The Lovers, The Dreamers, and Me

It Will Be Mine

2011-11-09T18:38:00.000-08:00

I hope by now you have figured out where the name of this blog originates. If you haven’t yet, then you are officially invited to my apartment for a screening of Wayne’s World.

Technically, if you are to define “job” as anything that pays you money in exchange for services rendered, you could say that my first job was when I was 11 years old. My mom worked in the pricing department at a local grocery store, and she was in charge of store promotions. She hired me for $5/ hour to dress in elaborate costumes that aligned with store events. If chicken was on sale, then I would throw on a chicken costume and a sandwich board advertising boneless chicken breast for $1.99/lb , or whatever. It was as embarrassing as it sounds. I’m reminded of a particularly traumatic moment when I fell down in one of the aisles dressed as a giant M&M. Tiny packets of M&Ms flew in the air with my arms and legs flailing about like a turtle on its back.

Basically, I’ve had a lot of Joe jobs, nothing I’d call a career. If you can think of a mediocre job, I’ve probably had it, but I had one goal when I joined the workforce: I made a personal vow never to wait tables. It’s not that I was beyond waiting tables or that servers were terrible people. I had just decided when I was young, that no matter how desperate my job search became, I would avoid slinging hash at all costs. I had big dreams, damn it! It is also worth noting that for most of my life, Olive Garden was considered to be my least favorite food establishment (if your mom could cook Italian food like my mom, you would have hated franchised Italian food as much as I did).

Anyway, back to my story.

When I graduated from Belmont in 2005, I found myself in the most soul-crushing office manager position at a real estate office. Confident in my Music Business degree (eye roll), I put in my 2-weeks notice after 6 months, and was absolutely certain that Nashville was a deep pool of exciting job opportunities. I could not have been more mistaken. After pounding the pavement for a month, I swallowed my pride and marched into the Olive Garden across the street from my apartment, filled out an application, and haughtily waited for the ticker-tape parade that would undoubtedly welcome such an overqualified candidate. I didn’t make it past the first interview. I drove home confounded that the one job I vowed never to do at the one restaurant I most despised did not think I was worthy of serving their guests breadsticks.

It was a devastating blow to my ego. Very soon after, I packed my bags and moved back home with my parents. Again, my ego was obliterated. At this point, I was so desperate to find work that I applied at every restaurant in my city, including ANOTHER Olive Garden. This one hired me on the spot. I ended up working there for the entire year and a half I remained in Indianapolis, and I am not exaggerating when I say it was probably one of the most rewarding job experiences I ever had. It taught me patience, humility, and it introduced me to a wild motley crew of individuals: fantastic people, many of which I still keep in touch with today. Also, there were times that I genuinely found it fun despite the crappy, frustrating moments that came with the job (getting tipped less than a dollar for an hour of salad refills is enough to make anyone insane). I guess the point I’m trying to make is that, despite what you think you know, you don’t always know what’s going to be best for you. Sometimes life guides you to the point where you consider possibilities that you never would have previously entertained. And what’s even more interesting is that when you get to that point where you are ready to embrace it—it may not be ready to embrace you, at least not yet anyways.

Even If It Breaks Your Heart

2011-10-26T18:43:00.000-07:00

Hi.
So it’s been awhile. Since Monday, June 6, 2011 to be precise. I think the longer I waited to post something new, the greater the pressure I felt to make the new post ridiculously awesome.….for the tiny handful of you who still read this. I think I do have some at least semi-awesome new posts coming down the pipeline, but I figured it would be better to get reacquainted first.

So, yeah. Hi.

I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about my unfocused creativity and how I should channel my energy into more productive activities. I moved out to New York because I craved that neurotic and magical creative buzz that only a city like NYC can offer, but recently I’ve just cowered in my tiny little corner of this metropolis secretly praying that my work would just magically produce itself. I’ve spent two years plunging what little creative spark I had left in me into a project that ended in the worst possible way, and it’s left me wondering how much of my time has been wasted, how far off track have I fallen, and how I should pick up the metaphorical pieces and move forward (just being honest here). Lucky for me, I have recently realized that I am surrounded by an assortment of supportive individuals who are helping me drown out those pesky Whammies.

A best friend who will remind me that everyone gets screwed over every now and again and that you shouldn’t let others rob you of your happiness. And that I should get over my self-pity and post a new blog already. (Also, she introduces you to things like vampire teen-romance and is willing to endure 8 hours of whale-watching hades just because I miss “nature”)

Another best friend (people can have two “best” friends right?) who will listen to your petty griping for hours despite the fact that he is busy with important things like raising children and serving in the military (oh you know, those little things in life)

People that have been cheering me on since the days I was convinced I was going to be the next great rock and roll producer. …or the next not-so-great street-corner preacher.

People that will let you cry into a delicious craft beer on a Monday night without judgment.

And a roommate who will not only fuel me with frequent words of encouragement, but she will take a pedicab in the rain just to get to one of my improv shows on time.

Basically, what I’m saying is that sometimes I have a hard time avoiding the Whammies on my own, and need some help, and I am not short on people willing to give it. That is awesome.
I am going to leave you with a few more bits of inspiration that I have been marinating in for the past couple of weeks (but really, this is more for me than it is for anyone else).
"Please do not be cynical...nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get, but if you work really hard and you are kind, amazing things will happen." –Conan O’Brien after losing the Tonight Show
“The greatest way to never fall in love with your own dream is to hate somebody else’s dream…And when someone hates on your dream, try your best not to react in anger. Instead, mourn what that person is losing. Because when someone hates on your dream, their own dream is being ignored. And that is a tragedy.” –Jon Acuff
“‎"Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose....Have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary...Stay hungry, stay foolish."--Steve Jobs
And finally THE song I play on repeat when I think it might be time to throw in the artistic towel.

What's Going On?

2011-06-06T20:08:00.000-07:00

For those of you not familiar, for the past year, I’ve ventured into the bizarre world of online dating. Things only got more bizarre when I took advantage of a free 10-day trial on a Christian dating website.
Note to self: men only get weirder online when you bring religion into the equation. One guy formally introduced himself as a non-native English speaker and single father. He then went on to proclaim his love of the writings of John Calvin and Martin Luther.
::swoon::
I mean that’s the sort of thing guys say to pick up girls in bars, right?
Another dude wrote me an 8-stanza poem and last week’s gem enthusiastically asked me if I saw that day’s Glenn Beck show. Boy, was that guy barking up the wrong tree. In what comes as a surprise to no one, the website had a noticeable lack of New Yorkers, so for the most part I spent the duration of the trial dodging emails from random Canadians and weird old dudes. But there was one guy whose approach reached the highest level of normalcy. He also said I was prett. What can I say? It really is THAT easy. The problem was that he lived in the geographically inconvenient Philadelphia and was not really my type. When I say “not really my type” I mean that I have a weird aversion to men who wear suits. I prefer my men to be creative, tempestuous and very, very poor. Anyways, we chatted on and off for a couple of weeks. I later found out that he was moving to an even more geographically inconvenient location, but I was enjoying the conversation and going with the flow either way, so no bother. We eventually graduated to a short phone call where one of my long-time fears of online dating was assuaged—he did not have a weird voice. Come on, I can’t be the only one who’s concerned with getting matched with what Seinfeld referred to as a “high talker” can I? Honestly at this point, it could have fizzled out naturally as he moved further away, and I would have moved on my merry way, but he kicked it up a notch by making plans with me over a weekend he was going to be in the city. For me, this was a bit of a game changer, so at this point, I did start to get a little excited. We talked about going to a Mets game (my baseball curse strikes again!), and he suggested rearranging his itinerary around my work schedule so we could spend the whole day together. Did I mention that he also invited me to come to Philly if I felt so inclined (my schedule didn’t allow it)? He left it off by saying that he’d keep me apprised of flight times and that he was packing up that weekend. After I didn’t hear from him over that weekend, I reached out a couple of times to confirm his arrival….
Complete radio silence.
Here’s the funny thing about dating with current technology: there are a million different ways to keep in contact with someone. Also, it is really easy to see someone log into GChat and NOT answer your email.
I was so baffled by this, and as the day approached that he was supposed to come, I obviously had realized that he wasn’t coming, but it was driving me absolutely crazy that I didn’t know what happened (some theories included temporary amnesia, alcohol and general douchebaggery). I sent him one final email inquiring what changed on his end of the equation--not because I had any hopes of our meeting face to face, but that my curiosity had got the best of me. Also, my blog entry needed an ending. It’s not that I was crazy about the guy (though I was interested). It was more that I was surprised that he lacked basic common etiquette. If you make plans, it is your responsibility to un-make those plans if something changes. Enough time had passed with the mystery unsolved, that I deleted him FB and chalked it up to another weird chapter in the always-amusing story that is my dating life. I suck at this locally. Who was I to think that I’d be better at this long distance?
And that’s where I left this blog until tonight: almost two weeks later, I received an email from him explaining why he flaked. I swear I about spit my drink out when I saw the email pop up. Why now?
As I greatly suspected, another girl had entered the picture. He went on to explain that he didn’t “want to lead anyone on nor cause hard feelings, and being that we hadn't met, it didn't seem like it was fair to keep you interested in me.” So you see, friends, he was doing me a favor by sparing me from perpetual interest! Phew! I now also suspect his ego just might rival mine. I am relieved, and grateful though, that he responded (better late than never, buddy!). Ultimately, his folly was making the mistake that people so often make when it comes to communicating with one another: underestimating how much people usually appreciate straightforward honesty. Why do people think it’s more effective to be flaky? Or maybe that’s just me—I’m nothing if not completely rationale. If he had given me the heads up weeks ago that things had changed (before his supposed weekend visit), I wouldn’t be writing this. I’m not lying when I say that I was completely jazzed when I checked my email. I’m not any closer to being a successful dater, but I am certainly accumulating more material for that book I plan on writing.

Press Your Luck

2011-05-21T20:52:00.000-07:00

Are you familiar with The Artist Way? It’s a book written by Julia Cameron, but it’s not just a book: it’s pretty much a 12-step program for recovering artists. As an artist, I’m pretty much my own worst enemy, and this book aims to get broken, self-destructing creative individuals to a point of positive, free-flowing artistic energy (which I know sounds hokey, but I assure you that it’s completely awesome). Each chapter represents a week and includes several journaling and artistic exercises to get you back on track. One week stood out the most for me. The chapter is about silencing that terrible discouraging voice inside all creative types (actually, all people in general) that tries to convince us that we are not capable of the things we wish to achieve. One of the exercises that week was to draw some sort of cartoonish monster or goblin that would personify this destructive inner monologue, and each time you hear that voice chime up, the author suggested you think of that drawing, realize the utter ridiculous of it all and silence that terrible voice. My brain often works in bizarre ways and instead of drawing an original picture, this popped into my head instead:

For those of you that don’t recognize it, that is a Whammy from the early 80’s game show Press Your Luck. Allow me to refresh your memory further:

The whammy is comically evil—not only does he steal all of your money, but he does it with such unabashed mocking joy! I mean, did you see the way that dixieland Whammy band stole all of that guys money? To me, the inner monologue of mine that tells me that I will never write a truly great story or make a great film is best personified by those damn Whammies! They steal all of my best ideas and replace them with creative bankruptcy. After that week, I started keeping a picture of the whammy around (it’s currently the desktop image on my blackberry) to remind me that whenever I feel that discouragement wash over me, that I should keep my chin up, declare to myself “Big Bucks, No Whammies” and do my best to win big. I know, I’m quite a weirdo, but it works for me.

