Two years ago I was absolutely certain that I would be an actress for ever and ever. Now, however, I find myself wistfully comparing myself to the work of David Sedaris and feeling that, given a little polish, I could write like that.
Where did this change come from? And why was my mother right?
I spent hours playing Barbies with my sister. We came up with an entire universe filled rules that governed the hapless lives of the barbie and ken dolls. Most of the time I drove the plot of the story, acting out characters and scenarios as my sister gracelessly chewed on the rubber foot of her favorite doll. I've written in a journal since I figured out how to put pen to paper. My whole life is now documented in pictures, short paragraphs and pages of words and symbols. I started this blog two years ago and now have two hundred published posts and 20 thousand hits. My Mother, in her mother-y wisdom, saw this creative streak in me and predicted long ago that I would wind up with a pen in my hand. I, however, was hell bent on being the next Sandra Bullock: so there. Take that Mom.
Now I see that the joke's on me.
In an attempt at clarity, I spent the afternoon looking up my favorite writers to get a feel for how they got started. Where did they go for their MFA? Yale? Harvard? Oxford? And how much was I willing to shell out for the chance at the same? To my amazement: most writers went to state schools, or small private colleges I'd never heard of. When I searched the internet for the top 25 MFA schools in writing a school in Iowa was at the top of the list! What is this blasphemy!? Here I was looking at grad programs for acting and wondering whose cock I have to suck in order to even get an interview at Yale, when all it seems I have to do for writing is just show up with some of my favorite blog posts printed on nice paper.
Plus: Hunter College, here in New York, is DIRT cheap! I can go to their 2 year program to get my degree and the tuition costs range around 6 grand a year!
My mind is buzzing with the idea of getting better and better at expressing myself through language. The only worry about that is the feeling I got when I signed myself up for sketch writing 101 at the Magnet Theatre and the UCB Theatre. I took both classes and loathed them. I thought maybe writing wasn't my thing. Yet, I'm still writing a ton. Maybe I'm not in to comedy writing. Maybe I'm in to creative non-fiction... writing about myself, for instance? That actor part of me wanting the attention and laughs; no matter how I get them.
Honestly: I don't know what I want to do yet. I feel the summer ticking away and deadlines for the fall beginning to pop up. If I am going to make a decision I need to make it relatively soon.
I'll keep writing in the meantime.
Showing posts with label Anxiety. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anxiety. Show all posts
Monday, July 29, 2013
Monday, March 25, 2013
Jealousy
JEALOUSY [Jel-Low-See]: Jealousy is a normal human emotion that we all experience. But, when bouts of anger and seething hatred escalate into Jealousy attacks, it may be a real problem and strain on healthy mental functioning. Jealousy attacks include: envy, guilt, frustration, irritation, and jealous fits of tearful drunken sobbing. There is excellent treatment for Jealousy, and well as Envy, including chocolate and long conversations about how ugly that bitch is on the inside, anyway.
SYMPTOMS: Are Jealousy and Envy interfering with your everyday life? Have you had a Jealousy attack? These paragraphs should help you sort out the symptoms in yourself and in your inner child.
This sad, hopeless feeling just can't go on. It's affecting your job, your life. It seems like irritation, but could it be something more?
Many people with Jealousy also experience some degree of anger - anger that goes beyond the typical tension we experience when we normally see someone we just don't like. For people suffering from Jealousy, the overwhelming wish to do that evil bastard in is constant - with obsessive thoughts, feelings of frothy irritation, trouble concentrating, gurgling guts, hot flashes, and fantasies of writing their phone number on a bar bathroom stall with the words "Free Sex Here" written above it.
Jealousy attacks are intense periods of self abuse and feelings of doom developing over a short period of time and are associated with at least four of the following:
- Thinking: "She's so much prettier than me."
- Wondering what their sex must have been like.
- Obsessing over why he never called, then making up reasons about a better person taking your place.
- Feeling clumsy and deranged
- Feeling ugly
- Wanting to change everything about yourself
- Obsessing over having not had a "second chance"
- Ignoring compliments
- Wishing you had what they had
- Hating his/her laugh because they sound so much happier than you feel
- Feeling less talented
COMMON TREATMENT: Considering how to help ease symptoms of Jealousy? Below is a list of common procedures and treatments used to treat Jealousy.
- Breathe, Damnit!
- You know? She probably feels the same way about you.
- Their sex is terrible, just like it was when you did it, remember?
- Talk to a supportive friend
- Reflect on your own accomplishments
- Is this a real problem with them? or is something else going on that is making you feel insecure?
- You're insecure.
- Work out
- Stop eating really sugary processed food that makes your mood swing
- Take a hot shower and then draw on the mirror in your bathroom
- Go poop
- Meditate
Remember, Jealousy is a common feeling and affects millions of people daily. It's important to know that only YOU can be the very unique you and no one else, no matter how hard you think you can morph into that hot body that other person has.
Inner peace can be the simplest cure to Jealousy.
(And also remembering that you're wayyyyy funnier than that annoying guy in the office. Like, way, way funnier. Don't be jealous of him! Nothing but "Free Sex Here!" He's a dick.)
SYMPTOMS: Are Jealousy and Envy interfering with your everyday life? Have you had a Jealousy attack? These paragraphs should help you sort out the symptoms in yourself and in your inner child.
This sad, hopeless feeling just can't go on. It's affecting your job, your life. It seems like irritation, but could it be something more?
Many people with Jealousy also experience some degree of anger - anger that goes beyond the typical tension we experience when we normally see someone we just don't like. For people suffering from Jealousy, the overwhelming wish to do that evil bastard in is constant - with obsessive thoughts, feelings of frothy irritation, trouble concentrating, gurgling guts, hot flashes, and fantasies of writing their phone number on a bar bathroom stall with the words "Free Sex Here" written above it.
Jealousy attacks are intense periods of self abuse and feelings of doom developing over a short period of time and are associated with at least four of the following:
- Thinking: "She's so much prettier than me."
- Wondering what their sex must have been like.
- Obsessing over why he never called, then making up reasons about a better person taking your place.
- Feeling clumsy and deranged
- Feeling ugly
- Wanting to change everything about yourself
- Obsessing over having not had a "second chance"
- Ignoring compliments
- Wishing you had what they had
- Hating his/her laugh because they sound so much happier than you feel
- Feeling less talented
COMMON TREATMENT: Considering how to help ease symptoms of Jealousy? Below is a list of common procedures and treatments used to treat Jealousy.
- Breathe, Damnit!
- You know? She probably feels the same way about you.
- Their sex is terrible, just like it was when you did it, remember?
- Talk to a supportive friend
- Reflect on your own accomplishments
- Is this a real problem with them? or is something else going on that is making you feel insecure?
- You're insecure.
- Work out
- Stop eating really sugary processed food that makes your mood swing
- Take a hot shower and then draw on the mirror in your bathroom
- Go poop
- Meditate
Remember, Jealousy is a common feeling and affects millions of people daily. It's important to know that only YOU can be the very unique you and no one else, no matter how hard you think you can morph into that hot body that other person has.
Inner peace can be the simplest cure to Jealousy.
(And also remembering that you're wayyyyy funnier than that annoying guy in the office. Like, way, way funnier. Don't be jealous of him! Nothing but "Free Sex Here!" He's a dick.)
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Confrontations
This past week has been a full on LetsGetThisOutInTheOpen-Fest. I didn't plan to have all events stack up like they did, but, funny how in life it never just "rains" it "pours" all at once.
I don't feel comfortable telling someone I have a problem, I don't feel secure enough that the problem I have is large enough to say something so I generally talk myself out of saying or doing anything and hope that the problem just goes away... sometimes, they do. The alternative, however, sucks.
I always admire people I know who can voice their concerns and problems with a candor that can make my mouth drop:
"I don't feel like doing that, and I'll tell you why: because I've been working hard all day and I feel like you haven't been pulling your weight, so you can just do the rest. I'm done."
To which my version of the same situation would be a mumbled "Really?" then after a silence:
"I'm tired. I'm annoyed. You need to do more. I'll help you, but, like, I really need you to do more... Okay? Do you understand where I am coming from? You don't? Oh. Ok. Forget it then. No. Really. Forget it. No, I'm not angry, why the fuck would I be angry!? I'm just... tired."
