Step 4

Moving to California: Completed Checklist Items [UPDATED]:

1. Rent out apartment

2. Quit Job

3. Find new apartment

4. Un-Quit Job


Whattttttttttt? The several days following the day I put in my notice have been off the charts crazy. My VP immediately began analyzing data and working tirelessly to move things around both out here and in California. Last night, I got the call, a new territory has been created in San Diego and I was offered the position. I HAVE A JOB. I can’t even BEGIN to describe how fortunate I feel right now. The amount of stress that has been taken off my shoulders is immense.

I wasn’t really too concerned with finding a new job… I knew I’d eventually have one. The unknown doesn’t scare me all that much. I’ve also gotten lots of recommendations from friends on where to work in the interim when I get out there. [Sea World]. But even assuming I could find a job in my industry, the interview and training process is long and grueling. And “long and grueling” aren’t really words I’d like to mix with “beach,” “sand,” “cocktails,” “sun,” “surfing,” and “exploring.” So the fact that I get to follow my dreams to California while being able to keep my job which I value a ton, makes me want to jump for joy.

I’m pretty sure the universe really wants me to go to California. I’ve decided it to be true. And as I’d really like to avoid getting emo, especially with so much time still before the actual departure date (41 days…not that I’m counting or anything), I have to say… I’m getting a little emo. I’m looking at everything a little bit longer, and listening to everyone a little more carefully. As much as Dad and T-Diddy are really sad to see both of their daughters leave the east coast, I don’t know how I’d feel about this adventure without their never-ending support. The shrieks I heard from the other end of the phone when I called T-Diddy last night to tell her I still had a job were filled with even more excitement than I displayed myself. And Dad’s constant words of encouragement and belief in me over the past month have really made me reflect on what amazing, selfless parents I am blessed with. They don’t want to see us go, yet will still do whatever it takes to help us follow our dreams.

So I guess you can say at this particular point, my ducks are now in a row. Last week my ducks were scattered all the freak over the place, I didn’t even know where to start looking for them. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not feeling a false sense of security. I know the transition away from all the people I love will not be an easy one, even with a job waiting for me. I’m prepared to be homesick and sad from time to time. But taking unemployment out of the equation definitely helps make it all a bit easier.

With six weeks to go, I’m jam-packed with amazing plans with all of my favorite people. A wedding for my favorite (nutty) GSK colleague, a long bachelorette weekend away for my PSU bestie, Emitch, Yankee games, my little cousin’s graduation party, and hopefully some good ol’ fashioned sailing with my fam :-).

Thank you all so much for all of your support and words of wisdom with this whole move-across-the-country malarkey. You guys have been amazing. I can’t even begin to tell you how much it means to me to feel all of your love. And you know I don’t usually get emo.

xoxo Gossip Girl


Next Stop…

I had a “holy crap” moment on Saturday morning… followed by a “holy crap” kind of a feeling for the rest of the weekend. My sister, Carissa and I decided about 10 months ago that we were going to embark on adventure this summer, leave everything behind, and take a road trip to San Diego, and then stay there. Carissa started applying to schools a couple of months ago, and I’ve done nothing to work in that direction.

I own a home. I have a job. I have a car. I have a lot going on here. When I decided I wanted this adventure, it was a YOLO kind of a thing. In no way do I think it would be a “smart” idea to pick up and move to SoCal, but as an unattached, childless 30-year-old, now is my time to take a risk.

Last year, I told everyone I was moving. I don’t think anyone really believed me. It’s comical actually how many recent conversations have gone something like,

Me: “Oh, well I might be in San Diego then.”

Someone else: “Why will you be there?”

Me: “Because I’m moving there.”

Someone else: “You’re still actually saying you’re going to move there?”


My Dad said “You are giving up a lot.” A job… a home… all of my family and friends. Yeah, that is a lot. I’ve been teetering back and forth between whether I’m going to go if I don’t have a job out there yet. Carissa’s plan was to go regardless. She got into school and we booked a trip out there in July to go scope out apartments for her. When she told me she was set, it became really real for me. I was kinda like heyyy wait a minute… Carissa’s going with or without me. What if I drove her out there with her car and all her stuff, and then had to get on a plane and leave her there? That’s when I got my ass into gear.

Friday night I got stood up by my fine friend Patrick at the last-minute… yeah Pat, here’s your actual name in my blog for being a dirty flat-leaver. I took the opportunity (after I got stood up) to post my condo for rent on craigslist and update my resume with a friend’s San Diego address (thanks, Coleen)! I was kinda just testing the waters with the apartment ad. I know it’s early for an August 1 move-in, so wasn’t expecting much of a response.

