I met Sally last week while I was walking north on 2nd Ave in the East Village. I was wearing my pink polka-dotted party dress in anticipation of a night of partying and celebrating my 31st birthday. I was excited for my first birthday in New York, so even though I was in a hurry and had to dodge between other outdoor revelers, I was smiling. Whether it was the happy dress or the happy face that drew her in, I don't know. But this very old and very short woman saw me scurrying and she called out, “Excuse me!”. I turned. “Excuse me, dear . . .can you help me?”

Three weeks. 67 apartment inquiries sent. 5 apartments viewed in real life, hundreds viewed online. Zero apartments rented. Resume sent to 6 different salons. 3 salon interviews. 1 salon offer (1 salon turned down) and 2 salon potentials. Dates with 6 different dudes. Lots of dates. 2 batches of cookies baked. 1 partial meltdown. 1 heart to heart with my best friend that is allowing me to crash at her place. 3 encounters with friends from San Francisco in town for business. Mom's flight booked for June. 2 new friends I adore.

Today I will start my latest screenplay. I should update my blog. What about that script writing challenge I read about? Could be fun. Maybe Shaan and Jess will want to do it. I should try out a different dog park tomorrow, Ma'amie will like that. What about the Gramercy salon-is that really where I want to work? Should I keep doing hair? I should call Fabio and set something up. I need to look into nursing school. No, not yet. Remember you decided to get settled into the city first before you started investigating schools? But when will I ever get settled into the city?

My name is Lacy Telles and I am fastidiously on time. I am an American city girl and I know what time means to the busy people of American cities. My name is Lacy Marie Telles and I used to be fastidiously on time. In the past two weeks, I have been late more times than not, and though I have been accrediting it to my newness to the neighborhoods, to the unpredictability of the New York Subway system, that is a lie. Argentina is to blame, and I have accepted it.

Thank you, United States. Thank you for welcoming me back with open arms holding up a tray of cheap cocktails in one hand and a hotel key shaped like an American Express card in the other. You move me with your all-you-can-eat seafood buffet and your plastic enhanced enhancements. Take my gratuity, what would be considered gratuitous in Argentina, and smile with straight, white teeth and pretend like my generosity is appreciated, though it is slim. I read your judgment on my scantness, and I want to tell you that I have been unemployed for two months, but I don't.

Washington Square Park is both a square and a park, and I have become a regular. Usually I take my dogs to the fenced off oval of dirt in the southwest corner of the square, but today I left them at home. Please do not tell Ma'amie. She has been rolling around in my unemployment with a grin on her grizzled face and has subsequently taken it for granted that all free afternoons are devoted to her tennis ball drills and social time with new dogs.

Honk if you love sexy Jews. I no longer own a car, so I cannot honk my horn even though I like sexy Jews just as much as the next gal. But, let's get serious, I am reading this bumper sticker proclamation not on a sticker adhered to the bumper of a car, but on the back of a gigantic black laptop, so I am assuming the owner does not actually expect to hear any bleating honks of support anyway. And while the towering laptop screen blocks most of the owner's face, I can see a halo of frizzy grey hair crackling above a severely split double braid.

Hiking a glacier is not as dangerous as it sounds.
Hiking a glacier is not as difficult as it sounds.
Hiking a glacier is something that I never really thought about doing before I ventured to Argentina.
But I traveled to Calafate, and I hiked a glacier in the mountains of Patagonia.
Crampons strapped to the boots, parka zipped to the tippy toppy, don't drop your camera.

I am going to miss your fresh squeezed juices, your rainbow of fruits fresh off the farm, and your blue and white flag that waves its pride all over the place. And your helado. Man, I will miss your helado.
I will miss your people, your friendly, generous people that helped me when I was lost, when I didn't know the word for something, and when I asked ridiculous questions.
I don't know how any other nightlife I encounter will ever compare to your thumping beats that wake up the sun.