Dear 2012,
A great year was had.
In truth, I wouldn't change anything I've done. No regrets. I feel really happy about that.
I feel like, in my life, if I were to sum up this part I'm living right now; I'd be in the middle of the "build up" chapters where the reader gets a ton of information and back story and plot points, but knows that bigger and better are coming soon.
I can't wait for bigger and better! I know they will be here VERY soon. The first "better" being in January, when I officially take on the lease in my apartment and clean house, paint, and set up the place for new tenants. Sweet. I'll have my own room again! I won't be sharing with my sister! AHHH!
Peru and Bolivia are in my sights this spring.
I'm gonna start coaching and performing Improv consistently this next year.
I'll meet more Kismet's, Cutie's, and Serendipity's. Uh Huh. Oh 'effin yeah.
Oh, and the 5 pounds I've lost? I'm gonna make that 10 pounds, then, I'll score another feature film, which I'll be perfect for.
I'm gonna live the hell out of this next year: 25 never looked so damn good.
'k thanx, byeeee.
-Natalie
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Friday, December 28, 2012
First Love
We were watching "Team American: World Police" on my tiny college mattress. My room mate, Linda, was out for the night so we had the whole 12x12 room to ourselves. To say my mattress was about the width of a desk chair would be an over-statement. The glorified "cot" was extra long and extra lean, making me feel deeply sorry for anyone over 175lbs who tried to sleep comfortably.
I turned on my laptop and turned off the lights, bathing the room in the blue glow from the screen. He was sitting on my pillows, trying to seem comfortable; but I knew better. I scrambled on to the tiny space and tried to relax into the experience. "This is a great movie, very funny." I reiterated, trying to sound like I wasn't nervous. I really, really liked this guy. He nodded in approval as I hit play.
To try and watch a stupid satirical south-park-esk movie on a third date is pretty tough when you're watching said movie for the first time with that person. I would recommend watching "Team America" with someone who has seen it before, someone who can chant along the silly verses and the ridiculous one-liners with you. Not someone who really doesn't have the same sense of satire or really no clue about South Park in general.
So, there I was, acutely aware of where our bodies were pressing together and trying really hard to laugh along with the opening. I kept glancing at him and trying to read his face. Was he enjoying himself? He didn't look like it. And his small attempt at a smile was making me nervous.
I thought back to the last few dates we had been on. The first one where he picked me up in his parent's cool Mitsubishi and took me off campus for an egg sandwich while listening to Jamie Cullum's "I'm All at Sea" and talking pleasantly about how stupid our theatre class we had met in was. The second one where he took me to play pool and, being that I was so bad, I had him "show" me how to hit a ball better. When he leaned over me and put his hands on mine I felt a flutter. I liked him so much!
Tonight was the third freakin' date and we still hadn't kissed. I could feel the pressure building, especially since earlier that week one of my girlfriend's and I decided to have a race and see who could lose their virginity first. We were 18 and in our second semester of freshman year, let's get it ON! I was determined not to be a desperate virgin, though. I would not do it with just anyone. I promised myself that the person I'd have sex with would need to be someone special. And He was pretty special. I could tell.
The opening of the movie finished and I hadn't even heard so much as a guffaw from him. I felt stupid for even suggesting this movie. I needed to make a move to save what felt like a dying third date. I looked at him. "It's an acquired taste, I guess." I said. He smiled. We looked at each other for a couple seconds, I felt my body inch toward him, my pulse quickening; then I looked back at the film, pretending to be absorbed in the plot.
Fuck! FUCK! I was scared! I wanted to kiss him, but didn't have the guts. Up until that point I had drunkenly made out with a couple people, but kissing was still a new concept for me. Especially kissing someone I really liked. Jesus, if I can't even get the balls to kiss him, how will I ever lose my virginity or (even worse!!) love anyone?
"Freedom Isn't Free" struck up in the movie. I made a move by awkwardly rolling on top of him and sticking my tongue right in his mouth. THERE! I did it! We wound up awkwardly making out for about 30 seconds before I started laughing hysterically, catching myself by surprise at my boldness. "I really like you." I said, feeling myself blush.
"I like you, too, Nat." He replied, laughing with me.
I hugged him. I was still sitting in his belly, but I went for the bent-over crunch anyway. The hug felt good. It felt right.
He's the one. I thought. I'm so lucky.
And I was right.
I turned on my laptop and turned off the lights, bathing the room in the blue glow from the screen. He was sitting on my pillows, trying to seem comfortable; but I knew better. I scrambled on to the tiny space and tried to relax into the experience. "This is a great movie, very funny." I reiterated, trying to sound like I wasn't nervous. I really, really liked this guy. He nodded in approval as I hit play.
To try and watch a stupid satirical south-park-esk movie on a third date is pretty tough when you're watching said movie for the first time with that person. I would recommend watching "Team America" with someone who has seen it before, someone who can chant along the silly verses and the ridiculous one-liners with you. Not someone who really doesn't have the same sense of satire or really no clue about South Park in general.
So, there I was, acutely aware of where our bodies were pressing together and trying really hard to laugh along with the opening. I kept glancing at him and trying to read his face. Was he enjoying himself? He didn't look like it. And his small attempt at a smile was making me nervous.
I thought back to the last few dates we had been on. The first one where he picked me up in his parent's cool Mitsubishi and took me off campus for an egg sandwich while listening to Jamie Cullum's "I'm All at Sea" and talking pleasantly about how stupid our theatre class we had met in was. The second one where he took me to play pool and, being that I was so bad, I had him "show" me how to hit a ball better. When he leaned over me and put his hands on mine I felt a flutter. I liked him so much!
Tonight was the third freakin' date and we still hadn't kissed. I could feel the pressure building, especially since earlier that week one of my girlfriend's and I decided to have a race and see who could lose their virginity first. We were 18 and in our second semester of freshman year, let's get it ON! I was determined not to be a desperate virgin, though. I would not do it with just anyone. I promised myself that the person I'd have sex with would need to be someone special. And He was pretty special. I could tell.
The opening of the movie finished and I hadn't even heard so much as a guffaw from him. I felt stupid for even suggesting this movie. I needed to make a move to save what felt like a dying third date. I looked at him. "It's an acquired taste, I guess." I said. He smiled. We looked at each other for a couple seconds, I felt my body inch toward him, my pulse quickening; then I looked back at the film, pretending to be absorbed in the plot.
Fuck! FUCK! I was scared! I wanted to kiss him, but didn't have the guts. Up until that point I had drunkenly made out with a couple people, but kissing was still a new concept for me. Especially kissing someone I really liked. Jesus, if I can't even get the balls to kiss him, how will I ever lose my virginity or (even worse!!) love anyone?
"Freedom Isn't Free" struck up in the movie. I made a move by awkwardly rolling on top of him and sticking my tongue right in his mouth. THERE! I did it! We wound up awkwardly making out for about 30 seconds before I started laughing hysterically, catching myself by surprise at my boldness. "I really like you." I said, feeling myself blush.
"I like you, too, Nat." He replied, laughing with me.
I hugged him. I was still sitting in his belly, but I went for the bent-over crunch anyway. The hug felt good. It felt right.
He's the one. I thought. I'm so lucky.
And I was right.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Writing Like a Pro
I remember my Mom telling me at a young age that she thought I would wind up writing someday, and I never wanted to believe her. Instead, I would correct her: "No, I'm an actress, Ma."
Despite myself, I always kept a journal. I always recorded my thoughts. Even when the badly misspelled, dyslexic words wobbled out of my pencil, I would draw my feelings, expressing them on the page with a pie chart and a whole bunch of pictures. When I wrote a particularly interesting journal entry, I would show the writing to everyone I could, beaming with pride at my creation:
"Well that is my story I have to go now Bi Bi." (Natalie: age 8)
I remember my grandfather reading the note out loud emphasizing the misspelled: "Bi, Bi" (said as: Bee-Bee) and I realized with horror that that word was not spelled like it was pronounced. Oh No! I'm so stupid! See, Ma!? I'll never be a good writer because good writers can spell monosyllabic farewells with ease! I'm an ACTRESS! Actresses don't need to know anything!
The first full story I ever wrote was about a grain of sugar and how it broke free of its sugar pack and flew off into the world to experience life on its own. I even drew pictures to follow the story of the little grain of sugar. When I finished that book, I felt so accomplished! So high from a sense of achievement that I got really scared and decided to be an actor even more.
The second major story I wrote was about the "Jade Cat" that this female lead must find in order to figure out the mystery of her parent's death. It was an action adventure novel based in the late 1800's. I spent days writing that thing in long hand, carefully piecing out each detail. I got really bold when I took the handwriting process to a computer and began typing out the story on a key board (you know, back when typing for a 12 year old was key-by-key and took 12 hours to write a page?). I read and re-read that first chapter so much that I had it memorized and then recited it, (like a monologue, because I'm an ACTRESS OKAY!?) to family members. I never finished the novel, but I had written 50 pages and carried the pages around with me like a bible, peeking into my backpack and touching the edges of them like a newborn parent would a brand new baby.
It's funny how Mom's can really pin down a fact about their children, because, like, they know. Last night as I listened to the fire crackle and spit in the fireplace out in New Jersey, while reading Rachel Dratch's "Girl Walks Into a Bar" I felt a kindred spirit with all the comedians I have read the last few months: Mindy Kaling, Tina Fey, Sarah Silverman, Mike Birbiglia, etc. Reading each memoir and eating their experiences like candy I feel my own creative belly swell with a contentedness at knowing that my experiences are very similar to theirs. Hell, a story about a grain of sugar is a great start to burgeoning creative career. Although, writing a whole novel seems so daunting and fearless. Plus, these people are famous and have all sorts of fame stories to tell, and they can make fun of the really dumb actresses they've met. I'm not famous... yet.
Better get working on that, huh?
well that is my story I have to go now Bi Bi.
Despite myself, I always kept a journal. I always recorded my thoughts. Even when the badly misspelled, dyslexic words wobbled out of my pencil, I would draw my feelings, expressing them on the page with a pie chart and a whole bunch of pictures. When I wrote a particularly interesting journal entry, I would show the writing to everyone I could, beaming with pride at my creation:
"Well that is my story I have to go now Bi Bi." (Natalie: age 8)
I remember my grandfather reading the note out loud emphasizing the misspelled: "Bi, Bi" (said as: Bee-Bee) and I realized with horror that that word was not spelled like it was pronounced. Oh No! I'm so stupid! See, Ma!? I'll never be a good writer because good writers can spell monosyllabic farewells with ease! I'm an ACTRESS! Actresses don't need to know anything!
The first full story I ever wrote was about a grain of sugar and how it broke free of its sugar pack and flew off into the world to experience life on its own. I even drew pictures to follow the story of the little grain of sugar. When I finished that book, I felt so accomplished! So high from a sense of achievement that I got really scared and decided to be an actor even more.
The second major story I wrote was about the "Jade Cat" that this female lead must find in order to figure out the mystery of her parent's death. It was an action adventure novel based in the late 1800's. I spent days writing that thing in long hand, carefully piecing out each detail. I got really bold when I took the handwriting process to a computer and began typing out the story on a key board (you know, back when typing for a 12 year old was key-by-key and took 12 hours to write a page?). I read and re-read that first chapter so much that I had it memorized and then recited it, (like a monologue, because I'm an ACTRESS OKAY!?) to family members. I never finished the novel, but I had written 50 pages and carried the pages around with me like a bible, peeking into my backpack and touching the edges of them like a newborn parent would a brand new baby.
