Good Luck, says the pigeon

A pigeon pooed on me yesterday.

I was waiting for a table at brunch with a friend. As I was standing there, splot!, a big blob of green grossness landed on my arm and purse strap. After standing there for a bit, appalled and slack-jawed, I bee-lined it for the bathroom and cleaned up, after which I enjoyed unlimited mimosas and a spinach and goat-cheese omelet.

I was told that in some cultures, a pigeon pooing on you is a sign of good fortune. Let's hope this is true, because I have yet to catch a break here in the city.

I've interviewed for three real positions, and on Friday an editor got back to me and said that although I'd be great at the job, they had to freeze the position due to budget cuts. She said "no one is more disappointed than me." I beg to differ.

One down. Still waiting to hear about the other two. In the meantime, I'm freelancing from home and running out of avenues. In fact, the woman I was supposed to meet with today about a freelancing job broke her wrist, so no interview now.

I've emailed/contacted every HR department of every publishing company and sought out nearly every contact I know. It's hard to not get discouraged, and on Saturday I fought the "I just want to give up" feeling that inevitably rears its ugly head.

But then a good friend from Portland reminded me of my own advice: Do something every day that scares you, she said. Then, she so brazenly dared me to follow my own advice (imagine that!) and come up with a Bucket List of New York City (without the whole kicking-the-bucket as motivation). Every week I have to give her a digested version of one thing I did every day that either scared me, motivated me, or was out of my ordinary routine.

It's a challenge, but I'm not one to shirk from a challenge (how do you think I ended up here?). So here we go ... The Bucket List commences today.

And I guess it could be worse, right? I could be working for Lehman Brothers.