...And then, I wind up finishing the last of whatever the task at hand is while totally hating the person I am with.
This week I was in two confrontations: One was a fight and the other was a full on confession. Both issues with both people are on their way to being somewhat resolved, and I say that because I don't believe that all things can go back to a thumbs up until both sides can lick their wounds and trust the other person again, but, man, finally getting "it" over with and saying what needs to be said feels SO GOOD.
Do you ever go into the bathroom, and when you know no one is there to walk in or overhear you, you start a monologue in the mirror imagining that there is a person you need to confront and you tell them everything? I do it all the time. I'm always perfectly eloquent, too! I know exactly what to say, I am confident, I am determined and I always win. Life doesn't really line up like that, but self confidence sure gives the whole measure a boost.
The fight was a tough one this week because it was with a person that, outside of our differences, I really like. Plus, I feel like the two of us are very similar in how we deal with problems: to wait until things blow over, or things get so bad that we boil over and explode; which is what we both did. Hell, I was shaking I was so angry. I had to consciously breathe and work out how to not kill, pillage and burn after the worst of the fight. Instead of a rampage; I cleaned the apartment.
The confession was me looking at two options with the other person. Option A: To avoid and deflect the situation and let the Pink Elephant that was prancing around the room continue to exist and hang in the air. Or, Option B: To say, "Yeah. I did it. Now what?" ...I chose option B. Cue the look of anger that flashes across their face: Oy. Shit. Now, I need to defend my choices and stay strong. I did. They deserved an explanation.
I feel better. I feel like I went through a whole lot of flaming loops, and my lips and cuticles are the perfect evidence of how much anxiety and nerves I felt as a result, but all the nervousness aside: the right thing happened. Confronting the problems made me feel a whole lot better, and even though the gauntlet was hard, I feel a lot more comfortable where I am now than where I was before the week started. I mean, jeez, stewing in your own anger and yelling at your reflection in the mirror doesn't solve a whole lot.
I don't feel comfortable telling someone I have a problem, I don't feel secure enough that the problem I have is large enough to say something so I generally talk myself out of saying or doing anything and hope that the problem just goes away... sometimes, they do. The alternative, however, sucks.
I always admire people I know who can voice their concerns and problems with a candor that can make my mouth drop:
"I don't feel like doing that, and I'll tell you why: because I've been working hard all day and I feel like you haven't been pulling your weight, so you can just do the rest. I'm done."
To which my version of the same situation would be a mumbled "Really?" then after a silence:
"I'm tired. I'm annoyed. You need to do more. I'll help you, but, like, I really need you to do more... Okay? Do you understand where I am coming from? You don't? Oh. Ok. Forget it then. No. Really. Forget it. No, I'm not angry, why the fuck would I be angry!? I'm just... tired."
...And then, I wind up finishing the last of whatever the task at hand is while totally hating the person I am with.
This week I was in two confrontations: One was a fight and the other was a full on confession. Both issues with both people are on their way to being somewhat resolved, and I say that because I don't believe that all things can go back to a thumbs up until both sides can lick their wounds and trust the other person again, but, man, finally getting "it" over with and saying what needs to be said feels SO GOOD.
Do you ever go into the bathroom, and when you know no one is there to walk in or overhear you, you start a monologue in the mirror imagining that there is a person you need to confront and you tell them everything? I do it all the time. I'm always perfectly eloquent, too! I know exactly what to say, I am confident, I am determined and I always win. Life doesn't really line up like that, but self confidence sure gives the whole measure a boost.
The fight was a tough one this week because it was with a person that, outside of our differences, I really like. Plus, I feel like the two of us are very similar in how we deal with problems: to wait until things blow over, or things get so bad that we boil over and explode; which is what we both did. Hell, I was shaking I was so angry. I had to consciously breathe and work out how to not kill, pillage and burn after the worst of the fight. Instead of a rampage; I cleaned the apartment.
The confession was me looking at two options with the other person. Option A: To avoid and deflect the situation and let the Pink Elephant that was prancing around the room continue to exist and hang in the air. Or, Option B: To say, "Yeah. I did it. Now what?" ...I chose option B. Cue the look of anger that flashes across their face: Oy. Shit. Now, I need to defend my choices and stay strong. I did. They deserved an explanation.
I feel better. I feel like I went through a whole lot of flaming loops, and my lips and cuticles are the perfect evidence of how much anxiety and nerves I felt as a result, but all the nervousness aside: the right thing happened. Confronting the problems made me feel a whole lot better, and even though the gauntlet was hard, I feel a lot more comfortable where I am now than where I was before the week started. I mean, jeez, stewing in your own anger and yelling at your reflection in the mirror doesn't solve a whole lot.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Boredom
I know some people would probably relish the idea of days on end with nothing to do, but I am not that kind of person. I have always been ready to jump into the next activity and to finish projects and get involved and be so busy that I can't remember how many hours of sleep I got the night before. I like being busy, but only with stuff I want to do.
In college I was a member of an executive board that gave me so many tasks I felt run ragged by the end of the day. I didn't have time to do theatre, I barely had a moment to myself and I didn't feel fulfilled by the tasks I needed to manage like organizing meetings, visiting important people, and counseling students with what they needed to accomplish. At the end of every week I would look back on all that I had done and felt so drained, not fulfilled.
Now, I feel like I am going through the opposite problem. Boredom is exhausting, too. Fear comes behind that boredom, as well. I have fears that I am wasting my life by sitting around and watching entire seasons of shows on Netflix. I fear that I will waste any momentum I've gained in my career and that I'll never emerge from this stalled situation and somehow be doomed to a life of never amounting to very much. Yikes. Not what I want! Yet, why am I in that state and not actively pursuing more of what can make me happy?
Control is an important factor in curing boredom. I had a talk with a friend of mine a couple nights ago who said that Boredom is a tricky state to be in. That there are always other things working when the mind is idle and listless: The "shark under the surface" like, depression and worry. So, having a sense of control on whatever it is I am doing has helped me feel like I am not slipping into the oblivion of neglect. I can control my own life. I can make a difference in what I will be doing tomorrow and next week and next year. By making a commitment to tasking myself with things to do, I find that the hopelessness of "What is my life?" and "Why should I bother getting out of bed at all?" are diminished.
I hope that those out there battling with the fear and anxiety of not knowing what the future will be, and therefore choosing to do nothing but be bored in the life they've chosen, can one day have a realization that they are not victims of circumstance. Taking back your life is a tough choice, and by no means an easy one, but getting control of what you can do with the time we have on this planet is what makes our lives worth living! I wish that for all of you.
In college I was a member of an executive board that gave me so many tasks I felt run ragged by the end of the day. I didn't have time to do theatre, I barely had a moment to myself and I didn't feel fulfilled by the tasks I needed to manage like organizing meetings, visiting important people, and counseling students with what they needed to accomplish. At the end of every week I would look back on all that I had done and felt so drained, not fulfilled.
Now, I feel like I am going through the opposite problem. Boredom is exhausting, too. Fear comes behind that boredom, as well. I have fears that I am wasting my life by sitting around and watching entire seasons of shows on Netflix. I fear that I will waste any momentum I've gained in my career and that I'll never emerge from this stalled situation and somehow be doomed to a life of never amounting to very much. Yikes. Not what I want! Yet, why am I in that state and not actively pursuing more of what can make me happy?
Control is an important factor in curing boredom. I had a talk with a friend of mine a couple nights ago who said that Boredom is a tricky state to be in. That there are always other things working when the mind is idle and listless: The "shark under the surface" like, depression and worry. So, having a sense of control on whatever it is I am doing has helped me feel like I am not slipping into the oblivion of neglect. I can control my own life. I can make a difference in what I will be doing tomorrow and next week and next year. By making a commitment to tasking myself with things to do, I find that the hopelessness of "What is my life?" and "Why should I bother getting out of bed at all?" are diminished.
I hope that those out there battling with the fear and anxiety of not knowing what the future will be, and therefore choosing to do nothing but be bored in the life they've chosen, can one day have a realization that they are not victims of circumstance. Taking back your life is a tough choice, and by no means an easy one, but getting control of what you can do with the time we have on this planet is what makes our lives worth living! I wish that for all of you.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Pink Eye (Almost)
Me. 6:30am. 3 hours of sleep.
