I am so telling...

On the luscious Jenifer...directrix of the Moth.

First of all, thank God the anti-smoking laws* have made it safe for a pregnant woman to go to a bar, otherwise I would likely not have met her. That's right, with child and about to drop,
she not only came to her organization's event, she's working it. Hard.

She scanned the web, her inbox, what-have-you, found my DON'T LOOK AT ME post about bombing at the Bitter End, and sent me a personal email. A personal encouraging email. I was floored. My day was made. Hell, my month was made. August kinda sucks.

Let's go September! Birthday month.

*While I can't help but register my contempt for this invasion of privacy, I do mean this

Goodbye, West Village

Today was a perfect Fall weather day, the quality of light signaling the shortening days, never really getting hot, cool by evening. I kept bumping into people I've gotten to know by sight, dogs I coo over. But walking to the Anjelika to see Manda Bala, I saw a side street I'd somehow missed a dozen other times, and at the end of that street was a giant Mexican restaurant with a red & white painted exterior. The paint job alone made me want to go inside and I thought, I'll have to check that out...when?

I know it's only from the West Village to the East Village, and in the past year alone I've lived in Qatar, India, and now NYC, but somehow it feels more significant. I think it's because the NYC I've found here has been everything I hoped New York would be for me. The classes, the people, the inspiration. What will the "there" be there?

Just looked back at this picture of my place in Doha. Oy.









Here's the new place, complete with the former resident, the delightful Miss Helen. It will be the first time in years I've lived in a place that's mine.

Da bomb...

I did it. I fucking did it.

The Moth is something I knew I wanted to be part of the first time I heard about it. Don't let the phrase "story slam" stop you--this is the best fun you're gonna have for $6 on a night out in NYC. Story tellers get just 5 minutes to describe something (each event has a different theme) with a beginning, middle and end. Best of all, when I went to the Nyuorican, the place was CRAWLING with men.

The night's entertainment is randomly drawn from a hat (or, in this case, a moth.org tote bag). After I went to the first one earlier this month I felt compelled to sign up to "perform." Though I'd been thinking about it for weeks, I planned nothing till about an hour before the event. You know what's coming. I was called up. First. I bombed.

BUT...I did not die. AND...I am so going to try again.

The other beautiful thing was having Deb and Julie there, the first and last chapters of The Years of Sleeping, and friends from my writing group.

Damn I love New York. And Wikipedia.