Today's something weird comes from the deep, odd recesses of my brain.
I take you back to my childhood. Not the parts that eventually send me to therapy, but the good parts.
It's the dead of winter. Winter the way I remember it; that blue haze of the moon on the six inches of stagnant snow outside at 4:30pm on a Sunday. The pangs of nausea setting into my stomach remembering I have to go back to school in the morning and that I probably had homework I should have done.
For whatever reason, my memories of winter as a child always scan back to Sunday nights.
My mom and I always spent Sundays cleaning the house. The distinct smell of cleaning products and the warm feel of a freshly vacuumed rug are fresh in my mind.
Soon the Clorox odor would be replaced with a more lucrative one; dinner.
Sunday dinners were the stuff of dreams. They were always big, always cozy.
I have a flash of a memory of a clean house, crescent rolls baking and Roseanne on the television in our old house.
I have a vivid memory of a Sunday night where I'm cleaning my absolute dumpster fire of a bedroom (seriously - I could've put every episode of Hoarders to shame) and watching Scream on FULL VOLUME while dinner was sending its aroma upstairs.
My room was a loft so it did not have a door - just stairs - that led up to the one, big room. Between the second to last stair at the top and the platform of the room itself, there was space for me to sit. My tv was close to that edge as well, so I would make a bag of popcorn and a root beer float (I've always been a really good snacker) and watch the predecessor to Adult Swim, which was some slightly risque cartoons on Cartoon Network while using that stair as a chair and the platform as a table. It was the perfect setup. I realize I haven't exactly painted a clear picture, but you'll get over it.
I have another flash of feeling exhausted after playing in the snow in the back yard with myself and the dogs all day pretending I was lost in a forest in the dead of winter and desperately trying to figure out how to climb to the top of our tool shed. I still have regrets for not trying harder to eventually accomplish that goal, but I had a healthy fear of my mother as a kid... and as an adult... and I knew she probably would have kicked my ass for that.
The old house was tiny. Perfect for just my mom and I and our two dogs. It looked like a log cabin inside the living room - which doubled as my mom's office/workspace. The ceiling panels were wooden and vaulted. There were tons of windows and a door that led to our back porch/back yard that was absolutely MASSIVE. The ceiling in the kitchen/dining area was slightly vaulted from the stairs that led up to the loft that was my room. My mother's room was what I think should have been an office, but it had beautiful French doors. The tiniest house with a ton of character and I swear to this day it was haunted as fuck. But I loved it. I still romanticize it in my head. Obviously.
Eventually Sundays in our new home were just as cozy and wonderful. Spending Sunday cleaning the house and getting dinner ready in time for me to watch Alias - which I stand by as a fucking gem of a show. After Alias was Prime Ministers Questions on C-SPAN because I have a variety of interests that do not make sense. Also, I had a weird thing for Tony Blair and for British politics, but that's another Something Weird onto itself.
But I digress.
The memories in our old home - our first home - together have a sparkle attached to them. It's interesting the way you don't appreciate the moments you're in when you're in them. It's something I've actually worked to do in my adult life - to appreciate a moment when it gives me the warm fuzzies even if for no reason.
The crunch of the autumn leaves in the driveway while playing basketball for hours on end are still very vivid to me. Getting up at 8am on a Saturdays in September and going rollerblading for two hours to try to master backward jumps up the curb are very vivid to me. Coming home after school on Halloween and watching the murder mystery episode of Saved by the Bell. The endless drama and fighting between my mother and I while we tried to close the pool at the end of the summer. Autumn was just full of special times.
My mother and I always laugh about a particular memory where we were raking our front yard and I was struggling to hold the bag open so she could put the leaves in it. She called me a "retard" at one point. At the time I was really hurt by it - as you would expect. But looking back, I know what a damn doofus I was as a kid and I can look at it with the perspective of a frustrated single mother just trying to get a simple task accomplished and laugh my ass off.
I also underused our pool, which is a damn shame - but to be fair, my best friend had one too and she lived across the street.
Summers in my old house were the best time of my life. If I could go back and watch any time of my entire existence, it would be that time. I lived maybe 200 feet away from my best friend - who is still my best friend to this day - and I would go wake her up every morning and we'd just fucking adventure around until the damn porch lights went on. We spent our days at the local pizza joint where we paid in change a lot, swimming in our pools, painting our nails, breaking glass bottles on the wall of the pizza joint, stealing posters of JTT and Nick Carter out of BOP magazines at the local convenience store, desperately trying to emulate Now & Then, eventually haunting the mall on our own, riding our bikes wherever they would take us, playing baseball in the streets, beating up the boys in our neighborhood, owning the neighborhood and having the best sleepovers of our lives.
Most of the time we stayed at her house because... well I'm not sure why, but I'm sure I could take a few stabs. We were too poor to provide any extra stuff. My mom didn't work on a 9-5 schedule, so she may have not wanted to be up all night and seeing as how my bedroom didn't have a door, it was kind of impossible to not keep her up at night.
Listen, I begged for a door the entire time we lived there.
But one night sticks out in my brain. We finally got the OK to have a sleepover at our house. And we got to watch our first rated R movie - our first horror movie. A movie I spent so much of my childhood watching. A movie that gave me an appreciation and love for horror movies. A movie I've already fucking referenced in this post; Scream. I remember us huddling up in front of my tv in my bedroom - a plethora of chips and dips and candies and pizza - so excited to watch for the first time. I remember the moment it ended we both looked at each other knowing it freaked us out and then immediately decided to watch it again. I remember giving each other makeovers. I remember laughing until daylight. I'll never forget that night because when I think back on it, it fills me with love and joy and warm fuzzies.
I remember how easy it was to climb out on the garage roof from my bedroom and I remember doing it at night in the summer. My secret place where I did my best thinking. Sorry, mom. At least I didn't die.
We moved out of the old house when I was sixteen. The poor little shell was collapsing in on itself, right down the grub worms in the front yard. We built a house 40 miles south of where we were and I have some fond memories there too, but no memories can top the sparkly ones from my old house.
The new buyers immediately knocked down our precious bungalow of love and sparkly memories and put up an all-brick misplaced two story house there. It looks ridiculous and I hate it.
I hate that I can't physically go back and see my home and my memories. Everything else on the block is relatively the same. My best friend's house is still there and still pretty much untouched.
But I will always have my sparkly memories that give me an ulcer from wishing I could go back and just take a look around so hard.
Ten internet points if you made it to the end.
Friday, February 10, 2017
Saturday, January 28, 2017
Something Weird: Vol 1
I decided that any time I feel the overwhelming urge to share something stupid with the internet, I'm going to do it here instead of on my standard social media platforms.
So here's my Something Weird for today.
Despite being a complete and total Atheist, Easter is probably my favorite holiday.
Though in the midwest, the weather is 50/50 on whether it will be a shitty lagging winter day or a beautiful, surprisingly warm spring day.
When the weather is at least comfortable enough to sit outside on lawn chairs in my aunt's driveway while we have a good laugh at the kids and their kites while drinking sangria and pretending we don't hate each other, Easter is kind of great.
I feel there's so much drama and unnecessary bullshit surrounding Thanksgiving and Christimas - at least in my family that by the time Easter rolls around, we all just want to eat brunch and get drunk and laugh.
My favorite Easter in recent memory was one of my last with my mom before she moved. We spent a gorgeous afternoon on my aunt and uncle's driveway (in lawn chairs, yes) and we all laughed and had some drinks and some brunch. It felt like a really lovely relaxed day full of candy and bubbles and kites and beautiful weather and alcohol.. did I mention the alcohol?
During this time, my mom was also trying to finish her degree at the local community college and she was taking a film course as an elective. She asked me to pick a movie for her to watch and analyze and I chose Garden State - which is in my top ranked movies of all time. Fucking fight me.
It felt like letting my mom in on a little piece of my life and my brain and my emotion, even if she didn't really get why it was important to me at the time.
I just remember sitting on the couch sharing this bit of my life with my mom and a storm coming down outside and thinking "this is the best Easter we've had in a while...".
So here's my Something Weird for today.
Despite being a complete and total Atheist, Easter is probably my favorite holiday.
Though in the midwest, the weather is 50/50 on whether it will be a shitty lagging winter day or a beautiful, surprisingly warm spring day.
When the weather is at least comfortable enough to sit outside on lawn chairs in my aunt's driveway while we have a good laugh at the kids and their kites while drinking sangria and pretending we don't hate each other, Easter is kind of great.
I feel there's so much drama and unnecessary bullshit surrounding Thanksgiving and Christimas - at least in my family that by the time Easter rolls around, we all just want to eat brunch and get drunk and laugh.
My favorite Easter in recent memory was one of my last with my mom before she moved. We spent a gorgeous afternoon on my aunt and uncle's driveway (in lawn chairs, yes) and we all laughed and had some drinks and some brunch. It felt like a really lovely relaxed day full of candy and bubbles and kites and beautiful weather and alcohol.. did I mention the alcohol?
During this time, my mom was also trying to finish her degree at the local community college and she was taking a film course as an elective. She asked me to pick a movie for her to watch and analyze and I chose Garden State - which is in my top ranked movies of all time. Fucking fight me.
It felt like letting my mom in on a little piece of my life and my brain and my emotion, even if she didn't really get why it was important to me at the time.
I just remember sitting on the couch sharing this bit of my life with my mom and a storm coming down outside and thinking "this is the best Easter we've had in a while...".
Tuesday, January 17, 2017
Take Your Life Back!
Take a quick trip back through my posts and you'll come to the point where I truly started living my life. You know, when I finally figured out how to live my life and have a good time and not be a whiny, clingy bitch because I wasn't getting my way?
Yeah. Then.
Well, I really only got to that point because I had been dumped by the only thing that was giving my life meaning at the time. Thing? He wasn't a vibrator. He was a person. I swear.
Anyway, I will get to the point of this damn thing.
