I think the official "End of the Year" starts December 1st. It's when the christmas countdown begins, it's the last month of the year, it's a time of short nights, the first day of winter, parties, spending, visiting, vacationing and depression. December is a month of reflection, it's a time when I take a few weeks and look back on what I accomplished (or didn't) over the course of the past 11 months and wonder about what the next 12 months will bring.
I was challenged to write positive posts in my blog for the next 30 days. I was challenged to write about something that makes me happy, something that gives me hope, can bring joy to others, maybe inform them of something good for the month of December. I know that the Holidays can be stressful for some and happy for others, but I do believe that this time of year is one that makes everyone think a little bit more about goals and the important things around them more than any other time of year. So, why not focus on the positive?
I'm trying to figure out how to best approach my 30-day positivity-fest. I don't think of myself as a glass-half-empty person and I try not to stay in a negative space for any longer than I need to. I'm also not a fan of the "Everything's Great All The Time!" people and they tend to make me feel like an asshole every time I don't feel great. Hmm... Challenge, indeed.
So, reader: this next month is for you. I will try to focus my posts on 5 Things I Am Grateful For, and then elaborate on that. Sometimes being grateful for a thing that is not positive for the greater good, is, well, a personal choice. But, just being aware of how lucky one truly is, is important to note, like: everyone reading this post now probably has access to electricity, knows when their next meal will be and is even literate enough to be reading this post to begin with: that's all stuff to be thankful for, no? Yay Positivity!
Goodbye November; Hello December.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Confrontations
This past week has been a full on LetsGetThisOutInTheOpen-Fest. I didn't plan to have all events stack up like they did, but, funny how in life it never just "rains" it "pours" all at once.
I don't feel comfortable telling someone I have a problem, I don't feel secure enough that the problem I have is large enough to say something so I generally talk myself out of saying or doing anything and hope that the problem just goes away... sometimes, they do. The alternative, however, sucks.
I always admire people I know who can voice their concerns and problems with a candor that can make my mouth drop:
"I don't feel like doing that, and I'll tell you why: because I've been working hard all day and I feel like you haven't been pulling your weight, so you can just do the rest. I'm done."
To which my version of the same situation would be a mumbled "Really?" then after a silence:
"I'm tired. I'm annoyed. You need to do more. I'll help you, but, like, I really need you to do more... Okay? Do you understand where I am coming from? You don't? Oh. Ok. Forget it then. No. Really. Forget it. No, I'm not angry, why the fuck would I be angry!? I'm just... tired."
...And then, I wind up finishing the last of whatever the task at hand is while totally hating the person I am with.
This week I was in two confrontations: One was a fight and the other was a full on confession. Both issues with both people are on their way to being somewhat resolved, and I say that because I don't believe that all things can go back to a thumbs up until both sides can lick their wounds and trust the other person again, but, man, finally getting "it" over with and saying what needs to be said feels SO GOOD.
Do you ever go into the bathroom, and when you know no one is there to walk in or overhear you, you start a monologue in the mirror imagining that there is a person you need to confront and you tell them everything? I do it all the time. I'm always perfectly eloquent, too! I know exactly what to say, I am confident, I am determined and I always win. Life doesn't really line up like that, but self confidence sure gives the whole measure a boost.
The fight was a tough one this week because it was with a person that, outside of our differences, I really like. Plus, I feel like the two of us are very similar in how we deal with problems: to wait until things blow over, or things get so bad that we boil over and explode; which is what we both did. Hell, I was shaking I was so angry. I had to consciously breathe and work out how to not kill, pillage and burn after the worst of the fight. Instead of a rampage; I cleaned the apartment.
The confession was me looking at two options with the other person. Option A: To avoid and deflect the situation and let the Pink Elephant that was prancing around the room continue to exist and hang in the air. Or, Option B: To say, "Yeah. I did it. Now what?" ...I chose option B. Cue the look of anger that flashes across their face: Oy. Shit. Now, I need to defend my choices and stay strong. I did. They deserved an explanation.
I feel better. I feel like I went through a whole lot of flaming loops, and my lips and cuticles are the perfect evidence of how much anxiety and nerves I felt as a result, but all the nervousness aside: the right thing happened. Confronting the problems made me feel a whole lot better, and even though the gauntlet was hard, I feel a lot more comfortable where I am now than where I was before the week started. I mean, jeez, stewing in your own anger and yelling at your reflection in the mirror doesn't solve a whole lot.
I don't feel comfortable telling someone I have a problem, I don't feel secure enough that the problem I have is large enough to say something so I generally talk myself out of saying or doing anything and hope that the problem just goes away... sometimes, they do. The alternative, however, sucks.
I always admire people I know who can voice their concerns and problems with a candor that can make my mouth drop:
"I don't feel like doing that, and I'll tell you why: because I've been working hard all day and I feel like you haven't been pulling your weight, so you can just do the rest. I'm done."
To which my version of the same situation would be a mumbled "Really?" then after a silence:
"I'm tired. I'm annoyed. You need to do more. I'll help you, but, like, I really need you to do more... Okay? Do you understand where I am coming from? You don't? Oh. Ok. Forget it then. No. Really. Forget it. No, I'm not angry, why the fuck would I be angry!? I'm just... tired."
...And then, I wind up finishing the last of whatever the task at hand is while totally hating the person I am with.
This week I was in two confrontations: One was a fight and the other was a full on confession. Both issues with both people are on their way to being somewhat resolved, and I say that because I don't believe that all things can go back to a thumbs up until both sides can lick their wounds and trust the other person again, but, man, finally getting "it" over with and saying what needs to be said feels SO GOOD.
Do you ever go into the bathroom, and when you know no one is there to walk in or overhear you, you start a monologue in the mirror imagining that there is a person you need to confront and you tell them everything? I do it all the time. I'm always perfectly eloquent, too! I know exactly what to say, I am confident, I am determined and I always win. Life doesn't really line up like that, but self confidence sure gives the whole measure a boost.
The fight was a tough one this week because it was with a person that, outside of our differences, I really like. Plus, I feel like the two of us are very similar in how we deal with problems: to wait until things blow over, or things get so bad that we boil over and explode; which is what we both did. Hell, I was shaking I was so angry. I had to consciously breathe and work out how to not kill, pillage and burn after the worst of the fight. Instead of a rampage; I cleaned the apartment.
The confession was me looking at two options with the other person. Option A: To avoid and deflect the situation and let the Pink Elephant that was prancing around the room continue to exist and hang in the air. Or, Option B: To say, "Yeah. I did it. Now what?" ...I chose option B. Cue the look of anger that flashes across their face: Oy. Shit. Now, I need to defend my choices and stay strong. I did. They deserved an explanation.
I feel better. I feel like I went through a whole lot of flaming loops, and my lips and cuticles are the perfect evidence of how much anxiety and nerves I felt as a result, but all the nervousness aside: the right thing happened. Confronting the problems made me feel a whole lot better, and even though the gauntlet was hard, I feel a lot more comfortable where I am now than where I was before the week started. I mean, jeez, stewing in your own anger and yelling at your reflection in the mirror doesn't solve a whole lot.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
How To Be An Asshole: A Simple Beginner's Guide.
*Disclaimer* Not everyone has the chops for being an incredibly self absorbed, shit-all-over-the-world jerk, so if you find any of these steps particularly difficult, then being an asshole may not be the proper path for you. Instead look up references for "How To Be Whiny" or "Ways To Annoy Everyone Around You (And Still Be Friends With Them)."
To be a total jerk takes very little patience and time. The true masters of this form of communication are spoiled children, and it is in your best interest to study their behaviors. Children, however, only have the raw abilities to say and do what they want and may very often get repercussions from their parents and the world around them. As an adult, it is important to realize that you no longer have any ties to reprimands or other people's feeling. You must not just "let these boundaries go" you must not think of them at all.
The real artists can act on whims and carry out their thought processes quickly, and without judgment. It is therefore in your best interest to start with some phrases that can help open up your inner 6-year-old.
Everyday practice:
Denying responsibility to anything is a very easy and painless way to be an asshole. If in doubt: claim ignorance all the time.
In Conclusion: The true Jerks of the world must always walk with the knowledge that the world revolves around them. Don't ever, for a second, believe that your actions have effects on others! Once you start to realize that you are in fact hurting those around you, you are no longer a true asshole.
Next chapter: "How To Burn Bridges And Make Everyone Hate You" will follow some simple guide lines for taking your craft to the next level. Some topics covered will include:
To be a total jerk takes very little patience and time. The true masters of this form of communication are spoiled children, and it is in your best interest to study their behaviors. Children, however, only have the raw abilities to say and do what they want and may very often get repercussions from their parents and the world around them. As an adult, it is important to realize that you no longer have any ties to reprimands or other people's feeling. You must not just "let these boundaries go" you must not think of them at all.
The real artists can act on whims and carry out their thought processes quickly, and without judgment. It is therefore in your best interest to start with some phrases that can help open up your inner 6-year-old.
Everyday practice:
- "...But that wasn't me!"
- "I'm not doing it."
- "This/That is so unfair!"
- "I'm wasted."
- "Fuck this."
- "Don't tell me what to do!"
These are just some simple, self-absorbed catch phrases that can give you a jumping off point for further and more complicated reactions to the other people around you.
It is important to note that true jerk-off's are made stronger by ignorance and alcohol.
Once you feel like you've got a good grip on the catch phrases, try following a couple of these easy routines:
- Sleep through your alarm in the morning.
- Don't ever worry about being on time, but tell everyone you will be.
- Instead of reading the news, gather your information from Facebook, and then quote it like a fact.
- Post really angry and ignorant phrases on your social media sites like Twitter and Facebook.
- Hang out with other assholes
- Get drunk: A LOT
- Smoke weed in common areas (like a living room)
- NEVER clean up after yourself
- Be Selfish! If you feel like stretching out on the couch or taking up the bathroom for a half hour in the morning: do so.
- Play music you want to listen to really loud
And most importantly:
- Deny, Deny, Deny
Denying responsibility to anything is a very easy and painless way to be an asshole. If in doubt: claim ignorance all the time.
In Conclusion: The true Jerks of the world must always walk with the knowledge that the world revolves around them. Don't ever, for a second, believe that your actions have effects on others! Once you start to realize that you are in fact hurting those around you, you are no longer a true asshole.
Next chapter: "How To Burn Bridges And Make Everyone Hate You" will follow some simple guide lines for taking your craft to the next level. Some topics covered will include:
- Cheating on your loved one.
- Sticking your friends with large burdens (like your medical bills).