It's funny how Mom's can really pin down a fact about their children, because, like, they know. Last night as I listened to the fire crackle and spit in the fireplace out in New Jersey, while reading Rachel Dratch's "Girl Walks Into a Bar" I felt a kindred spirit with all the comedians I have read the last few months: Mindy Kaling, Tina Fey, Sarah Silverman, Mike Birbiglia, etc. Reading each memoir and eating their experiences like candy I feel my own creative belly swell with a contentedness at knowing that my experiences are very similar to theirs. Hell, a story about a grain of sugar is a great start to burgeoning creative career. Although, writing a whole novel seems so daunting and fearless. Plus, these people are famous and have all sorts of fame stories to tell, and they can make fun of the really dumb actresses they've met. I'm not famous... yet.
Better get working on that, huh?
well that is my story I have to go now Bi Bi.
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Moving
I yakked into the toilet, feeling comical. I haven't puked since my return from Thailand, I thought as another wave hit me. It was just after everyone in the house had fallen asleep, right after I wrote my christmas post. I felt like my body must have decided to purge itself from all the food, talk, and stimulation of the day because: no one else was sick! Not even a small burp of queasiness. I didn't drink. I didn't do twenty jumping jacks on a full belly, I just talked and talked and talked and got emotional, and then talked again.
The last few weeks have been pretty stressful for me on the home-front. My room mates are going to be Ex-Room mates in a matter of (what feels like) minutes; and my sister, a mutual friend, and I will be taking over the apartment I live in in Queens come January 2nd. I was talking through the emotional baggage I still felt I was carrying, with my family, in front of our christmas tree and opened presents.
The reason my room mates are moving is a compilation and build up of a lot of issues that I will not go into detail about but, building over the past few months the issues have gotten to the point where my land lord stepped in and decided to evict them, putting me on the lease.
I have a lot of mixed emotions about this turn of events. First: These guys are my friends. Second: I've lived with them for 2 1/2 and 1 1/2 years respectively. Third: I've been wanting to have a space for my sister and I, so it's really great we will be getting that. Fourth: We're getting this space at the expense of my friendship with the boys, who have decided to not talk to me nor interact with me anymore (and I think it's because they think I went behind their backs and had them kicked out.) Fifth: I therefore feel really bad that they feel that way.
My parents and siblings and friends applauded the new turn of events. They knew how tired I was of feeling like I did, living like I did. And it's true. I feel relieved. I feel like a new chapter is beginning in my life. I will be living with two new people who will make me feel healthy and can grow with me.
I felt like an enabler for a long time, like a mother, like a nagging girlfriend, like a sister, like a bohemian pot-head, and like a cleaning maid. It was the place I needed to be for a while. Now, as I feel myself becoming more self-assured, more confident and happy, I've realized that my life has shifted into a new chapter as a result.
As I talked through this with my loved ones last night, I felt a release in myself when I realized that this was all a needed change: for everyone involved. That the apartment was not a healthy place for anyone the last few months. I felt better, the "survivors" guilt ebbing and changing into a last burst of strength needed to get through this last week of the year.
Puking sucks. It blows. But, hell, I'll take it if that's what I need to do.
Come on, 2013! Your arrival is eagerly anticipated!
The last few weeks have been pretty stressful for me on the home-front. My room mates are going to be Ex-Room mates in a matter of (what feels like) minutes; and my sister, a mutual friend, and I will be taking over the apartment I live in in Queens come January 2nd. I was talking through the emotional baggage I still felt I was carrying, with my family, in front of our christmas tree and opened presents.
The reason my room mates are moving is a compilation and build up of a lot of issues that I will not go into detail about but, building over the past few months the issues have gotten to the point where my land lord stepped in and decided to evict them, putting me on the lease.
I have a lot of mixed emotions about this turn of events. First: These guys are my friends. Second: I've lived with them for 2 1/2 and 1 1/2 years respectively. Third: I've been wanting to have a space for my sister and I, so it's really great we will be getting that. Fourth: We're getting this space at the expense of my friendship with the boys, who have decided to not talk to me nor interact with me anymore (and I think it's because they think I went behind their backs and had them kicked out.) Fifth: I therefore feel really bad that they feel that way.
My parents and siblings and friends applauded the new turn of events. They knew how tired I was of feeling like I did, living like I did. And it's true. I feel relieved. I feel like a new chapter is beginning in my life. I will be living with two new people who will make me feel healthy and can grow with me.
I felt like an enabler for a long time, like a mother, like a nagging girlfriend, like a sister, like a bohemian pot-head, and like a cleaning maid. It was the place I needed to be for a while. Now, as I feel myself becoming more self-assured, more confident and happy, I've realized that my life has shifted into a new chapter as a result.
As I talked through this with my loved ones last night, I felt a release in myself when I realized that this was all a needed change: for everyone involved. That the apartment was not a healthy place for anyone the last few months. I felt better, the "survivors" guilt ebbing and changing into a last burst of strength needed to get through this last week of the year.
Puking sucks. It blows. But, hell, I'll take it if that's what I need to do.
Come on, 2013! Your arrival is eagerly anticipated!
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Christmas Day 2012
Christmas can change based on: religious affiliations, childhood memories and traditions; financial status, and family relationships. I know people who get very depressed around the holidays, and then people who feel the best they've felt all year. Regardless of happy or sad: I think the meaning of this holiday is one for reflecting on how important it is to be a sloth, practice gluttony, feel pride, and covet thy neighbors gifts; all in the company of your family and loved ones. And, since everyone's doing it: why feel guilty? Allow the sin to wash away the guilt and bathe in the decadence of Christmas Present. But, for me: christmas is all these things and more because of the thoughtfulness of friends.
Christmas this year was full of lots and lots of text messages.
I love how everyone sends a text to all their friends wishing them a Happy Holiday. As much as I tell myself that we live in a world where physical communication is limited and we are all too removed from each other, I am reminded that, indeed, we can still reach out an touch each other with a thought: and that can go a long way.
I got a whole bunch of "Merry Christmas, Nat" and a few "We need to hang out soon!" and "I hope you and your family are well." And every time I picked up my phone to see another message like that I smiled. I got texts from friends I haven't heard from in a while, from friends I saw a few days ago, and even a couple of exes wishing me well. It's almost as if we all took off our labels and decided to reach out through the non-threatening and immediate medium of texting to remind ourselves that, no matter how long we've gone between communicating, on this day: I am letting you know I was thinking of you and wishing you well.
I'm so grateful for all of the texts this year.
Cheers to all! Happy Holidays!
Christmas this year was full of lots and lots of text messages.
I love how everyone sends a text to all their friends wishing them a Happy Holiday. As much as I tell myself that we live in a world where physical communication is limited and we are all too removed from each other, I am reminded that, indeed, we can still reach out an touch each other with a thought: and that can go a long way.
I got a whole bunch of "Merry Christmas, Nat" and a few "We need to hang out soon!" and "I hope you and your family are well." And every time I picked up my phone to see another message like that I smiled. I got texts from friends I haven't heard from in a while, from friends I saw a few days ago, and even a couple of exes wishing me well. It's almost as if we all took off our labels and decided to reach out through the non-threatening and immediate medium of texting to remind ourselves that, no matter how long we've gone between communicating, on this day: I am letting you know I was thinking of you and wishing you well.
I'm so grateful for all of the texts this year.
Cheers to all! Happy Holidays!
Monday, December 24, 2012
Witnessing Santa
I remember sneaking into the living room to watch the fire escape on Christmas Eve. Growing up in New York City meant that the tradition of Santa coming down a chimney didn't exist for us, instead my parents told me he climbed into our living room through the fire escape: "kinda like a burglar, but a nice burglar who only eats the cookies you set out and places a ton of presents under the tree!"
I must have been young because I still held out hope that the big fat man would wind his way down the rickety fire escape and magically shove his huge bag of toys into our cramped living room, and do all of this without making huge clanging sounds that would wake up the neighbors.
...And I wanted to be there to see it.
My parents put my sister and I to bed and I lay awake (for what felt like hours) until I snuck down my bunk bed and out my bedroom door, trying to be as stealthy as Santa (if you're gonna catch him, you better be a mean-fucking ninja). I remember stealing past my already asleep sister and silently cursing her. How can you fall asleep on Christmas Eve so damn quickly?! My kid sister could go into a REM cycle before her hear hit the pillow. She had (and still has) a gift for sleep.
The apartment I grew up in was a 750 sq. ft. 2 bedroom on Manhattan's upper-upper West side, only a few blocks down from Columbia University. My parents' shared a room right next to my sister and I, and to sneak past that bedroom door was difficult. The living room was only a few short steps away from the bedrooms, but at the time, the pre-World War 1 building provided a healthy amount of creaky wooden floors that squeaked and creaked under any pressure (even our cat, Nermal, would make small sounds as she stalked the night).
So, instead of walking, I hurdled myself into the living room, springing for the sofa and tumbling into the pillows over the arm of the couch like a rabbit running from prey. I figured that if I was REALLY fast, the squeaky floors wouldn't be able to give me away. I lay in the dark with the iridescent glow of the christmas tree lighting the shadows of the room before I noticed that, down the small hall, the kitchen light was on. I saw my mother, her back to me, leaning over a project that was splayed out on the kitchen table. She looked like she must have been rolling small balls of clay. I watched her, mesmerized. Was she also waiting for Santa? I held my breath so she wouldn't chance to hear me, but the activity she was doing looked like so much fun, I almost wanted to get up and join her. Was she making jewelry? After each ball was carefully rolled, I watcher her add details to them: a nose, a hat, an eye, a mustache; each little bead becoming a head as she formed a small village of personalities that populated the table she was working on. From my vantage point I still couldn't see too many details, but I was riveted.
I remember my eyes getting droopy as the cushions began to eat me. Oh, they were so comfy, their siren songs singing comfort and rest. The fear of being caught out of bed made me mindful of the sin I was committing in being on the couch in the first place. Santa hadn't come either. When I snapped back to the task at hand I half expected the tree to be bursting with shiny gifts, but no such luck. Just the small shakes and rattles of my Mom's hands working their way through the bead-faces. I pondered what to do next. I remember a kid telling me that if anyone actually saw Santa, or that if he knew you were up, he'd pass over your house and not leave anything. A cold fear twisted in my small gut. I wanted the Barbie Mobile Home so bad, and if that guy didn't leave it for me because I was trying to CIA-his-ass then I don't know what I would do. Might as well stop being a kid and offer up my allowance as my portion of the mortgage because I was the only kid on the planet to witness Saint Nick (and therefore, am not allowed childhood anymore).
I snuck back to my bed. Less worried about being caught heading back to bed.
The next morning, when I pulled the necklace of hand made bead-personalities out of my stocking, I realized with awe, that I had, indeed, witnessed Santa.
I must have been young because I still held out hope that the big fat man would wind his way down the rickety fire escape and magically shove his huge bag of toys into our cramped living room, and do all of this without making huge clanging sounds that would wake up the neighbors.
...And I wanted to be there to see it.
My parents put my sister and I to bed and I lay awake (for what felt like hours) until I snuck down my bunk bed and out my bedroom door, trying to be as stealthy as Santa (if you're gonna catch him, you better be a mean-fucking ninja). I remember stealing past my already asleep sister and silently cursing her. How can you fall asleep on Christmas Eve so damn quickly?! My kid sister could go into a REM cycle before her hear hit the pillow. She had (and still has) a gift for sleep.
