Old Poetry

So I'm going through my high school journal (which, let me tell you, is pretty hilarious) at the moment. I started because my friend Kate said that Megan McCafferty (author of Sloppy Firsts) has been tweeting parts of her own journal. And it was a fantastic decision.

Anyway.

I found this poem that I wrote awhile back. I'm pretty sure it was meant to be spoken poetry (as I wrote it right around the time that I discovered Russell Simmons' Def Poetry Jam), so use your imagination. Or recite it. Whatever.


07/29/02

I lie on my bed
as you run through my head
and I remember you said
those little words of encouragement
never discouragement
never knew what courage meant
until I tried
and I spied
and I lost my pride
somehow inside
a river that drowned me
but still you found me
why must you bound me
with this invisible wire?
I quickly tire
from this melting fire
as you call me a liar
and say we're not attached
that we've always mismatched
and now, with my feelings dispatched
and I can't help but feel
I've lost control of the wheel
and this strife
is just life
and though you try to ignore
attempt to bore
I think to myself,
while putting you back on the shelf,
that maybe I don't know you anymore.

Baby Angela, Part 2

Baby Angela, Part 1

Answers Written by My Heart

To start off, here are some "real life" pictures of me that my boss took with her iPhone.
That would be me, candid and gleeful.

What could be making me laugh this hard? A little something I found on this list of worst album covers. (#17)


I made it into my desktop background yesterday afternoon. And then I started cracking up again when I was shutting down my computer. And again when I booted up this morning. And again when I shut down today. And again now, as I was uploading these pictures. THAT is how funny I think it is. I don't remember the last time I laughed that hard. I couldn't breathe. It felt incredible.


I don't know what it is that hits my funny bone so hard. I think it's just that he looks so darn happy! He's a happy flasher! And he's asking people to buy his album and expose themselves to him! AND to Cajun music! And the bright colors just really bring it to life... He's not an attractive man. And he's wearing a cowboy hat! BAREFOOT! (Oh, man, I'm cracking up again.)

Moving on...

Today, I stair-climbed a total of 48 flights up and 38 flights down in my skyscraper workplace. And that's on CONCRETE, baby. And skyscraper floors are taller than apartment building floors, I've learned... I did an additional 10 apartment floors up and 10 down as well. I'm awesome.

One more thing I did today? Went to Looptopia by my lonesome (sadly, Jenn had to back out due to weather concerns). And I got this:
Awesome, isn't it? I had people stopping me on the street complimenting it. When I told them that a woman hand-painted it on my arm on the first floor of Macy's, they were ALL surprised. In person, it apparently looks like a real tattoo (I guess they didn't notice the glitter). She painted it in about 3 minutes. It was unreal. And it's completely sweet. Love it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'd like to thank everyone who left me questions on the last post. I was sorta worried I wouldn't get any... But I did! A bunch! And some really great ones, too!

I will now attempt to answer them all to the best of my ability.


When you see yourself in the future (as a ‘grown-up’) are you happy in your visions? Why? What is it that makes you happy, or not, in those imaginings? (Kateless)

To be honest, I don't envision myself in the future very often. At all, really. Maybe it's because of those recurring dreams I had as a child that I would die at 27 (as I explained in Fateful Birthdays). Maybe some part of me doesn't believe I have much longer, so there's no point in imagining a future that won't exist. (Morbid, I know.)

But if I were to imagine myself in the future? I imagine things going one of two ways.

1. I get what I want, and I'm happy.

2. I don't get what I want. I convince myself that I'm happy.

I don't picture myself being unhappy. Casually disappointed, perhaps, but not unhappy. After all, everything happens for a reason. And I have this feeling that if I don't end up where I want to be at present, it's because life will bring me down some other path. I think I'd be happy with that.


What is your dream role – that you could do only once on stage? And secondly, what role would you love doing on a recurring basis (as in a long-running show – or even a show that travels)? (Nilsa S.)

I actually have lists in my "Book of Lists" on this subject. Roles I'd love to play. One list in musicals, one in plays.

If I were only going to play a role once? I think I'd go with Vivian M. Bearing in W;t. I'm not old enough to play her yet, but I'd love to one day. She's an English Professor and John Donne scholar who is dying of ovarian cancer. It's really a phenomenal play, and she is both the main character and the narrator. I can think of no role that I'd like to play more. But I don't think I'd want to do it for a long run. Too exhausting.

As for a role to play over and over again... I think I'd rather like to be Helena in A Midsummer Night's Dream. It's such a delightful play that I think it'd be lovely to do a long run of it. And Helena is an extremely passionate character. I think my psycho-physical rhythm fits her rather nicely. She is, after all, a bit of a spaz.

If the questions were applied to musical theatre... For one performance, I'd love to be Fantine in Les Miserables. I think I could do a particularly stirring rendition of "I Dreamed a Dream" if given a chance. And I do love to rule over the low notes down in the "but the tigers come at night" bridge (yay for Alto IIs!).

For the long run, I'd go with Domina from A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. I'm not old enough for the role yet, but I think I'm destined to play her one day, and I'm going to rock it. She's egotistical, horny, aggressive, and completely bi-polar. Inhabiting her on a nightly basis would be a hoot.


Can you recall your favorite day, and why was it so special? (Alexa)

This question was tricky to answer. It's hard to think of a favorite day. Mentally, I just go backwards to recent great days.

And then there are days that I know are beautiful in my memory now, but might not always seem that way as circumstances change. Times I spent with Ex #1 seemed greater when I was dating him than they seem upon reflection now.

I had a particularly lovely night last August sitting in my car in a Steak & Shake parking lot until past 5am. It was the night I really started to know Brian. I can say at this moment, that night and the night after it were two of the best nights of my whole life. But if someday Brian and I part ways, I'm sure those nights will slowly fade from memory.

Actually, I can think of one more favorite memory. I was a junior in college. I was supposed to go to a concert with some of my friends (Blessid Union of Souls was playing on my campus), but I had a European geography test the next day in my Humanistic Studies class that I KNEW I was going to bomb. I decided not to go. And my friend Greg skipped the concert and showed up at my dorm with maps in hand to help me study. He spent hours drawing maps of Europe with crayons while laying on the floor of my dorm room. He taught me mnemonic devices about the "Fresh Prince of Bel-Aire" coming on after "Frasier" (to explain where Belarus was in relation to the Ukraine... Get it?) Knowing that I had a friend who cared that much about me... That was pretty special. It wasn't a full day, but that event was so special that it was one of the best days I've ever had.


Do you like creamy or crunchy peanut butter? (Alexa)

Usually creamy. And in sandwiches, definitely creamy. But every so often, I get a massive craving for crunchy.


What are you looking forward to the most about your move? (Jenn)

Having a sense of purpose again. I don't have that here. I feel like I'm just floating along in the world until something else comes along. And now, at least I know that something else IS coming along. Once I'm in grad school, I know I'm going to be worked to the bone and completely burnt out most of the time. But I'm looking forward to that. It'll be better than what I'm doing now. I feel like I'm just wasting time right now.


Will you send me a postcard? (Jenn)

Um, YES! Of course!


Are we ever going to meet before you move away? (Carrie Lea)

I really hope so! I think that I'll be having some sort of Going Away Party before I leave. If nothing else, you're invited to that!


What is your biggest regret? (Carrie Lea)

It's rare that I tell this story, but I'll do it for you.

My father went to the University of Michigan for undergrad. When the time came for me to apply for college, he desperately wanted me to apply there. My high school guidance office had this official rubric for the UofM application, so that you could see how likely it was that you'd get in (so that you didn't have to waste your time if you weren't up to snuff, I guess). I filled in my information, and it was clear that I was going to get in (I had a pretty good GPA, tons of extra-curriculars, and high standardized test scores... plus, I was a legacy).

But I didn't want to go. I knew that UofM had rolling admissions... So I kept putting off the application. I think I finally mailed it in at the end of February. And my plan worked. I didn't get in.

I think my dad was heart-broken. He's never said so, and I know he would vehemently deny it if asked, saying how proud he is of me. He's the smartest person I know (no, seriously, I'm not just saying that because he's my dad -- the man is a genius). I think he hoped that he'd passed that down to his kids. And he DID pass it down to me. I'm the kid who got a 98 on her lab practical final in college biology, despite being a theatre major. I'm the kid who is most likely to be able to guess the composer when he plays classical music on the piano. I'm the kid who remembers all the trivia my dad spouts out when we travel (in Chicago, he pointed out that the Allerton Hotel used to be the tallest building in the city, and that "Wolfram Rd" is named after the German word for the element Tungsten). But I think that getting into his Alma Mater would've proved something to him that I don't have the opportunity to prove anymore.

