Good Guys Finish First

Never take no for an answer.

My brother and I have always been very different from one another. I am the typical oldest child: outgoing, talkative, and very social. My brother on the other hand is the typical middle child: quiet, shy, and keeps to himself. Growing up, I loved playing sports and have always been the dramatic one. Danny (yes, he'll always be Danny to me) never really liked playing sports, instead opting for Robotics and the like. He also was the levelheaded child and things never really ruffled his feathers.

We could always find Danny in front of a television clicking away on his video game controller. From a very young age, video games fascinated my brother and he was often lost in his little video world. At 8-years-old, he proclaimed that when he grew-up he would design video games.

Danny always received the short end of the stick. My sister and I always made sports teams, whereas he always seemed to get cut. I passed my license on the first try, whereas he failed twice over BS reasons (the instructor ended up getting fired due to this.) You get the idea.

Fast-forward to high school: My brother went to an all boys' jock school. As a self-proclaimed nerd, this wasn't always easy for him. He was in the Robotics Club, which most guys at this school looked at as uncool. My parents and my brother were also often at war over how long he spent playing video games versus socializing and other hobbies.

Senior year arrived and my brother announced that he'd attend Georgia Tech to study Computational Media. We were all so proud of him for going after his biggest dream.

Once at Georgia Tech, I watched him struggle through GT's rigorous curriculum. I was stunned at how intense Georgia Tech was. There were no in-betweens when it came to grades. Meaning, Georgia Tech only had A, B, C, D, and F.

We'd often have late-night calls where my usually unflappable brother freaked out to me about his grades and how hard his classes were. I told him to keep trying and not to give-up. Everything would work-out, I said.

My inspiration

This year marked Danny's senior year at Georgia Tech and with that came the job hunt. I gave him as many tips and pointers as I could to try and ease what was a miserable process for myself.

He called me the day he found out he had landed an interview with Zynga, a social gaming company. I can honestly say I have never heard him so excited before. He was supposed to go to Florida for his Spring Break trip, but opted to fly out to San Francisco for his interview instead. In his words, "I'd rather have my interview now, so I don't miss school and have to stress out about school work." I was struck by his maturity and wondered if I would have done the same thing in that situation.

The night after his interview, I called him to see how it went. He was exhausted, as his interview had gone from 10 am until 3 pm and he had spoken to six different people. He told me he thought he did very well, yet he still sounded defeated. I asked him what was wrong. "Nothing ever goes in my favor. I gave the interview everything I had. I don't know what I'm going to do if I don't get it."

The following day I had a missed call from him. Danny doesn't call me for stupid reasons, so I knew it was something big. I called back and he told me his plane had run out of gas and got struck by lightning. His plane had to make an emergency landing in Phoenix.

Obviously I was concerned for my brother's well being, but I couldn't help but think "Oh, that's why you called." Just as I was thinking this, Danny's voice cut in, "Annnd Zynga just called and offered me the job!" I'm pretty sure the scream I let out after this statement may have punctured my brother's eardrums. I immediately burst into tears (remember when I said I was the dramatic child at the beginning of this post?) and congratulated him over and over again. I could hear the pure joy in my brother's voice.

I started asking him a million and one questions about the position. He told me he most likely would have to work fourteen-hour days to begin with. "I don't mind working that much because I'm going to be waking up and doing what I love every day," he said. I was awed by the power of this statement.

8-year-old Danny's proclamation was no longer just a proclamation. The 21-year-old Danny had made the proclamation a reality.  My brother is a true testament to the fact that good guys do finish first. Also, that dreams do come true when you don't give up and never take no for an answer.

Danny, you amaze me and I cannot wait to see the mark you make on the gaming world. Zynga is lucky to have such a hard worker on their team. Congratulations on this amazing feat! You are my inspiration.

Is This Real Life?

One of my favorite things about living in New York City is that without a doubt, you will experience something crazy every day. Some encounters have left me shaking my head and pulling a David After Dentist as I ask myself, "Is this real life?" I've decided to start posting some of my favorite experiences for your entertainment.  I promise everything I post is 100% true- most of the stories are too good to make up.