The apartment I grew up in was a 750 sq. ft. 2 bedroom on Manhattan's upper-upper West side, only a few blocks down from Columbia University. My parents' shared a room right next to my sister and I, and to sneak past that bedroom door was difficult. The living room was only a few short steps away from the bedrooms, but at the time, the pre-World War 1 building provided a healthy amount of creaky wooden floors that squeaked and creaked under any pressure (even our cat, Nermal, would make small sounds as she stalked the night).
So, instead of walking, I hurdled myself into the living room, springing for the sofa and tumbling into the pillows over the arm of the couch like a rabbit running from prey. I figured that if I was REALLY fast, the squeaky floors wouldn't be able to give me away. I lay in the dark with the iridescent glow of the christmas tree lighting the shadows of the room before I noticed that, down the small hall, the kitchen light was on. I saw my mother, her back to me, leaning over a project that was splayed out on the kitchen table. She looked like she must have been rolling small balls of clay. I watched her, mesmerized. Was she also waiting for Santa? I held my breath so she wouldn't chance to hear me, but the activity she was doing looked like so much fun, I almost wanted to get up and join her. Was she making jewelry? After each ball was carefully rolled, I watcher her add details to them: a nose, a hat, an eye, a mustache; each little bead becoming a head as she formed a small village of personalities that populated the table she was working on. From my vantage point I still couldn't see too many details, but I was riveted.
I remember my eyes getting droopy as the cushions began to eat me. Oh, they were so comfy, their siren songs singing comfort and rest. The fear of being caught out of bed made me mindful of the sin I was committing in being on the couch in the first place. Santa hadn't come either. When I snapped back to the task at hand I half expected the tree to be bursting with shiny gifts, but no such luck. Just the small shakes and rattles of my Mom's hands working their way through the bead-faces. I pondered what to do next. I remember a kid telling me that if anyone actually saw Santa, or that if he knew you were up, he'd pass over your house and not leave anything. A cold fear twisted in my small gut. I wanted the Barbie Mobile Home so bad, and if that guy didn't leave it for me because I was trying to CIA-his-ass then I don't know what I would do. Might as well stop being a kid and offer up my allowance as my portion of the mortgage because I was the only kid on the planet to witness Saint Nick (and therefore, am not allowed childhood anymore).
I snuck back to my bed. Less worried about being caught heading back to bed.
The next morning, when I pulled the necklace of hand made bead-personalities out of my stocking, I realized with awe, that I had, indeed, witnessed Santa.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Apocalypse
My apocalypse has nothing to do with earthquakes or asteroids or nuclear death. Instead: I imagined that the end of the world would be a crushing wave of zombies that corrodes and destroys all that I hold near and dear. Now that I've plowed through the entire comic series of "The Walking Dead" and have read "World War Z" I feel less frightened about a zombie plague and, instead, more curious about a hypothetical "end of the world" situation. What would I do if I had no "tomorrow" to worry about?
I would eat everything I have ever wanted to eat
When I was a kid, I had a fantasy about walking in to a kitchen and having the entire place filled with everything I have ever wanted to chow down on. I would somehow compile all of the ingredients that I would want to see: Lobster Tails, Cream Puffs, Filet Minion, Pad Thai, Mashed Potatoes, Turkey, Pizza and Ice Cream, etc... and I would go about trying to eat all of it. I've also always wanted to take really yummy food, like: Pizza and Ice Cream and put it in a blender and then try and drink the drink I had made. I know that sounds totally gross, but I would do it just to try it. End of the World and everything, right?
I would begin project: "say what's on my mind to everyone on my mind"
I've always thought about the possibilities of having NO FILTER. And that doesn't have to be a bad thing! Hell, most of the time I find myself just ringing through a series of stupid commercial lyrics rather than thinking negatively or positively about someone in front of me. At the end of all humanity as we know it, though, I could call up everyone I've ever wanted to rant at and say everything and anything I want!
I'd rob a store.
Especially a fancy jewelry store! I'd take all of the jewels I could find and put them ALL ON. I'd pose in front of a mirror and pretend I was a princess.
I've always wanted to burn an entire building down.
I know this sounds sociopathic, and it is, but, like, if it were the end of the world... I would totally do it. Imagine the destruction! The flames leaping out of windows, the smell of burned wood and plastic! That entire building was burning to the ground because I threw several Molotov cocktails into the ground floor! I would watch the fire grow and consume. It would be pretty epic. (I promise: I won't do this unless the world was, indeed, in the midst of an apocalyptic melt-down).
I might kick a dog...
Terrible. I'm a terrible human-being. But, sometimes, there are certain dogs that bark their fucking heads off (especially cute, nasty looking Chihuahuas) and when they do: I would put on the biggest, ugliest boots I could find and punt kick that little fucker across a baseball field. Then, I'd probably feel really bad about doing it, but by that point the world would end so I wouldn't have to deal with the guilt for long.
The world has not ended, however. We are now in December 22nd in many parts of the world. I am very happy to report that I will not being burning down buildings or kicking innocent (yet sometimes, rat-like) dogs across any wide open spaces. A small price to pay for the gratefulness in knowing that another kick-ass year for me to enjoy will be coming in about a week.
I would eat everything I have ever wanted to eat
When I was a kid, I had a fantasy about walking in to a kitchen and having the entire place filled with everything I have ever wanted to chow down on. I would somehow compile all of the ingredients that I would want to see: Lobster Tails, Cream Puffs, Filet Minion, Pad Thai, Mashed Potatoes, Turkey, Pizza and Ice Cream, etc... and I would go about trying to eat all of it. I've also always wanted to take really yummy food, like: Pizza and Ice Cream and put it in a blender and then try and drink the drink I had made. I know that sounds totally gross, but I would do it just to try it. End of the World and everything, right?
I would begin project: "say what's on my mind to everyone on my mind"
I've always thought about the possibilities of having NO FILTER. And that doesn't have to be a bad thing! Hell, most of the time I find myself just ringing through a series of stupid commercial lyrics rather than thinking negatively or positively about someone in front of me. At the end of all humanity as we know it, though, I could call up everyone I've ever wanted to rant at and say everything and anything I want!
I'd rob a store.
Especially a fancy jewelry store! I'd take all of the jewels I could find and put them ALL ON. I'd pose in front of a mirror and pretend I was a princess.
I know this sounds sociopathic, and it is, but, like, if it were the end of the world... I would totally do it. Imagine the destruction! The flames leaping out of windows, the smell of burned wood and plastic! That entire building was burning to the ground because I threw several Molotov cocktails into the ground floor! I would watch the fire grow and consume. It would be pretty epic. (I promise: I won't do this unless the world was, indeed, in the midst of an apocalyptic melt-down).
I might kick a dog...
Terrible. I'm a terrible human-being. But, sometimes, there are certain dogs that bark their fucking heads off (especially cute, nasty looking Chihuahuas) and when they do: I would put on the biggest, ugliest boots I could find and punt kick that little fucker across a baseball field. Then, I'd probably feel really bad about doing it, but by that point the world would end so I wouldn't have to deal with the guilt for long.
The world has not ended, however. We are now in December 22nd in many parts of the world. I am very happy to report that I will not being burning down buildings or kicking innocent (yet sometimes, rat-like) dogs across any wide open spaces. A small price to pay for the gratefulness in knowing that another kick-ass year for me to enjoy will be coming in about a week.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Call The Crap Out
My coach looked at me as he gave me his notes from a scene I had just done. "I know you, Natalie, when you don't know what to do in a scene I can see it on your face. Call him out on his choice if you don't know what he's doing. Don't be afraid to directly ask: 'what's going on?'" I nodded. Yeah, I'll keep that in my back pocket: you're right.
I walked home in the pissing December rain after the practice and thought again about the parallels of improv to my life. Funny how the higher up I have gotten in my classes and practices, the more and more I feel I am not being coached in a form of art, so much as a form of life. I mean, seriously, everything I am learning in class I can use when in the real settings of real social situations. What a blessing! I somehow stumbled on "Way To Live Better" classes!
I began to apply my note to a real situation. Cue: Kismet.
I was sitting on a couch in a friend's apartment watching TV when I got a crap-tastic text from Kismet explaining how busy he was and how he couldn't see me the next day. *As in Improv, As in Life* I turned to my friend: "This is stupid, huh? I don't think I should take this on anymore, I don't really want to wait around another month for this guy to remember I exist." My friend, reading the text, nodded sagely, and told me to respond with a really sarcastic text, followed by the elusive and maddening ellipses at the end of my "response" (apparently, boys hate that? I think everyone should, actually. Who the hell responds to anything important with an ellipses unless they are passive aggressively dying for attention?). I thought about how best to approach this situation, then realized that I must look like a character in a scene who doesn't know what to do next. Oh.... I get it! Call this bull-shit out. Define it like I know what is true, and then, end the scene. *As in Improv, As in Life* "Don't be afraid to directly ask: 'what's going on?'" My coach's "Mr. Tee" voice drifted back to me in a weird dream bubble that figuratively floated above my head.
"Fuck this guy." I mumbled. He's not that into me. He just wants sex. Boom! Called it like I see it! I responded with a curt, polite text (no ellipses) and wished him well with all of the stuff he had to do in his very busy, busy life. I put the phone down and as soon as I did: wished he would flood my inbox with sorry messages about how he really wants to see me, that I mean something more, to demand to know what was wrong, and would I go to South America with him? because he already bought our tickets...
He didn't. In fact, I never heard back.
Le Sigh. Bye, Kismet.
End Scene.
I walked home in the pissing December rain after the practice and thought again about the parallels of improv to my life. Funny how the higher up I have gotten in my classes and practices, the more and more I feel I am not being coached in a form of art, so much as a form of life. I mean, seriously, everything I am learning in class I can use when in the real settings of real social situations. What a blessing! I somehow stumbled on "Way To Live Better" classes!
I began to apply my note to a real situation. Cue: Kismet.
I was sitting on a couch in a friend's apartment watching TV when I got a crap-tastic text from Kismet explaining how busy he was and how he couldn't see me the next day. *As in Improv, As in Life* I turned to my friend: "This is stupid, huh? I don't think I should take this on anymore, I don't really want to wait around another month for this guy to remember I exist." My friend, reading the text, nodded sagely, and told me to respond with a really sarcastic text, followed by the elusive and maddening ellipses at the end of my "response" (apparently, boys hate that? I think everyone should, actually. Who the hell responds to anything important with an ellipses unless they are passive aggressively dying for attention?). I thought about how best to approach this situation, then realized that I must look like a character in a scene who doesn't know what to do next. Oh.... I get it! Call this bull-shit out. Define it like I know what is true, and then, end the scene. *As in Improv, As in Life* "Don't be afraid to directly ask: 'what's going on?'" My coach's "Mr. Tee" voice drifted back to me in a weird dream bubble that figuratively floated above my head.
"Fuck this guy." I mumbled. He's not that into me. He just wants sex. Boom! Called it like I see it! I responded with a curt, polite text (no ellipses) and wished him well with all of the stuff he had to do in his very busy, busy life. I put the phone down and as soon as I did: wished he would flood my inbox with sorry messages about how he really wants to see me, that I mean something more, to demand to know what was wrong, and would I go to South America with him? because he already bought our tickets...
He didn't. In fact, I never heard back.
Le Sigh. Bye, Kismet.
