The Spectrum

Cue: Dark Humor and Terrible Funeral Jokes

2009-01-10T23:52:00.002-05:00

Tomorrow, my parents, religious conflicts and news broadcasts be damned, are leaving on a ten day trip to Israel.

Impeccable timing, yeah?

"Oh, don't worry," my mother assured me. "We're not going to be anywhere near Gaza. And more importantly, your father and I aren't afraid of dying. We already went over the details with your brother."

"The details of what? The trip?"

"No no, the details of what to do if we die."

"CAN WE NOT TALK ABOUT THAT?"

"Talk about what? I told him he's going to have to come claim the bodies..."

"WAIT. You did not actually talk to Paul about claiming your bodies."

"We did! And you know what he said?"

"?"

"He said we were lucky if they can find all our limbs and body parts to ship back to the United States! HA HA HA."

"So this is all a big JOKE to you people!?"

"I thought it was funny. Anyway, I instructed him to sell the house and split the profit between the four of you."

"Wait. Why do we have to sell the house?"

"Because! Who is going to be able to afford to keep it!?"

"Paul! Can't Paul and Sophie live in the house? They're looking to buy anyway!"

"Well then what about the rest of you?! You need to sell the house to get some money!"

"How much money are we talking here?"

"At least $100,000."

"I get a HUNDRED GRAND if you and dad get blown up in Israel?"

"AT LEAST! Maybe more with you know, life insurance plans and all that."

"I'd rather just keep the house, actually."

"LAURA. You guys are going to HAVE to sell the house!"

"MOM. CAN WE STOP AND THINK ABOUT THE FACT THAT WE ARE HAVING A TEN MINUTE CONVERSATION ABOUT YOU AND DAD GETTING KILLED OVERSEAS?!"

"I know. Well, sooner or later your father and I are going to die whether it's in Jerusalem or in New York, you know?"

"LA LA LA WE ARE NOT HAVING THIS CONVERSATION ANYMORE."

"I just want you to be prepared. I knew you would freak out like this, that's why I already went over the funeral arrangements with your brother. He's less emotional."

"I AM NOT EMOTIONAL. It's just, uh, THIS IS KIND OF A BAD TIME TO VISIT THE HOLY LAND, WOMAN. YOU GET MY DRIFT?"

"Oh please. I agree with your father."

"About WHAT?"

"About the fact that IF we die over there, it's pretty much a guaranteed express ticket to heaven. I mean, really, dying in ISRAEL? We are bypassing purgatory for SURE!"

"I'm hanging up now."

So, off they go with a church group of about twenty to visit Jerusalem and Bethlehem and the Dead Sea and all the places where holy people walked about. In case you're just tuning in, my parents are VERY INTO HOLY THINGS. And by holy things, I mean things related to Jesus.

If you think about it, I mean, it is a very cool trip. There is a ton of ancient history over there and I definitely would be interested in seeing it. It's just not on my Top Ten List of Places To Go, if you know what I'm saying. Especially not like, this week, right? This week, I would play it safe and go somewhere tame, somewhere like Delaware.

But as my mother said, they already spent the money and they planned it back over the summer and who knew it would be a bad time and what are they supposed to do? Back out in fear? The Dlug's do not back out of anything in fear. The Dlug's COMMIT, they LAUGH in the face of danger, they make JOKES ABOUT THEIR FUNERAL.

It will be the second time my mother has traveled overseas in her life, the first time being a few years ago when she attended World Youth Day in Germany. My father traveled extensively throughout Asia and Europe while he was in the army in the late '60's but I don't think he's left the country since then. They are both so incredibly excited and have been looking forward to this for months and months. It's just...uh...do you have to go now?!!?!?

They were originally planning a trip to Italy after my father's retirement but along with the retirement came cancer so, that was put off for a bit as doctors pummeled his prostate with drugs and the like. Right around the time they decided they were ready to go somewhere, the church announced this lovely pilgrimage. And so, the economy plummeted and my father remarked that the money sitting in his retirement account really wasn't doing much at all and so he took some out and away they went.

Or, away they shall go. In about twenty-four hours. Not to Italy but to Israel.

A little bit different, am I right?

I'm going to try not have a panic attack every day that they're away. I'm going to try not to run through different scenarios in my head of all the ways this trip can go horribly, horribly wrong. My parents really are genuinely thrilled about it and I'm stoked for them, for every single aspect of the trip except you know, the whole "Possibly Getting Bombed" thing.

In the end, I'm pretty sure they will return safe and sound, right? (RIGHT!? OH MY GOD, PLEASE SAY YES?!!?!?) But if they don't, I will sell their house and collect some mad cash and throw a LAURA IS AN ORPHAN party. You should come.

In the Bleak Mid-Winter

2009-01-07T23:30:00.003-05:00

I'm not sure which was worse--

The FOUR cellphones that rang during a performance of Equus last night, one of which rang for so long that it caused Richard Griffiths to just stop speaking and take the longest beat imaginable

OR

The one cellphone that rang during the most poignant part of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button this evening which didn't ring for quite as long because the woman ANSWERED IT AND STARTED TALKING.

You tell me.

In other news, I picked three new headshots.

This is my Go-To musical theatre headshot unless I am doing a musical where everyone dies. Then perhaps I will choose a less chipper picture:

This is the "Quirky with glasses and oh so cute you'd put her in a Tampax commercial!" Laura:

And here I am looking kind of sultry which is hilarious because WHEN DO I EVER GET CAST IN ANYTHING SULTRY?

For the record, I have never been cast in anything sultry. In fact, I believe my roommate and I were the only people in our sophomore class in college NOT to be cast in Andrew Lippa's "The Wild Party" because we were too "pure looking". We were devastated, of course, because OMG IT WAS COLLEGE and it was THE SEMESTER MUSICAL and you know, IT MEANT SO DAMN MUCH.

It ended up being the best thing for us because

1) there is a simulated sex scene at the end of the second act and my mother would have FLIPPED OUT IF SHE HAD SEEN IT OMGGGGG

and

b) The production kind of sucked.

Also, the roommate and I spent the semester getting straight A's and eating french fries while the rest of the department was on a diet, desperately trying to get in shape for the aforementioned simulated sex scene.

See? All the things you wish you knew about college theater departments, RIGHT HERE ON THIS WEBSITE.

It's so funny to me to look back and laugh at things that used to matter so incredibly much. I suppose that is a Life In General Thing and not just a College Thing. BUT OH! It was the MUSICALLLLL and everyone was in it but MEEEEEEEEE.

You'll note this is a trend.

In 6th grade, I was the only one of my friends not cast in a community theater production of "Fiddler on the Roof" and I cried into my pillow for DAYS while my mother pet my hair and tried her best to comfort me. "But sweetie, you just don't look Jewish enough..."

I'm also trying to imagine my mother saying this while trying not to laugh, which I assume is how she said it.

And my 12 year old self did not UNDERSTAND THAT. Everyone but ME. I am left BEHIND. Everyone is wanted and I AM NOT. Forget all the times that I was chosen, picked, cast. None of it mattered because EVERYONE WAS SINGING "TRADITION" AND I WAS NOT ALLOWED BECAUSE I LOOKED TOO WASPY.

I'm going to try in this new year to actually believe what my 12 year old self refused to--that 80% of this acting game has nothing to do with me. It has to do with who the director knows and what color hair the girl needs to be and whether or not I can sing a high C. All I can do is work with what I've been given, my vocal range, my height, my preparation.

The rest is out of my hands and I think that automatically relieves quite a bit of stress.

I just need to keep training, keep showing up, keep putting in the effort.

And also, KEEP LOOKING SULTRY.

Done and done.

Resolutions and Stuff

2009-01-04T22:21:00.006-05:00

New Year's Resolutions I've Written So Far:

1. Stop cursing
2. No more plastic water bottles
3. No more popping my pimples
4. No more white flour
5. Put more money into savings each week
6. Keep a gratitude journal

So far I'm doing great with all of these things except the fucking white flour and the fucking cursing. Everything else = awesome.

1. My cursing has spun out of control. I'm not really sure why. I'm also not really sure why I care. My mom always told me that the Holy Spirit drifts away from you when your language and thoughts are vulgar or impure. She also says that it's indicative of a lot of deep-rooted anger.

I don't know what the FUCK she's talking about.

I LOVE YOU MOM.

In all seriousness, it's something I can do without and I'd like to think I'm a person who can think of better words to use than "asshat".

2. James bought me a Sigg water bottle for Christmas. This eliminates the need for plastic water bottles and so far, in 2009, I have not purchased a SINGLE ONE. Go me. The End.

3. Popping pimples...sigh. I love popping my pimples. I love popping YOUR pimples. I swear I would if you let me. PLEASE? Notice that my resolution is to stop popping mine and not yours. SEE?

I get this from my mother. I'm not proud of it. I realize that there are going to be pimples breaking out of my pores, tempting me to do it, just squeeze! Just a little bit! And people, I JUST MAY HAVE TO DO IT. But really, I need to stop. I press my face a zillion times a day, scouring it for the slightest hint of a blemish and I guarantee you that in the process of touching my face with my OILY FINGERS all day, I am actually giving myself MORE PIMPLES than necessary.

Also, there is the tiny issue of scarring. And the fact that now that I am an old lady, I am starting to see these scars and they are not going away and OMG WHAT HAPPENED TO MY BEAUTIFUL SKINNNNNN?

