“Do you have an iPhone, Jess?” my friend asked, as she checked hers during a lull in our conversation.

I said that I just had a basic Verizon phone. Her son looked up from his homework.

“Do you have a Droid?” he asked.

Oh, lord. This child thought a Droid constituted an old phone. No, I didn’t have a Droid.

“My friend has an old phone,” he said. “It has a keyboard that slides out for texting.”

My phone didn’t have that either. I’m assuming his friend is also around eight years of age.

*

On my first day at my current job, my manager took me on a whirlwind tour. I was starting to feel like a show pony, being introduced to all these people I wouldn’t remember (nor would most of them remember me). Then we went downstairs so she could pick up her daily New York Times.

“I know I can get the New York Times on my iPad, but it’s just not the same,” she said. “Do you have an iPad or an iPhone?”

She has both.

“I have an iPod?” I offered. “I haven’t gotten there yet.”

“Well, we all go at our own pace,” she said.

*

I went to an office happy hour, and once again, during a lull in the conversation, half the people whipped out iPhones.

*

It was going to happen eventually, I guess.

Goodbye, old phone. You are slim and sleek and have a funky gold plate back cover that always got compliments, but there’s a new kid in town.

Forgive me.

I’m also not sure how this changes my relationship with my not-all-that-old iPod touch. I think we might just be gym buddies. Or long distance travel buddies, to conserve my phone battery.

This also flies against my very recent decision that I want to take a trip in the coming months and need to save money, but I think I can manage both. More on the possible trip later.

2011 as a whole was a lot about finishing things. Finishing that manuscript, finishing grad school, finishing my life in Pittsburgh. Getting some closure with a relationship that’s been hanging in the balance these past few years.

But as the Semisonic song “Closing Time” says (oh, you know the one, and I bet you know the lines I’m going to quote here), “every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” I started a few major things in 2011: life in a different city–a re-beginning, if you want to call it that, in a city I know well, a grownup job, and living with roommates again.

When I moved from Pittsburgh to Boston, I had a very basic plan: 1) get a job, 2) find an apartment, 3) build a social life. Number 1 took a long time, longer than I would have liked. But it got done. Number 2 was a stressful two weeks, but then I found a place, and so far so good.

Now Number 3.

This is going to be tricky. As frustrating as jobhunting was, there was still some predictability to the process. One does not send resumes and cover letters to befriend new people. Well, I guess online dating is sort of like applying for open jobs, and yes, I do have a profile on one site and haven’t been actively looking at any so-called “matches”, but–

Okay, I have to stop making excuses.

Still, my pseudo-resolutions for 2012 revolve on cultivating me, rather than focusing on other people. Taking better care of myself, which includes going to the gym and remembering to wear eye cream. Finding hobbies again: I’ve signed up for a beginner’s pottery class, and I really need to pay more attention to writing, as it really fell to the wayside during my unemployment woes. Volunteering is on my to-do list–and yes, volunteering is generally thought of being the opposite of self-centered, but my motivations are not completely altruistic–it would be like a hobby, something to keep me busy. Plus, I prioritized registering for pottery class over committing to a volunteering project.

And maybe along the way, I’ll achieve Number 3.

I’m skeptical of what the psychic I saw in September predicted for this year: a work-related trip to Alabama this spring (people in my position don’t generally travel), and a love triangle–I’m supposed to meet the third member early this year. If these things happen, well, that’s cool. But I’m not going to be sitting around and twiddling my thumbs, waiting.

And that, I suppose, can be my main resolution for 2012: don’t sit around. Do stuff. Good advice for everyone, at any time of year, right?

Happy 2012, you few loyal readers.

Okay, the Olivia Newton-John single is very giggle-worthy. Let’s watch it to get all that snickering out of our systems:

Fantastic. Now we’ll move on, okay?

Since I’m trying to be more grownup in other aspects of my life (oh, hello, corporate job), I decided to suck it up and try to get over my gym phobia. Other motivating factors: my ongoing weight-loss attempts and my corporate discount.

Primary reasons I used to avoid gyms: 1) I don’t like sweating; 2) I don’t like being so close to other people–I suspect they’re judging my lack of athleticism and my poor form.