But lately, I have started to notice that the Whammies have crept back in. If 2010 was the year of victory over the little bastards, 2011 is the year they came back with a vengeance. Last year was pretty awesome: my first year of performing improv, I started a screenplay that I continue to be excited about (though it has remain untouched for the past 9 months or so), and landed a pretty incredible job opportunity. So far, I have coasted into 2011 riding a wave of complacency. I haven’t written anything in months, I haven’t been back in improv class in almost a year, and in general, I have approached my creative disciplines with a lackadaisical malaise. The whammies have stolen my mojo, and I want it back.
You hear that Whammies???? I’m going all “Michael Larson” in this place.
Oh, you don’t know who Michael Larson is? He was an unemployed ice cream truck driver (which might be the saddest job description ever in game show contestant history) the biggest winner on Press Your Luck in 1984. He won by memorizing the patterns on the game board. Yep, he single-handedly beat those Whammies and took home over $100,000 in prize money.

I think it’s good to have role models.

My Thoughts on Planned Parenthood

2011-02-23T21:11:00.000-08:00

You’re going to have to forgive me. You see, I’ve blogged myself in a corner by regaling tales of awkward adolescence and bad first dates, but sometimes I want to write about more serious matters. Sometimes, I just want to speak my mind about controversial political issues, but you don’t like that. At least, many of you don’t; however, I’ve seen a plethora of posts on FB and twitter regarding the defunding of the organization Planned Parenthood, and I’d like to throw in my two cents. Trust me, there are many more bad first dates to blog about in the future, so just bear with me.

I recently read a quote from journalist, Chris Hedges regarding the current state of journalism: ““With the death of newsprint, we’re losing a whole cadre of people who are trained to go out, report stories, have them fact-checked, publish them. The end result was to build a public discussion around verifiable fact. When we lose those skills of reporting, all discussion becomes — from the left, from the right — emotionally driven. Verifiable fact no longer becomes the foundation of public discourse.”
I filed that quote away, and it just sprang to my mind when I read some articles regarding an interview with Bill O’Reilly (for the sake of this discussion, I’ll forgo the debate about what hours Fox News is actually considered news) and a former director of a Planned Parenthood clinic in Texas, Abby Johnson. The main points that bothered me (and bothers me about most biased media presentations) were the subjective unsupported claims she made, primarily that PP encourages abortion to increase their revenue and that they provide low quality care. It also bothered me to learn that Live Action, the very organization working to destroy PP, gainfully employs her. Yeah, that sounds completely fair and balanced. Now before I continue with my official position, here are some facts I discovered after a little Internet research:

Based on the annual report for the 2009 fiscal year, PP received around one billion dollars in revenue with 37% coming from medical services and 33% coming from government funding. If you look closer at the medical services provided, you’ll find that only 3% were abortion services with the leading services provided being STD testing/treatment, contraception, and cancer screening/prevention (total of 86% of services rendered). It should also be noted that the Hyde Amendment bars the use of federal funding for the purposes of abortion, so rest assured that 33% of revenue is being used elsewhere. Currently 75% of the people who use PP are at or below 150% of the poverty level, so this all begs the question: “what is to be gained by the recent bill that would in effect completely remove federal funding from Planned Parenthood?”
I’ve come up with a few viewpoints that are diametrically opposed to the institution that is Planned Parenthood.

1. Planned Parenthood is pro-abortion, and since I think abortion is wrong, so then is Planned Parenthood.
Currently, in the USA, abortion is legal. While that might upset many, PP is not responsible for making decisions for people. They simply present people with their legal options. I would argue that you are running the risk of an increase in abortion by removing contraception and sex education to those that need it, but can’t afford it. Stopping an organization whose abortion services only account for 3% of all services rendered, hardly sounds like winning a big battle in the ProLife war. There are other, more effective ways of doing that (I, personally, am a big proponent of education). Also, can someone please find me someone who went to PP wanting to keep her baby but were instead persuaded otherwise? With only a 6% profit margin, they are hardly the profit-seeking abortion-mongers they are being made out to be. Stop referring to them as the leaders in the abortion industry—it’s just misleading.

2. Planned Parenthood openly advises and encourages human sex trafficking.
Did we learn nothing from watching Michael Moore documentaries? Anything can be edited in such a way as to prove a point. The Live Action videos accomplished little because they left out the key information: that almost every person that encountered the undercover “pimps” reported them to the FBI for investigation; further, it was discovered to be a hoax long before the videos were released. But you don’t see O’Reilly mentioning those small details because it doesn’t fit into the narrative. It should also be noted that the egregious mistakes made by the worker in New Jersey were handled correctly: that woman was fired.

3. The federal deficit is far too large—harsh cuts must be made.
Ok, I can respect this stance to a point, but I also think in this current economic climate, it is not beneficial to cut more jobs and make it harder for low-income women to find reasonably priced reproductive health care. Also, if this truly is your ONLY stance, then I expect to see celebratory comments about you dancing on the graves of NPR and PBS as well.

This is just another example of how media bias is playing such a crucial role in our political landscape, and it is disheartening to see people swallow opinions without bothering to check the facts.

Now, here’s where I’m probably going to ruffle some feathers. The heart of this issue usually comes back to the pro-life/pro-choice debate or the debate on the role of sex education. This organization is not seeking to secure more abortions for profit--they are here to provide education and health services to anybody who might need them. Here’s my personal opinion and perspective: I am 27 years old, and I believe in God. My faith dictates to me that abortion is the wrong choice, but it also led me to the decision to practice abstinence until I am married (yes, folks, I walk a lonely road in Manhattan). I came to that very informed decision years ago in the presence of several options—I did not need the government to make that decision for me. I also respect the fact that several Americans do not share the same faith as me (or any faith at all), so it presumptuous of me to impose my standards of living with regards to sex on everyone else in the country. Contrary to whether you think it is right or wrong, people are having lots of sex, and if they’re going to continue to do so, I believe proper contraception and STD treatment should be available to them. If you want to make a difference in terms of abortion rates and sexual abstinence, then teach those things to your children. Engage in healthy discussions in your local community. Help educate people so that they, too, will have the freedom to make informed decisions. Also, treat the topic of abortion with a high degree of sensitivity. No one enters into abortion lightly, and having known people very close to me who have gone down that painful path, I know they wouldn’t wish it on their worst enemy. As someone who is opposed to abortion as any form of birth control, if someone asked me for advice, I’d tell them not to do it, but I would do it compassionately without any protest signs, shouting matches or judgment. It’s easy to get swept away in political rhetoric and not think of the many individuals who will be affected by the passing of this bill. It upsets me to think of how many abortions are practiced each year, but it also upsets me to see those dead children used as political leverage. And that is why I am standing alongside Planned Parenthood.

If you happen to agree with me, here’s a way you can show your support:
Stand with Planned Parenthood

Sites referenced:
http://www.plannedparenthood.org/files/PPFA/PP_AR_011011_vF.pdf
http://www.politicsdaily.com/2011/02/19/planned-parenthood-defunding-family-plannings-not-a-gop-family/
http://mediamatters.org/blog/201102190001
http://mediamatters.org/research/201102220026

P.S. If you'd like to engage in a civilized, well-behaved discussion on this matter, feel free to comment, but no funny business, ok?

Just Friends

2011-01-14T16:32:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty positive that my life plays out like Act II of a Romantic Comedy. For those of you not privy to the 3-Act structure of most movies, Act II is the part, particularly in Romantic Comedies, where the protagonist is in all sorts of romantic turmoil, the part before the she ends up in happy love-filled bliss. I am perpetually starring in Act II. This brings me to the topic at hand: platonic relationships with the opposite sex. While we're on the topic of Romantic Comedies, I'll let Billy Crystal get the ball rolling:

Your thoughts?

From a woman's perspective, I'll have to agree with Sally. Friendship between men and women can exist without the idea of sex or romance entering the picture. How do I know this? Because I typically, at any given time, have more male friends than I do female friends, and I can safely say that there are instances where the thought of romance with the other person NEVER enters my mind. One of my 2 closest and best friends is a guy that I have never been attracted to. It is worth mentioning that this is a point he refuses to acknowledge because he can't imagine a woman crossing his path that WASN'T attracted to him, but I digress. Sometimes, it's just naturally platonic, and I would say it's that way for about 90% of my friendships with men. On my end at least. I would never claim to understand what goes on in the heads of men. Maybe they're all like Harry.

But what about the 10%? Those friendships where romantic prospects are on the minds of at least one of the parties? I think they call this unrequited love, but I think love is absolutely the wrong word. Let's call it unrequited interest. Unrequited interest is torturous because it's a silent suffering. If it is an already existing friendship, you don't want to damage the relationship, so you don't say anything. And in my experience, this usually passes and the friendship resumes to normalcy. The other instance is for people who lack common sense like I do: you begin to build a friendship with someone you are already romantically interested in. One person wants more, the other person is content with buddydom (yes I just made that word up, but you know what I mean: FRIEND ZONE!) I would say this happens to me once every couple of years, and I am always surprised to find out how bad of an idea it proves to be. Once I realize that I've learned nothing, and I'm back at that place I so hate to be, it's too late: we're friends. So what's a girl to do? The obvious answer, is stop trying to be friends with these guys because it's bad news bears, and I always end up getting wrecked. The more complicated answer is.....well...um...you know what? I think I'm gonna stick with the obvious answer.

Back to the movie:

I'll close with the more pressing thought of the night: who should play me in the movie?

P.S. I'm working on a new year post where I rev myself up for all that I want to accomplish this year, but blogging inspiration hit me with this topic first. I promise, though, to resume my regular blog-posting schedule as my readers in Cincinnati, OH have demanded.

Evacuate the Dance Floor

2010-11-23T19:31:00.000-08:00

So my dad and I were chatting tonight about me, my sisters and our weird dating relationship hang-ups. We recently found out that my sister went off and got married to some dude. Wow, that's such a strange sentence, isn't it? What's really strange is that for me, it's not strange at all--my family has never been very adept at social norms. Her doing a normal engagement and wedding-now that would have been weird. Then you factor in me with my near 27-year stretch of singleness, and my dad is left slightly befuddled. He told me that sometimes he worries about me and wonders why I can't seem to grasp ahold of the most rudimentary human experience. I explain him that I often scratch my head and wonder if there's something I'm not doing correctly. Or as almost all women do from time to time, I wonder if perhaps my appearance plays any role. But then my logical side prompts me to realize that I see gnarly looking folks coupled up all the time, so that can't be it. I just haven't crossed paths with the right sort of man yet, the kind of man who will complement me in all the right ways. And I told him that I'm perfectly content to wait until I do, or if not, I hear I come from a long line of nuns. And then we change the subject to the Pope's recent comments on condom use and contraception. I quite enjoy our father-daughter relationship.

