Pop! Gone. Vanished. No more “Bubbles.”

Twenty-five years young, and the pep from my (more often than not) perky personality has been sucked dry.

Watered down by worries, I’m drowning in quarter-life. Money, men, wrinkles, work. Somebody, please. Throw me a lifesaver!

Back in high school, I unarguably had a bubbly personality. Hence the nickname: “Bubbles.” I was a cheerleader for two years, a gymnast for four. I performed in musicals, participated in student council. I had what was known as the “Skittle Car,” a magenta Dodge Neon (the only purple 4-door in the lot!), and I even started my own cheer group called “Bleacher Babes.” Go team!

Blah. That’s how I feel now. Blah, blah, BLAH!

So, where did all the pep go?

Well, for starters, money IS an issue. Checking account? Stagnant. Savings? None. It’s almost as if $100 drops from my wallet every time I walk amongst the rats, roaches and coffee-cup-rattling vagabonds. I live in the city that never gives. Take. Take. Take. Drip. Drip. Drip. My Kenneth Cole coin purse has a leak in it, and unfortunately, the plumber’s out of town. Does anybody know when he’ll be back?

Men. Ah, yes. For the past three years, I’ve been on a merciless manhunt in the city of millions. Torture, I tell ya. Pure, gut-wrenching, heart-breaking agony with a couple of oh-I-think-this-could-work, and oooh-this-does-work-do-it-again moments. Flings? Yes. Three bartenders, a writer, an editor, an auditor, a construction worker, an artist, one merchant marine, a party promoter, an actor, a middle school teacher, two lighting designers, a British law student, “Hot Bob,” and my personal favorite: a German tourist who didn’t sprechen sie wort of Englisch. Relationships? One (Duration: 4-6 months, depending on who tells the story). And then, halleluyah, (can I get a big “oy vey!”?), there was Mike, my Michel. Interestingly, he was there all along. One of my first friends (and hook-up chum) in NYC. He was well within reach…always a phone call or a doorbell away. But he was out of touch, that is, with whom he wanted to be with, or if he wanted to be with anyone at all. But alas! We’re together (insert smile here), and I’m crossing my fingers that my cream filling will stay put ’cause, after all, nobody wants to eat an empty Oreo, right?

Speaking of filling…it’s time to let the world know that I’m 25, and (Oh, God!), I have five visible creases on my forehead, flab where I’ve never had flab before, and a left boob that hangs a little lower than my right. The signs are there, ladies, but, but…why me? Why now? I’m not ready. Will I ever be?

Work…hmm…a rollercoaster ride…with long stalls…that’s how I’d explain my “career” so far. I moved to Manhattan to become a magazine journalist. My mission: Accomplished. But, wow! What a bumpy road! And what’s frustrating is that there doesn’t seem to be an exit in sight. No doubt about it, I’ve had a wide variety of jobs in the big city — ranging from “bar socializer” to comic-strip editor to theatre and comedy show-ticket saleswoman — but finally, it’s over. The odd-job hunt ended about a year ago when I became a full-time, bona-fide, salaried employee, an editor at a magazine (a research editor…otherwise known as a glorified fact-checker). (insert frown here).

Become an exotic dancer? Drug dealer? Extreme makeover? Magic love potion? Grad school?

What the hell am I going to do to get my pep back?

Find happiness. ☺

First, I must define happiness – for myself.

So, I’ve made a short list of things, events, situations that make me smile, chuckle, laugh, giggle, smirk…feel good…feel happy.

I call them my happinecessities:
1. Belting Broadway tunes with my joyous friend Fredy at Nevada Smith’s on Thursday nights. A few free Buds in my belly, and I’m on stage singing my heart out to drunken frat boys, underage girls and Irish bartenders. I love it. It makes me feel ALIVE.
2. Rollerblading with my fun-n-fabulous friend Lauren on the West Side Highway. With a bit of a breeze to cool my skin, smooth ground to relax my feet, and gossipy girl talk to stimulate my mind. For me, rollerblading is as comforting as devouring warm, just-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies after having multiple, mind-blowing orgasms on a lazy Sunday afternoon. It makes me feel 100 percent AT EASE.
3. Spending quality time with my friends and family (dinner, movies, dancing, laughing). It makes me feel LOVED.

Feel free. Love and be loved. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.

This entry was posted on Saturday, August 13th, 2005 at 12:54 am and is filed under Main. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.