Hey hey baby hey

Hey hey! This is going to be a short one, but I feel guilty for not updating my blog so here is a run down of the last month or so…

Christmas at the Guthrie…or more appropriately, “the squeezing, wrenching, grasping, covetous old sinner” that is the Christmas Carol run. Rehearsals started in October and we went into tech week knowing we would only have two full days on stage before we were in front of an audience. Well that may be all well and good for those actors who have been doing this show for seven, or eight, or twenty seasons, but for a newbie like me, it was less thrilling and more terrifying and exhausting. From there we launched into eight or nine shows a week. Anyone who has ever had to perform more than one show a day will tell you that is literally sucks the life out of you. So much of the energy you might spend throughout an entire day is used when performing… even when one’s part is very small. It is especially difficult on those days when you are already exhausted or sick or just don’t feel like doing it. But you do it anyway. God knows why.

I’m also not working during this show, so I am stressed to the max, knowing that I have creditors banging down my door while bills continue to pile up and I can barely afford to put gas in my car. Remind me why I wanted to do another production at the Guthrie? Oh yeah, for the “experience.”

I auditioned and was asked to be a part of the cast in “Quilters” at Theater Unbound… I’m still weighing my options there. Not that I don’t want to do the show, I do. But those green pieces of paper are looking mighty tempting right now.

Jordan and I are back together. He realized he was being a jerk-faced idiot and wanted me back after a week. Currently, he is still on “probation.” He’s been doing very well.

Other than that, will be playing my annual “potted plant gig” for CVTC’s graduation ceremony. Making Christmas cookies and hoping to stick to my diet. Ta ta for now!

i had no idea...

The longer I live, the more I believe that writing is a great tonic for my soul. There are some things you need to say, but sometimes you can’t bring yourself to eek the words out. And sometimes I don’t even know what those words are until I sit down to type it out.

Rehearsal was a moderate distraction for me. However, being that most of the show is fairly cathartic (read: depressing). It also seems that when you are in the middle of a break up every song on the radio seems to be about people who are happy and in love… and I was already hyper-emotional, so I wanted to cry most of the night. I did, in fact, tear up during the young Ebenezer and Belle scene when they break their engagement. I had to focus on the ceiling and think about neutral things like paper and such.

I had no idea I would be so heartbroken. Time to wash off what remains of my mascara.

If I'm patient the break will mend.

I don’t know how I feel about this. The boyfriend and I broke up… I guess. I guess we broke up because we aren’t in the same place emotionally. I guess we broke up because we’re so different. I guess we broke up because we don’t love each other… I guess. There a hundred reasons we broke up, but I can’t think of a single one. And there are a hundred more reasons we should be together, and I can’t think of a single one.

If I wondered before if this relationship was right, if he was right for me, if we had a real future together, I think I’m as close to answer as I’m ever going to be…. which is… I don’t know. I’ve been so pragmatic, always playing devil’s advocate with myself, asking if this is really what I wanted; for me, the idea of settling down is tempting, settling is not.

Can it be that I’m so terrified of truly committing to someone (or something) that I push and prod and persuade my way into a place where there is alternative for the gentleman of the hour, but to leave? Just another way of protecting myself from getting hurt? After all, if he does the actual leaving, aren’t I the victim? Or maybe it just wasn’t right. I still believe that everything happens for a reason—what other choice do I have?

NaNoWriMo

That’s it. I’m writing a book. Or screenplay…or something… I guess it’s a book since I’ve decided to join the National Novel Writing Month or NaNoWriMo. Basically whomever may join and “compete” with other around the country and around the world to complete 50,000 words in less than 30 days. I had a late start. As in, I joined today. But no fear! I already have more than 2,000 words… 48,000 to go. *Eek*

So I writing to let you blog-readers know and that will hopefully keep me motivated to not embarrass myself and finish the damn thing. Hopefully.

The worth of a book is to be measured by what you can carry away from it. ~James Bryce

Separate but not Equal

*Sigh*

It’s November 5th and I couldn’t be more proud of my fellow countrymen. Proud AND relieved. One wants to believe in the common decency and humanity of the American people, but one has reason to worry…for example: the last eight years…

Growing up I was taught that America is the land of opportunity—not just for the white or the rich, but for the black, the brown and the poor too-- that America is a good and decent place where equality is a right and not just a lofty ideal. Last night was a historic one and renewed my faith in the common decency of Americans.

That being said, I am appalled by the ban on same-sex marriage in several states. Those people who believe that marriage should only be between a man and a woman or that “that’s the way it’s always been” should look back a few years to a time when the same argument could have been made against granting basic human rights to women, African Americans, Native Americans, Asian Americans… the list goes on. Using that argument against gays and lesbians isn’t any different –it’s just repackaged bigotry.

Here’s the thing about human rights—they are not a privilege, they are a right. And according to our Constitution, rights are supposed to be granted to everyone, even to the people you don’t like-- even when those people do things that may make you uncomfortable or you may feel is “amoral.” Who are you to decide what is right for your neighbor or your mailman or your coworker? So get off your moral high horse and for God’s sake, please keep your hate and your intolerance out of politics and keep it where it belongs, in the church.

Let’s make a law that gay people can have birthdays, but straight people get more cake—you know, to send the right message to kids. --Bill Maher

Alone vs. Lonely

When I’m single, I rarely feel alone. Now that I’m a part of a couple, I feel lonely. I guess alone and lonely are two different things. If I really think about it, the reason I feel lonely is because I wish I was able to spend more time with the guy but our schedules don’t really allow it. And if it was bad before, it’s about to get a lot worse… now that I’m going to be working a 9 to 5 grown up job and he works all day, every day, we are going to have even less time for each other. I feel miserable when I think about it. And spending a completely amazing 24 hours together makes it that much harder not knowing when I am able to see him again for anything longer than an hour or two before we both crash and fall asleep.

How do long-distance couples do it? I guess, in essence, we are a long-distance couple…which has its positives and negatives. My major gripe with the long-distance thing is that the guy isn’t very chatty on the phone. He wants the basics and doesn’t understand why I like to hear about his boring day. And in reverse, he doesn't understand my constant need for communication.

Alright, I am exhausted and I start my new job at Climb bright and early tomorrow morning. eek.

There is something about the presence of a cat…that seems to take the bite out of being alone. –Louis Camuti

eek.

Many of you are wondering what happened last week with my revolving relationship status, so I will give you a quick and dirty version of what happened:

FYI. I have a tendency to seek out things that are wrong or could potentially be wrong with any relationship I’m in. I am also very difficult to date and need a fair amount of attention. Jordan is a wonderful guy, but a poor communicator; he also works 10 plus hours a day--six days a week and is exhausted by the end of his day. So our time together is scarce.

Backstory. A couple of weeks ago Jordan and I had a conversation about our relationship and then had a very separate conversation about marriage and all of our friends getting married and having kids and whatnot. Well to me they were separate conversations. To Jordan, the relationship and marriage conversation were the same conversation. (Eek!)

Fastforward. Things are going really (really!) well with the minor glitch here and there. I wanted to have a relationship talk about finding more quality time together and to Jordan that sparked his fear that I was trying to trap him into a relationship that was quickly moving towards marriage complete with white picket fence and baby carriage.

So he jumped ship. He said he didn’t think we were in the same place and he wasn’t going to be there for a long time. He said he wanted to give me what I want, but he just didn’t think he could. Now what that meant to him and what that meant to me—completely different. So I said well if that’s what you want, I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t want to be with me; and then basically hung up on him. I thought he meant he didn’t love me and never would; and he thought I only wanted to be in the relationship if it was on the fast-track to marriage. He called me back about a half hour later and said he thought we needed to talk face to face. So I drove to his apartment. Where we discovered that neither of our communication skills were being successfully employed; at that point Jordan said he had made a “terrible mistake” and asked me if I could forgive him for freaking out and bailing on our first little bump in the road. I said that he needed to sleep on it and really think about whether that was something he wanted...