Did I ever tell you about the time I went to prom? Ok, so it wasn't my prom per se, it was a prom for mentally handicapped teenagers. I was never cool enough to get dolled up to go to my own high school prom (I couldn't find a date....poor, pitiful me), but I was involved with a religious group that would volunteer every year at the local school for "special" kids. We'd go, dance and liven the place up. It was actually a good event, and all the students there had a great time. I promise, it was not as patronizing as it sounds as I type this. Now, since I didn't attend my own prom (and was not much of a dress wearer in high school), I had nothing to wear to the event, but a nice pant suit. Yeah, a pant suit. Well after fretting over my wardrobe failures, I arrived at the prom ready to mix it up. We had been briefed beforehand that the female students were quite shy, which meant that the male students would keep us busy on the dance floor for the entire evening. So I walked over to a boy who was standing alone. I couldn't really tell what disability he suffered from, but I guess that's irrelevant. Anyhow, I politely asked him if he would like to dance. And do you know what he said?

"No. I only dance with the pretty girls"

It's ok--I'll give you a minute to stop laughing. It's pretty hysterical when you really think about it. As if I wasn't already feeling insecure about how I looked. High school can be so rough.

Anyways, I was pretty shocked and devastated, obviously, so I sulked off, me in my pant suit, to wallow in my own self-pity. Well about an hour later, I look on the floor and see that same kid dancing with a girl with down's syndrome, and I was....well...um...I was conflicted??? Ok, not confliced. My first reaction was "WHAT!?!?!??! Are you freakin' kidding me??" But then, it occurred to me that what I was seeing was actually quite endearing, and I let it go. Besides my affinity for self-deprecating humor, I guess why I'm sharing this is to illustrate a point. Those two kids managed to find each other, so who's to say I won't be so lucky. Or something like that.

Wow, I am so proud of myself. That might be the least offensive version of that story I've ever told.

Wonderland

2010-10-19T19:00:00.000-07:00

Let's tie up a few loose ends here. Recently, I posted a blog about my adventures in online dating. While I wrote it with only the intentions of sharing a few stories about my attempt to put myself out there in the dating world, the aforementioned good date with no follow up came across said blog entry and promptly emailed me to explain himself. I managed to get an explanation from the guy who never called--score one point for the single ladies (and for blogging). I considered that a victory in itself, but we hung out a couple of more times, and while I was ultimately disappointed to hear he was not interested in seeing me again, I was grateful for the few conversations we had because they opened the door to spiritual discussions I had not engaged in for years. I actually visited his Messianic congregation for a couple of weeks and really quite enjoyed it--despite the awkward encounter I had with one of the female members who felt compelled to let me know that she heard how I became acquainted with my new friend (cough, online dating, cough) and suggested I check out the rabbi's podcast about being single. oy vey. ANYWAYS, after processing the recent conversations I had with him and with some close friends, I wrote this little piece about my spiritual journey, a little glimpse into where I've been and where I think I'm heading. It's all good stuff. I'm a little bit of a spiritual orphan right now and I hope that I will be able to find a place that I can embrace and call home, but for now, I'm just happy to be back on the path. Actually under different circumstances, I might have considered going back to the synagogue, but I have high hopes that I will find the right place for me.
so here goes:

“Anon, to sudden silence won,
In fancy they pursue
The dream-child moving through a land
Of wonders wild and new,
In friendly chat with bird or beast—
And half believe it true”
Lewis Carol, “All in the Golden Afternoon”

I suppose I should begin with my very first adventure in Wonderland. Seventeen and prone to fits of whimsy, I jumped down the rabbit hole and discovered a world at once completely foreign and mesmerizing. Unlike the dreary landscape I called my Sunday morning home, this place was full of wonder and joy. Suddenly my world was full of color as I explored the many spiritual mysteries that unfolded (Curiouser and curiouser!) God’s presence was everywhere. Stodgy parishioners were replaced by my very own mad hatters and Cheshire cats—delightful characters eager to help me understand my journey (even though they didn’t always make much sense to me).
The first couple of years in Wonderland were amazing and full of unbridled romance and excitement. My happiness there had yet to be challenged, but as we all know, perfection is an impossible feat, even in a place as amazing as Wonderland. Villains lurked in the shadows of my newfound home and they threatened to poison the integrity of my paradise, and I watched as my world got turned upside down. Suddenly those colorful characters made much less sense to me and seemed to also be grappling with their own disillusionment. God’s presence was harder to find. Wonderland grew dark. Confused and saddened by the disintegration of the place I held dear, I climbed back up that rabbit hole and returned “home.” I closed the book on Wonderland and told myself it wasn’t real. Just a fanciful reverie—a young girl’s foolish dream.
I moved on with my life, but as the years passed, I never forgot about Wonderland and all of its colorful mystery. Recently, though, I find that I have stepped through the looking glass to discover that it is, indeed, a real place after all. Sure, the people look a little different now and I see it through a more cynical eye, but there’s no mistaking it—I’m back in Wonderland. This time, though, I’m not naïve to think that there won’t be villains (or even just casual misinformed visitors) lurking in the shadows with the intent on robbing me of my place here, but this time, that doesn’t matter. Life in Wonderland with its share of obstacles is still infinitely better than a miserable life outside it, so this time I think I’ll stick around.

“In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever drifting down the stream—
Lingering in the golden gleam—
Life, what is it but a dream?”
Lewis Carroll

Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

2010-10-13T19:57:00.000-07:00

So after a brainstorming session with a writing buddy yesterday, I remembered this piece I wrote a few months back. In the spirit of my last post, I decided to share it. It's a little longer than my usual stuff, so my apologies.
-----------------------------
I remember sitting in French class senior year of high school chatting with my closest friends about our dating preferences (we were, after all, studying a Romance language). My friends and I decided to write down the characteristics of our perfect mate and we’d compare. My list was exhaustive, detailing several “must haves” and a few “cannots.” Some qualities were admittedly shallow—curly brown hair, piercing blue eyes, a clearly defined muscular build (without being too bulky) and the ability to play the guitar (my love of Aerosmith’s Joe Perry has run deep for as long as I can remember). Others were more admirable—intelligence, sensitivity, passion and unwavering moral fiber. I looked over my list proudly and handed it off to my friends, including a couple of my closest male friends. They gave it one look and informed me succinctly “Steph, that dude is gay.” Oh, to be young and politically incorrect.
I kept that list for a long time. It was so easy to hide behind the rigorous qualifications I had set before myself. I’d meet someone, then immediately size him up. If they fit the bill, I’d hurry up and wait until they asked me out. I’ll let you figure out how well that worked for me. The few men who passed the test were certainly not interested in asking me out. Isn’t that the way it works? Finally the voices of the naysayers got louder and began to make sense: I was too damn picky. So I threw out the list and decided to lower the hell out of my standards. You know, mix it up. Come what may, Universe! That’s when I met Will*: the pot-smoking Republican (!) who had spent the last couple of years waiting tables at a local chain restaurant in between his hours-long sessions of World of Warcraft. Sexy, right? Sure he had aspirations of joining the Peace Corps, but don’t all waiters have lofty goals never to be achieved? I guess now is as good a time as any to mention that I, too, was waiting tables at this same restaurant, so who was I to judge? He was hardly the type of guy I needed to be messing around with romantically, but he was good-looking and I was bored.
The first opportunity I had to see Will outside of the restaurant soon presented itself. He was heading out of town at an ungodly hour of the morning and none of his friends were volunteering to give him a ride to the bus station (servers are notoriously averse to mornings). While chatting in the drink station, I overheard him complaining of his predicament and before I knew it, I was offering to drive him to the bus station around six o’clock on a bitterly cold winter morning. He called me later that evening and offered to buy me breakfast in the morning as a token of gratitude. He was being courteous solely as a friend and me? Well I took it as a sign that he wanted me just as much as I wanted him. Just another example of my attempts at expressing interest landing me smack dab in the middle of Friendville. I pulled up to his sad little apartment complex while it was still quite dark outside. It was approximately 10 degrees outside and I was still adjusting to what the world looks like before noon. We decided on Denny’s for breakfast and I made my best attempt at being cute and charming over a Grand Slam breakfast. We talked about our plans for life after the restaurant gig and our shared love of Paul Simon, and then I dropped him off at the Greyhound station. With a warm hug and a goodbye, I was left with the lingering hope that he would be calling me upon his return.
Well of course he didn’t call because there was no factual evidence that he ever intended to call me in the first place. Us women, and our active imaginations. Despite the lack of interest, I still held out hope. After all, I was willing to drop my precious list and be more open-minded, damn it! I would finally be reckless and stupid, throw caution to the wind, make out with a cute guy who doesn’t always shower and often uses words like “avatar” in regular conversation. This was the sort of life experience that everyone was telling me I needed. The gang was heading out to our friend’s bar one night and Will was there. I sauntered up with my best flirtatious smile and he complimented my glasses noting a certain “sexy librarian” vibe. Tina Fey had really laid the groundwork for girls like me, and I welcomed the attention. I stepped away to get a drink and when I came back, presumably to pick up where we left off, the little hippie had run off somewhere. I didn’t think much of it until I realized that my friend Sara* was also suddenly missing. It is worth noting that Sara* was much more forward and aggressive in her male pursuits than I ever had any guts to be. However, I cast off my paranoia and continued to mingle. About 30 minutes later, I see Will step out of our friend's office followed by Sara. He looked pretty inebriated and his long hair was in total disarray. It was obvious they weren’t helping our friend sort out purchase orders back there. Clearly the train had fallen off the tracks somewhere. I left the bar that night disappointed and confused. What happened? Would the universe not allow me one little fling? Even when I stopped being so picky, the guy still just wasn’t into it.
Thanks to both of them, I dodged a bullet. He was a very nice guy, but at the end of the day, he was not at all my kind of guy. I was willing to throw away all the years of patient waiting for a few make-out sessions in the back of a bar? Hardly the picture of romance I had envisioned for myself. I decided something that day. The list? While completely shallow and erroneous, it was helpful in the sense that there are several qualities in a man that I should continue to expect. The world would tell me that I’m too uptight and rigid in my expectations. But the world would also tell me that a series of casual non-committed relationships are completely natural and healthy. And that holding out for true romance is for suckers. No thank you, World, I’ll take my chances.

*Names have obviously been changed; however, if you worked with me during this time, it's quite obvious who I'm referring to. I'm never as mysterious as I hope to be.

Where is the Love

2010-10-05T16:52:00.000-07:00

I'm gonna switch gears tonight from religious holy wars and to the topic of online dating. It's my blog--I can do what I want.

I make no secret of the fact that I'm just no good at dating (see here for a brief synopsis of my dating history). At the urging of a friend, I set up a profile on a free matchmaking website and watched as the matches came pouring in. The funny thing about meeting people online is that you come up with very simple descriptors for each guy based on the things they show in their profile thus reducing these dudes down to the most basic identities. The Doctor, The Messianic Jew, The Muppet Guy, or my personal favorite:The Meat-Cleaver-Wielding Psychopath (oh how I wish I was making this stuff up). Things started off a little rocky when I received a frightening message from a guy who thinks a good way to pick up a girl is to list in great detail all of the things you'd like to do ~~with~~ to her. Yikes! Lucky for me, I found the "block user" and plugged that leak right away!

But after settling into the groove, I ended up in conversation with a few pretty reasonable fellas. One turned out to be a flake who now keeps emailing me asking to meet him "please." Sorry, guy, "please" doesn't look good on a man.

Another guy seems really nice, yet he's quite content to just email. Losing interest because I'm not really looking for a pen pal, ya know? Not everybody's a writer, so yeah, I'm getting bored. Come on, Doc, pull the trigger already!

