Follow me at another place for now--

Maybe I will come back here at a later time.

http://www.tumblr.com/blog/jennyrubin


xo

Rube Called Quest--

Today it is raining. It is also the first day of Fall. Wait is it? Yes, I think it is. It is a day for tea drinking, dyeing my hair too dark and sitting and writing with my cat by my side. A day like this never gets old for me, no matter how many times we hear, "Oh I just love a rainy day, with a good book--yada yada"--but alas, this old line is true.
Now since you last heard my wailing cry about life---things have perked up a bit. Well, as much as life can in a world that is slowly dying. (Just kidding, that last line was for all you cynics out there)

However, I had spoken of my parents possibly going down the road to homelessness. They did not end up dancing to the tune of a Dicken's tale. They were able to stay in their home. The home that was once my home. I only hope things stay well for the degenerates, I mean, loving old pair and that I do not receive a call of crisis in another 4-6 months. This also means my precious dogs are not homeless and get to stay with the old bags, I mean parents. Since I usually worry more for the well being of animals, this part gave me an ulcer more than the thought of my once vibrant hippie parents on line at a shelter waiting for split pea.

I, myself am now residing in Staten Island. Which, well, I wouldn't exactly call it an island. It's not that cool, but I guess it is one of the boroughs and indeed it is not going anywhere. Funny, how life goes and the path it take you on. I had always vowed that out of all the boroughs, I would never live in Staten Island--even more then the Boogie Down Bronx. (By the way the Bronx is up, so I don't get it) Anyway, I'm in Staten Island. It's like a cross between a nice small town and crack alley. Everyone on the bus is toothless and muttering to themselves. No--it has beautiful homes. (That was for all you uppity Staten Islanders out there)

So, since my parents basically came in my home, caused chaos and financial hardship, I had to get out. Which is really for the best. I mean, it had been my home, but they were never going to be able to afford to move again and I didn't want to live like Charlie and the Chocolate factory forever. My Father, in his underwear like Grandpa Joe, burning hot dogs in the middle of the night, cigarette dangling in mouth, dancing with the dogs. "Don't worry Jenny, I'll pay the rent"----

So, even though I love my whack job parents, I have--as they say, felt a lot less stress. I now go to the occasional yoga class, get inspirational talks from loved ones and put a little money away. Staten Island is a temporary stay until I can check myself into a clinic. No really, hopefully find myself a nice little apt. Either with some old eccentric, or perhaps with my boyfriend. Or join a monastery, one where you can still smoke. Getting a little too old to hop around, but that white picket fence may just not be in the cards for me. I barely even say the word boyfriend anyway. I say asshole. No, but really I'm too afraid to change my relationship status on Facebook to "In a Relationship" in fear my boyfriend might find that too stifling. So, may have to paint that picket fence a shade of grey. Can't we all just buy an ice cream cones and skip down the street holding hands. A simpler life, without a status update. Perhaps just something real. I mean, really. I'm basically 41.

So, there is my update. For those who know me, they may, say, "Ahh, that sounds good." For those who don't, they may say, "What the hell is this old bag going on about?" Either way, go fuck yourself. No----enjoy your Fall. I'll warn you now, Hurricane Irene put a damper on things and there will be a shortage of pumpkins. Do your best. Slip into Uggs, drink a Chai, love your loved ones and cozy up with your animals. And do what you are supposed to do.

oh, and take Probiotics.

Love,

Jenny

Last thing--I hate my hair.

Down and out but trying-

100 degrees. Consumed with nausea and worry. I wonder if my life is as bad off as this sullen Dunkin Donuts worker I see before me, scarfing a patriotic cruller. I need to put stuff in storage tomorrow and I can't pack because my power went out. Even my pets have sweat on their brows. How did I get here? Financial crisis and parents that may be soon homeless- yet again. Poor planning. Bad luck. Sickness. Just life. Listening to the calming and supportive words of others. Feeling safe for a second- then a sudden panic sets in and I feel like a poor rotting old woman praying for a rainbow that may never show it's face between the clouds. Laughing one moment. Hysteria the next. At least I'm not blind. I really feel that is the only thing that could make this daunting situation worse. I just wanna kick back with a lemonade- even a limeade- let my barefeet run free through grass while maybe some singer songwriter like Ray Lamontagne sings somewhere close by and a fuckin' seagull swoops down and tells me yes- it is going to be alright.

Life change is good. Scary but a must. Hoping with tragedy the humor comes a rollin' in real soon. I will look forward not back (although I am nostalgic as a vulture looking for death).