During this time I really realized I wasn't living my life for me. This is natural. It's a part of relationships. You spend all your time with one person. You cherish that time. But sometimes you fight and you just want to get away from that person for a little bit to recharge. Very natural. Unless I'm misunderstanding my own life, in which case, ignore this post altogether and find yourself a wicked Buzzfeed quiz that will determine how many puppies you should have based on how many bites it takes you to get through an entire plate of french fries.
Anyway (again), I've been realizing lately that I haven't been living for me again. So an underlying goal of mine for the year 2017 (the year of the apocalypse - better late than pregnant!) was to go back to living for me a little bit. To see my friends - most of whom I haven't seen in at least a year. To get back into improv - which I hadn't done (until recently) in almost three years. To create more - which I have been sneakily doing, but it's going to be more of a thing now. Thing. Like a vibrator. To find a job that I actually like and to be working for myself by year's end.
I need to do more things for me. To plan for me. To live for me.
Because if I don't, who will? Nobody. Because my life is a sad, sad pile of garbage lit only halfway on fire because it couldn't commit to burning entirely.
Okay, that's a bit of exaggeration.
I never know how to end these thi--
Yeah. Then.
Well, I really only got to that point because I had been dumped by the only thing that was giving my life meaning at the time. Thing? He wasn't a vibrator. He was a person. I swear.
Anyway, I will get to the point of this damn thing.
During this time I really realized I wasn't living my life for me. This is natural. It's a part of relationships. You spend all your time with one person. You cherish that time. But sometimes you fight and you just want to get away from that person for a little bit to recharge. Very natural. Unless I'm misunderstanding my own life, in which case, ignore this post altogether and find yourself a wicked Buzzfeed quiz that will determine how many puppies you should have based on how many bites it takes you to get through an entire plate of french fries.
Anyway (again), I've been realizing lately that I haven't been living for me again. So an underlying goal of mine for the year 2017 (the year of the apocalypse - better late than pregnant!) was to go back to living for me a little bit. To see my friends - most of whom I haven't seen in at least a year. To get back into improv - which I hadn't done (until recently) in almost three years. To create more - which I have been sneakily doing, but it's going to be more of a thing now. Thing. Like a vibrator. To find a job that I actually like and to be working for myself by year's end.
I need to do more things for me. To plan for me. To live for me.
Because if I don't, who will? Nobody. Because my life is a sad, sad pile of garbage lit only halfway on fire because it couldn't commit to burning entirely.
Okay, that's a bit of exaggeration.
I never know how to end these thi--
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
What I Learned After a Year of Being 30
I usually sum up my yearly learnins in a series of seven posts over the course of the week leading up to my birthday, but since I had other shit going on, I decided to combine them all into this one. So, ya know... deal with it.
Sorry, internet. I'm in a mood today.
So without further achoo, here's what I've learned in my 30th year...
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WAITING FOR YOUR LIFE TO BEGIN IS STUPID.
Your life begins when you become sentient enough to acknowledge the world around you. Putting off what you want until it's perfect is not waiting for your life to begin; it's pretending you're going to do something when it doesn't scare you anymore. Which brings me to my next lesson...
IF IT SCARES YOU, THAT MEANS YOU CARE ABOUT IT.
Trust me, as a woman attempting a career in the arts, when you're afraid it means you care. If something can rile you up enough to give you anxiety and a stomach ulcer, it means it's important to you. Even if it's something trivial. Take chances. We're all gonna die someday. Especially those of us who are about to be 31.
YOU'LL NEVER GET WHAT YOU WANT IF YOU DON'T ASK FOR IT.
I'm still working on this one, but at least I'm finally working on it. I spent my whole childhood repressing what I needed emotionally from people and believe me -- that shit follows you into adulthood. I'm slowly but surely learning how to just say what I feel and demand what I need... and the results are so much better than letting things fester (I hate that word) inside of you. Seriously, the word "fester" sounds like a goddamn oozing sore and I want it to eject itself from the English language. Could I have used a different word? Sure. But this isn't about me. Yes it is. No it's not. I should really start taking the medication.
KEEPING A VEGAN DIET IS EASY.
I spent many years wanting to start eating a vegan diet. In the beginning for the ethical reasons and now I do it for both the ethical reasons and for my health. Don't get me wrong, you'll miss your fat ass cheeseburgers and soft serve ice cream and you'll be a fucking nightmare when you go out to eat, but all in all, it's an easy task. It requires more time and more thought and the ability to read, but ultimately it's worth it. Probably. Who cares? We're all gonna die someday.
LIVE YOUR PASSION.
This year I'm working on living my passion. I created a list of goals for myself for the year and I want to meet them all. I'm not a goal-oriented person. I never have been. However, right now I don't want to be working a shit job that I hate to pay bills and wear myself down to nothing. So I decided that one of my goals this year is going to be to quit my job and be able to work for myself as an independent content creator. I keep wishing to stumble upon career opportunities every time I pass a clock that reads 11:11. A few days ago, I was informed that my staff and I would be forced to take a two week unpaid leave from our job due to maintenance that needed to be done to the building. While I'm not thrilled about not being paid for this, I see this as an opportunity. This is an opportunity to create and get myself on track. To prepare for the year ahead. To prepare to be working for myself. To prepare because we're all gonna die someday.
PUT THE GODDAMN PHONE DOWN.
I am so sick of having conversations with the Apple logo on peoples' phones.
QUIT GIVING A FUCK.
I've never been one for giving too many fucks. I've always just done what pleases me and left the crowd mentality for the other needy fucks of my generation. I care not what's on trend or what songs reverberate the true reality of my soul, especially when croaked out by One Direction. Are they still a thing? I don't know. I'm 30 and I don't have kids; I shouldn't know. Anyway, I wear significantly less makeup, I enjoy enormous sweaters and the same pair of leggings until they are begging to be washed. I don't give a fuck.
TAKE BETTER CARE OF YOURSELF.
This kind of aligns with the veganism thing, but I've learned there is great value in taking care of yourself. I've always walked the fine line between caring about my well-being and being super cool and not caring about my well-being at all. Now, while I will never go see a doctor unless I am dying and I don't believe in taking medication - just a personal choice. If you need it, please take it. I do, however, wash my face before I go to bed. I also properly moisturize. And I brush my teeth multiple times a day as opposed to just before bed. I'm also a pro at exfoliating now. Maybe don't have all the pieces of cake. But do it once in a while, just so you don't forget how cool you once were.
DON'T WORRY SO MUCH.
The universe pretty much always works things out as they're supposed to be. So when faced with change or hardship, look it in the face, accept it and move forward.
So there ya go. I learned some shit this year and now you've maybe read the things I've learned.
I don't really care if you did or not. After all, we're all gonna die someday.
Thursday, January 5, 2017
Birthday Week - Day 7
In the past, I've made posts about things I've learned over the course of the year in the week leading up to my birthday. This year I'm turning 31 and I've learned quite a bit.
Again, I'm not a birthday person. I don't need to be showered with heartfelt "HBD"s from people I barely care about/remember/want anything to do with on Facebook or even gentle reminders that I'm another year close to being worm food.
But here's what I've learned:
Lesson #7 - Love is Weird
You'd expect a lesson like this to come from someone who's recently had their heart broken or is in a relationship you'd classify as "It's Complicated" on Facebook.
Wow, lots of shout outs to Facebook in this post. You're welcome, Zuckerfuck.
But I'm in a fully committed, going-on-two-years relationship and I'm happy. I've thought a lot about love this year, though. What a weird thing it is that you choose someone and decide to spend your life with them.. or at the very least your time and your money on them.
It's always a sweet battleground of mushy gushy crap and fighting about who did the dishes last. It's a series of adoring each other and annoying each other. Laughing and crying. Showing each other dog memes and ignoring each other altogether. It's weird and wild and eventful and stupid and magical and I'm glad to be a participant instead of a voyeur.
Again, I'm not a birthday person. I don't need to be showered with heartfelt "HBD"s from people I barely care about/remember/want anything to do with on Facebook or even gentle reminders that I'm another year close to being worm food.
But here's what I've learned:
Lesson #7 - Love is Weird
You'd expect a lesson like this to come from someone who's recently had their heart broken or is in a relationship you'd classify as "It's Complicated" on Facebook.
Wow, lots of shout outs to Facebook in this post. You're welcome, Zuckerfuck.
But I'm in a fully committed, going-on-two-years relationship and I'm happy. I've thought a lot about love this year, though. What a weird thing it is that you choose someone and decide to spend your life with them.. or at the very least your time and your money on them.
It's always a sweet battleground of mushy gushy crap and fighting about who did the dishes last. It's a series of adoring each other and annoying each other. Laughing and crying. Showing each other dog memes and ignoring each other altogether. It's weird and wild and eventful and stupid and magical and I'm glad to be a participant instead of a voyeur.
Why Rory Gilmore Actually ISN'T the Worst
To call myself a massive Gilmore Girls fan would be an understatement. I grew up with the Gilmores. I was a Gilmore. I was sixteen when Rory was sixteen. I was raised by a single mother who was my best friend. We were the goddamn Gilmore Girls.
Since the revival made its way to Netflix, there has been a lot of criticism surrounding the development of Rory as a human being. Many have said she's a brat and a mess, even a horrible person.
I, as always, must respectfully disagree.
While I understand the viewpoints of these loyal, but disgruntled viewers, I can't help but criticize their criticisms.
First and foremost, the thing you have to understand about Gilmore Girls as a whole is that it's very much rooted in fantasy. Stars Hollow is a fantasy town full of colorful characters, a town troubadour, a festival for every season and only one stop light. Everything is magical and relatively fantastical.
Rory Gilmore was a straight-A student. She transferred from a public school to the most prestigious private school in Connecticut. She somehow managed to look beautiful, have boyfriends, become more fashionable as the years went on, watch endless movies with Lorelai, go shopping, study until she wore herself thin and then went on to become Valedictorian with acceptance letters to Harvard, Yale and Princeton.