I'll start with my most recent encounter:

A few weekends ago, I went home to spend time with my family and friends. The day I returned to New York, Mother Nature decided a monsoon would be appropriate travel weather. Of course I didn't pack accordingly, so I didn't have any sort of rain resistant apparel.

Normally I would walk a few blocks away from Penn Station to hail a cab, but any New Yorker knows that when it rains you have a very rare chance at finding a cab. Due to this fact, I decided to wait in one of the never-ending cab lines.

Image via: http://tinyurl.com/4cesdqb

Much to my surprise, the line moved pretty steadily. I was close to the front when I noticed a he/she with bad extensions getting into a cab. Cabs normally floor it as soon as the passenger shuts the door, but this cab sat there for five minutes. Suddenly, the he/she emerged from the cab screaming into his/her cell phone and proceeded to bang on the trunk to get his/her luggage.

The cab driver flew out of the driver's side like a bat out of hell screaming, "DON'T YOU CALL ME A MODAF*CKER!!! YOU DA MODAF*CKER!!" The he/she flicked the cab driver off and they both proceeded to get in each other's faces.

As the he/she and cab driver were involved in their little scrum, the Flyers/Rangers game let out of Madison Square Garden. A drunk Flyers fan suddenly screamed out, "WHATEVER! WE'RE STILL IN FIRST PLACE AND YOU STILL SUCK!" Choruses of "You Suck!" and "F*ck you!" rang out from Rangers fans. Keep in mind that I am an intense Philadelphia fan and I love torturing New York fans just as much as the next guy, but we had just lost SEVEN TO NOTHING.

A drunk Rangers fan approached the drunken Flyers fan and some heated words were exchanged. I thought a fistfight was about to commence, but luckily a cop intervened and split the two up.

Just as I thought I had enough excitement for one twenty-minute interval, a car pulled up and a woman got out. She shouted loudly, "Is this Madison Square Garden?" A guy behind me in line yelled out in a stereotypical New York accent, "Uh yeah, dumb a**. What do you want,  for it to jump out at you?!"

Around this time I asked myself, "Is this real life?" Luckily, I had arrived at the front of the line and was quickly ushered to a cab.

I sat back as the cab pulled away from Madison Square Garden/Penn Station, and I couldn't help but laugh. I thought to myself, "Home sweet home."

When is Enough, Enough?

Joan Holloway from "Mad Men" via wesewfashion.wordpress.com

Thanks to a friend, I've recently developed an obsession with the AMC television series "Mad Men." According to the official website (for those of you who aren't familiar with the series):

Set in 1960s New York, the sexy, stylized and provocative AMC drama Mad Men follows the lives of the ruthlessly competitive men and women of Madison Avenue advertising, an ego-driven world where key players make an art of the sell.

Numerous social issues have struck me in this series, but an issue in particular stood out from the rest. One of the female characters, Joan Holloway, is curvaceous and portrayed as a sex symbol. Today, Joan would be considered "plus-sized," which has a stigma in our society.

A few weeks ago, a few friends and I were aimlessly walking around Radio City Music Hall and a discussion commenced over the females' bodies in this series. We all wondered how the voluptuous Joan Holloway’s and Marilyn Monroe’s of yesteryear became the gaunt Nicole Richie's and Kate Bosworth’s of today. How did we go from size 8 (Marilyn Monroe) being the norm to size 0? Why does the media continuously pummel Jessica Simpson for having a REAL woman's body?

This conversation got me thinking about my own personal struggles with weight and  my peers' similar struggles. 

Personal Struggles:

In middle school and high school I was always thin. I was meticulous about what I put in my body and played year-round travel softball, so I always had some sort of exercise regiment in place. Despite being thin and in-shape, I still thought I was "fat." I would put myself on ridiculous diets before dances and proms to ensure I would look my best. To truly paint the picture for you, my softball coach told me he thought I had an eating disorder on a post-high school visit.

College brought new struggles when it came to my weight. I cared so much (too much) about how I looked in high school, that I found myself burnt out once I hit college. I stopped caring about what I ate and how much I worked out.  Freshman year brought the freshman 15 (and then some.) I'll never forget the stunned looks on my parents' and friends’ faces when I came home for the summer. Sophomore year I decided I couldn't live with my large alter ego any longer. I allowed myself to consume 1,000 calories per day and killed myself at the gym. I received the attention and compliments I so desperately wanted, and yet I was still miserable. I tortured myself over not losing weight fast enough and hated that I didn't look the way I wanted to in clothes. 