In retrospect, I don't think he would've forced me to go there. But I was in high school, and I felt a lot of pressure from my parents at the time. I think my dad just wanted to know that one of his kids COULD go there. That we had the option. And between my brothers and I, he knew that I was the one who could get in (my brothers are both incredibly smart guys, but they didn't look as good on paper as I did).

Maybe on some level I was afraid I wouldn't get in. That I might disappoint my dad. And by putting off applying until February, I would have an excuse. So that now I can say, "THAT was the reason I didn't get in. Not because I wasn't good enough. Just because I mailed it in too late." Maybe it was just a way of protecting myself... And my dad.

There. That's the biggest regret I can think of. I regret not mailing that application in September. I regret ignoring a way that I could've made my dad proud because I couldn't see beyond my own wants. And I regret being too afraid to try.


If you were to die in a week, what would your legacy be, and is that a satisfactory legacy? (dkdisch)

Huh. That's tough. If I die in a week, I think all I leave behind are memories. People who would say that I was quirky, funny, hyper, and marched to my own drummer. People would say that I was talented, had a lot of potential, and would've gone on to do great things (because that's what you always say when a young person dies, regardless of validity... no one is going to try to prove you wrong).

I'm proud of the work I've done as an actor, but by its nature it is fleeting, impermanent glory. Not much to call a legacy. Frankly, this blog is more permanent than anything I've ever done in theatre. And seeing as how my last blog was completely erased in one fell swoop (R.I.P. Diary-X), I'm painfully aware of the fact that this is going to disappear sooner or later as well.

I think that my legacy is more in how I have had an impact on others. I've been a friend. I've listened. I've advised. I've cheered. I've played the court jester for the sake of others' psyches more times than I've been comfortable with. Admittedly, all these things seem minor, but I believe they've made a difference in the moment.

As to whether it's a satisfactory legacy... I don't really care. Once I'm dead, I don't need to have some lasting impact on society. I don't need to be remembered 100 years from now. So I guess, yes. It's satisfactory to me, if only because I don't crave being immortalized.


Do you prefer to take pictures or be in them? (Stranger Danger)

Oooh. I like them both for incredibly different reasons... I think this one depends on the day. If I feel particularly good about the way I look on a given day, then I'd rather be in them. If I look like I do on a normal day, I'd probably prefer to be behind the camera as opposed to in front of it. Taking pictures of other people. It always makes me happy.


What song would be playing in your version of Hell? (Tipp)

My first instinct was to say "Beautiful Day" by U2, which always makes me feel sorta seasick for some unknown reason. Next, I thought of "Justify My Love" by Madonna. Then I thought about Ex #2 making me listen to a combination of Elvis Costello and The Decemberists on a regular basis, and that was pretty distasteful as well. But I'm sure there are worse things. Like Marilyn Manson. Or Twista. Or Paris Hilton. Or "Something Bad" from Wicked. Maybe just a mix of all of the above.


Do these jeans make me look fat? (Pixelation)

I see nothing bad at this angle. From a distance, no problems whatsoever. ;)


Do you in any way feel that your desire to act and be creative is a means of disconnecting yourself from reality? (R.E.H.)

No, I don't think so. If anything, I think it brings me closer to reality.

I know there's a quotation that I should draw on now, but it escapes me... My paraphrase is, "We are never closer to being ourselves than when we are wearing masks."

I've learned a lot about myself from the characters that I've played. When you connect with a character, you learn all the ways you are similar to the character and all the ways you differ.

If ever I use theatre as a form of escapism, it's when I'm an audience member, not when I'm acting.

Tangentially related: I do think that working in the theatre in any capacity gives you a heightened sense of drama in life.


What is your biggest failure? (Heidi Renée)

The immediate things that leap to mind are more "what are your greatest injustices" and "what are you most bitter about" than "biggest failure".

One is a playwriting competition where I made it to the final six, but didn't place (and my play was DEFINITELY better than two of the three that did... comparable to the third).

Another was a role that I deserved to get (I was the PERFECT for it, and everyone knew it. And I totally rocked my audition), but didn't because of the casting pool (I was also the best for a smaller role... and there was no one else who could fill it).

But I don't think that I failed. I blame other people for those things.

Man, I could fill a book just with memories that I'm bitter about.

I guess I'd have to say doing badly in a playwriting class I took my freshman year of college is the closest I can think of, and even that I have to qualify...

I had to get special permission to enter the course as a freshman because it was like a 300-level and I hadn't taken any previous college English courses (I tested out with my AP English score). But they let me in due to the strong background in playwriting I had, having done competitive playwriting in high school (and doing quite well in it). It was a 6-person class, and I believe I was the only one with any experience whatsoever. And I think I ended up with the worst grade.

The reason I say I have to qualify this failure is because it wasn't really my fault that I did poorly; it was a matter of circumstance. It became obvious to me about halfway through the course that my professor and I had extremely different styles. She hated what I was turning in. And the one time she shared her own writing with the class, I didn't get it (NOTE: I won't write what it was because I don't want her to find this... but if you're ever around me in real life ASK ME!!! There's a ridiculous story involved). I don't think she appreciated what I was going for, and I didn't understand what she wanted from me.

Here's an example...

At one point, we were given an assignment to write what she called a "Sister Monologue" -- a monologue opening up to your sister. Except I don't have a sister. So she said to write it to our best friend... but all my closest friends were guys (when I told her that, I think she thought I was just being difficult... I did, after all, attend a women's college). So she told me to make something up.

I worked extraordinarily hard on this assignment, trying to prove myself. I ended up writing three different monologues.

The first was a girl talking to her brother, whom she had been dressing like a girl and treating like a girl for most of his life because she wanted a sister. She had found out that he didn't want to dress like a girl and be her "sister" anymore, and she was bitter but attempting to forgive him. It was dark, creepy, and hilarious. I was incredibly proud of it. It was a fascinating piece, if I do say so myself.

The second was a girl confronting her former best friend, who had verbally abused her and ditched her in favor of a better clique. The girl started off a bit angry and bitter, but ended up thanking the best friend for leaving her. She decided it had made her stronger and given her more character. She realized she was better off not having a friend who would so easily trade her in. It was a bit more raw and emotional than my usual works, and I was pretty pleased with the end result.

The third monologue was to a "sister". It wasn't good. I wrote it only so that I was, in the strictest terms, fulfilling the assignment. I don't even remember the angle of it anymore. It lacked something that the other two had.

So the assignment was due, and I handed all three in. My professor refused to read them all, as she was too busy (there were 6 students in that class, and I'm pretty sure it was the only one she was teaching that semester... but whatever). She said to pick one. We would also be reading one aloud in class for a different part of the assignment. If I remember correctly, I turned in monologue #2 and I read #1 aloud. My classmates LOVED #1. They were all laughing.

When I got my grades back from the assignment, I think I got Cs on both parts. And I remember that on the hard copy of #2, my professor wrote something about having "missed the point of the assignment" and "not understanding the sister bond". NO KIDDING!!!

Anyway. So, I qualify that it was really on the list of "greatest injustices" and "things I'm bitter about", but at the time I really did feel as though I'd failed by doing badly in the class that everyone expected I'd do well in.

(As a side note, that professor and I get along really well now. She's a lovely person. And as an actor, I think she's one of my biggest fans. She and I just weren't a good professor/student match.)


What is your biggest victory? (Heidi Renée)

Getting into grad school.

I'm the first theatre major from my college (as far as anyone can remember) who is going for an MFA in Acting. There are plenty of actors who sprang out of my high school and are doing quite well (including my friend Stephen who is Equity, and my friend Jeffrey who recently appeared as "Todd Jansen, Nellie Yuki's ex-boyfriend" on an episode of Gossip Girl), but none of them have gone to grad school. I feel as though I'm blazing my own trail. And I'm incredibly proud of that. I made a choice based on what I wanted, not what people around me have done. And I worked really hard to get it.


If you could have any superpower what would it be? (Meg Kathleen)

When I was a kid, I had a dream in which I could change my size at will. I could shrink down to being 2 inches tall to eavesdrop. I could grow to 15 feet tall to intimidate. I could be 5'9" for the times I wanted to be a runway model. For years, I wanted that power.

Then for awhile I wanted to have a "save game" function for my life. You know, so that whenever I screwed up I could just "revert to saved" and live that part over again. But then I realized I'd spend too much time trying to get everything perfect. So many good things have happened to me in life as a result of not getting things right. Everything happens for a reason, and to fight that would ruin everything.

Now that I'm older... I'd choose muscle mimicry (like Monica from Heroes). Basically it means that if you see someone do something, then you automatically know how to do it. It's a great power because you're not outwardly a freak. And what a cool gift! Suddenly, I'd be a sensational ballroom dancer, a concert pianist, a karate expert... Dude, I'd finally be able to moonwalk without looking stupid. Who wouldn't want that power?