This is not a realistic expectation for any human being who requires sleep.
My point being that Rory Gilmore was an idealistic character from the beginning. The bar was set so high. Of course our girl was set up to falter.
I'm not saying that all of Rory's choices over the course of seven seasons or any of the revival were particularly great. She messed up a lot; she stole a yacht, she seems to have a pattern of finding herself with men who are taken, she neglected one of her boyfriends altogether, she rode the wave of one New Yorker piece with no real career plan. None of these really echo the Rory of season one, but they do echo some of the realities of life.
Rory was a character who always had a plan. She had pro/con lists and homework to do after her homework. She spent all of high school itemizing her time down to what she had to study for. She had to find time for extracurriculars for her transcripts. She worked on the school newspaper. It's no surprise that after college she waffled.
Yes, Rory Gilmore was given every opportunity. Her college and post-grad were paid for. She had a lot of help and a lot of luck on her road to what should've been great success.
But maybe the direction Rory took was a different definition of success... or better yet, an allowance for her to fail.
Rory never truly failed in her life.
Yeah, she got a D that one time.
Yeah, she was encouraged to drop a class at Yale.
Yeah, she went to jail for stealing a yacht.
Yeah, she dropped out of Yale for a semester or so. But we never really got to see Rory truly FAIL. To fall flat on her face and try to figure out life for herself.
This was how I saw "A Year in the Life" Rory Gilmore. Failing, flailing and figuring it out; much like her mother did at 16. Rory is following in her mother's footsteps 16 years later than her mother did.
Failure in life is normal and healthy. Being coddled and cradled and told you're perfect all the time is not.
So many Gilmore fans spent so long romanticizing the character of Rory Gilmore because she was written so perfectly. She was someone who was studious and smart, but still cool. She made you want to study for your test, not get wasted with your friends and throw up all over their parents' new carpet. She made you want to hang out with your mom - or wish you had a relationship with your mom more akin to Rory and Lorelai.
But all of the romanticized characteristics of Rory put her on a pedestal's pedestal. She was never able to really evolve as a human until she did stupid or thoughtless things in her life; until she experienced small failures.
Failure helps shape you as a human, for better or worse.
Failure teaches you the most valuable life lessons.
You learn more from failure than you learn from success.
To find your greatest passions in life, sometimes it takes failure. Sometimes that failure takes you down a road you never planned to explore.
We got to watch Rory fail in the reboot. We got to watch failure shape her as a human. And in the grand scheme of things, Rory's life is not over; just the show is.
She may never be the timid, sweet, thoughtful Rory we knew in seasons one and two and she may never be Christiane Amanpour either, but I like the direction ASP decided to take Rory Gilmore; reality.
Since the revival made its way to Netflix, there has been a lot of criticism surrounding the development of Rory as a human being. Many have said she's a brat and a mess, even a horrible person.
I, as always, must respectfully disagree.
While I understand the viewpoints of these loyal, but disgruntled viewers, I can't help but criticize their criticisms.
First and foremost, the thing you have to understand about Gilmore Girls as a whole is that it's very much rooted in fantasy. Stars Hollow is a fantasy town full of colorful characters, a town troubadour, a festival for every season and only one stop light. Everything is magical and relatively fantastical.
Rory Gilmore was a straight-A student. She transferred from a public school to the most prestigious private school in Connecticut. She somehow managed to look beautiful, have boyfriends, become more fashionable as the years went on, watch endless movies with Lorelai, go shopping, study until she wore herself thin and then went on to become Valedictorian with acceptance letters to Harvard, Yale and Princeton.
This is not a realistic expectation for any human being who requires sleep.
My point being that Rory Gilmore was an idealistic character from the beginning. The bar was set so high. Of course our girl was set up to falter.
I'm not saying that all of Rory's choices over the course of seven seasons or any of the revival were particularly great. She messed up a lot; she stole a yacht, she seems to have a pattern of finding herself with men who are taken, she neglected one of her boyfriends altogether, she rode the wave of one New Yorker piece with no real career plan. None of these really echo the Rory of season one, but they do echo some of the realities of life.
Rory was a character who always had a plan. She had pro/con lists and homework to do after her homework. She spent all of high school itemizing her time down to what she had to study for. She had to find time for extracurriculars for her transcripts. She worked on the school newspaper. It's no surprise that after college she waffled.
Yes, Rory Gilmore was given every opportunity. Her college and post-grad were paid for. She had a lot of help and a lot of luck on her road to what should've been great success.
But maybe the direction Rory took was a different definition of success... or better yet, an allowance for her to fail.
Rory never truly failed in her life.
Yeah, she got a D that one time.
Yeah, she was encouraged to drop a class at Yale.
Yeah, she went to jail for stealing a yacht.
Yeah, she dropped out of Yale for a semester or so. But we never really got to see Rory truly FAIL. To fall flat on her face and try to figure out life for herself.
This was how I saw "A Year in the Life" Rory Gilmore. Failing, flailing and figuring it out; much like her mother did at 16. Rory is following in her mother's footsteps 16 years later than her mother did.
Failure in life is normal and healthy. Being coddled and cradled and told you're perfect all the time is not.
So many Gilmore fans spent so long romanticizing the character of Rory Gilmore because she was written so perfectly. She was someone who was studious and smart, but still cool. She made you want to study for your test, not get wasted with your friends and throw up all over their parents' new carpet. She made you want to hang out with your mom - or wish you had a relationship with your mom more akin to Rory and Lorelai.
But all of the romanticized characteristics of Rory put her on a pedestal's pedestal. She was never able to really evolve as a human until she did stupid or thoughtless things in her life; until she experienced small failures.
Failure helps shape you as a human, for better or worse.
Failure teaches you the most valuable life lessons.
You learn more from failure than you learn from success.
To find your greatest passions in life, sometimes it takes failure. Sometimes that failure takes you down a road you never planned to explore.
We got to watch Rory fail in the reboot. We got to watch failure shape her as a human. And in the grand scheme of things, Rory's life is not over; just the show is.
She may never be the timid, sweet, thoughtful Rory we knew in seasons one and two and she may never be Christiane Amanpour either, but I like the direction ASP decided to take Rory Gilmore; reality.
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
Love & Marriage & Anxiety
Sitting here drinking my coffee, waiting for my dudes (boyfriend and dog - though I've already walked the dog) to wake up so I can make some breakfast and I started thinking about how weird certain things in life are.
Mostly love.
On a very basic level, we choose someone who best suits our life or our personality or our interests or we choose someone who catches our eye aesthetically and we decide this person should always be around us. We decide we love them and we start to share stuff; our food, our stories, our secrets, our bed, our lives and everything in the world is comfortable.
How did this come about? How did love happen?
For me, love and dating has always been rooted in some sort of fear. I think on some level it's like that for a lot of people. When you start dating someone new, it's a wee bit terrifying. I don't know why. Perhaps I'm just a human riddled with anxiety.
I'm definitely a human riddled with anxiety.
But whenever I'd be propositioned for a proper date, my stomach would drop and my skin would tingle with nervousness and anxiety. So much so that it didn't even feel like a healthy amount, so I would avoid dating at all costs. In fact, I felt that very feeling as I was sitting here writing this.
As I've said in the past, I'm what's become known as a "serial monogamist". I don't date unless it's going to be a long term relationship and I don't date around in the meantime.
But more than my own past anxieties, I've been thinking - with no real endgame - about why and how we as human beings fall in love.
I started dating my live-in boyfriend in early March of 2015. And I keep thinking back to what drew me to him. He's a pretty charismatic guy, chatty, smart, funny, sweet... and I think that's it for me. If you have a bitchin personality, I'm sold.
But what made me fall in love? I don't know. And maybe we never really know. Maybe we aren't meant to know. But I know that I love my boyfriend. I know why I love him now. But is it an insatiable self-serving urge that we realize we love someone?
"I feel like I can't live without this person, so I love them"
or
"This person likes me, so I love them"
I'm not saying this was at all the case for me, but it could be for some people in this very narcissistic world that we live in. I will, however, love anyone who likes me even a little bit. Hope you like Edible Arrangements.
In the same vein, I've been thinking about marriage and social norms a lot lately as well. Do I want to get married? Do I REALLY want to get married? Why? Because society has made it a thing for decades upon decades upon decades? Because if one of us gets in a horrendous car accident, we'll be able to be in the hospital room to hold the other's hand?
I'm okay with the concept of marriage. There's nothing wrong or subservient about committing your life to someone else. I think it's a really nice idea actually. Granted, in this day and age marriage doesn't really mean anything. And I'm a firm believer in living together before you get married.
If you don't, you will learn all the annoying shit about each other right after you get married and then blame it on the fact that "marriage is hard". That's why people say marriage is hard. Living with someone for years and evolving as a couple over time is no different than getting married and subsequently living with them for years and evolving as a couple. The only difference is in the second instance, you're married, so you can blame it on that.
Is it defiant of me to question the social norm of marriage, but still want to get married? Probably. I think there's a small hipster traditionalist in me that really does want to get married. But at a courthouse. Just us and our parents/siblings. Then a party with all our family and friends. That's it. That sounds like my dream wedding.
I've gone off the rails a bit here, but I'm apparently having an existential crisis today.
Oh, I've also figured out what I want to do with my life.
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
Scribbles, Dribbles and Mrs. Doubtfire
Hello.
I want biscuits and gravy. How are you? Great. Are you biscuits and gravy? No? Then get off my front porch, Janice.
I've never had biscuits and gravy.
But enough about me and more about me!
What's new in my life, you don't ask because you don't care? Well, let me tell you, friend!
I'm auditioning for a new improv team next week. I'm fully unprepared and also slightly ambivalent about it! But I also have to have some written stuff for it, so gotta get the juices flowin'. Preferably orange, but I'm partial to a good apple.
WHAT ELSE?
Uh.. I painted my nails last week.