The lowest point in my college weight battle came the summer going into my senior year. A new website called Juicy Campus (it has since been shut down) came on the scene. Juicy Campus allowed college students to post gossip about their peers. The first (and last time) I logged on the site, I found myself caught off guard by the level of viciousness of the comments posted.  I stumbled upon a post about my sorority, which claimed that we had mandatory gym hours. I laughed to myself at how ridiculous of a statement this was. Then, I saw my name. My heart stopped and I felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Someone commented something along the lines of, "HAHA this is so untrue. If it were, Laura Spaventa and XX would not be a part of Alpha Phi. Laura and XX, you're whales! Go join YY [another sorority] where you belong.” I sat there dumbfounded and unable to wrap my head around what I had just read.

My junior year I had struggled through a bout of depression and ballooned up once again. I didn't realize how bad it was until I read the post on Juicy Campus. I was crushed. I didn't eat for days and when I finally admitted to my parents what happened their jaws dropped. I had friends and family tell me that the post was a load of crap, that someone was obviously jealous of me. Nothing they said comforted me. 

I didn't want to go back to school at the end of the summer. I wondered how many people thought I was a whale. Once I returned to school, I rarely went out. When my absence from the social scene was questioned, I told people I was focusing on school. This was partially true, but I also wanted to hide myself from my peers. I didn't want to give anyone ammo. I let a coward, who posted an anonymous comment, shape my senior year.

Others' Struggles:

In college, I had a very close friend go through a nasty eating disorder. My friends and I were at a loss. We had no idea how to help her and watched her slowly waste away. She finally received the help she needed, but she was never quite the same. 

Since moving to New York, I have come in contact with numerous walking skeletons. I've seen so many decrepit women walking around the city, where it is obvious years of abusing their bodies have caught up to them. I have also seen girls my age who probably can't remember the last time they ate.

There is one woman who really has shaped my perspective on this issue. I go to the gym regularly and this woman is always there when I arrive, and is still there when I leave. Her spandex hangs off of her tiny body  and she has had some obvious work done on her face.  Every day I catch her starring at herself sadly in the mirror. Here is a woman who has the stick figure body that society tells us we should have, and yet she is still miserable. What does that say?

Today's standard of "beauty."

So What?

I've watched (and have participated in) people cut themselves off from particular foods or beverages they love, embark on crazy diets, calorie counting, etc, all for the sake of having the "perfect" waistline. Why do we do this to ourselves? I'm not saying we shouldn't exercise and that we should eat any and everything we want. Obesity is an issue all of its own. Yet, we have one life. Why are we constantly killing ourselves to fit what we think society expects of us? Does society even expect us to be a certain weight or are we putting some made-up pressures on ourselves? 

The sick cycle so many of us find ourselves in when it comes to our weight is due to a combination of pressures from ourselves and the "Mad Men" of the world. When will we silence our inner demons and tell the suits enough is enough? When are we going to stop basing our self-worth on the numbers that pop up on a little metal box? How we feel should not be based on an actual number, rather it should be based on whether we are living a healthy lifestyle. It is all about moderation and balance.

With that said, I am a woman, not a little boy. I should and will have curves. I've had enough of worrying over whether  I'm fat or not. Have you had enough?

Adult Decisions

Craig's List sends shivers down my spine. 

I am known to make quick decisions and not to think things through sometimes. As my mom would say, I am very impulsive. Before joining the "real world" I could get away with my impulsive tendencies for the most part. However, once I graduated college and faced some big decisions, I realized I needed to work on thinking before I acted.

Looking for a place to live is tough in general, but nothing compares to apartment hunting in New York City. The words nightmare, dreadful, and painful comes to mind, as I write this post. The sad part is, those words don't even do the NYC apartment hunt justice.

