"Coo-coo-cachoo, they find their way back to the big ol' blue."

Sometimes you have to live three years in limbo before you find an escape route.

Google Images, babe.

Getting a job is hard. Getting a job you love is harder. Getting a writing job you love is really hard.

I interviewed for a staff writer position at Montco Media in January and for certain reasons, the hiring window became a freeze zone right after my interview. What did that mean for me? I didn't get hired.

This was really hard to accept because I wanted the job so badly. Frankly, I needed the job so badly because to be honest, I had hit rock-bottom. 

I have doubted myself for the past three years about becoming a writer. Could I even get hired? If I was hired, could I do the job well? If I did the job well, would I love it like I thought I would?

The answer is finally "yes".

In March, I was asked to freelance for Montco Media with the wonderful opportunity to have a friend be my editor. The friend is someone I had met waiting tables and is the reason I knew about the job at all. 

The most amazing, poetic part of it all? A week or two before I was asked to freelance, I severely cut back my hours at the restaurant. Why? I wasn't happy. That was reason enough for me. However, I was still as lost as I ever was- if not more. But I knew I needed to take the risk in order to find a job writing that truly made me happy and satisfied.

Hindsight would make it seem like I was making myself available to freelance. Reality would tell you that I had absolutely no idea what was about to happen.

When I received that offer I was nervous beyond belief. And they asked me to cover my first story the next day! Whoa! 

But I put on my fancy clothes, grabbed my notebook and listened to every damn piece of advice my friend/editor gave me. I am perpetually grateful for his patience and help since I've started this job. And it shows me how good people can be and how we're all here to help each other, more than anything else.

But guys- I'm still human. So I have made plenty of mistakes so far! 

For example:

1. Calling the Chief of Police "Officer". Oops. He did not like that. 

2. Not understanding sewage and water systems so badly (but honestly, who would?!) that I had to have the township manager spell it out for me on a phone call days after I covered my story. Embarrassing but necessary. And it won't be the last time I have to look like an idiot to get a story correct.

3. Conducting an interview of 3 people at the same time and starting with a question that I thought would steer my entire story... only to have them shut it down immediately. I was left floundering for words for the next hour. The audio is actually painful to listen to as moments of silence appear consistently throughout. Absolutely painful.

4.  Grammar. You think you know it- you don't.

5. Attribution. You think you've done it- you haven't.

And many more, I'm sure. However, I wouldn't want it any other way. I have learned so much and have met so many people in these wonderful few months. It's amazing how fast time flies when you truly love what you do. And I hope that never stops being the case. If I have talked to you at all in these past few months, I'm sure I've already gushed about being a reporter. I don't mean to be annoying but it's been a painful trip since graduation and I finally feel that I have found my niche. And it is pure joy. Pure, challenging joy.

I cover art events in elementary schools, and groundbreakings for beloved town establishments, and interview people that are killing it in this game of life. And then I get to go sit in my living room and write about it. WHAT. HOW COOL IS THAT!?

Google images, dude

So I promise to just keep swimming- if you all do the same. 

"That's a Good Lesson for the Kids"

In my efforts to seize the world, I am taking a film class at a local old-fashioned movie theater where I have been known to almost pass out.

The passing out is due to seeing Black Swan (can you blame me?) and Two Days, One Night... a foreign film I accidentally saw that made me squeamish for who knows what reason. Maybe boredom? Can that happen? 

Anyway, the class is about Woody Allen films. Is the guy a creep? Totally. Is he annoying to watch on screen and listen to rant? Most definitely. Do I even like him? No.

Google Images
Woody Allen's face

I took the class because I appreciate his approach to film and there is something about those films that make me want to pay $125 for four classes to listen to my overweight professor get in weird, passive arguments with my class full of elderly die-hard Woody Allen fans. 

Okay, maybe it isn't his films that make me want to go through all of that. But well, that's what I've been going through.

Last night was my second class. We start in discussion in a classroom then go down to the theater, watch the film of the night, then go back and discuss more. Solid. 