NO WAY!
Way.
So Jonah Hill is going to be the star of the Mrs. Doubtfire remake.
GROSS!
I know!
Alright. Well, I gotta go.
Have a bitchin day bye!
I want biscuits and gravy. How are you? Great. Are you biscuits and gravy? No? Then get off my front porch, Janice.
I've never had biscuits and gravy.
But enough about me and more about me!
What's new in my life, you don't ask because you don't care? Well, let me tell you, friend!
I'm auditioning for a new improv team next week. I'm fully unprepared and also slightly ambivalent about it! But I also have to have some written stuff for it, so gotta get the juices flowin'. Preferably orange, but I'm partial to a good apple.
WHAT ELSE?
Uh.. I painted my nails last week.
NO WAY!
Way.
So Jonah Hill is going to be the star of the Mrs. Doubtfire remake.
GROSS!
I know!
Alright. Well, I gotta go.
Have a bitchin day bye!
Monday, August 24, 2015
Consistency
Considering I didn't even finish my last post, I suppose now would be a keen time for some updates on life, eh? Eh.
Life's been pretty cool. I'm broke as a joke and I work six days a week, but it's somehow worth it. I have a great apartment in Chicago, which I will be promptly moving out of in April to move in with my boyfriend of six months. Six months? Moving in? Yeah, sounds hasty, huh? Well, it's not. It's one of those weird things that's just right.
You know how you have those relationships that make your knees weak and it takes you forever to be comfortable enough to be weird or forget to shave your legs or whatever? This isn't that relationship. This is comfortable and happy and we fight and bicker and laugh ourselves stupid and talk about everything. This is one of those relationships that didn't need the honeymoon period. This is just a real, raw love that works on some level I don't even understand. So hasty as it may sound, it is right.
I'm also having a cherry Coke right now.
Well at least I finished thi
Life's been pretty cool. I'm broke as a joke and I work six days a week, but it's somehow worth it. I have a great apartment in Chicago, which I will be promptly moving out of in April to move in with my boyfriend of six months. Six months? Moving in? Yeah, sounds hasty, huh? Well, it's not. It's one of those weird things that's just right.
You know how you have those relationships that make your knees weak and it takes you forever to be comfortable enough to be weird or forget to shave your legs or whatever? This isn't that relationship. This is comfortable and happy and we fight and bicker and laugh ourselves stupid and talk about everything. This is one of those relationships that didn't need the honeymoon period. This is just a real, raw love that works on some level I don't even understand. So hasty as it may sound, it is right.
I'm also having a cherry Coke right now.
Well at least I finished thi
Monday, November 3, 2014
Why Do You Want This Job?
Tomorrow marks exactly one year and one month since I've been unemployed. Or in parents-with-toddler terms, tomorrow my unemployment is thirteen months old.
As you can imagine, I've gone absolutely insane. Beyond being completely, disgustingly broke, I am also completely painfully bored. So when I'm not watching the Food Network or drinking myself stupid, I'm obviously applying for jobs and sending out resumes.
Today, I applied for a barista job and it was one of many applications that made me think and made me angry. And made me angry for making me think.
I don't mind a job application that makes me think. Questions I know I won't have to answer in the interview cause it's already on the ridiculously long application are questions I don't mind having a little bit of time to answer.
That being said, I'm really tired of the "Why do you want to work here?" question..
Because honestly, I don't want to work there. I just want to work. I need employment. Period. I actually said that in a job interview recently. Not as bluntly, but I was in a mood and I couldn't resist the honesty. I don't want your job. In fact, I would never set foot in your store on any ordinary occasion. But I need your job. But thank you for reminding me that I'm at your mercy.
EDITOR'S NOTE: I actually would love to work for any place I've interviewed for. Not because this is the worst thing an employer could find, but because I don't accept interviews for jobs I don't want.
As you can imagine, I've gone absolutely insane. Beyond being completely, disgustingly broke, I am also completely painfully bored. So when I'm not watching the Food Network or drinking myself stupid, I'm obviously applying for jobs and sending out resumes.
Today, I applied for a barista job and it was one of many applications that made me think and made me angry. And made me angry for making me think.
I don't mind a job application that makes me think. Questions I know I won't have to answer in the interview cause it's already on the ridiculously long application are questions I don't mind having a little bit of time to answer.
That being said, I'm really tired of the "Why do you want to work here?" question..
Because honestly, I don't want to work there. I just want to work. I need employment. Period. I actually said that in a job interview recently. Not as bluntly, but I was in a mood and I couldn't resist the honesty. I don't want your job. In fact, I would never set foot in your store on any ordinary occasion. But I need your job. But thank you for reminding me that I'm at your mercy.
EDITOR'S NOTE: I actually would love to work for any place I've interviewed for. Not because this is the worst thing an employer could find, but because I don't accept interviews for jobs I don't want.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Ketchup
I'm the first to admit I've been quite lazy here and for that I apologize.
There. I said it. No more apologies. Moving forward.
I thought since I will be putting up a similar video on my YouTube Channel in just a little while, I would play a little bit of catch up with whatever reads my blog.
I made my last post very public and therefore, I have no idea who actually reads this now. This is great and also borderline terrifying. I've always utilised this blog as sort of a private-from-my-real-life-folks diary. So, if you have gone back and seen something written that might have been about you, it probably was and you're going to have to deal with the fact that I was naive enough to believe that you would never read it.
Anywho, so a lot has developed over the summer I guess. Through many sweaty, garbage-scented nights and many sunny, cool daytime adventures, I had to ultimately make a very difficult decision; to break up with New York City. But not like one of those breakups where you're really bitter and you just want your shit back so you can move on and hatefuck another city in its place. It was a very amicable split.
It took a lot of struggle and a lot of introspection to realize that as much as I still adore NYC and the people in it, that I had sort of outgrown what it has always had to offer me. The truth of the matter is that New York is where I ran to when things weren't the best in my life. New York was a net that caught me when everything else fucked me over. I was happy there once, though. But in our time apart I had romanticized what I thought we had in my head and lost the reality of what that city means to me. I will visit whenever I can, but my heart is somewhere else.
Shockingly, my heart is in the one place I've been determined to prove that it is not. The one place I swore I hated and I wanted to hate. The one place full of people I love and places I love with opportunities at every door for me. Ill-i-fucking-nois. Who knew?
So the long and the short of it is that I'm moving back to Chicago. I'm in limbo at the moment and I think you learn from and grow the most from being stuck in limbo. So I'm trying to take this time for me. For my brain to reset. To get back to where I was before I left. To find stability. To enjoy that stability and keep my career on a most excellent trajectory. To be open to whatever the hell it is life has for me next.
All that aside, I had a pretty good summer. I saw a lot, I did a lot and I had a blast. I ate some excellent food and became a Food Network junkie. I was on Beat Bobby Flay and a movie that's coming out next year. I reconnected with old friends and made some new friends.
I ate at Alex Guarnaschelli's BUTTER the night before I left with two very dear friends. A month or so before I left NY, I developed a very serious adoration for Alex that still holds now. Here's a little snippet of our night at Butter.
The day after these photos were taken, I made the long, long journey back to Chicago. It was an exhaustive day of travel that began at 6am and didn't end until around 6pm. Somehow I made it home and spent some time catching up with my mom and my dog and my friends.
I also attended my brother's wedding. I was beyond honored to have been invited, as Nathan and I have only known each other for five years. Our bond is our sperm donor. Our biological father. We were the rejects among the prized children. We were the family that wasn't chosen. We cried and bonded over that. Or maybe I just cried, I dunno. I was drunk. Very drunk. Woke up in a field. But never mind that. Let's see what that looked like, eh?
Last weekend, I had the opportunity to go to Food Network in Concert at Ravinia in Highland Park. I was ecstatic. Food Network became my little mental escape and my obsession since I got to New York. I learned so much from watching it and fell in love with several shows and chefs. I mean, fuck, do you think I knew what the hell a roux was before I laid eyes on the Food Network?!
Anyway, at this majestic event, I had the opportunity to "meet" Alex Guarnaschelli. And I use the quotations and the word "meet" very loosely because to this day I have absolutely no idea what I said to the woman. But I do know it was an absolutely amazing moment in my life. There is so much about Alex that I admire that I'm going to save it for its own post. But use your eyes to gander upon my utter fangirling.
So you see, friends, even though - like always - things didn't work out in my life the way I thought they would or wanted them to, things are still on the up & up. I'm looking for a new full time gig and fixin' to get back into improv asap.
There. I said it. No more apologies. Moving forward.
I thought since I will be putting up a similar video on my YouTube Channel in just a little while, I would play a little bit of catch up with whatever reads my blog.
I made my last post very public and therefore, I have no idea who actually reads this now. This is great and also borderline terrifying. I've always utilised this blog as sort of a private-from-my-real-life-folks diary. So, if you have gone back and seen something written that might have been about you, it probably was and you're going to have to deal with the fact that I was naive enough to believe that you would never read it.
Anywho, so a lot has developed over the summer I guess. Through many sweaty, garbage-scented nights and many sunny, cool daytime adventures, I had to ultimately make a very difficult decision; to break up with New York City. But not like one of those breakups where you're really bitter and you just want your shit back so you can move on and hatefuck another city in its place. It was a very amicable split.
It took a lot of struggle and a lot of introspection to realize that as much as I still adore NYC and the people in it, that I had sort of outgrown what it has always had to offer me. The truth of the matter is that New York is where I ran to when things weren't the best in my life. New York was a net that caught me when everything else fucked me over. I was happy there once, though. But in our time apart I had romanticized what I thought we had in my head and lost the reality of what that city means to me. I will visit whenever I can, but my heart is somewhere else.
Shockingly, my heart is in the one place I've been determined to prove that it is not. The one place I swore I hated and I wanted to hate. The one place full of people I love and places I love with opportunities at every door for me. Ill-i-fucking-nois. Who knew?