Also, I am also seeing the beginnings of wrinkles. Pass me the botox. Thank you.

So, yeah. No picking. No popping. Unless it's yours. Come here, there's a nice one right there on your forehead...

4. White Flour

This one is HARD. I don't particularly care for starchy things--potatoes, pizza, breads, etc. But I am a pasta WHORE. And I'll buy brown rice pasta or whole wheat and eat it a few times and then realize "OH I FORGOT. I HATE THIS." and banish it to the back of my cabinet. I then go back to the store, load up on the Barilla (Gemelli! Mezzo Rigatoni! Thick Spaghetti!) and call it a night.

Too much pasta. Too many carbs. Must cut it down. I don't think I can eliminate white flour completely but I'd like to reduce. What is an appropriate goal here? Pasta twice a week instead of eighteen? You tell me. And I shall comply.

5. More money into savings = self-explanatory. I already logged in today and upped the ante which is pretty damn hilarious considering my pay cut. THANK YOU, ECONOMY.

6. Every night, before I go to sleep, I write down three things I'm grateful for. Things in the journal so far include:

a. eating leftover Thai food for lunch the next day
b. belting showtunes in my car
c. new green flannel sheets
d. Orbitz raspberry mint gum
e. Christmas lights still up after Christmas

Gratitude is something that I don't pay enough attention to, don't stop and think about enough. When I get into a really negative mood, gratitude is an instant mood lifter. It takes the focus away from myself and allows me to remember all that I have. It instantly makes any of my melodrama smaller and less important.

There you go. In unrelated news, I got new headshots taken yesterday. I think they came out SMASHING, don't you?

Good. Me too.

2008 Blogging Recap

2009-01-02T11:40:00.002-05:00

Blogging shall resume on Monday with, I hope, more regularity in the new year. (HA. YEAH RIGHT.) My goal is Monday, Wednesday, Friday with possible random Tuesday/Thursday/Weekend surprises thrown in. I hope to get around to posting some resolutions along with how some of last year's resolutions turned out.

In the mean time, here's how my year went down on the blog. The below are the first bits of the first posts from every month with a link to the original entry. Enjoy!

January - "How depressed can I be with curly hair, those shoes and the best New Year's Eve to date?"

February - "There are days, whether single or dating someone, when I miss an ex-boyfriend. I feel like a freak admitting this, however, it makes sense to me..."

March - "Tonight after philosophy class, I waited for the 6 train to come to a full stop before walking through the open doors. As soon as I did, I was nearly knocked over by a strong citrus scent that was wafting towards me in a thick haze..."

April - "This is my darling friend Erica. She had too much to drink at my party on Saturday night and I took this video of her calling a boy outside the bar. This boy will not commit to her so Erica decided to make sure he knew that she 'has options' and that while she was at the bar, she was getting 'a lot of offers'..."

May - "Okay! Internet! I need your help! I am going to Italy...in...um...well...soon. Less than a week now. Shhh, don't mention it or I'm going to flip out..."

June - "So, there's that..."

July - "I wonder. How will I be treated when I'm no longer considered cute?"

August - "I just got back from a concert at Jones Beach. Maroon 5. Counting Crows. Stop making fun of me, the concert was amazing, shut up..."

September - "I accidentally got into a political discussion this weekend with my mother and grandmother. I say accidentally because a political discussion with my mother's side of the family is something I NEVER would willingly want to get into..."

October - "I was sitting at my desk at work last spring talking to my mother, the receiver clamped between my neck and shoulder as I absentmindedly organized a spreadsheet. 'So,' sighed my mother. 'Your sister's entering a beauty pageant...'"

November - "I forget things.It might be genetic, it might be a bit of early dementia, it might be genetic early dementia. Who even knows. I've been suffering my entire life..."

December - "This morning as I was getting out of the shower, my phone rang. I let it go to voicemail as I did not recognize the number. It turned out to be a vocal coach I knew and his message essentially said that he was desperate to find a voice for a voiceover. It was for a children's toy and the role would be the voice of a carrot. Is that something I think I can do?"

Happy New Year!

2009-01-01T16:02:00.002-05:00

Okay. So this year sucked for the most part. HOWEVER, when I was looking through all my pictures to make this video, I realized that 2008 was also full of so much joy. So, I take it back that it sucked for the most part. It sucked a lot. But not THAT much. Does this help?

HAPPY NEW YEAR.

My first resolution is finished - learn how to use iMovie. I suck at it and there's one picture that goes by really fast and some if it is blurry and WAH WAH I SUCK AT LIFE. But here you go, my first attempt.

2008 from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

Christmas Wrap Up

2008-12-30T18:37:00.004-05:00

I am only now recovering from the holidays, if that gives you any idea of how my Christmas went. Imagine you got caught up in a tornado and some if it was fun because OOOO WINDY SWIRLY HAPPY IS THAT A FIELD OF DAISIES I AM SPINNING AROUND IN? but other parts were more like HOLY CRAP PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW, I WANT TO GET OFF THIS RIDE OR I AM GOING TO DIEEEEEE.

You get it? That was my Christmas.

I love Christmas. I do. I love the garland and the houses with the twinkly lights (though I can do without those inflatable things, dear God when did that become popular!?) and my mother's cookies and my father with his tie that lights up when you press it and giving out the gifts that I put so much of my heart into. I love seeing Tom and I love stuffing my face with my sweet potato chili and I love my annual Christmas morning run.

I love how Tom gets furious every Christmas because there's ham on the table and "WHO THE HELL EATS HAM ANYWAY?"

Apparently, not him.

And apparently, he was very excited this year when the Christmas ham neglected to make its appearance. Please excuse how asshat-ish he sounds about poor people. I promise Tom really does like the needy.

Dear Ham, I Hate You. Love, Tom. from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

I did not quite get the chance to marvel over the ham because I was doing dishes for 89% of the evening.

This is actually a total lie. It was maybe 2% but I like how genuinely annoyed I look in the video. In reality, I LIKED doing the dishes. WHAT THE F AM I TALKING ABOUT HERE?!

Laura's Christmas Duty from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

The best present I received this year was from Tom.

Tom hates his job and e-mails me throughout the day to tell me that. We also discuss auditions, boyz and what we had for lunch. You know, important things. Well, Tom decided to get all crafty this year and print out all the e-mails we sent back and forth to each other and bind them into a BOOK complete with ribbon. Cue: me bawling my eyes out.

And then also? laughing my ass off because WHY DO I KEEP TALKING ABOUT BOYS AND HOW MUCH I HATE THEM AND ALSO HOW MUCH I LOVE SOUP???

WHYYYYYYYYYYY???

I'm currently reading a fantastic memoir by Julia Blackburn and in it, she continually references her diaries and journals and faxes she writes to her friends. They contain bits of poetry and descriptive notes and haunting discoveries.

If I were to publish my 25 year old life, it would probably go something like this:

"AND THEN I WAS LIKE WHATEVER BECAUSE HE WAS BEING TOTES RIDICULOUS AND I HATE HIS ASS FACE. WHAT ARE YOU HAVING FOR LUNCH? I AM THINKING 10 VEGETABLE SOUP BECAUSE OMFG SOUPPPPPPPPPP."

Sigh. My life. So artistic, no?

In the above CHRISTMAS HAM video which will soon become famous, I have no doubt, Tom references the fact that this year, we had less people congregating on Christmas Eve. This is the evening we usually celebrate with my mother's side of the family, a huge joyous dinner with too much food to be legal and presents in piles under the tree and sometimes even carols sung in harmony around a piano. Yes, we can be THAT family.

Due to my grandfather's passing in May and the subsequent drama it created, many relatives were absent this year. I cannot fault people for isolating themselves during the holidays, for choosing to spend it alone rather than with family particularly when there are hurt feelings and misunderstandings abounding. As an introverted person, I completely relate to the need to stay away sometimes.

Alayna lost her grandmother one year ago this past November and this Christmas, her family rented a cabin in Branson, Missouri. There are over twenty of them, I believe, all together in one place for five days. Now, the thought of all that time sequestered with my family is enough to make me write another tornado metaphor so I'll spare you but the point is that when I heard this, I thought, "Oh. That is how a healthy family grieves." They get together and cry and laugh and celebrate a new tradition, acknowledging the passing of a loved one.

An aunt of mine turned to me on Christmas Eve and remarked how difficult it was to be without her father. I can't begin to imagine what Christmas will be like after my father dies because just a two second dwelling on that thought results in streams of tears. I hugged her and I know she reads this blog so I don't mean to offend her with what I'm about to say but that moment was the first time all evening I noticed my grandfather wasn't there. I suppose Christmas had its odd moments because so many of my relatives were affected by an absence that I hadn't even been aware of.

Sad, isn't it?

Does that make me a bad person?

I can't tell.

Probably.

There's also lots of conflict with my grandmother and it's maddening and confusing but at the heart of it, so sad. It is odd to live your life without a person and then suddenly attempt to adjust to their presence, especially when nothing is really known about them. I'm aware enough to realize that she is trying to make up for lost time but the thing about lost time is that it is lost. And can't be recovered.

I'm also put off this holiday season by the startling realization that people my age get married. That always confuses me. I'm all, AREN'T YOU TOO YOUNG FOR THAT? DID YOU ASK YOUR PARENTS? ISN'T IT ILLEGAL?