- Drunk texting all of your Exes.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Monogamy in Singledom
I had a conversation with my best friend the other night and we both agreed that we were monogamous types, even if the person we are seeing is not in the category of "relationship." I thought this was an interesting character choice given that there are no guide lines to being single and there are, technically, no rules that say you are cheating if you sleep with someone else or date someone else while seeing someone semi-regularly.
I find "swinging" from one person to the next and then back again as something I don't think I could have the heart to do. I know a lot of people who have done it, and I don't judge them, but I look at the idea of seeing a person as my "moment" in my life where I am feeling that guy out. I am testing the waters, understanding what little I can make out from them, and then: moving on. Oh, and also: the people who can swing are pretty unbelievable with their luck sometimes. How can you find several hotties all at once who want to sleep with you? I guess I'm super picky, but I have never been in that situation where I simply can't keep my hands off of everyone I meet. Then again, I haven't spent a lot of time in Amsterdam, but from the few days I have, I may run into that problem (DAMN those men are GORGEOUS!)
The biggest hurdle I come across is how easily I fall for a guy once I've seen him more than twice. Suddenly I imagine what a future with this person would feel like and I place them in different scenarios (like: Travel) and decide whether or not, based on the knowledge I have of them, if I would like to spend that time doing those activities with them. If not, well, thanks for the romp, and breakfast was great!
Every time I meet someone new I am that much more knowledgeable about what I like and dislike in a partner. I am introduced to a new personality, a new background, new emotional baggage (or lack of emotional-anything), and... all else pertaining to a man. So, whenever I decide I am over someone and it is time to move on, and I do, I can't go back to that other person and still expect the relationship I had with them to be the same. It just won't be. So I don't.
I've decided in the last meeting with Kismet that if he wants this to go further, he'll need to text me and make the effort to see me again. I haven't heard from him in over a week and at this point: I'm moving forward. Womp Womp. Onward!
I find "swinging" from one person to the next and then back again as something I don't think I could have the heart to do. I know a lot of people who have done it, and I don't judge them, but I look at the idea of seeing a person as my "moment" in my life where I am feeling that guy out. I am testing the waters, understanding what little I can make out from them, and then: moving on. Oh, and also: the people who can swing are pretty unbelievable with their luck sometimes. How can you find several hotties all at once who want to sleep with you? I guess I'm super picky, but I have never been in that situation where I simply can't keep my hands off of everyone I meet. Then again, I haven't spent a lot of time in Amsterdam, but from the few days I have, I may run into that problem (DAMN those men are GORGEOUS!)
The biggest hurdle I come across is how easily I fall for a guy once I've seen him more than twice. Suddenly I imagine what a future with this person would feel like and I place them in different scenarios (like: Travel) and decide whether or not, based on the knowledge I have of them, if I would like to spend that time doing those activities with them. If not, well, thanks for the romp, and breakfast was great!
Every time I meet someone new I am that much more knowledgeable about what I like and dislike in a partner. I am introduced to a new personality, a new background, new emotional baggage (or lack of emotional-anything), and... all else pertaining to a man. So, whenever I decide I am over someone and it is time to move on, and I do, I can't go back to that other person and still expect the relationship I had with them to be the same. It just won't be. So I don't.
I've decided in the last meeting with Kismet that if he wants this to go further, he'll need to text me and make the effort to see me again. I haven't heard from him in over a week and at this point: I'm moving forward. Womp Womp. Onward!
Friday, November 23, 2012
Choking
KEEP CALM I MUST KEEP CALM!!!!
I stood up from the breakfast table and walked into the kitchen. My sister was in the middle of sticking her head in the fridge and my step-brother was cutting a piece of pie from last night's desert. My brother looked up first. "Uh. Caitie!? Nat needs... help."
I imagined myself looking like I was in urgent need of assistance with well groomed hair, a calm attitude and a quiet but stern look of need, oh and maybe a nice new pair of well cut jeans on... what I probably looked like was a red-faced, wide eyed, hair flying, bushy-tailed animal-about-to-get-run-over-by-a-car with flapping arms and crazy gesticulations to my throat.
My sister looked up. I tried to breathe in, making a rattling noise. I was choking on a waffle.
Caitie's eyes widened. She bolted from the fridge as the training she had learned when she was a Residence Assistant while in college began to guide her movements. In three quick heaves the food cleared my throat and I began to cough violently. *cough* "Thanks." *cough*
I sat down trying to act totally calm and collected. "You okay?" My brother asked. "Yeah." I said. Caitie went back to the fridge and my brother continued to cut his pie. I stared at the day old waffle I was eating and felt no appetite for food. My throat felt raw and I felt particularly stupid. Really? I choked on a day old gluten free waffle and not a bit on all the turkey I ate last night?
I felt like I had just lived through one of those moments where, in Hollywood, the victim of choking (who is generally a fat, slovenly guy packing away a 20oz. steak) just brushes themselves off and in a voice clear as day says "Gee, thanks" and then gets kissed by the concerned and useless wife, and in the real world: A coughing fit ensues to clear any excess food and then the victim feels like a totally jackass of a human being because all she was eating was a stupid stale waffle.
I stood up, threw out the rest of the waffle and cut into a piece of pumpkin pie. I'd have to try pretty hard to choke on that custard, I reasoned.
That was the first time I'd ever really choked on any food before. And let me tell you: no one looks particularly graceful when they're getting a fist shoved into their diaphragm as they get bounced up and down from the sheer force of the heaves of the life-saver. Womp Womp. Choking sucks, I don't recommend it.
Be safe out there folks! Day old breakfast can be a danger!
I stood up from the breakfast table and walked into the kitchen. My sister was in the middle of sticking her head in the fridge and my step-brother was cutting a piece of pie from last night's desert. My brother looked up first. "Uh. Caitie!? Nat needs... help."
I imagined myself looking like I was in urgent need of assistance with well groomed hair, a calm attitude and a quiet but stern look of need, oh and maybe a nice new pair of well cut jeans on... what I probably looked like was a red-faced, wide eyed, hair flying, bushy-tailed animal-about-to-get-run-over-by-a-car with flapping arms and crazy gesticulations to my throat.
My sister looked up. I tried to breathe in, making a rattling noise. I was choking on a waffle.
Caitie's eyes widened. She bolted from the fridge as the training she had learned when she was a Residence Assistant while in college began to guide her movements. In three quick heaves the food cleared my throat and I began to cough violently. *cough* "Thanks." *cough*
I sat down trying to act totally calm and collected. "You okay?" My brother asked. "Yeah." I said. Caitie went back to the fridge and my brother continued to cut his pie. I stared at the day old waffle I was eating and felt no appetite for food. My throat felt raw and I felt particularly stupid. Really? I choked on a day old gluten free waffle and not a bit on all the turkey I ate last night?
I felt like I had just lived through one of those moments where, in Hollywood, the victim of choking (who is generally a fat, slovenly guy packing away a 20oz. steak) just brushes themselves off and in a voice clear as day says "Gee, thanks" and then gets kissed by the concerned and useless wife, and in the real world: A coughing fit ensues to clear any excess food and then the victim feels like a totally jackass of a human being because all she was eating was a stupid stale waffle.
I stood up, threw out the rest of the waffle and cut into a piece of pumpkin pie. I'd have to try pretty hard to choke on that custard, I reasoned.
That was the first time I'd ever really choked on any food before. And let me tell you: no one looks particularly graceful when they're getting a fist shoved into their diaphragm as they get bounced up and down from the sheer force of the heaves of the life-saver. Womp Womp. Choking sucks, I don't recommend it.
Be safe out there folks! Day old breakfast can be a danger!
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
The Life of Riley
The heat from a renovated, painstakingly cleaned fireplace filled with logs hand cut by my father.
The smell of hand chopped onion, roasted beets from the garden, and sizzling bacon.
The sound of the banjo music streaming from the iPod.
My Dad tapping his feet as he relaxes from the day while watching the flames.
The knock on the door as a 20-something Clean Air and Water Act representative walks in and tries to get the family to sign a petition to get the government to give more support to the environment. My Dad obliges, putting on his reading glasses and asking a couple questions regarding the 60 bucks he's about to cough up.
The gust of evening air as the brown sweatshirt clad guy leaves the house looking grateful for the warmth and kind regards.
"What was that about?" ringing out from the kitchen as Mom #2 continues with her prep for tomorrow's feast.
My toes wiggling to the beat of the bluegrass music in anticipation of the juicy bird and creamy mashed potatoes I know I will eat too much of tomorrow.
The red wine on the table that keeps winking at me, even though I've already had two glasses.
The text from my sister regarding her evening plans.
I sink back into my chair and type this all out, because, good lord, this is a day in the "Life of Riley."
The smell of hand chopped onion, roasted beets from the garden, and sizzling bacon.
The sound of the banjo music streaming from the iPod.
My Dad tapping his feet as he relaxes from the day while watching the flames.
The knock on the door as a 20-something Clean Air and Water Act representative walks in and tries to get the family to sign a petition to get the government to give more support to the environment. My Dad obliges, putting on his reading glasses and asking a couple questions regarding the 60 bucks he's about to cough up.
The gust of evening air as the brown sweatshirt clad guy leaves the house looking grateful for the warmth and kind regards.
"What was that about?" ringing out from the kitchen as Mom #2 continues with her prep for tomorrow's feast.
My toes wiggling to the beat of the bluegrass music in anticipation of the juicy bird and creamy mashed potatoes I know I will eat too much of tomorrow.
The red wine on the table that keeps winking at me, even though I've already had two glasses.
The text from my sister regarding her evening plans.
I sink back into my chair and type this all out, because, good lord, this is a day in the "Life of Riley."
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Machu Picchu
I want to go to Machu Picchu in Peru. I want to put together a 4 week trip to Peru and Bolivia. Bolivia is cheap, has a lot of great things to go see and is traveller friendly, Machu Picchu is, well, a World Heritage site full of wonder, beauty and awesome-sauce. I want to cross another amazing World Wonder off my list. So far I've got: Empire State Building, Big Ben (London), Stonehenge, Taj Mahal, and Angkor Wat. My bucket list includes the Pyramids, Machu Picchu, Easter Island, Jerusalem, Tokyo, The Eiffel Tower, The Great Wall, and Mount Kilimanjaro... to name a few.
An amazing thing I can't wrap my mind around is how little international travel Americans do. I was on Facebook the other day and noticed a recent update from a girl I met while in Bangkok. She is British and had been traveling on her own around South East Asia. He recent update was a photo of her in Africa teaching children. A friend of her's asked what she had been up to and she responded with a list of countries she had recently been to in Africa and how she was bopping around the planet exploring and teaching the whole way. Her friend then responded in turn with an anecdote about how her and her hubby decided to take a year off, fly into Brazil and then travel around all of the Americas, ending in Alaska before coming home and getting a new job. You know, just a year in the life, right?