Holy response.

I spent Saturday morning showing my place, and by Saturday afternoon had a solid commitment from the most AMAZING engaged couple. Amazing. Like I want to actually be friends with them. They are the sweetest people and have promised to take care of my apartment for a couple of years as if it were their own. And they’ve insisted on taking me out to dinner on Thursday to sign the paperwork and finalize things.

This is where I went: “Holy crap what did I just do?”

Multiple times.

To multiple people.

There I had it. I spent the weekend mulling it over and making my final decision. I am moving. Someone else will be living in my apartment come August first, and I will be in a packed out SUV with my crazy little sister, and a bunch of beach clothes. Maybe a couple of suits for interviews. This is happening.

So now it’s full-on time crunch. The resume is out there…. floating around the internet…. my recruiter has an updated copy, and the talk with my boss comes this week. What would make my life a hell of a lot easier is a job transfer, but a new position would have to be created in SD (where it was eliminated last year), so chances are slim to none. I’ve realized though, that I’ve gotta go all-in. I can’t sit around here and look for a job. It logistically makes no sense. I’ve gotta be out there to be in the running.

Am I nuts? Maybe (or probably…with a hint of definitely). Might I regret this at some point three months from now when I’m working through my savings and jobless and missing my friends and family? To be honest, I think I’d regret it more if I stay.

The countdown is on. 7 weeks and I’ll no longer be a Jersey girl. I’m freaking out. And I’m excited. And I’m freaking out. And I have a bucket list of things to do here before this adventure begins. They all include soaking up every ounce of time I can with all the people out here whom I love so dearly.

San Diego, here we come ūüôā

The Air Conditioning (yes, I’m still talking about it)

Sometimes I wonder how I function on a day-to-day basis. I know that it seems my life has been revolving around my air conditioning lately. It’s sad really that it’s been taking up so much space in my brain trying to figure out how to keep from roasting in my own apartment. My bedroom is somewhat of a sauna, so I’ve been sleeping on my couch with cold wet paper towels on my coffee table to drizzle over myself throughout the night. It surprisingly helps a lot combined with the efforts of the fan.

My huge air conditioning unit sits in the corner of my little spare room taunting me. It’s rude actually. It’s so close to the window, but it’s not actually in the window. Several times I went in there just to look at it, standing over it, dripping in sweat. Last night I’d had it. I tried to go to sleep on the couch with the fan going, but it wasn’t happening. I was getting that air conditioning on.

I went into the little room, determined. I tried to lift it and I got it a few inches off the floor, but realized there was no way I was going to be able to carry it all the way into the living room. I got my little vanity chair, which is only about two feet tall, and brought it over. I counted to three and hoisted the AC onto the chair. Victory! I then carefully (as to not disturb my asshole neighbors) slid the chair across the floor into the living room. I positioned it under the window, counted to three, and heaved the thing onto the window sill. Now I know from growing up with a very cautious dad and brother, that you have to be reallllllyyyy careful putting that thing in the window, because if it falls out it’ll surely kill someone dead. So since I was a little tipsy and didn’t really trust myself to not drop the thing out the window, I kinda just let the back part hang out the open window, while the majority of the unit was still INSIDE. I turned it on, it blew out cool air, and I considered this a victory. I put pillows around the top, to close the gap between the unit and the window and went to bed (reallllll classy… I know).


Now I realized this was sort of ghetto rigged, but in some strange way I was actually still proud of myself. I’m all like “I don’t need no mannnnnnnn,” and “you go, gUrrrLLL!!!” Until I walked over to the window this afternoon and realized I had completely flooded my living room. WWWWWWTTTTTTTFFFFFFFFFFFFF.

Puddle is an understatement. My living room is basically a pond. Forget the carpet. It’s so soaked I could barely lift it to try to dry underneath. How did this happen? How am I 30 years old and seriously the biggest idiot on Earth?? And do I have to throw that carpet out now? I mean do wet carpets dry?? Or do they just get moldy? Someone who knows anything, please tell me. Because I clearly don’t.know.anything.

I turned the AC off to deal with my new lakefront property, and then adjusted it so it was more hanging out the window. It’s not perfect, but it will do for now.

Over and out… I need a mimosa.