The Next Day. That evening we talked about a great many things and decided that neither of us wanted to break up. He was visibly upset with knowing how much he jerked me around emotionally the last 24 hours or so and is working to regain my trust and comfort level in our relationship—and I am working on not freaking him out with conversations about marriage or “the future.”

So this is the basic story. If this was just a little glitch in what turns out to be a long and fantastic relationship—then I am glad it happened early on. If I felt loved before, now I feel loved and valued in a way that makes me feel happier than I have in a long time.

There is always some madness in love, but there is also always some reason in madness. "
-- Friedrich Nietzsche

pillow talk gone awry

One of the scariest parts of a “relationship” can come at any point. It can start out as a joking observation or a planned “we need to talk” or maybe as some pillow-talk gone awry. What I am referring to is the “where is this going” talk. The dreaded relationship conversation that forces you to take a discriminating look at where you are and where you hope your partner is. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I was fairly confident that the guy was head over heels for me. He came on strong in the beginning and has continued to show me growing affection and attachment. So when we had this talk last night, I was flabbergasted (yeah, I think this the most appropriate word for my feelings) flabbergasted when he danced around any real sort of answer and left it with a very ambiguous and clichéd “I don’t know.” Were you listening very closely? Could you hear that? That was the sound of my guard being thrown back up; the layers of myself that had started to be revealed were tucked away and went into immediate lockdown. To anyone not paying attention, it was a subtle and almost imperceptible shift; happily the guy is smart and observant, he knew it had happened.

So fast-forward past the rest of the night (hanging out and drinking with his friends) to when we crawl back to his bed in the wee hours of the morning where the conversation is continued. Honestly, I don’t remember the conversation as a whole because—you guessed it—I was a little drunky. But I will sum it up. According to him, he’s scared. He wants to take care of me and doesn’t feel like he’s up to it just yet, he’s insecure (about the relationship, women, life, etc.), he’s afraid of getting hurt and he’s afraid of hurting me. Are these valid excuses? Well sure. And while we are in the very beginning of this relationship, HE is the one who wanted to make things official, and HE is the one who asked me to be his girlfriend.

God, I feel like a huge idiot. I feel like an idiot for hoping for so much and letting myself get carried away. I know better than to let the idealistic and romantic part of me rule a relationship. I’m afraid, scratch that, I’m terrified of commitment and particularly of committing myself to something as unstable as another human being.

Is he “the one?” Fuck if I know. But I do know that he’s a good man and that I would be a fool to push this guy away. How do I know? Well for me, here’s how I know: the little things that bother me about him--well who am I kidding, they still bother me--but I’m willing to let them go because I know that it doesn’t matter if he’s balding or he smokes or he bites his nails or can’t spell. I know those things don’t matter. What matters is that he is attractive and intelligent and I don’t think I’ve met anyone that tries so hard to see me smile.


The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me. -Ayn Rand

I wasn't looking and fell into a relationship.

So the guy referred to me as his girlfriend last night. When was the last time a guy I was dating actually called me his “girlfriend” when talking to his friends?! It’s been a long time. I almost laughed when he said it, not because I don’t want to be his girlfriend, but just because it was so unexpected. And speaking of unexpected… he came over to make me dinner last night and when I opened the door he said, “I brought you a present,” and hands me a jar of garlic. I laughed and said, “I love it.” He then says, “Then you’ll love this.” He reaches around the door and hands me roses. I think the word I should use here was shocked. I was literally shocked. First of all he didn’t choose the traditional (and cliché) pink or red (Thank Jeebus) but a beautiful coral color; and second, well honestly I’m still amazed that he brought me roses for no reason real reason other than he wanted to. (And he probably hoped to get boned. Yeah, I’m super romantical.)

But now here comes real life. I’m freaking out. It’s what I want right? I want this relationship with this guy. I do, I do, I really do. So why, why, WHY am I second-guessing and trying to talk myself out of liking this guy and moving the whole thing forward? It’s like, if I’m not struggling, if I don’t feel that I’m hanging onto the relationship by a thread, then it’s not right—there’s not enough “spark.” When what I really mean by spark is the anxiousness and the constant unease of not knowing when and if I’ll hear from him again. When did I start believing that it’s okay for me to be the only one fighting for a relationship, trying to preserve a relationship, forgiving all the wrongs and hurts just so I won’t rock the proverbial boat? Why am I so goddamn fucked up? I’m being treated so well, with such love and respect that I am… what? What am I? Scared? Restless? Nervous? Insane? Tired? Hungry? Well, okay, not the last two. But now we get down to it, don’t we? Why am I so eager to throw away this great guy with all of his friendship, and adoration, and passion for me? I think I need to settle down and maybe even be straight with him and explain what’s going on in my crazy, little brain.

“I know what you want. And I know what you need. But I’m gonna screw it up, yeah, cause I’m an idiot. And I’m your boyfriend.” --Jimmy Fallon

I Hate Love

I find myself in a predicament of sorts. How do I open up to the possibility of a relationship and the possibility of love and intimacy when I’ve taught myself to guard from all possible attacks? I’ve been building walls since I was a kid; brick by brick I piled them so no one could get in. I learned at a very young age that if you hid your emotions behind your face, you could take advantage of seeming poised and detached; and sometimes even taking advantage of this carefully constructed façade to find hidden opportunities to use to my advantage. I learned how to manipulate and lie and distance myself from anyone who showed the slightest possibility of wanting a sincere relationship with me. Of course, there is the odd person or two that managed to wriggle through a crack and to those good friends I have always been as honest and loyal and altruistic a friend as I am capable of. But they are very few. With those few exceptions to the rule, I am guilty of only allowing superficial friends and lovers into my life. And while they may be alcoholics, drug addicts, emotionally unavailable, immature, selfish and angry, they were very safe choices. You could always count on them to split.

My very first “real” relationship was the most “successful” relationship I’ve had to date. And while I did break down some of my emotional barriers and let him in. It was the first time, in a very long time that I would learn to lean on someone else emotionally and trust in someone else’s genuine love and respect for me. I also set little traps and picked fights and told little lies (some not so little) and ultimately laid the foundation for what would prove to be a very tumultuous, unbalanced relationship. As you might have guessed, like 99% of all first loves, it ended after a year. And not well. That was almost four years ago now and since then I have had the good common sense to pick and choose men who I know will leave me sooner, rather than later. They are always charming, funny, and talented and a myriad of desirable qualities—but none of them have loved me and I have not loved a single one of them. Not in the true sense of the word. How can you love someone when you won’t let them see who you are? So I’ve been operating under the assumption that it was good common sense. But now, now I’m standing on a precipice. I can either turn back towards what is comfortable, what is easy and safe or I can step off into the unknown. I can choose not to bring my usual bag of tricks into the beginning of this relationship and just play it straight. It’s going to be really hard for me. But I think this guy might be worth it.


Have you even been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up this whole armor, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life…I hate love.” --Neil Gaiman

I'm a little too white bread for that.

This will be a quick one folks because it is waaay past my bedtime and I need to be working (again) in less than six hours. Here’s a summation of my holiday: Fourth of July, yay! Working, boo.