So, there you are. I hope you've gained even more insight into me than you normally would from reading one of these Olympic-sized posts of mine. And I hope you've enjoyed it.


May you find answers within yourself.

~A~


P.S.
Hahahahahahaha! I hope that never gets old!

More Issues Than Newsweek

WARNING: This post is Nyquil-ed out, and probably completely irrational. Why? Because I'm completely illogical and paranoid. And hopped up on medicine isn't helping.

You might be thinking to yourself right now, "why is she writing another post? She just did one on Saturday. And you'd be right. This doesn't fit my normal schedule. But I can't sleep. And I can't turn off my brain. And my last post was short (well, for me... it was only about 2 pages in Word). And this is my blog, and I'll post whenever I darn well feel like it.

When I got home from my coaching session on Friday night, I was ecstatic. I called my parents first, but only because they're in another time zone. And then I called Brian. Because I needed to call him. I needed him to be as elated as I was.

God, I'm needy.

Brian's right. I have trust issues. And I have commitment issues. And I have abandonment issues.

Sometimes I feel like a lost little girl.

I'm just so terrified of being forgotten. Or unwanted. Or alone.

I think I latch on to people too often. I use them like security blankets. I wrap myself up in them as much as I can in order to protect myself from anything else. And when the blanket begins to fall to the floor in the middle of the night, I wake up shivering and try to grasp it before it falls out of reach.

Brian's right. I'm terrified that he's going to stop caring about me. It scares me more than anything else. It doesn't help that he's so far away. And that I can't read the thoughts on his face during our silences on the phone. And that sometimes he's too busy to talk to me at all.

When did I start needing him so badly?

He somehow inherited a role in my life that has been passed on from person to person for years. The person whom I need. Is it a best friend? That's what I always called it. Either that, or an emotional affair... Maybe it's something else. Maybe you're not supposed to need someone as much as I need people. But that's why the "desperately needed" role exists in my life: because I can't properly exist without it. It was Katy, and Amy, and Isyemille, and Megan, and Phil, and Annie, and Marisa, and Mary, and Greg, and Mike, and Liesl, and Anna, and Jake, and Dave... And now it's Brian. It's the person that I need the most in the world. And it's the person I'm most afraid of losing. It's the person that I'm worried is going to stop liking me back.

I ask myself how I got so jaded. In many respects, my life has been simple. I have a loving family and really haven't had a lot of struggles. But somewhere along the line, I became screwed up when it came to inter-personal relationships. And now it's easier for me to communicate with people through the internet than in real life. Gosh, that's pathetic.

I think I can trace a lot of it back pretty far, actually. One of my childhood best friends didn't invite me to her birthday party one year. I convinced myself that she hadn't had one. Another good friend decided she wanted to hang out with the popular kids (a group that I was decidedly not a part of), and made fun of me in front of them using information I had trusted her with. She traded me for them, and threw me to the wolves in the process. With a couple of other friends, I always felt like the third wheel. Or I was a back-up best friend. And I felt as though I needed to fight somehow to keep their friendship. I needed to prove that I was worth staying friends with.

I feel like an inconvenience a lot. I feel like I'm burdening people. Or throwing a wrench into their lives somehow. I sometimes wonder if I deserve friends. Or if I have any at all. Maybe people are just pretending to like me out of pity. That's depressing as hell.

Some days, most days, I just retreat into my apartment. And I wonder if anyone will call me. And I try to convince myself that it'll be alright if they don't. I'm great at convincing myself of things like that.

I have a couple of friends who have the sorts of cell phones that are always ringing. To the extent that you can't hold a conversation with them without getting interrupted. Clearly, my cell phone is broken. It doesn't ring nearly as often as theirs. And when it does ring, it's usually my mother.

I never wanted to be the girl who sits next to her phone, waiting for the boy to call. But that's exactly what I've been doing. Brian said he'd call me Sunday night. I sent him a text message during the day to remind him to call me. He usually goes to bed around 10:00. I actually sent him a text message around 10:15, accusing him of having forgotten me. He ended up calling about half an hour later. You understand why he accused me of having trust issues.

He said he's going to stop calling me for a while. He wants me to understand that just because he's not calling, doesn't mean he hates me. Doesn't mean he's mad at me, or that he's forgotten about me, or that he doesn't care. I promised to try my best not to be paranoid and freak out about the whole thing, as is clearly my nature.

I think this is Brian's way of teaching me something. But I can already tell you that it isn't going to work the way he hopes it will. Because right now, what's going through my mind is that I want him in my life more than he wants me in his. Irrational, I know, but that's how I operate. I play defense. I worry. I think up the worst case scenarios.

I wish someone were here right now, physically here, to tell me that everything will be alright. I wish there were someone to cuddle with. Or someone to stroke my hair. Someone to softly sing an Anna Nalick song as I drifted off to sleep. Just so that I didn't feel so helpless and alone. Because, as I type this, it's 2:00am, and if I were the sort of person who cried regularly, I'd be near tears. My soul is rolled up into a ball in the corner. Tonight, the air carries the pain of February with it. Please, God, may I not get S.A.D. early this year. I can't take it. Please let it not come until after grad school auditions are over.

I want to trust people more. I want to have close friends without feeling as though I have to fight for them. I want to be emotionally available. I want to learn to be as vulnerable in life as I am in my writing. And I want to trust others enough that it feels okay to do that.

I want to be able to be in a relationship without feeling suffocated. I want to be able to find another person who cares about me an equal amount, not more, not less. I want to know what it is to complement another person. Not to need them. Not to have them need you. But to know that, although you'd be able to survive without each other, both of your lives are improved because of each other's presence.

I want to stop fearing that people are going to leave me. I want to know that I'm worth loving. I want to know that I can be the sort of person whose phone rings several times an hour, so that I'm not perpetually checking my email in order to pass the time.

I want something that I can't define. Something that words won't explain. Something that I can't wrap my head around. All I know is that I don't have it now, and I haven't a clue as to what it is or how to get it.

Sleep is kicking in... I'm not even going to bother proof-reading this. It's probably a disaster in terms of sense and spelling, but I'm too tired for me re-reading it to do much good.

May you be able to sort through your issues.

~A~

P.S. In case you're unaware, it is possible to "pause" the music on this page. It is also possible to switch to whatever song suits your fancy by clicking on the track.

In Defense of Silence

Whenever I played team sports in gym class, I always preferred being on defense. In soccer, I'd hang around down near my own team's goal, feeling as though I was going to be more helpful down there. I was never an aggressive player. I often ended up in the right place at the right time to help my team. And even when I was just standing on the field, just chatting with the goalie while everything interesting happened on the other end of the field, I felt like I was being helpful. As though by not acting, I was setting up a better strategy for moments to come.

And I guess that's how I play life as well. I have so many coping mechanisms and defense mechanisms that it's a wonder that I'm not mechanical. But I'm great at protecting myself. Self-preservation is my specialty.

I learned long ago that I'm great at talking myself into and out of things (a good example of this being my concept of "As Good As Gay"). I'm able to convince myself that the things I predict will happen are all for the best. I'm good at seeing something that's going to fall through long before it does, and I know what steps to take to make myself the least disappointed. I shape a cast around my heart long before it has even broken.

I also have great skill with abstract thought. I make connections that other people don't, which is either advantageous or alienating, depending on the circumstances. And I'm constantly thinking. Even if you don't see them turning behind my eyes, my wheels are always in motion. And whereas most people have linear thought processes, I tend to think in webs. Every new idea leads me to a whole set of unrelated tangents. (Like this one about how I think, for example.)

I only mention how I think because it relates to my methods of self-defense. I'm overly analytical. I think far more than I should. And before any important action, I think through a thousand consequences. I think until my hands shake and the world is blurry. I think about the things that could happen and the things that never will. I think about the positives, the negatives, and everything in between. That way, no matter what happens, I'm a little more prepared than I would've been (I've already mentioned how much I hate surprises).

Now, this bubble-wrapped life of mine does come with it's drawbacks. I'm not much of a risk-taker. I don't stir the pot if I don't have to. And there are a lot of things that I don't do because I think it's going to benefit me or someone else in the long run, no matter how appealing it may seem in the moment. (Really, the only time I have a tendency to be impulsive is when I'm shopping, and I've been using a system of checks and balances on that one with Megan for the last decade... Dear God. I just realized that it's been a decade since I started high school. Well, 9.5 years technically, but close enough. Egad!)

Sometimes I think about things for so long that it becomes too late to do anything about them. But I'm generally able to convince myself that it was meant to be that way (I am, after all, good at talking myself out of things).

Generally, I'm a pretty honest person. Mostly because I'm a terrible liar. But also because I don't like lies. Honesty is much more appealing.

But I am not of the opinion that "not telling the whole truth" classifies as lying. Lying is fabrication, not omission. Withholding information is completely different from lying. And I find that it's often completely necessary.