So the long and the short of it is that I'm moving back to Chicago. I'm in limbo at the moment and I think you learn from and grow the most from being stuck in limbo. So I'm trying to take this time for me. For my brain to reset. To get back to where I was before I left. To find stability. To enjoy that stability and keep my career on a most excellent trajectory. To be open to whatever the hell it is life has for me next.
All that aside, I had a pretty good summer. I saw a lot, I did a lot and I had a blast. I ate some excellent food and became a Food Network junkie. I was on Beat Bobby Flay and a movie that's coming out next year. I reconnected with old friends and made some new friends.
I ate at Alex Guarnaschelli's BUTTER the night before I left with two very dear friends. A month or so before I left NY, I developed a very serious adoration for Alex that still holds now. Here's a little snippet of our night at Butter.
 |
| These rolls were the most amazing carb that has ever entered my body. |
 |
| Ghost Chili Margarita. Fucking divine. |
 |
| Brooke & I. |
 |
| Andrew & I. |
 |
| The infamous Raspberry Beignets. |
 |
| Duck Rillettes |
The day after these photos were taken, I made the long, long journey back to Chicago. It was an exhaustive day of travel that began at 6am and didn't end until around 6pm. Somehow I made it home and spent some time catching up with my mom and my dog and my friends.
I also attended my brother's wedding. I was beyond honored to have been invited, as Nathan and I have only known each other for five years. Our bond is our sperm donor. Our biological father. We were the rejects among the prized children. We were the family that wasn't chosen. We cried and bonded over that. Or maybe I just cried, I dunno. I was drunk. Very drunk. Woke up in a field. But never mind that. Let's see what that looked like, eh?
 |
| Nathan & Keli |
 |
| BARn. |
 |
| Centerpiece |
 |
| Mr. & Mrs. Heller |
 |
| Love |
Last weekend, I had the opportunity to go to Food Network in Concert at Ravinia in Highland Park. I was ecstatic. Food Network became my little mental escape and my obsession since I got to New York. I learned so much from watching it and fell in love with several shows and chefs. I mean, fuck, do you think I knew what the hell a roux was before I laid eyes on the Food Network?!
Anyway, at this majestic event, I had the opportunity to "meet" Alex Guarnaschelli. And I use the quotations and the word "meet" very loosely because to this day I have absolutely no idea what I said to the woman. But I do know it was an absolutely amazing moment in my life. There is so much about Alex that I admire that I'm going to save it for its own post. But use your eyes to gander upon my utter fangirling.
 |
| Alex Guarnaschelli lovingly appeases fan who can only say "derrrrrrr" |
 |
| Engagement photo |
 |
| Creepin' |
 |
| SUPER creepin' |
 |
| This wasn't even 1/4 of the line 30 minutes after the signing started |
I don't think I realized how much I liked my life and that it's okay to be content with a less than turbulent lifestyle.
Just gonna sit back, relax, watch Chopped and enjoy.
Monday, August 11, 2014
Robin Williams
I don't even know how to begin writing this one. I really don't. As I walked home tonight from my evening at Barnes and Noble devouring Alex Guarnaschelli's book, I contemplated how to begin this and I'm still at a loss. I'm entirely at a loss.
As I was a stop away from 14th street, I decided to check my phone because I hadn't for a while. Underground with no service, my notifications read a text from my cousin and a twitter notification from the glorious Guarnaschelli herself (because yes, I have my notifications turned on for that beautiful goddess). Both were of the same topic. The text read "Dude. No. I just can't." and above it was the notification that read "Rest in peace, Robin Williams". My heart sank. My mouth literally opened and tears welled up in my eyes.
As I got off the train, the tears were more present. I hustled up the stairs to find refuge in cell service. With one google of his name, I saw it was true. Robin Williams was dead of apparent suicide at age 63. Staring at my phone with nothing in particular being done on it, I walked in the wrong direction three times, eyes full of tears and a heart shattered.
Perhaps I should put some context to my heartbreak. That's why I'm here.
I grew up an only child in a one parent household. I was my own my best friend and often my only source of entertainment. I knew I was funny and I knew I wanted to be an actor. I would act out things in my bedroom and I was never out of material because I lived in my own world. A world where I was the funniest person in it. A world where I created characters and scenarios that lived in my head and still do to this day. An impenetrable world of my own.
I truly discovered Robin Williams in 1991. I was five years old and the movie was Hook. I remember going to see it in the theatres with my mom and my grandparents. To date, it's one of my favorite childhood memories because we didn't go to the movies often, so when we did it was a glorious occasion for me. My dad took me to movies often, but I think it was as more of a distraction from our lack of common interest.
I've lived most of my life through movies. They have been my entertainment, my teachers, my passion and my escape. I loved Hook. And I loved Robin Williams. I fell in love with him. Hook will always be one of my favorite movies and one I will stop and watch every time it's on tv. There were Saturday mornings where my grandma would be making a pot of coffee and I'd be sitting on her living room floor watching Hook and playing with my Barbies that I will never forget.
Somewhere in the interim between 91 and 93, I really discovered who Williams was. I somehow got my hands on his autobiography and read it tirelessly. I remember bringing it to school and reading it when I should've been paying attention to whatever nonsense I would soon forget was being taught at the front of the class. I learned how much we had in common as children, but none so much as the world. THE world. The one I created for myself. His in-depth chapter about the world he created for himself as an only child in an adult's world resonated with me even at that young age. I knew that feeling. I knew what that was. I knew that simultaneous loneliness and comfort in being your own best friend. I knew what it was like to desperately want to make people laugh. I knew what it was like when you got that laugh. I knew him. Since acquiring that book, I've read it dozens of times.
And yes, I loved Aladdin solely based on the fact that Williams voiced the genie. I even made my dad take me to see it twice, much to his chagrin.
But it was in 1993 that I truly found my love for Robin Williams.
I was seven years old. A child of a broken home and complicated relationship with my father. One weekend, my father took me to see a movie I had been dying to see. I was fresh off being terribly sick and it was the first day I was feeling better. My mom gave me the amoxicillin I was prescribed and my dad picked me up shortly thereafter. We arrived at the theatre and my dad bought the tickets. Two for Mrs. Doubtfire. I was thrilled. The movie began and a few handfuls of popcorn in, my dad's phone rang, as it always did. It was a business call so he left me in the theatre and went to take the call. I ate my popcorn and realized instantly that something wasn't right. I didn't feel well. I wanted to feel well because I was really enjoying the movie, but my stomach was disagreeing. I ran out of the theatre in a desperate attempt to find my dad. I couldn't find him. I tripped, fell and projectile vomited all over the Webster Place 11 theatre. This was the day I discovered I am allergic to amoxicillin. A lovely employee helped me find my dad and he promptly took me home to my mom at my request. We rainchecked on the movie.
When I was finally able to see it without puking all over the place, Mrs. Doubtfire changed me. It was a movie about divorce. Divorce wasn't really as common around me then. I was the only kid at my school who had divorced parents at the time and no one really got it. I envied kids with two parents, even though I knew how terrible my household would have been if mine had stayed together.
While silly and funny with jokes over my head, Mrs. Doubtfire's core message was about families. It gave me hope that families could be different or broken in different ways and still be efficient and wonderful families. The end speech makes me well up to this day.
"You know, some parents, when they're angry, they get along much better when they don't live together. They don't fight all the time, and they can become better people, and much better mummies and daddies for you. And sometimes they get back together. And sometimes they don't, dear. And if they don't, don't blame yourself. Just because they don't love each other anymore, doesn't mean that they don't love you. There are all sorts of different families, Katie. Some families have one mommy, some families have one daddy, or two families. And some children live with their uncle or aunt. Some live with their grandparents, and some children live with foster parents. And some live in separate homes, in separate neighborhoods, in different areas of the country - and they may not see each other for days, or weeks, months... even years at a time. But if there's love, dear... those are the ties that bind, and you'll have a family in your heart, forever"
Mrs. Doubtfire will forever be one of my favorite movies of all time. It changed the way I looked at my situation. It gave me a hope and a comfort that I couldn't replace if I tried.
After wearing out the VHS copy of Mrs. D that I still proudly own, I did what I always do when I love something; I had to find out everything about the man behind it. I had to find out more about Robin Williams. I immersed myself in his work. The old, the new and the stand-up. The stand-up was the final thing that changed me.
Robin Williams: Live at the Met. I got my hands on that courtesy of my father, who liked to compensate for his terrible parenting with material things. I'm not sure why he would buy an eight year old an album with such explicit content, but I'm glad he did.
Every night, I would fall asleep listening to this album. I knew it backwards and forwards and even though some jokes were over my head, I laughed. He was loud and brash and unfiltered and had a brain full of weird thoughts that became fantastically executed words. I now knew what to do with all the weird shit in my head. I knew I wanted to make people laugh. Forever. (Ominous.)
My stories can end here, but there are a few more things I want to say.
Robin Williams was my first comedy teacher. I learned so much from watching him work. I learned that it's okay to be weird and loud and that there's a place for people who are. I learned about timing and honesty and delivery. I learned that comedians can be stellar actors.
Unfortunately, I have now also learned that you cannot always live in that little world you create for yourself as a child. I learned that your demons do not always disappear. I hope wherever Robin Williams is tonight he is surrounded by all the funniest people who've gone before him. I hope he is side by side with Jonathan Winters and in the state of euphoria he deserved to live in on earth. As Greg Proops would say, he is swirling in the heavens tonight.
His comedy, his experience, his life were all invaluable to me. He's been a part of me for most of my life and I'm eternally grateful for all he's given me.
And with that, I shall send him off with his own immortal words, "..and now a toast... to the days when chickens have lips..".
As I was a stop away from 14th street, I decided to check my phone because I hadn't for a while. Underground with no service, my notifications read a text from my cousin and a twitter notification from the glorious Guarnaschelli herself (because yes, I have my notifications turned on for that beautiful goddess). Both were of the same topic. The text read "Dude. No. I just can't." and above it was the notification that read "Rest in peace, Robin Williams". My heart sank. My mouth literally opened and tears welled up in my eyes.