But suddenly, as if it's some disease I might catch, engagement is spreading. I thought I'd have at least ten years before that started, living in New York City and all. We take our sweet time with that kind of thing, don't ya know. But lo and behold, everyone decided to propose this Christmas and it seemed to rock me not because I'm all WHAT ABOUT ME? but because I'm all IF THAT EVER HAPPENS TO ME I WILL KILL MYSELF.

Note to self: please talk to therapist about irrational fear of marriage.

I'm not afraid. It's just that when people get engaged, they tend to get married and that means they pair off and it ceases to become "going to lunch with Nancy" but instead morphs into "going to lunch with Nancy and Phil."

Note: I do not know any Nancy's or Phil's, but you get my point.

Sometimes when I'm around too many couples, a bubble burps out of my chest at the thought that in ten, twenty, thirty years, I will STILL be having brunch on the Upper West Side with all these couples and I will STILL be alone, the hilarious goofy single weirdo that keeps everyone entertained and helps steer the discussion away from boring things like silverware and coffeemakers. HEY HEY GUYS! I'LL BE HERE ALL WEEK! You all go home to your spouses and I will just...well...who knows? Walk around talking to myself like a homeless person! BUT BOY WAS THAT BRUNCH GOOD.

It sucks sometimes, yes? Growing up and stuff?

Holidays mark that in a very distinct way. They dutifully mark "I Am Older This Year" whereas in the middle of February say or the beginning of August, I don't necessarily notice how fast time is passing and how fast other people are moving ahead of me. Sometimes I feel like I'm swimming in a pool that goes on and on and everyone is Michael Phelps and I am some weird girl doing a backfloat, spitting water into the air like a whale. And then some buzzer sounds and the race is over and I'm startled out of my backfloat and everyone is all "WHY DIDN'T YOU RACE?" And I am all "Because the ceiling tiles looked interesting."

Tomorrow is New Year's Eve, a lovely occasion and a beautiful day where I will probably post a video I made on iMovie which sums up 2008. The video is happy and awesome even though 2008 sucked the big one. But I don't have any pictures of it sucking. Why is that? I need to take more pictures of myself having a bad day. Instead, it is a somewhat lame but upbeat movie of happiness and joy and unicorns.

Okay, no unicorns. But you have to wait until tomorrow to see it.

I have no plans for the celebration tomorrow though I've been invited to quite a few soirees. I think it's supposed to snow and if I had to sit and think, long and hard about what exactly I want to do tomorrow night, none of the options include "PARTY" or "SWANKY HOTEL" or "BAR HOPPING". Actually the only option that sounds good to me is "Thai food" and "Bed at 9 PM".

Is that old or what? Shouldn't I be married or something?

I hope everyone is as excited as I am to ring in 2009. From here, I believe everything can only go up and whether I'm out on the town or snuggled under the covers, I am wishing you all a very happy new year.

That Kind of Day

2008-12-20T15:43:00.001-05:00

The winter has officially begun in New York City, a milestone marked by a blanket of snow and ice that is currently covering everything. Alayna and I sidestepped quite a few puddles of slush last night on our way to see "Slumdog Millionaire". I suppose in most other places, inches and inches of snow requires people to stay inside and not go anywhere due to slick roads. Manhattan doesn't seem to shut down like that as subways are rarely affected by snow and it seemed perfectly natural to head out into the winter night.

I found out late yesterday afternoon that I was relieved of twin duty this weekend, a notification I always find bittersweet because while it's a free Saturday, I really, really miss the boys. I got over that pretty quickly when I realized all the things people can accomplish on the weekends. It is CRAZY, are you telling me that people have Saturdays and Sundays off all the time!? Like, more than a few times a year!?!? THAT IS INSANE I TELL YOU.

I started out as a Saturday/weekday evening babysitter for Owen and River in the September of '05 and after my children's theatre tour in '06, due to a variety of circumstances, I became their full-time nanny, Satudays included. That lasted until October of last year when they started pre-school and I began temping. From then on, I saw them only on Saturday afternoons/evenings. And so, in the past three and a half years that I've been with them, I've taken less then ten Saturdays off.

I have obviously grown accustomed to working a six day work week, so having two days off in a row feels abnormal at this point. Last night, on my way home from the movies, I was brainstorming all the things I could do. Paint my windowsill! Iron all my clothes! Clean out the refrigerator! Make some soup from scratch! Organize my bookshelf according to the Dewey Decimal system!!

THE POSSIBILITIES! Endless, I tell you!!

I find it ironic that when I have an extra day off, I quickly scurry around figuring out ways to fill it up so that I don't "waste it". It's as if I need to combine every activity I've ever thought of into one small day so that it will count. Count towards WHAT exactly? I have no idea.

When I catch myself being like this, very typically Aries, attempting to take on ten times more than is humanly possible, I try to take a step back and prioritize. What would REALLY make me happy? Sure, I could bust out some paint and an iron and go grocery shopping and scrape off my car. I could race around making social plans for tonight, I could go into the city and take a dance class or hike to the gym, you know, something AMAZING, something that would MEAN SOMETHING.

Or I could take a breath and remove the word "should" from my vocabulary.

This is what I have done so far:

woke up at 11 am.
ate a bowl of cereal.
put a few CD's into the stereo and pressed RANDOM, then PLAY. (Nickel Creek's first album, original cast recording of Spring Awakening, Whitney Houston's Greatest Hits Disc 1, Sarah McLachlan's "Wintersong", and a mix CD I found this morning from undergrad entitled "DECEMBER 04").
got my ass kicked for 27 minutes by Jillian Michaels.
swept and mopped the kitchen floor.
did the dishes.
cleaned the entire bathroom.
ate a bowl of pasta leftover from dinner with Alayna.
began a blog.
made a pot of decaf caramel coffee.
took a shower.
got back into my pajamas.
put on a face mask.
took the nailpolish off my toes.
stared at my computer screen.
made this list.
changed my blogger profile picture.

It is now 3:17 pm and while my overachieving self would say that list SUCKS BALLS, I will say that that list is what I felt like doing. I didn't feel obligated to do a single task. (Not even clean the bathroom...I have an unhealthy obsession with cleaning stuff.) I feel insanely happy today. I wonder if it's because I have allowed myself to just go with it and do whatever because newsflash: THAT IS WHAT NORMAL PEOPLE DO ON SATURDAYS. People who know how to RELAX and TAKE IT EASY, two phrases that never enter my vocabulary, ever.

I believe I will spend the rest of the day memorizing a monologue for graduate school auditions and attempting to find two others, the dreaded Shakespeares. AHHHHHHH. Granted, these things must be done but will also give me joy because HA! CREATIVE ACTING STUFF. How fulfilling!! Not a bad way to spend a snowy Saturday, reading plays and making notes and finding characters. I think I can deal.

Tonight, I might treat myself to a Weeds marathon. Or a trip to Target for a few remaining ingredients for some Christmas gifts. I need to stop buying people presents. It is getting out of control. I would take a picture of the mountains underneath our small Charlie Brown tree but I'm too embarrassed. Talk about WASTEFUL. Yowsas.

Anyway, this update has been brought to you by a girl who's learning how to enjoy a weekend. A girl, who, the older she gets, realizes how much she likes spending time with herself. Stomping through snow in Manhattan or sipping a mug of coffee in Queens, hanging out alone is actually cheerfully good company.

Where I Blather Like A Crazy Liberal

2008-12-16T22:24:00.006-05:00

Jennifer of Veg*n Cooking wrote:

I would love to read your thoughts on any number of "pressing social issues" - gay marriage, the economy, energy, war, environmental degradation. These are just suggestions though, feel free to ignore them. :-)

Oh come on, Jennifer. Other people suggested I write about falling down in public or what's outside my window and you have to go and suggest something that involves THINKING? Something that requires a BRAIN? Something that requires a degree that is not a BFA in Music Theatre?

HAAAAAA.

Pressing social issues.

Okay. Here we go.

Ahem.

WHERE WE STAND ON PRESSING SOCIAL ISSUES
by Laura Elizabeth, age 25.

We are fucked.

The End.

Ah, I kid, I kid.

Let's take these one at a time.

Gay Marriage:

Gay people got screwed this year. SCREWED. And not in a good way.

I have to tell you, Jennifer and anyone else who cares, the passing of Prop 8 in California was devastating. It was shocking to me, absolutely shocking especially in places as "liberal" as Los Angeles where the vote was almost evenly split 50/50. I've said this before but I think that the way we treat gay people in this country will go down in history as our generation's civil rights movement.

Perhaps I am unable to separate my emotions from the politics of it. I live with two gay men, my best friend in the world is a gay man, hell, I am involved in the music theatre world: it doesn't get much gayer than that. And maybe one could argue that I'm just letting my love for my friends get in the way of the fact that they are living in SIN and need to change their ways. (Oh wait, someone did argue that with me. THANK YOU! SMOOCHES!) But even without my emotions, I can't follow the logic. I don't know what we are "protecting". I don't know why we can't open our circle of love a little bit wider.

We are all human or we aren't. To state that gay people can have rights but just not the same rights as straight people is agreeing that gay people are not really people. They are second-class citizens. They do not deserve the same rights and privileges the rest of us have.