End Scene.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Not Yet
The wind blew cold in my face as I let my head fall back onto my shoulders and looked up at the trees. The walk back from the subway to my apartment is always a reflective walk for me. It takes approximately 6 minutes to walk from the trestle to my apartment door, the stroll taking me past large trees and silent houses and avenues. When I cross my first intersection I can look out over the edge of the road that slopes into the distance and see Manhattan sparkling for me and the millions of other eyes that I know are also sharing the experience; but simultaneously seeing the splendor and glitter of the Chrysler Building and the reds and blues of the Empire State Building from the view of their own dreams and aspirations.
Occasionally I put music on to give me a pace at which to think. I wonder about people mostly. Where they are, why they do what they do, who I am to them, and what they would do if I left. I imagine myself packing up my few belongings and leaving New York: my cradle and my foundation; off which I have worked for years to build my own small house-of-cards that I call my career and life.
As another person comes into my life and then passes out of it, I feel somehow less attached to the glitter of the distant sky scrapers. I feel as if another thread in the fabric that is keeping me tied to this metropolis got snipped, and all I am waiting for is the tension of the remaining threads to become taught enough sling-shot me across the oceans and land me in another place where, maybe, I can have the space to grow fabrics to add to my life quilt I wrap myself in when I feel vulnerable.
The majesty of the other countries and communities I have yet to see seems brighter in my minds eye than those glittering peaks in the distance that wink at me as I walk home in the evenings.
Not yet. I tell myself. A mantra I repeat when I feel as if my last threads are ready to break from the frustrations I can feel here.
Not Yet. I sing to myself before I fall asleep, imagining the possibilities of a world to big to comprehend.
I'll know. I'll feel the ground shift and the earth move in my life. I'll know when it's time to go out into the world and live somewhere else, and experience the foreignness of not being in my adult cradle; swaddled by the browns, grays, blacks and silver that make this city's colors my childhood blanket which stifles and comforts me daily. But, like a frustrated toddler who has outgrown her toys, I ache for a new pace and new way to live, comforted only by my lullaby:
Not Yet.
Occasionally I put music on to give me a pace at which to think. I wonder about people mostly. Where they are, why they do what they do, who I am to them, and what they would do if I left. I imagine myself packing up my few belongings and leaving New York: my cradle and my foundation; off which I have worked for years to build my own small house-of-cards that I call my career and life.
As another person comes into my life and then passes out of it, I feel somehow less attached to the glitter of the distant sky scrapers. I feel as if another thread in the fabric that is keeping me tied to this metropolis got snipped, and all I am waiting for is the tension of the remaining threads to become taught enough sling-shot me across the oceans and land me in another place where, maybe, I can have the space to grow fabrics to add to my life quilt I wrap myself in when I feel vulnerable.
The majesty of the other countries and communities I have yet to see seems brighter in my minds eye than those glittering peaks in the distance that wink at me as I walk home in the evenings.
Not yet. I tell myself. A mantra I repeat when I feel as if my last threads are ready to break from the frustrations I can feel here.
Not Yet. I sing to myself before I fall asleep, imagining the possibilities of a world to big to comprehend.
I'll know. I'll feel the ground shift and the earth move in my life. I'll know when it's time to go out into the world and live somewhere else, and experience the foreignness of not being in my adult cradle; swaddled by the browns, grays, blacks and silver that make this city's colors my childhood blanket which stifles and comforts me daily. But, like a frustrated toddler who has outgrown her toys, I ache for a new pace and new way to live, comforted only by my lullaby:
Not Yet.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Kismet: Part 2
I had a conversation with a friend a little while ago about the difference in the sexes and how they quantify the passing of time. A woman, in my opinion, can agonize and feel like a year will pass in five minutes. A Man? (although I am not one, so I can't say for certain) seems to think that a month is like, 3 weeks which is like, only a few days, which is like, really just a few hours, so, it wasn't that long since we were last in contact, right?
A woman will think: I haven't heard from him in two days, I guess we're done. Whatever. I didn't like him that much anyway! I'm moving on. I'm going to look at every hottie I come across and imagine making out with them and hope that somehow the guy I am trying NOT to think about will somehow feel a disturbance in the "force" and will somehow remember to text me and see me again, and then I'll tell him how much of a bum he is when he comes crawling back on his hands and knees (which will be the ONLY way I will every think of seeing him again!!)
A man will think: (I don't really know) Blah blah blah blah blah. I'm just doing the task at hand. My mind is really not that complicated, but is only made complicated by the female lens you put over it. Wait. When was the last time I had sex? Mmmm. Sex. What was the name of that cute girl I saw a few hours ago? Oh, I should text her! Yeah! What a great idea!
Woman will get the text from the man. Crap. He wants to hang out. pshhht. Man, who? I wasn't thinking about him... Okay, I was. But, when I see him, I'm gonna expect him to be super apologetic and sad about going so long without seeing me.
Man shows up at date. Blah. Blah. Blah. I'm a guy. Oh! Pretty girl! I like her.
Woman thinks: He's so cute. Fine. I forgive you. I won't tell you any of the agony I just went through the last month, nor will I correct you when you say it's only been a whole week. I'll let it go, because I am benevolent. I am forgiving. I like you more than you know. Or maybe you do know?
...Just, don't let another month go by, please? I don't want to be the annoying nag, here, but I'm confused. In my universe, if a week goes by: I write you off. If a month goes by: I assume you're probably dead. And then, I decide to go off and explore my options. Unfortunately, I am such a sucker for cuties that I'll let it slide if you reach out after a while. Although, here's the new question forming in my mind: I've seen you a few times now over the course of two months... so, like, is this going somewhere?
Man thinks: ................?
A woman will think: I haven't heard from him in two days, I guess we're done. Whatever. I didn't like him that much anyway! I'm moving on. I'm going to look at every hottie I come across and imagine making out with them and hope that somehow the guy I am trying NOT to think about will somehow feel a disturbance in the "force" and will somehow remember to text me and see me again, and then I'll tell him how much of a bum he is when he comes crawling back on his hands and knees (which will be the ONLY way I will every think of seeing him again!!)
A man will think: (I don't really know) Blah blah blah blah blah. I'm just doing the task at hand. My mind is really not that complicated, but is only made complicated by the female lens you put over it. Wait. When was the last time I had sex? Mmmm. Sex. What was the name of that cute girl I saw a few hours ago? Oh, I should text her! Yeah! What a great idea!
Woman will get the text from the man. Crap. He wants to hang out. pshhht. Man, who? I wasn't thinking about him... Okay, I was. But, when I see him, I'm gonna expect him to be super apologetic and sad about going so long without seeing me.
Man shows up at date. Blah. Blah. Blah. I'm a guy. Oh! Pretty girl! I like her.
Woman thinks: He's so cute. Fine. I forgive you. I won't tell you any of the agony I just went through the last month, nor will I correct you when you say it's only been a whole week. I'll let it go, because I am benevolent. I am forgiving. I like you more than you know. Or maybe you do know?
...Just, don't let another month go by, please? I don't want to be the annoying nag, here, but I'm confused. In my universe, if a week goes by: I write you off. If a month goes by: I assume you're probably dead. And then, I decide to go off and explore my options. Unfortunately, I am such a sucker for cuties that I'll let it slide if you reach out after a while. Although, here's the new question forming in my mind: I've seen you a few times now over the course of two months... so, like, is this going somewhere?
Man thinks: ................?
Friday, December 14, 2012
Sandy Hook
It's hard to fathom the amount of hurt a human must feel to make them decide that the way to deal with the darkness is to kill others.
In a discussion with my family earlier this evening about our thoughts on the Sandy Hook Elementary shooting, a very empathetic comment was made by my step-dad: that the killer might have gone after all the kids because he felt his Mom loved them more than him. Could that have been part of the root of all of that horror?
Humans are always capable of killing. Always. What keeps us from rampages is a whole lot of chemicals, social stigmas, and evolutionary brain functions that keep our "wilder side" in check, and the frontal cortex that can help relieve stress and anger through other creative outlets (like being an artist). To actually go the distance, though, to go beyond the boundaries set up by evolution and society to cause a massacre is to go to a very, very dark place, indeed.
I feel so sorry for the victim's families, for the witnesses, for the first response team members and for the person who did the killings. That boy must have been unstable emotionally and in a WORLD of hurt to make him decide that the best way to deal with the problem would be to do what he did at the Elementary school. But, he's not the only person to have committed that type of atrocity. The United States has seen shootings at schools before, this particular one being only the 2nd most deadly shooting after the 2007 Virginia Tech rampage that left 32 people dead. Horrible, Horrible, Horrible. How can these people exist? And more importantly, how the hell are they getting their hands on guns?
I'm embarrassed. I'm sickened by the national headlines running these stories. Our brains have developed over the millennia to continue to carry us toward alternative ways of dealing with problems that make us uncomfortable, rather than killing someone. And, just like our brains are changing and growing, I hope that our society can keep up by also changing and growing. We're moving into a new year and I hope that we can move into a clearer state of mind, as a nation, over how to deal with gun violence.
In a discussion with my family earlier this evening about our thoughts on the Sandy Hook Elementary shooting, a very empathetic comment was made by my step-dad: that the killer might have gone after all the kids because he felt his Mom loved them more than him. Could that have been part of the root of all of that horror?
Humans are always capable of killing. Always. What keeps us from rampages is a whole lot of chemicals, social stigmas, and evolutionary brain functions that keep our "wilder side" in check, and the frontal cortex that can help relieve stress and anger through other creative outlets (like being an artist). To actually go the distance, though, to go beyond the boundaries set up by evolution and society to cause a massacre is to go to a very, very dark place, indeed.
I feel so sorry for the victim's families, for the witnesses, for the first response team members and for the person who did the killings. That boy must have been unstable emotionally and in a WORLD of hurt to make him decide that the best way to deal with the problem would be to do what he did at the Elementary school. But, he's not the only person to have committed that type of atrocity. The United States has seen shootings at schools before, this particular one being only the 2nd most deadly shooting after the 2007 Virginia Tech rampage that left 32 people dead. Horrible, Horrible, Horrible. How can these people exist? And more importantly, how the hell are they getting their hands on guns?
I'm embarrassed. I'm sickened by the national headlines running these stories. Our brains have developed over the millennia to continue to carry us toward alternative ways of dealing with problems that make us uncomfortable, rather than killing someone. And, just like our brains are changing and growing, I hope that our society can keep up by also changing and growing. We're moving into a new year and I hope that we can move into a clearer state of mind, as a nation, over how to deal with gun violence.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
I'll Marry You If You Smell Like Fresh Bread
1. Fresh Baked Bread
The smell of it! The taste! The texture! The melted butter and cool jam! Oh! I could stuff my face with fresh baked bread all day! If a man figured out how to spray himself with that just-out-of-the-oven smell I would marry him. How could I resist? Well.. If you looked like a hairy, man-beast, with one eye, terrible farts, and a lack of intelligence, I may need to resist. Sorry.
2. Decorating
...Anything, really. I love having the power to look at a room and think: I'm gonna put a chair in that corner, curtains on that window, and my bed spread will look like: this. The only problem with really enjoying decorating is actually getting the stuff I imagined using in the first place. If Target doesn't have the right color that means I have to sniff around on the internet until I find the right thing. Totally Lame. Oh, and also: decorating can be expensive. Have you checked out the prices at West Elm? Hesoo Christus.
