I am in an interesting economic situation.

I'm employed (barely), but I have no money.

Frankly, I blame the Jersey Shore Premium Outlets. They somehow scouted me out (I blame the Internet) and decided to build a J.Crew outlet, knowing that I would provide them with enough money to stick around for a very, very long time. It is due to their fiscal prowess that I now sit here (at work), writing about my very real lack of funds.

And I'm going away this week. To California. With Rachel. Which surely means that my limited finances will take a Depression-sized hit.

The worst part is that I need to move out of my house. Badly. (See post about my commute). Why oh WHY didn't I save my money? I had a nice chunk of change post graduation, but four months of laziness and no income has depleted my stash of cash. And now I'm going to have to turn tricks on the street.

Not in the Ashley Dupre way, but maybe with some overturned pots and a drumstick. Maybe I'll even get discovered!


They named their baby Bronx.

Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson have named their child Bronx.

I love the Bronx, I really do...but...

What the hell? Why in God's good name would you name your baby after a drug-riddled, prostitute-filled, poverty stricken borough? Jesus! Why don't you just called the kid Drug Dealer and cut out the middle man?!? As a resident of the Bronx for four long years (in Riverdale....shh, don't kill my street cred), I witnessed firsthand some of the treacherous problems plaguing my beloved Bronx. One time a man dressed in black tried to get into my cab at 4 am after one of my nights of raucous partying in the Fordham section of the Bronx. Sure, I was pretty hammered, so I MAY have invited him in, but still! I could have been killed! Or finally gotten a boyfriend! (This was during a long stretch of freshman/sophomore year that I call Kelly: The Single Years.)

All I'm saying is if they were trying to be like the Beckhams (who have a son named Brooklyn), I think Staten Island sounds a lot better than the Bronx. Pete's Italian right? They could have dressed the little baby up, greased his hair with glue, and made the baby a true homage to its name. What are they going to do now??

Bronx Wentz. I mean, really?


Shoot! I've got to commute!

The bowels of Penn station.
The ungodly line for a metrocard that makes me just a minute late for work.
The unhappy sighs of a thousand middling business managers, stuffed in too small suits, smelling of coffee.

Oh, how I love commuting.

I try to look at the upside. Look at all the time I have to sit! I love to sit. it's so much better than standing. And to read. I also love to read. Buuuuut it's kind of hard to focus on Junot Diaz's wonderful prose when the snores of the middle aged and overweight are buzzing at your ear. And the train...it smells. Like days old coffee, newsprint, and general dysfunction and unhappiness. If they could bottle that smell they'd make...no money. Because it sucks. Oh, it is not pleasant.

And then there's the conductor, blaring down the aisle, so clearly in control of his hands, ripping tickets off the seat, fingering the dirty cash to give out to those unlucky fools who have to face the onboard surcharge. I'm amused at how quickly they give their change, flipping the coins from their belts. Those belts are so cool; they're a wondrous Batman-like fixture of change, tickets, and awesomeness. Those damn belts are probably(definitely) the highlight of my trip.

The worst part of the ride, I would say, is the absolute SNAILS pace it takes to get from Secaucus Junction to Penn Station. I often see Mexicans whiz by us on their ten speeds, as we languidly push our way across the NJ-NY border. I could probably walk faster than we go on that train. And I walk slow (I have the legs of a chubby toddler). It's at that point that I've really had enough of the train. I am looking forward to work at this point; my comfortable chair, the free coffee and soda, the expense reports, the internet. That little stretch of turnpike looms in front of me and it takes. so. long.

But it's not that bad, I know. I sound like I'm complaining, but I'm not. Well, I am. But I'm also somewhat grateful for this opportunity to observe the backbone of our economy, hanging onto their jobs with a white knuckled grip, enjoying the morning paper before reporting to work. It's an experience, for sure.

Plus...sometimes I find free magazines. And that's a perk no smell or long line or on-board surcharge or smelly homeless guy could ever ruin.


The First Week...

Well, it's over. Not just my first week of work. My life...as I formerly knew it. What was once a parade of sleep, partying and watching television has now become a tired charade of early morning alarms, daily showers, and movies on a Friday night.

I miss my youth.


Back home

Corner of Home and Escape, originally uploaded by Kelly Bergin.

ny was fun, as always. sick now. work monday. recover tomorrow.

btw, i did not follow through on my promise of taking halloween easy.

if anyone knows how i ended up in a fight with a large gentleman in a mets outfit, please let me know.