Aviva Worky!

So exciting news all! I got a fancy new job! I will tell you more about it when its ready to be released into the wild, but in the meantime I'm really happy. This means I can't finish the music video I was producing which is a major bummer, but I'm also really excited about what's ahead. I start next Tuesday.

However, I have a heartbreaking announcement attached to this good news (my heart is pounding while I write this because its going to hurt when I get on the plane):


I know, its so tragic. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE Los Angeles and have tons of pals there. I even spent the last three winters on the West Coast, but I'm so in love with New York and my life in the City... can't believe I'm leaving it all behind. But you know, career first. La la la this is a really great opportunity la la la...

The flight to LA was only 54 minutes. The chick next to me whipped this sack of peanut butter out of her purse. Okeeeyyyyyy.

For those of you who don't know me, I have a pretty sweet set up in New York: a beautiful apartment on Sullivan St, tons of close friends, and a constant flow of fun work and projects in my lap at all times. I'm obsessive about whatever it is I'm doing, which is why I love living in a fast, thrilling, neurotic, hectic city like New York. Its comforting to me. Walking to my local coffee shop in Soho (called Local) and seeing my neighbors and friends walking to work is like a group hug. Its what New York is all about.

On the other hand, Los Angeles is so relaxing I'll probably be bored to death. I can see it: after nearly a week of unreturned messages, my new employer will come knocking on my front door and upon finding it unlocked, will enter my house (which will be covered in crossword puzzles and 70s surf rock records btw) and will call my name. No response. Aviva? Aviva? You home? Nothing... They'll be eerily drawn toward the backyard, and it will be there - under the lemon tree - that they will find me in a visor and a sweet pair of vintage Vuarnets, Rigor mortis on a lounge chair, trashy poolside novel and a box of chill pills at my feet.

Ha- what if I was reading Urban Chick Lit? It would be in the police report and hopefully someone would spread the goss about it at my funeral and it'd be the last thing anyone would've heard about me. She died reading Pitbulls in a Skirt.

Wow! My vision of dying alone in my apartment after falling face first into a planter is so much more grim in New York. My end fate is WAY more glamorous in Los Angeles. Maybe this IS going to be good for me?

Also, I have to write something about sex which I can't stand even talking about. It can be about anything as long as I make it funny. Can you guys leave me some suggestions in the comment box? I'm feeling stumped dudes, thanks.

Ciao friends. Let's try to be together one last time before I never see you again.