Jesus.
I can probably name ten people I know who have travelled outside of the states for more than a month. I've met quite a few travelers here in the states who are visiting from other places, but the sheer amount of trekking so many of these Australian/British/European/Canadian people do is astounding. Don't get me wrong, Americans travel quite a lot. It's in our heritage to travel. We are constantly skipping around the country, occasionally going down to Mexico or the Caribbean for a real treat, but mostly we stick to our hemisphere. And I am lucky to have had the opportunities as a girl to have gone on a TON of road trips around the states, seeing many places that my contemporaries have not seen; so I don't feel the itch to explore places I have already been.
The wonder to me lies in the fear so many of my contemporaries have of somehow "missing" something if they take themselves out of the game for a month or two. Especially in New York, even leaving for a weekend can make one feel like they've fallen behind and that they need to catch up with whatever is going on. A Month!? 2!???! It's like shooting yourself in the foot, right? How will you ever hope to be competitive and reliable and successful if all you do is piss off for a while leaving everyone wondering how awesome your vacation is and how you can afford to pay for it all what with student loans and bills nagging at your heels. My answer: you've only decided to take on a parallel path, not one that stumps growth, just challenges it in other ways.
Oh, and none of the traveling whiz-bangs I have met have student loans to worry about. Credit Card loans: yes. But no one has 30K in debt yet... With that reason alone I can see why so many people won't travel. Who has money to cough up 600 bucks a month while on the road? That's a flaw in our national education system and is really the cause of stumping growth.
Meanwhile, I'm finding myself wistfully planning a trip the minute I get back from one. I keep telling myself I'm an actress, yet all I can focus on is how the next adventure will make more stories for me to write. What does that say? (That's too scary to think about just yet... not ready to confront those decisions.)
In a perfect world, I get a deal with a travel magazine and I write for them as I travel around with a guy who is also a junkie for adventure. I'm 25; life's got endless roads ahead of me, and I'm looking at a really steep, misty 7,000+ foot high Incan City Trail that's calling my name in the mountains of South America. Just gotta save up some money and make it happen.
An amazing thing I can't wrap my mind around is how little international travel Americans do. I was on Facebook the other day and noticed a recent update from a girl I met while in Bangkok. She is British and had been traveling on her own around South East Asia. He recent update was a photo of her in Africa teaching children. A friend of her's asked what she had been up to and she responded with a list of countries she had recently been to in Africa and how she was bopping around the planet exploring and teaching the whole way. Her friend then responded in turn with an anecdote about how her and her hubby decided to take a year off, fly into Brazil and then travel around all of the Americas, ending in Alaska before coming home and getting a new job. You know, just a year in the life, right?
Jesus.
I can probably name ten people I know who have travelled outside of the states for more than a month. I've met quite a few travelers here in the states who are visiting from other places, but the sheer amount of trekking so many of these Australian/British/European/Canadian people do is astounding. Don't get me wrong, Americans travel quite a lot. It's in our heritage to travel. We are constantly skipping around the country, occasionally going down to Mexico or the Caribbean for a real treat, but mostly we stick to our hemisphere. And I am lucky to have had the opportunities as a girl to have gone on a TON of road trips around the states, seeing many places that my contemporaries have not seen; so I don't feel the itch to explore places I have already been.
The wonder to me lies in the fear so many of my contemporaries have of somehow "missing" something if they take themselves out of the game for a month or two. Especially in New York, even leaving for a weekend can make one feel like they've fallen behind and that they need to catch up with whatever is going on. A Month!? 2!???! It's like shooting yourself in the foot, right? How will you ever hope to be competitive and reliable and successful if all you do is piss off for a while leaving everyone wondering how awesome your vacation is and how you can afford to pay for it all what with student loans and bills nagging at your heels. My answer: you've only decided to take on a parallel path, not one that stumps growth, just challenges it in other ways.
Oh, and none of the traveling whiz-bangs I have met have student loans to worry about. Credit Card loans: yes. But no one has 30K in debt yet... With that reason alone I can see why so many people won't travel. Who has money to cough up 600 bucks a month while on the road? That's a flaw in our national education system and is really the cause of stumping growth.
Meanwhile, I'm finding myself wistfully planning a trip the minute I get back from one. I keep telling myself I'm an actress, yet all I can focus on is how the next adventure will make more stories for me to write. What does that say? (That's too scary to think about just yet... not ready to confront those decisions.)
In a perfect world, I get a deal with a travel magazine and I write for them as I travel around with a guy who is also a junkie for adventure. I'm 25; life's got endless roads ahead of me, and I'm looking at a really steep, misty 7,000+ foot high Incan City Trail that's calling my name in the mountains of South America. Just gotta save up some money and make it happen.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Manipulation
Manipulation tactics are just about the lowest, darkest forms of control over a person. At least, if someone were to physically hold you back from something, you can see where that arm is on your body and you can clearly guess that that person does not want you to reach your goal. Manipulation is, I think, a conscious effort on the part of the antagonist to control the protagonist using tactics that are conniving and in many ways, just plain mean.
My theory is that the most manipulative people are the ones who have had a whole lot of it done to them, and they don't seem to know any other way of getting what they want. I find that I get suckered by these people more often than I care to be, but, don't we all? Also, it's rare that in the middle of being manipulated to do what the antagonist wants that I realize that I am being fucked with; usually it is after the fact that I realize I was had or that I did something I was not comfortable doing.
Bullies can be incredibly manipulative: "Hey if you let me copy your homework, I'll talk to Jane about inviting you to her party." Or "If only you had answered my call, you could have really gotten the big break you've always wanted, but you didn't and now you should learn from this mistake. Pick up every time I call you. No matter what." Or "I took you out for dinner, bought tickets to see your favorite show, and you're not going to date me? You led me on." Or "Are you OK? You are acting so weird. You should talk to me about your problems. I know you say you're fine, but you don't seem fine to me at all." Bullies can be anyone: friends, boyfriends, bosses, family friends, etc.
I feel like the more I become self assured, the easier and faster I can spot manipulation. However, being that I wasn't raised with manipulation (my family has more of a guilt and passive aggressive based upbringing) I am still very susceptible to it. I think when a really skilled asshole, whoops, I mean, fast-talker, catches wind that I have a high threshold for guilt it's like a pinata burst and a whole crap ton of candy spilled out; ripe for the taking.
There will always be manipulative bastards out there. Unfortunately, these are the pariahs that Mama tells you about in a hushed voice when you put on your first bra at 12 and think you've got what it takes to be a confident, worldly woman. There will always be the people who use the over active guilt glands in my body to make me feel bad for doing what I wanted to do. I'm still grappling with how to confront those people and how to avoid those people... and then the passive aggressive side of me writes a blog post about those people. But, I say to you, whoever is reading this and has once been had by the sticky tentacles of a manipulator: be sure of who you are and what you want. Be confident in your choices, because you always have choices regardless of whatever that other person may tell you. Manipulators stand no chance against truth, and they have no sway with confidence, and they themselves are deeply hurt people who see something in you that makes them feel powerful by controlling that. You in fact, have the power over your choices and life. Always.
My theory is that the most manipulative people are the ones who have had a whole lot of it done to them, and they don't seem to know any other way of getting what they want. I find that I get suckered by these people more often than I care to be, but, don't we all? Also, it's rare that in the middle of being manipulated to do what the antagonist wants that I realize that I am being fucked with; usually it is after the fact that I realize I was had or that I did something I was not comfortable doing.
Bullies can be incredibly manipulative: "Hey if you let me copy your homework, I'll talk to Jane about inviting you to her party." Or "If only you had answered my call, you could have really gotten the big break you've always wanted, but you didn't and now you should learn from this mistake. Pick up every time I call you. No matter what." Or "I took you out for dinner, bought tickets to see your favorite show, and you're not going to date me? You led me on." Or "Are you OK? You are acting so weird. You should talk to me about your problems. I know you say you're fine, but you don't seem fine to me at all." Bullies can be anyone: friends, boyfriends, bosses, family friends, etc.
I feel like the more I become self assured, the easier and faster I can spot manipulation. However, being that I wasn't raised with manipulation (my family has more of a guilt and passive aggressive based upbringing) I am still very susceptible to it. I think when a really skilled asshole, whoops, I mean, fast-talker, catches wind that I have a high threshold for guilt it's like a pinata burst and a whole crap ton of candy spilled out; ripe for the taking.
There will always be manipulative bastards out there. Unfortunately, these are the pariahs that Mama tells you about in a hushed voice when you put on your first bra at 12 and think you've got what it takes to be a confident, worldly woman. There will always be the people who use the over active guilt glands in my body to make me feel bad for doing what I wanted to do. I'm still grappling with how to confront those people and how to avoid those people... and then the passive aggressive side of me writes a blog post about those people. But, I say to you, whoever is reading this and has once been had by the sticky tentacles of a manipulator: be sure of who you are and what you want. Be confident in your choices, because you always have choices regardless of whatever that other person may tell you. Manipulators stand no chance against truth, and they have no sway with confidence, and they themselves are deeply hurt people who see something in you that makes them feel powerful by controlling that. You in fact, have the power over your choices and life. Always.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Being Poor
When I was little, getting 20 bucks was like winning the lottery! I never had money other than the weekly allowance of 5 bucks I got every Friday. The wild fantasies of what those 20 dollars could get me would make me salivate and agonize over how best to spend and use the money. I remember going over a spread sheet with my Dad about what it would take for me to live off of the bare minimum in order to buy more Barbies. We puzzled over how one could save a ton of cash by living as simply as possible. I told him I could eat carrots for a week and that would save all the grocery money. He looked at me with amusement. "Really? You'd just eat carrots for breakfast, lunch and dinner?" Yep. I loved carrots. Totally made sense, especially if I could buy more Barbies with the money I wasn't spending.
At the theatre where I was working, I'd make my life work on $150 a month. That meant I had 150 bucks to spend on drinks, clothes, gas for my car, and whatever else I needed. Thankfully I was on food stamps so I didn't need to buy groceries. I budgeted down to the dollar, recording everything I spent money on and sweating the end of the apprenticeship when I had 70 dollars for the 14 hour drive get me back to New York City.
The other Apprentices and I would swap stories of resourcefulness, "make sure you buy beans from this Kroger, not the one on Bardstown Road." And: "Freddie's is a bit cheaper than Magnolia Bar." At banquets we'd raid the buffet tables, shoveling food into take-home boxes, ecstatic about having good, home cooked food to eat for the next few days. I'd lend my car to actors who were visiting, knowing that if they borrowed my car they'd fill the tank with gas.