Pseudo-Grownup Me realizes that #1 can’t really be avoided. Actually, it would be unhealthy if I didn’t sweat. But we could work on the self-consciousness problems at the root of #2.

The big thing I had to acknowledge was that membership gyms are not the same as middle school/high school gyms. Thank goodness. Gym teachers aren’t walking around, correcting my form. The other people working out are not the same chumps as my middle school/high school classmates. They’re too in their own zones to be judging me. And if they are looking at me, they’re much more discreet about it than adolescent punks and aren’t going to say it to my face. There are definitely some perks to adulthood.

The elliptical and I are friendly. I’m trying to like the treadmill more. My gym membership came with two complimentary sessions with one of the in-house personal trainers, and the trainer I had was remarkably non-judgmental while still identifying areas for improvement. The weights section is still intimidating with a lot of beefcake and grunting (I don’t belong to one of those grunt-free places), but at least I’ve made my peace with the cardio area.

I often run into coworkers, who put me to shame in the fitness department (I’m gleaming with sweat on my treadmill while So-and-So runs on hers without missing a beat), and I still don’t feel stronger, or more fit, or skinnier, though the number on the scale is definitely lower than it was a few months back. But I only started going to the gym a few weeks ago, so I guess expecting dramatic results is unrealistic.

If you think I’ve changed into a different person, with all this gym and weight loss talk, rest assured that I’m currently in New York visiting my family for Christmas and as always, there’s delicious food. I’d be a fool to abstain.

Happy holidays, all.

It’s flattering that I can pass for having just finished undergrad, but this also makes me question the value of the past few years, the time in between my actual undergrad experience and the present.

I used to always be ahead. I was taller than most kids my age. I took advanced classes. Somewhere along the way, I slowed down, and it seems more and more like grad school really put the brakes on both my personal and professional lives. Friends have been promoted, changed jobs, found long-term relationships and some have gotten married. Even friends in the same MFA program have “grown,” marrying, buying houses, and/or securing jobs that require the degree.

I don’t need my MFA for my job. For a lot of my co-workers, this is their first, or at the most the second, job out of undergrad. I’m happy with my decision not to pursue a career in academia, and I like the direction I’ve chosen. But I could be further along professionally if I’d come to this decision sooner.

If, suppose, would have, could have.

On most days, I stand by the reasoning that had I not gone to grad school, I probably would still be wondering what it would be like to try a MFA in creative writing. And that it would be harder to chase that dream if I’d worked these few years and found a stable career. Had I not gone to grad school, I could very likely still be in my last relationship, but maybe just because it would be easier to stay together than go our own ways.

It’s like I’m Bill Murray’s character in Groundhog Day, and I’ve woken up to find out that it’s February 2 again, and that “I Got You Babe” is playing again on the B&B alarm clock radio.

While my life hasn’t looped as much as his, I think that the important thing to take away from his experience is that he eventually uses his renewed second, third, etc. chances to his advantage. Now I just have to figure out how to best use my personal Groundhog Day. His accomplishments, which include mastering the piano, learning how to make ice sculptures, and wooing Andie MacDowell’s character, though impressive, aren’t really doing it for me.

One thing that I don’t love, however, is exercising. I like walking, and I tolerate Pilates and yoga to a certain degree, but I tend to avoid anything more high-impact. Gyms remind me of high school Phys Ed, even if they smell better than the weight room in my school that reeked of Boy, and not in the good way. (Yes, I did go to a school with a lot more girls than guys, but I blame the weight room smell all on the dudes. Weight Training and Java Programming were the only two classes I took in which girls were in the minority. No, those classes were not my first choice-picks. I’d wanted Aerobics and Women’s Studies.)

You may see a problem here. I like eating. I don’t like exercising. And while “Asian girl” probably conjures up images of skinny lil’ things (I know a few, too), that’s not me. My family tends to be chubby.

I lucked out in college, and didn’t gain the Freshman 15. But through the course of grad school, I gained weight. Several culprits:

• pizza and beer after classes got out at 9pm
• lattes and big cookies while writing at the coffee shop
• eating my feelings (said manuscript, general feelings of writerly inadequacy and “What am I doing with my life?”).

