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
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
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.
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.
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.
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