3. Waking Up With an Idea in my Head
It's morning (well, if you can count 11am as morning) and I wake up and I have a brilliant idea for a short story! Or, a poem! Or a blog post :) I sometimes pull out my journal and hand write 3 pages the minute I wake up, just so I can keep some of those thought bubbles fresh. Honestly, after a few hours when I go back to look at the original idea I find that it wasn't as brilliant as what I thought it was, but, still waking up feeling inspired is a great feeling.
4. Knowledge
I listen to TED talks and chew over the information I can gather from those lectures. I love digesting the information I just received, pouring over details and processing new bits of meaty information. The best part is then spewing the information out again when I am in a social situation. Someone may have an anecdote about a pop-culture reference or a human behavioral observation, and I'll immediately have a cool thought to share because I heard it earlier that day from an expert. I love telling people what I know: it makes me feel smart, and I feel like I give the people listening a little gift of information, too.
5. Finishing a Project I've Been Wanting to Finish
That damn cross-stitch project has been winking at me for months and I've done nothing but kick it under the bed and ignore it! When I do finish it, though, I feel like I just made my entire life a little better. Or, even finishing a book gives me a thrill, like I just accomplished a small journey on nothing but my own will-power to see the thing through to the end.
The smell of it! The taste! The texture! The melted butter and cool jam! Oh! I could stuff my face with fresh baked bread all day! If a man figured out how to spray himself with that just-out-of-the-oven smell I would marry him. How could I resist? Well.. If you looked like a hairy, man-beast, with one eye, terrible farts, and a lack of intelligence, I may need to resist. Sorry.
2. Decorating
...Anything, really. I love having the power to look at a room and think: I'm gonna put a chair in that corner, curtains on that window, and my bed spread will look like: this. The only problem with really enjoying decorating is actually getting the stuff I imagined using in the first place. If Target doesn't have the right color that means I have to sniff around on the internet until I find the right thing. Totally Lame. Oh, and also: decorating can be expensive. Have you checked out the prices at West Elm? Hesoo Christus.
3. Waking Up With an Idea in my Head
It's morning (well, if you can count 11am as morning) and I wake up and I have a brilliant idea for a short story! Or, a poem! Or a blog post :) I sometimes pull out my journal and hand write 3 pages the minute I wake up, just so I can keep some of those thought bubbles fresh. Honestly, after a few hours when I go back to look at the original idea I find that it wasn't as brilliant as what I thought it was, but, still waking up feeling inspired is a great feeling.
4. Knowledge
I listen to TED talks and chew over the information I can gather from those lectures. I love digesting the information I just received, pouring over details and processing new bits of meaty information. The best part is then spewing the information out again when I am in a social situation. Someone may have an anecdote about a pop-culture reference or a human behavioral observation, and I'll immediately have a cool thought to share because I heard it earlier that day from an expert. I love telling people what I know: it makes me feel smart, and I feel like I give the people listening a little gift of information, too.
5. Finishing a Project I've Been Wanting to Finish
That damn cross-stitch project has been winking at me for months and I've done nothing but kick it under the bed and ignore it! When I do finish it, though, I feel like I just made my entire life a little better. Or, even finishing a book gives me a thrill, like I just accomplished a small journey on nothing but my own will-power to see the thing through to the end.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
First Kiss
The first time I ever kissed a boy was during a game of spin the bottle. I was 16.
I was petrified of boys at 16. I had a group of friends I would hang out with occasionally and I remember the girls talking about the boys they had kissed, who they had crushes on, who they wanted to start dating (or were currently dating) I, however, always felt completely baffled by this talk of the opposite sex. What happened to Boys having Cooties? I was supposed to be kissing them now?! I started to really feel the pressure after Sophomore year of high school when my last girl-friend, Stacy, admitted she had kissed a boy. Crap. I needed to get on the bandwagon! This was Junior Year and I needed to get my lips in contact with a male's: Stat!
I was not too awkward in High School. No acne. I was a major Theatre Nerd: I was a member of the drama group, I could sing all the songs to all the musicals, ever. I used to have long hair, but cut it all off and wore it in a Bob that I would pin back with simple brown pins. I was also discovering that I had hips, and had even gone so far as getting myself a pair of hip-hugging jeans that I was really proud of. But, none of the stupid High school boys appealed to me. Who, in the pool of guys I knew, could fulfill the important role of first kiss?
I imagined my first kiss being like a scene out of Lord Of the Rings (which I was OBSESSED with). It would go as such:
I'm standing on a romantic, moonlit bridge overlooking a cascading waterfall. I'm wearing a dress that looks like it belongs on an Elven Princess. I'm trying to make a wish when, suddenly, a romantic stranger passes by. He sees me on the bridge. I make a wish. He comes over, his blue eyes catching the white peaks of the water. He whispers something clever that makes me giggle. He says I have a cute giggle. Then, he leans in and kisses me, and we confess our undying love for one another.
The end. That was the whole fantasy.
So, none of the geeky, pizza-faced, short, awkward, immature 16 year old boys seemed to fit that mold. Or, maybe I was a lesbian? I mean, seriously, not a single dude made me want to kiss them. There was that one cute guy who was in the school band, but he was off limits: too cool for me. Anyone who was as into Lord Of the Rings, and musical theatre as much as I was, was not in the popular crowd. I resigned myself to sexual confusion and celibacy for the rest of my life.
Cut to: The closing night party of our school's rendition of "Into The Woods". There were a bunch of people there: cast members, band members, audience members, wanna-be's and friends. And then, after a couple swigs of that all-too-sweet Mikes Hard Lemonade we were all drinking, someone placed their empty bottle on the rug and announced we were playing spin the bottle. Oh. Shit. The rag-tag group gathered 'round the bottle and I took in the crowd. The only guy I could have considered, who also happened to be the host, was already making out on the couch with another girl. But, wait: someone brought a friend wearing a Red Hat. He was cute.
I distinctly remember the moment Red Hat and I kissed, the fear in being unsure of how to "do it right" disappearing the minute contact was made. Oh. I know how to do this! I was made to know how to do this! I LIKE THIS. We parted lips and I wanted more. Plus, every time I looked up from the spinning bottle the host and the girl on the couch were Gettin' It On. The bottle span and span. I wound up kissing a plethora of people: dead fish lips, big sloppy red lips, dry lips, soft lips, men, women, lesbians, gays (this was Manhattan, my school was full of all types) and then: Red Hat. I wanted to have that bottle hit Red Hat SO BAD! After a couple rounds, I spun the bottle and then just up and pounced on him. The room gasped (or, at least I like to imagine they did). I felt like I was having an out of body experience. Like a pro, Red Hat got up, grabbed me by the hand, and led me into the hallway were we started making out like two love-sick teenagers.
This was my first kiss, my first make-out, and Hell, the first time I realized I REALLY liked boys. Like, Really, Really liked them. I gave Red Hat my number because it was getting late and I needed to get home.
I remember floating toward the subway, waving goodbye to the smirking friends as I left the party (I knew I would get a whole lot of shit for what I did the next day at school once the news spread that Natalie mauled a dude at a party). It wasn't until the train stopped at 86th street and I was told by the conductor that the trains were not running to my stop did I snap back into a little big of reality. I walked out of the subway and decided to hoof it the last mile home. It was 2am on a Thursday. I walked briskly, trying to avoid the vomit splats on the pavement from the bars lining Broadway.
Funny thing about being distracted while trying to walk really fast: I concentrated so hard on avoiding vomit puddles that I forgot to watch out for cracks in the pavement. I tripped. I fell. I got up quickly. I looked down at my hip-hugging jeans and saw the fall had ripped the knees to my pants wide open. Whoops. That didn't bother me, though. I felt more like a badass. I earned those holes! And, frankly, I felt more accomplished than I had ever felt up until that point. Those holes were a badge of honor. And I was a Woman at that moment. Epic.
I was petrified of boys at 16. I had a group of friends I would hang out with occasionally and I remember the girls talking about the boys they had kissed, who they had crushes on, who they wanted to start dating (or were currently dating) I, however, always felt completely baffled by this talk of the opposite sex. What happened to Boys having Cooties? I was supposed to be kissing them now?! I started to really feel the pressure after Sophomore year of high school when my last girl-friend, Stacy, admitted she had kissed a boy. Crap. I needed to get on the bandwagon! This was Junior Year and I needed to get my lips in contact with a male's: Stat!
I was not too awkward in High School. No acne. I was a major Theatre Nerd: I was a member of the drama group, I could sing all the songs to all the musicals, ever. I used to have long hair, but cut it all off and wore it in a Bob that I would pin back with simple brown pins. I was also discovering that I had hips, and had even gone so far as getting myself a pair of hip-hugging jeans that I was really proud of. But, none of the stupid High school boys appealed to me. Who, in the pool of guys I knew, could fulfill the important role of first kiss?
I imagined my first kiss being like a scene out of Lord Of the Rings (which I was OBSESSED with). It would go as such:
I'm standing on a romantic, moonlit bridge overlooking a cascading waterfall. I'm wearing a dress that looks like it belongs on an Elven Princess. I'm trying to make a wish when, suddenly, a romantic stranger passes by. He sees me on the bridge. I make a wish. He comes over, his blue eyes catching the white peaks of the water. He whispers something clever that makes me giggle. He says I have a cute giggle. Then, he leans in and kisses me, and we confess our undying love for one another.
The end. That was the whole fantasy.
So, none of the geeky, pizza-faced, short, awkward, immature 16 year old boys seemed to fit that mold. Or, maybe I was a lesbian? I mean, seriously, not a single dude made me want to kiss them. There was that one cute guy who was in the school band, but he was off limits: too cool for me. Anyone who was as into Lord Of the Rings, and musical theatre as much as I was, was not in the popular crowd. I resigned myself to sexual confusion and celibacy for the rest of my life.
Cut to: The closing night party of our school's rendition of "Into The Woods". There were a bunch of people there: cast members, band members, audience members, wanna-be's and friends. And then, after a couple swigs of that all-too-sweet Mikes Hard Lemonade we were all drinking, someone placed their empty bottle on the rug and announced we were playing spin the bottle. Oh. Shit. The rag-tag group gathered 'round the bottle and I took in the crowd. The only guy I could have considered, who also happened to be the host, was already making out on the couch with another girl. But, wait: someone brought a friend wearing a Red Hat. He was cute.
I distinctly remember the moment Red Hat and I kissed, the fear in being unsure of how to "do it right" disappearing the minute contact was made. Oh. I know how to do this! I was made to know how to do this! I LIKE THIS. We parted lips and I wanted more. Plus, every time I looked up from the spinning bottle the host and the girl on the couch were Gettin' It On. The bottle span and span. I wound up kissing a plethora of people: dead fish lips, big sloppy red lips, dry lips, soft lips, men, women, lesbians, gays (this was Manhattan, my school was full of all types) and then: Red Hat. I wanted to have that bottle hit Red Hat SO BAD! After a couple rounds, I spun the bottle and then just up and pounced on him. The room gasped (or, at least I like to imagine they did). I felt like I was having an out of body experience. Like a pro, Red Hat got up, grabbed me by the hand, and led me into the hallway were we started making out like two love-sick teenagers.
This was my first kiss, my first make-out, and Hell, the first time I realized I REALLY liked boys. Like, Really, Really liked them. I gave Red Hat my number because it was getting late and I needed to get home.