And why? Because of their "sexual preference"? Sorry. Sexuality is not a preference. It's an orientation. Trust me. If the two gay men I live with are STILL GAY after living with the HOTNESS that is me? THEY ARE BORN THAT WAY. Because people, I am hot.

Also, it seems to be a RELIGIOUS issue making its way into POLITICS which, if you haven't noticed, isn't really allowed in this country. So, that pisses me off. A LOT. I wonder what would happen if we removed the ability for states to issue marriage licenses. To everyone. Therefore, if you wanted to get "married", you could get a civil union certificate from the state and then you could go to your church/synoguge/mosque/ceremony on the river at sunset and get "married" by a clergy person or your brother who was ordained a minister via the internet, etc.

I wonder about THAT.

Moving on.

The Economy:

Oh, Jennifer. We are FUCKED.

I, in particular am fucked because today, I was alerted that my temp agency is slashing my salary by 15%. This makes perfect sense, right? The employees I work with will probably forgo bonuses this year but they will still take home a steady paycheck, complete with health benefits, paid vacation and paid sick days. While, I, the temp, will get my hourly rate SLASHED by 15% while STILL taking home no health benefits, paid vacation or sick days. EXPLAIN TO ME HOW THIS IS FAIR.

It isn't.

But hey, also? I could have been laid off today. So if it's that or a pay cut? I'll take the pay cut.

Still - if you have extra cash, please send it to me. I will put out. Thanks.

Energy:

Hm. Like, what kind of energy?

Energy in terms of America's reliance on oil? The oxymoronic phrase "clean coal"? The way my car gets 33 miles/gallon? That kind of energy?

Or the energy I have on a daily basis? The energy needed to do Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred? (THAT IS A CRAZY AMOUNT OF ENERGY, JENNIFER. SHE IS KICKING MY ASS.)

The energy I get after a cup of coffee?

Let's just say I can't drink caffeine because I literally bounce off walls. BOUNCE I TELL YOU.

I'm going to assume you meant the former type of energy. In that case, I will say that I have no freaking idea. I know our dependence on oil is bad. Period. Hell if I know how to stop that. I would assume stop drilling and stop killing polar bears and find a way to sustain our own energy instead of relying on foreign sources. I think Obama can do AMAZING THINGS about this. I think perhaps he could form his own "New Deal" by creating green jobs, therefore creating lots of clean energy AND much needed employment. Please go ask someone else how one would do this. I have no clue. BUT I THINK HE COULD.

I also think he could do the same with an issue like healthcare but I don't think that was on your list.

If it WAS on your list, I would tell you that I wish I had healthcare because uh, my uterus kind of gives me problems and I get UTI's once every few months and also? Paying out of pocket for your therapist = not that fun. See also: 15% PAY CUT/lots of Catholic guilt to work out.

War:

Hm. My cousin has done three tours in the Middle East as a marine. Another cousin of mine leaves next month for Iraq. We are VERY excited.

Ha?

I am not really qualified to talk about politics which is surprising considering how much I've written in this post so far. But honestly? War is bad. President Bush and his cohorts messed up royally and it has cost us in young American lives and in American dollars. It's an embarrassment, a horror and I am still waiting to hear where they are storing Weapons of Mass Destruction. I hear we'll get the answer soon. But I hate myself for even writing this as I sit in my New York City apartment, white and privileged and safely tucked in bed while it snows outside. There are men and women losing LIMBS and DYING and they are younger than me and I'm all, "Oh, I think I'll blog tonight."

Please excuse me while I punch myself in the face. Thanks.

Environmental Degradation:

WHY AM I WRITING THIS POST AT 11 PM? I have no brain cells left, Jennifer. NONE AT ALL.

Um. I think people that do not believe in climate change are deluded. They are scary. They freak me out with their THIS IS THE NATURAL WAY OF THE WORLD nonchalance. But that's not really what we're talking about here, is it? I mean climate change is an effect of environmental degradation and WE, the humans are degrading the environment, yes? We agree on that, I think. Or at any rate, that the environment is degrading and we are ACCELERATING the process?

I have to 100% say hell yes we are. The amount of waste I see in New York City on any given day is MIND BLOGGING. Hell, the amount of waste *I* produce is embarrassing. And here is how I feel about my personal impact on the environment: it sucks. It's ENORMOUS.

I can do better.

I started out the year really well and have slowly eased up on things. I've forgotten my canvas bag and taken home plastic shopping bags. The roommates bought paper towels and I got used to having them around. I've bought excess clothing and make up that was not necessary, brand new things that were not environmentally friendly or needed at all really. I have even lost some of my veganism momentum, treating myself to the occasional egg sandwich, etc.

What I'm saying is: I have a lot to improve on. I'm constantly wondering WHAT MORE CAN I DO? because it never feels like enough. I also get more and more frantic about other people who seem to be CLUELESS about their waste. In the bathroom at work, for example, when I see a girl grab FIVE paper towels, pat her wet hand with one of them and throw them ALL in the garbage. GAHHHHHHHHH THE TREEEEEES, WOMAN. HAVE YOU NO SHAME!

But also? The thing is? Am I really helping at all?!? I mean I can look at what I did do this year that helped the environment and you can tell me:

* reduced plastic grocery bag consumption by about 80%
* went about 9 months without paper towels, now when we have them they are 100% recycled
* switched to 100% recycled toilet paper
* remained 89% vegan
* traded in disposable feminine products for a diva cup
* joined a CSA, ate local produce for 5 months this summer
* lost some weight, reducing my impact! Literally!
* unfortunately upped my driving by dating dreamy boyfriend in the suburbs - still only drove about 2 times per week, used mass transit otherwise
* not flushing the toilet every time I pee
* bought handmade soaps instead of shower gels in plastic bottles
* use one towel at the gym instead of two
* took only two trips that required air travel

There must be more. But the point is: I try, I do. But not hard enough. I was a bit too consumeristic this year, too many times I told myself I "deserved" that Starbucks latte, that extra pair of shoes. I'd like to be more conscious of it in 2009 and that goes hand in hand with being more frugal, more aware of what I'm spending money on, what impact that has on people. I'd like to do more--avoid leather products, buy more used things, more local things, etc.

The whole point of this is to say that I try but am I really helping? Does it even matter? For everything I do, aren't there ten other people using 100 paper towels in the ladies room every day? So...is it worth it? Does it just make me feel trendy and hip to take my canvas bag to the grocery store? Is is just something I do because it makes me FEEL like I'm contributing and helping but in actuality, I'm not? At all?

I don't know. You tell me.

Also, please make me a cup of tea because now I'm depressed.

Thanks to Jennifer's suggestion, I can honestly say that the world hates gay people, men are dying in a pointless war, I am getting a pay cut effective Monday - MERRY CHRISTMAS, and I am single-handedly destroying the rainforest.

AMAZING! Anything else you'd like to discuss!? If so, I'll be over here, drowning my sorrows with a bottle of bourbon. And also? watching this video on repeat:

LA Recap

2008-12-12T00:04:00.001-05:00

The rain started as soon as my plane touched down in Los Angeles. As soon as I stepped out of the sliding glass doors and onto the sidewalk under DELTA - ARRIVALS, everything was instantly familiar. I had never been to LA but had been to San Diego twice and the smell was the same, the palm trees, the eerily warm weather in the middle of a cold season, the ever-present feeling of spring where it doesn't belong. My heart lurched in my chest and I wanted to throw the bags off my shoulders, slamming my laptop to the ground and run around waving my arms wildly. WARMTH! HERE I AM! COME TO MAMA.

Tom pulled up but not before I mistakenly waved happily at some other man who I thought was Tom. I got nothing but a weird look and when I realized it was just a look-alike, I played dumb, drifting my eyes to another place pretending that it had not been me excitedly jumping up and down and shouting HI TOM to a complete stranger. When Tom DID pull up, I squinted really hard to make sure it was really him so as not to make a total ass out of myself TWICE. This time, I was correct and he helped me dump my suitcase into the trunk but not before hugging me fiercely.

"WELCOME TO LA!"

"See that guy over there?"

"Yeah."

"I thought he was you so I just spent a few seconds jumping up and down and waving to him."

"Um."

"Yes. Get in the car. Quick. AND DRIVE."

Tom's apartment is divine, in the heart of Korea Town and a few blocks away from Thai Town, my most favorite place on Planet Earth besides Target. I tried to be polite about keeping my things out of Tom's way but eventually gave up when I realized he was family and couldn't really do anything to stop me. Pretty soon, his apartment was full of make up, three kinds of moisturizers and four pairs of shoes. I began contemplating ways to move in permanently, disguising my conspiracy in the form of compliments.

"LOOK AT ALL THAT CLOSET SPACE!"

Translation: BWA HA HA! PERFECT SHELVING FOR MY SHOES!

On Tuesday, when I arrived, Tom had rehearsal for a play he's doing and so I decided to meet up with my ex-boyfriend, Rick, for dinner. He kindly drove up from San Diego to meet me and seeing him after about two years was wonderful in every sense of the word.

It's no surprise that I have a cautious relationship with most of my ex's. One is engaged, two others don't speak to me, refusing to engage in any contact with me, which is their right, of course. I just hate it because it didn't end well if you know what I'm saying. But what can I do about that now?