Sitting bolt upright in bed: "Oh my god. I have Pink eye!!" (To no one in the room because sister is sleeping over at a friend's.)
Throwing blankets off of me, I run down the stairs to the bathroom and splash water on my face. I look in the mirror at an exhausted and frantic looking girl. Oh my god. What will I do?! Both eyes are pink!!
I run back up to my room, throw open my laptop and begin to search for doctors in my area who would have an appointment open for me on a Sunday Morning last-minute-notice-and-all. I come up with a full battle plan involving my entire family and going to a hospital in Central New Jersey. I have to text my Work-Husband and let him know I can't work today. I reach for the phone, knowing full well (because he's my work-Husband a.k.a Co-worker Extrordinare) that he's awake.
Text, text, text. Freak, freak, freak. I'mNotComingInToWorkTodayOMG. Co-worker says: Just let me know if in a few hours you still feel this way... (subtext: Go to sleep you silly, sleep deprived human.)
I lie back in bed and think about my life choices. No, I was not sticking poop-covered fingers in my eyes, c'mon, gross. My manager came in with pink eye a few days ago and, being the anxious Hypochondriac I can be, I assumed I had gotten it somehow.
I fall asleep and wake up feeling groggy and incredibly embarrassed. Did I just dream that whole thing, or was I really convinced that I had pink eye? I haven't had pink eye since I was a little kid!
I imagine all these scenarios in which the Pink Eye would eat me alive socially. I'd have to wear sunglasses for a week straight! I'd have to put all these eye drops in my eyes (I HATE eye drops!!). I then see all my friends shunning me like they would a diseased and flea infested mongrel. Then, the real kicker: I imagine all the guys I have ever kissed, ever, and what their faces would look like, if for whatever reason, they were making out with me and I suddenly developed the nastiest, crustiest conjunctivitis the world has ever seen. EWW!! Oh my god how mortifying! "No! Please, ________, don't leave! It's just allergies, I swear! Where are you going!? Nooooo!!" and then, in slow motion, I am turned into a Monty-Python cartoon of myself and thrown off a cliff with a little talk bubble trailing me with "No!" written on it.
Run-a-way imagination, much?
Try living in my head for a few hours. Yeesh. So much racket I can't even get a full night's sleep these days.
Sitting bolt upright in bed: "Oh my god. I have Pink eye!!" (To no one in the room because sister is sleeping over at a friend's.)
Throwing blankets off of me, I run down the stairs to the bathroom and splash water on my face. I look in the mirror at an exhausted and frantic looking girl. Oh my god. What will I do?! Both eyes are pink!!
I run back up to my room, throw open my laptop and begin to search for doctors in my area who would have an appointment open for me on a Sunday Morning last-minute-notice-and-all. I come up with a full battle plan involving my entire family and going to a hospital in Central New Jersey. I have to text my Work-Husband and let him know I can't work today. I reach for the phone, knowing full well (because he's my work-Husband a.k.a Co-worker Extrordinare) that he's awake.
Text, text, text. Freak, freak, freak. I'mNotComingInToWorkTodayOMG. Co-worker says: Just let me know if in a few hours you still feel this way... (subtext: Go to sleep you silly, sleep deprived human.)
I lie back in bed and think about my life choices. No, I was not sticking poop-covered fingers in my eyes, c'mon, gross. My manager came in with pink eye a few days ago and, being the anxious Hypochondriac I can be, I assumed I had gotten it somehow.
I fall asleep and wake up feeling groggy and incredibly embarrassed. Did I just dream that whole thing, or was I really convinced that I had pink eye? I haven't had pink eye since I was a little kid!
I imagine all these scenarios in which the Pink Eye would eat me alive socially. I'd have to wear sunglasses for a week straight! I'd have to put all these eye drops in my eyes (I HATE eye drops!!). I then see all my friends shunning me like they would a diseased and flea infested mongrel. Then, the real kicker: I imagine all the guys I have ever kissed, ever, and what their faces would look like, if for whatever reason, they were making out with me and I suddenly developed the nastiest, crustiest conjunctivitis the world has ever seen. EWW!! Oh my god how mortifying! "No! Please, ________, don't leave! It's just allergies, I swear! Where are you going!? Nooooo!!" and then, in slow motion, I am turned into a Monty-Python cartoon of myself and thrown off a cliff with a little talk bubble trailing me with "No!" written on it.
Run-a-way imagination, much?
Try living in my head for a few hours. Yeesh. So much racket I can't even get a full night's sleep these days.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Guilt Hangovers
I woke up this morning with what I call the "Guilt Hangover" I get it every time I have a couple drinks the night before, but didn't get drunk. What happens is: I lie in bed staring at the beautiful crisp sunlight filtering in from my window and wonder why the hell I am not still asleep, then think about all the calories I ingested the night before and wish I was being pestered to hurry up and get on a movie set so I can blow all my energy performing and not feeling sorry for myself. On Saturday mornings, I generally have a whole lot of nothing I need to do. I mean, I have stuff to do, but nothing pressing enough to get me out of bed before 10:30am.
I feel as though the fantastic week I just had has somehow faded into memory and I am right back to where I was before all the events of the week unfolded, just: sitting in my room wishing I had my own apartment and wondering what I'm going to do to make my life worth waking up for today. Guilt Hangovers are really no fun, and are generally the reason I don't drink a whole lot.
As for my amazing week: a week filled with sleep-overs in Brooklyn (mwahahaha!!), a conversationally charged first date with an incredibly gorgeous, world-travlling, 6-language-speaking, European male Adonis (omigawd omigawd omigawd!! By the way...), great notes in class, several nights filled with improv shows and a poetry reading (where I actually got up and read for the first time!!) Is it truly over? Do I need to start a new week over again and begin a new set of really cool things I did the past 7 days? Ugh. Makes me want to lie in bed and stare at the sunlight until my eyes hurt and I close them and sleep for another few hours.
Oh, but Guilt Hangovers don't let one sleep. Wake the hell up, Nat, get out to the world and maybe get your nails done, or something. Maybe you'll meet a Mr. Awesome on the way to the salon, right?
I feel as though the fantastic week I just had has somehow faded into memory and I am right back to where I was before all the events of the week unfolded, just: sitting in my room wishing I had my own apartment and wondering what I'm going to do to make my life worth waking up for today. Guilt Hangovers are really no fun, and are generally the reason I don't drink a whole lot.
As for my amazing week: a week filled with sleep-overs in Brooklyn (mwahahaha!!), a conversationally charged first date with an incredibly gorgeous, world-travlling, 6-language-speaking, European male Adonis (omigawd omigawd omigawd!! By the way...), great notes in class, several nights filled with improv shows and a poetry reading (where I actually got up and read for the first time!!) Is it truly over? Do I need to start a new week over again and begin a new set of really cool things I did the past 7 days? Ugh. Makes me want to lie in bed and stare at the sunlight until my eyes hurt and I close them and sleep for another few hours.
Oh, but Guilt Hangovers don't let one sleep. Wake the hell up, Nat, get out to the world and maybe get your nails done, or something. Maybe you'll meet a Mr. Awesome on the way to the salon, right?
Thursday, September 13, 2012
The Text
Me. Cutie. Bar. Drinks. Talking. Music. Laughing. Touching. Flirting. Kissing.
Then: nothing.
I think: Meh, Whatever. Plenty 'O fish in the sea.
Two weeks go by...
Me. Apple picking. Hanging with friends. Laughing. Bike riding. Improvising. "I don't care, la la la... Boys are stupid, la la la..."
...Wait a minute. I just got a text, hold on.
Cut to a clip of a mushroom cloud exploding over a license plate that says "Boyz R dumb" The entire screen falls to ash!
I pick up my phone. Who is tha-- oh. Oh wait a minute! OH MY GOD! It's HIM! It's the Cutie! It's HIM! AHHH! Waddoidoo!?!
Cutie: Wanna meet me for a [booty call] drink? Dinner?
Ummm... Yeah, maybe, uh sure, I dunno, uh. I guess that place sounds good. I'm trying not to sound impressed or excited or interested. Ok. 7 sounds good. Ok. Bye.
ohmigawd! Cutie and I are going on a date. Hmmm... I feel like I can remember the inside of his mouth better than what he looked like....