It's not that I'm trying to lie. It's not that I'm trying to be manipulative. It's just... I feel this need to strategize.

Most of the time I do things like this, it's with the intention of protecting someone. Sometimes that someone is myself. Usually, it's whomever the thing I'm hiding pertains to. Sometimes, it's whomever I'm keeping the secret from. And sometimes, those last two qualifications have to do with the same person.

Brian finally read the entry I wrote about him.

Maybe I shouldn't have written what I did. But I felt like I had to. And he reads this infrequently and without pattern... I guess some part of me thought there was a chance that he'd never see it. I guess I left things up to God/The Fates/destiny/the universe. And I convinced myself that it was for the best.

There was a lot that I didn't put in that entry that I would have if there were no chance that he'd read this. A lot of things that can't be said.

As a side note, I recently realized that I talk about Brian almost as much as I talk to Brian. Is that unhealthy? Or stalker-esque or something? Or perhaps I'm finally riding the final hill into the valley of mental illness that I've feared for so long with my thinking-man's-hypochondria.

Anyway. Every time I told someone that Brian was in Nebraska and in love with me, I could expect to hear the same answer: "Oh, this isn't going to end well."

We had a long conversation a couple of nights ago. Brian's apparently over me. Yes, over me. Meaning not in love with me. I don't know whether it had anything to do with reading what I wrote. All I know is that I was just as confused and messed up by him saying that he's not in love with me as I felt when he said that he was. Only this time, I wasn't smiling and blushing during my silence on the phone. I sat with furrowed brow and no words that would create a proper response.

I've been silent through large chunks of many phone conversations with Brian, which is something that I don't do much with anyone else. Sometimes it's because he's analyzing me and trying to bring slices of my soul to the surface. Sometimes it's because I'm not sure how to react to the inane things he's said. Maybe I'm just comfortable sitting in silence with him.

After we ended the phone conversation (because he goes to bed about 3 hours before I do), I ended up composing a long e-mail, saying all the things that I've never said. The things it feels like I can't say or shouldn't say... so I don't. Things that I've wanted to say that I thought weren't okay to say.

Maybe it was because I'm sick (I have a tendency to be blunt when I'm sick). Maybe it was because I was sleep deprived (I hadn't slept the previous two nights, thanks to the sickness and my insomnia). Maybe it was the medications I was on. But it just seemed like things he needed to know. Things that he should know now that he says he's over me.

I finished the e-mail. I reread it, and deleted a few paragraphs (using the self-censoring techniques that come along with my defense mechanisms like a 2-for-1 deal at Target). I wrote an introduction about how I probably shouldn't send it. And I wrote a conclusion blaming it on my illness/medications/insomnia. I went to hit send, but then stopped myself. I walked away from my computer. I said a prayer. I called Megan (at what I'm sure was an ungodly hour in Michigan... and on a school night for her, no less). And Megan did exactly what a non-sexual soul-mate should: she talked me through it without pushing me in one direction or another. And we decided that I should sleep on it before sending it. So I saved it as a draft and left it in my e-mail account.

Fact about me: I'm a great secret keeper, but everyone always knows that I have secrets. Somehow, I'm bad at the poker face part of the secret-keeping process. Still, I'll keep a secret as long as you need me to do so. I have a secret that someone told me in 8th grade that I've never told (again, that was a DECADE ago). And a handful of them from high school (including one that has to do with a wide circle of my friends... and I've never told). Some of them I've kept for so long that they don't even matter any more. Others I kept for so long that I forgot them. Once I swear my secrecy, I'm a lock-box, baby.

But that fact also applies to my own secrets. Hence how I ended up telling Brian that the e-mail that I didn't send exists. He thinks the fact that I mentioned it means that on some level, I want him to talk me into sending it to him... something like that. And he's a little bit right. I do want to send it to him. But I won't. Not now, anyway. Because I know that right now, some things have to stay secret. And I'm very good at that.

Besides, it's for the best. In the long run. For the both of us.

Or, at least, I've convinced myself of that.


May you always know how to stay silent when you know you should, no matter how much you want to scream.

~A~



P.S. Yes, the shadow picture is a self-portrait. (Someone once asked if I was naked when I took it. Can you believe that?)

P.P.S. For those of you non-Reader users (dude, seriously look into them... they're fantastic. I use Google Reader), you might want to get in the habit of checking back here every Monday and Friday, so as not to be disappointed (I'm trying to post a Wednesday-or-Thursday and a Saturday-or-Sunday... and I often post at night, as that's when I'm free to write... so that's a good way to save yourself heartbreak...). Or, if you're like Amy and you just like having something to check, by all means keep checking back. It makes my hit-counts look higher, which makes me giddy.

P.P.P.S. If you do use a reader, please click to this page on occasion. I'll admit that it's mostly because I like having my hits go up. But it's also for all these good reasons that my blog-buddy R.E.H. pointed out. (Please read his post... And please comment on this one. Feed the bloggers! We all love responses.)

P.P.P.P.S. I've been listening to "Three Wishes" by The Pierces all day. I just added it to my Project Playlist, so now you can listen to it all day, too. (You might recognize it from Gossip Girl when they had that debutante ball... You know, if you're a loser like me and you're completely addicted to Gossip Girl... And you bought the episode Victor/Victrola on iTunes... And think that the British actor Ed Westwick -- a.k.a. Chuck Bass -- is fiercely sexy. Just me? Okay then.)


ETA: I just noticed that saying the title aloud sounds like "In Defensive Silence." Or maybe "Indefensive Silence" (not that it's a real word, but you can infer a meaning). And it's not too far from "End Offensive Silence." And that made me laugh.

Michigan Loves Me

This blog is starting to feel like my last blog used to... less about my ideas, and more about my experiences. I haven't decided if that's a good or bad thing yet, so I'm just going to let words flow through my fingers and hope that people keep reading until I settle on a style. Or don't.

I should also warn you... I have a feeling that this is going to turn into an extremely long post. (Oh, wait... that sounds like every other post). There are a lot of things that I think I should mention, and now seems as good a time as any to do so.

Why is this going to be long? Because before the end of it I have to tell you the story of how someone fell in love with me.

(That ought to keep you reading, right?)

First order of business: my NaNoWriMo Novel. As promised, I will be posting a chapter every week in a new blog.

IMPORTANT: This blog will be PRIVATE, and you can only see it if invited. So if you'd like me to invite you, kindly post your e-mail address in the comments section. You won't be able to view it in a reader, since it's private. Because of that, I'm going to do my best to update it on a regular, weekly basis (every Sunday, is my goal. Just like PostSecret), so you won't have to erratically check and speculate.

Second order of business: I promised I'd recap my New Year's trip to Michigan for you, so I shall.

On December 30th, I drove from Connecticut to New York La Guardia (where they paged Chelsea Clinton on the loud speaker), got on a turbulent plane to Cincinnati, nearly missed my connecting flight (due to some inept staff telling me my flight would be delayed... and then it wasn't), and ended up in Michigan around 10:30pm. In other words, the perfect time to head to Meijer.

My friend Megan, who picked me up from the airport, is in many ways my non-sexual soul mate (Random Note: it really bugs me that, according to Microsoft Word, soul mate is two words and not a compound word. Anyone else bothered by that? No? Just me?). We go for long periods of time without seeing each other, but we're consistently able to pick up where we left off without a hitch.

Megan calls me Aiea, which is a nickname that roughly half the people in my life use for me. If I at any time refer to Aiea, now you know that it's self-referential. Thought I should mention that.

We met the first day of our freshman year of high school, when we sat next to each other in a useless science class with an unbearable teacher (although I just described every science class I had from 8th-12th grade). She was new to the district, and I was awkward and friendless. We bonded instantly. We walked together at graduation, at which we flipped each others tassels and I promptly exclaimed, "My little Megan is growing up!" (I think she said something along the lines of "Mah-nah Mah-nah!" or "It comes from Boston Market and it tastes like chicken!" as a response... I miss the days when I was a part of private jokes). I thought that made nice bookends to my high school experience.

Before even heading back to her house, we took an obligatory trip to Meijer. If you're not familiar, Meijer is a store with toys, furniture, groceries, clothing, shoes, cleaning products, hardware, electronics, pets (yes, pets... hamsters, gerbils, fish, and such), greeting cards, bouquets, photo-processing, a pharmacy, helium balloons, and a sundry of other departments and items that I can't even come up with in order to list.

Megan and I have a tradition (which also applies to Target, Kroger, Rite-Aid, and the like as well) of filling a cart with tons of things that we intend to buy, and then settling on the floor in a random unfrequented aisle (usually near the pantyhose) and trying to talk each other out of each and every potential purchase. Why? Because we're both extremely impulsive and if we didn't, we'd probably each go broke every time we went.