Rick is another story, an ex-boyfriend of mine who is understanding, sympathetic and willing to check in with me now and then to see how my life is going. We met for dinner at the Grove and killed a few hours, eating dinner, drinking coffees, walking around, reminiscing and sharing a few belly laughs. There is a mutual love and respect there, a bond that doesn't need to be spoken about, a familiar tie that will always remain. There was no need for anything more than comfortable conversation and a gentle hug goodbye, a hug which said "Thank you so much for being who you are." I am so grateful for that. Also, that jawline. LOOK AT THAT JAWLINE.

On Friday, Tom and I met up with our lovely friend, Teresa, a Long Island transplant who's recently made her way to LA. We spent the afternoon at the Getty Center, taking in some art and some cloudy ocean views. Emotionally, she and I connect easily and she's one of those rare people that make me feel like no time has passed when I finally speak to her after months of no communication. We pick up right where we left off and it's light and hilarious and perfect. Also, I got lots of Catholic church gossip. LOTS.

My trip was punctuated by visits with familiar faces, some intentional, some not. While seeing "Milk" one evening, we realized that a few rows in front of us sat a good friend from college in Buffalo. We freaked out accordingly and hugged and exchanged hellos and phone numbers until the movie started and then I forgot all about him and spent approximately 1/3 of the entire film CRYING MY EYES OUT.

We grabbed a late night cup of tea with my friend Dan, a screenwriter who moved to LA five years ago and got kicked in the ass by it. You can see the struggle on his face, the despair threatening to overtake him, the way that LA eats you up and spits you out. He's on his way to achieving success, that much I know, but I related so well to his journey, the way that your naive heart tells you it will all be so easy and you show up and realize it isn't, at all.

And here is the thing about Los Angeles: the despair is palpable. I can SMELL IT. Everyone is involved in the entertainment industry, EVERYONE and they are all clamoring to get ahead, afraid of failing, afraid of getting old, afraid of getting fat. It was evident everywhere I went, from the rail thin soccer moms huffing and puffing up the Santa Monica steps to the 34 year old waitress wearing knee socks and pigtails, in deeper denial than I thought ever possible.

New York is full of actors and writers, sure but only if you're hanging out in actor-infested pockets. They do spread out and paw their way through the masses but they are not the dominate culture. There are bankers and stockbrokers racing about, fashion designers as well. It's not just actors that want to get ahead, it's EVERYBODY. New York just moves and moves and moves. Los Angeles just threatens to swallow you whole and spit you out on the beach wondering what the fuck just happened.

On second thought, perhaps LA is not such a bad place to be. Because...have I mentioned the beach?

Or Tom and I taking pictures for our MYSPACE?

Even though we don't have a MYSPACE?

So, there's that. I suppose what I'm saying is: in Los Angeles, it felt harder to find the momentum. Pursuing an acting career felt even more daunting and exhausting. Getting in the car and sitting in traffic every time you go to an audition? YIKES. I feel like I would probably give up and get a tan whereas in New York, I HAVE TO KEEP GOING because the feeling of getting lost is so much more intense. In Los Angeles, I feel like people are so mellow that they wake up and they're 45 years old and bartending like, "Huh. How did this happen? Why did I move here again?"

On the other hand, Tom moved to LA despite me clinging to his legs like a toddler and screaming at him not to and he is doing remarkably well. I suppose the difference between Tom Who Moved To LA Two Years Ago and Tom Right Now is that this Tom is happy. He is more secure. He knows his way around. He has a strong circle of friends. He is making progress. Nothing made me happier than to see that.

It is hard for your best friend in the whole world to pack up everything and move 3,000 miles away. It is harder still for you to bite your tongue and tell him not to go and please stay because how do you tell someone that living every day without them nearby is like missing a limb? Like you are never able to be yourself because so much of you is wrapped up in that person and their life and their sense of humor and the way they naturally just complete you?

Visiting Tom isn't like visiting another friend. It never gets awkward or feels obligatory in any way. It isn't hard to find activities to do or restaurants to go to and conversation eases in and out of silence without ever being forced. Laughing until we can't breathe about some joke about a fish that we don't even understand. Him drinking tea, me sipping coffee, sharing a croissant on our way back from a jog. Time spent with Tom is comfortable, hilarious and always full of the purest joy because he brings me back to a place in my childhood when it was me and him against the world.

Oh no, I never ever wanted him to go to LA, never in million years. But toddler temper tantrum aside, I let him go because if Tom is one thing, it is headstrong. He was focused, he knew what he wanted and he went for it and all I could do was sit on the East Coast and cheer him on, regardless of the choices he made and the way I felt about them. It's one thing to sit on the opposite side of the country and hear about his day. It's quite another to be right next to him and live it. It was such an odd sensation: oh! This is your life! This is what you see every day! These are the things you do! HOW STRANGE.

Yet how awesome that I could be part of it, if only for five short days.

I will definitely be going to Los Angeles on a regular basis, particularly when the winds in New York pick up and the snow won't stop falling and I want to kill everyone on the subway with my bare hands. I am certain that I made the right choice moving to New York City as it seems to suit me like a second skin. However, I am also certain that Tom made the right choice moving to Los Angeles. Back and forth for how ever long it takes, I will make it a priority to be a part of his journey because I'm not sure how to go on without having him in my life, my cousin and best friend who I have known since he was born.

And if for some reason I can't get there and he can't get here, there is no doubt in mind that we will always find a way to meet in the middle.

Sucking

2008-12-11T08:36:00.002-05:00

I know, I know.

I have fallen off the blog wagon.

There have been several reasons for this, none of them really interesting or remotely exciting.

My friend Jason, from Buffalo, came to visit for almost an entire week and I offered him my couch and we spent many evenings discussing the finer things in life like how tired you get walking around New York City all day and which is more beneficial to your health: giving up meat? or giving up dairy?

I know, I know. Things are CRAZY OVER HERE. Especially when you consider that I'm eating a bowl of Trix. When was the last time I did this? I'll tell you: about a month ago when I bought one of those cereal variety packs. I don't really love Trix but when there are eight little boxes of cereal glaring at you from the shelves of the supermarket and one of those is Cinnamon Toast Crunch and the other is Honey Nut Cheerios and ANOTHER ONE is Cocoa Puffs, you DO NOT ASK QUESTIONS. You just buy it.

I always leave the Frosted Cheerios for last because it disappoints me. Nothing fun exists in that little box. I'd rather have plain or Honey Nut.

Hi. The blog has reached a new low.

What else what else...

I have caved into what seems to be a blog trend and purchased Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred. I plan on beginning the shred tomorrow morning. Actually, I PLANNED on starting TODAY but you know, I had cereal to eat and work to be late for, etc. etc.

My Christmas shopping is 5/8 completed. For my extended family, we choose names so that everyone gets one present. We really are far too fertile to do more than that. I chose the name of my twenty-year old male cousin. What on earth do you get a straight guy that age!? Anyone else I know would be getting tickets to see Liza at the Palace. But...dang. I don't know what non-homosexual people like. AT ALL.

I have decided to apply to graduate school. I don't think I want to talk about it because I have settled upon three of the best schools in the country, schools that take between 15-18 people out of 850 applicants. So, ha. I will let you know how that goes. I am elbow deep in applications and statements of purpose, etc. This last thing really bothered me and took me over a month to finish. Statement of purpose!? "TO BE AWESOME. THE END."

Another school has a little blurb on their application that essentially says, "If you are not applying to graduate school directly out of undergraduate school, please use the space below to tell us what you've been doing."

Really?

"EATIN' CEREAL AND KISSIN' BOYZ. KTHX."

What? Does that answer not make me a competitive candidate?

WEIRD. It sounds so good to me.

Wellllll, the rain in New York City is a-pourin' down and I need to get dressed and go to work. Tonight I am going to my first ever BROADWAY SHOW OPENING thanks to my dearest friend Ashley AKA Commenter Werbie who has hooked me up with a pair of FREE tickets because she is the epitome of awesome. JK and I are going to take in a lovely viewing of "Pal Joey" and I hope it kicks ass. Even if it doesn't, who cares? I'm not paying to see it. WOOOOOOOO!

Better posts to follow, I am finishing up an LA Recap and I still have some lovely topics to ramble about from our lovely SUGGEST A TOPIC Blog Post of 2008. I know, you're excited. Me too.

FYI, the only thing worse than Frosted Cheerios? Soggy Trix. Ew.

How Many Times

2008-12-09T21:54:00.001-05:00

Can I possibly see "Gypsy"?

Answer: 3

How sad is that?

If by sad you mean AWESOME?!!?!?

Why You Shouldn't Invite Me Over For A Visit

2008-12-06T12:26:00.003-05:00

A few days before I left New York, Tom had asked me via e-mail what I wanted to do in Los Angeles, if I had any special requests, if there were any sights I NEEDED to see, things I needed to do.

"Uh, I want to run those steps in Santa Monica."

"OH! I HAVE HEARD ABOUT THOSE!" Tom said eagerly. "LET'S DO IT!"

And so began "Laura Is The Worst House Guest You Ever Had 2008 Extravaganza: West Coast Edition". Every day with the exception of Wednesday when it POURED DOWN INEXPLICABLE RAIN, Tom and I embarked on a Super Fun Physical Activity!!

"Remind me never to invite you to my house," said a friend.

"YOU ARE A DORK," exclaimed another with affection. "A TOTAL DORK! WHO DOES THAT?!"