I remember floating toward the subway, waving goodbye to the smirking friends as I left the party (I knew I would get a whole lot of shit for what I did the next day at school once the news spread that Natalie mauled a dude at a party). It wasn't until the train stopped at 86th street and I was told by the conductor that the trains were not running to my stop did I snap back into a little big of reality. I walked out of the subway and decided to hoof it the last mile home. It was 2am on a Thursday. I walked briskly, trying to avoid the vomit splats on the pavement from the bars lining Broadway.
Funny thing about being distracted while trying to walk really fast: I concentrated so hard on avoiding vomit puddles that I forgot to watch out for cracks in the pavement. I tripped. I fell. I got up quickly. I looked down at my hip-hugging jeans and saw the fall had ripped the knees to my pants wide open. Whoops. That didn't bother me, though. I felt more like a badass. I earned those holes! And, frankly, I felt more accomplished than I had ever felt up until that point. Those holes were a badge of honor. And I was a Woman at that moment. Epic.
Monday, December 10, 2012
Honest Bitches and Mouse Killers
1. Running While it is Raining Out
I'm soaked. I'm sweating. I'm determined to get home. I've got Kanye West blasting in my ear buds. I run up to my front steps, take out my phone and see I've run an extra ten minutes more than I thought. Fuck. Yeah.
2. Bitches Gotta Be Honest
Being a "Bitch" doesn't suit me, but I do like how honesty does, so if I have to be a bitch (a stand-up-and-commit-to-something woman, who can't be pushed around too much by other people otherwise nothing will get done) I will be an honest one. And I'm grateful for the strength to learn how to do that.
3. Blasting Show Tunes at The End of a Shift
Rough shift at work? Put on Disney's Greatest hits and sing "Reflections" from Mulan at the top of your lungs. Go on. Play that obnoxious version of "I Can Show You The World" from Aladdin! I can't think of a better way to blow off steam from a particularly ridiculous night of crap from people who work with you and people you are serving, than to scream "Colors Of The Wind" as if you were an academy award winning broadway opera singer. Then, if you get the chance, I highly recommend grabbing someone else who also is familiar with all the songs you grew up with and then sing a duet with them. Maybe slam some shots of Makers Mark first, just to get the ball rolling.
4. Impromptu Massages
Oy. I feel worn out from work. Wait. What? Are you seriously giving me a shoulder massage? Oh. Oh yeah. Okay. You are scoring MAJOR points. I will remember this.
5. The Annoying Cat Killing a Mouse
So, she pees in my closet, sheds on my bed, tracks kitty litter all over the apartment, but thankfully, she killed a mouse. It was epic. She was stalking something in the corner for about 10 minutes, then there was a chase, and then a pounce! And I walked over to see what all the commotion was about and just about jumped 10 feet into the air. A MOUSE! GROSS! And then: Oh my god, Ninji, you killed it. Wow. Good Girl! Thank you so much! I don't know what I would have done if I had seen that thing and you weren't around. I probably would have freaked out and then called a boy I knew to come over and trap it and get rid of it. I guess I owe you a big pat on the back. Thanks.
I'm soaked. I'm sweating. I'm determined to get home. I've got Kanye West blasting in my ear buds. I run up to my front steps, take out my phone and see I've run an extra ten minutes more than I thought. Fuck. Yeah.
2. Bitches Gotta Be Honest
Being a "Bitch" doesn't suit me, but I do like how honesty does, so if I have to be a bitch (a stand-up-and-commit-to-something woman, who can't be pushed around too much by other people otherwise nothing will get done) I will be an honest one. And I'm grateful for the strength to learn how to do that.
3. Blasting Show Tunes at The End of a Shift
Rough shift at work? Put on Disney's Greatest hits and sing "Reflections" from Mulan at the top of your lungs. Go on. Play that obnoxious version of "I Can Show You The World" from Aladdin! I can't think of a better way to blow off steam from a particularly ridiculous night of crap from people who work with you and people you are serving, than to scream "Colors Of The Wind" as if you were an academy award winning broadway opera singer. Then, if you get the chance, I highly recommend grabbing someone else who also is familiar with all the songs you grew up with and then sing a duet with them. Maybe slam some shots of Makers Mark first, just to get the ball rolling.
4. Impromptu Massages
Oy. I feel worn out from work. Wait. What? Are you seriously giving me a shoulder massage? Oh. Oh yeah. Okay. You are scoring MAJOR points. I will remember this.
5. The Annoying Cat Killing a Mouse
So, she pees in my closet, sheds on my bed, tracks kitty litter all over the apartment, but thankfully, she killed a mouse. It was epic. She was stalking something in the corner for about 10 minutes, then there was a chase, and then a pounce! And I walked over to see what all the commotion was about and just about jumped 10 feet into the air. A MOUSE! GROSS! And then: Oh my god, Ninji, you killed it. Wow. Good Girl! Thank you so much! I don't know what I would have done if I had seen that thing and you weren't around. I probably would have freaked out and then called a boy I knew to come over and trap it and get rid of it. I guess I owe you a big pat on the back. Thanks.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Slummy Narnia
***NOTE: I'm taking a break from the "Grateful For" list. I need to write other things, dammit!!
It's a rainy sunday afternoon, I'd say just about as stereotypical as a rainy Sunday can be. I walked downtown in the general direction of my job and decided to stop and have a late lunch somewhere cheap, like take-out chinese. The amazing thing to me is that even from the outside the yellow and red "King China" looks out of place amongst the gourmet pizzerias, free range fried chicken fronts and salad-ga-lore bodegas that line 14th street on the West Side of Manhattan. Being a savvy New York native, however, I knew that if I didn't want to wind up coughing up blood for the price of my lunch I would need to get a meal at "King China".
Here's where the bizarre paradox begins. The minute I wedge open the semi-jammed door of the entrance to the take out, I feel as if I walked into a Slummy Narnia: except there was nothing magical. The people I was sharing the street with (before the nasty, greasy door of the "wardrobe" was entered) were well dressed women pushing expensive looking strollers; tall, well groomed men, talking on their iPhone 5's; young, beautiful, blonde women with a steaming cup of coffee flitting about the awnings and secretly admiring themselves in the windows of the store fronts... all of which disappeared as the musty glass of the door banged shut behind me. I was the only white person in the joint; indeed, I felt like I must have been the only white person to have stepped in all day. I took in the homeless man slumped in the corner, the angry looking woman picking her fingers, the young teenager typing on her phone and felt immediately out of place. I got a few glances from the locals before shouting my order to the Chinese lady busily frying french fries and chopping chicken wings up behind the prep counter.
After sitting myself on a dinged-up stool, I looked across the room at the mirror that faced where I was sitting. "Which one of these things is not like the other!?" I sang to myself, taking in the fact that my bright magenta coat and leather boots made me look like the equivalent of Paris Hilton shopping in a Payless Shoe store. I got a sideways glance from a lady who came in and ordered pork fried rice "Well, the food's cheap, Lady! Probably the same reason you're here!"
After munching down my chicken/pigeon and broccoli meal I scooted out of the take-out with barely a look back.
I walked down Bleeker street toward my job. And then, I saw the Bakery. Yeah, no dudes slumped in a corner in there. Instead, it was a packed madhouse of salivating, family oriented tourists and locals jamming their way inside to fork over 6 bucks for a cupcake and then throwing out the half they didn't eat in the overfilled garbage container on the street corner. I stopped for a moment to take in what I was seeing. That is technically where I "belonged" today when deciding on where to get lunch, right? With the blue wool coats, the white fleeces, the red pea coats and the dappled grey pull-overs that made up a crazy town of luxury and privilege. Gross. I paid 6 bucks for my entire lunch in Slummy Narnia.
Then, I saw the old asian lady on her hands and knees digging through garbage for a couple of cans to recycle and felt sick. How is it justifiable to have that happening on the same street that sells cupcakes for 6 bucks and pairs of jeans for 250 dollars? I felt terrible as the middle class guilt ran up my spine and threatened to undo my day. I literally stopped in the street and stared at her for a moment. What do I do? Do I give her some money? Do I help her dig through the garbage to find some good cans for her? Do I ignore all other responsibilities and take her in, feed her a warm meal and then sign over the lease to my apartment to her? Will that help assuage my guilt?
No. It won't.
Instead, I did nothing. I stopped. Looked. Burped. Shook my head, and then walked on. And as I walked, I imagined Paris Hilton somewhere, maybe the Russian Tea room, eating thousand dollar caviar and complaining about a headache from all the liquor from the night before. I'm just a layer in the food chain of wealth.
It's a rainy sunday afternoon, I'd say just about as stereotypical as a rainy Sunday can be. I walked downtown in the general direction of my job and decided to stop and have a late lunch somewhere cheap, like take-out chinese. The amazing thing to me is that even from the outside the yellow and red "King China" looks out of place amongst the gourmet pizzerias, free range fried chicken fronts and salad-ga-lore bodegas that line 14th street on the West Side of Manhattan. Being a savvy New York native, however, I knew that if I didn't want to wind up coughing up blood for the price of my lunch I would need to get a meal at "King China".
Here's where the bizarre paradox begins. The minute I wedge open the semi-jammed door of the entrance to the take out, I feel as if I walked into a Slummy Narnia: except there was nothing magical. The people I was sharing the street with (before the nasty, greasy door of the "wardrobe" was entered) were well dressed women pushing expensive looking strollers; tall, well groomed men, talking on their iPhone 5's; young, beautiful, blonde women with a steaming cup of coffee flitting about the awnings and secretly admiring themselves in the windows of the store fronts... all of which disappeared as the musty glass of the door banged shut behind me. I was the only white person in the joint; indeed, I felt like I must have been the only white person to have stepped in all day. I took in the homeless man slumped in the corner, the angry looking woman picking her fingers, the young teenager typing on her phone and felt immediately out of place. I got a few glances from the locals before shouting my order to the Chinese lady busily frying french fries and chopping chicken wings up behind the prep counter.
After sitting myself on a dinged-up stool, I looked across the room at the mirror that faced where I was sitting. "Which one of these things is not like the other!?" I sang to myself, taking in the fact that my bright magenta coat and leather boots made me look like the equivalent of Paris Hilton shopping in a Payless Shoe store. I got a sideways glance from a lady who came in and ordered pork fried rice "Well, the food's cheap, Lady! Probably the same reason you're here!"
After munching down my chicken/pigeon and broccoli meal I scooted out of the take-out with barely a look back.
I walked down Bleeker street toward my job. And then, I saw the Bakery. Yeah, no dudes slumped in a corner in there. Instead, it was a packed madhouse of salivating, family oriented tourists and locals jamming their way inside to fork over 6 bucks for a cupcake and then throwing out the half they didn't eat in the overfilled garbage container on the street corner. I stopped for a moment to take in what I was seeing. That is technically where I "belonged" today when deciding on where to get lunch, right? With the blue wool coats, the white fleeces, the red pea coats and the dappled grey pull-overs that made up a crazy town of luxury and privilege. Gross. I paid 6 bucks for my entire lunch in Slummy Narnia.
Then, I saw the old asian lady on her hands and knees digging through garbage for a couple of cans to recycle and felt sick. How is it justifiable to have that happening on the same street that sells cupcakes for 6 bucks and pairs of jeans for 250 dollars? I felt terrible as the middle class guilt ran up my spine and threatened to undo my day. I literally stopped in the street and stared at her for a moment. What do I do? Do I give her some money? Do I help her dig through the garbage to find some good cans for her? Do I ignore all other responsibilities and take her in, feed her a warm meal and then sign over the lease to my apartment to her? Will that help assuage my guilt?