Love to all that care.

A world of things to discuss---

But all I can think of is I hate this layout. However, I am not a web designer, nor do I care to be-so for now, I will stick with this nauseating peach and bird motif. And I don't want to hear a word about it. I have enough troubles in my life at the present time, so don't hassle me about layouts.

The picture above is my dog Fozzy. I have another dog, Sammy. I may post her picture at a later time. I love these fucking animals. I never thought I would be in a crisis so big, that I would have to consider giving them, away. I always thought "those" people who gave up their animals were irresponsible and heartless. But now I see these things do happen. And yes, they can happen to you.

My life is at a crossroads. It is very stressful and I have decided to begin to break free and try to lessen this stress. Although, part of me has no energy and would prefer to lay down in the gutter and have wild horses trample me. But another time for that.

As for now--I must leave my home of five years. This home began with a husband and many pets--and ended with sick elderly parents headed toward eviction. I have had ups and downs--mostly downs, but have never given up hope, stopped working and most importantly I have kept my sense of humor. I mean, I still want to run into a bus and sleep for a year, but I manage. Life is handing me plates of shit over easy and I am trying to eat it all and still save room for dessert.

I love my animals. I love animals in general. They make me cry, even when there is nothing to cry about. I will save my cats--even if they have to sit in my stupid Forever 21 purse for the next 18 years-----My dogs-- I will learn to forgive myself--or not. But I pray that I can find them a home in the country. A better home---than even I can offer. (Tears dripping down my leg)

I wanted to begin writing again--I want a trip to Tuscany too, but I will stick to the writing for now. I am starting this blog--driblets of feelings and stories,a little at a time in hopes of eventually writing a novel. Stuffing the fear that my story doesn't count down the toilet.

At this point-I want to title my book--"Look, I grew up in New York, I'm Forty---what the fuck?"

Until next time-----although I may be slightly busy packing my incense and candles, waiting for my Father's latest Cancer results and buying another cute $20 dress---I must look decent during a crisis at least.


xo

**I also want to acknowledge and thank a very special person who is helping me during this time, offering me a place to stay and letting me cry about 2,486 times a day. (Thank you BW~)

I still exist---

More to come....

A Summer Wind-

Here is a beautiful Summer flower. I know this , because I googled, "Summer Flower" to capture a certain feeling I need right now. I would love to be standing in the space where this flower resides. But I am not. I need to be okay with that. And I am. I am okay with the fact that I am not standing near a wild flower in some stunning garden, possibly even near a beach. I am okay that, instead of paradise, I am seated in an uncomfortable chair in front of my computer, in Weehawken. It's okay though. I've got a big bubbly glass of ginger ale, with lime. A lot of ice. A few animals lazily graze around the room---and the Facebook window is up--not far away--So as not to miss anything.
The last time I wrote here, on this page, that sometimes goes unnoticed, I felt wildly depressed. Right now, I feel better, but still often worrisome about....well, everything I guess. The Summer days are slippin' away and I feel like I should be doing more. But----I'm just here trying to figure it out. Trying to be creative. Trying not to worry that I will forever be penniless. Trying not to worry that I won't ever be able to be a mom to more than animals. The usual things. For those of you out there who find yourself worrying. Well, I don't know. I could say stop. But it's tough. Do what you can to find ways to make yourself happy. I wish I could help ya, but I am just sitting here in Weehawken.
It's really quite nice. Next week, I will be scampering off to Martha's Vineyard for a much needed escape. I know, I say I am poor and then all of a sudden I'm at the Kennedy Compound. Well, I am traveling via the $1 bus to Boston. Check it. That way I can still afford a Mangotini when I step off the ferry----in White Linen. Hopefully, the travel will rejuvenate me and I can continue writing and trying to give something more of myself. Until then. xo

It's been a long time coming---

It's been awhile since I have made the invisible internet world aware of my existence. I have been on a journey. I won't really say it's one of those amazing, trip to Nepal- gotta figure it all out journey's either. It's more of---shall we say-----the shittiest journey I have ever been on my life. Because for the most part, my life has been good. Very good. But this past year---or even the past two years has been shit. I am not going to sugar coat anything. I don't care. I gotta put it all out there, just to get by. Seriously.
A couple of weeks ago I had my fifth miscarriage. I think with six, you get eggroll. I have been pregnant off and on, for two years. The entire first two years of my marriage have been spent getting pregnant and losing it over and over again. It is painful and scary and a very solitary time for me. I don't think people fully understand the impact it can have on a woman. It is heartbreaking. And like I always, say, I'm basically 40---time is passing me by like crazy. It's crazy----crack addicts have babies every second. Me? I have a fruit shake and the baby dies. Oh, I know it will all work out. People always say that---"You'll be a mom one day"----"at least it happened early"------ha--When somebody's parent dies, do ya say---"well, at least ya have another one"-----Ahhh, but they don't mean any harm. And it is a hard subject to talk about. But it's funny, I have no problem talking about it. As you can see, I have no problem, since I am blogging about it. But, society continues to whisper it like a disease. ** The lovely picture above was taken right before my recent d&c surgery. I tried to take it like a trooper---but man, it was hard.

