Skylines, Subways and Press Releases |
My parents and I cleaned out our bank accounts to get me to New York so that I can pursue my dream of becoming an adorable, yet fiercely intimidating, music/fashion publicist and/or journalist with a heart of gold.
So far it's a tale of an empty studio apartment, two unpacked suitcases, a confusing underground transit system, an insane obsession with Skype, and the anxiety of waiting for several care packages in the mail that contain the rest of my shoe collection. Soon, I hope to transform it into a tale of an enormous loft with a glittery staircase, numerous walk-in closets, an influx of emails from the media on my blackberry, my town car driver being late and dealing with everyday critical decisions of whether or not to wear the cerulean blue Christian Louboutin satin pumps on New Years Eve, or the black leather studded Alexander McQueen ankle boots on a Thursday. I signed the lease, booked a one-way ticket, hailed my first cab, opened the door and rolled my two suitcases into a new empty apartment. This is where the comfort and structure that once made life complacent ends, and the fear, perseverance and excitement begin. #SIDENOTE: In the spirit of privacy and concealing identities, I have given my friends aliases in the form of precious drag queen names. PERFECT. #CONTACT: erika9899 at gmail dot com |
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Notes![FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:
February 24, 2010
Mexican Food, Motivation & Mount St. Helens
(New York, NY) —After getting on the first flight to Austin,TX I arrive at the front door, set my carry-on on the floor, ring the doorbell and anxiously wait for my parents to open the door. Suddenly, I’m greeted by an excited fleet of ladies: my grandma, my cousin, my aunt and my mother, whose curly brown hair is rapidly bouncing up and down due to her impressive jumps and leaps of excitement. Stepping away from the fleet of estrogen, my dad strolls up, hugs and chuckles with glee as he immediately starts to take care of me by getting my things. We all walk to the most obvious room, the room where from day one Mexicans have flocked to, the room Mexican families in a telenovela always go to- the kitchen.
“Mija, you have to eat, New York didn’t feed you, look at you; you’re so skinny, like those hungry weird teenagers I see on Maury.”
-My Mother
As my mother proceeds to convince my aunt and grandma that I have a striking resemblance to those emaciated, deviant guests on the Maury Povich show, I jitter with excitement as I see the culinary medley of homemade Mexican food I was about to consume.
The smell of freshly fried chalupas (in organic avocado oil ) and homemade Serrano lemmon hot sauce permeate the air. On our dining room table, is an assortment of dishes: spinach chalupas, guacamole, spicy vegetables sprinkled with shredded lactose-free cheese and hot peppers, black bean and tofu filled tamales and of course, the ridiculously delicious variety of low fat cheesecakes and blueberry almond oat bars for dessert.
Within a thirty-five minute time frame I had managed to eat 8 enchiladas, 2 chalupas, 2 soft tacos, chips and guacamole, cheesecake and drink NUMEROUS cups of refreshingly wonderful ice-cold purified water. Any person would tell you that the numbers are shocking and any doctor would tell you this could lead to coronary heart disease and the loss of a modeling contract. Although my proportions may seem over indulgent, I feel that my fat-girl tooth is especially warranted.
# UNDER THE TABLE:
I should clarify why I abruptly flew home to Austin for the weekend. It was such a tumultuous month. My excel spreadsheet shows that I’ve emailed 187 people and the silent failure of no email notifications are a constant reminder that nobody has responded. Running around NYC like a bat out of hell, sending emails to journalists trying to get noticed, helping out at PR firms, constantly revamping my cover letter and resume, applying to part-time and full-time jobs, stressing about personal issues, striving to salvage an important friendship, being professionally agitated, geographically confused, financially depleted, and most importantly- assuring myself that (due to lack of money) it is perfectly fine not to buy the new BCBG magenta snakeskin clutch or the new white BCBG sailor skirt with a satin navy trim. Having endured my first month-and-a-half in NYC, I thought it would be appropriate to eject myself from the encompassing negativity that had been plaguing me for over a month.