I do. And you know what? Y'all can suck it because Tom was totally up for it.

The steps in Santa Monica met my every expectation. Carved into a mountain, every day, eager exercisers stay to the right and run all the way down to the highway at the bottom, turn around and climb all the way back to the top. We went on Thanksgiving morning and the stairs were pretty packed. A black man with the biggest thighs I've ever seen was chatting with other regulars. "How many you doin' today?" "Eh, I'm only on fourteen."

I'm sorry, I just hallucinated. Fourteen? You went up and down those stairs fourteen times?

DO. NOT. UNDERSTAND.

Tom and I did four. FOUR. Two laps up and down on the wooden stairs, two laps up and down on the concrete set. It's also worthy to note that in between each lap, we jogged around the neighborhood and attempted to get our hearts to SLOW THE HELL DOWN before we died. But that still doesn't mean we were anywhere near FOURTEEN LAPS. I was jealous. SO JEALOUS. If I lived in LA, I'd be on that staircase every day because I am what you call Batshit Crazy.

Friday morning, after telling Tom that I wanted to go running, we drove to Hancock Park and went for an hourlong jog. You would think Hancock Park is a park but you'd be wrong. Perhaps there is such a park or grassy area with that name, I have no idea. In this case, Hancock Park refers to a neighborhood, a BEAUTIFUL tree-lined gorgeous neighborhood with some of the most amazing houses I've ever seen. Tom and I wanted to select our favorite pieces of real estate so off we went.

We would chat a little bit as we ran, which was very new for me. I almost always run by myself, just an eclectic RUNNING playlist on my iPod, clearing my head, keeping me company. I didn't mind running with Tom at all, the way I would mind running with someone else. There was no pressure to keep up conversation, no obligations at all and I found that we'd go through waves of speaking and then being silent, concentrating on our breathing, nothing to be heard except the sound of our sneakers slapping the sidewalk.

I will say that the aforementioned bliss was temporarily disrupted every time Tom said something funny which, if you know him, occurs approximately once every three minutes. I definitely learned my lesson: Tom can be a pain in the ass to work out with because you cannot run and laugh at the same time. I tried to ignore him, but I just couldn't and so our jog was punctuated with pauses as I bent over to catch my breath, giggling hysterically.

This was also a good time for Tom to breath heavily and remark, "I need to walk now. Cannot...run...anymore."

"OKAY!!!!" I would shout cheerily and we would walk a few blocks before picking up speed again.

On Saturday, our exercise routine culminated in a 90 minute hike through Runyon Canyon.

Sweating profusely, Tom and I huffed and puffed as we made our way up and down some really difficult trails. It was the warmest day yet, a balmy 72 degrees and I never wanted it to end. The hike itself was pretty challenging at times because Tom chose the harder path to walk on, which he later regretted.

"I think I definitely chose the harder way to go..."

"YA THINK?!"

"You picked it! YOU TOTALLY DID THIS TO ME."

"Tom, I did not! You chose it!"

"UGHHHHH."

"Do you think it's acceptable hiking behavior to just sit down and slide to the bottom of the mountain on our asses?"

I was very sincere with this last suggestion but luckily, it never came to that. I gripped rocks with my bare hands, maneuvered my sneakers in just the right way and made it up and down some TREACHEROUS TERRAIN all by myself without dying or breaking a limb or scraping my knees. APPLAUSE, IF YOU PLEASE.

"If I lived here," I told Tom on our walk back to the car, "I would do this every day."

"You'd hike 90 minutes every day?"

"No. I would run the Santa Monica steps, jog through Hancock park AND go for a 90 minute hike EVERY SINGLE DAY."

"You realize that would take up the entire day? And also, that you would probably die?"

"So? What else would I be doing? I'm just going to move here and sleep on your couch. It's not like I'm going to need an ACTUAL JOB."

"Can you go back to the east coast now? I can't feel my thighs."

"SUCK IT UP, PANSY."

If you too would like a house guest who beats your muscles to a pulp, please call me. Inquiries are now being accepted. I take Visa, Mastercard and cold, hard cash.

Wondering

2008-12-05T09:22:00.002-05:00

Why do I want to marry every male model in the J. Crew catalog?

Genetics: Should I Be Excited? Or Terrified?

2008-12-04T09:06:00.003-05:00

My father was in the city yesterday picking up medications for his cancer treatment. He comes in about once a month and we meet for lunch at a Thai restaurant near my office. I use the word "lunch" loosely because I have to be at the restaurant at 11 am sharp because my dad doesn't like the crowds that form at noon. So, essentially, I meet him for a delicious Thai breakfast and I do not care in the slightest because I was always that girl in high school, ravenous for lunch and my friends were all IT IS 3RD PERIOD, CALM DOWN and I was all I AM ABOUT TO SKIP THIS CLASS AND RUN TO THE CAFETERIAAAAAAAAAA.

So, my phone rang at work around 10:30.

"LAWRA. IT'S YOUR DAD."

"Hi dad! I know! I have caller ID! What's up?"

"I JUST WANTED TO TELL YOU I WILL BE AT LITTLE THAI ITALY AT 11 AM."

Now, you may question the name of the Thai restaurant after hearing this. Rest assured, the name of it is NOT "Little Thai Italy", it is "Little Thai Kitchen" but my father kept adding Italy to it when we first discovered it, complete with Brooklyn pronunciation--It-lee. He finds this VERY amusing and has changed the name of the restaurant permanently.

"I JUST WANTED TO TELL YOU I WILL BE AT LITTLE THAI IT-LEE AT 11 AM."

"Okay! I will be there."

"AND GUESS WHAT?"

"??"

"YOU WILL NEVER GUESS WHAT I FOUND."

"What you found? Wha? What did you find?"

"HOLD ON. LISTEN TO THIS."

*silence on the other end of the phone*

"YOU HEAR DAT???"

"No, I couldn't hear anyth--"

"IT IS THE SOUND OF A WATERFALL!!!!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE DAT?"

"A waterfall?"

"YES. I FOUND A WATERFALL IN THE MIDDLE OF NEW YORK CITY. YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE THIS."

"Okay, well, I'd love to see it!"

"YES. WE ARE GOING TO EAT AT LITTLE THAI IT-LEE AND THEN I WILL SHOW YOU DA WATERFALL!"

He did not disappoint. Apparently, my father had stumbled across a tiny public park in the middle of 52nd street which had tables, chairs, lots of pretty trees and of course, a waterfall. I've stumbled on quite a few of these hidden city parks, most notably one closer to the west side that has a waterfall cascading over a tunnel which you can walk through. I am blanking on the exact location but it brings me lots of happiness. I DO NOT KNOW WHY.

My father stood for awhile, just marveling at the waterfall and the trees and the tables and chairs.

"I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT WANT TO COME HERE ON YA LUNCH BREAK TO READ A BOOK. I MEAN, IF IT'S NOT TOO COLD."

"Great idea!"

There's a little cafe with a window attached to the park, the menu offering sandwiches and coffees. My father waved to the Korean woman working behind the counter, her cheek resting on her hand. When I looked at him quizzically he said, "OH SHE KNOWS ME FROM BEFORE."

What? Are you guys friends or something?!

Not surprising. At all. My father waves to people while driving, waves to people while he walks to church, etc. One time, at another lunch date inside the Thai restaurant, he WAVED people into the restaurant.

"What are you DOING? Do you know them?!"

"NO! I JUST THAWT THEY SHOULD KNOW TO COME INSIDE. IT'S COLD OUT THERE."

...

After our stroll to the waterfall, we walked to Starbucks, a monthly tradition. I told dad about some of their new lattes and he got VERY.EXCITED. He was also VERY.EXCITED about the fact that my boss had given me a 10% coupon. And right now, I need to take a minute to explain this coupon and why it resulted in nearly three Starbucks baristas leaping over the counter and strangling my father and me to death.

So, Starbucks apparently has a new thing called a GOLD CARD MEMBERSHIP! You pay money to join (I assume?) and reap some rewards, like 10% off purchases or blah blah, who knows. Well, my boss, an avid Starbucks addict, joined last week and handed me a coupon that came with her membership.

It reads "As the GUEST OF A GOLD CARD MEMBER, you are entitled to 10% off any purchase in the store! Whether it's a cup of coffee or a coffee maker..." on and on about getting a "taste of what membership is like". And at the bottom it has directions for the employees. "Barista - use discount code 124 and take coupon."

So, dad and I order some coffee and my dad politely offers the coupon. The young barista flat out says, "I CAN'T TAKE THAT."

What?

"You need a gold card to use that."

What?

"You need a GOLD CARD. I need to swipe your GOLD CARD. This is for GOLD CARD MEMBERS ONLY."

??

I try to explain, "But see here? It says I'm a guest of a gold card member, not a gold card member myself."

He calls over his co-worker, a VERY VERY ANGRY GIRL.

"YOU NEED A GOLD CARD."

Sigh.

My dad attempts to explain what the coupon says and she isn't having ANY OF IT.

At this point I want to give up because it is 10% off, not like a free house or anything and oh God it's embarrassing and THIS IS WHY I NEVER USE COUPONS because it is MORTIFYING. But at the same time, I am so damn certain that I am right about this that I can't help but press a little further.

"I NEED TO SWIPE THE GOLD CARD TO GIVE YOU THE DISCOUNT. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GIVE YOU THE DISCOUNT IF I CAN'T SWIPE AN ACTUAL GOLD CARD?"