When I got some money for christmas that year I felt like the little kid who got the 20 bucks. This means I can finally buy new underwear! I CAN! I don't need the stained, threadbare, ripped undies I've been holding on to anymore! Now, I can make-out with that guy I really like and not get embarrassed when he sees my nasty bra. Wahoo! I'll only live off of Pabst Blue Ribbon Beers for the next two weeks so I can save up enough to buy a new shirt. Totally makes sense.
Being "Poor" is a limit to what one can do, and therefore, creativity and resourcefulness can be practiced more. I learned a lot the year I was broke, and am so grateful for the ability to travel and take classes with the money I make now, with only a relatively small amount of budgeting and planning.
At the theatre where I was working, I'd make my life work on $150 a month. That meant I had 150 bucks to spend on drinks, clothes, gas for my car, and whatever else I needed. Thankfully I was on food stamps so I didn't need to buy groceries. I budgeted down to the dollar, recording everything I spent money on and sweating the end of the apprenticeship when I had 70 dollars for the 14 hour drive get me back to New York City.
The other Apprentices and I would swap stories of resourcefulness, "make sure you buy beans from this Kroger, not the one on Bardstown Road." And: "Freddie's is a bit cheaper than Magnolia Bar." At banquets we'd raid the buffet tables, shoveling food into take-home boxes, ecstatic about having good, home cooked food to eat for the next few days. I'd lend my car to actors who were visiting, knowing that if they borrowed my car they'd fill the tank with gas.
When I got some money for christmas that year I felt like the little kid who got the 20 bucks. This means I can finally buy new underwear! I CAN! I don't need the stained, threadbare, ripped undies I've been holding on to anymore! Now, I can make-out with that guy I really like and not get embarrassed when he sees my nasty bra. Wahoo! I'll only live off of Pabst Blue Ribbon Beers for the next two weeks so I can save up enough to buy a new shirt. Totally makes sense.
Being "Poor" is a limit to what one can do, and therefore, creativity and resourcefulness can be practiced more. I learned a lot the year I was broke, and am so grateful for the ability to travel and take classes with the money I make now, with only a relatively small amount of budgeting and planning.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Handling Loss and Change
Handling loss is part of what makes us all unique. I think every person has a list of several past experiences that have formed them and prepared them for dealing with a major life change, like loss. I wrote about the "emotional self"and how if one were to physicalize that self one would see all the scars and burns and hurts that have been inflicted over the course of a lifetime to make that self look like it does. That body of emotion moves a certain way and reacts a certain way because of those wounds.
Recently I have been dealing with a loss at work. My Work Husband no longer works there and I have been grappling with the anxiety of what that means for me. I feel like the Husband of a family very suddenly and without warning left the house and, as the wife, I am now in charge of informing everyone that the guy left and I don't have answers and I am very upset and I don't know what I will do about it, and yes: times are changing; and yes: we all loved him, etc, etc. Life's unfair: I keep telling myself that. Things will be OK: I also keep telling myself that.
We worked together for 2 years 3-4 days a week, 7-8 hour shifts. That's a lot of time to spend with one person, and the fact that we were able to do so without too much drama or annoyance or complication is, I think, one of the most miraculous things about my life up until this point.
I stared down my fears about him leaving yesterday while on the phone with my career coach. I had guilt about staying at the job, anger, confusion, worry, and dread; all terrible emotions to have to carry and think about before going in to a shift at your day job. My coach was a rock-star. She really helped me level out the "boat" of my life and get me back to solid ground. And now, I am trying to roll with the punches and not live up to the expectation that, I think, some of my co-workers were expecting. I've laid out a couple of scenarios I think many of them might have been expecting.
Scenario #1:
Natalie blasts into the restaurant, hair on fire, shattering the doors of the entrance as she walks in. "WHO IS RESPONSIBLE!?" she booms and all tremble in fear. "I WANT DEATH!" she screams grabbing all responsible and crushing them as she cackles a terrible laugh.
Scenario #2:
Natalie slowly walks into the restaurant, head hung low. She has been crying for what looks like days. She cannot speak. She is inconsolable. She vomits on the floor when asked how she is feeling. She cries every 2 minutes and is finally sent home.
Scenario #3:
Natalie just doesn't give a fuck. Fuck you! Fuck you! Lemme tell you what I think of you! You suck! You suck! You suckity suck suck fuck puck bluck slut!! She throws a bunch of napkins on the floor and spits on them. "I'm now telling you every deep dark secret I have ever felt and then I'm going to shit on those napkins!"She announces to an appalled staff.
I didn't do any of those... Promise.
I will continue as normally as I can, because that's what my emotional self is programed to do, like a life dance, and maybe this whole thing is a "wake-up" and I need to really focus on building my career now, and not be so comfortable in my day job.
Recently I have been dealing with a loss at work. My Work Husband no longer works there and I have been grappling with the anxiety of what that means for me. I feel like the Husband of a family very suddenly and without warning left the house and, as the wife, I am now in charge of informing everyone that the guy left and I don't have answers and I am very upset and I don't know what I will do about it, and yes: times are changing; and yes: we all loved him, etc, etc. Life's unfair: I keep telling myself that. Things will be OK: I also keep telling myself that.
We worked together for 2 years 3-4 days a week, 7-8 hour shifts. That's a lot of time to spend with one person, and the fact that we were able to do so without too much drama or annoyance or complication is, I think, one of the most miraculous things about my life up until this point.
I stared down my fears about him leaving yesterday while on the phone with my career coach. I had guilt about staying at the job, anger, confusion, worry, and dread; all terrible emotions to have to carry and think about before going in to a shift at your day job. My coach was a rock-star. She really helped me level out the "boat" of my life and get me back to solid ground. And now, I am trying to roll with the punches and not live up to the expectation that, I think, some of my co-workers were expecting. I've laid out a couple of scenarios I think many of them might have been expecting.
Scenario #1:
Natalie blasts into the restaurant, hair on fire, shattering the doors of the entrance as she walks in. "WHO IS RESPONSIBLE!?" she booms and all tremble in fear. "I WANT DEATH!" she screams grabbing all responsible and crushing them as she cackles a terrible laugh.
Scenario #2:
Natalie slowly walks into the restaurant, head hung low. She has been crying for what looks like days. She cannot speak. She is inconsolable. She vomits on the floor when asked how she is feeling. She cries every 2 minutes and is finally sent home.
Scenario #3:
Natalie just doesn't give a fuck. Fuck you! Fuck you! Lemme tell you what I think of you! You suck! You suck! You suckity suck suck fuck puck bluck slut!! She throws a bunch of napkins on the floor and spits on them. "I'm now telling you every deep dark secret I have ever felt and then I'm going to shit on those napkins!"She announces to an appalled staff.
I didn't do any of those... Promise.
I will continue as normally as I can, because that's what my emotional self is programed to do, like a life dance, and maybe this whole thing is a "wake-up" and I need to really focus on building my career now, and not be so comfortable in my day job.
Friday, November 16, 2012
The Fine Line
I am grappling with the "fine line" or, the time frame best suited when I can tell myself that, yes, I am dating someone. My understanding is that there is a moment when you are both on the same page and one person may just come out and state that they want to be exclusive with their partner. Then the relationship can go from causal to "Fo' Real."
I have an uncanny ability to jump to "Fo' Real-zies" pretty quickly, and then, upon second thought, jump back to "What the fuck? Who are you really?" once I realize that they were not the person I thought I was causally seeing when we were meeting up once a week. Like, for instance, that person may be really secretive about how much they really like to sleep in in the mornings and how lazy they want to be on their times off. I have no problem with that, except I am a pretty bouncy person who wants to be active so that doesn't jive with me so well. Or, when a person one starts to really date begins to unload all their emotional baggage the minute the door shuts and one realizes that the calm and collected person they thought they knew is actually a wreck behind closed doors. Etc.
I'm a pretty big romantic and I think I fall hard for just about anybody I wind up seeing more that three times. This time, however, with Kismet (I've now seen him 3 times) I'm going to take a more steady and inquisitive track: Let's hang out outside of the bedroom and see how we do when sex isn't the only entree on the table. I invited him out to see a museum. I know that for many people this would be the opposite way to approach dating. I feel like the "good girl" in me would be horrified to know that I had spent a couple nights sleeping over at a guy's apartment before even considering getting to that second or third date before "putting out". Please. This is 2012. I don't need to wear a skirt and I don't need to be chaste.
I think Kismet and I are making strides toward something definable. Any time I hang out with a person and we make future plans to see each other again is a pretty solid reason to believe that maybe we are working toward that "fine line" of definition.
Who knows? I am enjoying myself and I plan to continue to do so.
I have an uncanny ability to jump to "Fo' Real-zies" pretty quickly, and then, upon second thought, jump back to "What the fuck? Who are you really?" once I realize that they were not the person I thought I was causally seeing when we were meeting up once a week. Like, for instance, that person may be really secretive about how much they really like to sleep in in the mornings and how lazy they want to be on their times off. I have no problem with that, except I am a pretty bouncy person who wants to be active so that doesn't jive with me so well. Or, when a person one starts to really date begins to unload all their emotional baggage the minute the door shuts and one realizes that the calm and collected person they thought they knew is actually a wreck behind closed doors. Etc.
I'm a pretty big romantic and I think I fall hard for just about anybody I wind up seeing more that three times. This time, however, with Kismet (I've now seen him 3 times) I'm going to take a more steady and inquisitive track: Let's hang out outside of the bedroom and see how we do when sex isn't the only entree on the table. I invited him out to see a museum. I know that for many people this would be the opposite way to approach dating. I feel like the "good girl" in me would be horrified to know that I had spent a couple nights sleeping over at a guy's apartment before even considering getting to that second or third date before "putting out". Please. This is 2012. I don't need to wear a skirt and I don't need to be chaste.
I think Kismet and I are making strides toward something definable. Any time I hang out with a person and we make future plans to see each other again is a pretty solid reason to believe that maybe we are working toward that "fine line" of definition.
Who knows? I am enjoying myself and I plan to continue to do so.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Whiney The Poo
There are many types of people in the world: The Pessimist, The Optimist, The Realist, The Asshole, etc. Being that I am an incredibly opinionated person with a penchant for quick judgement, I am especially annoyed by: The Guy Who Has No Time For Anything, Ever. I'll call him the TGWHNTFAE or, for short: Whiney the Poo.