Rent in New York is already expensive, but add broker fees, first month rent, etc, and you're looking at an empty bank account before you can even blink. One of my favorite articles on living in New York describes a New York inhabitant's dilemma perfectly:

"Discover the cruel and bizarre world of New York City real estate. End up spending an obscene amount of money on something called a broker’s fee, first and last month’s rent and a security deposit. Cry a little bit in the leasing office but remind yourself that you’re so happy to be here."

I'll never forget laying in my bed at my parent's house crying in fetal position once I realized how much money I would have to fork over up front in order to sign for my current apartment. I couldn't understand how one little apartment could cost so much. Yet, I had my heart set on New York, so I handed over everything in my savings to live the dream. 

My roommate and I recently embarked on the dreaded apartment hunt. Craig's List and e-mails with brokers took over our lives. Every spare second we had was spent looking at apartments. My life revolved around finding an apartment and other aspects of my life quickly suffered. I wasn't sleeping, I was struggling to keep up at work, I had zero "me" time-- the list goes on.  To make matters worse, unforeseen circumstances popped up that crippled our hunt. By the end of a week of searching, I was exhausted, broken hearted, and discouraged. 

When I first moved to New York, I struggled to make rent and pay for my various other bills. I lived paycheck to paycheck and often wondered if I'd be able to survive before payday. I received a raise over the summer, and suddenly I could breathe again. I didn't struggle any longer for the most part and my life became pretty comfortable. The apartments we were looking at would have reverted me back to living paycheck to paycheck and empty my savings. To be honest, I didn't really want to go back to that lifestyle again.

Our  little apartment suddenly didn't look so bad. My roommate was the first to say it out loud, "Let me ask you this, do we even want to move?" As hard as it was for both of us to accept, we knew the answer. Yes, we wanted bigger beds, a living room, and to be closer to the subway. However, we both have worked hard to get to where we are and didn't want to ruin ourselves financially over a new apartment that didn't even fit the criteria we had set.

In the past, I would have spent the money and dealt with the consequences later, but the new adult in me wasn't having it. Bad credit and poor finances can ruin you for a lifetime. I can put up with not being 100% happy for a year in a small apartment. As the Fray sings, "Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same." My roommate and I made an extremely difficult decision, yet I know it is the right one for us. Adult decisions sometimes aren't fun or what you want, but hey, that's life. 

Happy Anniversary, New York!

Crossing the Brooklyn Bridge with Manhattan in the background.

I realize I have been a terrible (I probably should use a stronger word than terrible) blogger. One of my many New Year's resolutions is to get back into blogging. I figured what better time to do so than now, as my one-year anniversary of moving to New York City is approaching on Sunday.

This post will probably be pretty lengthy, as a lot has happened since my last post in April. I apologize in advance. Bear with me!

When people find out that I live in New York, I'm usually greeted with jaws on the ground, followed by a comment similar to: "Oh my gosh, New York?! You are so lucky!" While I am extremely lucky to live in this incredible city and usually have to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming, New York isn't all fun and games. In fact, New York can be pretty harsh and intense at times. My roommate and I like to say that we have a love-hate relationship with the Big Apple. There are times when my head is in the clouds and I want to scream out, "I love you, New York!!" And then there are other times when I just want to walk around with a particular finger high in the air. (Sorry, Mom.)

For a while I had a really hard time connecting with the city and felt like I was on an extended vacation. My “vacation” was filled with unbelievable experiences, such as seeing Lady Gaga perform in her hometown, seeing various Broadway shows (Wicked is incredible), and interacting with some of the most brilliant minds I’ve ever come in contact with.

It truly wasn't until the past couple of months that I really felt at home in the city. In the year I've called New York my home, I’ve had highs and lows, which have helped me learn some valuable lessons along the way.

I feel that there are three main lessons that the Big Apple has schooled me in:

Lesson #1: Quality vs. Quantity

Making friends has never been a challenge for me. I have always been the type of person to have hundreds (okay, maybe not hundreds) of friends in various social circles. In college, I was a member of a sorority comprised of 120+ girls, in addition to having friends all over campus. Let's just say my parents weren't shocked when I told them I wanted to go into the Public Relations field.