As I got off the train, the tears were more present. I hustled up the stairs to find refuge in cell service. With one google of his name, I saw it was true. Robin Williams was dead of apparent suicide at age 63. Staring at my phone with nothing in particular being done on it, I walked in the wrong direction three times, eyes full of tears and a heart shattered.
Perhaps I should put some context to my heartbreak. That's why I'm here.
I grew up an only child in a one parent household. I was my own my best friend and often my only source of entertainment. I knew I was funny and I knew I wanted to be an actor. I would act out things in my bedroom and I was never out of material because I lived in my own world. A world where I was the funniest person in it. A world where I created characters and scenarios that lived in my head and still do to this day. An impenetrable world of my own.
I truly discovered Robin Williams in 1991. I was five years old and the movie was Hook. I remember going to see it in the theatres with my mom and my grandparents. To date, it's one of my favorite childhood memories because we didn't go to the movies often, so when we did it was a glorious occasion for me. My dad took me to movies often, but I think it was as more of a distraction from our lack of common interest.
I've lived most of my life through movies. They have been my entertainment, my teachers, my passion and my escape. I loved Hook. And I loved Robin Williams. I fell in love with him. Hook will always be one of my favorite movies and one I will stop and watch every time it's on tv. There were Saturday mornings where my grandma would be making a pot of coffee and I'd be sitting on her living room floor watching Hook and playing with my Barbies that I will never forget.
Somewhere in the interim between 91 and 93, I really discovered who Williams was. I somehow got my hands on his autobiography and read it tirelessly. I remember bringing it to school and reading it when I should've been paying attention to whatever nonsense I would soon forget was being taught at the front of the class. I learned how much we had in common as children, but none so much as the world. THE world. The one I created for myself. His in-depth chapter about the world he created for himself as an only child in an adult's world resonated with me even at that young age. I knew that feeling. I knew what that was. I knew that simultaneous loneliness and comfort in being your own best friend. I knew what it was like to desperately want to make people laugh. I knew what it was like when you got that laugh. I knew him. Since acquiring that book, I've read it dozens of times.
And yes, I loved Aladdin solely based on the fact that Williams voiced the genie. I even made my dad take me to see it twice, much to his chagrin.
But it was in 1993 that I truly found my love for Robin Williams.
I was seven years old. A child of a broken home and complicated relationship with my father. One weekend, my father took me to see a movie I had been dying to see. I was fresh off being terribly sick and it was the first day I was feeling better. My mom gave me the amoxicillin I was prescribed and my dad picked me up shortly thereafter. We arrived at the theatre and my dad bought the tickets. Two for Mrs. Doubtfire. I was thrilled. The movie began and a few handfuls of popcorn in, my dad's phone rang, as it always did. It was a business call so he left me in the theatre and went to take the call. I ate my popcorn and realized instantly that something wasn't right. I didn't feel well. I wanted to feel well because I was really enjoying the movie, but my stomach was disagreeing. I ran out of the theatre in a desperate attempt to find my dad. I couldn't find him. I tripped, fell and projectile vomited all over the Webster Place 11 theatre. This was the day I discovered I am allergic to amoxicillin. A lovely employee helped me find my dad and he promptly took me home to my mom at my request. We rainchecked on the movie.
When I was finally able to see it without puking all over the place, Mrs. Doubtfire changed me. It was a movie about divorce. Divorce wasn't really as common around me then. I was the only kid at my school who had divorced parents at the time and no one really got it. I envied kids with two parents, even though I knew how terrible my household would have been if mine had stayed together.
While silly and funny with jokes over my head, Mrs. Doubtfire's core message was about families. It gave me hope that families could be different or broken in different ways and still be efficient and wonderful families. The end speech makes me well up to this day.
"You know, some parents, when they're angry, they get along much better when they don't live together. They don't fight all the time, and they can become better people, and much better mummies and daddies for you. And sometimes they get back together. And sometimes they don't, dear. And if they don't, don't blame yourself. Just because they don't love each other anymore, doesn't mean that they don't love you. There are all sorts of different families, Katie. Some families have one mommy, some families have one daddy, or two families. And some children live with their uncle or aunt. Some live with their grandparents, and some children live with foster parents. And some live in separate homes, in separate neighborhoods, in different areas of the country - and they may not see each other for days, or weeks, months... even years at a time. But if there's love, dear... those are the ties that bind, and you'll have a family in your heart, forever"
Mrs. Doubtfire will forever be one of my favorite movies of all time. It changed the way I looked at my situation. It gave me a hope and a comfort that I couldn't replace if I tried.
After wearing out the VHS copy of Mrs. D that I still proudly own, I did what I always do when I love something; I had to find out everything about the man behind it. I had to find out more about Robin Williams. I immersed myself in his work. The old, the new and the stand-up. The stand-up was the final thing that changed me.
Robin Williams: Live at the Met. I got my hands on that courtesy of my father, who liked to compensate for his terrible parenting with material things. I'm not sure why he would buy an eight year old an album with such explicit content, but I'm glad he did.
Every night, I would fall asleep listening to this album. I knew it backwards and forwards and even though some jokes were over my head, I laughed. He was loud and brash and unfiltered and had a brain full of weird thoughts that became fantastically executed words. I now knew what to do with all the weird shit in my head. I knew I wanted to make people laugh. Forever. (Ominous.)
My stories can end here, but there are a few more things I want to say.
Robin Williams was my first comedy teacher. I learned so much from watching him work. I learned that it's okay to be weird and loud and that there's a place for people who are. I learned about timing and honesty and delivery. I learned that comedians can be stellar actors.
Unfortunately, I have now also learned that you cannot always live in that little world you create for yourself as a child. I learned that your demons do not always disappear. I hope wherever Robin Williams is tonight he is surrounded by all the funniest people who've gone before him. I hope he is side by side with Jonathan Winters and in the state of euphoria he deserved to live in on earth. As Greg Proops would say, he is swirling in the heavens tonight.
His comedy, his experience, his life were all invaluable to me. He's been a part of me for most of my life and I'm eternally grateful for all he's given me.
And with that, I shall send him off with his own immortal words, "..and now a toast... to the days when chickens have lips..".
Sunday, July 6, 2014
A Scatterbrain's Review of "TAMMY"
So over the holiday weekend - well, actually before the holiday weekend - I went on a whim to see Tammy.
I like Melissa McCarthy (who doesn't?) even though she's being typecast as the same aloof, don't-give-a-fuck, brash character since Bridesmaids propelled her into the limelight. Before Bridesmaids, I knew McCarthy from Gilmore Girls and only from Gilmore Girls. She played the character of Sookie. A sweet, aloof, clumsy but good-intentioned friend of our female heroine Lorelai Gilmore. Let's just say her character was the complete opposite of Megan in Bridesmaids.
But I digress.
As advertised, Tammy kind of seemed to be the same old thing that McCarthy's been trapped in. However, the writing seemed funnier and knowing that she and her husband wrote it together was huge selling point for me. I giggled at the trailer the first couple times it came on tv and so I figured I'd give it a shot.
I went to a 10pm showing on a Wednesday night in the East Village. To call the theatre empty would be an understatement. When I arrived at ten to ten, there was one guy in the theatre with me. So with my "fuck that's too big" popcorn and my "holy shit I'm gonna have to pee in like ten minutes" soda, I sat happily by myself in the very last row of the theatre.
Slowly, others came in, but there were no more than maybe ten people in the theatre in the end.
After nine hours of previews, the movie began.
It begins with McCarthy's character Tammy singing along to The Outfield's "Your Love" and accidentally hitting a deer in the process, which eventually leads to her being late for work and subsequently getting fired.
You think with this it sets the tone for the film of broad humor and pure silliness. And in a way, it did. But in another way, this film was something else completely.
The entire time I watched Tammy I was wondering if I was enjoying it or not. Mostly because, I think, it was advertised incorrectly. Personally, that's a huge pet peeve for me. AND LET ME TELL YOU WHY.
I like to know what kind of movie I'm going to see. I don't care if I don't know what it's about or any of the people in it, but I'd like to know what tone is about to be set for the next two hours of my life. You know why? Because if you're going to see Stepmom with your dad on Christmas Day because it was advertised as a sweet family comedy and you need something to take your mind off the fact that your dad's mom just died of cancer three days earlier, you're going to be in for a rude fucking awakening.
So, you see, proper advertising can really ruin a fucking Christmas.
And yes, that's a thing that really happened to me.
But more to the matter at hand, I was expecting a really off-the-wall, broad, goofy comedy. And in a lot of ways Tammy was just that. However, it also contained numerous feels.
In some ways, the structure of the plot was similar to Bridesmaids. Tammy basically hits rock bottom and has to find her way out of it. She gets stuck with her spunky, often drunk grandmother Pearl (Susan Sarandon) and has to deal with her as well. Sometimes in funny ways, sometimes in tragic ways. There is a scene where Sarandon's character spits just pure vitriol at Tammy in a drunken stupor and it is probably one of the more heartbreaking scenes I've ever seen in a comedy.
And no American comedy blueprint would be complete without a love interest. Tammy and Pearl meet two men in a bar. A man named Earl (Gary Cole) and his son Bobby (Mark Duplass). Tammy makes a very forward pass at Bobby to a seemingly unsuccessful end. However, Pearl and Earl hit it off nicely.. in the biblical sense. Earl and Bobby come in and out of Tammy's life and as Tammy's perception of the world changes, she begins to reject Bobby, which I find very interesting. It's nice to see that actually. Even though you're waiting for them to PLEASE get together, it's nice to see a film break the norm of the woman vying for the affection of the man. Kudos on that.