Whiney the Poo is quite the entertainer with all his stories of just how busy he is. He even made a joke when we sat down for dinner about how long it took for him to even get this evening free. He loves to talk about his job, and the funny cat posters that adorn his office walls. He'll list off all the emails he answered today and go into details, that are far too gory, regarding the strange looking stain he spotted on his boss' tie. Oh, Whiney the Poo just loves to pontificate on all the important strides he's making toward his career. He's even picked up a new hobby on his new iPhone were he flicks a digital paper ball into a digital garbage can whenever he's waiting for an especially large PDF file to get sent to the "big wigs in London."
Whiney the Poo hates his mother, feels like he never got enough love. He's totally paranoid that his outfit doesn't fit right because Jeremy, at work, got a new power suit that makes Whiney the Poo feel like Poo-Poo. Boo Hoo. Poor Poo.
Whiney insists on paying for dinner after he's finished off his third Tanqueray and Tonic and polished off the last of my bourbon after ordering the 2nd round I didn't want. He's all about being the big guy! However, as soon as Whiney the Poo steps out of the overly decorated, tasteless restaurant somewhere in midtown that we paid way too much to eat in, he'll whip out his fancy phone and, after staring at it for a couple minutes too long, declare that he can't believe the idiots running his office when he's not there.
So, so sorry! He'll say when he realizes that I really meant it when I said I needed to head home. Couldn't he just walk me to the subway that also happens to be in front of his apartment building? It's only 18 block away? And when I insist that, oh, I really super duper have to wake up at 4am after all, he'll lament. Why are the girls in New York so hard to date? Why Why Why? Why can't I get what I want!? I work so hard and all I want is a nice girl I can see! Couldn't you be that nice girl for me? I do everything for everybody all the time and I just want a break! C'mon. Gimme a piece. Gimme a break of that fine, sweet, pus-pers-personality!
To which, I stare, confirming my deep, deep dislike of the work-a-holic, whiney, self conflicted, lost souls who feel they can shove around a couple hours in order to schedule a time to get laid and say: "I have to go. Thanks for dinner. And the stain on your boss' tie sounds like it was butternut squash soup." And I'll turn on my heel and walk away. Fuggetaboutit, Whiney the Poo, you're just full of Shit.
Whiney the Poo is quite the entertainer with all his stories of just how busy he is. He even made a joke when we sat down for dinner about how long it took for him to even get this evening free. He loves to talk about his job, and the funny cat posters that adorn his office walls. He'll list off all the emails he answered today and go into details, that are far too gory, regarding the strange looking stain he spotted on his boss' tie. Oh, Whiney the Poo just loves to pontificate on all the important strides he's making toward his career. He's even picked up a new hobby on his new iPhone were he flicks a digital paper ball into a digital garbage can whenever he's waiting for an especially large PDF file to get sent to the "big wigs in London."
Whiney the Poo hates his mother, feels like he never got enough love. He's totally paranoid that his outfit doesn't fit right because Jeremy, at work, got a new power suit that makes Whiney the Poo feel like Poo-Poo. Boo Hoo. Poor Poo.
Whiney insists on paying for dinner after he's finished off his third Tanqueray and Tonic and polished off the last of my bourbon after ordering the 2nd round I didn't want. He's all about being the big guy! However, as soon as Whiney the Poo steps out of the overly decorated, tasteless restaurant somewhere in midtown that we paid way too much to eat in, he'll whip out his fancy phone and, after staring at it for a couple minutes too long, declare that he can't believe the idiots running his office when he's not there.
So, so sorry! He'll say when he realizes that I really meant it when I said I needed to head home. Couldn't he just walk me to the subway that also happens to be in front of his apartment building? It's only 18 block away? And when I insist that, oh, I really super duper have to wake up at 4am after all, he'll lament. Why are the girls in New York so hard to date? Why Why Why? Why can't I get what I want!? I work so hard and all I want is a nice girl I can see! Couldn't you be that nice girl for me? I do everything for everybody all the time and I just want a break! C'mon. Gimme a piece. Gimme a break of that fine, sweet, pus-pers-personality!
To which, I stare, confirming my deep, deep dislike of the work-a-holic, whiney, self conflicted, lost souls who feel they can shove around a couple hours in order to schedule a time to get laid and say: "I have to go. Thanks for dinner. And the stain on your boss' tie sounds like it was butternut squash soup." And I'll turn on my heel and walk away. Fuggetaboutit, Whiney the Poo, you're just full of Shit.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
A How To Guide For Bagging Your Hottie
The Dating Game For Singles: How To Bag Your Hottie.
Step 1: You're both at a function of some sort: party, bar, birthday, fundraiser, etc. It's important to put yourself "out there." Being home all the time is pretty difficult to meet someone new and fun. Best functions to go to involve your friends inviting friends-of-friends so that if you guys meet you have a bit of a common background (i.e. You know Sarah, too? Cool! How'd you meet? etc.)
Step 2: When at the function you look and feel as best as you can. I know, especially after a break-up, one can feel like a total turd. My sense is that guys/girls totally pick up on that and stay away from your desperate eye contact. So, fake it 'til you make it. Put on a smart, somewhat sexy get-up that makes you feel confident, grab a beer, and stick with your friend group for a bit; laugh a lot, chat, look like you're having a great time.
Step 3: While pretending to listen to your friend talk about which flavor of lip gloss they have on, scope out your choices. This is a great time to select a target. Don't put all your eggs in one basket, try and choose maybe 2 or 3 guys/girls that you'd like to talk to.
Step 4: Approach target Number 3 first. I don't advise going in for the kill on Numero Uno right off the bat. Make some rounds about the room, cover some bases. Guy/Girl #3 may turn out to be eh, okay, but at least you managed to make a trip from the friend group. Keep an eye out for your number 1, odds are they may have noticed you looking in their direction and, therefore, you are on their radar.
Step 5: Find an in. Be creative here. This is the chance when you can make your way over to your number 1. Maybe #1 went to get another beer and you can saddle over and chat with their friends a bit. Nothing better than to be introduced through their friends "Tina, this is Josh. He's friends with Margot, we just met." Bingo!
Step 6: Begin zeroing in. Chat lightly. Nothing heavy or scary here. Be witty if you can, try not to feel nervous or desperate. You know you still have number 2 flitting around here somewhere so if this doesn't work you can make your way over to someone else. Laugh a lot. Maybe make contact a few times by lightly touching their arm. Make eye contact. Listen, don't let the eye roam unless you know this is not what you want.
Step 7: Go away for a while. Ok. You've made the introduction. You've chatted a bit. Don't smother. Politely make an excuse to bow out and make your way back to your friend group. Maybe grab another drink or see a friend you want to say hello to. Look popular, confident, but not like an asshole.
Step 8: Get your #1 to find you. Be conspicuous. Be open. But, let that person seek you out. Maybe you can try and chat with your #2 a bit here. Dance on the dance floor a little.
Step 9: If #1 finds you, you are on the gravy train. If they don't, make sure you say 'Bye' before leaving, thank them for a nice chat. They may want to talk a bit longer and then you can swap numbers. Be open to possibilities, though. Try not to be crushed. Always remember there are plenty of fish in the sea.
If you and your number 1 really hit it off, then by all means let that conversation take you where you need to go. Hell, if it's a really great chat maybe you'll get to have a make-out. But, don't expect anything; just be ready for anything.
Step 1: You're both at a function of some sort: party, bar, birthday, fundraiser, etc. It's important to put yourself "out there." Being home all the time is pretty difficult to meet someone new and fun. Best functions to go to involve your friends inviting friends-of-friends so that if you guys meet you have a bit of a common background (i.e. You know Sarah, too? Cool! How'd you meet? etc.)
Step 2: When at the function you look and feel as best as you can. I know, especially after a break-up, one can feel like a total turd. My sense is that guys/girls totally pick up on that and stay away from your desperate eye contact. So, fake it 'til you make it. Put on a smart, somewhat sexy get-up that makes you feel confident, grab a beer, and stick with your friend group for a bit; laugh a lot, chat, look like you're having a great time.
Step 3: While pretending to listen to your friend talk about which flavor of lip gloss they have on, scope out your choices. This is a great time to select a target. Don't put all your eggs in one basket, try and choose maybe 2 or 3 guys/girls that you'd like to talk to.
Step 4: Approach target Number 3 first. I don't advise going in for the kill on Numero Uno right off the bat. Make some rounds about the room, cover some bases. Guy/Girl #3 may turn out to be eh, okay, but at least you managed to make a trip from the friend group. Keep an eye out for your number 1, odds are they may have noticed you looking in their direction and, therefore, you are on their radar.
Step 5: Find an in. Be creative here. This is the chance when you can make your way over to your number 1. Maybe #1 went to get another beer and you can saddle over and chat with their friends a bit. Nothing better than to be introduced through their friends "Tina, this is Josh. He's friends with Margot, we just met." Bingo!
Step 6: Begin zeroing in. Chat lightly. Nothing heavy or scary here. Be witty if you can, try not to feel nervous or desperate. You know you still have number 2 flitting around here somewhere so if this doesn't work you can make your way over to someone else. Laugh a lot. Maybe make contact a few times by lightly touching their arm. Make eye contact. Listen, don't let the eye roam unless you know this is not what you want.
Step 7: Go away for a while. Ok. You've made the introduction. You've chatted a bit. Don't smother. Politely make an excuse to bow out and make your way back to your friend group. Maybe grab another drink or see a friend you want to say hello to. Look popular, confident, but not like an asshole.
Step 8: Get your #1 to find you. Be conspicuous. Be open. But, let that person seek you out. Maybe you can try and chat with your #2 a bit here. Dance on the dance floor a little.
Step 9: If #1 finds you, you are on the gravy train. If they don't, make sure you say 'Bye' before leaving, thank them for a nice chat. They may want to talk a bit longer and then you can swap numbers. Be open to possibilities, though. Try not to be crushed. Always remember there are plenty of fish in the sea.
If you and your number 1 really hit it off, then by all means let that conversation take you where you need to go. Hell, if it's a really great chat maybe you'll get to have a make-out. But, don't expect anything; just be ready for anything.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Being An Art Piece
My hair was teased and cut and my make-up was done and I was sitting on a pillow on the floor as I watched the room fill up with people. I was part of the art piece they had come to see. It was too cool.
The theme was bohemian camping. The artist was a hair stylist who was showcasing her work for a project she had to do. I was told to stay seated and just relax, maybe chat with the other 6 girls who were teased and primped. I tried to act natural and not stare back at the other people looking at us.
It's funny because usually I am the one looking at the art, not the other way around. I wasn't performing in this piece, either. I was on display. My hair was the reason these people had filed in.