Tattletales and a Clean Slate

I learned a few things this week.  Among them:

1. ¬†You can get dumped, even if you’re not dating someone

2.  You can get pulled over by a cop because another driver called and tattled on you

3. ¬†People will or will not do things based on whether they think it’s going to end up in my blog.

Yesterday began as normal… running around from doctors office to doctors office, trying to close out the month strong. ¬†As I’m sitting in traffic near Princeton on my way back up north, flashing lights come on up ahead of me. ¬†I was talking on my cell which was on speaker, and put it down on my lap so the upcoming cop wouldn’t see me holding it. ¬†But wouldn’t ya know it…. he was getting out of his car, walking into the street, and then as I approached, he started waving me down. ¬†WTF.

He pulls me over (with his hand), and starts walking up to my window. ¬†At this point I’m semi-freaking out because I know I haven’t gotten my registration renewed, and I already got out of that situation once. ¬†Now I was playing with fire. ¬†I roll down my window and the music from Pandora on my cell is BLASTING since I ended my call abruptly and the music had been playing before I took the call. ¬†Flustered, I of course couldn’t get the music to shut up, so the cop just stood at my window waiting, Mika blaring in his face, (“BIG GIRL, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL!”) as I apologized and started pushing random buttons. ¬†Finally my spastic ass got it to shut up, and the officer informed me he pulled me over because someone CALLED to say that I was “playing with my thing and almost hit him.”

“WHAT? ¬†WHAT THING? ¬†I didn’t hit anyone!!!”

“Your cell…. I know, I’m sorry…. I didn’t see it so I can’t do anything about it, but I’m required to record it. ¬†Can I please see your license and registration?”

Crap.  Crap crap crap.  Crap.

“Whoooo said that????”

“A guy in a truck.”

“I’m…. I’m just trying to get to a doctor…. and…. there’s so much traffic.” ¬†(stall… get him to forget about the registration… whine… look sad….)

“Yeahhh, I know this traffic is horrible today.”

(Is it working?)

Nah, not my lucky day. ¬†As I’m pouting and whimpering like a¬†baby, another cop, who was apparently driving behind me after that idiot tattled on me, calls in on the radio and says, “Her registration is expired.”


So the cop writes me up for expired registration. ¬†Tells me he’s required to tow me, and I’m not allowed to drive my car. ¬†He also tells me exactly where a DMV is located, then tells me he is leaving the area right now, then tells me again, ‘don’t drive the car’, then tells me, ‘Okay, drive safely.'”

I was confused.  So I drove the car.

Registration renewal was a painless process, I so wished I had done it earlier.  Whoops.

So finally, I got back to Hoboken. ¬†So did my car. ¬†I asked Tyler to meet up with me to help with a couple of things with the wedding video I’m editing. ¬†Then I complained about how hot it was so told him he should install my air conditioning.

“No way. ¬†If I install your air conditioning, it’ll show up in your blog.”

Well now I’m hot as balls, still don’t have air conditioning installed, and you showed up in my blog. ¬†So I’m thinking it’s a lose-lose for all parties involved.

After we worked for a little bit, we went out for sushi.  And drank wine, and chatted some more.  We updated each other on our social lives since our last conversation.

It finally happened. ¬†Someone I wrote about found my blog. ¬†And it happened to be the person I was still seeing… ¬†The Architect. ¬†He didn’t like it. ¬†Well I don’t think he minded the blog, actually. ¬†I just don’t think he had any interest in dating the author of the blog after he got caught up on my “shenanigans” as he called it.

“Ty, I got dumped.”

“You can’t get dumped if you weren’t actually even dating someone.”

It’s true, we weren’t even really dating. ¬†But I somehow allowed him to dump me anyway. ¬†I guess I kinda forced it on him, in like a “let’s get with the program and pick up the pace, or not hang out anymore” sort of a way. ¬†So the dumping came the morning after that phone conversation, via Facebook private message.

Here’s the thing… dating is plain and simple. ¬†SOOOOO plain and simple that it’s ridiculous really. ¬†It goes for guys, it goes for girls, probably for animals.. there was even a movie named after this dating secret. ¬†If you ever have to question anything, or wonder, or listen to excuses…. ¬†then guess what? ¬†HE’S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU. ¬†And guys… same goes for you. ¬†Texts going ignored? ¬†Plans getting cancelled? ¬†MOVE ON. ¬†Don’t waste any more of your time with someone who really doesn’t care that much. ¬†Gosh, if I could be a dating counselor, and listen to people whine all the time, I can’t tell you how often I’d use that line. ¬†I use it on myself all the time. ¬†Yeah, I talk to myself. ¬†In a British accent. ¬†Don’t ask.