First, I was propositioned by an attractive young couple to “join them for drinks and maybe more” after my shift. I politely declined. Believe it or not (I know some people may find this VERY hard to believe—but I’m not really into the whole swinger lifestyle. I’m a little too white bread for that. Although, they were a good looking couple…

And second, Uh Oh. Let me say it again. UH OH. My co-worker has jump-started my crush-o-meter. He is one of those guys that all the girls are ga-ga for but who, for me, didn’t hold any interest until very recently. When I discovered that he’s not only gorgeous but intelligent and thoughtful AND he also has that legendary X factor. Again, let me just say, uh oh. But I’m pretty sure he has a girlfriend *whew* so I can’t develop more than just a passing crush on him. But recently, I sense a mutual attraction between the two of us. Hopeful thinking? Nah. I’m not that girl. And I don’t think I’m his type. He seems like he would be the kind of woman who is thin and sharp; whereas I’m curvy and lumpy. But none-the-less… I do seem to attract this kind of man.

There is more to write but it will have to wait.

People may or may not say what they mean ... but they always say something designed to get what they want. --David Mamet

the ugly step-sister and other fairly stupid tales

It has occurred to me what a terrifying word ugly is. And fat is even worse. Quoting the lovely Margaret Cho, “Ugly is irrelevant…it is an immeasurable insult to a woman, and then supposedly the worst crime you can commit as a woman. But ugly, as beautiful, is an illusion. A matter of taste…” Lately it seems that the only conversation I hear is talk of nothing but this new diet or pill or exercise plan or self-tanner or teeth whitener or whatever. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my little pearly white teethies just as much as the next person, but when did I get caught up in the hype of becoming this cardboard cutout of what a beautiful woman “should” look like. Most of my life I have grown up hearing about how beautiful my sister is. Yes, for all intents and purposes, she is a good-looking person—the kind of girl that gets stares and catcalls and creepy older men desperately trying to get her number in their phones—but why does her beauty have to equal my ugly? And when did I fall victim to the illusion that thin equals pretty and fat equals unattractive and undesirable. When did I decide it was okay for me to accept less than acceptable from my relationships because I was “lucky” to be landing these attractive men. After all, who wants the ugly step-sister when you can have Cinderella? This is how I feel. Pathetic isn’t it? As a person of intelligence and confidence—I have surprisingly little of either in relation to the shell of my essence that is my body. I have no insight or revelations for this blog. It’s almost painful and embarrassing to admit that I’m so insecure about something I pretend to be so flippant about. When someone tells me that I’m beautiful or attractive or sexy or any compliment in relation to my appearance, I am not pretending to be modest or gracious—I cannot accept your compliment. I do not accept my beauty and I do not accept that anyone else can find me beautiful.

So from the age of 10, I became anorexic, and then bulimic, and then stayed that way for about twenty years, until one day I just said, Hey, what if this is it? What if this is just what I look like, and nothing I do changes that? So how much time would I save if I stopped taking that extra second every time I look in the mirror to call myself a big fat fuck? How much time would I save if I just let myself walk by a plate-glass window without sucking in my gut and throwing back my shoulders? How much time would I save? And it turns out I save about 97 minutes a week. I can take a pottery class. –Margaret Cho

any friend of the devil is a friend of mine

When you’re in a relationship and you break up—it’s hard, very hard. And your friends, and family, and co-workers can commiserate. But what about when you’re in a friendship and you break up? Relationships, both platonic and romantic, have their ups and downs and the people involved in said relationships may not always want to stick it out—but I guess if it’s worth fighting for you try to stick around during those rainy days so you can enjoy the sunny ones. All this brings me to this: Someone who I have been friends with for a long while has more or less decided he can’t and/or doesn’t want me popping in and out of his life anymore. We’ve had our ups and downs. I hated him for a while and he hated me back. I was also in love with him for a while and I can’t speak for him, but at some point I think he felt the same or similar. But things are very sour between us right now—with the blame finger pointed at me. I feel bad. There’s really no other way to describe it. I just feel bad about the whole thing. I don’t want to lose him, but I think part of my resentment and hostility towards him has to do with the fact that he cut me out of his life for the last year while he became absorbed in a new girlfriend. I knew that it would happen, but I was frustrated nonetheless. And I guess I just expected things to pick up where they left off more than a year ago and when that didn’t happen I had a teeny little emotional fit…which has taken the form of picking fights with him. So he’s decided he’s fed up with me and I’m still irritated at him; so I’ve erased him from my phone and all other electronic devices… no more calling, or texting, or Facebook or whatever. I will put him out of my mind. Enough is, as we say, enough. Enough.

Artists can color the sky red because they know it’s blue. Those of us who aren’t artists must color things the way they really are or people might think we’re stupid. --Jules Feiffer

tell all you know

I swear, if you just read my blogs you would have to assume but I eat, sleep, and think non-stop about those other people. You know, the people with unattractive appendages hanging off their bodies—otherwise known as men (or let’s be honest, most of them are really just grown boys). It really consumes a large chunk of my writing, but that’s about it. I think about it very little in my real life. Well yes and no.

So get ready for this. I may actually have a crush on someone is not a) an alcoholic b) a drug addict c) a musician/actor/other unemployable artist or d) just plain wrong. Now, I’m not for sure that he isn’t attached, I need to do some digging around—but I didn’t want to seem obvious and so I didn’t ask. He’s quiet and sweet and he seems to be really bright. Crazy, I know riiight?! He’ll probably end up being married or some shit. Bleh. I must do some homework.

And I’m back on the proverbial Guthrie horse again. I have to admit that it felt very familiar to be there and in a way I missed it, yet I was unenthusiastic about being there today. So anyways, after my brief hiatus from touring I was tossed back into the mix with two tours today: little Girl Scouts and a regular public tour. There is something to be said for the awe and sense of wonder that children have. At what point when we are growing up do we start acting as if we are interesting in nothing and nobody… why do we do it? What is the point of pretending to be so disinterested? And after a while, you forget that you’re just pretending and then where are you?

And that’s all she wrote tonight mystery lovers.

The most interesting information comes from children, for they tell all they know and then stop. --Mark Twain

More to Come...

There is a lot o’ stuff bouncing around in my brain right now but nothing worth talking (or writing) about… nevertheless. I am exhausted from this weekend. Two birthday parties, a wedding shower, and a high school graduation in less than 48 hours. Being that I am an introvert and I expend energy at social functions—I was expending as quickly as my social self would allow and now have nothing left to give. So don’t expect to hear from me for a good six months while I hide myself away and recharge my social batteries. I also was bartending solo on Friday night and six straight hours of drink recall when you’re as green to mixing drinks as I am, and you feel like you just want to stab your eyes out of your head at the end of the night. Not to mention taking the bar tables and trying to remember the six pages of menu, plus the specials, plus this, that, and the other thing. Never mind all that and the job is going well. Well enough I guess.

I’m frustrated with myself on many levels. I don’t want to even go into details yet because I waiting for the outcome later in the week. I swear I’m a glutton for punishment.

More to come.

I generally avoid temptation unless I can’t resist it. –Mae West

I am not charming and/or sociable.

I am an amazing…ly complicated person. Generally, it is not in my nature to be charming or sociable. I guess if I tried harder? I guess my “problem” is that I like who I like, and everyone else is just off my radar. I don’t hate anyone, or wish anyone ill, but I’m also not going to go out of my way to make people feel comfortable or behave as though I enjoy or welcome their company, if I do not in fact, enjoy their company. I also like to say what I think and how I feel. I guess this often is interpreted as being “self-righteous” or “bitchy” or any number of things I have been called. I could say that I don’t mind, but that isn’t true. I mind, but only for a short time, because there is absolutely nothing I am willing to do about it. “Willing” is of course the magic word today boys and girls. I am not willing to do anything about it. I could, absolutely I could. But why should I? To show everyone what a nice person I am? But that would be a lie. I shouldn’t and won’t go around behaving how others want me to behave simply because I want them to like me. What kind of life is that? So, you’re willing to hide yourself away, stuff your real self deep down so that your friends, acquaintances, and the general population won’t talk about you behind your back… most of the time. You may love me or you may hate me, but I can almost guarantee, that if you hate me—it’s because you don’t know me and you can only wish you did.