Which leads me to the one who actually made it into my 3-dimensional world. I can only count on one hand how many dates I've been on, so when I say this was my most successful date, that isn't saying much (as long as he didn't threaten to abandon me alone in the bronx and cost me $150, he had it in the bag). But still. The guy was an ABSOLUTE gentleman: opening all doors, not sitting until I did, and paying for everything. Even making sure to walk on the outside of the sidewalk! And did I mention he was cute? Adorable! After dinner, he suggested a walk around the west village where we broke the rules of first date conversation discussing religion and politics (and if you know me at all, you know that's my kind of guy). As we walked, we stopped and he bought me ice cream. All I know about guy logic was indicating he was at least moderately interested, right? I mean, he could have cut and run after dinner (that's what I do when I'm not enjoying a date--just ask that passionless tax accountant from last year). We discussed the possibility of him coming to see me perform later that week, hugged and parted ways. I sent him the show info, and as it turns out he couldn't make it, but asked when my next one was. No big concern, so I sent him the info on the next show. And it's been radio silence ever since.

blerg.

What's the statute of limitations on first date follow up these days? All I know about dating etiquette I learned from Swingers, and Vince Vaughn thinks 3 days is kind of money, baby. It's been almost a week. Spare me the placating--he's got a blackberry, so I know he gets email as rapidly as I do. Say it with me everybody "he's just not that into me." So I guess I also take dating cues from Drew Barrymore movies.

I'm thankful at least that my successful date cancelled out the world's worst date of the Red Sox v Yankees game of 2009, but I think I might cool it on the online dating for a minute*. This whole dating thing bums me out a little. If you need me, I'll be hanging out at the convent.

*exceptions will be made for the doctor**
**Just kidding, I'm not that shallow***
***Ok, maybe that's not true

Peace Like A River

2010-10-03T17:02:00.000-07:00

I hate fighting about as much as a person can hate anything. Diplomacy is by far one of my favorite words. Peace, in the form of an olive branch, is literally tattooed on the back of my neck. Sometimes, to my own detriment, I struggle to keep peace between people and issues (causing me to sometimes sacrifice my own opinions in order to maintain the status quo, but that's a topic for another day). And this is why religion is a constant struggle for me.

Prompted by the recent discussions surrounding the building of the Park 51 community center, I decided that it would be worth my while to look into the roots of these discussion with the hopes of better understanding each position. I knew in my gut that the rampant Islamophobia was wrong, but had little knowledge to back it up. I just finished a really interesting book, How to Win a Cosmic War: God, Globalization and the End of the War on Terror by Reza Aslan, and it shed a lot of light on not only Islamic fundamentalism but also the long, sordid history between the big 3: Christianity, Islam and Judaism. And when you look back at the history, there simply is no truly innocent party involved. Representatives from all major religions have engaged in a cosmic battle, fighting at times what they believed to be God's war. Here's an excerpt from the introduction that I found interesting:
"The events of 9/11 by no means inaugurated the debate over religion and violence in the modern world, but they did render the issue unavoidable. It is easy to blame religion for acts of violence carried out in religion's name, easier still to comb through scripture for bits of savagery and assume a simple causality between the text and deed. But no religion is inherently violent or peaceful; people are violent or peaceful."

No religion is inherently violent or peaceful; PEOPLE are violent or peaceful.

I know I should not let the actions of the minorities sway at all my participation in a religion I believe to be the truth, but I can't help it. I'm being really honest here--sometimes the hatred and the fighting I witness in the name of God makes me want to throw in the towel. I've seen religion not just tear apart countries, but I've seen it tear apart branches of my own family tree. I've seen scriptures weaponized and distorted to suit people's own selfish agendas and I think to myself "This can't be what GOD had intended for His people? What am I doing here????

But something keeps me hanging slightly on. Because that ISN'T what God had intended for His people. And I shouldn't let the crazy or the violent or the selfish be the only voices heard. I'm only one TINY voice in the mix but I'm still A voice in the mix. So I will continue to try to be a voice of peace in the midst of fighting, but please don't misconstrue my message here, I am very human and often fail miserably. But I guess, in a way, this is my own eternal struggle, my very own cosmic war.

Sorry

2010-09-29T13:23:00.000-07:00

i don't know how i became such a delinquent blogger.
sorry guys.
anyone have any blog requests???

Communication Breakdown

2010-08-28T22:45:00.000-07:00

You ever feel completely overwhelmed by the information overload provided to us via the internet, 24-hour news channels and the like?
My brain is swimming. There is so much information being thrown my way everyday and I do my best to ensure the filters in my brain let the truth pass through and keep the junk from clouding my thinking. Logic and reason must prevail. Augustine's judicial philosophy of "hear both sides" is on my mind so much lately, I've considered getting it tattooed below the olive branch branded on the back of my neck (no joke). This is quite a difficult task considering there is a lot of stuff out there I know nothing about coupled with a lot of people content to force-feed us half-truths or lies. So it is inevitable that some junk will pass through the filters.
And so it happened with the this whole "Ground Zero Mosque" debacle. I let my guard down a little, listening only half-way to the stories circulating and formed a pre-mature opinion. A mosque at Ground Zero--that's preposterous! Who would do such an insensitive thing!?! And why is Bloomberg so supportive of this atrocity?

Oh, you wily Media, you got me again! You clever tricksters, you!

There is no Ground Zero Mosque. Since when did an old Burlington coat factory situated between a bunch of strip joints and other colorful vendors get deemed "Hallowed Ground"? As a current New Yorker, I should've known better. I should have just taken the extra subway ride down to lower Manhattan to see for myself the proximity of the proposed Islamic cultural center in comparison to the giant gaping hole that is still Ground Zero, but I didn't. Nor did I do the research that would have shown that there is already a Mosque in the area, one that was built far before the attacks on 9/11. It's my fault really. And then I watched as this argument exploded into an appalling political debate preying on the fears and emotions of the uninformed (the kind of folks who consider Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh to be journalists). Now it wasn't just this Mosque that was opposed, but ALL Mosques are dangerous terrorist breeding sites hell-bent on destroying America one terror-baby at a time. By the time the rest of the facts were presented in the matter, it was too late. The damage had been done. It suddenly gave folks license to openly hate Muslims living in America. Not cool, Media, not cool.

And they would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for those meddling facts.

I'm So Tired

2010-08-08T13:07:00.001-07:00

I wish I had more to say today, but I'm tired. In every sense of the word. But I promise--as soon as I get untired, I'll be back on here sharing my words with my tiny handful of readers.

Hey, when I get back, remind me to tell you about the time I thought it was a good idea to plan a 8-hour whale watching expedition on the Pacific Ocean, AKA the Devil's Water. Worst.....experience.....ever. Sea sickness is real.

Grey Street

2010-07-16T17:06:00.000-07:00

Wow, being the President of the United States must be a stressful job.
Obama during his campaign (or the beginning of his term, I'm not quite sure):

And this is Obama during his most recent press conference regarding the Oil Spill.

Is anyone else seeing what I'm seeing? He's all grey! Someone get that man a cigarette, being a leader of the free world will exhaust a man.

**Update: further investigation has shown me that this happened near the end of his campaign. He was quite grey by the time he was sworn in. Maybe I have not been paying as much attention to politics as I have been to the Mel Gibson scandal. Guilty.

Mad About You

2010-07-08T11:35:00.000-07:00

I recently read an article on Entertainment Weekly discussing the Twilight phenomena (see article here). The author posed the question: is the story of Bella Swan romantically nostalgic or a giant step backward for all female-kind? It got my attention, and I started thinking about my experience with the series and why I think I was so drawn to the story. Stephenie Meyer's novels are not the sort of craze I would insist that you participate in. There are lots of better books out there--there are most certainly better movies out there. I personally devoured all four books in a two week time span, but I recognize that brooding vampire love is not for everyone and wouldn't campaign that everyone I know read them the way that I insist all my friends read Pride and Prejudice and watch The Godfather Parts 1 & 2 (with director's commentary). The fact that I had just lost my job also might have played a role in my desire to spend two weeks in my pajamas, locked in my room with teenage romance novels, but hey, we all have our coping devices.

The article raised an interesting question. Are women drawn to the relationship between Edward and Bella because it represents romance of a different age, calling back to the era of chivalry with knights on white horses rescuing damsels in distress? Or is it that the Twilight fans (myself included) are embracing an antiquated and weakened form of femininity in the character of Bella Swan. I will admit that by book three, Edward Cullen's fierce possessiveness and constant need to protect his dame drove me a little crazy. As a reader (and a self-sufficient "independent" woman with admitted traces of a fear of commitment) , I felt a little suffocated. I remember thinking, "come on man, give a girl room to breathe! if she wants to visit her shirtless werewolf friend, that's her prerogative." But overall, their love story did win me over. I'm not ashamed to admit that by the end of book four I was quite prepared to turn in my feminist badge for a Team Edward t-shirt. I'm also not convinced that Bella is a weak character. Whiny and a bit melodramatic? Certainly. But not weak. She is a pretty strong protagonist, and I think her humanity can sometimes be confused for weakness. It isn't until her problems reach past the realm of normal human dilemmas that she shows true vulnerability. And I think there is something appealing about the notion that the love between two people is so great that each party is willing to sacrifice their life to protect it. And I'll also admit, the idea of a man doting on me and doing everything in his power to keep me safe--yeah I think I'd be alright with that. As long as he doesn't sparkle in the sunlight, I think that might be too much.

Ladies, what do you think? Do you identify with Bella Swan or do you find her to be a weak, petulant brat who just needs to find her identity outside of the men in her life?

I apologize to my male readers who could not be less interested in this post. Don't be too concerned about it though-- I don't spend all day pining for my very own Robert Pattinson. This is just a blog--nothing more, nothing less.

Oh Canada

2010-06-29T16:37:00.001-07:00

So I have a confession. I know you're reading this. Ok so I don't who YOU are, but I know your IP address. It's kinda sad I know, but I like to see if my blog gets any traffic. And I know that I have a certain faithful reader in Ohio that checks my blog daily and politely reminds me when I've been slacking. She has very important Master's Degree classes and I'm not holding up my promise to distract her from lectures and presentations.
But the joke's on me. I can see by geographic location from where my blog visits originate, and a few months back I noticed a regular reader from Ontario, Canada. I don't know anybody in Canada so I was flattered that my little corner of the internet had reached someone up north. As I would write, I'd imagine my Canadian friend and think to myself, "Hey you up there-I'm writing this for you, little buddy!" I can't remember how I figured this out exactly, but for some reason, the IP address from my blackberry is a little misleading. Much to my dismay, it turned out that my faithful reader in Canada.....was me.

Hot Stuff

2010-06-14T16:36:00.000-07:00

"Where do you want it, baby?"
-Keith Richards on a recent photo-shoot for Louis Vuitton

I don't know what's more rock and roll: the Louis Vuitton guitar case or the pieces of fancy tea-ware scattered in between the skull scarves.