I'll look him up on Facebook, like you can look up a recipe for chicken soup. Oh, waiiit. It's coming back now. He's not on Facebook. Yet another unique and courageous soul who has managed to keep away from the demeaning and over saturated content that I feed myself consisting of the nasty fast-food of local pop-culture, photos of cats and stupid updates about going to the gym from friends of friends I met once at a party in college.
Oh, I love going "Old School" on this and waiting to see and learn something about this guy when I meet him in the flesh again. No preconceived notions about the photos of him doing jagar bomb shots on a bar in Colorado with a bunch of hot chicks I don't know. Instead, I can get to know him in real time.
Bring it!
Saturday, September 8, 2012
The Pee Puddle
I was standing behind the door of the locker room in the darkness, waiting with short shaky breaths to see if I'd be caught. I could see through the small crack between the open door and the door-frame as a means of getting a bit of a head's up before the "monster" came into the room. My friends were all holed up in the lockers, tucking their small bodies one by one into the small spaces to avoid being seen. I was too claustrophobic to cram myself into those tiny boxes, so, last minute, I opted for hiding behind the door.
"Monster" was the best game we played in after school. Brian, the councilor who was in charge of the gym, would organize all of the 3rd and 4th graders into the center of the massive play space and explain the afternoon's activities. Every time he would announce that we'd be playing "Monster" a massive cheer would erupt from the 30 grade schoolers as schemes and strategies were discussed excitedly before Brian would shut us up and carefully dictate the rules.
"Kids! So here's the deal. I'll be giving each of you a sock. If you throw the sock and miss, no points. If I see you, you go to jail, which is over here and you lose 5 points. If you hit me with the sock, then the round is over and you win 10 points. If you throw the sock and it bounces before hitting me, no dice. If by the end of the round you still have your sock, you win 5 points. You'll all get 20 seconds to hide. I'll count out loud and then, once the time is up, I'll turn off the lights and I'll come looking for you. You better hope to not get seen by me! Off to jail! You lose! Find a good hiding place! When the lights come on, then you'll know the round is over and I want all of you back here in the center of the gym and we'll do a roll-call. Got it? Now come get your sock."
Then, as if by some Santa magic, Brian would hoist a massive canvas bag out of a closet. The bag must have weighed a ton because it was full to the brim with sock balls. These balls were about 6 or 7 socks crammed together into one and sewn shut. The perfect thing to throw at a monster. We'd all squabble over the best sock, which felt good in the hand, which one would get the best distance. Then, Brian would announce in a booming voice, that the count was going to begin.
I remember running for the Locker Room with my friends. We had agreed to hide there this round, as the other kids peeled off and scurried for holes and cravases behind mats, ropes, and equipment that ringed the walls of the gym. We were laughing and panting, as each of us rushed to find the best hiding places. I felt a panic once everyone had shut their locker doors and squeezed behind gym equipment. I stood in the center of the room trying to decide where to go, and then the lights went out. Jumping behind the Locker Room door I tried to calm my breathing so as to not give away my location.
Now, Brian was a big guy to all of us 8 year-olds. He looked like a tamer version of a Harley-Riding Devil's Angels biker dude, just minus the tattoos and the mullet. He'd walk around the gym and laugh with a booming, shiver-inducing laugh that would scare the pants out of whoever was close enough to really hear it. He really was The Monster. He had eyes that could spot a kid all the way across the gym, in the dark, crouched behind a pile of mats. He could hear a kid from 20 feet away just from their ragged breath. He'd call out in a loud, horribly embarrassing voice "KYLE! I see you! Go to JAIL! Mwahahahahah!!!" Then, the poor victim would crawl out of their hiding place and slump off to the loser-bin to wait for the lights to turn back on. No one wanted to get caught. Generally, the kids in the jail were the girly-girls, the over zealous A.D.D. kids and the snot-nosed social outcasts. Getting caught was the coup de gras of your social life for the day.
So, there I was, hiding behind the door to the Locker Room, sweating bullets, as I fearfully looked through the crack into the hallway for any sign of movement from the "Monster."
Then, I had to pee.
Ohhhh I had to pee really, really bad. Like, in the worst way possible. More than I had ever had to pee in my young life. Ever, ever! Oh, Oh my god. I had to go. I started to do a pee dance, wishing that the lights would come on and I could just run to the bathroom. The seconds ticked on like hours and I waited, wishing beyond hope to somehow transport the urine from my system. I got so distracted by the fact that I had to pee that when I heard Brian's Booming "MWAHAHA!" right at the doorway to the Locker Room, practically right in my ear, I peed. I wet myself. I felt the hot water run down my leg, pool in my shoes and creep out along the floor. Screw Brian! Screw Jail! If anyone found out that I had just wet myself I'd be ruined! I'd be in the "Jail" of the social arena of my Life! I stood still, relieved that I had emptied my bladder, and then completely anxiety ridden. My Pants are probably soaked. I thought, assessing the situation. By that point, Brian had caught a small group of kids and was calling their names as they marched off to jail. I had a little bit of time. No one had shot the Monster yet. I stepped out of my pee-puddle and silently crammed myself into a locker. There were no witnesses.
What seemed like 10 minutes later, the lights went on. "EVERYONE COME OUT!" Brian bellowed. I made sure to wait a couple seconds so my friends could see me emerge from the lockers. "You hid in there after all, Natty?" My friend Michael asked as I climbed out. "Yeah." I replied, as nonchalantly as I could. "Seemed smart."
The kids gathered in the center again. I glanced down at my legs and saw the darker stains. I sat on the edge of the group, knees to my chest, and prayed no one would notice.
"Someone peed in the locker room!!!!" Screeched a female voice, as Erica, a co-counceller and "scout" went looking for any last stragglers. The room groaned. "Ewwwwww!!" I joined in, even chiming in with "That's so gross." Hoping my comments would leave me unnoticed.
"Guys." Brain said, switching to an irritated tone. "We're big kids here. Can we all just use the toilets, please? In fact, why don't we all make a trip to the bathroom, so Erica can clean that up. Pee break!"
I was mortified. Absolutely unabashedly ashamed of myself. I had wet my pants. I had let the game catch me off guard and lost control. I just prayed no one would notice my damp pants.
A life lesson I learned the hard way: Don't let the game catch you off guard. Keep focused. Keep strong. Despite the distractions, hold steady. No one likes a pee-covered kid. And also, don't be the one who has to clean that puddle, because I think Erica was the real loser from that scenario...
"Monster" was the best game we played in after school. Brian, the councilor who was in charge of the gym, would organize all of the 3rd and 4th graders into the center of the massive play space and explain the afternoon's activities. Every time he would announce that we'd be playing "Monster" a massive cheer would erupt from the 30 grade schoolers as schemes and strategies were discussed excitedly before Brian would shut us up and carefully dictate the rules.
"Kids! So here's the deal. I'll be giving each of you a sock. If you throw the sock and miss, no points. If I see you, you go to jail, which is over here and you lose 5 points. If you hit me with the sock, then the round is over and you win 10 points. If you throw the sock and it bounces before hitting me, no dice. If by the end of the round you still have your sock, you win 5 points. You'll all get 20 seconds to hide. I'll count out loud and then, once the time is up, I'll turn off the lights and I'll come looking for you. You better hope to not get seen by me! Off to jail! You lose! Find a good hiding place! When the lights come on, then you'll know the round is over and I want all of you back here in the center of the gym and we'll do a roll-call. Got it? Now come get your sock."
Then, as if by some Santa magic, Brian would hoist a massive canvas bag out of a closet. The bag must have weighed a ton because it was full to the brim with sock balls. These balls were about 6 or 7 socks crammed together into one and sewn shut. The perfect thing to throw at a monster. We'd all squabble over the best sock, which felt good in the hand, which one would get the best distance. Then, Brian would announce in a booming voice, that the count was going to begin.
