed to the door. Smile smile smile. Nothing. Um...smile?

The booth woman began shouting at me and motioning with both her arms. "Girl, you gotta turn da wheel!" Ohhhhh, a wheel. I have to turn a wheel. Of course. How silly of me to just expect doors to magically open. My journey would be long and hard, and I would have to pass many challenges along the way if I were to save forty dollars. A wheel challenge made complete sense. I went back to the metal door and looked for the wheel. I didn't see it. I looked back at the woman. "Girl, turn da wheel!" Alright, okay! Hmmm, maybe if I outstretch my arms in the 10 and 2 position as if my hands are on a steering wheel, the wheel will materialize and show itself to me, I thought. I put my hands up and began to drive. No wheel. I looked at the woman again. I'm sorry, I said, I don't see the wheel. Could you come out here and show me the wheel? Or maybe give me a hint on how to find it? A riddle maybe? Do I have to pull a sword out of stone to activate the wheel mechanism? Put a wooden stake through the eye of Cyclops?

"Jesus Christ, girl! What's wrong with you?! Turn da wheel!"

I looked back at the door. I'm thinking too big a picture, I thought. It must be a little wheel. One that's opened with just two fingers. I focused my energy on the door knob, trying to discover the tiny wheel that must surely be nearby. But I would still need more information if I was to win this challenge, make it through the door and save forty dollars. I shouted to the booth woman again. "Seriously, I don't see the wheel. I'm trying very hard to find it. Could you give me more specific instructions? Is there a diagram?"

"Girl! You gotta turn da wheel! How do I know you paid if you don't turn da wheel?! Turn da wheel! TURN DA WHEEL! TURN. DA. WHEEL!"

Finally a man standing nearby came over to me, looked at me as though I belonged in Creedmoor, and turned the turnstile next to me.

"Ohhhh," I said. "You meant the turnstile. It's a TURNSTILE." Smile smile smile.

As I waited for the J/Z train to arrive, I thought of the new word I just learned. Wheel. Employed people call it a turnstile. They ride the subway to get to their jobs. They don't have to use the emergency door to make way for unwieldy bags. I am no longer employed. I now ride the subway with baggage to get to places other than the place of my employment. Turnstile is dead to me. It is now a Wheel.

There are sure to be many more challenges in my future as I undertake city life without a job. But I know that if Jay-Z can rise to the top, so can I. The band Journey once said, "the wheel in the sky keeps on turnin'." Yes, it does. But who turns that wheel? We have to turn da wheel.

Jobless City Challenge #1 - J/Z Subway to Airtrain - Money Saved: $40!

All U2 Ipods Go to Heaven

2009-02-04T16:57:00.000-08:00

Unemployment - Day 30 in Human Days; Day 22 in Business Days

It's been 7 hours and 30 days...since they took my job away.

David Byrne of The Talking Heads said that "Heaven is a place where nothing ever happens." Most days I agree with him. It's not that I'm a pessimist. It's more that I prefer to live in the present here on earth rather than focusing on what may or may not exist for me after my time on earth. But my experience at the Apple Store today has got me believing that sometimes things do happen in Heaven. Big things. Things between me and U2.

It was officially confirmed this afternoon by a "Genius" at the Apple Store: My U2 Ipod has passed away. (In lieu of flowers, please send checks made out to cash.) I knew deep down my U2 Ipod had departed two weeks ago when the sad little man with the cross eyes and frighteningly disproportionate frown appeared on my Ipod. In order for you to grasp the gravity of this most grievous situation, I must tell you the origin story of my U2 Ipod. All great super heroes have an origin story. My U2 Ipod is no different...

The year was 2004 and I received the brand new U2 Ipod for Christmas from The Artist Formerly Known As My Husband. That very night Bono visited me in a dream. He told me that my U2 Ipod was actually a magical radar that would always point me in his direction. Over the next year I met Bono in the flesh twice, so clearly my subconscious dreamscape wasn't deceiving me. I possessed the one and only Bono Radar in the universe. Through the years the Bono Radar has served me well, with music-playing as the front operation and Irish-rockstar-tracking-abilities in the back room.