Coming back to Boston and not having the transition be as speedy as I’d imagined was also hard. Being unemployed often being bored. Yes, there was a beautiful city with sights to see at my very fingertips, but I was trying to save money. Although being poor also limited how much I ate out, I was never starving or limiting how much I ate. I was pretty depressed and inactive. One doesn’t burn many calories constantly scouring the Internet for job postings.

In October, I moved in with a different friend, with whom I’m still staying. B and I are both vegetarians, and since we’ve known each other a long time, I have a good sense of what foods he likes and dislikes. He also won’t take my money for letting me stay with him, but conceded to at least eating my cooking. The unemployed, after all, have more free time than full-time engineers. It’s not a living situation where a fresh, hot dinner is waiting for him whenever he gets home, but there are always at least leftovers in the fridge that he can have, if he chooses. And it’s just too bad that he doesn’t like kale, because I’m in a kale phase now. He’ll still eat spicy kale lasagna, despite his grumbling.

B had started to use his app on his iPhone called Lose It!, to record his daily exercise and caloric intake earlier this fall. The app also works on the iPod Touch, so I downloaded it out of curiosity. The app has a database of foods and their calories, but you can enter “new” foods and their caloric values manually as well.

I consider myself a healthy eater. Yes, I really should incorporate more vegetables into my diet, especially of the dark leafy green variety, but shouldn’t everyone? I have fruit everyday. Water’s my main beverage of choice. Most of my protein is plant-based.

Having an app take on the work of recording what and how much I ate in a day = HOLY CRAP.  I don’t even do the post-9 p.m. beer and pizza, or the latte and giant cookie anymore.

One of my issues was portion control. I often scoffed at servings listed on food packaging. Just 2 cookies? I usually ended up eating 2 or 3 servings. When I was growing up, there was always more than enough food, and the encouragement was always to “Eat more” and clean my rice bowl. Even today I feel weird not cleaning my plate. This is especially bad at restaurants, where I don’t control how much is put on my plate in the first place–I could be eating two or three meals in one sitting.

Having a specific budget helped me make better food choices. Sure, I could–and did–eat four fun-size Milky Ways for breakfast the day after Halloween (along with a banana), but I knew that would affect the rest of the day, and had to make choices accordingly. At least I only ate four.

With Lose It!, you can input your ideal weight, and determine the rate at which you’d like to lose weight (1/2 pound a week, a pound a week, 2 pounds a week), and the app will calculate how many calories you should be consuming daily. As you lose weight and log in your new weight, the app modifies your daily caloric budget.

As for exercise, it counts as negative calories in the app. Want to eat more? Then you have to move more. A lot of exercises and their estimated caloric burn are programmed into the app, including broomball, sexual activity (three levels of it, too–light, moderate, and vigorous–ick), luge, running, walking and gardening.

It helped me that in early October, as I realized that my time in Boston could be coming to an end, I realized I didn’t want to spend what could possibly be my last month in the city cooped up indoors, feeling sorry for myself. I was going to go out and do things, gosh darn it. It also helped that the temperatures were finally cooling off, so that I could no longer make excuses about sweating as soon as the front door shut behind me.

When I started the Lose It! program, my BMI was 25, which is categorized as overweight. I’ve lost a few pounds since then, and have brought my BMI back down to the normal range, but I’m trying to get to the median of that range, around 22. My rationale is that it’s easier for me to lose weight than it will be in the future, especially if I have children someday and pack on baby weight. I’m aware that BMI measurements aren’t always accurate indicators of health, but they’re relatively easy guidelines.

The upcoming holiday season might prove a big challenge to calorie counting. I’m sure I fell off the wagon during my weekend trip to Davis, I ate out every meal, but when I weighed myself post-trip, there wasn’t that noticeable of a change. I made out okay with regards to Halloween. Now that I’m starting a new job, it might be more difficult to eat right and find time to exercise. It could also be good, in that I have to make even smarter food choices (because while it’s okay to eat four Milky Ways for breakfast when you’ve got no place to be, it’s not okay when you are at work and have to use your brain and interact with people). And there’s a gym chain that gives employees from my company a pretty substantial discount. I might try to get over my phobia of gyms.

I’m hoping that I still won’t be That Woman. Counting can be fun, right?

(You might be more familiar with the “censored” version of this song. Oh, Internet.)