Keith, you may be the living dead, but you still rock.
So do you, Annie Leibovitz, but that goes without saying.

life in the fast lane

2010-06-11T11:55:00.001-07:00

I was having a discussion about opposite sex relations the other day with a male friend, and he said this:
"Women are like cats. Men are like balls of yarn. If you just hand the cat a ball of yarn, they'll get bored."
What the what?
I was intrigued. Ronnie's perspective was blowing my mind, and I wanted to hear more. I always viewed it the other way around. Sadly, he had only reached page 26 of Neil Strauss's infamous book, The Game, and couldn't give me much more insight (still not sure if he was kidding about that or not). I'm sure some of you are familiar with that book. It spawned the VH1 show The Pickup Artist starring Mystery, that guy who, despite the fact that he looked like a cartoon version of Tommy Lee (is that eyeliner??? and oh lawd, that ridiculous hat!), he managed to pick up every woman he ever approached in a bar. He used asinine tools like the "neg," (AKA back-handed compliments) intended to drive women crazy. I remember watching that show and thinking how funny it was to see him attempt to impart his "wisdom" in the ways of women to his socially-awkward minions, but certainly there was no truth to that. Puh-leaze. I, and most of the women I know, are MUCH smarter than to fall for that.

And then it struck me: the race car driver. I used to work at a spa and there was a fitness member who also just happened to be an Indy race car driver. And he was from South Africa, which means he just happened to have a charming accent. Which also means he just happened to be TROUBLE. And he was also a top-notch tool. But I loved it. So rude, but yet so charming. The combination of his looks, his cocky swagger, his ability to drive a car over 200 mph and the fact that he never could remember my name made him increasingly more attractive. And the times that super nice guys have been completely available to me? I'm ashamed to admit, but yeah, I got a little bored. So maybe I'm not smarter than that. Maybe the yarn does need to be dangled a little in front of my face first.

Don't get the wrong impression, though, I don't think the tools are long-term contenders. No, I'd like to think a nice guy will finish last. But the first step to fixing a problem is admitting you have one, right?

Long Road to Ruin

2010-06-07T18:56:00.000-07:00

You know how most people don't like to know the end of a book, TV show or a movie until they actually get there? Well I am not one of those people. I seek the spoilers. I like to know who gets kicked off American Idol before I watch it. I wanted to know what the hell happened on that Island! The fact that I already knew Bruce Willis was dead? Did NOT ruin the movie for me. And sometimes, when I'm really curious, I'll flip to the end of a book and read the last few pages. Yep, I am that crazy. I just think that the ride is more enjoyable when I know the destination. I wish I could say that desire was reserved only for entertainment, but I give myself a lot of unnecessary anxiety constantly wondering what MY spoilers are. I want to know if I'll snag that job, if I'll ever be able to pay the mobsters at Sallie Mae, if that guy will ever get a clue, or if I'll ever win that Oscar. Alright, that last one doesn't give me much grief--obviously, I'm gonna win that Oscar. But unless Doc Brown shows up with his Delorean sometime soon, I'm probably gonna stay in the dark.
Which probably means that I need to learn to rest in the moment. Being a temp has been the perfect exercise in patience. After losing my job in January, I found "temporary" employment through one of those serendipitous moments that life sometimes brings us--on day one of unemployment no less. I didn't even get a chance to wallow in sweat pants! But it being a temporary job, I'm never certain how long I'll be employed. All I know is that I'm working in a much less toxic environment (another story for another day) and for the mean time, I have a paycheck. That has been my attitude since January and what was initially supposed to be a 3 week assignment has turned into a 6 month gig. And for the most part, I've kinda enjoyed the live-one-day-at-a-time mantra. But I've noticed lately that the little monster, anxiety, starts to creep up on me. I start worrying about how this is gonna play out. I see people cross, no flee, into the land of success, families, houses and Ipads, and I think "Will I ever be both pleasantly and gainfully employed?" Have I completely missed the boat on adulthood? Obviously I'd like to know these answers, but unfortunately I haven't been able to find my spoilers on the internet.

Wheel In The Sky

2010-06-05T18:23:00.000-07:00

"The Wonder Wheel looks like an innocent Ferris wheel, but in fact it's a stomach-churning instrument of evil."

Wow, if only I had done my homework before going to Coney Island today--I might have seen the above review and stayed away from what can only be described as the worst torture device invented since that Tomb Raider ride at King's Island (I swear Kylie and I almost died that day in Cincinnati). The thing that makes the Wonder Wheel, AKA Evil Wheel Of Death, different is that there are a few "swinging" cars that you can ride in. From the ground these look like a slow, breezy enjoyable ride, but from 100 ft, they are the fastest way to an anxiety attack. Once the wheel turned, much to my surprise, the cage we were locked in rapidly hurled down a metal track while I tried to convince myself that I was not starring in Final Destination 4. And what made it worse was knowing that it was all going to happen again in a few short moments. I think my feet went numb.

I guess I should also share that I've had a slight phobia of ferris wheels since I was about 12 years old when my mom and I went on this sort of death trap:

The crazy carney thought he was doing us a favor leaving all the kiddos up there an extra 15 minutes, but once the wind blew hard and I saw a random spare tire that seemed to be holding the apparatus together, I freaked. My mom freaked. But I honestly thought my fear had dissipated by now. What sort of self-respecting 26 year old has a fear of Ferris Wheels--the slowest, most benign carnival ride in existence. I guess they call it an irrational fear for a reason.

Guerrilla Radio

2010-05-23T14:12:00.000-07:00

After almost two weeks of consistent attempts at running, I think I've made a very important discovery--the perfect running song. I wrongly assumed that pop or hip-hop would be the style to keep a good pace, but I was lacking motivation, something to spur me on to keep jogging. And then my Ipod hit Rage Against the Machine's Guerrilla Radio and suddenly I was a running machine! Something about that whole "All Hell can't stop us now" business and the guitar ingenuity of Mr. Tom Morello got me totally revved up. I now plan on selecting heavy guitar-driven rock to guide my running steps. All rock, all the time.

I went a different direction today, heading west instead of east. I don't plan out my jogging paths. I like to keep life a little interesting, so I run wherever the lights are green and see where that leads me. Today it led me to this.

I cannot say this enough: I miss trees. You can't see it in the picture but next to the water--were TREES and GRASS. Now, I am just about as City as a girl can get (I actually likened sitting outside in the rain at Yankee Stadium to camping....seriously), but lately I have been craving trees, nature, or you know anything outside of all this damn concrete. So it filled me with glee to run along side water surrounded by green things. Granted the East River is hardly a glorious site to behold, but I'll take what I can get. I think I might go back tomorrow.

Trouble

2010-05-22T12:39:00.000-07:00

I was looking over my blogger profile today. I don't think I've paid attention to it for about 6 months or so. When you are setting up the blog, they ask you a random question (just for blogging fun, you know). My question apparently was "The children are waiting! Please tell them the story about the bald frog with the wig"
And this is what is currently written in response:
"Once upon a time, Franky the Frog woke up and much to his surprise, the evil villian, AGE, had evaporated every hair off of his head. He searched the kingdom far and wide for the perfect wig, only to end up with a hot-pink bob wig. He can now be scene on the latest season of RuPaul's Drag Race."

Here's what's interesting. I have ZERO recollection of writing this (this coming from someone who typically has 100% recollection of EVERYTHING). I don't even remember the question. Oh boy. I have got to get off these sleeping pills. I mean I suppose there are worse things that can happen. I've heard of people doing crazy sleepwalking--or even worse, sleep driving!!!. But me, I sleep-blog (with the occasional sleep-email or sleep-text--my apologies to anyone who has received messages from me after 10:00 PM).

I have noticed the increase in my physical activity has resulted in an improvement in my sleep cycle, so let's keep our fingers crossed, k? Unless I can finish my screenplay in my sleep, that actually might be helpful.

Funny The Way It Is

2010-05-17T06:49:00.000-07:00

I interrupt my regularly scheduled blog about running to introduce you to
a dear friend. Living in Nashville and Newy York City has afforded me the luxury of being surrounded by a lot of talent. Singers, actors, writers, musicians, photographers, etc--I'm spoiled, really. It has been almost 8 years since I met Kristine as a freshman at Belmont University and we couldn't have been any more different. But we met in the middle becoming eventual roommates and very close friends. Time and life pulled our friendship in different directions, but somehow we've always been able to pick up right we left off, and I'm grateful for that. I'm not sure if she knows this, but I am completely envious of her ability to marry stability with wild adventures, wisdom with humility, and creativity, well, with just about everything. When I met her she was comfortable expressing herself in the written word and I was comfortable expressing myself behind a camera. Somewhere along the way, I put down the camera and she picked one up. And somewhere along the way I started calling myself a writer. Funny the way it is. I could go on and on, but this is what I wanted to share with y'all--check this out, she's sooooo good!

She captures life in a way that I want to experience it. And she's just getting started.
See her blog here and more stuff here and here

We now resume our regularly scheduled blog, already in progress.
I ran yesterday. It hurt.

*editor's note: when I preview this blog entry it looks fine, but when I actually view the blog, the pics get cut off. And, well, I'm just not as good at HTML as I used to be. So go to her sites to see the full pictures, they look better over there :)

Run It

2010-05-13T19:07:00.000-07:00

Thank you NYC for bringing the decent weather back. Now keep it this way for another week at least--I got a Red Sox game to go to!

I fell a little short of my prescribed workout. I was supposed to run for 2 minutes followed by 1 minute of walking, repeat 5 times followed by 5 rounds of 1/1. I think I lost my momentum taking those extra days off because I had to cheat a little. But I did it nonetheless and the relentless cough that always follows my runs is in full force, but tonight it was combined with the ab soreness as a result of my Improv team's pre-practice brutal yoga session. So I have pretty much sounded like this all night: cough, cough "ow!", cough, "ow!!!!, "cough, cough. You get the idea.

I wish I could write all the random thoughts that pass through my head while I'm running but I can't seem to remember them all. I do remember noting that there are a lot of Mr. Softee trucks and being grateful that I left my wallet at my apartment. And did you know that pigeons tend to bob their head in perfect rhythm to whatever song I happen to be running to? Yeah, I bet you didn't.

I miss the free personal training I used to get at the spa. I need a running buddy. It's too easy to cheat on my own. And what happens if I don't leave my wallet at home? I'll tell you what--Mr. Softee cone with sprinkles! I'm so easily distracted, you know.

Don't You Worry 'Bout Me

2010-05-12T20:19:00.000-07:00

Alright, I've had a few concerned friends who know about my history of knee issues. They think that running is a bad idea. It started in my early teens when I spent the better part of the 7th grade on crutches thus sabotaging my burgeoning basketball career (Ok, so I was 2nd string, but whatevs, I could've gotten better!). I've been to several doctors, and over the last ten years, I've been told that my knee pain was a result of poor bone structure, misplaced tendons, degenerative cartilage, arthritis, food allergies and bad negative energy harnessed in my joints as a result of not pursuing my hopes and dreams. Now come on folks, that can't ALL be true. Hell, the last guy I talked to said that there isn't technically anything wrong with my joints and that if I exercised and got in better shape (i.e. lose some lbs) I'd probably notice the pain subside. I've had x-rays, MRIS, surgery, and pain killers (which are fun, really). Then there were the needles--so many needles--steroid injections, acupuncture, mesotherapy and some pseudo-cartilage endorsed by Bruce Jenner delivered beneath my knee cap by the largest gauged needle I have EVER seen (Bruce, how did you do it, man!?). But no one has been able to pinpoint, without a doubt, what causes my random bouts of knee pain. So I say screw it. I'll be fine. I'm nothing if not stubborn. I have this weird, almost immediate, reaction to being told that I can't do something--I immediately want to do it. I've spent so much time feeling the weight of these physical limitations that I'm over it. Don't misunderstand me, I'm being careful. I'm slowly working my way towards running long distance and I don't expect it to happen overnight and I'm good at listening to my body. If it hurts too bad, I'll stop.