I remember running for the Locker Room with my friends. We had agreed to hide there this round, as the other kids peeled off and scurried for holes and cravases behind mats, ropes, and equipment that ringed the walls of the gym. We were laughing and panting, as each of us rushed to find the best hiding places. I felt a panic once everyone had shut their locker doors and squeezed behind gym equipment. I stood in the center of the room trying to decide where to go, and then the lights went out. Jumping behind the Locker Room door I tried to calm my breathing so as to not give away my location.
Now, Brian was a big guy to all of us 8 year-olds. He looked like a tamer version of a Harley-Riding Devil's Angels biker dude, just minus the tattoos and the mullet. He'd walk around the gym and laugh with a booming, shiver-inducing laugh that would scare the pants out of whoever was close enough to really hear it. He really was The Monster. He had eyes that could spot a kid all the way across the gym, in the dark, crouched behind a pile of mats. He could hear a kid from 20 feet away just from their ragged breath. He'd call out in a loud, horribly embarrassing voice "KYLE! I see you! Go to JAIL! Mwahahahahah!!!" Then, the poor victim would crawl out of their hiding place and slump off to the loser-bin to wait for the lights to turn back on. No one wanted to get caught. Generally, the kids in the jail were the girly-girls, the over zealous A.D.D. kids and the snot-nosed social outcasts. Getting caught was the coup de gras of your social life for the day.
So, there I was, hiding behind the door to the Locker Room, sweating bullets, as I fearfully looked through the crack into the hallway for any sign of movement from the "Monster."
Then, I had to pee.
Ohhhh I had to pee really, really bad. Like, in the worst way possible. More than I had ever had to pee in my young life. Ever, ever! Oh, Oh my god. I had to go. I started to do a pee dance, wishing that the lights would come on and I could just run to the bathroom. The seconds ticked on like hours and I waited, wishing beyond hope to somehow transport the urine from my system. I got so distracted by the fact that I had to pee that when I heard Brian's Booming "MWAHAHA!" right at the doorway to the Locker Room, practically right in my ear, I peed. I wet myself. I felt the hot water run down my leg, pool in my shoes and creep out along the floor. Screw Brian! Screw Jail! If anyone found out that I had just wet myself I'd be ruined! I'd be in the "Jail" of the social arena of my Life! I stood still, relieved that I had emptied my bladder, and then completely anxiety ridden. My Pants are probably soaked. I thought, assessing the situation. By that point, Brian had caught a small group of kids and was calling their names as they marched off to jail. I had a little bit of time. No one had shot the Monster yet. I stepped out of my pee-puddle and silently crammed myself into a locker. There were no witnesses.
What seemed like 10 minutes later, the lights went on. "EVERYONE COME OUT!" Brian bellowed. I made sure to wait a couple seconds so my friends could see me emerge from the lockers. "You hid in there after all, Natty?" My friend Michael asked as I climbed out. "Yeah." I replied, as nonchalantly as I could. "Seemed smart."
The kids gathered in the center again. I glanced down at my legs and saw the darker stains. I sat on the edge of the group, knees to my chest, and prayed no one would notice.
"Someone peed in the locker room!!!!" Screeched a female voice, as Erica, a co-counceller and "scout" went looking for any last stragglers. The room groaned. "Ewwwwww!!" I joined in, even chiming in with "That's so gross." Hoping my comments would leave me unnoticed.
"Guys." Brain said, switching to an irritated tone. "We're big kids here. Can we all just use the toilets, please? In fact, why don't we all make a trip to the bathroom, so Erica can clean that up. Pee break!"
I was mortified. Absolutely unabashedly ashamed of myself. I had wet my pants. I had let the game catch me off guard and lost control. I just prayed no one would notice my damp pants.
A life lesson I learned the hard way: Don't let the game catch you off guard. Keep focused. Keep strong. Despite the distractions, hold steady. No one likes a pee-covered kid. And also, don't be the one who has to clean that puddle, because I think Erica was the real loser from that scenario...
Monday, September 3, 2012
Birthday
It's the last day of being 24.
Most frequently asked question: "What'll you do for your 25th birthday?"
If I could do anything, I'd go to London and spend two weeks partying over there. I'd make a trip to Paris and spend a couple days there as well.
European flights of fancy are not in the cards at the moment.
The 25th year of my life has consisted of many great and wonderfully memorable events, and I'm not sorry about any of them. I'm really stoked about what the 26th year will bring. Hopefully some really big leaps in my career, more travel, some awesome dudes...
I've decided to spend the last day being 24 by going shopping for some fall clothes and trying not to think about organizing something like a party to celebrate. Isn't it funny how 25 seems like such a bigger number than 26? I feel like it's more of a momentous number. A real landmark in age. I'm solidly in my 20's and solidly trying to figure the solids of life out.
I think I'll concentrate on how a new pair of jeans will fit, instead.
Most frequently asked question: "What'll you do for your 25th birthday?"
If I could do anything, I'd go to London and spend two weeks partying over there. I'd make a trip to Paris and spend a couple days there as well.
European flights of fancy are not in the cards at the moment.
The 25th year of my life has consisted of many great and wonderfully memorable events, and I'm not sorry about any of them. I'm really stoked about what the 26th year will bring. Hopefully some really big leaps in my career, more travel, some awesome dudes...
I've decided to spend the last day being 24 by going shopping for some fall clothes and trying not to think about organizing something like a party to celebrate. Isn't it funny how 25 seems like such a bigger number than 26? I feel like it's more of a momentous number. A real landmark in age. I'm solidly in my 20's and solidly trying to figure the solids of life out.
I think I'll concentrate on how a new pair of jeans will fit, instead.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Relax
"Nat, just let it go."
I have always had difficulties with "Letting Go" of issues. What the hell does "Letting Go" even mean?
I'm suddenly confronted with an issue; a MAJOR issue! An issue that trumps all other problems. I think about it constantly. I obsess over the possibilities of what could go wrong, what could go right, how will my life be changed, how will I handle another similar problem, etc. Sometimes, I can go days on end thinking about this subject. So, when someone (just an innocent bystander to my life) tells me to "relax, let it go" I want to throw my hands up and vent about how they couldn't possibly know how much I have to deal with and how dare you try and tell me to relax!?! "Don't you know about how difficult it is when my boss snaps at me!? He's mad at me! He probably wants to make an example of me! Or Fire me! He hates me and wants to prove how much women have hurt him in his life so he is taking all of that out on me: I know it!"
And so it goes...
When I get that upset I find my chest tightening. I imagine that my rib cage closes into a defensive fort designed to block out all meanness and protect my heart from any attack. Yet, all I feel I accomplish is a really tight chest and a shortness of breath. So, what then? Has the problem been resolved? No. And I'm still worried and anxious and bothered.
There is an acting warm up I've been through a couple times when the person running the warm up will shout "...And now, release your assholes!" and as I've looked around the room I see a whole bunch of concentrated faces actively making an effort to relax their butts. "Yes, release all tension and breath, feel your sphincter become jelly, Ommmmm...."
Is that letting go? Its certainly a method of "releasing whats inside" that I do about once a day. But, in terms of actually making the effort to see the issue at hand, then acknowledge that it is an important issue, then decide how much energy I want to pour into it... That is the hard part.
Sometimes, I find myself sitting in bed, hunched over, picking at my nails and churning over a boy not texting me back as instantly as I believe I would him. He's an asshole. He's a jerk. He's this, he's that, etc. Then, as if I got tapped on the shoulder I'll realize that that problem is really not my problem. It's ok to feel upset, but I should Let it Go. Take a deep breath. Come out of that hunched pose. And relax.
Oh.
My sister read me a great quote today about keeping a mind set of "everything is as it should be" that by keeping your mind in a state of the present, in a state of "all will work itself out" one can be a whole lot more relaxed. I don't know if that's what one could call "Letting Go" but for now, I'm concentrating on that method. Life's too damn fun to be worried about the "what if's and the who's it-- what's it's" that can plague me into becoming a scrunched, tense, psyched out version of myself.
And I wish I could create a blanket out of this philosophy and then drape it over the shoulders of the people in my life (or myself for that matter) I know are going through an anxious period, and say "Let it go. It's OK. Relax. Everything will work out." And *Poof!!* shoulders slump, forehead relaxes and butts release.
No one likes a tense asshole.
I have always had difficulties with "Letting Go" of issues. What the hell does "Letting Go" even mean?
