Apron Anxiety Read Online Free Page A

Sociology of Punk Rock Youth to Yiddish 101, it might have been an okay situation. But I resented everything JTS-affiliated, and felt overwhelmingly “less than” lingering around the Columbia campus.
    I had only one close friend: Annie, a high-spirited sweetheart from Akron, Ohio, who called soda “pop” and sneakers “tennies.” She was also in the joint program, but much more secure with it than I was. She loved socializing around the dorms, but I was totally disinterested in Shabbat dinners, sing-alongs, and any of that Kumbaya shit. So I spent most of my time alone.
    My family visited me every few weeks, lugging pots of frozen chicken soup, totes spilling over with nectarines and peanut butter, and suitcases stuffed with all my favorite junk food. Even while I was in college, Mom took care of my kitchen. Despite the over-the-top food shipments, which I always gladly accepted, my weight dropped to the point where my parents and sister became concerned. They had an underlying fear that I was developing an eating disorder, but I adamantly denied that I was struggling with any deep-rooted body-image issues. The real subtext of my food aversion had to do with tension and nerves. This was the first time in my life I felt unsettled. And it’s how my body would function for years to follow: when I’m unhappy, I have no appetite. The first sign I’m a wreck is when my jeans ride low.
    It was not the time of my life as college is meant to be, but I channeled my mother, who wouldn’t give a summa cum laude about having friends, or the perils of fitting in, and bysophomore year, I joined the one sorority I
knew
I belonged to: the sorority of New York City. I landed an internship at MTV News and hung out at the headquarters as much as possible, even if it meant bringing cappuccinos to Kurt Loder’s loft and sucking up to the hot anchor of the moment, Alison Stewart, who refused to remember my first name. It was the unfriendliest working environment, but the egos and attitudes made me feel very cool, and I welcomed it all with pleasure.
    I also juggled a hostess job at a gritty Upper West Side nightclub, where I got harassed by the coked-up manager and groped by married patrons. The scene was pretty seedy, but it tickled my attraction to trouble. Riding the subway home at four o’clock in the morning after having to French kiss the boss for a paycheck was demoralizing, dangerous, and so much more exciting than school.
    My only significant boyfriend during this time was a guy named Jesse, a handsome and brooding scholar who went to Columbia (by way of Beverly Hills), and who communicated so esoterically that I never knew what he was saying. So, we let our bodies do the talking. This, along with all my time-consuming jobs, got me to graduation (though I didn’t go). Jesse and I ultimately broke up because he was on a crazy intellectual binge that I couldn’t even pretend to understand, but we remained exceptionally close friends. I didn’t want any attachments then anyway. The moment college was over I would be free to be
me
. And by this time, “me” meant a bona fide city chick. Hardened, hot, and bothered.
    Unchained from school, my confidence soared as I conquered the city, at least in the wide eyes of a twenty-something wannabe writer. I rented a tiny studio off Central Park, quit my MTV and nightclub jobs, and started freelancing for multiple advertising agencies and PR firms. I wrote whatever theyneeded on topics ranging from gastric bypass surgery to prison reform. And because I wanted an employee discount, I also created a “publicity manager” job for myself at the stunning home furnishings empire ABC Carpet & Home, absorbing everything I could about design and architecture while browsing cassis-scented candles and pineapple-shaped chandeliers. On weekends, I waitressed at the ebullient, uptown café Sarabeth’s. Every hour of my week seemed to be occupied by one job or another, which was totally fine