My friend Brian met up with us (clearly not knowing what he was in for) when we were giggling in the make-up section (our favorite) and briefly reverting to our teenage selves. We had a blast. I got piggy-back rides from Brian. We made each other try on ridiculous things. We got in trouble for taking pictures in the store. We danced through the aisles (okay fine, that was mostly me). We said strange things loudly in order to get reactions from other shoppers. And after going through the mechanics of scouting the entire store, we settled down on a couch in the furniture section and talked each other down to just a few small purchases each (Brian jumped into the game and successfully convinced Megan not to buy a fake engagement ring that she planned to wear to the bar on New Year's Eve to try to discourage creepy drunks from hitting on her). I think I walked out with moisturizer, hair-ties, and blue nail polish.

The next stage involves reverting to childhood (one of the little adventures I so adore) and getting upon the penny-rides at the front of the store (a dark purple dinosaur that we lovingly call "VibraDino", and a brown horse, which has replaced the pink pony that formerly occupied the position). We once went in with a sock full of pennies and "raced" for an embarrassingly long period of time with other friends in tow. Brian was hesitant at first, but we convinced him to join in on the fun in the end. We were laughing and taking pictures (no one yelled at us that time... they were probably frightened by us. Or amused. It was, after all, around 1:00am at that point). We rode until we had all run out of pennies.

After spending more money on the "Mystery Mix" in the stickers vending machine than we should have (and me ending up with a lovely "I Heart Geeks" sticker that Brian tried to acquire through trade), we left.


Megan and I somehow managed to stay up until well past 5:00am. How? I don't know. We were being losers. At one point, we were playing online Scrabble (well, Scrabulous on Facebook, technically) against each other on separate (I spelled it right on my first try!) laptops in the same room. Later, we took an online quiz to determine if we were geeks, dorks, or nerds. Then we decided it would be funny to sign up for the ultimate in online pathetic-ness: SecondLife accounts (God only knows why... that's the sort of thing that's funny when you're sleep-deprived). My character is named Eulalie Jiminy (pronounced yoo-LAY-lee, and yes, it's a legit name, albeit an underused one ), which I think is a hard-to-beat combination (you're limited in your last name choices, by the by).

The next morning I awoke to a great pain in the bottom of my foot, which turned out to be because I had somehow unknowingly gotten a piece of glass lodged inside of it. How did I know? Because I've done it before (last March... it was horrible). Must've happened three days before, when I broke a glass in Connecticut while standing barefoot in my parents kitchen. And no, I don't know how I didn't feel it for three days (and one of those days I was walking all around NYC). Remedying this involving soaking my foot in a bathtub while Megan gave herself a pedicure, and me using a needle in a sort of self-imposed mini-surgery. Never saw the glass, but my foot no longer hurts, so I assume that I removed it.

My friend Ian came over and helped us get ready. Or, really, just hit on us while we were getting ready (which I actually enjoyed. I needed the ego-boost that night). At one point, as I was checking the stats for my blog while all dolled up for NYE, Ian referred to me as, "the hottest thing [he'd] ever seen." (Maybe I should've mentioned that Ian runs a technology firm of some sort... And that you should always play to your audience...) Gosh, I love Ian. We've only been close since about June, but he's one the most fascinating people I've ever known.

We had already warned Brian well in advance that we'd be late (as Megan and I have a habit of making large quantities of time disappear, which once caused my mother to call the police in panic). We arrived at his house at 10:15 (he had told us to come at 9:00... whoops), carrying my box of Apples-to-Apples, and saw two of his friends that we hadn't seen since high school.

Perhaps I should mention that none of us were really friends in high school. I mean, Megan and I were two peas in a sticky pod. And Brian and his friends were an established group, I think. But I only had one semester of Chemistry with Brian in high school (another of those science classes with an instructor I didn't care for... Megan was in that class as well, actually), and we only reconnected over the summer thanks to the magic of Facebook. He's one of my best friends now, thanks to seeing him a couple of times in summer and keeping in constant communication. It's a very similar story with Ian, whom I hadn't seen since high school until seeing him in a bar with Megan in June, and he's on my speed dial now as well. But in high school, my mother claims that Ian once tried to sell me drugs (by the way, as näive as I am now, you should have seen me in high school... I didn't watch R-rated movies, so I wasn't a great target for a drug deal). As for Brian's buddies, we all knew them, but we weren't friends. It was a strange mix of people. (And one of Brian's friends is married and brought his wife).

But Apples-to-Apples is a great unifier, and the evening went swimmingly (Demanding? Rosa Parks! <-- my favorite play of the night). Megan, Ian, and I had intended to go to a bar for the actual ball-drop, but the blizzard in conjunction with not hearing back from a friend we were supposed to meet made staying at Brian's place the preferable option.

With the exception of the married couple, there was no kissing at midnight, for which I was rather grateful. Ian, on the other hand, ducked out shortly after midnight to find a desperate (spelled it right!) girl at a bar to make out with him... and hopefully "start the new year with a bang" (his words, not mine... and yes, I think he meant it like that). Megan left shortly after Ian, but I hung around, watching YouTube videos and a Fresh Prince of Bel-Air marathon with Brian and his friend Aaron. All in all, a good New Year celebration.

Sadly, we all forgot to take pictures. This is especially disappointing to Megan and I, as we looked great. I'd even straightened my hair for the occasion (actually, Megan straightened my hair. And Ian helped). And it means that there is STILL no picture of Ian and I in existence, which is tragic.

By the time Brian drove me back to Megan's place, it was around 6:15am and a foot of snow had fallen. Ah, Michigan. How I love you. Connecticut was virtually snow-less while I was there, and in Chicago we see more of the treacherous ice than the pretty snow. But Michigan is a picture-perfect, hard-to-drive-in, Hallmark-copyrighted Winter Wonderland. Just gorgeous.

I woke up a few hours later, with my throat on fire. Throat pain so bad that I could feel it in my ears. I watched that Rose Bowl parade with Megan's parents (she wasn't up yet, and I had nothing better to do), before heading out to meet my dear friend Phil for coffee.

Megan is my soul mate, but Phil always seemed more like my best friend. He and I had epic phone conversations every night in high school (causing astronomical phone bills that our parents were less than pleased about), and I always had a feeling that he understood more about me than anyone else ever could. Unfortunately for me (and all of woman-kind), Phil is gayer than time spent with the Flintstones (ba-dum-ching!), and therefore I'm no more likely to marry him than Megan. Ah well. We had a lovely time, gossiping about mutual friends and sharing the emotional train-wrecks we were dealing with personally.

For dinner, Megan and I went to Mongolian Barbecue with our good friend Amy, whom I hadn't seen since I'd moved to Chicago and she to Buffalo (although I know she reads my blog *waves to Amy*, so she still knows what I'm up to). Megan's still in college (she's a double-major with a minor earning a teaching certificate, and so she has one semester left of classes, and then one of student-teaching), and Amy's in graduate school. As Megan pointed out, we spend most of our time in three different states, which is beyond bizarre to think about. We don't speak to each other as often as we probably should, but every time we're in the same place, it still seems like we're close friends. Or maybe it just feels like we should be.

Brian picked me up from the restaurant and drove me to the train station in the snow.

Maybe now is a good time to mention that Brian's in love with me.

(Makes you want to go check out those pictures of him a little more closely, doesn't it?)

I've hesitated to bring that up in previous posts, as I know he reads this blog on occasion. But I've decided that I don't know what the harm in mentioning it could be. It just is. He says he's "in love with" me, which has sort of warped our friendship.

Brian lives in Nebraska, so I've thrown out the possibility of any sort of relationship. He was As-Good-As-Gay from the beginning.

But maybe I should back up to where it began.

We became friends on Facebook, after not having seen each other since that chemistry class our junior year of high school (he graduated early). Then I had a dream that he took me to prom, and wrote about it on his Facebook wall (because it was completely random and sorta funny... I thought he'd get a kick out of it). He told me he was going to be in Chicago briefly in July, so we arranged to meet up for dinner (with another guy we knew from high school). I was in a relationship, and Brian was going on a date with some girl the next day (see how early we established the A.G.A.G. thing?). We had a lovely talk, mostly consisting of me telling him all the high school gossip that I'd heard (which is a favorite pastime of mine). I figured the next time I'd see him would be at our first high school reunion (which I think will be our ten-year... only 4 years to go... weird).

In August, I got a text message from him saying he was in Michigan, and I happened to be as well (in fact, that weekend was the last time I was ever in my house before my parents moved). We met up at Steak & Shake around 11:50, and ten minutes later I sang Happy Birthday to him as he turned 24. We discovered a common adoration of Natalie Imbruglia, and when we got kicked out of Steak & Shake a little before 2:00am (for some reason it's no longer 24 hours), we headed back to my car and started playing CDs for each other. And there we stayed, until past 5:00am when the ill-aimed sprinklers came on, showering the parking lot.