I'm suddenly confronted with an issue; a MAJOR issue! An issue that trumps all other problems. I think about it constantly. I obsess over the possibilities of what could go wrong, what could go right, how will my life be changed, how will I handle another similar problem, etc. Sometimes, I can go days on end thinking about this subject. So, when someone (just an innocent bystander to my life) tells me to "relax, let it go" I want to throw my hands up and vent about how they couldn't possibly know how much I have to deal with and how dare you try and tell me to relax!?! "Don't you know about how difficult it is when my boss snaps at me!? He's mad at me! He probably wants to make an example of me! Or Fire me! He hates me and wants to prove how much women have hurt him in his life so he is taking all of that out on me: I know it!"
And so it goes...
When I get that upset I find my chest tightening. I imagine that my rib cage closes into a defensive fort designed to block out all meanness and protect my heart from any attack. Yet, all I feel I accomplish is a really tight chest and a shortness of breath. So, what then? Has the problem been resolved? No. And I'm still worried and anxious and bothered.
There is an acting warm up I've been through a couple times when the person running the warm up will shout "...And now, release your assholes!" and as I've looked around the room I see a whole bunch of concentrated faces actively making an effort to relax their butts. "Yes, release all tension and breath, feel your sphincter become jelly, Ommmmm...."
Is that letting go? Its certainly a method of "releasing whats inside" that I do about once a day. But, in terms of actually making the effort to see the issue at hand, then acknowledge that it is an important issue, then decide how much energy I want to pour into it... That is the hard part.
Sometimes, I find myself sitting in bed, hunched over, picking at my nails and churning over a boy not texting me back as instantly as I believe I would him. He's an asshole. He's a jerk. He's this, he's that, etc. Then, as if I got tapped on the shoulder I'll realize that that problem is really not my problem. It's ok to feel upset, but I should Let it Go. Take a deep breath. Come out of that hunched pose. And relax.
Oh.
My sister read me a great quote today about keeping a mind set of "everything is as it should be" that by keeping your mind in a state of the present, in a state of "all will work itself out" one can be a whole lot more relaxed. I don't know if that's what one could call "Letting Go" but for now, I'm concentrating on that method. Life's too damn fun to be worried about the "what if's and the who's it-- what's it's" that can plague me into becoming a scrunched, tense, psyched out version of myself.
And I wish I could create a blanket out of this philosophy and then drape it over the shoulders of the people in my life (or myself for that matter) I know are going through an anxious period, and say "Let it go. It's OK. Relax. Everything will work out." And *Poof!!* shoulders slump, forehead relaxes and butts release.
No one likes a tense asshole.
Friday, August 3, 2012
An Argument With Myself
Me 1: Stop grabbing at your stomach and looking in the mirror! You have more important things to think about other than how fat you think you look.
Me 2: Oh but I used to be so skinny...
Me 1: You didn’t think so then either.
Me 2: No! No, I did...
1: Nope. You constantly looked at your stomach in the mirrors back then, too. Be nice to yourself.
2: But, I am the heaviest I have ever been. I feel so fat and blobby. Look at how my belly barely fits into these shorts I used to wear in High School.
1: So then don’t wear those shorts.
2: But, imagine if I could! I would be pretty skinny.
1: You wouldn’t think so, you’d just wish you were another size smaller until you just shrank into a tiny, bony, ain’t-no-one-will-fuck-you-cause-they-can’t-find-you body. Look at how beautiful you are! You’re gorgeous!
2: One eye is bigger than the other.
1: Oh man. That’s it. Walk away from the mirror. Walk away RIGHT NOW. I’m hungry.
2: I’m not. Nope. In fact, I kinda like that I haven’t eaten anything but a bowl of yogurt today. It makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something.
1: You accomplished being hungry.
2: Barely any calories! If I ate like this for the next few days, I’d lose a TON of weight!
1: YOU DON’T NEED TO LOSE WEIGHT!
2: Oh, you’re just saying that to make me feel better. But I look at the girls on TV, and the one’s in the magazines, the ones who have no belly fat, like: they bend over and there is no roll, no nothing. They squeeze their tiny butts into cute shorts or sexy pants and walk around without having to worry about gross muffin-tops or any kind of jiggle. They’re the essence of beauty, and if I want to be in big motion pictures and be a famous, well respected actress, I’ll need to do that. I’ll need to be that skinny, to the point where my ribs stick out and I don’t need a bra to hold my non-existant tits.
1: You’d be so gross. I wouldn’t want to be around you. No one likes those girls.
2: Brad Pitt does.
1: Brad Pitt is a weirdo.
2: Yeah, he is.
1: Just continue being healthy, my love.
2: But I can’t stop feeling like people won’t want me because of how nasty my belly fat is when I sit down!
1: They don’t notice that, love. They’re there because of your smile and your personality and your ability to make people laugh. They’re there because of who you are. And you’re beautiful. Special. Wonderful.
2: Oh. You make me feel so good. Why can’t you make me feel this good all the time?
1: Just remember how lucky and wonderful you are, that’s all it takes. Everyone should remember how lucky and wonderful they are more. I think that way we could celebrate how individual and beautiful we all are.
....Now go eat something.
2: Okay. I’m gonna make myself that peanut butter and chocolate sandwich I’ve been craving all day and just feel guilty about it later.
1: Oy...
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Awkward Friend(relation)ship?
Oh, Fuck.
I just said something that really hurt you, and I really said it unintentionally! I promise!
Oy. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. But, I won't say sorry, I'll just back peddle and try to compliment you a lot.
Does that feel better?
Can you tell I feel bad for making you feel bad without saying that I feel bad for making you feel bad out loud?
Complicated. Yes. Like our relationship, No?
Are we emotionally invested in each other more than what the standard opposite-sex friendship should be?
-----> I refuse to believe that we are (even though I know that we are).
Just stay away from me, ok? I'm going to unintentionally hurt you again by telling you about the guy I went out for dinner with, or what my Ex did recently or how I want to see that movie you want to see, but I want to see it with my sister, instead.
No, I'm too busy to hang out this week. Too busy to get dinner. Too busy to do anything, really!
Oh, Fuck.
I am so sorry.
I can't sort out my feelings about you, and you'll just have to forgive me for that, because frankly: I don't want to lose your place in my life because it gives me a sense of worth that is entirely selfish sometimes. Oh, and there are qualities about you that I find irresistibly attractive, and yet I cannot get over my fear of ruining our friendship if, once I've decided that I will sleep with you, I am no longer attracted to you anymore and I don't actually ever want to see you again because I'm reminded of how I feel horribly guilty about "trying you out" and then deciding that you were not what I wanted. And, I think you're in love with me, but not really me, because (apparently) I can be very different in "relationship" mode, and you're really close to me, so maybe that's not who you really want and that's a lot of pressure!
There. I said all of that with my eyes. And you know me so well, I'll bet you picked up on that.
I need more girlfriends.
I just said something that really hurt you, and I really said it unintentionally! I promise!
Oy. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. But, I won't say sorry, I'll just back peddle and try to compliment you a lot.
Does that feel better?
Can you tell I feel bad for making you feel bad without saying that I feel bad for making you feel bad out loud?
Complicated. Yes. Like our relationship, No?
Are we emotionally invested in each other more than what the standard opposite-sex friendship should be?
-----> I refuse to believe that we are (even though I know that we are).
Just stay away from me, ok? I'm going to unintentionally hurt you again by telling you about the guy I went out for dinner with, or what my Ex did recently or how I want to see that movie you want to see, but I want to see it with my sister, instead.
No, I'm too busy to hang out this week. Too busy to get dinner. Too busy to do anything, really!
Oh, Fuck.
I am so sorry.
I can't sort out my feelings about you, and you'll just have to forgive me for that, because frankly: I don't want to lose your place in my life because it gives me a sense of worth that is entirely selfish sometimes. Oh, and there are qualities about you that I find irresistibly attractive, and yet I cannot get over my fear of ruining our friendship if, once I've decided that I will sleep with you, I am no longer attracted to you anymore and I don't actually ever want to see you again because I'm reminded of how I feel horribly guilty about "trying you out" and then deciding that you were not what I wanted. And, I think you're in love with me, but not really me, because (apparently) I can be very different in "relationship" mode, and you're really close to me, so maybe that's not who you really want and that's a lot of pressure!