Some call it growing up, acclimating yourself to a new city, or maybe even maturing…but I would just like to call it unnecessary. I needed to get away, for just a couple days to clear my head, recollect my spirit and EEAATT. It was nothing a weekend of tortillas, guacamole, and two kooky hilariously inspiring parents couldn’t fix.
# BACK TO THE DINING ROOM TABLE:
A heard of my extended family came in from Dallas, Mexico and San Antonio to visit me for my homecoming. With this comes food, critique and advice said in Spanglish that they deem profound but really, it kind of doesn’t make sense. As I was rapidly eating I would catch glimpses of my aunt and grandma through my peripherals, not knowing whether they were displaying faces of concern or disgust. I could hear my mother, aunt and grandma debating the best way to send me tortillas, black beans, crackers and other non-perishable food items via FedEx. It was like the United Nations, congregating and debating about the most efficient and economical way to send food to poverty-stricken children in third-world countries which in this case was me, I guess. In any case, they kept wanting to feed me, kept loading my plate and applying garnishes to every single chalupa, and after not having had a homemade meal in over a month, who am I to sit there and complain about the inhumane portions I was being served?
:::SHUT THE FRIDGE, COVER THE TABLE, ERIKA HAS PASSED OUT. DUE TO HOT SAUCE AND GUACAMOLE SUCCEEDING HER WHITE BLOOD CELL COUNT::
When I was at home, I would walk around the house with, really, no fundamental purpose. I would walk up and down the stairs and loiter around in every room because there was so much space! It was such a drastic change from my NY studio. All the chairs, the couches, the rooms, the TVs, the food, the tables, the space, all of the OPTIONS! I would sit on a sofa for about 20 minutes, then switch to another in an entirely different room just because I could. UGH, freedom. You don’t even know.
# A BRIEF EXCERPT
After engaging in a very inspiring heart-to-heart with my parents about semi-struggling in NYC my dad states:“You’re going to set that city on fire. We gave birth to a hustler; you complain a lot, but you’re a hustler. And come on, its only been a month. You live in NYC and have endured half of January and almost ALL OF FEBRUARY! That says a lot…oh wait, HEY…isn’t February like, the shortest month of the year? You know, the flimsy one?”
-Daddy Fierce
Even though my weekend was very short lived, it was exactly what my heart needed. On the plane ride I was thinking of innovative ways to get noticed and land a job. I was constructing a cute cognitive map in my head about what I was going to do different, whom I was going to contact, and how I was going to set myself apart from the disarray of journalists and publicists fighting against me to get my job.
As I was heavily absorbed in my war-like game plan, I noticed that we were about to land. I took a few moments, gathered my thoughts and took out my iPod BOSE earphones. I started to panic and believe that, through some voodoo-aerodynamic curse, I had turned deaf. I gasped and fiddled with my ears then a cannon-like pop went off in my head and cleared out all the demons. As my hearing snapped back I heard the flight attendant mutter through the intercom the most daunting yet inspiring phrase:
“…AND WELCOME, [back] TO NEW YORK CITY.”
(PS: PH2H): Its time to immerse myself in NYC, and this time not come up for air until I get my way and make something happen. To be honest, I’m scared. I’m scared of being up here with no friends and no family and a dismal job search. I know that I need to be here, for my career, to be successful and support myself, my friends and family. I know I can do it, I know I’m meant for it, I know it’s my calling…but at times the transition is just brutal.
I think we all exert ourselves to be something great, to do something exceptional; however, with that initiative comes some reservation and sporadic moments of doubt. I think it’s just because we’re all a little worried of failure. The more I think about it…you [and I] would be surprised at what we are capable of… if we just set fear aside and ambition forward.