Unfortunately I was at the mercy of NYC's weather today which was rainy and COLD, so I did some Yoga inside to stay warm. And guys, I don't know if you know this, but yoga is HARD. And now I'm tired.

Tomorrow the official running program continues. I appreciate the support and concern from my friends. All concerns duly noted. But don't worry, I'll be OK.

Maybe Not

2010-05-11T17:24:00.000-07:00

Alright, so I woke up around 4:00 AM not feeling so good. Called out sick for work and spent the day in bed. Which means I didn't get to do any running for the day. I did however clear out a lot of shows from my DVR.

But I should be back on track tomorrow!

Take It on the RUn

2010-05-09T11:01:00.000-07:00

Day 2: "How are you feeling today? Hope you enjoyed your first workout yesterday. Ready for Day 2?

Here's your workout for today: Start with a 5-10 minute warm-up walk. Run 1/1 x 10. (Run 1 minute, walk 1 minute, ten times, for a total of 20 minutes.) Finish with a 5-10 minute cool-down walk. This is the same workout you did yesterday, so you can definitely do it!"

Today's workout playlist brought to you by NSync, Foo Fighters and Notorious BIG. Excellent.

So who's pissed that I'm doing this? Oh, that would be my right and left lung. After day 1's run last night, I spent the rest of the evening hacking and coughing. And I woke up in pain, soreness everywhere. I am pathetic.

Not having a car means I walk everywhere when I'm not on the subway. You would think that would give me some sort of cardio endurance. But no. I think it's that whole muscle confusion thing. My muscles are entirely used to the effort it takes to walk around the city but whatever combination of muscle movement that is required to run is foreign. And like I said, my lungs are pissed.

Tomorrow's a rest day. They encourage cross training, but let's just be honest, that ain't happening.

Born To Run

2010-05-08T17:49:00.001-07:00

I wish I was better at following through with things. I tend to pick up hobbies or interests quickly, and then drop them even faster. I go out and buy whatever tools are necessary, and then lose interest and toss them aside. Some examples are: teaching myself Italian (lasted about two weeks), becoming an actuary (about 4 months), being a vegetarian (lasted about 6 months), joining an indoor soccer league (about 3 months), ballroom dancing (in my defense this one lasted almost two years, but it was still a really random hobby), and training for a marathon (that lasted about as long as it took me to pick out pretty new running shoes).

Well I don't want to be that way any longer.

And I also want to be in better shape.

Which brings me to my new project.

Running.

No, I don't plan on training for a marathon. That's like saying I'm going to pick up rock climbing starting with Mt. Everest. I just want to be able to run for a period of time without losing my breath or getting really bored.

I have signed up for this newsletter: http://running.about.com/b/2006/12/23/3-weeks-to-a-30-minute-running-habit-email-course.htm

Ok that's a lie. I signed up for that newsletter on January 7th but ignored the instructions I received for the next 21 days. BUT I saved all the emails. That's good right???

Here's where you come in. I'm going to post short daily updates on my progress. My declaration is on the internet now. Motivation, people, motivation. See, I don't want to disappoint my readers, so I have to do it. So here we go.

Day 1: Let's get started.Today's run: Start with a 5-10 minute warm-up walk. Run 1/1 x 10. (Run 1 minute, walk 1 minute, ten times, for a total of 20 minutes.) Finish up with a 5-10 minute cool-down walk. Remember to take it easy and don't worry about your pace at all.

Here are some initial post-run thoughts:

1. How come no one ever told me how much more interesting it is to run outside. Have you all been keeping that a secret!!! I didn't get bored at all!

2. Note to self: Beastie Boys make for a fantastic running playlist.

3. Another note to self: don't run too far away--you'll have to get home eventually

4. Where do runners put their keys???

5. I can't stop coughing. Is this normal?

If It Kills Me

2010-05-03T18:27:00.000-07:00

Oh how people would be entertained if there were cameras in my apartment capturing moments like this. It was my turn to clean the apartment, and as I was sweeping the kitchen floor a dust ball rolled under the refrigerator. Or what I thought was a dust ball. It wasn't until that dust ball begin to shimmy its way up the wall that I realized it was a cockroach the size of my head. MY HEAD! Now if you know me, you know that I'm one tough chick in most situations, but creepy crawlers and rodents are my Achilles heel. I turned into a neurotic mess and called my mom immediately while standing guard in my bedroom to make sure the little bastard didn't come in. Paranoia swept in while I worried that he had crawled onto the ceiling and if I approached the battle zone he would fall in my hair.....and I would die.

It took me about 20 minutes before my mom had talked me down enough to approach the bathroom where I suspected my nemesis was throwing a kegger with his buddies while wildly reproducing until they formed a giant army designed to take me down (guys, have you seen Joe's Apartment?????). There I was, in my cropped pajama pants and Sperry boat shoes, armed with a can of Raid and zero confidence. I inched my way into the bathroom as if I was starring in my very own spaghetti western facing off with a Mexican bandit. As I drew my weapon, I discovered that the creature apparently had come to my apartment to die. I found him face up, thrashing his legs about and taking his last breaths. But I was smarter than to believe his act and doused him with Raid until he was sufficiently dead. I should also note that this is the first time my mom has heard me swear as I yelled "Die, you son of b****, die" as I sprayed him. What can I say--it was in the heat of the moment. Victory was mine as I flushed him down the toilet.

I'm still a little shaken up. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted to sleep with the lights on tonight, but I've come to a decision: I need to get married if for no other reason than I want a big strapping man around to take care of the bugs and mice. Yep, I realize that's an antiquated notion and a slap in the face of the feminist movement, but I'm ok with that. Just give me an apron, a pair of high heels and call me Donna Reed.

Fool In The Rain

2010-04-05T14:59:00.000-07:00

I love baseball. I didn't realize this until I was already in my 20's, but I LOVE it. And somewhere along the line I adopted the Boston RedSox as MY team. I'm from Indianapolis, so I have no hometown loyalties. I also occasionally cheer for the Chicago Cubs because the very first game I saw live was at Wrigley Field. A Cubs player took a swing at one of the Padres and a team brawl ensued on the field. And it was awesome. So yeah, every now and again I cheer for the Cubs. What can I say--I'm a sucker for a good fist fight.

Anyways, back to the RedSox. I can give you no solid reason for my adoration (mostly because I don't remember), but typically, once I learn the players' names and really get into a team, my loyalty tends to stick. So it should come as no surprise that I was excited to live in a major city with a long-standing heated rivalry with my beloved BoSox: the NY Yankees. I missed the chance to see any games in the Old Yankees Stadium, but as soon as baseball season was upon me last year, I purchased (at no cheap cost) two tickets for the first match-up between the Red Sox and the Yankees. And I was EXCITED. Working at a spa at the time didn't prove to be fertile ground for friends who enjoyed sports of any kind, so I wasn't sure who to bring along. I invited a guy I had befriended from the hotel who at the very least seemd like a normal human being. I'll spare you the long version of the story (because I got such a kick out of telling everybody the story last year*), but the night didn't go as planned. The rain delay proved to be too much for my guest resulting in the loss of seeing the game (and the loss of all that money), petty bickering and awkward conversation over a meal that I had to pay for. Yeah it was one of THOSE nights. I ended up watching the RedSox hit a homerun (near my ticketed seats) on my television in Jersey City.

I learned my lesson the hard way, and this year is going to be different. I just purchased two tickets to see the Red Sox play the Yankees at Yankee Stadium on May 17th. In preparation of the big game, I've decided to vet all candidates with a thorough questionnaire. Here's what I've come up with so far:

1. Do you like baseball?

2. Would you rather get water-boarded than spend an hour or so in conversation with me?

3. Should the night result in a complete disaster at your hand, will you make me pay for dinner?
4. Does the rain turn you into a friggin pansy**

Bonus Question #5: Red Sox or Yankees? (this question will not ultimately determine whether or not you can come, but it's good to know)

So if you're interested in joining me, please submit your questionnaire along with a 500-word essay on how awesome I am.

*FYI: as a writer and storyteller it is in your best interest not to cross me, or people will inevitably hear about it--either in person, on stage, or on the internet.

**Not my top two choice words, but this is supposed to be a family friendly blog (Hi Grandpa!)

Apologize

2010-03-30T18:12:00.001-07:00

I wrote a couple of versions of this blog entry recounting my night spent at the Church of Scientology Celebrity Center in college back in the day. But none of them held a candle to the article I just read by the screenwriter of Battlefield Earth, so I'll just post the link. I love a writer that can embrace his worst work. It makes me think of when Kevin Smith embraced the criticism of Jersey Girl--there was no worse timing to work with Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck than immediately after Gigli.

Click here for the apology we've all been waiting for.

Dream Weaver

2010-03-27T20:35:00.000-07:00

I am utterly fascinated by dreams. In high school I was so intrigued by them, I did an entire research project devoted to the historical record of prophetic dreams (the account of Lincoln's own dreams predicting his assassination are downright chilling). I'm even more fascinated by my own dreams. There are dreams that I had as a kid that still haunt me to this day. Exhibit A: I couldn't have been more than 8 or 9 when I had a dream that I discovered a 3-foot spider in my doorway. Now this wasn't just any kind of spider. Not only was it large in size, but it was more of an animated spider than it was realistic. Endowed with huge cartoon eyes, it danced around my apartment and taunted me by shouting "Booga Booga Booga!" You laugh, but as a kid it scared the bejeezus out of me. As a result, to this day, not only do I suffer from arachnophobia, but even animated spiders frighten me. Remember that scene from the movie Jumanji where the obviously animatronic spiders attack the main characters (of course you don't, no one but me saw that terrible movie). ANYWAYS, even that scene made me squirm. And I will not even describe to you I suffered through that terrifying scene in the last Lord of the Rings movie. SUFFERED! And it would have been nice if someone warned me that there is a large robotic spider featured in Michael Jackson's This Is It concert DVD. I mean, who would've seen that one coming.

I say all that to illustrate the point that my dreams have always lingered with me long after I have them. I've recently started reading Carl Jung's Man and His Symbols--a little light reading recommended by my newest Improv teacher as suggested material for class, no joke. The first section explores dream interpretation and how our dreams relate to our subconscious. Or something like that. It's got me thinking about a recurring dream I've had since I can remember. The details change but the premise is always the same. While at an amusement park, I encounter ridiculous obstacles that keep me from getting to the roller coasters. Sometimes it's as simple as my friends don't want to go or treacherous weather. Sometimes the obstacle is more elaborate such as the track falling apart spiraling the current riders to plummet into a black-hole abyss. And it is always frustrating. My best guess is that my biggest aspirations in life have always been just out of reach. I get to the park, but can't quite get on the ride. Or perhaps I allow circumstances to get in the way. I think I've only made it on the roller coaster once, and I think it might have been just before I moved to NYC. Although that could be a classic case of revisionist history where I desperately want this dream to mean something substantial. What would Carl Jung say? Or Freud? Or those Dream Interpretation for Dummies books I see at Barnes and Noble?