So we start from square one. ¬†My date slate has been wiped clean, and there are no prospects in the pipeline. ¬†I’m good with that right now. Time to meet Melvis at the Beer Garden.

Happy Friday!

xoxo Gossip Girl


I think a large part of the reason I enjoy writing, is because I can get everything out that I want to say without being interrupted. ¬†I find myself limiting my face-to-face stories, because no one really cares that much. ¬†There’s always the distraction of an i-Whatever blowing up, a dog walking by, the TV in the background, or someone else next to me saying something more interesting. ¬†I think I’ve actually developed somewhat of a complex about talking to some people. ¬†I try to make my stories short and to the point, and I talk really fast, because for the most part… no one gives a shit. ¬†Guess what? ¬†When I type this blog, you’re either stuck with my ENTIRE STORY from START TO FINISH, orrrrrr you can get up and walk away out of bordem, check your cell 35 times, go have a snack, check your email and feed your dog, and I’ll have no idea. ¬†And my story will continue. ¬†Because that’s the beauty of the written word.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m just as guilty of reaching for the iPhone when it’s sitting on the table between us and lights up mid-conversation. ¬†I don’t know what it is about that little device that’s so powerful and controlling. ¬†Chances are, whatever that little vibration meant was just a spam email, or a pointless text… but to know it’s sitting there, with something unread just ignites the curiosity. ¬†Sometimes I wish I could take that thing and throw it in the Hudson. ¬†You know, I think if it weren’t for the fact that I’d get fired without one, I might actually go unplugged for a while.

5 weeks in Africa without the vibration from a message throughout each day was actually very peaceful. ¬†I didn’t miss it a bit. ¬†Although, we were still very well connected to friends and family, being able to get on the internet almost every evening for g-chats, emails, fb convos, and twitter updates.

Technology keeps “improving,” but I think in a way it’s kind of ruining us. ¬†It’s taking the focus off of what is really going on around us, and channeling it into these little devices. ¬†I recently shot a friend’s wedding on my little Canon. ¬†I spent the entire day concentrating on capturing all of the moments, and making sure I didn’t miss any good shots. ¬†What I realized at the end of the night was that I barely felt like I was at the wedding at all. ¬†When I transferred all of the clips onto my laptop and began the process of compiling them, I was astonished. ¬†I was there. ¬†I was the one behind the camera for all of these moments. ¬†But I guess I wasn’t really there. ¬†As I watched these two exchanging vows, and saw how deeply in love they were, I actually got teary eyed. ¬†Yes, I sat in front of my laptop, on my couch and cried. ¬†As if it were the first time I was seeing this. ¬†Because I guess it was. ¬†Staring into the back of a screen and moving around to make sure I had the best angle didn’t fully allow me to be present and appreciate the real beauty and emotions of the day.

If I had the power to turn off all of technology in the world for a week, I’d do it. ¬†Everything. ¬†The phones, TVs, radio, iPads, kindles, the stock exchange, the ENTIRE INTERNET, including but not limited to the biggest offenders: Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Match, OkCupid, Tinder…. etc. etc. etc…… the list goes on. ¬†I’d make everyone go outside, drink cocktails and play board games, horseshoe, wiffle ball, Horse, Bocce and beer pong. ¬†Then sit around a bonfire when it got cold. ¬†Every night. ¬†Yep. ¬†The whole world. ¬†Playing outside.

And as I finish up this post, I’ll be publishing it to WordPress, then copying the link to Facebook. ¬†It will automatically be tweeted out from my Twitter account as well. ¬†Happy Hump Day and much love to all ūüôā

xoxo Gossip Girl




Memorial Day Weekend came and went all too fast… The weather was pretty cold and dreary the first half of the weekend, but my sis-in-law Britt and I decided to pretend it was warm on Sunday, and spent the afternoon brunching outside and walking around the city. ¬†During our aimless wandering, we came upon a meatball stand in Greenwich Village… ¬†they claimed their meatballs were better than my grandmothers. ¬†Hmmmphhhh….

Britt and I read the sign together and then stopped right in front of the little ordering window and stared at the list. ¬†Meatballs… in cups or on rolls… toppings… flavors…. whatttt? ¬†We both really wanted the meatballs, but had already eaten, so we just stared. ¬†The man in the window says, “Can I help you?”