The next day, I spent a lot of time with Megan. My brother's birthday was a couple of days before Brian's, so my family was having a sort of celebration for him that night. I decided to call up Brian and invite him over (because I'd had so much fun with him the night before... and at least partially because I thought maybe I could set him up with Megan... What? I had a boyfriend at the time, remember? Brian was of no use to me in a romantic light, but I thought he was neat, and I think Megan's neat, and I thought it might be neat if they got together). When we sang happy birthday to my brother, we sang it to Brian as well.

The three of us had an incredibly fun night. We watched The Office on my laptop long after the rest of my family had gone to bed. I taught Brian what a "stage kiss" is. We took a million pictures of ourselves with my computer's built-in camera (one of which, me and Brian in my kitchen, I posted in my last entry). At the end of the night (*ahem* 6:15am), Brian told me he thought I was "the coolest girl [he'd] ever met." That's when I started to get the idea that I might not be able to set him up with Megan.

After that, Brian quickly earned a place on my speed dial, and I started talking to him on a regular basis. He leaped onto what I like to call "my new favorite people" list. I had a sort of non-sexual crush on him, which led to our emotional affair. There were days that he read my mind, and other days he analyzed me to a point that hurt (even making me cry all night when he said the reason I can't accept compliments is because I don't love myself enough... and also that I wall myself up and don't allow anyone in).

The night I broke up with Ex-Boyfriend #2, Brian asked me on a date (which never came to fruition, as he's in Nebraska and I'm in Illinois... there's a whole Iowa between us, so there was no good way to arrange a date. I'm pretty sure I said no, mostly because of that). And not long after that, I wrote Flipping the Switch. Mostly because I was trying to decode myself a little bit. And because I thought I'd sorted things out with him. I thought we started the path back to friendship without complications.

About a week after that (beginning of November), we sort of had a fight (which started because he stopped calling me, and continued because I snapped at him for not calling me), and I removed him from my speed dial (that'll show him!), and started playing the song "Hey Boy (Why You Didn't Call Me?)" by The Blow on repeat. We made up, but our communication became less frequent. I missed him. And I recorded him a video on facebook. And that seemingly innocuous video changed everything. Brian says that watching that video made him realize that he was in love with me.

If you saw the video, you wouldn't understand where that was coming from. I was goofy. I danced a little. I nagged him a little for not calling me. I did absolutely nothing that any normal person would find in any way, shape, or form to be attractive. Nothing. Needless to say, I was unprepared for his response. And being on the phone with someone who is professing their love for you (seemingly out of nowhere) is one of the most confusing, uncomfortable experiences that you can possibly imagine. And, on the Brian front, I've been sort of a mess ever since.

By that point, I had already told him that I was going to try to be in Michigan for New Year's Eve, and suddenly I wasn't sure if it was still a good idea. When a huge roadblock came, making going to Michigan more challenging, I sort of took it as a sign that I shouldn't go. But not long after, I became resentful of the fact that I couldn't go. I realized I wanted to be in Michigan for a lot of reasons that weren't Brian, and that I shouldn't let the possible effect of complicating things with him further prevent me from that. I really wanted to go there. And where there's a will, there's a way. So I made some very complicated last minute changes to my schedule, and I found my way there.

I had a great time in Michigan. Probably the most fun I've had... *laughs*... since the last time I was in Michigan. Wait, no... that can't be right. There was my birthday. And the NaNoWriMo 29-hour Write-In. And the night of the NaNoWriMo "Thank God It's Over" party. And my office holiday party.

Huh. I just realized that all the events I just mentioned involved me having extraordinarily long conversations with people. And they all involved out-of-the-ordinary situations. And I'm fairly certain that the majority of them involved me entering "Story-Mode" at some point. I need more of all the aforementioned commonalities in my life, I think.

Anyway.

(Picture taken in August)

That's my situation.

While I was in Michigan, Brian gave me perhaps the longest hug of my life. It felt like it lasted for years. And I felt a little guilty for loving it.

My brother thinks I'm a tease. I don't think I am. I hope I'm not. I'm just... indecisive? I don't know.

Brian is no longer on my A.G.A.G. list, but he really should be. I don't know if he realizes all the reasons that this won't work. He's in the military, and he's probably going to be overseas for the better part of next year. And he's going to be in the military for another four years or so. Even when he's in the states, he's not anywhere near Chicago. I'm not doing long-distance (since that worked out so poorly with Ex-Boyfriend #1, who was only 90 minutes away), ESPECIALLY since I'm not even sure about this to begin with.

I adore Brian. He's one of the niftiest people I know. He's probably my best friend at the moment. And as I mentioned once in a tearful breakdown to him (which Brian reminds me of on occasion), I sometimes feel as though he's the only person who really, really tries to know me. Not the me that other people see. The one who lives inside. The one who can't get out. The one that even I don't know all that well.

Brian, if you read this, I hope you're not upset. Maybe I shouldn't have written all of this, but I had to get it out. I had to tell someone who wasn't Megan or Anna. It just felt like something that needed to be written. After all, this blog is my cheap therapy.

To anyone else who made it through this post, thanks for sticking around (8.5 pages in Microsoft Word... I think we have a new record).

May you be reminded of what it's like to feel missed, wanted, and loved.

~A~

P.S. If you want to read my novel, don't forget to post your e-mail address in the comments section. This is clutch. Cool? Good.

P.P.S.

Unresolved

Hello ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the new year.

First off, I'll give you a quick recap of my 2007, as it seems that's what all the cool bloggers are doing...

(Note: Pictures all taken in 2007, though not necessarily in the months they're near)


(My friends and I went to a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I was going for a Magenta-esque look)

JANUARY
- I began temping at my current workplace.
- I took a Shakespeare class.


(Goofing off with my old roomie, Cameron, in his Maverick flight suit)

FEBRUARY
- I was in a staged reading of a new play (in which I was cast as a 50-year-old woman... perfect, obviously).
- I went through my usual "I hate the world" bout with Seasonal Affective Disorder


(My coworker and me in our cubicles on "Jeans Day", the last Friday of the month. It's a major office event.)

MARCH
- I auditioned for a massive amount of productions, and kept getting called back, but not cast.
- I was hired officially by my current workplace (and got benefits and a 401k. Woo-hoo, I'm an adult!).


(Decked out for a "Pirates, Indians, & Gypsies" party. I think I was trying to be a gypsy.)

APRIL
- I was cast in a play-turned-musical production of Picasso at the Lapin Agile.
- I started playing Guitar Hero II. And kicking booty at it.


(In rehearsal for Picasso at the Lapin Agile.)

MAY
- The cast of said production began giving me lessons in "how to drink socially", and bought me drinks wherever we went.
- I won a Baby Name Pool out of over 700 entries.


(A scene from Picasso at the Lapin Agile, in which I played Suzanne.)

JUNE
- I got a promotion at my current workplace. And a raise. Hooray!
- I broke the heart of the fabulous guy I dated for over 2 years.
- Picasso at the Lapin Agile ran for 4 weeks
- I started dating a new fellow, who everyone knew was completely wrong for me (I think even he and I knew it).


(I get dressed up for the Tony Awards every year. My former roommate Anna looked on.)

JULY
- I took another Shakespeare class.
- My roommates and I threw a few parties, culminating in a "Sexy Party", which rocked my world.


(Some of my college friends and I pose at The Sexy Party)

AUGUST
- I moved into a shoebox-size studio apartment.


(Being a dork with my dear friend, Brian, who is on my speed dial)

SEPTEMBER
- I started this blog!
- It hit me that I'd gained 25 pounds in a year. How on Earth did that happen?


(My Picasso castmates Dave & Dane taught me a lot about bars.)

OCTOBER
- I was dumped by the new fellow. Meh.
- I turned 23.
- I took yet another Shakespeare class (Yeah, I'm a geek. So what?)


(Sniffing out my friend Zel on my birthday)

NOVEMBER
- I participated in (and finished) National Novel Writing Month, which might be the coolest thing I've ever done with my life. I've never been more proud of (or more embarrassed by) anything than my unfinished slap-dash novella.
- I participated in (and finished) NaBloPoMo by posting three completely random things per day for the entire month of November.
- I became a vegetarian (which I STILL am, shockingly; I thought it was a two-week experiment, but it's starting to stick).
- A guy told me he was in love with me (note: not one of the two ex-boyfriends).
- I started another blog (I have an addiction). I'm pretty sure no one reads it but me. But I don't even really care... It's just where I throw links I like so that I can find them later on. And if it amuses others, that's just a bonus.


(Laying my claim on my friends Mike and Jim)

DECEMBER
- I was hit by a car.
- I took a vacation from work to head to Connecticut, New York, and Michigan for 11 days (which I'll probably write about in my next entry... Sorry for the delay).