I watched as their eyes darted up and down, the appraising glances at my fluffed up hair. Even if I'm not going to get up and perform an improv scene, or act in a play, I love the attention. I don't know how the synapses in my brain are wired to give me pleasure when I get that kind of attention, but however they are: it works.
I won't say no to being an art piece: Mona Lisa's got it real good, figured that out really quickly today.
The theme was bohemian camping. The artist was a hair stylist who was showcasing her work for a project she had to do. I was told to stay seated and just relax, maybe chat with the other 6 girls who were teased and primped. I tried to act natural and not stare back at the other people looking at us.
It's funny because usually I am the one looking at the art, not the other way around. I wasn't performing in this piece, either. I was on display. My hair was the reason these people had filed in.
I watched as their eyes darted up and down, the appraising glances at my fluffed up hair. Even if I'm not going to get up and perform an improv scene, or act in a play, I love the attention. I don't know how the synapses in my brain are wired to give me pleasure when I get that kind of attention, but however they are: it works.
I won't say no to being an art piece: Mona Lisa's got it real good, figured that out really quickly today.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Cool Hand Luke
I felt his hand pat my butt. "When you get a chance; could we get the check, sweetheart?" I froze. Get your filthy hand off of my butt!!! My mind screamed. I smiled a weak, passive smile and moved away from him. I heard his drunk wife's shrill voice behind us: "Did he just touch her ass!?" to the other 4 drunken people at the table. I wanted to die. LEAVE. Just, leave right now, please. Get the fuck out, ALL of you!! I tallied their bill and slid it in front of Mr. Cool Hand Luke who was now standing on the opposite side of my bar. "Thanks so much, you did a really great job." He said as he jotted down the total, tipping me an extra 25 bucks on top of the already included gratuity. I took the check back without a word and watched as he joined his group.
I felt like a victim for about 30 seconds; and then I felt really irritated. As much as I tell myself that we live in a world that's moving more toward equality of the genders, the races, the sexual orientations and the classes; I am still reminded that we have a long way to go.
I tried to picture doing anything to a guy that would make them feel like a piece of meat, but all I could think about was maybe patting them on the head and being really patronizing. I felt frustrated. I could raise a stink about this, I could call that guy out, have his wife feel more ashamed and embarrassed than she probably already feels (Hell, she has to go home with that slime-ball at the end of the night...) I could tell my manager what happened and have her throw those people out... I mused over the scenario of all 6 of those loud-mouthed drunks getting tossed out of the restaurant. Eh, not worth all that fuss.
Unfortunately, this is not a new problem. I am a 25 year old waitress in a dark room with a lot of drunk people on the weekends who are out to have a good time. The benefits of being young, pretty and single are certainly fun and plentiful, but the down side is really gross. I'll get texts from older men who want to "see what I'm up to tonight" and cat-calls on the street. Sometimes, all I want to do is throw a burka on in order to avoid the salacious stares and whistles from construction workers. This problem is not only mine, I see it happen to other girls, too. I see girls just trying to get from point A to point B, not wearing anything overly sexual, getting all sorts of nasty comments thrown at them.
To all you you sad, lusty, sexually frustrated, bored, men who feel, I dunno, trapped? And look at me and think I'd be a nice roll in the hay: go fuck yourselves. And then figure out how to get yourself a therapist to get you to a place where you can be happy, balanced, and not feel like you need to take a quick swipe at a girl's butt in order to give you a thrill.
I felt like a victim for about 30 seconds; and then I felt really irritated. As much as I tell myself that we live in a world that's moving more toward equality of the genders, the races, the sexual orientations and the classes; I am still reminded that we have a long way to go.
I tried to picture doing anything to a guy that would make them feel like a piece of meat, but all I could think about was maybe patting them on the head and being really patronizing. I felt frustrated. I could raise a stink about this, I could call that guy out, have his wife feel more ashamed and embarrassed than she probably already feels (Hell, she has to go home with that slime-ball at the end of the night...) I could tell my manager what happened and have her throw those people out... I mused over the scenario of all 6 of those loud-mouthed drunks getting tossed out of the restaurant. Eh, not worth all that fuss.
Unfortunately, this is not a new problem. I am a 25 year old waitress in a dark room with a lot of drunk people on the weekends who are out to have a good time. The benefits of being young, pretty and single are certainly fun and plentiful, but the down side is really gross. I'll get texts from older men who want to "see what I'm up to tonight" and cat-calls on the street. Sometimes, all I want to do is throw a burka on in order to avoid the salacious stares and whistles from construction workers. This problem is not only mine, I see it happen to other girls, too. I see girls just trying to get from point A to point B, not wearing anything overly sexual, getting all sorts of nasty comments thrown at them.
To all you you sad, lusty, sexually frustrated, bored, men who feel, I dunno, trapped? And look at me and think I'd be a nice roll in the hay: go fuck yourselves. And then figure out how to get yourself a therapist to get you to a place where you can be happy, balanced, and not feel like you need to take a quick swipe at a girl's butt in order to give you a thrill.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Boredom
I know some people would probably relish the idea of days on end with nothing to do, but I am not that kind of person. I have always been ready to jump into the next activity and to finish projects and get involved and be so busy that I can't remember how many hours of sleep I got the night before. I like being busy, but only with stuff I want to do.
In college I was a member of an executive board that gave me so many tasks I felt run ragged by the end of the day. I didn't have time to do theatre, I barely had a moment to myself and I didn't feel fulfilled by the tasks I needed to manage like organizing meetings, visiting important people, and counseling students with what they needed to accomplish. At the end of every week I would look back on all that I had done and felt so drained, not fulfilled.
Now, I feel like I am going through the opposite problem. Boredom is exhausting, too. Fear comes behind that boredom, as well. I have fears that I am wasting my life by sitting around and watching entire seasons of shows on Netflix. I fear that I will waste any momentum I've gained in my career and that I'll never emerge from this stalled situation and somehow be doomed to a life of never amounting to very much. Yikes. Not what I want! Yet, why am I in that state and not actively pursuing more of what can make me happy?
Control is an important factor in curing boredom. I had a talk with a friend of mine a couple nights ago who said that Boredom is a tricky state to be in. That there are always other things working when the mind is idle and listless: The "shark under the surface" like, depression and worry. So, having a sense of control on whatever it is I am doing has helped me feel like I am not slipping into the oblivion of neglect. I can control my own life. I can make a difference in what I will be doing tomorrow and next week and next year. By making a commitment to tasking myself with things to do, I find that the hopelessness of "What is my life?" and "Why should I bother getting out of bed at all?" are diminished.
I hope that those out there battling with the fear and anxiety of not knowing what the future will be, and therefore choosing to do nothing but be bored in the life they've chosen, can one day have a realization that they are not victims of circumstance. Taking back your life is a tough choice, and by no means an easy one, but getting control of what you can do with the time we have on this planet is what makes our lives worth living! I wish that for all of you.
In college I was a member of an executive board that gave me so many tasks I felt run ragged by the end of the day. I didn't have time to do theatre, I barely had a moment to myself and I didn't feel fulfilled by the tasks I needed to manage like organizing meetings, visiting important people, and counseling students with what they needed to accomplish. At the end of every week I would look back on all that I had done and felt so drained, not fulfilled.
Now, I feel like I am going through the opposite problem. Boredom is exhausting, too. Fear comes behind that boredom, as well. I have fears that I am wasting my life by sitting around and watching entire seasons of shows on Netflix. I fear that I will waste any momentum I've gained in my career and that I'll never emerge from this stalled situation and somehow be doomed to a life of never amounting to very much. Yikes. Not what I want! Yet, why am I in that state and not actively pursuing more of what can make me happy?
Control is an important factor in curing boredom. I had a talk with a friend of mine a couple nights ago who said that Boredom is a tricky state to be in. That there are always other things working when the mind is idle and listless: The "shark under the surface" like, depression and worry. So, having a sense of control on whatever it is I am doing has helped me feel like I am not slipping into the oblivion of neglect. I can control my own life. I can make a difference in what I will be doing tomorrow and next week and next year. By making a commitment to tasking myself with things to do, I find that the hopelessness of "What is my life?" and "Why should I bother getting out of bed at all?" are diminished.
I hope that those out there battling with the fear and anxiety of not knowing what the future will be, and therefore choosing to do nothing but be bored in the life they've chosen, can one day have a realization that they are not victims of circumstance. Taking back your life is a tough choice, and by no means an easy one, but getting control of what you can do with the time we have on this planet is what makes our lives worth living! I wish that for all of you.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Times They Are A Changin'
I looked at the old women in the salon getting primped and fluffed by very flamboyant gay men and skinny bleach blonde girls talking animatedly with their clients and wondered at all who are making their ways as the mechanics of fashion. Just like a car mechanic will get under the hood of a car, allowing themselves to get covered in grease, flecks of road bits and gasoline; so will the hairstylists of our era undertake such feats of tinkering and tooling around.
By the time I was done with my session, I felt like a suped-up version of myself. I was invited to be a model for Bumble and Bumble's styling school and I haven't regretted a single moment of waiting patiently in my chair as a girl sweeps my hair all over the place with graceful fingers. I never realized the potential in beauty schools. These people training to be better beauticians always need models to come in and allow themselves to be guinea pigs for a few hours, but the results: like having professional hair cuts and designs for free! Woohoo!
Change is always scary for me, though. I feel like I can't quite take in the reality of a change unless I assign a certain amount of anxiety to it first. So, after getting my hair colored I walked in to the bathroom and looked at myself and became panicked. Crap! I look nothing like myself! I look like an impostor! I look like Jennifer Lopez! And even after I got home and had my sister play the "calm Natalie down" game, I felt only marginally better about the anxiety that was threatening to make me put on a wig.
To calm down I looked up what the Republicans were saying about the Re-Election. Now, there's a group of people who know what I'm going through to a certain extent! I read a couple of excerpts from a couple of Tea-Party members that was sent out stating that "America was Dead" and that we are all headed for Doom. That made me feel better. Those people are freaking out over a whole lot of issues and I'm scared over a couple of new streaks in my hair.
Well, here's to change! Here's to the first dye job I have ever had done professionally (first job was done in High School by my teenage cousins). And I'll leave with a quote from Bob Dylan, who sums it up so eloquently:
"Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'."
By the time I was done with my session, I felt like a suped-up version of myself. I was invited to be a model for Bumble and Bumble's styling school and I haven't regretted a single moment of waiting patiently in my chair as a girl sweeps my hair all over the place with graceful fingers. I never realized the potential in beauty schools. These people training to be better beauticians always need models to come in and allow themselves to be guinea pigs for a few hours, but the results: like having professional hair cuts and designs for free! Woohoo!