Starting in November, I’ll be an editorial assistant at an educational publishing company in Boston. Yes, I’m staying here for the foreseeable future. I’m very happy about this turn of events, and accepted the offer over the phone on Monday without hesitation. (Me: “I’d love to!” Recruiter: ”Do  you need time to think it over or…” Me: “No, I’m good.”) My new boss called me the next day to welcome me, sounding just as excited as I felt.

When I had my birthday psychic reading over a month ago, the woman predicted that things on the job front would look better in November. She asked me if a headhunter had contacted me yet–when I said no, she said one would soon. Sure enough, the company recruiter contacted me the day after my birthday. After two rounds of interviews, I ended up not getting that particular position. I was disappointed because I really liked the company culture.

But then fast forward to this month.  I’d applied for another position at the same place, and they were interested. Plus, the initial department I’d interviewed with apparently recommended me to another team for yet another opening. There were many phone conversations with said recruiter, and face-to-face meetings with him and potential supervisors and colleagues. And I accepted the offer of one of the positions.

I’ve been playing this song a lot in celebration:

I haven’t broken down and openly wept out of joy and gratitude, though I’ve teared up with those feelings. I haven’t decided what my favorite part of my mom’s reaction is: that she said she now had to start going to Mass, because she promised God she’d go to Mass for a year once I found a job (“one promise I am very happy to fulfill”) or that she said she admired my guts and determination. I’ve always thought the admiration was one-sided.

It’s been a rough four months or so of job hunting. I responded to over 75 job listings, and interviewed for at least 11 of them (not counting multiple interviews regarding the same position). I swung back and forth between feeling hopeful and despondent. I’m incredibly grateful to my friends and family for all their support.

In addition to working with a company and employees I’ve grown to really like during the interview process and having an income again, I’m excited that I can move on with other aspects of my life, get more settled in Boston, and not have to consider the possibility of leaving. Next up: apartment hunting.

Things are much more complicated nowadays. I have to make plans, instead of just following a bunch of grownups around, visiting places and engaging in activities they’ve arranged. But there’s also greater incentive to taking a vacation now: to escape things that are troubling me, if only for a little while.

To the psychic who encouraged me to get on a plane and attend Hermit’s wedding: THANK YOU. I needed this vacation, short as it was. And it looks like some other things you predicted are coming true–but more on that in a future post.

Three important takeaways from this trip:

You can take a girl out of New York, but you can’t take New York out of her.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I love Boston, and I hope that I’ll stay for a long time. But I’ll always identify myself as a New Yorker. A few of my New York friends have moved to other parts of the country as well, but still hold onto their New York identities. None of us have changed our cell phone numbers, still clinging to 718 and 917 area codes. I used to carry around my MetroCard in my wallet while living in Pittsburgh, and here in Boston.

We New Yorkers like to avoid driving whenever possible. I wasn’t up for adventure of figuring out the public buses in order to get to Davis from the Sacramento airport, and opted for a shuttle instead–but two of my hotel roommates took up that challenge and succeeded. Downtown Davis is very friendly to pedestrians, almost too friendly, as we hardened East Coasters, who are accustomed to barreling across streets lest we want oncoming cars to hit us, hesitated at street corners where cars slowed and stopped for us. No one honked their horn! Where is the road rage in this place?

Other observations that stunned us–well, me: orange and pomegranate trees bearing fruit in people’s yards, inexpensive prices on delicious produce at the farmers’ market (I ate fantastic strawberries in late October! The basket was only $2.50!).

Friendship is a beautiful thing.

Well, yes, I’ve known this for a very long time. For one thing, these past few months would have been much harder without friends. But my New York friends are my oldest friends, and I’m blown away when I realize just how long we’ve known each other. They were my friends even when I was a mopey, self-absorbed teenager–I don’t know if I could even be friends with my teenage self. And today they’re incredibly smart and capable adults. We’ve got a psychology PhD candidate, a high school math teacher, and nonprofit professionals in our midst.

It’s rare that I get to see all these amazing individuals at the same time. Even when I’m in New York for the holidays, it’s nearly impossible to coordinate schedules so that everyone can attend. Sitting on a hotel patio as the California sun sets, feasting on farmers market purchases like cheese curds, baguette and ripe strawberries on a sunny Saturday morning hours before the wedding, walking to the church together, getting lost on the walk to the reception together, reminiscing at the reception, walking back to the hotel when it was nearly pitch black out were all real treats.