(Goofing off with Anna)

Eventful year, right?


(Playing Guitar Hero II with Anna, still in our Rocky Horror gear)

I also learned that a few of the people I'd basically forgotten about after high school are some of the coolest people I know. And I gained a couple of "dotcomrades" (and a pen-less pen-pal, with whom I exchange epic e-mails that the rest of the world wouldn't appreciate) whom I've grown fond of. I've learned how to pay bills. I've made up a couple of recipes (the sorts of food that only I would dare touch). I've found a new favorite television show (Pushing Daisies, which makes me want to hug my laptop after every episode that I watch alone in my apartment while eating copious amounts of food). All in all, I'd say it was a good year.


(Dancing in Picasso at the Lapin Agile)

And at this time of year, people tend to think about things they should resolve to do differently in their lives, as a fresh year suggests a clean start.

I bet you're wondering whether I kept my resolutions from last year (actually, you probably weren't... people tend to think so hard about upcoming resolutions that they forget about past ones entirely). Honestly, I don't remember what I resolved to do for 2007. No clue. Just another auld lang sigh (forgive the unnecessary pun).

I tried to quit biting my nails for 1993. And pretty much every year since then. It never sticks. One year, I made it until the last week of February, and then went through an emotional breakdown and gave up. I'm not going to try to give it up this year. Frankly, I like biting my nails. It's comforting. And I have a wicked oral fixation, so it's just easier if I leave it alone. (And really, I could have worse habits. I don't smoke, I don't do drugs, I don't have sex, and I rarely drink... how bad could nail-biting possibly be?)

In 1996 (I think), I gave up drinking cola (I included Coke, Pepsi, Dr. Pepper, and anything else that was dark, as I was convinced they were staining my teeth). And I successfully completed the year. I overloaded on Sprite and 7-Up so much that year that they've never been quite as good since.

I have a tendency to follow my Lent resolutions better than my New Year ones. I usually give up two things, so that if I'm a horrible failure at one, I can at least stick with the other. Like the year I gave up "worrying" and "elevators". Or the year I gave up "pursuing boys" and "television I can't learn from" (I was still allowed to watch the news and anything with acting on it, -- I considered that to be professional research -- but I couldn't watch, say, anything on VH1. Including Strange Love, which I believe was entirely contained within Lent that year). Or the year I gave up "excuses" and "computer games". I never make it easy on myself, do I? One year I gave up "red wine vinegar", and it threw my whole immune system out of whack (I came down with several back-to-back mystery illnesses), and vowed never to alter my diet in favor of a Lenten promise again.

Anyway. I don't like the idea of changing things just because it's a new year. If you want to make a change in your life, just do it; don't wait for a year change.

That said, there are some things I want to try to improve with, and now is as good a time as any to get going. So here are a few things I've come up with:

- Make a conscious effort to call my brothers more often.
Now that we're living in three different states, I don't talk to my brothers as often as I should. And I know that if I don't do something about it now, it's just going to get harder as we age. So I'm going to try to call each of them at least once a month, instead of just finding out about them through my parents and their Facebook profiles.

- Be more physically active.
I'm a sedimentary rock. I need to start walking more or something. Haven't put much thought into this yet, clearly, but it needs to be done.

- Learn to accept compliments with more grace.
I've mentioned before that I'm horrible at accepting compliments. I always think people are lying to me. Trying to get on my good side. Or mocking me somehow. I don't know. I have less-than-perfect self-esteem (okay, it's pretty bad). And I usually don't agree with the nice things they say (except with strangers... I'm a little better at taking them from strangers, as strangers have no reason to lie to me. I also enjoy complimenting strangers, and have no problem tapping a woman on the shoulder on public transportation to tell her I dig her shoes/purse/hair). But I want to stop that. I want to believe the nice things people tell me. And deflecting every compliment I get isn't going to help my self-esteem. So I'm going to try to stop. I'm going to learn to look them in the eye, smile, and say thank you. Hopefully, I'll be better at it by the end of the year.

- Memorize the correct spellings of excersize, maitenance (maintainence), and immeadiately.
And everything else on my list of "words that I consistently have trouble spelling for no apparent reason and am frequently embarrassed by when I can't figure out how to get them to spell out in T9 on my cell phone, but I don't want to switch over to the alphabet function because then I KNOW I'm spelling them wrong, and I don't want people to think that I don't know how to spell simple words like corderoy, persue, desparate, and seperate." (If any of the aforementioned italicized words looked right to you, then you might want to make this a resolution for yourself as well.) I swear, I'm generally an excellent speller. And I'm embarrassed every time I have to question the spelling of any common word.

(NOTE: I intentionally used my mistake-spellings of these words instead of the correct ones so that you'd be able to see what I'm doing wrong. I think I've actually mastered separate/desperate now, but I used to mix up which had the "a" in the middle and which had the "e". I included two spellings of maintenance because it's the HARDEST word for me to spell for reasons unbeknownst to me, and I usually go through four spellings before I find the correct one.)

- Finish my NaNoWriMo novel.
It seems that the most vote-getting item is for me to post portions of the unbelievably bad novel I'm working on in a weekly blog as I edit and finish the book. So I will. Now, as my business-oriented brother has told me, he thinks this is a horrid idea, as once something is on the internet, you have no way of protecting it. Someone could steal it easily. My solution at this point is to publish it in a "private" blog (if I do that, I'll leave instructions on this blog as to how to get to it or something) and to use Copyscape or something. If anyone else has any thoughts on how to protect my work as I share it, please let me know. Although I can't imagine anyone wanting to steal my unfinished garbage, but some people are incredibly ill-meaning, so you never know.


And, perhaps the most terrifying of all...

- Figure out what I want to do with my life.
I feel like I should have figured this one out by now. And I have a feeling that at least one person out there is probably confused by this. Well, here's something I've recently talked out with a friend well enough to be able to put on paper: I love acting, but I hate being an actor.

Theatre is the most amazing thing I've ever experienced. I truly believe that theatre can change the world (a belief that I'll have to explain another time in more detail). And I love working in theatre. I love acting more than I possibly put into words. It helps my soul to breathe. It makes me feel powerful to my core. And I'm good at it.

But that's only a small fraction of being an actor. The rest of it is the business behind it. I hate going to audition after audition, callback after callback, putting everything I've got on the line, and never hearing back. I hate wondering if I'm sending the right head shot to the right company. I hate networking, and schmoozing, and acting like remembering someone's name is going to get me a job down the line when I doubt that it actually will. I hate knowing that I'm just another 20-something white girl, and that plenty of other girls who look/sound/act just like me will be showing up to the same audition, and I am not in any way, shape, or form "special". And I hate failure. I don't have the ego to bounce back from long strings of rejection. And I'm not sure that I ever will.

I'm auditioning for graduate schools in February, and I'm not even certain that I want to go. Would it even do me any good? Or will it just make me an even better actor with the same sets of hang-ups and fears that I have now?

My other problem stems from my indecision and my chameleon-like ability to pick up new tricks. I have too many interests, too many skills, and too many talents, and I always feel like there's something different I should be doing (which is perhaps why I went through SO MANY MAJORS in college). There are days when I ask myself why I'm not trying to get into medical school (I love helping people, I'm great at biology, I kick butt in dissection, and medical professions sort of run in my family). There are days that I want to quit my job and be a writer (NaNoWriMo and blogging were the biggest natural highs of my year). There are days I wonder why I'm not in graduate school for Psychology/History/Dentistry... etc. There are days that I wonder if I've been working towards the wrong goal, and the thing that will make me truly happy is right in front of my nose and I'm ignoring it.

And then there are days that I think if I don't get back on stage soon, I'm going to explode.

My love for theatre consumes me. I think about being on stage every day. I run monologues as I'm getting ready to leave the house (which my brother made fun of me for while I was in Connecticut). I read plays on the bus. I save money so that I can go to plays/musicals/workshops/classes/lectures as often as possible. And it gives me so much joy to be a part of it.

But I hate the business. I hate the idea of having to get agents. I hate the idea of being in horrible shows to get my face seen. I don't think I'm strong enough. I'm more likely to believe criticisms than compliments. I'm more likely to get knocked down and stay there. And when push comes to shove, I'm more likely to give up than try harder.

It wasn't easy for me to admit any of that (and there are many people I hope will never read it), but it's the truth.

So this year, I want to figure that out. I want to know whether I want to keep acting, or throw in the towel. I want to figure out if I need to go back to school and get new, usable skills that can help me get a job I'm well-suited for, or if I should keep doing what I'm doing.