And one more thing. What’s up with all the ladies thinking I’m a threat to their man? I want no taken men (I’ve done that before with unfortunate results) and to a particular skinny little UWRF Theater DIVA: Honey, your boy wanted me so badly it was painful…for BOTH of us. I didn’t want him then and I don’t want your current guy. If you think I have nothing better to do than date adolescent college boys with patchy facial hair—then you need to do a little self-check. And one more thing cupcake, I didn’t compliment your performance because I didn’t think I could force myself to choke out praise for that bland and characterless “performance” you gave.

Does saying that make me a bitch? Well then, so be it. I would rather be hated for who I am than loved for whom I’m not. And a little shout out to Gretchen Gamm—thanks for being a perfect ending to me and Kristy’s birthday-ish bar crawl tonight. *kiss kiss*

When you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to reform. — Mark Twain

Dear Life

Dear Life, you tricksy bastard… you thought you were going to get me good with that one didn’t you? Well, I see through your little deceits and sly ways. You had me believing (albeit, briefly) that I might be able to squeeze a little more life out of a relationship that seemed to be passed out in some dark alley. Alas, it was not passed out, it was dead. Fortunately, I saw the symptoms—no pulse, rigourmortis setting in—and rather quickly moved on before the death could be pinned on me. And a second relationship that I had left for dead may have a little life left in her yet; but only time will tell. This girl has been beaten hard and may recover fully since she is young or never leave the other vegetables at the relationship ICU.

Oh yes, and I almost forgot that little stunt trying to convince me that my clock is indeed tick, tick, ticking away. Why you nearly had me convinced that I was running out of time and that I was going to be alone for the rest of my life. But no, Life, no. I admit that you gave me something of a fright before I realized that my time here is short but I shouldn’t worry about what is around the corner until I turn the corner.

I’m nearly a quarter of a century old now and have been through your song and dance many times before. So Life, the next time you want to throw me a curve ball, you might want to try throwing something I haven’t taken a swing at before.

Much Love, Me

so there it is.

And so there it is. I kinda, sorta, maybe laid out some disturbingly emotional type stuff to somebody today. And no, I did it the cheap and easy way, via the Facebook message. Ah yes, Facebook—you’ve made it so I don’t have to agonize over what to say face to face or over the phone. I just write what I feel and then *click* I send it before I even have a chance to second guess myself. So now it’s sent and I’m freaking out. Why? Well because it’s been almost 12 hours with no response. Ridiculous, party of one? Yes please! I don’t even know how comprehensible my email was. I wrote and re-wrote it so many times that I can’t even remember what I actually included in the message. I suppose I could go back and read it but that may mean total and complete mortification. I would rather just assume that he read it, he wants nothing to do with me, and that is the last I will ever have to deal with my feelings on the subject. (Not that that is a real option, but it seems easier to write that than, “…and then I will torture myself over everything I’ve done and said in the past couple of years to drive him away from me.” True, but very dismal.)

I also had an audition today that didn’t go well. Nothing went badly, per se, but it was just a blah audition. They weren’t impressed and I wasn’t either. But I have two more auditions this weekend for SPCO and History Theatre. I’m going to prepare a little better for these two and hopefully land myself another gig. That’s always the hope anyway.

My sister’s shower and bachelorette party and wedding are all creeping up on me waaay too quickly. I have a lot of ideas, but no solid plans. Eek! I’m terrible at these things. I operate well only when it’s crunch time; which isn’t usually the best when planning parties of this size. Which is why, IF and when I get married, I’m thinking elopement will be the best option for me and my nameless, faceless future husband.

I’m kind of tired now. I had quite a bit of drama today and need to wind down.

People may or may not say what they mean ... but they always say something designed to get what they want. --David Mamet

A More Perfect Union with Obama

I want some wine with my whine.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I cannot for the life of me…. no matter what I start writing, no matter what the subject matter, I can’t seem to get past a couple of pages. I have oodles and oodles of things to write about. I actually lead a fairly entertaining and chaotic life with a psychotic family and weird and wonderful friends thrown in for good measure… I have a wealth of stories and personalities to draw from. Not to mention I have an over-active imagination. So WHAT is my problem? Well it could be any number of things. One of said things being that I’m afraid that what I’m writing is crap. Worse than crap. Shit. Really stupid shit. Really stupid shit that isn’t even worth writing about, much less reading about. I’ve gotten myself turned around in this self-fulfilling prophecy and now I can’t find my way out. I assume it’s going to bad and so it is. I’m literally staring at my list of little stories and anecdotes and such that should entertain for a good 200 pages or more. That’s not my problem. At least I don’t think that’s my problem. In truth, I’m not really sure what my problem is. I do know that I’m getting frustrated with myself for my lack of dedication and commitment to telling this story. I feel that if I really just did it, if I really just sat down and wrote it, it would be better than I think it is. I’m self-sabotaging myself by convincing myself before I even type a word on the page that it’s not quite good enough. I ask myself how I could possibly think about even thinking about letting someone read it. Argh! Also I’m having trouble deciding, omnipresent or first person? Fuck it. I want some wine.

43 Things

It's time to get inspired, write down my goals, and share my progress. It's called 43 Things. Basically the goal is to list 43 things that you want to accomplish and then do those things. They can have a goal date or not, they can be personal or help to contribute to the greater good. Give it a try--finding 43 meaningful things to accomplish isn't as easy as you might think.

My 43 Things are:

1. Be able to do the splits (again)
2. Start taking a yoga class once a week
3. Open a savings account and actually save money
4. Keep a job for more than one year
5. Learn one new piano piece each month (0/12)
6. Exercise 30 minutes a day, everyday for 30 days
7. Start paying off my debt
8. Stop smoking--for good!
9. Buy a "new" car
10. Take an art class
11. Go to the Dentist
12. Take an acting class
13. Read one play every month (0/12)
14. Offer meaningful compliments to people
15. Remember other people's names and the details of their life
16. Take vitamins everyday for one month
17. Learn how to can applesauce
18. Save $3000 by my 25th birthday (10/29/2008)
19. Re-read the Hobbit
20. Learn to cook one meal from stratch really well
21. Go on a walk (outside) once a week
22. Write and send a hand-written letter once a month
23. Lost twenty pounds by my 25th birthday (10/29/2008)
24. Do not use computer for full 24 hours
25. Finish writing!
26. Learn to crochet
27. Go without TV for one week
28. Travel to Europe!
29. Move!
30. Go to at least three museums this summer
31. Learn how to read Tarot cards
32. Read ALL the books I own
33. Finish a 1000 piece puzzle (without help)
34. Use non-disposable grocery bags
35. Make donuts from stratch
36. Attend a sports game
37. Give a 100% tip for excellent service
38. Floss everyday for a week
39. Contribute something meaningful to a Wikipedia article
40. Identify 100 things that make me happy
41. Give up soda for one month
42. Blog everyday for one week
43. Hmm, I wonder where #43 went...?

I'm in a romantic comedy. Shit.