So---I have been dealing with this crap along with the rest of life and all it's joy. My husband just got fired recently, which is great, because I haven't been working for a couple of months and there is nothing under our mattress except dust---well, there is actually no dust, because I have ocd and clean the house from top to bottom. Every day. We have four animals, who I make sure eat better than us. Not true, we actually have five animals, because my parents are on their own journey to depression and have been living in hotels since early December. Let it be known, these Hotels are not resorts in St. Maarten---they are like tiny ants of Hotels, barely even noticeable on any map. I miss my parents. I long for those easy times, sitting around drinking too much coffee, laughing and listening to their old albums. I barely see them now.
So--I sit here, drinking decaf--writing these words, in between Facebook check ins--hoping people still know I exist. I realize I need to write a book----and if I could let myself just do it instead of making up excuses, it could be half finished by now. But I worry, it won't be good--or where do I start---or who cares---So I begin on this blog--hoping things will just flow. There is no bullshit here. If you came looking for a note on Strawberries--I do apologize. I gotta just put down truthful words about my life right now. That is what is going on. That is what I am feeling.
Come again---xo

Life is just a bowl of cherries-

--And if I'm going to be poor, I want to look like this. The brooding Flapper. A cute pixie cut and an empty bank account. A flask instead of a gun to shoot myself because times are so tough. I don't want to go the local bar and try to sip other people's drinks because I don't have enough for my own. I wanna hit up the old Speak Easy on Charles St.-I wanna smoke 18 cigarettes and talk about books, while sipping gin, that was made in 'Cal's attic. I want a Jazz Band--I wanna sing. I wanna wear my slinky emerald green dress with tiny raindrop beads and I wanna sing! Some smokey tune about how some old drunk left me --headed west for a better life and left me behind--I wanna sing! and maybe some liar of a man in a tattered suit will slip me his business card. He'll tell me he's got a a little joint in the South of France where I can go sing all night in the bars on the beach and live for free. I'll be tan all day so it won't matter that I'm aging. I'll be the envy of all at this old Speakeasy. It will almost seem like I'm a somebody for a minute. I'll stay there all night singing, smoking, drinking and being the it girl of the daunting depression. Then I'll slink out in the early hours, squinting, because I've forgotten my glasses. I'll saunter on home, strappy heels in hand, feet calloused and torn. I'll sit on my little window seat covered with lace I stole from some dressmakers shop. I'll sip strong hungarian coffee and write another chapter on the Underwood. It won't matter that I'm poor. It won't matter at all.

Is it another year already?

Where did the time go? Where did I go? Well, I am still here-barely. Haven't written since September and in the chance that many of you think I may have passed away, like an old faded piece of torn scrap paper---I have only been away for awhile. (Mentally) I wish you all a Happy New Year. So much as happened since I last wrote I don't even know where to begin. Between, President Elect Obama and the fact that I have yet another furry creature living under my roof, it's enough to just be bursting with too much to report. So I will keep it brief. Here are some things I would like to work on this next year--

Do not adopt another animal. Even if a cute little Koala comes tap tapping on my door, with it's little suitcase and hat. Slam the door!

Try not to worry so much---about bullshit, like unwanted hair, wrinkles and money.