There. I said all of that with my eyes. And you know me so well, I'll bet you picked up on that.
I need more girlfriends.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Soaked
I was soaked. Drenched, sopping, dripping, filthy and carrying twenty pounds of groceries.
Let's rewind. An hour beforehand my sister and I decided that we needed to do some grocery shopping, except: we needed to go to it at the Super Stop & Shop that was a ten minute walk from my apartment. Leaving the house with our umbrellas in hand, we made our way down the hill of 48th street, under the trestle of the Long Island Rail Road, past the Home Depot Parking Lot to the entrance of the supermarket. To say that the rain pissing down on us was anything less than biblical, would be a gross understatement. Torrents of rain! Buckets of rain! Rain so thick and strong that when the wind blew the visibility fell to only a few feet. The lightening was striking mighty close as well! Each flash in the sky would immediately answer back with a loud chest exploding boom and crack, setting off car alarms and shaking the ants my sister and I had become, sending us scurrying and screaming and laughing.
I wore my flip-flops, knowing full well as we first set off that the sky would most likely open up and we'd get drenched. We went shopping, imagining in our ignorance that once done the rain would let up and we'd walk home in much cooler temperatures. We stepped out of the store and saw bedlam before us. It seemed that in the course of 40 minutes the entire street by the entrance to the Home Depot parking lot flooded with feet of water. Cars sat submerged in 4-5 feet of dirty, muddy, trash-filled destruction. The traffic was halted as everyone in their cars stared with a dumbfounded expression at the Noah's-Ark-worthy flood that had stopped up 48th street.
My first thought was: Oh Shit. I've never seen a flood before. I grew up in New York City and have seen plenty of houses floating away on boulevards covered in a free flowing river on CNN, I've seen waterfalls in the subways, and really, really big puddles on Broadway. But this: This sight before me was a new experience. Cars that had been parked on the street were nose deep, the sidewalk was completely lost, and small waves splashed up against the side of the buildings as cars stuck their toes into the water before deciding that the river was too deep to forge, and then turned around.
I looked at my sister. "We have no choice, we have to go through it."
"Are you sure?!" She asked looking slightly worried and thrilled.
"We have no other choice! This is the only way to get back to the apartment. It's this way or we have to walk about 40 minutes in another direction!"
We stood there in dumbfounded silence as we watched a brave soul forge the river. She was the first human we'd seen on the street. The tiny asian woman was wearing a garbage bag and was pushing a wire mesh cart. The water, at its deepest, came up to her hips. She soldiered on, clinging to the side of the chain-link fence like a subway rat to keep from being carried away until eventually reaching the shallows under the trestle on the other shore and then disappearing into the rain.
"If she can do it, we can." I said, determined. "Let's go."
To say that swimming through that river was just about the filthiest thing I have ever done, would be correct. There were leaves, grass, branches, McDonalds wrappers, greasy oil slicks, and most likely the dead bodies of discarded mob hits floating at the unseen bottom. I felt the floor with my flip-flops praying that the cheap $2 pair of thongs wouldn't snap in the water leaving me wet and shoe-less. The water got up to my mid thigh before it finally began to recede. I held the groceries up to my chest as I balanced the umbrella on my shoulder probably looking completely ironic and silly with an umbrella protecting my head from the rain while the rest of me was submerged in a flood.
I moved slowly up the hill from the disaster. Cars and trucks on the other side of the water looked on at the two of us as if we were the swamp things coming up out of the muck. One idiot decided that he'd drive on the sidewalk and crept past us in his white 4xNothing SUV. My Sister called out that he should turn around, but her voice got lost in the pouring of the rain and I secretly hoped that car would get swallowed up in the torrent.
I was so angry! Why why why was this happening to me!? WHY did we have to go shopping at that grocery store!? I felt the frustration of breaking up, coming back from vacation, changing plans, the pressure of turning 25 and bunking up with my sibling all bubble up, as if wading through that filthy refuse had unstuck all of that and floated it up to my conscious surface. A huge clap of thunder boomed and I screamed. I set down my groceries and took a couple of deep breaths. The rain poured and poured. My sister stopped walking and watched me appraisingly, as if waiting for a signal in which way to proceed. Is Natalie going to fall apart? Is she alright? I felt the water run down my back and closed my eyes. I felt like screaming more, so I did.
The thunder echoed in response. My sister, ahead of me, put down her bags of groceries. She analyzed my voice and body language, and: seeing that my response to our current circumstance was not directed at her, she breathed deep and walked on. "It's behind us now, Natty." She said matter-of-factly. "In fact, that was kinda' fun."
I looked at my soaked clothing and shook the wet hair out of my face before picking up the groceries. I felt better for screaming really loud. I felt like less of a victim and felt less sorry for myself with each step. I took another breath. Actually, as much as that sucked, it was kinda' fun, actually.
Let's rewind. An hour beforehand my sister and I decided that we needed to do some grocery shopping, except: we needed to go to it at the Super Stop & Shop that was a ten minute walk from my apartment. Leaving the house with our umbrellas in hand, we made our way down the hill of 48th street, under the trestle of the Long Island Rail Road, past the Home Depot Parking Lot to the entrance of the supermarket. To say that the rain pissing down on us was anything less than biblical, would be a gross understatement. Torrents of rain! Buckets of rain! Rain so thick and strong that when the wind blew the visibility fell to only a few feet. The lightening was striking mighty close as well! Each flash in the sky would immediately answer back with a loud chest exploding boom and crack, setting off car alarms and shaking the ants my sister and I had become, sending us scurrying and screaming and laughing.
I wore my flip-flops, knowing full well as we first set off that the sky would most likely open up and we'd get drenched. We went shopping, imagining in our ignorance that once done the rain would let up and we'd walk home in much cooler temperatures. We stepped out of the store and saw bedlam before us. It seemed that in the course of 40 minutes the entire street by the entrance to the Home Depot parking lot flooded with feet of water. Cars sat submerged in 4-5 feet of dirty, muddy, trash-filled destruction. The traffic was halted as everyone in their cars stared with a dumbfounded expression at the Noah's-Ark-worthy flood that had stopped up 48th street.
My first thought was: Oh Shit. I've never seen a flood before. I grew up in New York City and have seen plenty of houses floating away on boulevards covered in a free flowing river on CNN, I've seen waterfalls in the subways, and really, really big puddles on Broadway. But this: This sight before me was a new experience. Cars that had been parked on the street were nose deep, the sidewalk was completely lost, and small waves splashed up against the side of the buildings as cars stuck their toes into the water before deciding that the river was too deep to forge, and then turned around.
I looked at my sister. "We have no choice, we have to go through it."
"Are you sure?!" She asked looking slightly worried and thrilled.
"We have no other choice! This is the only way to get back to the apartment. It's this way or we have to walk about 40 minutes in another direction!"
We stood there in dumbfounded silence as we watched a brave soul forge the river. She was the first human we'd seen on the street. The tiny asian woman was wearing a garbage bag and was pushing a wire mesh cart. The water, at its deepest, came up to her hips. She soldiered on, clinging to the side of the chain-link fence like a subway rat to keep from being carried away until eventually reaching the shallows under the trestle on the other shore and then disappearing into the rain.
"If she can do it, we can." I said, determined. "Let's go."
To say that swimming through that river was just about the filthiest thing I have ever done, would be correct. There were leaves, grass, branches, McDonalds wrappers, greasy oil slicks, and most likely the dead bodies of discarded mob hits floating at the unseen bottom. I felt the floor with my flip-flops praying that the cheap $2 pair of thongs wouldn't snap in the water leaving me wet and shoe-less. The water got up to my mid thigh before it finally began to recede. I held the groceries up to my chest as I balanced the umbrella on my shoulder probably looking completely ironic and silly with an umbrella protecting my head from the rain while the rest of me was submerged in a flood.
I moved slowly up the hill from the disaster. Cars and trucks on the other side of the water looked on at the two of us as if we were the swamp things coming up out of the muck. One idiot decided that he'd drive on the sidewalk and crept past us in his white 4xNothing SUV. My Sister called out that he should turn around, but her voice got lost in the pouring of the rain and I secretly hoped that car would get swallowed up in the torrent.