If you have a good thing going, you know it right? I think you would; unless the person in question is me. I have been aware of my self-sabotaging behavior for some time now, but have been unable to correct said behavior. Case in point, when I find a relationship that has true potential, I run the other direction. There have been (so far) two men in my life that I have fallen in love with. I was aware of the first, but the second didn’t hit me until I realized that he was potentially out of my life forever. How can this be, you may ask. Wouldn’t you KNOW if you were in love with someone? Perhaps a normal person would…but I realized the truth of it after the fact. Way after. And then I was too …mortified? proud? to admit my mistake. And then, what in bloody hell was I to do about it? Here I was in an entirely different relationship that I knew was bound for disaster when the reality of my situation hit. It’s like those goddamn bad romantic comedies where the two friends have a pact to marry on their 30th birthdays if neither one of them is yet married. One of them gets engaged and presto! The single friend suddenly says, “Wait a tick. I think I’ve been in love with you all along.” This happens all the time in the movies and I generally think, “Oh sure. Like THAT shit happens in real life.” Well, I’m here to tell you folks that I’m not so contemptuous of the premise of these movies anymore. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

In the book of life's questions, the answers are not in the back. --Charles Schultz

I need drama.

I find that the things that I need and the things I want are rarely one in the same. It’s a shame really. However, I think I should win some sort of prize for choosing what I want, when I should be choosing what I need. It always seems like a good idea and it seldom is. But that hasn’t stopped me in the past and I doubt it will stop me in the future. I think that many performers and artists choose this sort of life because it gives them a reason not to “grow up.” When it all boils down to it, actors are just playing dress up. They are pretending to be somebody else for other people’s enjoyment. Is that a general truth or just true for me?

That being said, I surround myself with performers, musicians, artists… I get bored with “regular” people—I need excitement, mystery, and drama—I need someone who is always “on.” There are, of course, obvious downfalls to this but try as I might, I can’t convince myself to settle for any less. …There is so much more I could write about this right now, but as it is, I have to be awake and functioning in less than six hours. Good-night.

Living is a form of not being sure, not knowing what next or how. The moment you know how, you begin to die a little. The artist never entirely knows. We guess. We may be wrong but we take leap after leap in the dark. –Agnes De Mille

Limbo is for Bimbos

I’m blocked. I find it amazing how truly crazy and amazing and completely unreal my life can be and yet I can’t seem to find my story. I think I have my characters but I haven’t settled into voices for them yet, there is interesting dialogue but it’s going nowhere. I feel so close to fitting all the pieces together, but I’m not there yet. Frustrating!

I feel close to no one and nothing right now. I’m in some sort of bizarre limbo. Jane Eyre finished over the weekend and much to my surprise, I could hardly keep myself from crying during the final curtain call. And I wasn’t the only one. I can only imagine what it would have been like if I had been really close to my cast. That’s not to say we weren’t friendly and I did make some wonderful friendships with a few, but nothing to warrant the sense of loss laced with only a little relief. I spent countless hours a day, six days a week, for almost five months with this production, with this cast and crew. And after a while, it starts to feel like these people are the only people you talk to and spend time with… because they are! Sharing stories and book reviews and heartache and colds; laughing about mistakes we made on stage or strange sounds from an anonymous audience member. I love theater. I love theater and I love the people who make theater their lives. It takes a different kind of person to choose this life and I can’t imagine doing anything else that would make me a half as happy.

The fantastically talented late Ms. Wendy Wasserstein wrote the following in Isn’t It Romantic, “No matter how lonely you get or how many birth announcements you receive; the trick is not to get frightened. There is nothing wrong with being alone.” I’ve reached the age where most of my friends are either a) married b) soon to be married, or the most frightening of all, c) having children. I am neither a, b, or c. And although I don’t care, there is a small part me that does care a lot. What does that mean exactly? Well, it means that with my quickly dwindling group of single friends, I feel like I should settle down (settle down or just settle?) and I should start to think about becoming an adult and raising a family and should this and should that. And of course, as many of you have experienced with your un-single friends, when they are in a relationship, they want you to be in a relationship too. Why is this? Are they concerned for your happiness and well-being? Or is it for more self-serving purposes; like they don’t want to move onto the next stage of their life ‘alone’? I feel that I’m not one (and have never been) to encourage anyone in or out of a relationship. I don’t feel that it’s my place. Hell, I barely feel that it’s my place to encourage myself in or out of a relationship. I want to stop worrying about some notion about the ticking clock of Mother Nature; and I certainly don’t want to worry whether I will ever find “the one.” If there is one person in my life who is going to complete me, who is going to make me a better person, a wittier person, a more accomplished person—that person should be me! Life isn’t about finding one person to spend the rest of your life with; it’s about finding people to spend the rest of your life with.

SALLY: Look, there is no point in my going out with someone I might really like if I met him at the right time but who right now has no chance of being anything to me but a transitional man.
MARIE: OK, but don't wait too long. Remember what happened to David Walsaw? His wife left him and everyone said, "Give him some time, don't move in too fast." Six months later he was dead.
SALLY: What are you saying? I should get married to someone right away in case he's about to die?
MARIE: All I'm saying is that somewhere out there is the man you are supposed to marry. And if you don't get him first, somebody else will, and you'll have to spend the rest of your life knowing that somebody else is married to your husband.

--When Harry Met Sally

if i don't, then i can't

I hate to bring this up—I’m just tired of talking about it, and thinking about it, and writing about it, and analyzing it. But if I don’t, then I can’t. It’s him…again. Apparently he just does a little breaking and entering back into my life whenever he feels like it. I take partial blame here…because…well…I let him do it. There are no consequences for him if he disappears for a week or three. Without fail, every time I start to accept the fact that I won’t being hearing from or seeing him anymore—here he comes with his charming, interesting, beautiful self. And on the flip side, every time we start to get comfortable, every time things start moving towards a higher level of commitment, he rides off into the sunset.

Why do we do this little dance? Well, because I have daddy issues and he has mommy issues. Simple, right? Maybe, but maybe not.

What does he want from me? And more importantly, what do I want from him? Why do I allow this behavior? Why don’t I kick his ass to the curb like so many before him? Is it pity? Loyalty? Empathy? Stupidity?

I love--and I hate--roller coasters. Every time I’m in the presence of a roller coaster people try to convince me to ride it. I resist at first, but eventually give in. As you climb into that oddly familiar plastic car with the safety bar set for two people (namely a small child or Andre the Giant) you start to feel a small thrill of excitement. As the train slowly chugs up that first hill, you feel your stomach drop and paint that nervous smile on your face. You reach the top and then it’s all screams and laughing during that first drop. But with every loop-de-loop or sharp turn your enthusiasm lessens. And towards the end you just want the damn thing to end you can go get some disgustingly wonderful cotton candy. Where am I going with this? Well if you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you. But I will tell you this. This guy is different somehow. He throws in curves and loop-de-loops that you never see coming. Good or bad or whatever, I’m just not ready to exit my little plastic car, not yet.

I don’t know if I should care for a man who made life easy; I should want someone who made it interesting. –Edith Wharton

It's not anything really...

I feel distracted. No. No, that’s not right. There is a feeling that you get on a hot summer afternoon when you can stand in your backyard and feel your shirt sticking to your back; and then you see a thunderstorm on the horizon. You can hear the rumble of the thunder and feel the energy of the lightning. It’s not scary or exciting or anything really…it’s just a change. Not unwelcome, just different. It’s that feeling. You feel it there on the horizon and know its coming. Will it be a warm summer shower or a powerful downpour with earth-shattering thunder? Does it matter? Either way, in a few minutes or maybe an hour, things aren’t going to be like they are right now.

I feel frustrated. Have you ever tried to put together one of those puzzles with a thousand little pieces? You dump the box on to the table and start trying to find the obvious pieces… the corners, the borders, a building perhaps…but sometimes once you get that far you just can’t seem to find the right matches. You move the pieces around or push your face up real close hoping to find what you’re looking for. And if that doesn’t work, you jokingly try to force some pieces together…but who are you kidding? You were only half joking.

Cot!