And if that wasn’t enough to make the trip worth it, there was also the bride’s reaction in realizing that so many people had traveled from the East Coast to celebrate her and her new husband.

All these feelings about friendship almost make me want to have a wedding someday, should I find a Mr. Girl Out of Bubble, instead of eloping. I said almost. Don’t get too excited.

Playground swings!!!

I mention this mainly because I need to undercut the sentimentality of the previous section. But swings really are as delightful when you’re 26 as they were when you were 6.

And after this jaunt to California, things here on the East Coast are suddenly starting to look better.

The summer before I moved from Boston to Pittsburgh for grad school, I came up with a list of activities I wanted to do in New England before I left. I accomplished a lot of the items, thanks in no small part to my then-boyfriend, who probably would have preferred relaxing at home on the weekends, but instead accompanied me on my whirlwind tours. (He also put up with my crying jags, which picked up in frequency as my August move date drew closer. All this, plus the huge fact that he had to stay put because of his job while I chose to look at grad school programs not in the area meant I had no chance of winning the Best Girlfriend Award for Summer 2008. Or 2008 overall, probably.)

For my last year in Pittsburgh, I came up with The Pittsburgh Bucket List. While I never fell for Pittsburgh the same way I did for Boston, the place had grown on me.

It’s not definite yet, but it turns out that my return to Boston may be short-lived. I wanted it to be a homecoming. I love this city. But I’ve been unemployed for longer than I’d like, and completely dependent on the kindness and hospitality of friends to house me. It looks more and more like I’ll have to do what I said I’d never do: move back to New York and back in with my family.

I love my family, and there’s plenty to do in New York, but I’m bummed out by this likelihood. Some days it feels more like “devastated” rather than “bummed out,” but I’m trying to work on this. I tell myself that it wasn’t a waste to move to Boston instead of directly to New York after graduation, because if I hadn’t at least tried Boston, I would have wondered what could have been.

While I’m still looking for jobs in Boston and keeping my fingers crossed for some of the applications I’ve submitted, I’m trying to prepare myself emotionally for leaving. Part of this means going out and doing/seeing things. Thus, the Bucket List is reborn, and I’m sharing a version of it with you. It’s still a work-in-progress, and doesn’t contain some things I’ve done recently, like revisit the New England Aquarium and the Museum of Fine Arts.

(This beats worrying about the logistics of physically moving, like downsizing my possessions and figuring out just how to get what I end up keeping to New York. I’ll start worrying about that later this month, along with applying to jobs in New York City.)

In my transition from a Pittsburgh life to a Boston one, I’m nowhere near where I’d like to be. In fact, I feel I’ve made very little progress from the time I landed at Logan Airport back in late June.

I’m trying to believe in this song:

(Though I will admit to lying down, listening to Adele’s “Someone Like You,” and crying a few more times than is probably healthy. Hopefully we’ll have no more of that.)

It does help to have at least one thing to look forward to in October: fiscal responsibility be damned, I’m going to California to see Hermit get married.

My mom and aunt used to visit a psychic, Marilyn, when I was young. I was fascinated by this, but alas, I was too young to go, too. They never really shared what Marilyn predicted for them, but my mom did say that one of her friends had also gone to Marilyn, who foresaw her having three kids and living in Florida. At the time, said friend was unmarried, childless, and living in New York. Where is she now? Married with three kids. In Florida.

After my aunt passed away a few years ago, my mom mentioned something about my aunt being concerned with her health after psychic readings, taking all sorts of vitamins and supplements. She doesn’t know what Marilyn (and possibly other psychics) told my aunt, but maybe they sensed something.

A few months ago, I told my mom and brother that I was debating between a Duck Tour of Boston or a psychic reading as a birthday treat for myself. They said in unison, “Go on the Duck Tour.”

When my brother asked my mom what her psychic had told her years ago, she brushed off the question. Little things. That’s not what you said earlier, Mom. I got’cha.