I'm sure Jung could have had a field day with my recurring dreams of me interacting with celebrities (usually of the geriatric variety): Morgan Freeman working at Taco Bell, my mom murdering Jack Nicholson (and subsequent cover-up attempt of hiding the pieces of his corpse in our dumpster) or my first date with Clint Eastwood. ::sigh:: Clint Eastwood ::sigh::

But last night's celebrity cameo was weird. I discovered Tiger Woods was my half-brother, so we went out for drinks to get to know each other better. After not discussing his whorish tendencies, he headed outside. I followed him, hugged him intently and stared deep into his eyes while I declared to him, "I don't care how many women you've slept with. I still love you because you are my brother. " He didn't say anything, but he looked touched. And then I woke up. What do YOU think that means?

Life, In a Nutshell

2010-03-24T20:15:00.000-07:00

I have not meant to neglect my own little corner of the internet. I've been busy. Busy with all good things I promise and I'm still writing. Just not here. Give me a little more time to collect my thoughts, and I'll be back with more witty, yet self-deprecating antidotes. I promise.

Physical

2010-03-07T11:40:00.000-08:00

Forget P90x or Pilates. I'm gonna bring back Sweatin to the Oldies. Richard Simmons--that guy knew what's up.

Making Love out of Nothing at All

2010-02-20T20:30:00.000-08:00

So I went to see Avatar tonight, in 3D no less. stupid glasses. Here are my thoughts:

As a one day hopeful filmmaker, I thought it was a good idea to go see what all the hype was about despite my strong aversion to 3D movies. I hate the very idea of them. Not sure exactly why it started, but it's out there now. Now I'll give James Cameron one thing: he's good with "epic." Terminator, Titanic, Avatar: all pretty epic. And they've all resulted in giving him

oodles of money and ego, so I see that is doing several things right. And I'm sure that he intended to touch on important themes: environmentalism vs corporate greed or perhaps the colonization of western civilization and its effects on indigenous people. But me, all I saw? 10 ft tall smurfs making out in a multi-colored forest and a solid demonstration of "Gee look what I can get computers to do!" I was underwhelmed to say the least. What pulls me into a good cinematic experience is a good story with an interesting plot, interesting characters full of genuine emotion, and cleverly written dialogue. Those are the things that suck me in and keep me invested--not whether or not those characters are seen in 3-D. I just felt like I was watching a fancy video game for two hours. I think that Avatar had some good moments but they rarely felt authentic to me and sometimes the plot felt a little contrived: like they had to figure out a slam-dunk story that could be mapped throughout the world that James Cameron was so desperate for us to experience. Cart before the horse. But, yeah it was a unique world to experience. Beautiful effects for sure. So if that's all I needed to get out of it, consider it a success Mr. Cameron. Feel free to pass go, pick up your next Oscar and divorce your next wife.

If I haven't already pissed off my sci-fi loving friends, I have one more comment. James Cameron is about as good at writing dialogue (particularly romantic dialogue) as one Mr. George Lucas. They should focus on imagining these fantastic worlds and figuring out the special effects to pull them off, BUT, I think they should consider outsourcing some of their scriptwriting. I'm just sayin, just an idea. Just one humble girl's opinion. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe people weren't mocking "I'll never let go Jack, I'll never let go" all those years after Titanic. Maybe it was just me.

Never Think

2010-02-03T20:07:00.000-08:00

Continuing on my journey through the art of improv comedy, I'm realizing what habits I am going to need to break if I want to be any good at this: censorship and cynicism. Yes, friends, you read that correctly: I am going to try to tone down my cynicism. Let me explain.

I have a very active imagination. In my head, it's not uncommon for me to do all sorts of crazy things. I dance and sing (loudly). I swear (a lot). I win Oscars (tons). I party with Johnny Depp. But I don't do those things OUT LOUD. Since these things are not conducive to everyday life, I censor myself. All day, every day, I maintain a constant and automatic filter keeping my life in my head drastically separate from my real life activity. But these things are completely conducive to improv comedy and the quicker I remove the filter, the better I will become.

In addition to that, I am hyper cynical. My first reaction to a situation is often a blend of ridicule and criticism designed to locate flaws and exploit them for obvious laughter. It has served me well in social circles. It is my given role and I am happy to fill it. But in improv, specifically working with a team it is damaging to a scene to play the cynic's card and point out all the things that are insane or implausible about it.

The instincts of a good improv performer are counterintuitive to me, and it frustrates me in the best possible way. I want to be better, to grow as an artist; that will never happen if I don't force myself to break bad habits. I can see also, as a writer, how damaging these behaviors are because sometimes it is difficult for me not to censor my thoughts and just produce. It's that sort of creative withholding that has kept many of my projects from ever taking off. So, here's to breaking bad habits!

In other news, I had to rap in class tonight. It was not pretty.

Freebird

2010-01-22T22:58:00.000-08:00

We all said goodbye to Conan tonight as the host of the Tonight Show. I kept hoping that NBC would change their minds especially when his ratings flew through the roof in light of the drama. No luck. Conan was on fire these past couple of weeks. I've always been a fan. He's such a smart entertainer and I'm pretty sure I won't be tuning into Jay Leno's return in the spring. I'm completely apathetic to his brand of comedy. Anyways, as Conan teared up during his goodbyes, he gave this GOOD advice:

"All I ask is one thing. I'm asking this particularly of young people

that watch. Please do not be cynical. I hate cynicism For the record,
it's my least favorite quality. It doesn't lead anywhere. Nobody in
life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get, but if you
work really hard and you're kind, amazing things will happen. I'm
telling you, amazing things will happen. "

I think I teared up a little.

And then he played guitar while Will Ferrell serenaded us with Freebird and a healthy dose of cowbell and random celebrities.

And it was good.

Hope For Me Yet

2010-01-05T16:00:00.000-08:00

So I've been noticeably absent from my blog. I started this blog with full intention of it being a happy place. My own little corner of the internet where I can share funny stories and clever remarks on just about anything. Well, friends, things haven't necessarily been so happy lately. Thus the absence. The holiday season is supposed to be filled with joy and laughter and reflection. If I am truly honest, mine was filled with anxiety and disappointment. After suffering through what was probably the most depressing Christmas in recent memory, I came back from vacation to find my position at work eliminated. Yep. Unemployment is how I'm ringing in the new year. And while some of you are aware that I've suffered through 8 months of late pay-days, bounced paychecks and lots of stress only to be let go once we received proper funding, it's still a very bitter pill to swallow. Of course there is the relief that comes with the giant weight that was my job being lifted off my shoulders giving me the opportunity to pursue a new direction.

That being said, I have decided to stop focusing on things that I can't control (loss of my job or how friggin cold it is outside) and to start focusing on things I can control. Obviously I will be spending the majority of my time job-hunting, but I need routine and I need hobbies. After deciding that drinking would be too expensive (and probably a little counterproductive), I've come up with the following ideas:

1. Reading

2. Writing

3. Jogging (hey, it could happen)

4. cooking

5. Obsessive cleaning (it's like therapy)

Any other suggestions are welcome.

In other news, after yet another 60 minute phone call with Sallie Mae, I've decided to chronicle my struggles with debt reduction into a novel titled Stephanie Vs. Sallie Mae. I haven't quite fleshed out all the plot details yet. I just know that there will be robots.

So Damn Lucky

2009-11-19T17:20:00.000-08:00

You ever see that episode of 30 Rock where Tina Fey's character dates a remarkably handsome man who has lived his entire life in "the bubble," that other-worldly dimension where everything goes your way because you're just so damn pretty?

Yeah, I work with that guy. I'm not kidding. I watch in awe as he gets free drinks, bank fees get waived, people break out into song, rainbows and unicorns appear out of nowhere and the streets are paved in gold. And all because his smile kinda resembles a toothpaste ad.

It's sickening.

But there is an upside. Hanging around the bubble people long enough, sometimes us regular folks get some residual bubble affects. Case in point, we have a Starbucks inside the hotel where I work. As employees we used to get a 25% discount, but they ditched the discount about a year ago. Today, we walk in and my genetically-blessed coworker politely asks the barista if we could get a discount as employees. She explains that she's not supposed to give us any discounts, but for us she'd make an exception--a 50% exception.

I have previously been denied any discounts from this particular barista on multiple occasions but no dice. She did not seem to recognize this fact or me for that matter. Lucky for me I have such a forgettable face and I brought Bubble Boy with me for my coffee break.

I'm thinking, though, that maybe this gift shouldn't be used solely for personal gain. Perhaps if we clone Bubble Boy into an army of bright & shiny soldiers, we could send them to the Middle East and finally achieve that world peace which has eluded us for so long.

The Tracks of My Tears: UPDATED

2009-11-08T16:14:00.000-08:00

oh no, it's starting to spread:

http://music-mix.ew.com/2009/11/08/steven-tyler-leaving-aerosmith-whod-be-better-off/

this does not bode well for me.

The Tracks of My Tears

2009-11-07T18:20:00.000-08:00

http://perezhilton.com/2009-11-07-has-steven-tyler-quit-aerosmith#respond

Never in my life have I wanted so badly for Perez Hilton to be wrong. I'm going to remain optimistic and believe that it's not true because credible sources like Rolling Stone, EW and MTV have not reported that Steven Tyler has quit Aerosmith, but still. I googled it. It's out there. For those of you that know me, you can imagine how unsettling this news is for me. They weren't supposed to break up. They survived drugs and the 80's. Only death was supposed to stop them. And the thought of replacing Tyler with a new singer. Sure VanHalen got luck with Sammy Hagar but lightning sure did not strike a third time when that got that other guy. And don't even get me started with Journey hiring a Steve Perry sound-alike. I need to stop. The thought of it is too upsetting.

Don't Ask Me Why

2009-10-25T20:49:00.000-07:00

Google's a funny thing. I love how Google will finish what you're typing, trying so eagerly to anticipate my search needs. Sometimes, it's fun to start typing in something to see what other people are searching for. Tonight's entry: How To.

Google's most popular searches (in order based on popularity)

1. How to Tie a Tie

2. How to Kiss

3. How to Get Pregnant (see #2. It's a good start)

4. How to lose weight

5. How to make a website

6. How to lose weight fast

7. How to solve a rubix cube (really folks? i mean, that's just cheating)

8. How to write a resume

9. How to draw

10. How to get rid of stretch marks (these are all the folks who finally figured out #3)

Yep, these are the kinds of things I do for fun.

What's even more entertaining was typing in "why do" and realizing that a lot of people are concerned with why men have nipples. They are also wondering why those nipple-having men cheat so much.

Your assignment for the evening: go to Google and type in "Is Obama" and see what pops up.

I'm Just A Girl

2009-10-22T15:53:00.000-07:00

My dating history reads like a bad novel. Ok, that's not true. My dating history wouldn't even fill up a nice pamphlet. That's because it doesn't exist. Yep, you read that right. Does...not...exist. 25 years. No dates. I could pretend to be self-righteous and claim that I've spent the last decade or so cloistered up with nuns or that I've just been too busy curing cancer and striving towards world peace, but that's not true. It just hasn't happened. I've been accused by many of being too picky with a long list of unreasonable expectations. But I'm really just a girl looking for a good story. I believe life is just a series of good and bad stories. All those events that fall in the middle can be spun in either direction and I think love is no exception.

Let me break it down for you:

Some Possible Good Love Stories:

1. Boy meets Girl in the travel section at Barnes and Noble when they both reach for the Frommer's guide to Rome. After exchanging smiles and phone numbers, Boy asks out Girl.

2. Boy meets Girl at a rock concert and proceeds to pursue girl relying on his quick wit and clever song lyrics to win her over.