There is an old adage, if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. Isn’t it nice to know when something is cliché then it’s going to be true. I mean, it’s cliché for a reason, right? I feel like I’m always playing devil’s advocate to my friends and family. I could say that I hate to do it, but that may be a lie… but here is my reason for it: In the past, whenever I have rushed into something or made a snap decision, I usually look back in frustration, knowing that I should have taken the proverbial step back and assessed the situation from the outside looking in, rather than not really looking at all. This has been true in all areas of my life and while I would hate to leave my flaky, frenetic self in the past (like that could ever really happen) I am also trying to be conscious of the fact that I am an adult now; an adult with a fair amount of intelligence and should attempt to make informed and rational choices. Or at least, help other people make informed and rational choices.

I think it may be impossible for me to take my own advice. I know what I SHOULD do, but that doesn’t mean I’m actually going to do it. And now that I think about it, I usually do the polar-opposite of what I know I should do, in favor of the eccentric child in me who shouts, “Damn it! Do whatever you feel like!” Oh, I’m such a rebel.

Switching topics: I arrived to my dressing room at the Guthrie today to find… *drum roll* a COT!!!! Now, some of you may be thinking, “So….what?” Well, let me tell you my friends, the Equity cot is something to be cherished and lusted after. Imagine if you will a theater; many actors (especially the Equity actors) need their beauty rest, and can therefore request an Actor’s Equity Cot, on which they can rest between entrances and exits… but there are very few to go around and you have to put in a special request to even attempt to get one to share with the rest of your dressing room-mates. Which is why it’s so amazing because I have my own dressing room with my own bathroom and now, my own cot! I told only two people, my non-equity buddies in the dressing room next to me, Glenn and Paul, and they helped me fold it behind the door… in the event that another actor would pass by my door - notice my treasure – and subsequently try to thieve it from me. Now, instead of passing my time staring at the ceiling while listening to the show, lying on a small rug on the chilly concrete floor--I can stare at the ceiling while listening to the show and bask in the luxury that the rough green material stretched over a couple metal bars will bestow upon me. Aaah, the life of an actor.

Umm, so yeah.

First day back in rehearsal for Jane Eyre; after more than six weeks performances and a three month break, it’s kind of surreal. It was like a day had passed—or forever—one or the other. I tried to “walk” through the waltz in my head these last few days leading up to our first dance rehearsal only to discover I could only remember a hazy version of the dance. I was slightly amazed when we jumped right into the dance that I remembered the dance but also the dialogue my partner, Glenn, and I had used (more or less) during performances. Now, Glenn is a nice guy—really, really nice—which is why I feel bad about not liking him. He’s just always… there. He always wants to chat and give me advice on my life and ask me about the book I’m reading or just pacing in front of my dressing room door, hoping to be asked in. Aaaah!

Also, all the ladies were looking particularly excellent and just as thin (if not thinner) than when the show left off in November. I tried to lose that extra weight—I exercised every day, I counted calories, I thought skinny thoughts, everything! But after almost eight weeks and a four pound weight loss I couldn’t stay motivated. Who could? I guess it’s just like choosing acting as a career choice—it’s a whole lot of work, for not a whole lot. But it is what it is.

I think I’m going to back off of the mens for a while too. Just for a while, but long enough for me to clear my head and focus on Dana. Now in the past, just when I think that’s what I’m going to do, some (seemingly) man-of-my-dreams-tall-dark-and-handsome guy appears. Well good luck sir, because I’m fairly certain my only social activities this month include Jane Eyre, Jane Eyre, and more Jane Eyre. And as we ladies in the theater are well aware, there are very few single, straight men for the dating.

Going to see the “sneak peak” of Little House on the Prairie at the Guthrie with my lovely friend, Mr. Joe Botten, on Tuesday; and I am just as excited to see the reading/presentation as I am to see Joe! But then it’s a FULL day of rehearsal. *sigh*

Umm, so yeah. That’s my update for this week.

Best Of Blogging...

So here I am... finally committing to blogging on an actual blogging site called (appropriately) blogger.com. I have, however, created some fairly interesting and/or entertaining blogs back in my ol' myspace days. So here are some of my favorites (oldest to newest):

Feb., 19th, 2006

RANT (a la Craigslist style): So I'm getting a cookie for my little brother, when my mother walks in the room, and says to me, "Put that back! You're too fat." And I, being used to similar comments from her, say, "I can have a fucking cookie if I want one, and besides it isn't for me, it's for Will. But now that I think about it, I will have one. Actually, I'll have two."
And she wonders why I was so fat in high school.

June 1st, 2006
I did it. It's done.

New York City and back in less than 72 hours.
Hours spend driving: 45. Hours spent sleeping: 9. Cups of Starbucks Coffee: 7. Being so mentally and physically exhausted you start hallucinating on the drive home: priceless.
You know what's funny? After a while, you start to feel like your whole life is just driving and drinking coffee and driving and driving and drinking more coffee and driving and driving and driving. And driving. Did I mention driving? Oh. What abot Starbuc... oh that too huh? Okay. Yeah. So driving and coffee... What was I talking about?

October 17th, 2006
If you resolve to give up smoking... Current mood: hung-the-fuck-over

Well, I'm pretty much exhausted. I think if I actually allowed myself to think about everything that is going on right now I would have an anxiety attack or just a plain ol' melt down. So I won't think about any of it until I can't ignore it anymore.
But here's what's on my mind right now-and what I'm willing to acknowledge. I'm an awful student. Awful. I skip class, I don't study, I do a half-assed job on my homework. It's awful. I'm paying for an education that I'm not getting. Shame on me. My excuse is this, I am a better actor than a student. I love the stage, and to me it is more important to have a top-notch performance than to get that "A" in Geology.
I quit smoking for nearly five months. Once again I lost the battle with my beloved cancer sticks. I started again a few days ago. It's my stress fall-back. It's comfortable, an "old friend" if you will, and I like it. Even if it's slowly killing me. Hell, maybe that's why I like it in the first place.
I quit my shitty job. But now I have no money. Boo.
I'm gaining weight. That upsets me.
My hair isn't growing as fast I want it to. That also upsets me.
But that's all for now. I'm hungover, I have homework, and I have dress rehearsal tonight.
"If you resolve to give up smoking, drinking and loving, you don't actually live longer; it just seems longer." --Clement Freud

December 19th, 2006
At least with me you know where you stand. Current mood: irritated

Here is one of a few things I dislike about people in Wisconsin (and Minnesota) that fucking passive-aggressive bullshit that they pull-- now I am aware that long, long ago when I had yet to escape from this frozen land of cows and tractors I was mistaken for one of these terrible people (what people failed to understand is that just because I am smiling when I tell you I don't like you, doesn't necessarily mean, I'm joking).
But no more! If I have a problem with you, I will tell you. If you are annoying me, I will tell you. If you are my sister and you have been trying to pick a fight with me for the last week, I will ignore you for a while...but then I will say, what the fuck is up sister? Why are you being such a snot-faced bitch?
I know this way of living annoys many people, and causes many others to dislike me or call me a bitch behind my back or whatever. But hey, at least with me, you know where you fucking stand.

June 19th, 2007
So far... not so good.

