One of the things that has been completely evident since returning to the States after nine years away is the paperwork attached to EVERYTHING.
Oh, you want birthday cake? Just fill out three pages. Let me get this straight – you’re trying to pay a bill from your personal bank account? No worries. Here’s a short eight page form, and it’s just a small fee of $40.
Banks, actually are the worst. I have switched banks three times during the eleven months I’ve been back in the country, and I’m still paying them to allow me to transfer funds for things like rent.
Too many papers. Too much nonsense.
Between ending one lease, trying to sign another one, flying the puppies over international waters, attempting to relocate the two pieces of furniture I’ve acquired over the river to Queens and somehow tending to an endless pile of bills… my red wine drinking skills have improved dramatically.
In other news, Poetry Volume 3 is not quite available yet but is swimming our way; I’m happy to see the booming market for trashy erotica, I do fancy penning a dirty story here and there; and I excitedly report that I’ve managed to once again nest in the number one “Gretchen New York City” google search spot. (totally just smiled about that one…)
As we approach FollowMeToNYC’s third year anniversary, I’m baffled by how far I’ve come. Yet while I feel like my first year back brought a lot of incredible things, it unfortunately did not include any time to catch my breath.
I spent six months in the worst job of my life; six months (and going!) in my favorite job; somehow convinced my four sisters to stop talking to me all together; married a 24 year old BMXing, guitar playing, tattooed Carpenter; and collapsed on the couch of a clinical psychologist when the spinning was starting to blur life just a tad too much.
Man. Maybe it’s good that I’m distracted by so much paperwork at the moment.
More red, please.