3. Girl meets Johnny Depp and they sail off in a big boat to their own private island.

See what I mean? Completely reasonable.

Now, let me share with you some of MY stories:

1. Boy meets Girl. Girl, moderately interested in Boy, goes out with friends and Boy gets wasted and takes home Girl's friend.

2. Girl decides to be nice and ask Boy to sporting event. Boy threatens to leave Girl alone in bad neighborhood and causes Girl to have to endure lame conversation and the loss of $150.

3. Girl meets married Boy.

4. Girl meets gay Boy.

5. Girl meets creepy old Indian man who calls her Sexy Lady and follows her into the laundry mat.

And now you see my dilemma.

When it comes to who I date, the moment I lose the possibility of a good story, it's OVER. Usually before it ever begins. Not to mention the fact that this city is notoriously tough for single people. But I still refuse to let go of the story. So I wait. And wear a lot of lip gloss. I mean you never know who you're going to meet in the travel section of Barnes and Noble.

P.S. We at nametagsandhairnets.com are currently casting the role of Boy. If interested, please email headshot and resume to dontchawannadateme@hotfolks.com

Have A Drink On Me

2009-10-11T18:22:00.000-07:00

Homeless people stress me out.

Like, for real.

At this point you either think I'm insensitive or crazy. I've made my peace with that, but let me explain. I live in NYC. Homeless people are everywhere and they have no problems asking for money. Some stick with the basics: a sign asking for money for food or a simple "can you spare some change, ma'am?" Others are a little more creative like the guy who sells batteries and candy bars on the subway. And then there are the overly-argumentative folks on the subway who give long-winded speeches filled with guilt and anger designed to make you feel so bad about yourself if you DON'T give them a dollar.

But that's not what stresses me out. What stresses me out is that I really would like to be able to help them. But I can barely feed myself in this crazy city let alone feed the throngs of people who live on the streets. And there's the deciding factor of who to help, how to help, etc. I have a little argument with myself every time someone asks me for money. It goes a little something like this:

Homeless man: Ma'am, can you spare some change?

Me (thinking to myself):Wow, I wish I could help this guy. You know, I probably can spare SOME change, but isn't it kind of patronizing to give someone a few pennies. If I give him anything it should at least be a dollar, but how do I know they're not gonna spend the money on getting drunk? But wait, is it so bad if he uses my dollar for a beer? I mean I'd probably buy a beer too if I lived on the streets. Oh, I have an idea, I should go buy him some food. But I just used a credit card to buy myself a sandwich. Probably shouldn't spend money I don't have. But wait a sec. Why should that guy just get money for asking for it? I go to work every day to earn a dollar. He should too. Oh, who am I kidding. That guy didn't even have any shoes on. How could he get a job?I got it! I should go buy him some shoes!

And by the time I reach some sort of conclusion, I've already walked about three blocks past the guy and missed my opportunity. And then I feel bad. Until the next time, when the argument starts all over again.

Sometimes it's exhausting to be me.

Somewhere Out There

2009-10-04T16:06:00.000-07:00

I have a problem. A mouse has invaded my apartment. Apparently this sort of thing is a normal right of passage for New Yorkers, but I am not handling it very well. To give you a small glimpse of my mental stability when it comes to small creatures, it would be helpful to note the following: when I first moved to NYC, a roach the size of my head welcomed me in my new bedroom on move-in day. I slept three days with the lights on and barricaded my air mattress with about 10 ultra-strength roach traps.

Anyways, back to my mouse. I was in complete denial leading up to the first confrontation. It was around midnight and my sleeping pill had just kicked in giving me a case of the late-night munchies. When I grabbed the loaf of bread off the counter, I noticed a small hole in the plastic had left my bread exposed. Upon further inspection, I noticed the hole in the bag led to a hole in the bread which led to a tunnel that spanned the length of the whole loaf! But it still wasn't hitting me. All I could think in my medicated state was that I couldn't believe that I hadn't noticed the bad bread at the store. And then it occurred to me that maybe the GROCERY STORE had a mouse problem. I threw the bread away and went to bed. Ignorance is bliss.

Two days later, I head to the kitchen late at night. I flip the light switch and see the back side of a mouse seeking refuge in my stove! I froze, unable to catch my breath, my heart racing. This can't be happening. My apt is so friggin clean!!!! My bread--he's after my bread! After my temporary paralysis subsided, I gathered my roommates to let them know and we contacted our landlord. That night I slept with the lights and TV on, a blanket barricading my door and my contacts still in my eyes (I wanted to be alert and ready in case of a late night attack). I was so freaked out that I woke up every hour to make sure the coast was clear. Don't judge me. I'm not here to convince that this is rational behavior.

We set up some traps and a week later, the little monster returned. This time I got a much better look at the little guy. So tiny and quite honestly, he reminded me of my childhood pet, my hamster Splinter. I couldn't believe I had been so panicked. Knowing that I couldn't do anything at that moment, I looked at my newest houseguest and said (aloud) "alright, i'm gonna go to bed. You stay there. Oh and don't get your hopes up, I hid the bread in the fridge. Goodnight!" I slept with the lights off that night. Victory was mine.

He hasn't been back since, but he seems to only stop by once a week. It helps for me to not think of him like this:

And instead, I think of him more like this:

or my personal favorite:

But don't get me wrong. I still want him gone. But maybe I'll use more of a catch and release method rather than a step in glue and starve to death method. I mean, who would do that to Fievel?

Stand by Your Man

2009-09-25T15:56:00.000-07:00

I was walking with my buddy Ryan to Starbucks today discussing random facts as we always do. For some reason, neither of us could remember one of the 7 deadly sins. You know, the one where you indulge a little too much. The one embodied by that obese man forced to eat spaghetti until he exploded in Seven. We walked for awhile and the word was just not coming to me.
"The little man in my head is failing me" I said, frustrated at my inability to recall a familiar fact.
"What little man?" Ryan asked.
"The little man that runs the filing cabinets of information in my head. Sometimes it takes a little longer for him to pull the right file. Is that weird?"
"Not really. I just find it a little odd that when you imagine the little person in your head, it's gender specific. What does it mean that you have a MAN operating the files in your head?"

You know what? I never thought about it like that. I always imagine a short, nebish old man, balding with glasses and suspenders. Seems like the kinda of guy who can keep the large pool of information in my head organized. I'm sure that plays into some age-old gender stereotypes. Or maybe some unresolved psychological issues with men?

Perhaps my bigger concern should be that I believe that I have a tiny person inside my brain.

Turn the Page

2009-09-21T19:03:00.000-07:00

I suffer from a curious ailment. I call it daytime literary narcolepsy.
Every time I open a book, I experience a sudden onset of drowsiness leading to a napping state.
I'm not kidding. Sometimes the symptoms are so strong that the mere thought of cracking open a book puts me to sleep.
And it has nothing to do with me being bored. I LOVE to read. This is strictly a biological response brought on by a trigger which
just happens to be reading a book.
I can remember the first time I noticed it. I was a senior in high school and assigned to read Plato's Republic.
I woke up the next day, face down in the middle of the book. Not sure how I passed that test but I guess you could say
I'm resourceful. Wait, that makes me sound like a cheater. Not the case. Moving on.

Anyways, it's starting to frustrate me because I set a goal for myself: I will not buy any more books until I've finished
all the books I've bought, started to read, and then pushed aside for a shinier, newer book (a much harder feat
for someone like me who also suffers from compulsive book-buying). You can imagine how
long this is taking me considering I can only read about 20 pages before my eyelids get heavy and I find myself
snoring in a pile of unfinished Jane Austen novels, screenwriting books and America Revolutionary biographies.
Since this disorder can't be found on WebMD or wikipedia, I'm not sure how to cure my condition.
I must soldier on.

A small victory came today when I awoke from my book-induced slumber and finally finished a screenwriting
book that I've been reading on and off for the past few months. One down, 50 more to go.

P.S. Don't ask me how the actual screenwriting is going.

I Walk The Line

2009-09-20T20:35:00.000-07:00

I don't have much to say tonight. I've set aside some time tomorrow to sort out some thoughts. Yes, I have to schedule organized thought. If I don't, it's one complicated web of random thoughts that never make it to the computer screen.
But I read a hysterical article today and wanted to share it. Before I do, you should know two things:

1. Politically speaking, I am as moderate as it gets. On the conservative/liberal spectrum, I tow the line right down the middle. And I'm content with that. I don't support parties. I support people.

2. I don't consider myself to be particularly healthy. I'm painfully aware how bad my diet can be and what I should be doing to improve my overall health.

Now, that being said, here's the link to the full article from Bill Maher on the Huffington Post website.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/bill-maher/new-rule-you-cant-complai_b_291852.html

But if you're not a fan of Bill Maher, as I'm sure many of you are not, here is my favorite part. The part that me laughing hysterically in my office this afternoon:

"President Obama has identified all the problems with the health care system, but there's one tiny issue he refuses to tackle, and that's our actual health.
And since Americans can only be prodded into doing something with money, we need to tax crappy foods that make us sick like we do with cigarettes, and alcohol -- and alcohol actually serves a useful function in society in that it enables unattractive people to get laid, which is more than you can say for Skittles."

I love this man's unabashed brutal honesty and cleverness. It makes me happy.

Livin on the Edge

2009-09-16T21:16:00.000-07:00

A little snippet of my text conversation this evening with my best friend:

Me: Is it weird that I think it might be fun to take the mensa test?

Kylie: Nah...live it up

Me: That's a sad sentence. I realize now that maybe my life is not as exciting as I'd like to think it is.

Give Peace a Chance

2009-09-15T18:53:00.000-07:00

I'm a bit of a hippie (You can probably blame my mother for that. She's your typical liberal, feminist hippie disguised as a housewife). Anyways, I bring this up because I strive to be a person of peace. So much so that I tattooed an olive branch on the back of my neck. I hate confrontation and think that all you need in this world is a little love.

That was until I met mean, ol' Mrs. Giorgi. She's this crazy old bird that comes in the spa whose self-appointed mission is to make my life miserable. Ok that's not entirely true. I don't think she intends on making me so miserable. She comes to the Waldorf Astoria every couple of months to haggle prices, make unreasonable demands, yell at the staff, use our amenities and in general just loiter in our space. And every time I see her I kinda wanna punch her.

Yep, I said it. I wanna punch an old lady. And now you all know my dirty little secret. Oy.

In all honesty, she is probably just some lonely old woman who doesn't have anyone to talk to. So she comes to the hotel and we all get to serve as her dysfunctional family members for a few hours. And her visits serve as a reminder to me that despite all my peaceful aspirations, a little bit of rage can be found just beneath the surface.

But don't worry, I hear NYC is known for really good psychiatrists.

A Long Time Coming

2009-09-14T16:26:00.000-07:00

I think this blog is about three years in the making. I'm guilty on all counts of procrastination. I was cataloging my life the other day (as I so often do) and the following things occurred to me:

1. I'm a writer that doesn't write

2. I'm a photographer that doesn't take pictures

3. I'm a traveler that has never used her passport

4. I'm a filmmaker that doesn't make movies

Some days I wake up feeling like one of those misfit toys. Like Charlie-in-the-box. Like all of my skills don't quite add up to my shiny-toy exterior. Luckily I seem to be on the right island and there is no reason why things can't be different.

Which brings me to today. My blogger birthday. Who wants to bake me a cake?