No. It won't.
Instead, I did nothing. I stopped. Looked. Burped. Shook my head, and then walked on. And as I walked, I imagined Paris Hilton somewhere, maybe the Russian Tea room, eating thousand dollar caviar and complaining about a headache from all the liquor from the night before. I'm just a layer in the food chain of wealth.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Entertainment, Eating, and the Gym
1. The Beatles
I can listen to their songs over and over and sing along to every inflection and word and still feel like there are pieces I missed and am discovering for the first time. "Honey Pie" and "Martha My Dear" and "All You Need Is Love" are some of my favorites, but I won't skip any song that comes on my shuffle. The group is also awesome to listen to when not sober, because all the songs are so popular everyone can sing along: drunk, stoned or sober!
2. Pumping Irons Like a Badass
Need I say more? Anyone who shows up to the gym willing to BRING IT is, in my book, a badass mo'fo.' I especially love seeing people who look like they haven't picked up anything larger than a paperweight getting under a weight machine until they literally sweat their shirt off. I know there are social boundaries to what is polite and acceptable in a public place, but I find myself wanting to shout "Get up under that weight, and pump 'til you feel bettah'!" and then running over and slapping the floor in front of then going: Pump It! Get It! You Effin Rock!
(I think we all could use a little obnoxious cheering in our daily lives, no? If I had a squad of cheerleaders crying my victory every time I went for a jog or decided to drink water instead of soda, I'd be pretty excited about the mundane a whole lot more than usual.)
3. My Sister Being a Baker
So, my sister is a baker and you can read her stuff here. But, like, she's really good at what she makes, and I should know because I eat A LOT of it. I am especially grateful when I get home and she's got a whole crap load of cookies steaming on the stove and the apartment smells like sugar, butter and spices. Yum! I'm so lucky! Oh, and she also reviews other bakeries and cafe's so now she's coming home with other people's wares so I get to try other cool stuff, too! All I have to do is come home! Winning!
4. That Awkward Moment That Happens, and Then I Get a Text to Run Away To.
That title pretty much nails how amazing it feels to be in a really weird and uncomfortable situation, like seeing someone I used to be friends with, but am not anymore, and I really don't want to engage, and BAM! A blissfully informative and vital text from a buddy stating that they are going to the gym and would I like to join? and then they then inform me that I am a poopy-pants. Brilliant. Sorry awkward-taco of a person I am really trying to avoid: I have this incredibly important correspondence here and I need to bow my head and pretend that my life is so full of people that I can't engage with you. Yes, please continue to walk on out of my life. 'K thanks. And by the way, friend that texted me: You are a filthy shart bucket. Yes, I will go to the gym.
5. Seeing a Good Movie in Theaters
Considering that the price of a movie ticket is now over 14 bucks here in New York, I feel like going to see a flick in the theaters is a process that needs to have a positive outcome, otherwise, I'll be pretty pissed off. I like to look at reviews of the potential movie, I ask around, I do research about the stars and then, only when I am positive that the curiosity about the film is so insatiable that I can't wait for the DVD release, will I go and drop a pound of flesh, I mean, 14 dollars on the ticket. I do so enjoy a night at the movies, though. I love munching on popcorn, eating a box of Milk Duds and chatting about the previews and how bad I think the next wave of cinema looks. Plus, going to the movies is a large dose of nostalgia for me, it's what we used to do when I was little, a way to spend time with the whole family that doesn't involve stuffing our faces.
I can listen to their songs over and over and sing along to every inflection and word and still feel like there are pieces I missed and am discovering for the first time. "Honey Pie" and "Martha My Dear" and "All You Need Is Love" are some of my favorites, but I won't skip any song that comes on my shuffle. The group is also awesome to listen to when not sober, because all the songs are so popular everyone can sing along: drunk, stoned or sober!
2. Pumping Irons Like a Badass
Need I say more? Anyone who shows up to the gym willing to BRING IT is, in my book, a badass mo'fo.' I especially love seeing people who look like they haven't picked up anything larger than a paperweight getting under a weight machine until they literally sweat their shirt off. I know there are social boundaries to what is polite and acceptable in a public place, but I find myself wanting to shout "Get up under that weight, and pump 'til you feel bettah'!" and then running over and slapping the floor in front of then going: Pump It! Get It! You Effin Rock!
(I think we all could use a little obnoxious cheering in our daily lives, no? If I had a squad of cheerleaders crying my victory every time I went for a jog or decided to drink water instead of soda, I'd be pretty excited about the mundane a whole lot more than usual.)
3. My Sister Being a Baker
So, my sister is a baker and you can read her stuff here. But, like, she's really good at what she makes, and I should know because I eat A LOT of it. I am especially grateful when I get home and she's got a whole crap load of cookies steaming on the stove and the apartment smells like sugar, butter and spices. Yum! I'm so lucky! Oh, and she also reviews other bakeries and cafe's so now she's coming home with other people's wares so I get to try other cool stuff, too! All I have to do is come home! Winning!
4. That Awkward Moment That Happens, and Then I Get a Text to Run Away To.
That title pretty much nails how amazing it feels to be in a really weird and uncomfortable situation, like seeing someone I used to be friends with, but am not anymore, and I really don't want to engage, and BAM! A blissfully informative and vital text from a buddy stating that they are going to the gym and would I like to join? and then they then inform me that I am a poopy-pants. Brilliant. Sorry awkward-taco of a person I am really trying to avoid: I have this incredibly important correspondence here and I need to bow my head and pretend that my life is so full of people that I can't engage with you. Yes, please continue to walk on out of my life. 'K thanks. And by the way, friend that texted me: You are a filthy shart bucket. Yes, I will go to the gym.
5. Seeing a Good Movie in Theaters
Considering that the price of a movie ticket is now over 14 bucks here in New York, I feel like going to see a flick in the theaters is a process that needs to have a positive outcome, otherwise, I'll be pretty pissed off. I like to look at reviews of the potential movie, I ask around, I do research about the stars and then, only when I am positive that the curiosity about the film is so insatiable that I can't wait for the DVD release, will I go and drop a pound of flesh, I mean, 14 dollars on the ticket. I do so enjoy a night at the movies, though. I love munching on popcorn, eating a box of Milk Duds and chatting about the previews and how bad I think the next wave of cinema looks. Plus, going to the movies is a large dose of nostalgia for me, it's what we used to do when I was little, a way to spend time with the whole family that doesn't involve stuffing our faces.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Favors, Warm Sensations, and Thoughtfulness
1. Getting Taken Out To Lunch/Dinner/Breakfast
...Well, any meal really. I've done my fair share of "picking up the tab" when out on dates (by the way, I feel like I've done more of that than the average gal, why are so many dudes so damn broke!?) So, when I get taken out for a meal, I feel like it's an extra special treat to not have to whip out the wallet and shell out the money. I think that someone offering to pay is a really nice thing to do, and I am not in favor of a guy paying for every meal every time, but offering to do so on the first couple of dates is a great way to earn bonus points. I'll always offer to pay my share! But, man, do I feel thankful when I get the: "Please. I got this." look. Sweet.
2. Running
I grew up thinking I would never do it. I started going to the gym and stayed away from the treadmills because I was convinced I would screw up my knees and hips if I started to jog. So far, I've been pretty healthy and haven't had any major issues with the running I've been doing the last couple weeks. Plus, I feel like a total badass when I'm jogging around in my Ray-Ban's and I bypass a group of people my age who are all bundled up and sad looking when the wind blows and I've got fresh steaming sweat pooling in my bra. Screw you, December! This 50 degree weather is perfect for a half hour jaunt through the neighborhoods of Queens! I love being able to run!
3. Eating Without Any Guilt
I have a terrible habit of guilting myself about what I eat. Not always, but most of the time, I feel like I could have made a better choice, or that I'm damning myself to a life of blubber by eating a scoop of frozen yogurt. But now that I've gone Gluten Free (or as close to it as I can) I have been pigging out on food that doesn't make me feel guilty at all. I have scruples about women beating themselves up over their image, and I hate that I am also a stereotype of that (I'm well aware of how dumb I must sound when I lament about having eaten too much chocolate). I am grateful for the sense of "I'm only gonna' live once so screw it, I'll have that heaping bowl full of mac and cheese" that the working out and diet change has given to me.
4. Steam In My Face
When I make a big pot of boiling water, and I take the lid off to check the status of the pot, and a big plume of warm steam hits my face: Heaven. Or, when I walk into a sauna and the heat hits my whole body, and I feel like I walked into a really hot cloud... I love that feeling. I just love being warm. Period.
5. Thoughtfulness
I think: Oh, yeah. I need to take that bad bag of garbage out this morning after I wake up. And I walk down to my kitchen and my sister has already taken the bag out, put in a new one, and even put away some dishes without me asking or prompting her to. That's so awesome. Or, when I'm in a relationship with someone, and when I get home and they have a dinner ready for me so I'm not starve-o-la, that feels really good, too.
...Well, any meal really. I've done my fair share of "picking up the tab" when out on dates (by the way, I feel like I've done more of that than the average gal, why are so many dudes so damn broke!?) So, when I get taken out for a meal, I feel like it's an extra special treat to not have to whip out the wallet and shell out the money. I think that someone offering to pay is a really nice thing to do, and I am not in favor of a guy paying for every meal every time, but offering to do so on the first couple of dates is a great way to earn bonus points. I'll always offer to pay my share! But, man, do I feel thankful when I get the: "Please. I got this." look. Sweet.
2. Running
I grew up thinking I would never do it. I started going to the gym and stayed away from the treadmills because I was convinced I would screw up my knees and hips if I started to jog. So far, I've been pretty healthy and haven't had any major issues with the running I've been doing the last couple weeks. Plus, I feel like a total badass when I'm jogging around in my Ray-Ban's and I bypass a group of people my age who are all bundled up and sad looking when the wind blows and I've got fresh steaming sweat pooling in my bra. Screw you, December! This 50 degree weather is perfect for a half hour jaunt through the neighborhoods of Queens! I love being able to run!
3. Eating Without Any Guilt
I have a terrible habit of guilting myself about what I eat. Not always, but most of the time, I feel like I could have made a better choice, or that I'm damning myself to a life of blubber by eating a scoop of frozen yogurt. But now that I've gone Gluten Free (or as close to it as I can) I have been pigging out on food that doesn't make me feel guilty at all. I have scruples about women beating themselves up over their image, and I hate that I am also a stereotype of that (I'm well aware of how dumb I must sound when I lament about having eaten too much chocolate). I am grateful for the sense of "I'm only gonna' live once so screw it, I'll have that heaping bowl full of mac and cheese" that the working out and diet change has given to me.
4. Steam In My Face
When I make a big pot of boiling water, and I take the lid off to check the status of the pot, and a big plume of warm steam hits my face: Heaven. Or, when I walk into a sauna and the heat hits my whole body, and I feel like I walked into a really hot cloud... I love that feeling. I just love being warm. Period.