I feel like crying. I hate money and I hate everything that comes with it. I am working three jobs now, three. But I'm still broke. Not even like, "Oh, I don't have very much money"… but like "I have five dollars to my name; I don't know how I'm going to pay my bills or convince my rental company not to evict me." And there is absolutely nothing I can do about any of it. I'm doing everything that I can, but it took me forever to get a job so I could put gas in my car and eat, and then another eternity to find a job that would actually start to pay my bills. SO I'm past due on all fronts and the last call from my rental company said pay us now or get the hell out. (P.S. I'm only 19 days past due, but apparently that isn't allowed, even if you call them and explain your situation). My car needs to have its oil changed, brakes replaced, coolant tank replaced, and engine flushed out because when I ran out of gas I accidentally poured a gas/oil mixture in when I thought it was just gas… oops. My electricity is going to be shut off today; I get a collection letter every few days because I owe the throat specialist for an appt. from months ago; I can't afford my birth control so my body is whacked out, not to mention student loans, car payments, and the sink in my bathroom only spits out scalding hot water so I brush my teeth and wash my face in the kitchen, and which after tonight, I will probably be doing by the light of my cell-phone…lovely. I'm reminded why I hate living with people, and I'm hoping a certain guy will ball up the courage to ask me out... so far, not so good. So I keep telling myself, won't this all be a great struggling actor story some day? No. No, I thought not.

May 27th, 2007
You taste so bitter Current mood: single and fabulous!

The title has nothing to do with the content... meh...

REASONS I AM SINGLE AND FABULOUS!
(a.k.a Reasons I don't have a boyfriend)

1) I'M NOT ANXOREXIC OR BULIMIC or have any other disorders that make me appear that I only eat dust… and the occasional grape. I live in the Midwest, its cold; I need my spare tire, badunkadunk butt and any other extra padding to stay warm during the 11 ½ months out of the year that it's freezing cold here.
2) I'M SHY... no, no, I know you aren't going to believe this, but I am. Painfully shy actually. This is something very few people know about me—the aloof, mysterious, and sometimes sarcastic facade I have—it's just that—a facade. You will need to approach me and first and make it painfully obvious that you are into me or "we" will never happen.
3) I LIKE CATS... a lot. But not in a creepy, center of my universe/my only reason for living/substitute child and/or boyfriend kind of way. But never the less, they fear the worst—the future crazy cat lady-- and apparently this tends to scare potential men away. Go figure.
4) I WON'T STROKE YOUR EGO… I can be very supportive and encouraging when I think it's necessary or warranted. I will not, however, indulge you and pat your little head and tell you that you're the bestest there ever was in the history of things and stuff. I'm sorry. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I wasn't hugged enough as a child. 5) I CAN'T COOK OR CLEAN... so if this is something you require in a future mate… just keep a-walkin'.
6) I LIKE TO BE ALONE… or rather, I'm uncomfortable in large party or club situations. For me, a great night consists of staying home in sweats, ordering in, watching movies and drinking wine until I fall asleep. You don't have to tell me how sexy that is, believe me, I know.
7) I READ... a lot. See above.
8) I HAVE IMPOSSIBLY HIGH STANDARDS…and sometimes I expect you to read my mind. As most women are apt to do from time to time, I will occasionally pull out the "No, I'm not angry. No, nothing's wrong." And expect you to figure it out. Nice, it is not. But there it is. Also, there is a list of things I like in the men I date, it's fairly extensive and so far it's been hard to find all of those qualities embodying the same man…as 'musician' and 'rich' don't usually go together.
9) I'M CUTE... and I've been told on occasion, sexy too. Or so I am told. Not cute in a Rachel McAdams way or Kirsten Dunst way or even cute like Sarah Jessica Parker. I'm kind of odd looking. Not that I mind, but you might.
10) I can't think of a tenth reason.

August 10th, 2007
I does what I wants

Alright. Alright, alright, alright… I am officially on the rollercoaster of emotions—which I would like to blame on my period—unfortunately, that is not the case—I am simply a nut case. I am weeks away from entering my 24th year of life and no closer to becoming a responsible, logical, and normal adult… OR finding a "real" career… in short, I am a failure at having a real life. I feel like I am drifting, waiting for my adult self to show up and then I can marry a sensible man and bear the standard 2.5 kids with a dog and a second mortgage, and *poof* I will no longer be the fantastical, daydreaming, emotions-driven, financially irresponsible gypsy lady that I am.

I walk the line between desperately wanting that smooth life--a stable husband and rosy-cheeked children… and a free and dangerously day-dreamy sort of life. It is very easy to say—YES! Go out into the world and live the life you have always dreamed—damn the nay-sayers and damn the responsibilities and damn the consequences! It is much different to be living that life. To be constantly looking to the future and not knowing which path to take. To be alone (but not to be lonely) and to defy expectations and ignore what society deems right or wrong.

I don't date the "right" sort of men—they aren't adults—these men. I tend to go for the very same funny, passionate, intelligent, talented, emotionally unstable, unreliable, self medicating (read: drinkers and cigarette/pot/what-have-you smokers) and they usually lack reality-based career goals (read: actor, writer, dancer, rock star). I believe I am well on my way to dating one of these said men right now. I am torn because of my desire for my split destinations for my life. No man can be both, at least not for very long. Do I aim for the state (and family) sanctioned marriage or share my life with a partner, for as long as I can before we become stale and I become bored or annoyed and move on to the next man…? Am I a cold and selfish child? Or am I simply afraid to commit myself to someone for a lifetime when I cannot even commit myself to a job, a city or a hairstyle? I'm always moving, always shifting, always in transition. I'm alternately proud and uncomfortable with the constant change I enthusiastically throw myself into.

And this man, this guy, I'm… Seeing? Dating? Fucking? He is a good guy. So far he has been able to roll with the punches I've thrown at him—but so have they all for a little while. He is kind and considerate and nerdy and not at all smooth; he is also five years my senior and lacks ambition. The sparks are flying and while I am attracted to him, not his physical self, but him-- Am I so shallow that I cannot see past what he looks like to the person he really is? Much to my chagrin, I made the same superficial mistake in the past and now regret it very much. And I am determined not to repeat the mistake again. I am not so beautiful myself.

Suggestions anyone? I sure could use some right now.

October 7th, 2007
Why we aren’t dating anymore and other exciting tales...

Nate, I have to say that sometimes you are exactly what I need—thanks for that phone call tonight. So in the spirit of dumping my external excess baggage (read: ex-boyfriends and the like) I am going to do a little thing I'm going to call "Why we aren't dating anymore." Maybe it will be entertaining, but chances are it will only be amusing to me. Either way, you should feel honored to be reading this particular blog since its set to my "preferred" readers only ;-) You may notice I refer to many of these guys as boyfriends, but only because I'm not sure how to define most of my "relationships." (Note: One night stands are NOT included here).


Boyfriend Number One. I lost many different virgin-nities to you; you were attentive, and understanding, and oh so charming, and of course, you had an amazing amount of baggage. I loved you, but I also lied to you… a lot. Also, your mother hated me. So ends that story.

Boyfriend Number Two. You were a friend for a while—I thought you were way hot—then we had sex in my room-mates bed. Also, you had two names: the name I called you and your stage name. Sex was odd because I didn't know which name to go with… so I said nothing instead.

Boyfriend Number Two and a half. That's all you deserve-you crazy, abusive motherfucker.

Boyfriend Number Three. You were younger than me. A lot younger. I took your virginity. I'm sorry. You were sweet but then you turned stalker on me.

Boyfriend Number Four. I don't know if I can call you a boyfriend or not. We had a … difficult… relationship/friendship. You might have been cheating on your then girlfriend, maybe not; God knows what was happening that summer. You challenged me in all the worst possible ways—but we did have fun together.

Boyfriend Number Five. You were married… not to me. Enough said.

Boyfriend Number Six. I've know you since forever. (Well maybe not THAT long). You always crushed on me—I always knew it. I fucked you up and over. I'm really sorry we started things up during that point in my life, but I can honestly say that you are one of the best men I have ever known and I wish I could call a "do over." I think you're happy now and I'm honestly happy for you. But sometimes I wish it was me you could be happy with.

