Something Weird: Vol 2

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.

Look at This Big, Stupid World

Chicago is a lovely city to experiment with photography.

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...".

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--

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.

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.

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.