I was so angry! Why why why was this happening to me!? WHY did we have to go shopping at that grocery store!? I felt the frustration of breaking up, coming back from vacation, changing plans, the pressure of turning 25 and bunking up with my sibling all bubble up, as if wading through that filthy refuse had unstuck all of that and floated it up to my conscious surface. A huge clap of thunder boomed and I screamed. I set down my groceries and took a couple of deep breaths. The rain poured and poured. My sister stopped walking and watched me appraisingly, as if waiting for a signal in which way to proceed. Is Natalie going to fall apart? Is she alright? I felt the water run down my back and closed my eyes. I felt like screaming more, so I did.
The thunder echoed in response. My sister, ahead of me, put down her bags of groceries. She analyzed my voice and body language, and: seeing that my response to our current circumstance was not directed at her, she breathed deep and walked on. "It's behind us now, Natty." She said matter-of-factly. "In fact, that was kinda' fun."
I looked at my soaked clothing and shook the wet hair out of my face before picking up the groceries. I felt better for screaming really loud. I felt like less of a victim and felt less sorry for myself with each step. I took another breath. Actually, as much as that sucked, it was kinda' fun, actually.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Worshipping the Porcelain God.
As I retched the wine into the toilet of the bar I had been drinking at, I felt surpisingly calm. That felt good. A really good purge. I wiped my mouth and looked at my watery eyes in the mirror and drunkenly reflected on my life choices. Then, deciding that the whole reason I was at the bar in the first place was to not reflect on my life choices, I quickly dismissed my dizzy thoughts and tied my now smelly hair back into a pony tail and left the room.
I had been drinking for a few hours now.
I knew that that night would be a bender. I got back from Thailand a few days ago and as my Gym Buddy described it: The coil (that is metaphorically my life) had been pulled tighter and tighter and was now released and life was flopping in all different directions with a huge amount of force that could only be calmed down with time and gravity and alcohol. A few months ago, I wound myself up and sprang from New York like a caged canary and flew across the world and lived like a traveling explorer in the Jungles of South East Asia and I thought and I thought and I reflected and the home I left changed and grew, like New York as a tendency to do, and I came back on a different wave length that the bouncing around had given me, and the tight coil of my life in New York was released and I felt as if I got the full force of that all in a few days. Make sense? Mmmm, maybe I need a drink to figure that out... or not figure it out and forget about it for a while.
I'm not a drinker. So, drinking at full throttle with a full bottle and an empty stomach and a semi-broken heart and an overwhelmed brain and jet-lag led to me yakking into the porcelain bowl within a couple hours.
Thank God. I thought. OK. I'm OK. I've been better. But, I'm OK.
But, what's really the matter? What is the coil that's swinging around? A lot of things. Standing as a principle role and as a bystander to one's life is trippy. I get back and family, my living situation, my career, my future in New York, my sister, my job, and my boyfriend all sprang at once for attention. I was simultaneously impressed (as the bystander) with all I have created and call my identity, and as the lead role I'm experiencing: Ahhhh! I can't handle you all at once, but I have to because I am playing the role of "Natalie" in Natalie: A Life Story. I can't not be the star!
I feel as if I've gone from "I'm moving to Chicago in 6 months" to "I'm going to give up acting and just be a writer" to "I hate you and you and you" to "I love you and you and you" to "I know what I'll do now" to "Oh my god, I feel so overwhelmed by all the choices I have that I can't make one and I want to bury my head in the sand" All in the course of 4 days.
Welcome back from vacation, and welcome to the role of "Natalie," the toilet's on stage right, pillow to cry into is stage left, the self-assured grown-up you're learning to become is staring at you in the mirror as you wipe your watery eyes and calmly wash the vomit from your mouth. Curtain Up.
I had been drinking for a few hours now.
I knew that that night would be a bender. I got back from Thailand a few days ago and as my Gym Buddy described it: The coil (that is metaphorically my life) had been pulled tighter and tighter and was now released and life was flopping in all different directions with a huge amount of force that could only be calmed down with time and gravity and alcohol. A few months ago, I wound myself up and sprang from New York like a caged canary and flew across the world and lived like a traveling explorer in the Jungles of South East Asia and I thought and I thought and I reflected and the home I left changed and grew, like New York as a tendency to do, and I came back on a different wave length that the bouncing around had given me, and the tight coil of my life in New York was released and I felt as if I got the full force of that all in a few days. Make sense? Mmmm, maybe I need a drink to figure that out... or not figure it out and forget about it for a while.
I'm not a drinker. So, drinking at full throttle with a full bottle and an empty stomach and a semi-broken heart and an overwhelmed brain and jet-lag led to me yakking into the porcelain bowl within a couple hours.
Thank God. I thought. OK. I'm OK. I've been better. But, I'm OK.
But, what's really the matter? What is the coil that's swinging around? A lot of things. Standing as a principle role and as a bystander to one's life is trippy. I get back and family, my living situation, my career, my future in New York, my sister, my job, and my boyfriend all sprang at once for attention. I was simultaneously impressed (as the bystander) with all I have created and call my identity, and as the lead role I'm experiencing: Ahhhh! I can't handle you all at once, but I have to because I am playing the role of "Natalie" in Natalie: A Life Story. I can't not be the star!
I feel as if I've gone from "I'm moving to Chicago in 6 months" to "I'm going to give up acting and just be a writer" to "I hate you and you and you" to "I love you and you and you" to "I know what I'll do now" to "Oh my god, I feel so overwhelmed by all the choices I have that I can't make one and I want to bury my head in the sand" All in the course of 4 days.
Welcome back from vacation, and welcome to the role of "Natalie," the toilet's on stage right, pillow to cry into is stage left, the self-assured grown-up you're learning to become is staring at you in the mirror as you wipe your watery eyes and calmly wash the vomit from your mouth. Curtain Up.
Monday, October 17, 2011
A Big Bite Out of the Apple
It's always amazing to me that when I feel as though things are looking great and wonderful, I'll need to keep an eye out for catastrophe which I always feel is waiting right around the corner. It's as if life has a way of saying: "Yes, enjoy it now because at any moment Fate might come around and take the biggest of all dumps right on top of your head..."
Granted, I know I live a very lucky and overall happy life, but cleaning up the massive crap pile that accumulates after Fate took her fair share of your attention is never fun. The upside, I guess, is remembering not to stand in the same place so that when Fate decides to come back and unload herself again, you're not standing there ready to take it.
As a means of some control over the stress I've been experiencing at my job and personal life, I bought a MacBook Air. Yep. She's a thing of beauty. I brought her in to work last night, and as a form of protection from the crumbs and bits of soiled paper at the bottom of my book bag I put "Lola" (the new computer's name) inside of a manila envelop. Oh, she's so tiny and smart. She's the physical embodiment of the saying "I wish I could put you in my pocket and carry you around so you can make me smile." I got Lola instead of an iPad. I was debating for weeks about getting an iPad because I have a lot of auditions coming up and I was thinking it might be really high-tech and professional if I got one of those tablets to sort through any websites I might be building or youtube videos I may want to show. My friend who works at the Apple store on 5th Avenue convinced me that I should just go the whole 9 yards and get the Air. He even got me a small discount! Lucky me. As I was standing outside of the Apple Store waiting for my friend I couldn't help but stare at the half eaten, rotting apples lining the walls of the store. In tribute to Steve Jobs, there was a massive shrine to the man consisting of the typical bunches of flowers, candles, notes, a picture of Steve that looked remarkably like Gandhi, and a bushel's worth of half eaten apples. As I stared at the plethora of tourists snapping shots of the shrine I couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Rotting half-eaten apples? Really? and on 5th Avenue? If I were to visit a shrine in my honor after I've passed into the great beyond, I would really appreciate it if there was no garbage left to represent all the work I've done. Yuck.
Mr. Tall and I are meeting this Friday. He says he has an "adventure planned" for me. I'm really excited! I haven't seen him since our jaunt to P.J.Clark's for the scotch/bourbon. He was out of town for a while. I kept debating about whether I should text him or not, but decided to let him make the move. I've done a lot of pursuing the last few months, if he wants me that bad, he can call me, right? So far, all that's needed is a little patience. More of that to come...
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