Well, last night was a better movie than the first week. Still weird and incestuous, but whatever. Foreshadowing, I guess. Well, there was a joke in the movie. Not surprising. However, EVERYONE in my class cracked up. The full "throw your body forward" laughing. I sat still. Laughed inside? I think I smirked just because the couple next to me looked at me like I was a freak for not projectile vomiting my laughter. That's when I knew.

I was surrounded by people that lovedddd Woody Allen. And it was then that I felt like I accidentally went into another foreign film.  

Half of the discussion I listen and somehow take 5 pages of notes, but the lulls between that include me watching my classmates. Flat out staring at them. Why are they all there? I haven't spoken a word yet. Except to say I didn't do the homework on the first night. Actually, I read 2 of the 3 readings which is basically doing all of it for me. 

I decided I hate one girl. She's foreign, but that isn't why I hate her. (Don't take offense, Two Days One Night.) Last night her phone vibrated for the entire second part of class. I'M SORRY, BUT WHAT!? Cut the shit, girl. I was especially angry because she had BO from the very moment she walked in and I made it a priority to shower before class. And I hate showering. Then she spoke and made a dumb point that was immediately passively argued by my professor. However, she pushed it further... all the while her phone vibrated. I gave up. 

But it was then that I realized the class was still worth it...

Because a retired doctor said:

"If there's sperm. There's a chance." In regards to pregnancy.
So my professor said:

"That's a good lesson for the kids!"

And that's what I learned in my film class last night.

Winterfest: A Night of Not Hating Winter

Last Saturday night I went to Waterfront Winterfest at Penn's Landing. It started out weird.

We pull up to the parking lot and have to pay to park. Fine. I gave $20, expecting $5 back. The lady hands me five (what look like) quarters. I give a very quizzical look and she responds in the accent of a southern gypsy on a back road asking for money, "Dolla coins."

Okkaayyy… we continued on through with my five Dolla Coins and entered the beautiful fake village in freezing weather.

All of the trees were alit, there were fireplaces inside and fire pits outside. Strangers upon strangers funneled on and off the iceskating rink and no one was in a bad mood. There was magic in the air.

Once we figured out which line lead to full beer glasses and which line lead to the beer tasting, we hopedp in the former. Then we grabbed some Winter Ale and give the beer tasting a whirl. Nothing else matters about these beers, except that I tried a peanut butter and chocolate beer and it was delightful. Just a subtle peanut butter taste! I wanted to trade my Winter Ale for a glass of that instead, however I figured that wasn't allowed. What a missed opportunity.

Up on the screen was a documentary about Prohibition and groups of friends sat about playing miniture games of air hockey and Jenga, while not a chair was left empty. I instantly envied them all.

However, all was well because we decided to move outside to drink our beers and creep on people iceskating. Since I figured it would be me soon, we decided to cheers to every person that fell. There were a few and there were also a few professionals down there that blew my mind. They make it look so damn easy!

One more beer and a mexican hotdog later, I was dancing to some jazz music by a stellar band called "Chelsea Reed and the Fairweather Five". Yet again, it felt like there was not a bad mood in the house.

Sadly, we had to leave the soft, sultry sounds of the 1920s to face the real music of iceskating. Don't get me wrong, I love iceskating. But it takes me awhile to get used to being on the ice and the rink was so crowded that I was sure I would start a chain effect of falling should I skate. Regardless, I still skated. We took breaks. Made friends with a couple that intelligently chose not to skate and just watched instead. Lap by lap, I remained on two feet blades. Tipsy and all! So, there really must have been some magic happening there.

Afterwards, we surrendered to coffee and hot chocolate instead of more alcohol and found our way back into The Lodge where those Fairweather Five friends were jamming out again. I considered myself a friend of the singer's since I had yelled at her "YOU'RE THE SINGER OF THE BAND. GREAT JOB," while I was in line for my skates. I doubt she felt the same. But when I want to compliment someone, you can bet your bottom dollar I will do it, no matter how obnoxious I have to be to get their attention.

We had tried to sit by the fire pits outside but sadly were constantly enveloped by smoke. So it was then we bowed out of a fabulous evening in Winter Wonderland. It felt like we had gone back in time, in more ways than one.