5. Thoughtfulness
I think: Oh, yeah. I need to take that bad bag of garbage out this morning after I wake up. And I walk down to my kitchen and my sister has already taken the bag out, put in a new one, and even put away some dishes without me asking or prompting her to. That's so awesome. Or, when I'm in a relationship with someone, and when I get home and they have a dinner ready for me so I'm not starve-o-la, that feels really good, too.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Killing, Farting, Winning
1. Killing A Mosquito That Was Buzzing Around My Head
Yup. Woke up at 4am this morning to the tell-tale signs of that little pest. My first thought: It's December 4th, for crying out loud, what the hell is a Mosquito doing in my room? I switched on the light, saw that fucker land and killed the hell out of it. I feel a slight rush whenever I murder a creature in such a brutal way as smashing it, and sometimes (like in the case of, say, an ant or a spider) I feel guilty, but when it comes to Mosquitos I have very little sympathy.
2. Not Running Over Cute Kittens
I can't emphasize how lucky I feel to not have to worry about this. I don't own a car. I don't have a cat that could run outside very easily, and I don't drive very often. All of these factors make the likelihood of this terrible event very minimal in my life. If I ever did run over a cute kitten... I don't know if I could live it down.
3. Scoring Free Stuff
Like, I went on craigslist last night and spent over an hour looking at free stuff. All that stuff just needs to be picked up! I know people say that nothing is truly free, but after looking at all the possibilities out there, I feel like I could probably get a really great deal. I am always wowed by people who take full on garbage and make furniture out of it, now that's really taking whatever the universe is throwing out and recycling it. I don't find that kind of patience in me, but I sure appreciate the effort and work it takes to do that. I will also gladly look at your post on craigslist and wonder if it'll fit in my living room.
4. Whenever The Sun Breaks Through The Clouds
I feel an "Ah-Ha!" moment every time the slate grey of the sky is broken and the sun pours through. The sun always makes me feel happy, especially when I am denied seeing it and then surprised by it's entrance. I also love watching the sun crest over a hill, or begin to shine in my room in the morning. To wake up to the warmth and bright rays makes me feel good about waking up. Whenever I have to wake up in the rain I find it particularly difficult.
5. Having A Chance To Fart
I cannot emphasize how grateful I am to have this opportunity without anyone around to bear witness. It's a wonderful thing.
Yup. Woke up at 4am this morning to the tell-tale signs of that little pest. My first thought: It's December 4th, for crying out loud, what the hell is a Mosquito doing in my room? I switched on the light, saw that fucker land and killed the hell out of it. I feel a slight rush whenever I murder a creature in such a brutal way as smashing it, and sometimes (like in the case of, say, an ant or a spider) I feel guilty, but when it comes to Mosquitos I have very little sympathy.
2. Not Running Over Cute Kittens
I can't emphasize how lucky I feel to not have to worry about this. I don't own a car. I don't have a cat that could run outside very easily, and I don't drive very often. All of these factors make the likelihood of this terrible event very minimal in my life. If I ever did run over a cute kitten... I don't know if I could live it down.
3. Scoring Free Stuff
Like, I went on craigslist last night and spent over an hour looking at free stuff. All that stuff just needs to be picked up! I know people say that nothing is truly free, but after looking at all the possibilities out there, I feel like I could probably get a really great deal. I am always wowed by people who take full on garbage and make furniture out of it, now that's really taking whatever the universe is throwing out and recycling it. I don't find that kind of patience in me, but I sure appreciate the effort and work it takes to do that. I will also gladly look at your post on craigslist and wonder if it'll fit in my living room.
4. Whenever The Sun Breaks Through The Clouds
I feel an "Ah-Ha!" moment every time the slate grey of the sky is broken and the sun pours through. The sun always makes me feel happy, especially when I am denied seeing it and then surprised by it's entrance. I also love watching the sun crest over a hill, or begin to shine in my room in the morning. To wake up to the warmth and bright rays makes me feel good about waking up. Whenever I have to wake up in the rain I find it particularly difficult.
5. Having A Chance To Fart
I cannot emphasize how grateful I am to have this opportunity without anyone around to bear witness. It's a wonderful thing.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Silence, Melted Wax, Electronics, and People
1. Silence
When loud music stops playing, and the dust settles, there is a certain wonder in the silence left behind. Whenever a set ends at work and I can close the cabaret down, I love to feel my shoulders relax and my head float a little instead of working hard to protect myself from the barrage of sound waves.
2. Melted Wax
Playing with the melted wax that has run down the side of a candle is so much fun. I also feel a sense of duty to play with the wax, seeing as it is waste anyway, right? Plus, the little shapes I make under the pressure of the cooling temperature freezing whatever it is in place semi-permanantly causes me to think on my finger tips and lets me forget whatever it is I was doing before (like listening to a relative talk about something I lost interest in).
3. Someone Obnoxious Getting Some Sweet Karma Dumped On Them
I'm at the coffee shop, it's warm and toasty and quiet except for the fat-fuck who decided to whip out their cellphone and yammer away about their dumb god-daughter who wasn't appreciative enough when they were over last weekend. This person has also draped their big-ass winter jacket off the side of their chair, all but blocking the tiny aisle needed to move in and around the cafe. I watch as a 20-something college student squeezes past, and as they do they leave a giant grey, salty, slushy footprint on the coat. Awesome.
4. All My Electronics Working
There is nothing more annoying than trying to get a simple task done, like checking email, and your computer doesn't turn on. Or, when all you want to do it veg out and watch some TV and the cable box is getting bad reception and everyone on the screen is fuzzy, pixilated, and delayed. So, when the electronics do work: I barely notice, but it's the way it should be; which I am grateful for.
5. Getting A Correspondence From Someone I Haven't Heard From In A While
Picking up the phone and going: Hey! It's You! And you texted Me! How nice! I am fine! Glad to know you've been thinking of me. That's really nice. Sure, I'd love to talk to you and catch up and get all the juicy gossip about what you've been up to. I would love to sit down and take an hour and a half out of my day and talk on the phone about everything happening in my life with you. Thank you so much for reaching out, that really made my day!
When loud music stops playing, and the dust settles, there is a certain wonder in the silence left behind. Whenever a set ends at work and I can close the cabaret down, I love to feel my shoulders relax and my head float a little instead of working hard to protect myself from the barrage of sound waves.
2. Melted Wax
Playing with the melted wax that has run down the side of a candle is so much fun. I also feel a sense of duty to play with the wax, seeing as it is waste anyway, right? Plus, the little shapes I make under the pressure of the cooling temperature freezing whatever it is in place semi-permanantly causes me to think on my finger tips and lets me forget whatever it is I was doing before (like listening to a relative talk about something I lost interest in).
3. Someone Obnoxious Getting Some Sweet Karma Dumped On Them
I'm at the coffee shop, it's warm and toasty and quiet except for the fat-fuck who decided to whip out their cellphone and yammer away about their dumb god-daughter who wasn't appreciative enough when they were over last weekend. This person has also draped their big-ass winter jacket off the side of their chair, all but blocking the tiny aisle needed to move in and around the cafe. I watch as a 20-something college student squeezes past, and as they do they leave a giant grey, salty, slushy footprint on the coat. Awesome.
4. All My Electronics Working
There is nothing more annoying than trying to get a simple task done, like checking email, and your computer doesn't turn on. Or, when all you want to do it veg out and watch some TV and the cable box is getting bad reception and everyone on the screen is fuzzy, pixilated, and delayed. So, when the electronics do work: I barely notice, but it's the way it should be; which I am grateful for.
5. Getting A Correspondence From Someone I Haven't Heard From In A While
Picking up the phone and going: Hey! It's You! And you texted Me! How nice! I am fine! Glad to know you've been thinking of me. That's really nice. Sure, I'd love to talk to you and catch up and get all the juicy gossip about what you've been up to. I would love to sit down and take an hour and a half out of my day and talk on the phone about everything happening in my life with you. Thank you so much for reaching out, that really made my day!
Sunday, December 2, 2012
The "Grateful For" List
...As promised, the first of the series for December's "Grateful For" List
1. No Line For The Bathroom.
I can never underestimate the relief felt when I have to pee really, really bad and can zoom right in to a convenient potty. The best situations are when I have been out all day (say: walking around or shopping) and that second coffee I had hits me like a ton 'o bricks. The Starbucks of New York City are the deposit stations for the New York City public's bladders. Finding a branch of the coffee chain that actually has an open restroom, ready to use is, well, just short of a miracle.
2. A Chance To Stretch Out My Arms.
I am constantly tucking my arms in close, holding my hands in front of me as I wiggle through bodies getting to and from. Especially when I am at work I find I can hold my arms in a 90 degree L shape for hours as I carry plates and trays full of food. But, when the room empties, or the subway car expels the thousands of commuters and I find I have a couple of feet of space: Heaven. Sometimes, when I stretch really wide I can crack my elbows, fingers, and sternum. I feel like I take in a little more of everything else that exists on the planet, and not just how tight I feel.
3. Oh! That Song I Love Coming On the Speakers!
Sitting in a coffee shop, sipping a cup of steaming Jo,' writing a blog entry maybe, and then: *Cue Song* start the finger tapping, foot jiggling, word mouthing, smile inducing, awesome-fest that that song can do for me. Takes my day up a few notches.
4. Secretly Staring At A Hottie
Oh, bless you, you good looking, white toothed, well groomed, seemingly intelligent cutie pie, you. I am so grateful for you as a target for inspiration.
5. Comforting Words
Currently, they are much needed. A pat on the back, a smile, an acknowledgement of someone's positive opinion of me is so good to hear. Many times, being human and all, I find myself confronted with fears of the unknown, with situations outside of my comfort zone, with unpleasent decisions, and conflicting emotions. Sometimes, all it takes is a: "Hey, you're doing great." And I can feel myself getting a small bump from life to keep my chin up, keep heading forward, and to stay true to myself. That's important, and I am so grateful for that.
1. No Line For The Bathroom.
I can never underestimate the relief felt when I have to pee really, really bad and can zoom right in to a convenient potty. The best situations are when I have been out all day (say: walking around or shopping) and that second coffee I had hits me like a ton 'o bricks. The Starbucks of New York City are the deposit stations for the New York City public's bladders. Finding a branch of the coffee chain that actually has an open restroom, ready to use is, well, just short of a miracle.
2. A Chance To Stretch Out My Arms.
I am constantly tucking my arms in close, holding my hands in front of me as I wiggle through bodies getting to and from. Especially when I am at work I find I can hold my arms in a 90 degree L shape for hours as I carry plates and trays full of food. But, when the room empties, or the subway car expels the thousands of commuters and I find I have a couple of feet of space: Heaven. Sometimes, when I stretch really wide I can crack my elbows, fingers, and sternum. I feel like I take in a little more of everything else that exists on the planet, and not just how tight I feel.
3. Oh! That Song I Love Coming On the Speakers!
Sitting in a coffee shop, sipping a cup of steaming Jo,' writing a blog entry maybe, and then: *Cue Song* start the finger tapping, foot jiggling, word mouthing, smile inducing, awesome-fest that that song can do for me. Takes my day up a few notches.
4. Secretly Staring At A Hottie
Oh, bless you, you good looking, white toothed, well groomed, seemingly intelligent cutie pie, you. I am so grateful for you as a target for inspiration.
5. Comforting Words
Currently, they are much needed. A pat on the back, a smile, an acknowledgement of someone's positive opinion of me is so good to hear. Many times, being human and all, I find myself confronted with fears of the unknown, with situations outside of my comfort zone, with unpleasent decisions, and conflicting emotions. Sometimes, all it takes is a: "Hey, you're doing great." And I can feel myself getting a small bump from life to keep my chin up, keep heading forward, and to stay true to myself. That's important, and I am so grateful for that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)