I'm currently out of a job and the thought of actively looking for another seems utterly unconscionable. So before having to drag myself back in the “I'm-not-really-a-waitress-I'm-a-writer” job circus once again, I've decided that if I first changed things around and add a little color to my apartment, maybe that would inspire me to also add some color to my life. I bought a Feng Shui book, "in order to bring love and success to my personal space". Why the fuck not? It's not like I have anything better to do!

I soon came to realize that along with VIP Rooms, free designer clothes and perfect bodies, Feng Shui is primarily a luxury created for the rich and fabulous and not for an out of work, single Lower East Sider living in a six floor walk up tenement building with no buzzer.

The first rule to apply when it comes to finding love, according to the powers of Feng Shui, is never ever have your bed near the door in your bedroom. Bedroom? Ah, you mean the bedroom-kitchen-office-enclosed-living-space? Okay, no problem, I'll just move it to ... the bathroom?! I can't even pee and reach for the toilet paper without knocking something over and besides, I can feel the door when I take a shower, so I guess that won't work either. Since moving around furniture to make room for the love and success energies was out of the question, it all came down to painting.

After calculating the location of my love corner, I realized that southwest was where the magic was going to happen. When inspected, I realized that not only was my love corner placed directly over my leaking toilet, but it was also where my roof fell down this winter, which had left a cracked ceiling and a wall full of mildew and unidentified brownish water marks. That certainly explains a lot!

The Feng Shui book suggested earth colors. A warm orange would really be able to stir things up and make a difference. I thought, “Great. I love orange!” It reminds me of a sunrise in Italy and being taken to the soothing Tuscan mountains or to a cute little coffee shop near Barcelona. I closed my eyes and pretended I didn't hear the steady stream of my neighbors’ bodily fluids while I was making this life altering choice.

Excited about my new project, I traveled to the hardware store where I was met with a dilemma I'd never before had to endure. Did you know there are about five million different shades of orange? Well neither did I! After a half an hour of comparing and not really seeing a difference, I decided to choose according to the name. It was down to either "Orange Fiesta" or "Rustic Shrimp". Since it was all still orange to me, I picked the one nearest to the feel I wanted. "Orange Fiesta" just screamed having sangria with a tall, beautiful, dark and handsome Spaniard who was just waiting to get me drunk enough to take me to my bed/pull out couch and make me forget he only calls me “Bella” because he can't remember my name.

Loaded up with paint, masking tape, rulers and plastic covers, I hailed a cab to take me back to my soon to be successful, energized, up and coming love nest. My cab driver laughed at me when I dropped half of it trying to get out of the car, but the laughter soon turned it in to a hateful snare when I asked if he could help me and close the door behind me. Since I was well aware that change had yet to be made, I put down the magic and closed the door myself. “Just you wait,” I thought fiddling with my keys. “Tomorrow night I'm going to be the love machine and have Feng Suied my way to a new life and you will be tripping over yourself to open the door for me, you asshole.”

Before I started, I had a little break. I made myself a frozen Margarita and watched the last half hour of "The Next American Super Model". I smoked a couple of cigarettes and had a chat with my friend Ginger in San Francisco. Apparently, stupid boys and incompetent Duane Read employees is a bi-coastal issue and even though the weather is better, it still sucks being one of the only date-worthy single girls that suffers from the universal women's syndrome of only being attracted to turd-cutters. Not being able to find anybody else to call, knowing full well that everybody was out having cocktails and socializing trying to create in the real world what I was trying to create in my apartment, there was nothing else for me to do other than start my mission.

By doing so, I came to a couple conclusions: Painting is really much harder than you think and what the fuck are you doing home on a freaking Friday night PAINTING, are you kidding me?! You don't have a job, just wait until Monday when everybody ELSE is working you stupid moron! No wonder you're still single!

It took me eight hours to finish and by that time, it was way too late to still be awake - unless you were numb on sangria and curled up with the Adonis looking Spaniard - which unfortunately was not the case. I was so tired that I didn't bother to wash the paint stains off the floor or out of my hair. I fell asleep the minute my head hit the pillow and my last thought was: how was I going to be able to schedule in all the men that were now going to stand in line to take me out now that my love corner was intact? Maybe unemployment was secretly the answer to my upcoming success!

Waking up this morning, re-energized and excited like a school girl on her way to her first date, I sprinted out of bed and into the bathroom. The sight that met me was, well, let’s just say far, far away from anything remotely close to anything resembling Mediterranean bliss. I have a bathroom that's not even pee-worthy. Even thinking about it makes me want to wash up in the kitchen sink from now on. It is so horrendous that I think I've put the art of Feng Shui to shame forever. Granted, my love corner is no longer full of debris and mold, but I don't think anything can work under these unfortunate circumstances. Even if I was to get lucky, I would never expose him to my new "room of shame". I have single handedly created an un-lovable love corner. By putting theory into practice, much like communism, I have proven that Feng Shui is a beautiful thought but it just doesn’t cut it in real life and sadly it certainly doesn't mean I'm going to get laid anytime soon. The only thing that might find it probable and amusing is the Rabbitt I keep in my sock drawer and had hoped to retire after last nights escapades.

First thing Monday morning, I'm going to go look for a job - maybe I'll meet somebody!