Britt asks, “Are these YOUR balls?”


I’m laughing because I know what she meant by the question, and I guess he did too, but I’m wondering how many weird questions he deals with throughout the day…

10 seconds later, a middle-aged man, possibly foreign, also staring at the meatball lists, asks the man in the window,

“Do the meatballs have sex?”

Man in the window: ¬†“What??”

“Do they come in male or female meatballs?”

Now Britt and I are cracking up and weirded out at the same time so we take it as our cue to leave this man in the window alone and move on with our day.

“How can meatballs be male or female?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t think they could be…”

We contemplated for a few blocks…. what a concept…. meatballs with sexes.

As the weekend went on, I continued thinking about the meatballs. ¬†And the poor man in the window. ¬†I hope he gets paid well. ¬†Meatball Obsession, we’ll be back….

Meatball Obsession


The Architect & the 3-Day-Diet

As planned, I met up with the Architect after work yesterday.  The evening started at his job site, which is the top floor of a super swanky building on Central Park.  I had instructions on how to get up there, and:

“If security stops you, just tell them you have a meeting with the architect on the 40th floor.”


I walked into the $7.2 million duplex apartment, which was completely gutted, and cleared out for the day, except for the Architect waiting for me, with a pen still in his ear.  It had breathtaking views of the park from all angles.  I just stood in the center of the first floor in awe for a couple of minutes.  The Architect gave me a full tour, showed me some renderings on his laptop, and I walked around imagining I lived there.  We hung around for a good hour, before I had to drag myself out.

“I love it here.”

“You can come back anytime….”


“… Within reason!”

“Why did you have to throw in ‘within reason?’ ¬†You think I have nothing better to do than to stalk you at work all the time?”

“No, I just got a vision of you coming in here and distracting all the workers. ¬†They’d get nothing done with you here.”

“Please! ¬†I’ll wait ’til they’re gone. ¬†Next time let’s just bring drinks up here.”

“Sounds good.”


It was a super crappy day… rainy and cold. ¬†We walked several blocks to a bar that had 5 million beers on tap which I didn’t care anything about. ¬†Until I realized the ounces and alcohol content for each beer was listed on the menu. ¬†So I made rules. ¬†I always make rules. ¬†My rules resulted in the Architect being drunk after 3 beers. ¬†Muuuahahahahaha. ¬†I get way more information out of him after a few drinks.

We decided to Yelp places in the area with darts (“we” decided = I decided). ¬†We found one which was pretty empty and boring, but they had a dartboard. ¬†The two gay guys playing didn’t want opponents and also didn’t know how to actually make the darts hit the board, despite the fact that they BROUGHT THEIR OWN DARTS, so we ended up sitting around waiting until we decided we really didn’t even feel like playing darts that much anyway.

Now here is when I tell you about this “3-Day-Diet” pack I picked up at Shop Rite the other day. ¬†It came with 6 little bottles of liquid, 2 ounces in each. ¬†Just like the little bottles the 5-Hour-Energy drinks come in. ¬†You’re supposed to drink one in the morning for energy, and one before bed to “rid your body of toxins,” ¬†which, obviously, come in the form of poo in the morning.

NOTHING really makes me poo so I was hoping this little detox system might do the trick.  Oh it did alright.  I was feeling quite empty after I woke up in the morning, and released all of those toxins.  Oddly enough, I guess there were still some toxins lingering.  Because as 9pm came around and we were sitting a few feet from the ladies room, the remaining toxins decided they were ready to be released.

I didn’t really care. ¬†The Architect and I have a pretty open poop-discussing relationship. ¬†And I had already told him about the detox drinks. ¬†So it wasn’t a surprise to him, when I took a little longer in the ladies room.

What MIGHT have come as a surprise to him was the stench as I opened the door after getting rid of the toxins.  Whoops.

He was kind enough to keep his mouth shut while we were still in the bar, but later, after he accidentally let out a little audible “toot” (WHAT IS WRONG WITH US?!) and I couldn’t stop laughing for a good 10 minutes because it sounded like a horn, he informed me that my poop stunk up the entire back half of the bar as soon as I opened the bathroom door.

“No way, you’re just saying that because I’m making fun of your fart.”

“It hit me in the face right away. ¬†Why do you think the gay guys playing darts finally left??”

;afjkla;dlfkja;dlkfja;ldfkjalfkdjadlk.  Oops.

Stupid 3-Day-Diet.

Am I skinny yet?

xoxo Gossip Girl

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