"Um. Actually, the instructions are at the bottom here," I say, pointing to the "BARISTA INSTRUCTIONS" section.

Both of the baristas squint at the fine print.

"NO."

"Okay...just...forget it then..."

At this point the ANGRY BARISTA takes out the Gold Card Membership packets and starts flipping through them to SHOW ME.

"SEE HERE!?!? SEE! THIS COUPON COMES WITH A GOLD CARD MEMBERSHIP! SOMEONE MUST HAVE DETACHED IT AND GIVEN IT TO YOU."

"Isn't that the POINT?!?!?!" I say, throwing up my hands in exasperation.

"NO."

She calls over one other manager to confirm, a silent elderly lady who doesn't even listen to her, just nods her head in agreement.

Dad and I both opt to just let the damn thing go because WHO ON EARTH CARES AT THIS POINT!??!!? We were also quite certain that they spit in both of our drinks and let's just settle for that instead of something worse like having them throw coffee in our faces, scalding us to death. Death by Starbucks barista, not a good way to go.

They call our drinks and we apologize profusely to the workers and thank them ever so much for our lattes. And right before we turn away from the counter, my father takes a sip.

"How is it?" I ask.

He pauses, his eyes twinkling.

"OHHHH IT'S GOOD," he says, laughing to himself. "BUT YOU KNOW WHAT?"

"What?"

And then, loud enough for the whole Starbucks to hear, "IT WOULDA TASTED A WHOLE LOT BETTA IF IT WAS 40 CENTS CHEAPA!!!!"

This cracks him up to NO END and he heads out the door.

Normally, my cheeks would have gotten a little red because ohhh people making a scene, ugh. But, since it's my dad? I can't stop laughing. I mean how can you be embarrassed when even after a Starbucks fight, he isn't even angry? He finds the whole thing INCREDIBLY amusing?

I mean, I'm sure the Starbucks baristas didn't but they were kind of a little bit stupid, no? Or misinformed? Unless they were correct and Starbucks just has poor marketing skills? But we didn't YELL at them or blame them, we stayed completely calm and rational. I just enjoyed the fact that my father had turned one of those irritatingly stressful "WHY ARE PEOPLE SO STUPID ALL THE TIME?!" into something funny.

Not to mention his genuine WONDER and DELIGHT at finding a freaking WATERFALL as if he had never seen one before, as if it was as big as Niagara Falls.

"RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF NEW YORK CITY. CAN YOU BELIEVE DAT?!"

No, dad. I honestly can't.

Back to Reality

2008-12-01T23:20:00.003-05:00

This morning as I was getting out of the shower, my phone rang. I let it go to voicemail as I did not recognize the number. It turned out to be a vocal coach I knew and his message essentially said that he was desperate to find a voice for a voiceover. It was for a children's toy and the role would be the voice of a carrot. Is that something I think I can do?

HELLS YES, I thought to myself.

Pacing around my apartment in a bathrobe with a towel turbaned to the top of my head, I practiced all the various carrot voices I had in my repertoire. I finally settled on one (high-pitched, fast-paced) and was CONVINCED that this was sooo not going to be a problem. Carrot voice? I AM YOUR GIRL.

I called him back.

"So, do you think you can do it?"

"ABSOLUTELY!"

"Great! I will send you the copy and you can do the voice of the parrot into the phone so I can hear it."

"Voice of the...parrot?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Oh what?"

"I thought you said carrot."

"..."

"Okay, seriously? Stop laughing. I swear, I...no. Okay. Stop laughing for real. I HEARD WRONG. I will try the parrot, but no promises."

And that is how I found myself at 8 AM squawking into the telephone, practicing an array of parrot voices.

I just wasn't feeling it. Not like I was feeling the carrot. DAMN.

"Dude, get someone else. The carrot? The carrot I have DOWN. The parrot? Eh, she's a little shrill."

"Thanks anyway."

"No problem."

Welcome to my life. I am officially back in NYC.
You can find all the photos from Los Angeles here.

And if you're bored, you can watch the other videos that didn't make it into previous posts. Well, except one. One is staying on my computer for all time because it's borderline offensive. Let's just say it involves Tom showing the camera the hole in the fence that you can climb through to get to Mexico and how grateful he is to his "Mexican breathren" for "breaking through the chains of capitalism."

??

I'm going to leave that one for parties.

But the rest are mostly PC, so you can watch those. I apologize in advance for my shirt riding up and my belly hanging out. My mother is mortified, I know, I'm sorry. The inner Long Island slut in me can't help but shine through sometimes. SQUAWK.

Tom Stops Hiking To Do Yoga from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

Tom Chases A Helpless Bird from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

Never Leaving. SRSLY. from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

I Mean It

2008-11-30T05:14:00.001-05:00

Never Leaving from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

Falling Down In Public

2008-11-28T10:47:00.003-05:00

Continuing on with my promise to write about subjects you suggested, the next post is from avid commenter Abbie who wrote "OH! Falling down in public gets my vote!" Well. Here you go.

It is a well known fact among close friends and family members that I have trouble with simple tasks. Tasks that most people don't think twice about. Tasks like making it through a doorway on your first try, instead of whacking a limb or your head into a wall first. Easy things, you know, like walking and standing upright without toppling over.

This predicament was ten times worse during my adolescent years as my body stretched and I tried to figure out how to control it. But I must say, I had trouble before then and I still have trouble now. Most of the time, it's just me, being awkward. Other times, things happen that are out of my control, say, getting on a moving treadmill.

When I read Abbie's request in the comments, I was worried that I wouldn't have anything to write about. I mean, I could delve into my memories and come up with some gems--the time I slipped down an escalator and landed at the bottom on a subway platform with a ton of people staring at me, waiting for the train. Or the numerous times I've had poor spacial judgment while driving and turned my car into a fire hydrant or another car or a concrete median. WHAT COULD I WRITE ABOUT? WHAT COULD I SAY?

I need not have worried because sure enough, the universe came through. On Monday, the day before I left for Los Angeles, I left work to run an errand and grab some lunch. Everything was in place for me to have a completely spastic experience--the weather was clear, no rain. I was wearing flat shoes without a hint of a heel and it was during lunch time where everyone could see me make a fool out of myself.

All was right with the world leading up to my mishap. The sun was shining, the weather was warmer than it had been in days, I was headed towards Hale & Hearty for a DELICIOUS LUNCH, etc. I realized that I had been daydreaming about my soup for too many blocks and that I needed to cross to the other side of the street to get where I was going. Just like thousands of New Yorkers on any given day, I stepped off the curb onto Park Avenue in an attempt to cross. And just like no other New Yorker ever, my perfectly flat-heeled foot stepped down on some perfectly normal looking pavement and I abruptly fell forward, breaking the fall with my knees and palms.

I crouched there for a moment as shooting pain erupted in my knee because, OF COURSE, I wasn't wearing pants, just a skirt with stockings which means I essentially fell on my bare knee. I was less concerned with the knee and more concerned with my beautiful gray tights which seem to be bad luck. I already ripped the first pair I bought RIGHT BEFORE going into an audition a few weeks before. And now the second pair was destroyed as well. A tiny hole was stretching bigger and bigger and now BOTH PAIRS were goners. WHY GOD? WHY??

As I was bemoaning the loss of my beloved tights, the man at the kabab stand behind me leaned down and got right in my personal space which, if you've never been in that position, is rather startling. His turban cast a shadow over my upturned my face as he eagerly searched my eyes.

"YOU OKAY?!?!!??!?!?"

"Yes, I'm fine, just stupid."

"YOU FALL DOWN."

"Yes."

"WE ALL WATCH YOU FALL."

"I...thank you. Great."

At this point of course, I looked behind me at the long line of New Yorkers waiting to buy some kababs. All men. All in business suits. All pretending not to stare at me.

I thought I'd at least get a free lunch out of the deal but kabab dude wasn't having it. He helped me up and went back to serving his hungry customers. I sat on the curb and picked the gravel out of my palms. I didn't get to check on the damaged knees until I was safely locked in a bathroom stall at work. After rolling down the ruined gray tights, I was able to witness the carnage: skin hanging off both of my knees and drops of blood everywhere. Though not as ghastly as I thought it would be.

I have a nice yellow and green bruise going on at this point as the wounds are healing. I'm no longer limping but I do look like a seven year-old kid who fell off her bicycle. I can't tell you the last time I fell down and scraped my knees; I feel silly but also not really surprised. I am 25, with long limbs like a muppet and honestly? Sometimes things get the way of them functioning properly. Things like curbs and paved streets and walking. SIGH.

2nd Thanksgiving Ever Away From Home

2008-11-27T22:17:00.001-05:00

Thanksgiving with Tom and Laura from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

How My Trip to LA is Going

2008-11-27T03:21:00.000-05:00

How LA Is Going from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

Closure: Not Actually Fiction

2008-11-25T20:16:00.002-05:00

If anyone was paying attention to my last post, they would've read about me fretting over communication with an ex:

<<I never heard back from him.

And I suppose I didn't expect to.

It's just that...

I sent that e-mail from work.

My work, which has a habit of eating incoming e-mails that are not from work-related e-mail addresses.