Boyfriend Number Seven. We had an expiration date--I knew it and fell for you anyway… I blame you. No, just joking, I blame myself. You could annoy me sometimes, but it felt really great to sleep next to you at night. You put up with all my shit and sometimes you indulged my craziness. You are a good guy and I'm pleased to have you as a friend.

Last, and definitely least, Boyfriend Number Eight. You have so many red flags; I must have been blind, deaf, and dumb to give you those nine thousand extra chances. I think I was just lonely or something because you deserved none of my time, energy, or affection. You're going to wake up one morning and realize that you have nothing, no career, no goals, no kids, no wife (at least not one as fabulous as I could have been) and no brain-cells because you've smoked them all away. Good luck with that...Ass Clown.

December 8th, 2007
Attention Macy’s Shoppers: A Christmas Story

First, a story: It's Thursday morning and I'm getting ready for the nightmare that is my job. Just kidding, it's not that bad—in fact it's probably one of the better jobs I've had. Back to the story: I know the guy I'm very much into (yes, still) is working and so I decide to wear a skirt and my black boots. Fast-forward to the end of my shift, walking back to my car in the Macy's parking ramp. Damn, says I, it's fucking freezing out here and I'm wearing a goddamn skirt! I'm going to cut through Macy's to get to my car. So I'm walk into the store and am instantly sucked into the sale section of women's coats. Seriously, they had some good deals on really cute coats… and I'm trying one on and really considering buying it when a vision of my empty wallet and me still living at home pops into my brain. I throw the coat down (well, actually I hung it gently back on the rack) and made a dash towards the nearest elevator. I jumped in and pushed the button for level one. Elevator doors close-- I'm on my way to my car and fiscal responsibility. Elevator doors open-- I step out and realize that I'm in some weirdo lower level basement of Macy's. Step back into the elevator, thinking I pushed the wrong button. I push 1. Nothing happens. Okay… I push 2… 3,4,5,6. Nothing. I step back out into the basement. It is a small gray room with one door that reads in big red letters- CAUTION! DO NOT PUSH OR ALARM WILL SOUND. At this point I've been growing increasingly frustrated with this elevator and think—I need to get out of here and if setting off the alarm is the only way to do it, then so be it. I cautiously push the door open. Nothing. No alarm. Now I'm in a much larger room… it appears to have been a sales floor once upon a time in retail history. There are abandoned clothes racks with a few hangers here and there, boxes stacked about, and tan colored mannequins leaning against walls or resting on the floor. And in the half light of the basement, and my over-active imagination, these mannequins seem to just be lying there, waiting. Aah!
So I rush through the next door I see, and then through another, hoping to find my way out. Finally, I'm in some kind of loading dock area—there must be a door to the outside world. Hallelujah! This lady security guard appears out of nowhere and we both look at each other for a second until she says, "How did you get down here?'
"I don't know. The elevator brought me down and it wouldn't go back up."
"No really, HOW did you get here? The doors all have locks and alarms."
"Well, they must not be working because I just went through three or four doors."
"They are definitely working. That's my job. I check this level a few times a day to make sure everything is locked and set."
(Obviously, some liberties were taken with the exact language of this conversation but you get the idea.)
So the security guard sends me up through another elevator and I'm back into the world of mannequins with clothing and sparkling retail Christmas MuZak. Whew. I told one of my co-workers this story and he said, "Wait, wait, wait. You dreamed this?"
"No! This happened to me LAST NIGHT after work."
"Bizarre."
Yep, that's exactly what it was. Bizarre.

December 21st, 2007
Isn't that always the way?

I have heard that you have to leap and build your wings on the way down. Well, last night I took a leap and I'm still realizing that sometimes even though you may have the skill and the know-how to build those wings—someone else may have the things you need to build them. Will he be able to give me the things I need? And even if he wants to give them to me, does he know how to? Is he ready to part with those things?

A friend asked me how things were going with him (or if they were going anywhere at all) and where did I think things were going. Here's the thing, in potential relationships we, I, all of us, are so quick to judge, or to label, to define, or push things in one direction or another. When you meet a new friend, you don't say to your other friends, "I think this may be it! This may be the new best friend I've been looking for!" Or when you first start hanging out with that new friend, ask questions like, "So where do you see our friendship in six months? Would you eventually like to be my best friend?" No. We don't say things like that—because it would be silly and absurd. So why do we do it with our "other" relationships? Because we're having sex? I'm starting to feel that sex is the adult version of candy in the world of relationships. "If you give me some of that candy, I will be your best friend."
Maybe that is oversimplifying the situation. Maybe not. I don't have all the answers, hell, I don't even have some of the answers. I'm just as fucked up as everyone else and maybe more so than the average Tom, Dick and Harry.

January 1st, 2008
I love you but don’t ever call me again.

Well, it's that time of year again folks! Time for making New Year's Resolutions? Nope. Breaking New Year's Resolutions? Again, no. Wondering why you subject yourself to the torture that is your family during every holiday season? Well… maybe. But no, my friends, no; let's get this New Year started off the right way. And for me, apparently that involves the guy I'm pseudo-dating, disappearing on me. That's right, do not pass go, do not collect $200. And the kicker, you may ask? The last thing he said to me? "I love you." Yeah, you heard me (and I absolutely heard him). He told me he loved me and then performed a lovely vanishing act. Now, as many of you may well know, I dislike surprises even more than I like the occasional magic trick… so this was something of a sucker punch to the head and the heart.

And the runner-up to the kicker? I'm not really mad; I'm just really worried about the guy. He's so emotionally unstable right now that I can't shake the image of him dead in an alley or as "John Doe" hooked up to tubes in the hospital. So I'm alternately irritated and concerned that I haven't heard a fucking thing from him. But I since I have no way to confirm any of these worries, I have to function on the idea that he just decided he wanted nothing more to do with me. Ouch. That really hurts to write, but all the same, I would rather know now than six months or six years from now.

So yeah. There it is. Guy that I should never have gotten involved with. Guy that I should have left weeks back. Guy that all my girl-friends told me to run away from very fast. Guy that only really showed me affection when he was coked out, pill-popping, or drunk. Guy who would wake me up in the middle of the night with bizarre text messages. Guy who is desperately needy, passionate, insightful, talented, intelligent, emotionally unavailable, addicted, confused, charming, well-read, angry, and unreliable. Guy who decided that I wasn't good enough for him. Well, well, well… what do you know…

God, if you're up there, I really, really hope that you're just messing with me right now. I really, really hope that who ever it is you, or the Fates, or whoever has in store for me is super duper awesome. Because I'm tired…I don't need to find Mr. Right, right now, but it would be awful nice if I could stop dating Mr. Fucked Up, Mr. Unavailable, or other various assortments of Mr. Jesus-Christ-What-Was-I-Thinking?!?

January 8th, 2008
Cool, man, cool. Current mood: confused

I've been here before. How do I begin when I don't know where to start? Here are some of the things I'm feeling right now: happy, sad, skeptical, hesitant, calm, confident, worried, optimistic, upset, anxious, restless, ugly, beautiful, worn-down…

I've been here before. The Guy resurfaced after being down the rabbit hole for eleven days. Yep. Eleven days. And while I don't sanction his reason/excuse for it, I understand it. *sigh* I think I might be too empathetic or too forgiving or too something…

I've been here before. I've been through all of this in the past with someone else and have to ask myself: when is enough, enough? I guess when it gets to be too much… This all seems very hazy and jumbled to me right now—part of that must have something to do with the huge amounts of time I've had to reflect and analyze and re-analyze everything that has been said and done between us in the last three months. It feels like a dream, but it's too hard to tell where the real world begins and the dream ends.


Eek, I feel like this blog has turned into some sort of beatnik poet ramblings about relationships and a vague feeling of emotional displacement and yearning.

Cool, man, cool.