So lets do this. I’m about to get real stubborn up in this bitch and really start knocking down some doors. E-mail until my nail color (OPI’s Pretty In Pink Shade 045) chips off and my hands begin to impulsively stiffen. I refuse to get swallowed up by NYC..my lashes are too long and my hair is too big and they most likely wouldn’t fit down the City’s throat…sorry NY: ERIKA- 1, NYC- 0
Filled With Mexican Food and Southern Spirit in NYC,
-erika
listening to: my stomach growling, my dad on speakerphone, and “Whole Lotta Rosie” by AC/DC
feeling: like I need to shower
sitting: on my bed
missing: when my cheek used to not have huge pimples on it! As I type and look down at my keyboard…I can see three different forms of lumps alongside my cheek: Mount Vesuvius, Mount St. Helens and Mount Everest.
<3](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_l7kudgxBee1qal3nbo1_500.jpg)
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:
February 24, 2010
Mexican Food, Motivation & Mount St. Helens
(New York, NY) —After getting on the first flight to Austin,TX I arrive at the front door, set my carry-on on the floor, ring the doorbell and anxiously wait for my parents to open the door. Suddenly, I’m greeted by an excited fleet of ladies: my grandma, my cousin, my aunt and my mother, whose curly brown hair is rapidly bouncing up and down due to her impressive jumps and leaps of excitement. Stepping away from the fleet of estrogen, my dad strolls up, hugs and chuckles with glee as he immediately starts to take care of me by getting my things. We all walk to the most obvious room, the room where from day one Mexicans have flocked to, the room Mexican families in a telenovela always go to- the kitchen.
“Mija, you have to eat, New York didn’t feed you, look at you; you’re so skinny, like those hungry weird teenagers I see on Maury.”
-My Mother
As my mother proceeds to convince my aunt and grandma that I have a striking resemblance to those emaciated, deviant guests on the Maury Povich show, I jitter with excitement as I see the culinary medley of homemade Mexican food I was about to consume.
The smell of freshly fried chalupas (in organic avocado oil ) and homemade Serrano lemmon hot sauce permeate the air. On our dining room table, is an assortment of dishes: spinach chalupas, guacamole, spicy vegetables sprinkled with shredded lactose-free cheese and hot peppers, black bean and tofu filled tamales and of course, the ridiculously delicious variety of low fat cheesecakes and blueberry almond oat bars for dessert.
Within a thirty-five minute time frame I had managed to eat 8 enchiladas, 2 chalupas, 2 soft tacos, chips and guacamole, cheesecake and drink NUMEROUS cups of refreshingly wonderful ice-cold purified water. Any person would tell you that the numbers are shocking and any doctor would tell you this could lead to coronary heart disease and the loss of a modeling contract. Although my proportions may seem over indulgent, I feel that my fat-girl tooth is especially warranted.
# UNDER THE TABLE:
I should clarify why I abruptly flew home to Austin for the weekend. It was such a tumultuous month. My excel spreadsheet shows that I’ve emailed 187 people and the silent failure of no email notifications are a constant reminder that nobody has responded. Running around NYC like a bat out of hell, sending emails to journalists trying to get noticed, helping out at PR firms, constantly revamping my cover letter and resume, applying to part-time and full-time jobs, stressing about personal issues, striving to salvage an important friendship, being professionally agitated, geographically confused, financially depleted, and most importantly- assuring myself that (due to lack of money) it is perfectly fine not to buy the new BCBG magenta snakeskin clutch or the new white BCBG sailor skirt with a satin navy trim. Having endured my first month-and-a-half in NYC, I thought it would be appropriate to eject myself from the encompassing negativity that had been plaguing me for over a month.
Some call it growing up, acclimating yourself to a new city, or maybe even maturing…but I would just like to call it unnecessary. I needed to get away, for just a couple days to clear my head, recollect my spirit and EEAATT. It was nothing a weekend of tortillas, guacamole, and two kooky hilariously inspiring parents couldn’t fix.