As a college freshman, I had a free psychic reading at a college-sponsored event. It was fast. I remember asking her if I was going to meet anyone. She predicted meeting someone through work. I did meet someone about a month or two later, but not through work. Unless you count creating an online dating profile and answering personality tests “work.”

At 25, going on 26, I wanted to go to a psychic reading–a “real” one–because right now, I feel pretty lost in life. I’m back in a city I love, near people I love, but the whole getting a job and my own place and thus restarting my life thing is just not working out right now.

As luck would have it, LivingSocial Boston was selling an offer for a 30-minute psychic reading at half the regular price. Done.

This is what I would have liked to hear: It’s all going to be great! There’s a well-paying, fulfilling job in your very near future! You will settle down happily here in Boston! All your friendships are going to be groovy! Everyone you know and love is going to be happy and healthy! Speaking of love, your soulmate’s already in your life and soon he’s going to–

Lesson #1: Things just don’t work out exactly the way you want them to–sorry.

My psychic was pretty accurate in describing the current state of my life. A lot of movement, but right now I feel like I’m stuck in a rut. I started off all gung ho about this new stage in my life, and now I’ve gotten a lot more pessimistic. I feel trapped, like I’m never going to get past this stage. I feel like I don’t fit in.

She thinks things will get better in November. I was hoping for this month. Or October, even. But she sees a lot of traveling around for work–freelance things, possibly?

I had to laugh when she predicted a love triangle. Girl Out of Bubble (GOOB) does not do love triangles. Two guys? Seriously? She insists on it. I haven’t met one of the guys yet, apparently. I’m skeptical of the “tall,” “handsome,” “impeccably dressed” description, too–sounds too much like that “You will meet a tall, dark and handsome stranger” cliche. GOOB is not impeccably dressed. Why would a tall, handsome, well-dressed gent be interested in her? I don’t want to be in a love triangle.

Even she admitted it would be hard to believe her prediction that I’d be going to Alabama in the spring. I don’t know anyone there, and it’s not a place I’m particularly drawn to visit. But she was certain.

This is related to perhaps the most discomforting thing she had to say: that she didn’t see my life here, in Boston. She saw me south–had a strong sense of the New York area–but then even further South, in the Carolinas.

I don’t see myself in the South. I’ll always think of myself as a native New Yorker, but I don’t want to go back. I still think New England’s the place for me–but is it?

Lesson #2: You’re not always aware of what you have.

“Why are you turning down social invitations?” she asked.

“I don’t think I get that many.”

“Really? I see a lot coming up for you.”

We moved on, and she later asked, “Why do I see you getting on a plane in October?”

“My friend’s getting married in October?” I offered.

“Are you going?”

“I’m still thinking about it?”

“See!” she said, wagging her finger. “Don’t turn down social invitations.”

Lesson #3: You haven’t really listened to what people told you in the past.

“You think you need more experience,” she said, job-wise. “But you have a lot under your belt. What you need is more confidence in yourself.”

Right now I’m imagining all my friends who are reading this exclaiming, “You needed a psychic to tell you that you should be more confident in yourself?!? I’ve told you that fifty billion times! Where’s my money?”

Lesson #4: Sometimes it’s nice to have things re-affirmed for you.

“You’re not the type who needs to always be around the other person in the relationship. You need your space.”

“You feel like you don’t have much in common with many people.”

She saw a lot of nature in my cards. Trees. Raising awareness for the environment. (Okay, I had on earrings with cut-outs of trees, but I don’t know; I doubt she based her reading off what I was wearing.)

Long-term predictions I’m not going to sweat over right now: Getting married in a few years, adopting two kids.

That’s most of it.

I’m glad that I didn’t go for the reading on my actual birthday, because then I’d just spend the day obsessing over everything I’d just been told. Hopefully I’ll get over things for the most part by the real day. My psychic also noted that this weekend, while significant for many people, was especially important to me–and I confessed that it was my birthday.

“Have a good birthday,” she said. “And go to your friend’s wedding!”

Which leads to another big question: how should I act, now that I supposedly know all this about my future? How much will I be just trying to fulfill prophecy (like getting on a plane in October, or, say, cozying up to tall, handsome, well-dressed dudes early next year?), and how much can I just, well, go with things as they’re dealt?

Maybe I should have gone on that Duck Tour after all.