In addition to being very funny (as always), McCarthy brought a beautiful element to this romp; raw emotion. Her acting was superb. She broke my heart at least three times. The character of Tammy is surprisingly relatable and so, so honest and McCarthy did a hell of a job bringing that to life on the screen.
All in all, though it was advertised wrong, I'd give the film an eight out of ten whatevers. It was a really cute movie and though there were a few times it lagged a little, I would probably see it again.
And now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to not bother to proof this and go do something else.
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I like Melissa McCarthy (who doesn't?) even though she's being typecast as the same aloof, don't-give-a-fuck, brash character since Bridesmaids propelled her into the limelight. Before Bridesmaids, I knew McCarthy from Gilmore Girls and only from Gilmore Girls. She played the character of Sookie. A sweet, aloof, clumsy but good-intentioned friend of our female heroine Lorelai Gilmore. Let's just say her character was the complete opposite of Megan in Bridesmaids.
But I digress.
As advertised, Tammy kind of seemed to be the same old thing that McCarthy's been trapped in. However, the writing seemed funnier and knowing that she and her husband wrote it together was huge selling point for me. I giggled at the trailer the first couple times it came on tv and so I figured I'd give it a shot.
I went to a 10pm showing on a Wednesday night in the East Village. To call the theatre empty would be an understatement. When I arrived at ten to ten, there was one guy in the theatre with me. So with my "fuck that's too big" popcorn and my "holy shit I'm gonna have to pee in like ten minutes" soda, I sat happily by myself in the very last row of the theatre.
Slowly, others came in, but there were no more than maybe ten people in the theatre in the end.
After nine hours of previews, the movie began.
It begins with McCarthy's character Tammy singing along to The Outfield's "Your Love" and accidentally hitting a deer in the process, which eventually leads to her being late for work and subsequently getting fired.
You think with this it sets the tone for the film of broad humor and pure silliness. And in a way, it did. But in another way, this film was something else completely.
The entire time I watched Tammy I was wondering if I was enjoying it or not. Mostly because, I think, it was advertised incorrectly. Personally, that's a huge pet peeve for me. AND LET ME TELL YOU WHY.
I like to know what kind of movie I'm going to see. I don't care if I don't know what it's about or any of the people in it, but I'd like to know what tone is about to be set for the next two hours of my life. You know why? Because if you're going to see Stepmom with your dad on Christmas Day because it was advertised as a sweet family comedy and you need something to take your mind off the fact that your dad's mom just died of cancer three days earlier, you're going to be in for a rude fucking awakening.
So, you see, proper advertising can really ruin a fucking Christmas.
And yes, that's a thing that really happened to me.
But more to the matter at hand, I was expecting a really off-the-wall, broad, goofy comedy. And in a lot of ways Tammy was just that. However, it also contained numerous feels.
In some ways, the structure of the plot was similar to Bridesmaids. Tammy basically hits rock bottom and has to find her way out of it. She gets stuck with her spunky, often drunk grandmother Pearl (Susan Sarandon) and has to deal with her as well. Sometimes in funny ways, sometimes in tragic ways. There is a scene where Sarandon's character spits just pure vitriol at Tammy in a drunken stupor and it is probably one of the more heartbreaking scenes I've ever seen in a comedy.
And no American comedy blueprint would be complete without a love interest. Tammy and Pearl meet two men in a bar. A man named Earl (Gary Cole) and his son Bobby (Mark Duplass). Tammy makes a very forward pass at Bobby to a seemingly unsuccessful end. However, Pearl and Earl hit it off nicely.. in the biblical sense. Earl and Bobby come in and out of Tammy's life and as Tammy's perception of the world changes, she begins to reject Bobby, which I find very interesting. It's nice to see that actually. Even though you're waiting for them to PLEASE get together, it's nice to see a film break the norm of the woman vying for the affection of the man. Kudos on that.
In addition to being very funny (as always), McCarthy brought a beautiful element to this romp; raw emotion. Her acting was superb. She broke my heart at least three times. The character of Tammy is surprisingly relatable and so, so honest and McCarthy did a hell of a job bringing that to life on the screen.
All in all, though it was advertised wrong, I'd give the film an eight out of ten whatevers. It was a really cute movie and though there were a few times it lagged a little, I would probably see it again.
And now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to not bother to proof this and go do something else.
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Friday, July 4, 2014
Justification
I've had this idea stewin' in my brain piece for quite some time now. I've been toying with the idea of making it funny rather than just ranting like a big sack of whiny dicks. However, I can't exactly find a funny angle. Let's just see what happens.
So this thought came to me as I moved back to New York City. New York is full of people. People everywhere. You're never alone on the streets of NYC and if you are, it's the god damn apocalypse. Take cover.
The variety of people here is like none I have ever experienced in other parts of the country. High class folks with more money than you've ever seen in your life, artsy people, celebrities, more tourists per capita than cement, homeless, you name it - NY has it.
Since there are so many people, someone is always asking for something. A dollar. A cigarette. A lighter. A moment of your time. Food. Directions. If you like comedy. If you want to save the planet. If you care about women's issues.
Sometimes you stop and oblige, sometimes you don't. Or if you're a real true New Yorker that requires constantly proving you're a real true New Yorker, you pretend like you've never heard another human voice before. However, sometimes when you stop, you don't always want to oblige.
And this is what prompted this post.
Whenever you say no to someone for any of the above things, there's always a reaction. Here, it's almost always a negative one. I've literally been called a "bitch" for saying "no thanks". Nicely.
So this got me thinking, why do we have to justify saying "no" to anything?
Why when I'm unemployed and have nothing to offer you am I a bitch for not giving you a dollar? Why do I feel obligated to lie to you and tell you that it's my last one when you ask me for a cigarette? No, I don't like shitty free comedy. I'm sorry if that bothers you. Yes, I do care about women's issues, I just don't want to end up on some god awful mailing list I can never unsubscribe from while you steal forty minutes from my day.
Why do I have to give reasons for any of that? Saying no should be a blanket statement that requires no justification. It's not my responsibility to give you a dollar or a cigarette or my time. Therefore, I shouldn't feel guilty or be berated about not wanting to.
The only "no" that requires justification in this life is from a parent who is telling a young child "because I said so". That's just a shitty cop out. Give 'em the fucking cookie.
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So this thought came to me as I moved back to New York City. New York is full of people. People everywhere. You're never alone on the streets of NYC and if you are, it's the god damn apocalypse. Take cover.
The variety of people here is like none I have ever experienced in other parts of the country. High class folks with more money than you've ever seen in your life, artsy people, celebrities, more tourists per capita than cement, homeless, you name it - NY has it.
Since there are so many people, someone is always asking for something. A dollar. A cigarette. A lighter. A moment of your time. Food. Directions. If you like comedy. If you want to save the planet. If you care about women's issues.
Sometimes you stop and oblige, sometimes you don't. Or if you're a real true New Yorker that requires constantly proving you're a real true New Yorker, you pretend like you've never heard another human voice before. However, sometimes when you stop, you don't always want to oblige.
And this is what prompted this post.
Whenever you say no to someone for any of the above things, there's always a reaction. Here, it's almost always a negative one. I've literally been called a "bitch" for saying "no thanks". Nicely.
So this got me thinking, why do we have to justify saying "no" to anything?
Why when I'm unemployed and have nothing to offer you am I a bitch for not giving you a dollar? Why do I feel obligated to lie to you and tell you that it's my last one when you ask me for a cigarette? No, I don't like shitty free comedy. I'm sorry if that bothers you. Yes, I do care about women's issues, I just don't want to end up on some god awful mailing list I can never unsubscribe from while you steal forty minutes from my day.
Why do I have to give reasons for any of that? Saying no should be a blanket statement that requires no justification. It's not my responsibility to give you a dollar or a cigarette or my time. Therefore, I shouldn't feel guilty or be berated about not wanting to.
The only "no" that requires justification in this life is from a parent who is telling a young child "because I said so". That's just a shitty cop out. Give 'em the fucking cookie.
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Friday, June 20, 2014
She's a Lady. Whoa. Whoa. WHOA!
It has come to my attention in the past two weeks that I am less than a lady. By god, do not confuse that with "less than a woman". I will whip out my penis and prove you wrong so fast.
Walking around New York City, you often see this country's most beautiful women. Women with beautiful faces, hair that is totally trimmed every six weeks, dresses you would have to skip a month's rent to buy and a grace/attitude that is nearly impossible to emulate. For me, anyway.
I care how I look. I like it when my hair is done (brushed) and my nails painted (just one or two chips) and I wear makeup (uneven liquid eyeliner) with a pretty dress (that is probably too short for my stature). I like to look good and feel good (mmmm chips!). However, when it's 90 degrees, sunny and I'm hoofing my ass across town on foot, I care a little less.
My appearance has taken precedence over my comfort maybe four times in my entire life. Does this make me unladylike? Not necessarily.
I do, however, like to drink beer and then I forget/don't care where I am and burp as though it's a competition. (It is!)
I also like to wear men's shorts because they're more comfortable. As much of an appeal as it is to see my ass hanging out of my shorts (it's not), I'd rather not have to pull material out of my crotch every three blocks. Just a personal preference.
I also don't prance around the issue of eating. If I'm hungry, I eat. If I'm on a date, I eat. Even if we're not going out to eat. I'm eating. The thought of having to pretend that when I'm starving I'd rather eat a bail of hay than a god damn cheeseburger makes me sad on the inside. I'd rather let the cheeseburger make me feel that way.
In addition to those charming facts, I'm also awkward as.. um.. fuck. I'm awkward as fuck. I say stupid shit at stupid times and I'm uncomfortable with human emotion. I don't possess the grace or fluidity of language that many women do. (see: the time I yelled "ha-haaa, what the fuck!" in a funeral home)
However, when it comes down to it, you don't have to be a lady to be a woman. I may be tactless and weird with a messy bun of hair atop my head while I scarf down a cheeseburger, but I'm still a woman. And I'm good at being a woman. I'm just no good at being a lady.