# BACK TO THE DINING ROOM TABLE:
A heard of my extended family came in from Dallas, Mexico and San Antonio to visit me for my homecoming. With this comes food, critique and advice said in Spanglish that they deem profound but really, it kind of doesn’t make sense. As I was rapidly eating I would catch glimpses of my aunt and grandma through my peripherals, not knowing whether they were displaying faces of concern or disgust. I could hear my mother, aunt and grandma debating the best way to send me tortillas, black beans, crackers and other non-perishable food items via FedEx. It was like the United Nations, congregating and debating about the most efficient and economical way to send food to poverty-stricken children in third-world countries which in this case was me, I guess. In any case, they kept wanting to feed me, kept loading my plate and applying garnishes to every single chalupa, and after not having had a homemade meal in over a month, who am I to sit there and complain about the inhumane portions I was being served?
:::SHUT THE FRIDGE, COVER THE TABLE, ERIKA HAS PASSED OUT. DUE TO HOT SAUCE AND GUACAMOLE SUCCEEDING HER WHITE BLOOD CELL COUNT::
When I was at home, I would walk around the house with, really, no fundamental purpose. I would walk up and down the stairs and loiter around in every room because there was so much space! It was such a drastic change from my NY studio. All the chairs, the couches, the rooms, the TVs, the food, the tables, the space, all of the OPTIONS! I would sit on a sofa for about 20 minutes, then switch to another in an entirely different room just because I could. UGH, freedom. You don’t even know.
# A BRIEF EXCERPT
After engaging in a very inspiring heart-to-heart with my parents about semi-struggling in NYC my dad states:
“You’re going to set that city on fire. We gave birth to a hustler; you complain a lot, but you’re a hustler. And come on, its only been a month. You live in NYC and have endured half of January and almost ALL OF FEBRUARY! That says a lot…oh wait, HEY…isn’t February like, the shortest month of the year? You know, the flimsy one?”-Daddy Fierce
Even though my weekend was very short lived, it was exactly what my heart needed. On the plane ride I was thinking of innovative ways to get noticed and land a job. I was constructing a cute cognitive map in my head about what I was going to do different, whom I was going to contact, and how I was going to set myself apart from the disarray of journalists and publicists fighting against me to get my job.
As I was heavily absorbed in my war-like game plan, I noticed that we were about to land. I took a few moments, gathered my thoughts and took out my iPod BOSE earphones. I started to panic and believe that, through some voodoo-aerodynamic curse, I had turned deaf. I gasped and fiddled with my ears then a cannon-like pop went off in my head and cleared out all the demons. As my hearing snapped back I heard the flight attendant mutter through the intercom the most daunting yet inspiring phrase:
“…AND WELCOME, [back] TO NEW YORK CITY.”
(PS: PH2H): Its time to immerse myself in NYC, and this time not come up for air until I get my way and make something happen. To be honest, I’m scared. I’m scared of being up here with no friends and no family and a dismal job search. I know that I need to be here, for my career, to be successful and support myself, my friends and family. I know I can do it, I know I’m meant for it, I know it’s my calling…but at times the transition is just brutal.
I think we all exert ourselves to be something great, to do something exceptional; however, with that initiative comes some reservation and sporadic moments of doubt. I think it’s just because we’re all a little worried of failure. The more I think about it…you [and I] would be surprised at what we are capable of… if we just set fear aside and ambition forward.
So lets do this. I’m about to get real stubborn up in this bitch and really start knocking down some doors. E-mail until my nail color (OPI’s Pretty In Pink Shade 045) chips off and my hands begin to impulsively stiffen. I refuse to get swallowed up by NYC..my lashes are too long and my hair is too big and they most likely wouldn’t fit down the City’s throat…sorry NY: ERIKA- 1, NYC- 0
Filled With Mexican Food and Southern Spirit in NYC,
-erika
listening to: my stomach growling, my dad on speakerphone, and “Whole Lotta Rosie” by AC/DC
feeling: like I need to shower
sitting: on my bed
missing: when my cheek used to not have huge pimples on it! As I type and look down at my keyboard…I can see three different forms of lumps alongside my cheek: Mount Vesuvius, Mount St. Helens and Mount Everest.
<3
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