Spend more time writing. (even if it is the stupid blog, that nobody reads)

Have a kid already--

Thank you and Good Luck to all

I Love Old Things

I think I am obsessed with things that are old. I am always talking about how things used to be-- old times, old days, old New York. I'm getting old, could I be obsessed with myself as well? No, but I am becoming one of those people that is always telling you about how things used to be. Jesus, I'm not even 40, but I am pretty nostalgic. What the hell am I gonna be saying at 80? Just knock me over the head with a hammer then, please.
But lately, I have been a bit teary eyed about the demise of New York. Well, maybe I'm being dramatic, but there are sure some changes taking place that I am sure one day, we will barely be able to distinguish New York from any other mediocre city. Every few months, some other great piece of history dies. This week it was Yankee Stadium. Now, I don't want to hear all the droll about how the Yankees suck. Old Yankee Stadium is a piece of history and soon it will be demolished, like everything else. Sure, there will be a new one. It will be bigger, better, slick and fabulous. But I don't want that-I want old and haggard. Give me the grit of old New York. For god sakes, bust open a fire hydrant in the summer, so the kids can run through it. Paint some graffiti on a wall. Let some kids hang out on a stoop in the prime of their youth. Rent a room at the Plaza-oh sorry, there are no rooms left. What also has me on a tear this week is, I just heard about the new plan to kick everyone out of The Chelsea Hotel. Apparently it is being sold and they want to give all the artists and people who have lived there for 30 years and over, the boot. Of course they do. Oh but they are going capitalize on the fact that famous people have lived and died there, to get people to stay there for $500 a night. They'll probably make some fancy new pamphlet to give out to all these poor tourists that don't know what's what anyway. Meanwhile, why not just let the tourists know about the history as well as letting them know the artists still live there! Ugh-
Ok--let me settle down here. There will be more of old New York posts to come. Although, one question comes to mind whenever I spend my energy writing here----Does anyone read this anyway?

Time For New School Books

Yes--it's time--time for Fall----(well, almost) This is the time each year, when I decide to make a fresh start--get a new pair of boots, a new leather bound book, where I will begin my Austenesqe novel, written by gaslight. This is the time in the year where I wish I would have become a lawyer. Then I could put on my new cozy sweater, smart looking jeans and waltz right into that cute little entrance by the park, that leads to the nyu law dept. I could have been somebody---but instead I'm just a bum dreaming about the first day of school again.

I encourage you all to make this Fall different----

This could happen to anyone-

You always look at homeless people and wonder --how did it actually come to this. How did things get so bad, that there is no other option than this. Someone will always be able to help, right? But sometimes, there is nothing that can be done and years of mistakes and never saving for a rainy day can lead to this. I know a couple of people who are on the verge of this and I can't help them. I don't think it will come to this actual form of hell, but I see how quickly it can become a possibility. So, those people that once dined by the beaches of St. Maarten, had cozy dinners in warm apartments, with many laughs and deep conversations --who gave me anything and everything I wanted, could actually be two steps away from being homeless. God bless them. xo

Goodnight George

Another good one dies----Man, pretty soon, who's gonna be left? xo

It's the little things in life-

These are the things that make me smile-or touch my heart when I feel like giving up and crawling in a ditch-
Take this pig, for instance--little guy didn't want to walk through mud-but look at 'em go now in his little wellies---He's not scared-
Sometimes, ya gotta just get up, throw on your wellies and punch life right in the face-

I love this pig-

I Dig Old New York

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9wNYeip0y-E

Big Weekend

Ahh, just me and my husband, Jasper out for a stroll-The city is beaming this weekend, and we, of course, can't even walk two feet, without having to stop for a photo.

Toodles-

Two steps away from being a lady of the night-

That's all I have to say

This is how I feel about my youth-

"Time it was and what a time it was it was, A time of innocence a time of confidences. Long ago it must be, I have a photograph Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you"

-Simon and Garfunkel

I'm Basically 40

-and I wish I looked as cute as this old French poster-but instead I'm home with toothpaste on my face.

Save the date---Come see my One woman show (a work in progress sorta) Friday May 16th -7pm 300 West 43rd St. at The Roy Arias Theatre $10----Come hear me blabber on about having miscarriages------- with a smile-Having no money--and being a married invisible woman-

Watching a documentary right now about French women in film---they are all gorgeous-Also, I realized, it doesn't matter what foreign actors say in films, they might even be a mediocre actor, but they seem amazing, because of the accents. Americans-you can read us like a book--if we suck-it's pretty damn obvious.

This week I am pissed off about ----American Idol-----You know what you've done-

I used to live here

This is Horatio St. I grew up on this block. I sold Lemonade on this block--yeah, for 25 cents. (No, it wasn't the forties) I walked to school from this block. I threw pomegranates out a window on this block. I carried a Christmas Tree home with my father on this block. I wore my first pair of high heels on this block. I listened to music blaring out of boom boxes on this block. I played with some of my best friends in the world on this block. This was my block. I can't afford to live on this block now. I can barely afford these cute shoes in this arsty picture-of this block. I can't afford to live in New York City. I will be moving to Rhode Island in the Fall. I would like to come back one day and raise my kids on this block. xo