Walking around New York City, you often see this country's most beautiful women. Women with beautiful faces, hair that is totally trimmed every six weeks, dresses you would have to skip a month's rent to buy and a grace/attitude that is nearly impossible to emulate. For me, anyway.
I care how I look. I like it when my hair is done (brushed) and my nails painted (just one or two chips) and I wear makeup (uneven liquid eyeliner) with a pretty dress (that is probably too short for my stature). I like to look good and feel good (mmmm chips!). However, when it's 90 degrees, sunny and I'm hoofing my ass across town on foot, I care a little less.
My appearance has taken precedence over my comfort maybe four times in my entire life. Does this make me unladylike? Not necessarily.
I do, however, like to drink beer and then I forget/don't care where I am and burp as though it's a competition. (It is!)
I also like to wear men's shorts because they're more comfortable. As much of an appeal as it is to see my ass hanging out of my shorts (it's not), I'd rather not have to pull material out of my crotch every three blocks. Just a personal preference.
I also don't prance around the issue of eating. If I'm hungry, I eat. If I'm on a date, I eat. Even if we're not going out to eat. I'm eating. The thought of having to pretend that when I'm starving I'd rather eat a bail of hay than a god damn cheeseburger makes me sad on the inside. I'd rather let the cheeseburger make me feel that way.
In addition to those charming facts, I'm also awkward as.. um.. fuck. I'm awkward as fuck. I say stupid shit at stupid times and I'm uncomfortable with human emotion. I don't possess the grace or fluidity of language that many women do. (see: the time I yelled "ha-haaa, what the fuck!" in a funeral home)
However, when it comes down to it, you don't have to be a lady to be a woman. I may be tactless and weird with a messy bun of hair atop my head while I scarf down a cheeseburger, but I'm still a woman. And I'm good at being a woman. I'm just no good at being a lady.
I am stellar at sweating though. So... you're welcome. You are welcome.
Friday, May 30, 2014
This One's For You.
this man has a birthday right around the corner.
if there's one thing this guy taught me, it was to approach life with a sense of humor and to never take anything too seriously.
he also taught me the best way to gross a person out is by putting salami in their shoes.
i've never met a man with the spirit and the patience he had.
he was my best bud and this photo is the best representation of our relationship.
he passed away just before i moved to new york city when i was 20. about to do so again and just passing the anniversary of his death, i am reminded of the last thing he said to me. the words i live by everyday of my life. "do everything you can when you're young, cause when you're old, ya can't do shit.".
the dad i never had. the best dad i ever had. the best grandfather a girl could ask for. miss you, pops.
if there's one thing this guy taught me, it was to approach life with a sense of humor and to never take anything too seriously.
he also taught me the best way to gross a person out is by putting salami in their shoes.
i've never met a man with the spirit and the patience he had.
he was my best bud and this photo is the best representation of our relationship.
he passed away just before i moved to new york city when i was 20. about to do so again and just passing the anniversary of his death, i am reminded of the last thing he said to me. the words i live by everyday of my life. "do everything you can when you're young, cause when you're old, ya can't do shit.".
the dad i never had. the best dad i ever had. the best grandfather a girl could ask for. miss you, pops.
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Jam-a Da Day
Today's Jam of the Day is a live, lesser-known Barry Manilow jam called "In Search of Love". It seems to be sung in a different key than the album version. Do enjoy some 80s Manilow.
Anywhere But Here
From the moment I turned three years old, I knew I did not belong in Illinois. So much so that I started a "Get the Hell Out of Illinois Fund", that was literally a Nike shoebox with a sign that read as such when I was twelve. At twenty, at the demise of my attempt at a college career, I shipped myself off to NYC for a taste of whatever life had to offer. Looking back on my year of NY residency, I don't think I learned much except how much I loved New York City and how to hold my liquor..
When the money I was blowing at the theatre every week finally ran out, I moved back to Illinois with a little bit of relief and a lot of remorse. I've been here since. Though I periodically have visited New York and have entertained the idea of moving back, I got trapped by some things Illinois had to offer. Love - I fell in love and into a three year relationship. I actually remember uttering the words "I don't need New York when I've got him". Gross. Then I got trapped by friends and a great job after the relationship thing didn't work out. And after that, I found the thing that kind of filled in all the little cracks in my life. Except my ass crack and my crack habit. Improv. Comedy. Whatever. That's kept me in Chicago for the past year and a half. And now that I feel my time in Chicago's comedy community has come to an end, I'm returning to my first ever love; NYC.
With more of a life plan and less of a healthcare plan, I am definitely moving back to New York City in exactly two weeks. I'm not terrified, I'm not excited. It just feels like time. Time to work my life around a career I've only recently discovered I want to truly make work. Pun? Maybe.
So, with a move in place and hardly anything packed, my brain is more ready than my physical person.
But my brain's been in a very funny place lately. Not funny ha-ha. Funny like... whaaaaaaa?. I've started getting nostalgic for sensations. Not for moments or memories or people. Just sensations. I don't exactly know how to explain this, but I'll try to explain it in the dorkiest way possible.
Lately I've been listening to a lot of Barry Manilow. If you know me or you've been around for a while, you'll know that Manilow has been an indelible influence on my life. I'm not a musical person, nor do I have any aspirations to be. I just had a sometimes shitty childhood (who hasn't? not all of it. jeez.) and it was all aligned with a Manilow soundtrack. I guess I kind of hid in his music in a way. Not literally. You idiot.
So I've been listening to all this music lately and it's taking me to an almost uncomfortable and unidentifiable nostalgia. Though I love it, I'm feeling sad.
Maybe this is because I'm about to move away from all of my friends and family? Maybe this is because I'm stressed? Maybe the moon left an imprint in my face? Maybe I just need extensive therapy?
I don't know which of those it is, but it's really taking a wonderful/awful toll on me.
Anyway, I'm hanging out with my mom until after Memorial Day weekend, when the real packing will commence. If you'd like to see how the move is progressing, you're welcome to follow along on my YouTube channel where it's all going down. Actually the past few posts have just been a bit of babble, but I am chronicling this move through my subseries on YouTube, so if you're there so am I.
Oh look, a link that takes you directly to my channel in another window.
Technology is cool.
Just an update for your facepieces.
Something interesting next time, I promise.
Be well or don't.
Byeeee.
When the money I was blowing at the theatre every week finally ran out, I moved back to Illinois with a little bit of relief and a lot of remorse. I've been here since. Though I periodically have visited New York and have entertained the idea of moving back, I got trapped by some things Illinois had to offer. Love - I fell in love and into a three year relationship. I actually remember uttering the words "I don't need New York when I've got him". Gross. Then I got trapped by friends and a great job after the relationship thing didn't work out. And after that, I found the thing that kind of filled in all the little cracks in my life. Except my ass crack and my crack habit. Improv. Comedy. Whatever. That's kept me in Chicago for the past year and a half. And now that I feel my time in Chicago's comedy community has come to an end, I'm returning to my first ever love; NYC.
With more of a life plan and less of a healthcare plan, I am definitely moving back to New York City in exactly two weeks. I'm not terrified, I'm not excited. It just feels like time. Time to work my life around a career I've only recently discovered I want to truly make work. Pun? Maybe.
So, with a move in place and hardly anything packed, my brain is more ready than my physical person.
But my brain's been in a very funny place lately. Not funny ha-ha. Funny like... whaaaaaaa?. I've started getting nostalgic for sensations. Not for moments or memories or people. Just sensations. I don't exactly know how to explain this, but I'll try to explain it in the dorkiest way possible.
Lately I've been listening to a lot of Barry Manilow. If you know me or you've been around for a while, you'll know that Manilow has been an indelible influence on my life. I'm not a musical person, nor do I have any aspirations to be. I just had a sometimes shitty childhood (who hasn't? not all of it. jeez.) and it was all aligned with a Manilow soundtrack. I guess I kind of hid in his music in a way. Not literally. You idiot.
So I've been listening to all this music lately and it's taking me to an almost uncomfortable and unidentifiable nostalgia. Though I love it, I'm feeling sad.
Maybe this is because I'm about to move away from all of my friends and family? Maybe this is because I'm stressed? Maybe the moon left an imprint in my face? Maybe I just need extensive therapy?
I don't know which of those it is, but it's really taking a wonderful/awful toll on me.
Anyway, I'm hanging out with my mom until after Memorial Day weekend, when the real packing will commence. If you'd like to see how the move is progressing, you're welcome to follow along on my YouTube channel where it's all going down. Actually the past few posts have just been a bit of babble, but I am chronicling this move through my subseries on YouTube, so if you're there so am I.
Oh look, a link that takes you directly to my channel in another window.
Technology is cool.
Just an update for your facepieces.
Something interesting next time, I promise.
Be well or don't.
Byeeee.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
I Found a Frito in My Bed and Ate It
Today I had a revelation; I'm going to die alone.
As I sat in my bed having a one-sided conversation with my dog and watching Gilmore Girls on a Wednesday afternoon, I found a Frito on my bed. Without hesitation, I picked up that amorphous corn chip and put it in my mouth, fearlessly chomping away at its entirety. Granted, a bag of Fritos lay open on my bed at this moment, but the moment itself was eye-opening.
Who immediately eats food found in their bed? A person who's been single for almost four years and has no aspirations to become attached to anything but her remote.
Thus, I'm going to die alone.
It's time to stock up on Fritos.
As I sat in my bed having a one-sided conversation with my dog and watching Gilmore Girls on a Wednesday afternoon, I found a Frito on my bed. Without hesitation, I picked up that amorphous corn chip and put it in my mouth, fearlessly chomping away at its entirety. Granted, a bag of Fritos lay open on my bed at this moment, but the moment itself was eye-opening.
Who immediately eats food found in their bed? A person who's been single for almost four years and has no aspirations to become attached to anything but her remote.
Thus, I'm going to die alone.
It's time to stock up on Fritos.
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