New York presented a challenge that I had never experienced before when it came to making friends. I immediately made friends with a group of girls, but I wasn’t satisfied. I wanted more. I found that a lot of women here had their cliques and didn't usually go outside of them. This was extremely hard for me to digest. I joked to my roommate, "So let me get this straight. Not only do I have to struggle to find a boyfriend, but I also have to struggle to find girlfriends?!"

For a while, I looked at what I didn’t have vs. what I DID have. I think this contributed a lot to not feeling a connection to the city in the first couple of months. Once I finally woke up and looked at the quality of friends around me, I realized I didn’t need to have a million and one friends. The girls I had surrounded myself were REAL, quality people and would drop anything for me at a moment’s notice.

New York has helped me understand the whole quality vs. quantity concept. I have found the need to surround myself with a group of people who will pick me up when I fall, who won’t let me be my own worst enemy, who will tell me things that I don’t necessarily want to hear, and then some. What more could I ask for?

Lesson #2: Love Yourself

I experienced love in the Big Apple this past year. The relationship was unconventional and something totally different for me. I became swept away in the excitement of it all, but I lost myself along the way.

I found myself compromising on qualities and issues that I never really had to think about before. At the beginning, I thought I could get over what I had compromised on. Turns out I couldn’t.

I faced a difficult situation: Love for another vs. Love for myself. I wasn’t the same girl who started out in the relationship, which was a difficult realization for me to grasp. I always thought I was strong and that I would never be “that girl.” Yet, I put this person before those that I cared for most, including myself.

Samantha from Sex and the City said, “I'm just going to say the thing you're not supposed to say. I love you, but I love me more.” To tell someone that is heartbreaking, yet empowering. I have struggled for years with the whole “love yourself” concept and I finally had gotten to the point where I realized I loved myself too much to be feeling the way I did. It took me twenty-four years to come to this realization, but better late than never, right?

Lesson #3: Power of Positive Thinking

Although coming to the realization that I loved myself was a huge victory, I was devastated by the demise of my “Big City Love.” I cried harder than I had in a long time and felt a huge hole in my life. I had lost my boyfriend and best friend.

To quote Sex and the City again, “Despite the fact that there are over 8 million people on the island of Manhattan, there are times you still feel shipwrecked and alone. Times even the most resourceful survivor would feel the need to put a message in a bottle or on an answering machine.” I broke down in public and people didn’t even bat an eyelash (not that I wanted them to.) I remember feeling invisible and completely alone, even though I had people all around me. That’s a pretty sobering feeling.

I hate to admit this, but I am a wallower. I love throwing pity parties for myself and I could make a living off of obsessing over petty crap. After a couple of days (and boxes of tissues), I decided I couldn’t keep walking along the path I was going down. I needed to be positive and to throw myself into getting the old Laura back. So, I did just that.

I started doing things that made me happy and feel good about myself, such as going to the gym, having girls’ nights, and writing. Whenever I would get upset over the past, I would call or talk to someone I knew would give me tough love and snap me out of my funk. I wouldn’t allow myself to be my own worst enemy and removed things from my life that would allow me to do so.

I have found that I have applied the positivity principle to my life, besides the above example. To say it is easy to be negative in New York would be an understatement. There are people surrounding you that have everything you don’t have and in some cases, everything you’ll never have. Oh, and don’t forget the beautiful people that seem to pop out at you at every corner.

But here’s what it comes down to: There’s a reason why some of the most powerful and influential companies and CEOs in the world reside in NYC. Minus your friends and family, no one gives a crap if you’re upset. Life will and does go on with or without you. Basically, if you aren’t positive and at peace with yourself, New York will eat you alive.

Summing it up:

I could go on and on about everything I’ve learned in the year I’ve lived in New York City, but I think these three lessons have had the most impact on my life.

I have found a kinship with another Sex and the City quote (last one, I promise.) Carrie Bradshaw said, “If you can only have one great love, then the city just may be mine.” In my mind, love is supposed to teach you new lessons about yourself and how you interact with the world. New York has truly changed me in various ways and has opened my eyes to the world around me. I am challenged every day, which to me makes every day fulfilling. At 24 years-old, that is a pretty fantastic thing to be able to say.

New York, thank you for the most amazing year of my life. I can’t wait to see what the future has in store!