Finding My Stride, Forgetting My Steps

Good news! I got the job at Locale! I go into training tonight, and assuming I don't do anything horribly stupid or get caught stealing, I will be a legit employee by next weekend (I'm going to be the King of brunch in Astoria). Have been busy today with lots of important errands: opening a checking account, going to an interview, applying for other jobs, shopping at the Gap and CVS, and getting more wine from Trader Joe's. As part of my new city lifestyle, I've decided to implement a new arm workout: the Three Buck Chuck Power Lift. Conveniently placed in the six-bottle mesh tote (only 53 cents at the register), one can get quite a bit of exertion from a small drinking habit (and at $3 a bottle, who doesn't love that?). Although my interview did not go well at the kitchen store (lack of availability - what?), at least it gave me an excuse to visit the legendary Union Square Trader Joe's. Home to lots of restaurant, a Green Market, and near the Strand Bookstore, it's quickly becoming one of my favorite areas in town.

Though I have been getting organized and getting shit together, much of my NY life is still in disarray. My air mattress is currently completely deflated, like a huge popped balloon or used condom. Gross. Luckily, my wonderful cousin Aliescha is sending me an air pump so I can keep that mattress plump and firm, the ideal state for items of that sort. My room is scattered with clothes and personal property, including those infamous dance clothes. Yesterday's dance class was interesting and intense. I was covered in sweat by the time warmup was over (and I was wearing gray, so wet tshirt contest, yes.) and not walking much after it was over. The class was taught by a wiry, energetic, sassy Black woman named Sheila Butler (if I was a real dancer, I would know who she is, but alas I am not and I don't). After four months of no dance class, I was quite rusty, not to mention intimidated by all the people in the class, who appeared to all have been regulars. The class was ok, but not quite my thing, I'm hoping when I go to the actual Theatre dance class it jazzes better with me than, well, the jazz class. And at almost $20 a pop, drop-in classes aren't looking like the way to go for an unemployed Bradley. I'd much rather spend that on my Three Buck Chuck Power Lift. On a more serious note, I was not impressed with the other students in my class. Don't get me wrong, they were great dancers, but seemed like pretty shallow, fake people. Maybe my response partly came from being a stranger on their turf, on my defensive, or the fact that many of them were younger than me. But, is this the company I want to keep? I felt much more at home with the other restaurant employees, especially the bartender Kat (surprise, surprise). Maybe I'll just work at a restaurant and be a highly syndicated columnist and blogger?!? More on that later. Well, now to work and hopefully greater things (and tips).