Change is always scary for me, though. I feel like I can't quite take in the reality of a change unless I assign a certain amount of anxiety to it first. So, after getting my hair colored I walked in to the bathroom and looked at myself and became panicked. Crap! I look nothing like myself! I look like an impostor! I look like Jennifer Lopez! And even after I got home and had my sister play the "calm Natalie down" game, I felt only marginally better about the anxiety that was threatening to make me put on a wig.
To calm down I looked up what the Republicans were saying about the Re-Election. Now, there's a group of people who know what I'm going through to a certain extent! I read a couple of excerpts from a couple of Tea-Party members that was sent out stating that "America was Dead" and that we are all headed for Doom. That made me feel better. Those people are freaking out over a whole lot of issues and I'm scared over a couple of new streaks in my hair.
Well, here's to change! Here's to the first dye job I have ever had done professionally (first job was done in High School by my teenage cousins). And I'll leave with a quote from Bob Dylan, who sums it up so eloquently:
"Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'."
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
A Re-Election
I watched Obama walk toward the podium and the rest of the bar I was in stilled. My group and I had just arrived from Times Square were we watched the election results come in as New Yorkers screamed at the top of their lungs. I drank down a Jameson and clapped my hands, heaving a sigh of relief. I thought back to the anticipation of the day, like the super-bowl of politics, everyone boasting about how long they had waited in line to vote and really cynical New Yorkers actively shitting all over people who hadn't voted (no, not real poop, more like: "You didn't Vote!? Oh my god. I really don't want to meet you. No, really. You suck. You're a piece of shit." Truth: I actually heard that statement.)
Waiting in line to vote yesterday was pretty annoying. After I got home I checked my Facebook newsfeed and saw dozens of other friends also talking about how long it took to finally get to the booth and cast a ballot. I'm still not convinced that system accurately counts everyone. Especially since the margins between Mitt and Obama came down to such small numbers, I mean: What the hell? 30 thousand votes here, 20 thousand there, etc. My ballot was a big sheet of paper that I bubbled in and slipped into an envelope and the lady who took it thew it on a big pile and said "thanks!" as I walked out. I imagined, once the polls were done, all these blonde 20-something cheerleaders flooding the church I had voted in and tackling the massive pile of paper with a zeal found only in the anticipation of counting votes for the next Prom Queen. Except, there are like, millions of votes.
Back in Times square, a bunch of thoughts ran through my mind as I watched the election results roll in and the winner was still not solidified. Thoughts like:
A) I wonder what the families of both parties are doing all day? Business as usual? Or, are they all sitting in a room somewhere biting their nails?
B) What the hell would I explain to the people I met abroad if Mitt had won? "Yeah, sorry. I know Mitt's policies would only be welcome in a place like Pakistan outside of the United States. But, I really can't speak for the 50 million Americans who wanted him in office. Which is why I am here in sunny Beijing! Life just makes more sense here, you know? Haha! [insert witty comment in Mandarin]"
C) I feel like Mitt coming in to office would have been like if my Mom decided to date a creepy corporate christian guy just out of the blue and expected my sister and I to like him and have dinner with him every night. Ew.
D) Obama's pretty hot.
E) Oh, and I like that my LBGT community here and everywhere in the States can hopefully look forward to an America that will accept their life choices without bias and discrimination. (I've kissed a bunch of girls, by the way, and although I would not consider myself a lesbian: I totally get the attraction to women as a woman.)
F) Mitt makes me think of the word "hit," which makes me think of guns, which makes me think of death, which makes me want to drink: death is scary.
G) Michelle is hot.
I'll remember the elections of Obama for years and years. It's an incredibly influential presidency (not that any presidency isn't, well... maybe William Henry Harrison's presidency wasn't: he was only in office 30 days before he kicked the bucket). The fact that Obama is still in office makes me proud to be an American in the eyes of the rest of the world. When Bush was in office, I wasn't an American, I was a New Yorker because, God Forbid, if I had admitted to being an American when I was in India I might have gotten punched in the face. So: Here's to another 4 years. And hopefully a second term that can bring both sides of the fence together in cooperation! (I've kissed republicans, and I gotta say, I totally get the attraction to them, too.)
Waiting in line to vote yesterday was pretty annoying. After I got home I checked my Facebook newsfeed and saw dozens of other friends also talking about how long it took to finally get to the booth and cast a ballot. I'm still not convinced that system accurately counts everyone. Especially since the margins between Mitt and Obama came down to such small numbers, I mean: What the hell? 30 thousand votes here, 20 thousand there, etc. My ballot was a big sheet of paper that I bubbled in and slipped into an envelope and the lady who took it thew it on a big pile and said "thanks!" as I walked out. I imagined, once the polls were done, all these blonde 20-something cheerleaders flooding the church I had voted in and tackling the massive pile of paper with a zeal found only in the anticipation of counting votes for the next Prom Queen. Except, there are like, millions of votes.
Back in Times square, a bunch of thoughts ran through my mind as I watched the election results roll in and the winner was still not solidified. Thoughts like:
A) I wonder what the families of both parties are doing all day? Business as usual? Or, are they all sitting in a room somewhere biting their nails?
B) What the hell would I explain to the people I met abroad if Mitt had won? "Yeah, sorry. I know Mitt's policies would only be welcome in a place like Pakistan outside of the United States. But, I really can't speak for the 50 million Americans who wanted him in office. Which is why I am here in sunny Beijing! Life just makes more sense here, you know? Haha! [insert witty comment in Mandarin]"
C) I feel like Mitt coming in to office would have been like if my Mom decided to date a creepy corporate christian guy just out of the blue and expected my sister and I to like him and have dinner with him every night. Ew.
D) Obama's pretty hot.
E) Oh, and I like that my LBGT community here and everywhere in the States can hopefully look forward to an America that will accept their life choices without bias and discrimination. (I've kissed a bunch of girls, by the way, and although I would not consider myself a lesbian: I totally get the attraction to women as a woman.)
F) Mitt makes me think of the word "hit," which makes me think of guns, which makes me think of death, which makes me want to drink: death is scary.
G) Michelle is hot.
I'll remember the elections of Obama for years and years. It's an incredibly influential presidency (not that any presidency isn't, well... maybe William Henry Harrison's presidency wasn't: he was only in office 30 days before he kicked the bucket). The fact that Obama is still in office makes me proud to be an American in the eyes of the rest of the world. When Bush was in office, I wasn't an American, I was a New Yorker because, God Forbid, if I had admitted to being an American when I was in India I might have gotten punched in the face. So: Here's to another 4 years. And hopefully a second term that can bring both sides of the fence together in cooperation! (I've kissed republicans, and I gotta say, I totally get the attraction to them, too.)
Monday, November 5, 2012
Hot Mamas at the Gym
I stared at her hot-pink, skin-tight spandex capris and wondered what she was really doing at the gym. She didn't even look like she had broken a sweat. She checked her hair in the mirror as I checked out what color thong she had on (blue). I was on the floor of the gym, on my hands and knees, red faced, sweaty, and stinky. I glanced at myself in the full length mirror across the room and noticed my recent aerobics had caused my red shirt to ride up my middle exposing the back of my pink, cotton, grandma-panties to the rest of the gym. It didn't matter though, everyone who gave a damn about staring at hot chicks were checking out Ms. Pretty-In-Pink's round rump as she pretended to do some squats.
I found myself getting a kick out of watching heavy-hitting beefy dudes' eyes travel up and down the waist line of Ms. Pretty-In-Pink. She was getting what she wanted, I guess. Although I've never felt like the gym was a place that anyone went to in order to look like the best version of themselves. I go to the gym to blow off steam, feel healthy, sweat a lot and put off having to take a shower for another hour or so. So, when I see some hot-tottie walking around checking her iPod and casually lift a 2 pound weight I feel entertained. Yes, let me see what you got, girlie. I think as I continue with my crunches or lunges. I imagine these Hot Mama's all hurried into a room with no dudes, and told to work out. What would they do? Awkwardly stare at the next chick's neon green bra? Hmm...
I'm generally annoyed at the fashion trends for work-outs. I don't think working out should be a production of who has the latest fashion trend! I'm moving, I'm putting myself in awkward positions I wouldn't normally put myself in unless I was visiting a proctologist's examination table, I'm not engaging with other people as I listen to Hip-Hop music blasting in my ears, and I'm pumping it! I want to look like a Hot Tottie after I'm done with the gym. Then, sure, I'll throw on my ridiculous skin-tight black butt-pants and walk around pretending that I'm not getting my assets checked out. But, to me, the gym seems like such an ironic place to want to look spicy and sexy in cute, white cut-off's.
Don't get me wrong: people who go to the gym and are "in the zone" can be super hot, literally and figuratively. I'm attracted to guys and, especially, girls who show up and pump it. Those people are not there to casually bend over and let their boobs spill out or wear stupid looking shorts that let the viewer peek at their junk if within the proper vantage point (which, for some reason I find myself in more often than not). I think that the dedication to being fit and healthy is super attractive, and I applaud the people who "Bring it" when they show up. Get red-faced! Get sticky! Get sore and limp! Go the distance! Challenge me to keep up!
...At least, that's what I tell myself when I peek across the room and see myself back on my hands and knees while Mr. Show-And-Tell is pretending to do pull-ups, and all I want to scream is "COVER UP! YOU'RE BALLS ARE NOT ATTRACTIVE!!!"
I found myself getting a kick out of watching heavy-hitting beefy dudes' eyes travel up and down the waist line of Ms. Pretty-In-Pink. She was getting what she wanted, I guess. Although I've never felt like the gym was a place that anyone went to in order to look like the best version of themselves. I go to the gym to blow off steam, feel healthy, sweat a lot and put off having to take a shower for another hour or so. So, when I see some hot-tottie walking around checking her iPod and casually lift a 2 pound weight I feel entertained. Yes, let me see what you got, girlie. I think as I continue with my crunches or lunges. I imagine these Hot Mama's all hurried into a room with no dudes, and told to work out. What would they do? Awkwardly stare at the next chick's neon green bra? Hmm...
I'm generally annoyed at the fashion trends for work-outs. I don't think working out should be a production of who has the latest fashion trend! I'm moving, I'm putting myself in awkward positions I wouldn't normally put myself in unless I was visiting a proctologist's examination table, I'm not engaging with other people as I listen to Hip-Hop music blasting in my ears, and I'm pumping it! I want to look like a Hot Tottie after I'm done with the gym. Then, sure, I'll throw on my ridiculous skin-tight black butt-pants and walk around pretending that I'm not getting my assets checked out. But, to me, the gym seems like such an ironic place to want to look spicy and sexy in cute, white cut-off's.