As a side note, acting is truly a craft. And it takes far more training and skill than most people realize. All the arts do. So if you meet someone attempting to make a living in the arts, support them. Don't think to yourself that they should get a "real" job. They have real jobs. And chances are good that they're far more passionate about their chosen careers than you are about yours. If they weren't, it'd be impossible to keep going. It's too hard to do if you don't love it with every fiber of your being.

And some people, like myself, are passionately in love with what they do, but hate the means to do it.


May your fresh year give you a fresh perspective on what you want in life.

~A~


(Jumping for joy after bowling a strike on my birthday)

I'll Be Fine and Dandy

I left a few of my favorite Christmas traditions off of the last list in order to save something for this post. Surprise!

- Angels
Since my very first Christmas, my Auntie Alice has given me an angel Christmas ornament every year in honor of my name. They're all different. One's fabric. One's made out of a pinecone. One resembles a pillow more than an angel. A couple of them are broken, from years of love. I have a lovely collection now. Last year she didn't give me one, saying that she always thought that the one I got at 21 (my 22nd ornament) would be my last. She thought I'd have grown out of liking it by now. I let her know that I was sad about that. I love it. Somewhat surprisingly, my aunt is the only person who has ever played up the the "angel" in "Angela" (my dad has played up the "gel", trying to get the nickname "Jelly" to stick, which, thank God, it never did). Oddly, someone else got me an angel ornament last year (someone unaware of the tradition), so I still have a full set. I don't know if I'll be getting an ornament this year or not. She hasn't mailed our gifts yet. *crosses fingers* I should really tell people that I like angel things more often. Maybe they'd buy me ornaments as a way to get into my good graces... It would probably work. (SHHH! Don't tell. Wouldn't want to make it too easy on anyone.)

- Christmas Pajamas
I debated even putting this on here because it's so excruciatingly dorky, but I love it. Every year, my mother buys "Christmas pajamas" for my brothers and I. We get them on Christmas Eve, and change into them before the gift exchanging begins. She started it when we were kids. One year, she forgot the pajamas, and we were furious. So she's kept up the tradition. This year, I got some decent ones (although I had to wear a hoodie over them for the gift giving, as I didn't want to wear a bra with the pajamas, and they're made of a thin material. The pants are as well, so my brother pointed out he could see my pink underwear... If it were anyone other than a family member, it would've been beyond mortifying.) My brothers hated the bottoms they got with wine bottles all over them, complaining that they weren't "classy". But really, Christmas pajamas aren't supposed to be classy. They're supposed to be ridiculous. I think my mom nailed it.

- Young Frankenstein
I've always thought of Young Frankenstein as a Christmas movie. Strange, right? I have a childhood memory involving watching it as my family was either putting up or taking down a Christmas tree. I was picking up pine needles and watching the movie, with all the dirty jokes (and some of the clean ones) flying over my head. Anyway. I always have a craving to watch it in winter. A few years ago, my dad bought it on Christmas Eve, saying that it seemed like a perfect Christmas movie to him (my dad and I have a similar sense of humor. We even have the same favorite movie, Animal House, which we also have in common with my youngest brother). So we watch it together around Christmas. We haven't gotten to it yet this year, but hopefully we still will. After all, I'm home for another four days.


Oh, and going back to "The Last Present" that I mentioned last time... My mom won this year! It was amazing. My dad hid two presents, but, thinking that he was the last to give anything, broke them both out from hiding. And then my mom revealed that she'd been hiding one for my dad in the closet. Brilliant! My dad claimed that, since he gave two at once, he COULD have won. Then my mom tried to say it wasn't a competition, but we all know it is. Yay Mom!

I finished off the bottle of Midori while we were opening presents. Everyone else was drinking non-alcoholic cinnamon eggnog. That's right. I was drinking, and my family wasn't. I think they were confused. Especially since at dinner I had toasted with skim milk against their glasses of red wine. Ah well.

The cinnamon rolls were made (although I fell asleep before helping much). I helped deliver them to the new neighbors. The people who live next-door are Jewish, speak with an East Coast dialect, and want to have the whole family over for drinks (including my underage brothers). Yeah, this is definitely a new neighborhood. Merry Everything!

At church I sang the alto parts to the carols. My dad asked why I did that instead of just reading the music (my father knows that I inherited his ability to sight-read). I shrugged and told him that the alto parts just feel more "right" to me. And I sang them anyway.

My family and I played some rousing games of "Apples to Apples" (one of my gifts this year). I easily won the first couple of rounds, but lost subsequent ones as my family got the hang of it. I enjoy the game because it allows me to utilize my skill in communicating through abstract thought. That, and I know which cards are trumps. There are some cards that will win almost any round. "Amputees", "Rosa Parks", "Anne Frank", "Cults", and "Vietnam, 1968", for example. And the card that I think trumps every other card: "Helen Keller". Honestly, what would she NOT be the best choice for. She wins any category either literally, figuratively, antithetically, or as an ironic statement. Cuddly? Helen Keller. Timeless? Helen Keller. Rare? Helen Keller. Normal? Helen Keller. Loud? Helen Keller. Quiet? Helen Keller. Popular? Helen Keller (although "Ernest Hemingway" won that last night... And "Cults" would've won if it had been played. Or "The KKK". Or "Captain Kirk". Or "Morticians", "Sharks", "Rust", "Milk", "Cabbage"...). You get the idea. One of my favorite plays from yesterday was when I won "Funky" with "Going to Grandma's". Or when I won "Patriotic" with "Will Smith" (I've seen Independence Day and Men in Black. Strangely, someone else played "Alien Abductions" that round, using similar logic). I also liked my brother's play of "Worms" for "Touchy-Feely".

Anyway, if you aren't familiar with "Apples to Apples", you should find someone who owns it and get them to play. I swear, it isn't nearly as lame as it may sound. And I don't remember the last time that my family had that much fun playing a game together.

I also sat down and watched Shaun of the Dead with my dad and youngest brother (I mentioned before that our senses of humor are usually in line). My dad said it was one of the strangest movies he's ever seen, and he didn't seem to love the silliness of it as much as my brother and I do. My dad's the kind of person who asks the logical questions ("Why would he stand by the window?" "Why wouldn't he shoot them?" "Why did he answer his phone?") instead of accepting that it's a movie (a trait he passed down to me that seeps out on occasion... not one of my finer qualities), and asks movie-ruining questions to the people who have seen it before ("Is he going to shoot her now?" "Are they going to kill him before he turns into a zombie?") instead of just watching. Therefore, Shaun of the Dead was the wrong movie for him. Maybe we'll give Psycho Beach Party a try next. But then, my brothers got National Treasure and Superbad for Christmas, and I think they'll want to watch those... Ah well. I always think of Christmastime as movie season.

We were thinking of going to the theater to see a movie, but it seems everyone is rooting to see something different. The votes were cast for National Treasure 2, Walk Hard, Juno, Enchanted, and Sweeney Todd. (Ready for a surprise? My vote was Juno. That means that three of my family members voted for musical movies, and I didn't. Weird). I'd be willing to see any of them, really. Except for NT2, as I haven't seen NT1 yet... but maybe we'll remedy that.

You know, as much as I complained about being here instead of in Michigan, it's nice to have had a couple of holidays with just my immediate family. Usually we're with my mom's whole family, sometimes with my dad's, and on a few occasions had both families at our place. Frankly, it's a lot less pressure without them around. I haven't had to worry about looking particularly put together. It doesn't matter if the house is spotless. And, perhaps the biggest relief, I don't have to worry about what I can say in front of whom. Normally I have to not avoid words like "stupid" in front of the children (who have been instructed to treat it like a curse word). I can't discuss politics in front of the adults (as every married couple in my family seems to be comprised of a republican and a democrat). I'm not supposed to mention that I have friends who are gay, atheist, or cohabitating in front of the Latin-Mass-preferring, pre-Vatican-II Catholics. But with just my immediate family, the censorship is gone, most taboo words are fair play, and subject bans have been lifted. Excellent. Also, it has given me the freedom to wander around my house in pajamas at all hours of the day. And really, is there a better gift than that?

So maybe this extremely long stay in a place that isn't quite home isn't so bad after all. Don't get me wrong, my soul is still aching a little, but it's nothing that time won't heal.


And now for a final thought that my choir-member friends from back home might appreciate... (despite being a little late)

On this day, I wish you good cheer
To the friends I love, far and near
May this holiday be a joyous day
And may God bless you all
And may He bring you a happy new year.

~A~


P.S. The title is taken from lyrics to "Hard Candy Christmas" from the musical The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.

P.P.S. I have the sudden urge to sing "This Little Babe" from "A Ceremony of Carols". Oh, how I miss my Someko (a choir I was a member of back in high school).

P.P.P.S. Happy St. Stephen's Day! Happy Boxing Day! And a very happy everything!

ETA - I forgot my favorite Apples-to-Apples move! For the word "Realistic", my brother played "Romeo & Juliet". GENIUS!