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.