Don't get me wrong: people who go to the gym and are "in the zone" can be super hot, literally and figuratively. I'm attracted to guys and, especially, girls who show up and pump it. Those people are not there to casually bend over and let their boobs spill out or wear stupid looking shorts that let the viewer peek at their junk if within the proper vantage point (which, for some reason I find myself in more often than not). I think that the dedication to being fit and healthy is super attractive, and I applaud the people who "Bring it" when they show up. Get red-faced! Get sticky! Get sore and limp! Go the distance! Challenge me to keep up!
...At least, that's what I tell myself when I peek across the room and see myself back on my hands and knees while Mr. Show-And-Tell is pretending to do pull-ups, and all I want to scream is "COVER UP! YOU'RE BALLS ARE NOT ATTRACTIVE!!!"
Sunday, November 4, 2012
The Marriage
I couldn't keep my gaze off of the bride walking down the aisle as her soon-to-be husband stood at the alter with a smile plastered on his face. She radiated beauty as she took her time walking toward her marriage rites. As she got closer I could feel her measured breath, her steady gaze on her love, and the sheer force of will in keeping back the tears that threatened to spill out of her eyes and down her cheeks. She seemed completely different from the girl I met in college when we both performed in a prevention through the arts group on campus. The girl I knew back then was a bubbly, quick-to-laugh, R.A. who wanted to be a teacher and buzzed around campus making stuff happen. The bride I saw walking down the aisle was austere, poised, and solely focused on floating to the alter.
The ceremony was beautiful, the catholic priest announcing his love of the spiritual and the love of the flesh, but I couldn't keep my eyes off of the couple standing under the massive statue of a bloody and beaten Jesus. The two of them were holding hands, looking deep in to each other's eyes and smiling big happy smiles of joy. Two people: in a ceremonial setting, wearing traditional clothing, were promising a promise out loud to all the witnesses in the church to hear. I listened to their vows of fidelity and trust and to promise to stay together for the rest of their lives, but felt like I was seeing a promise already uttered between the two, probably silently at first, but a promise that they both independently knew for a long time. The wedding rites were a ceremonial way of letting us all know they meant it.
I remember talking to a girlfriend getting married a couple years ago. She kept insisting that "you just know" when you meet the man/woman you'll wind up with. I keep thinking about that "ah-hah!" moment and wonder if that's not the moment when you make a promise to yourself that the person who makes you feel that way is the person you should be with for the rest of your life.
I am not an overly religious person. I don't subscribe to the idea that an Omnipotent being will get me into a kingdom of heaven if I worship them, but I do believe that the reaction I had to watching two people, very much in love, tell their world that they will love each other forever, was holy. I believe in the awed feeling I felt when I watched them hold each other, that to me was the moment of the wedding, and any wedding for that matter, which transcends religion and becomes it's own moment of purity. It's a beautiful thing to witness, and I'm glad I did.
Every marriage is different, and every couple will bring their own personalities and beliefs to their ceremonial "knot tying." The love I've seen in all the weddings I have been to though: that seems to be a very similarly beautiful thing to see, and all of them have that spark, that glow in their smiles and that energy to their step which makes the bride ethereal and the groom handsome and attractive. That spark will cement the memories in their brains to be recalled in times when all else seems hard and frustrating. I wish those moments of bliss on everyone! And I wish all the best to my two friends.
The ceremony was beautiful, the catholic priest announcing his love of the spiritual and the love of the flesh, but I couldn't keep my eyes off of the couple standing under the massive statue of a bloody and beaten Jesus. The two of them were holding hands, looking deep in to each other's eyes and smiling big happy smiles of joy. Two people: in a ceremonial setting, wearing traditional clothing, were promising a promise out loud to all the witnesses in the church to hear. I listened to their vows of fidelity and trust and to promise to stay together for the rest of their lives, but felt like I was seeing a promise already uttered between the two, probably silently at first, but a promise that they both independently knew for a long time. The wedding rites were a ceremonial way of letting us all know they meant it.
I remember talking to a girlfriend getting married a couple years ago. She kept insisting that "you just know" when you meet the man/woman you'll wind up with. I keep thinking about that "ah-hah!" moment and wonder if that's not the moment when you make a promise to yourself that the person who makes you feel that way is the person you should be with for the rest of your life.
I am not an overly religious person. I don't subscribe to the idea that an Omnipotent being will get me into a kingdom of heaven if I worship them, but I do believe that the reaction I had to watching two people, very much in love, tell their world that they will love each other forever, was holy. I believe in the awed feeling I felt when I watched them hold each other, that to me was the moment of the wedding, and any wedding for that matter, which transcends religion and becomes it's own moment of purity. It's a beautiful thing to witness, and I'm glad I did.
Every marriage is different, and every couple will bring their own personalities and beliefs to their ceremonial "knot tying." The love I've seen in all the weddings I have been to though: that seems to be a very similarly beautiful thing to see, and all of them have that spark, that glow in their smiles and that energy to their step which makes the bride ethereal and the groom handsome and attractive. That spark will cement the memories in their brains to be recalled in times when all else seems hard and frustrating. I wish those moments of bliss on everyone! And I wish all the best to my two friends.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Melted Butter
"You know what's so cool about you?" I asked, a smile breaking on to my face. "I mean, a lot is cool about you, but what's really super cool?" He shook his head, looking at me. "That." I said. "You make so much eye contact. I love that. I feel like you really see me, and you're open, like, you're letting me read you." I felt silly, like I suddenly switched languages and wasn't able to quite communicate what I wanted to say. "You know? Like, so many people I know don't make eye contact, they stare off and I don't know where they go sometimes... It makes me feel lonely, but you look right at me. It's really cool." He smiled back.
"You're easy to look at." He replied. "You're also very open."
I leaned back onto the single pillow on his tiny bed and sighed. "I feel like melted butter right now." I whispered. He chuckled, leaning in to kiss me again.
Now, a couple hours later, the morning has come and gone and I am back home. I feel worried. I keep trying to figure out what I want and what he wants and what I would do if I didn't get what I wanted. This is a fascinating situation I'm in. On the one hand, I feel like there is nothing that I need to analyze yet about anything going on between Kismet and I. And, on the other hand, I feel like there is so much I could see happening.
I don't think the english language has the proper vocabulary to describe all shades of love/relationship statuses. Like, this situation: In public we are at "friend" status (meaning, no hand holding, Public displays of affection or furtive glances) however, when alone we are "relationship" status (extremely affectionate, sweet and passionate). I don't know what to call that. I am confused. How can someone feel so good and be so good to be around and it's not a committed relationship? A casual hook-up is just that: no weight, no worry, no real passion. How can I get up in the morning after feeling so warm and weightless and go back to being the person I was the day before, after a night that made me feel like I once felt when I was dating Serendipity?
Am I a sucker for falling in love? Am I the girl who wears her heart right on her sleeve and then gets crushed when everything doesn't become "happily ever after"? The answer, I believe, is Yes.
I'm tired of explaining how a person didn't work out. I'm tired of feeling like every time I see someone it could be the last time. But, how can I control that? This is New York in 2012 and I am one of thousands of very pretty, smart, driven 20-something women who are all here to be loved and worshipped and sometimes I feel like I'm in a rat race for decent guys. So, whenever I find one, I feel like I struck a nugget of gold.
I think a New Year's resolution will be to not worry so much. Yeah, it's a tall, daunting and seemingly open ended task, but one that I want to work on. If I don't worry, if I turn off the think-blinders and relax, I feel like melted butter: light, weightless, and warm. Kismet is still Kismet, whether I worry about him being something or someone else and the time spent with him makes me feel really, really good, and that's fact.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Memories of a Grandmother
I try and gain as much knowledge about my maternal grandmother, so I can piece together more of an image of her. She's a part of my history, and one that I feel like I know very little about. I only know of my grandma through stories my Mom and Grandfather have told me. Yet, I feel like she speaks to me in pieces of accounts I get from time to time, which are sprinkled through my life like bread crumbs.
I'm told I have a lot of her in me. That, if one were to compare photos of the three generations: my mother, her mother and myself all have a strong family resemblance. Yet, this woman is an enigma to me. She dances around my sub-consiouse and becomes a different person every time I hear a new story of her. I used to imagine her as a victim of cancer, a poor statistic tragically swiped from existence by an unfeeling disease. Then, when I'd hear stories about how bi-polar she was and the non-stop cigarette smoke that would billow from her mouth, I'd imagine her as a loud, unpredictable, yellow toothed monster, a woman I wouldn't want to spend a lot of time with and certainly not want to let kiss me on the cheek.
I once monologued at her. I was in an audition room and was asked to yell at a family member. I chose Her because I didn't know her. I yelled at her for dying, blaming her cigarette smoke and selfishness and found myself crying in a completely surprising turn of events. Did she hear that speech? Did she understand how frustrating it was to only get snippets of information about her, and how sensational I thought this woman to be? Who was Helen? I see her as a bi-sexual divorcee single mother who travelled around the country in the 60's and 70's teaching english as a college professor and wrote a lot of letters and poetry. She half raised my Mom. She was beautiful. She was flawed.
I wish I had met her. Maybe I'd understand a little more of myself, if I could.
I'm told I have a lot of her in me. That, if one were to compare photos of the three generations: my mother, her mother and myself all have a strong family resemblance. Yet, this woman is an enigma to me. She dances around my sub-consiouse and becomes a different person every time I hear a new story of her. I used to imagine her as a victim of cancer, a poor statistic tragically swiped from existence by an unfeeling disease. Then, when I'd hear stories about how bi-polar she was and the non-stop cigarette smoke that would billow from her mouth, I'd imagine her as a loud, unpredictable, yellow toothed monster, a woman I wouldn't want to spend a lot of time with and certainly not want to let kiss me on the cheek.
I once monologued at her. I was in an audition room and was asked to yell at a family member. I chose Her because I didn't know her. I yelled at her for dying, blaming her cigarette smoke and selfishness and found myself crying in a completely surprising turn of events. Did she hear that speech? Did she understand how frustrating it was to only get snippets of information about her, and how sensational I thought this woman to be? Who was Helen? I see her as a bi-sexual divorcee single mother who travelled around the country in the 60's and 70's teaching english as a college professor and wrote a lot of letters and poetry. She half raised my Mom. She was beautiful. She was flawed.
I wish I had met her. Maybe I'd understand a little more of myself, if I could.
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