Hittin’ the heartbrakes.

The day started out fantastically, at least if you’re the type of person who does a fist-pump when you can finally fit into the pants you bought last fall that didn’t fit and you forgot to return so you just had $30 of pants in your room until you tried them on last week and ZING! (I’m that kind of person.)

Tonight was The Black Kids and Mates of State at Webster Hall (11th St near 3rd Ave). I went alone, which is nearly one step better than my last trip to see Mates of State, when I was stuck in silence with my just-barely-boyfriend and I nearly fell asleep at the wheel on the drive from Cleveland to Erie because he wouldn’t talk to me to keep me awake. I digress, the past is the past. Hakuna Matata.

A slight drawback to going alone, though, is that once you pick a spot, you must keep it. That is, if it’s a good spot. If your vision is blocked or you’re standing next to an oversized sweaty dude who smells like the cheese aisle at Whole Foods, by all means, move.

I had a good spot though, with a place to set my purse and my jacket (this is huge) and see comfortably. So when I bought a Heineken (woo! it was 8-dollar beer night!), I sipped it slowly and made it last, because if I had to leave to join the bathroom line, my perfect locale would be no more. (This was also incentive to save my $16 on things that AREN’T overpriced beers, like, say, food for the rest of the week.)

The Sunbears! started their set around 8. From Jacksonville, these two guys were teetering on the edge of nerd rock, with long ballads & drony vocals like Ben Gibbard, but colorful graphics and lots of confetti (!!) like, say, Tilly. Four or five songs, decent set, I’ll dig up more on them soon.

Now, I hadn’t heard of The Black Kids before this tour, so a few weeks ago I downloaded probably eight of their songs, and they were catchy, and that was all. But you know that band who you don’t think twice about and then you catch them live and you can’t stop thinking of them? Ta-da.

Also from Jacksonville, they’ve got five members — two chicks, three dudes — of whom only two are actually black. Going to look up where the name comes from tomorrow so as to avoid making any inadvertent racist comments.

I had a group of big Black Kids fans next to me, and with the help of the bar, they danced all over each other, arms flailing, jumping, one girl with a neck like a heron standing in front of me for a while, so now when I think of The Black Kids I’m going to think of BirdNeck with the Glasses.

“It’s so true, T. I really can make it anywhere.”

Once again–twice in one week, even–I find myself wishing I had written earlier about all the things I wanted to say. In this case, I feel I should get all my ducks in a row (cliche, and one I really don’t understand at that) before I leave.

The marketing machine.

Breathing a little easier today.

I’m getting ahead on my work for the rest of the summer, so the last few days I have to spend at Chautauqua can be fulfilling, since I’m constantly distressed about the perfect summer location and complete and utter lack of time. So I’ll be the one belly-up on the dock at 2 a.m. Tuesday morning, because the Perseids are so summer.

Anyway, I went for the interview Monday. I sweated through the interview (a suit jacket + 90 degrees in midtown Manhattan does NOT make for a comfortable time), and I figured I was still in OK shape, despite my apologies for the breathless demeanor. Then they said they were considering another person. All hope was lost.

It’s remarkable. I immediately thought I was drab, thought I could have done much better, thought I spent $300 on a plane ticket for nothing, thought this other consideration was from a big-name school with high grades and an affinity for romance novels. I left the interview and couldn’t even shop happily because I was so disheartened. They said I’d hear by Wednesday if they made a decision.

So here it was, Wednesday afternoon, I didn’t leave my cell phone alone all day, and it was about 3:00 before I gave up on hearing back.

And then a blur. My office phone rang, it’s Tim from Dorchester, he’d like to offer me the job, I’m shaking like a madwoman and say yes, and I’m back to photocopying theater articles from the season.

So..phew.

Now I begin the strenuous task of locating a New York apartment. At least I was able to look at my “Save the date” today and not have much of a heart attack.

On another note, my writing has been boring the hell out of me recently. I guess this happens when I run out of stimuli.

Just a soul whose intentions are good.

In 24 hours I’ll hop a car ride to Buffalo, a plane to New York City, a cab to Astoria, have dinner and a drink with friends, sleep, awaken to a 45-minute train ride to Herald Square, walk to E 35th & Madison, meet with a potential employer, leave happy or completely disheartened, go shopping (which will be therapeutic or celebratory, depending on said meeting), meet an old friend for lunch, train back to Astoria, gather my things, bus back to LaGuardia, fly back to Buffalo, drive back to Chautauqua and pass out.

So, yeah. I think I have my work cut out for me. Not to mention I’d be a great subject for a children’s book highlighting modes of transportation. I’m sure I could try to fit a boat ride in somewhere.

Of course, I’m completely stressed. Not about the interview. I have total control over that. But the car ride? The flight? How many things can possibly go wrong that I can’t control? These are the throughts running through my head the past two days as I check and re-check the weather, flight times, train routes, engine oil, etc. I thank my mother for the incredible sense of worry she’s blessed me with, and I thank my father and sister for telling us we’re crazy.

I wish I could learn to relax. Yesterday my legs were like Jell-O, and I couldn’t catch my breath. My heart slams every time I think about traveling alone.

And on top of everything, I saw a “save the date” in the new BonAlumnus for the Hellinger Awards. And I have to make a speech in front of incredibly successful people for an award I still can’t understand receiving. So it was mini-heart attack central all over again.

Maybe a gin and The New Yorker just before I board will make me feel a little better. Sigh. Wish me luck.