But like the 80s, all good things must come to an end. And being the graceful klutz that I am, I dropped my Ipod onto the subway tracks last month. Awesome. However, miracles never cease when it comes to me and U2, and after a day of tears, a battle with the MTA, and one lesbian date with an MTA worker named Barb, I got my Ipod back. And it worked! Well...for a couple of weeks it worked. Then came the sad little Mac man with the scary crossed out eyes. I spent the past 13 days music-less and radar-less, both of which have been slowly stripping me from the core of my essence. I avoided going to the Apple store as long as I did for two reasons -- denial and fear. I kept thinking that one morning the sad scary little Mac man wouldn't be there. I also knew deep down inside that he'd always be there, haunting my playlists and heart, and I was afraid to hear it directly from an Apple Genius. Cause they're always right. I think they all sprung from the head of Steve Wozniak. I read that on Wikipedia.

The purchase of a new Ipod would be a large purchase for me even when I was employed. So springing for one while jobless seemed desperate and stupid. I mean, it's not a really smart thing to do, to buy a new Ipod when you think you might be couch surfing and eating squirrels for dinner next month. But I'm desperate and stupid, so in the end I opted for the hot pink Nano. When I got to the register, an Apple Genius demi-god made me an offer: If I handed over my old Ipod to be recycled, I would get 10% off the purchase of my new Ipod. The battle that ensued between my brain and heart is comparable to the Battle for Middle-earth. (But the Bono-Radar is my precious, I can't live without it! No, the Bono-Radar betrayed you and totally crapped out! But the Bono Radar loves me! It doesn't love you! But it lead me to Bono! There is no Bono, only Zuul!)

In the end my brain won. With tears in my eyes, I held my precious Bono Radar out to the Genius. Wait! I sobbed, let me get one last shot of it. I took my camera out, positioned the Bono Radar delicately before me, and took one final photo of it. My Genius pointed out that there was a line behind me, so I turned my head away and handed her my credit card. And that's the last I'll ever see of the Bono Radar.

I slumped to the subway, weeping the entire way. I was so sad that I gave up something that was so special to me just to save 20 bucks. I considered running back for it. Then I thought of all of the other material sacrifices I may have to make in the near future. I'd have to get used to simplifying my life if I ever planned on achieving my dreams. I didn't run back.

I arrived home an hour later to a series of mini miracles. Two phone calls and three emails regarding job leads. My eyes welled up again. Somewhere up there in Heaven, I thought, an angel just got a U2 Ipod. An angel got a U2 Ipod and is one step closer to musical salvation and Bono. My guardian angel.

The Unemployment Office

2009-02-02T16:17:00.001-08:00

Unemployment - Day 28 in Human Days; Day 20 in Business Days

It's been 7 hours and 28 days...since they took my job away.

Today I visited the NYS Unemployment Office in downtown Brooklyn for my mandatory appointment. Few things get me onto the G train, but the ability to hold onto my $405 a week mandates G train terrain. I sat in the waiting room surrounded by dozens of others who are out of work. On the day I was laid off I knew I was not alone in my joblessness. I live in Brooklyn, not a bubble. Even weeks and months before my company's culling, I knew that the unemployment numbers throughout the country and right in NYC were skyrocketing. But until it happened to me, it was all just numbers. Today in the unemployment office, though, I looked around me and put faces to some of those numbers. Not many attractive faces -- I clearly upped the hotness factor in the Brooklyn unemployment office -- but faces nonetheless. And not merely faces...hearts and brains behind those faces. Some even began to speak to one another while we waited, which is a rare thing in New York. One guy cracked wise about how maybe he shoulda worn a tie. I wondered whether a tie would've hindered or enhanced his professional, employment-seeking attire of timberlands and a backwards Mets cap, sweat stains and all.

But those of us around him laughed. And not just at him. There was a charm to his self-deprecating, gold-chain wearin' manner. And a charm to the tragically mustached woman with kind eyes who assisted the Eastern European man with page 3 of the redundant paperwork. A stray hipster lending his pencil to an Asian man. An Asian man saying thank you, wide smiling, at a loss for words and teeth. Two young women exchanging resume tips and phone numbers. A tense-faced woman looking up from her blackberry long enough to take her coat off the seat next to her and offer it to the newest addition to the room. So when the Hassidic man to my left who smelled of urine and Corn Flakes sneezed, I decided to bite the bullet: God Bless you, I said. And when the man to my right kept stealing glances at my clipboard, trying to cheat off of my resume, I let him. I may not have all the right answers, but okay, I'm willing to share 'em. Gosh darnit...We are a community, I thought. Different strokes, different folks, yes. But we are all now a part of this same crisis. Not a personal crisis. A community crisis. We are a community and we are all going through losses and we can either choose to suffer them alone or together. I choose together. And so I write.

I realized almost immediately that I didn't need to wear my pearls. A camouflaged hoodie or chartreuse one-piece jumper would've sufficed. But dress for the job you want, not the job you have, right? Not that any of us there had jobs. We could all be up for the same jobs, suit or hoodie. (Mental note: re-evaluate willingness to purchase chartreuse one-piece jumper if given the opportunity.) This is a whole new era of my life. I can wear anything I want. There are clearly no rules in the unemployment office. I may as well rock it out while I can.

Despite the togetherness I was feeling, the conditions of the unemployment office were not kind. It was hot. Inhumanely hot. I would've stripped down to a wife beater if I had one. (Mental note: Purchase wife beater. Being unemployed is a whole new ball game with new wardrobe requirements.) Why is the government trying to sweat us out? Are we not worth a fan? Is this survival of the fittest? The coolest? We're jobless, but still human. If you prick us, do we not bleed? And if we bleed, do we not ask how much cash you'll take for our blood?!

Eventually the waiting room was broken up into groups and sent to smaller, hotter rooms. I found myself in room 2 with roughly thirty of my new friends overflowing the space, breathing hotness in and out. The case worker entered and explained that we would each be taken to meet with a supervisor, but in a specific order. Union workers got to go first. Then she asked if there were any actors in the room. A highly attractive humanoid raised his toned arm. I considered raising mine. By actors, she said, I mean people who are in SAG and AFTRA. My hand fell to my side, my heart to the floor. So this shitty sweatbox of a government office won't even recognize that I'm an actress. An aspiring actress. A potentially Tony and Oscar Award-winning star of magnanimous but yet undiscovered and unaffiliated talent. Fine. The one actor, who'd clearly been laid off from his role as Buff Deli Clerk #4 on Passions, left the room.

Next group I'm looking for, said the case worker, is anyone who was making sixty thousand dollars or over. Raise your hand if you were making sixty thousand dollars or over. I slowly raised my hand. I could feel the eyes on me. Almost hear the thoughts...Sugar Mama, Sugar Mama, Sugar Mama. I quickly made my way to the case worker with my paperwork. Can I use your stapler? I asked. I'm sorry, dear, staplers are considered weapons by the State of New York. She took my paperwork and stapled it herself. Where are those people going?, one man asked. I dunno, said the woman beside him. Wherever they take the rich people.

Before the richies got to leave the room, our case worker answered some questions from the audience:

Jobless #1: Can I claim for benefits for a past week?

Case worker: I suggest you stay under the radar.

Jobless #2: Can I claim unemployment benefits while I'm on vacation?

Case worker: If you have access to a phone and a computer, are you really on vacation? Stay under the radar.

Jobless #3: What should I do while I'm not working?

Case worker: Use this time to nurture yourself. And stay under the radar.

I'm going to take the case worker's advice. It's time I nurture myself. It's been a while.