And lately, I have been wondering if perhaps, he DID write me back and my e-mail account at work stopped it from going through? WHAT IF THAT HAPPENED? What if that very important e-mail is LOST in cyberspace!?!? What if there was something I needed to know?!>>

If anyone continued to pay attention to that post, they would've noticed a comment from said ex:

<<While cruising the interweb I checked this site and found that you are still posting away.

Never did get that email from you...

Check your email account>>

If you are not involved in the situation, you would've perhaps been mildly intrigued. "Woah! He never got the e-mail! GOOD STORY."

If you are involved in the situation, you would've reacted like this: OMFG THIS IS THE MOST INTENSE DRAMA OF MY LIIIIIIFE!

And initially you would play the victim:

WHAT ARE THE CHANCES THAT THE ONE DAY YOU POST ABOUT HIM, HE ACTUALLY READS IT!? Why are you SO STUPID!?!?

After I sufficiently beat the crap out of myself, I nervously tapped my fingers against the keyboard at work while re-reading the last part of his comment.

"Check your e-mail."

Wait.

Check my e-mail because he's sending me an e-mail?

Or, check my e-mail because it's faulty? As in, make sure I actually sent it?

WAIT.

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?! And how many times can I possibly say the word 'e-mail'!? E-mail e-mail e-mail and then my blackberry buzzed. I snatched it up and sure enough there was an E-MAIL from him.

My stomach dropped onto the floor below my desk and I clicked it open. The details are irrelevant I suppose...and personal. There was misinformation and a lack of communication and he never responded to my e-mail because he never received it.

So, I sent it again.

We went back and forth a few times and after some hazy misunderstandings, we were able to get on the same page. We will never be the ex's who chat often or hang out in groups. We may exchange information occasionally, if we move or get a new job or have a baby. I'm honestly not quite sure. I do know that we will never end up together but that we both will only ever view the other in a positive light.

I left work around six, put my headphones on and cried for three city blocks. And then it was over. I didn't have it in me to grieve. There was nothing to be sad about, no need to waste tears on something that was truly for the best.

An underlying issue which seems to permeate every aspect of my life is the inability to trust decisions I make. I think a lot of it is my innate perfectionism and my fear of being "wrong". I have such a hard time committing to a man because I don't want to make the wrong choice. Often, it's easier to remain indecisive than to make up my mind. But I am learning that decisions are part of life and indecision and ambivalence lead to paralysis.

You can have an amazing mind, body and soul connection with another but if you are heading in two separate directions, it simply can't work. More importantly, as sad as it is, there is nothing WRONG with that. For so long, I've questioned whether or not I'm making a mistake. Is it foolish to pursue the career I've chosen? Does it make me an unattractive partner? Is it a waste of time, money and youth?

I think it was time for me to accept my lifestyle and stop feeling uncertain. Perhaps this ex business allowed me the freedom to own my choices, the confidence to say "No, I don't want babies just yet." The compassion and maturity to say "I'm sorry I can't be that person for you but I'm so glad you found someone who can."

Last night, I left philosophy class a little early to hightail it down to the Village. My dear friend, Sasha, was singing at a wine bar on Bank Street and tired as I was, I promised her I would be there. I squeezed into a red plush booth a little after 9 pm with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc in hand.

Sasha was beautiful and hilarious. I chatted with a few people in her improv troupe as candlelight bounced off burgundy walls. I slipped out a little after 10:30, discovering that rain had begun to fall while I was safely tucked inside. I didn't have an umbrella and the rain felt refreshing and cool on my face. I wandered for awhile through the cobblestone streets before finally hailing a cab and collapsing in the backseat.

I know people roll their eyes at the cliche of the twenty-something in the city, trying to find herself. It's a nebulous idea and I've questioned the importance of it myself. But this is what that actually means--learning about the kind of girl I am, the kind of girl I wish to be and the kind of partner who might fit into my lifestyle and accept me as I am instead of what he wishes me to be.

It is definitely not the life for everyone but it is for me, for now. Sipping white wine late on a Monday night, surrounded by artists who make me laugh, able to relax and just be. No more second guessing, uncertainty or fear: I am exactly where I'm supposed to be.

Genius

2008-11-23T19:22:00.004-05:00

A girl my age put these signs up in the subway station. She was standing next to them singing opera. I gave her four dollars.

What Do I See

2008-11-23T01:33:00.004-05:00

For those just joining us, the next few blog posts will be taken from the comments in this post.

Debbiy wrote, "So, what's going on outside your window? What do you see?"

I responded with a few short paragraphs in the comments section. Here is the rest.

There is an elderly Greek woman sweeping the red leaves off the sidewalk in front of her apartment across from me. That side of the street is completely free of cars since it's Thursday and alternate side parking is in effect from 9:30-11 AM. City streets always look awkward with one half completely devoid of vehicles. I always get the urge to sprint up and down the street, that close to the sidewalk, running on pavement that I otherwise never get to touch.

The sky is gray and the world seems quiet, as if it might snow. It reminds me of my winters in Buffalo, in college, when the world turned dark for six months of the year, perpetual gloom hovering on the horizon. Snow was constantly falling, steadily building a blanket on the lawns between the dorms while I shuttled between classes in the Center for the Arts. Nibbling at a grilled cheese sandwich in a leotard and sweatpants, reading through notes before a Theatre History quiz, developing a lifelong love of coffee during my late afternoon math class.

Buffalo winters remind me of my college boyfriend, who has been on my mind quite a bit recently though I can't say why. The last I heard, he was getting married. Or, he was getting engaged. What is the difference? He was doing something that did not involve me and it infuriated me and hurt me and I painted my entire living room bright blue just to stop myself from crying all day long.

I took a deep breath and took a few weeks and finally wrote him an e-mail in September. It wasn't just that he was getting married. It was that he had been dating a girl for years and had never mentioned her to me. It was that in his e-mail, he had asked me for advice about it, as if I had some input, as if he was making sure that I had readily moved on. This to me was incredibly unfair and I expressed that in the note I wrote him. I also wished him well and told him to perhaps ask his friends and family for advice, please not ME, Lord, can't you see that it still hurts me?

I never heard back from him.

And I suppose I didn't expect to.

It's just that...

I sent that e-mail from work.

My work, which has a habit of eating incoming e-mails that are not from work-related e-mail addresses.

And lately, I have been wondering if perhaps, he DID write me back and my e-mail account at work stopped it from going through? WHAT IF THAT HAPPENED? What if that very important e-mail is LOST in cyberspace!?!? What if there was something I needed to know?!

The first obvious conclusion is that there is no way of ever knowing. What on earth do I do? Write an e-mail asking him if he wrote an e-mail in response to my e-mail!? Bitch, please. That is psycho and also, more importantly: What Would It Matter?

What could he have said that would've made a difference in my life?

What would it affect? What would it change?

Nothing.

And here is where the 25 year old is learning her way, the way that is so much more fair and even and mature than the way she was at 22 or 23. The fact is that if he needed to get in touch with me, he would have. The fact is that if he wanted me at all, he would've showed up at my door and told me so.

I am learning and oh does it suck to learn, that boys don't show up at your door at midnight with a dozen roses, down on one knee, begging for another chance. If you tell a boy you don't want him, he goes away and finds someone new. It really is that simple. Real life is not the movies and when you expect it to be, you are continually disappointed.

It was his birthday the other day and I took out my phone and stared at the keys, wondering whether or not to text him. Myself at 22 would have done just that. Myself at 25? I put the phone back in my pocket, realizing that such an action was unnecessary, immature and selfish. No need to constantly make sure you are always the center of everyone's universe. He has made it clear that you are not wanted and as a grown woman, you are to respect that and leave it alone.

The thing I sometimes forget is that my perception of a situation makes all the difference. I can choose to panic and wonder for the rest of my life, WHAT ABOUT THAT E-MAIL!? Or I can choose to believe that life has a way of working out the way it's supposed to. I can choose instead to look at all I have accomplished without him in my life, all the paths I have taken, all the people I have met, all the opportunities I was able to take advantage of.

And I still carry pieces of him, heck a whole large chunk. Part of him is branded on my heart and while he normally lays dormant inside, occasionally he rises up when the sky turns that particular shade of gray. Suddenly then, I am not gazing out at a New York City street, but a naked Buffalo sky, cuddled on the couch next to him, eating a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.

But the moment passes. And I'm back in my apartment, sipping a mug of coffee, staring out my living room window. One side of the street is full of cars, lined up in a row, crowded together, packed in tight. I turn my attention to the blank side of the street, the empty side. I will continue to stand and watch the street cleaner go by and my heart will surge with hope as I wait for something brand new to come into view and fill that vacant space.

Inspired

2008-11-21T08:44:00.003-05:00

Wow! You guys totally came through for me!

And here is what's going to happen next (I KNOW, YOU ARE SO EXCITED).

Beginning tomorrow, I will post a new entry every day about one of the topics you suggested. I'd like to regularly post one each day, even through the weekend, to help with aforementioned writer's block. I might run into a problem next week as I'm traveling to LA on Tuesday. However, I will have my laptop with me and will try to write a few posts in advance so all I have to do is click PUBLISH. That's right, I will lay on the beach and just click publish, just in case I haven't yet rubbed it in that I am going to Los Angeles. BECAUSE I AM GOING TO LOS ANGELES. FYI.

So, if you haven't yet chimed in with a topic for me to discuss/rant about or if you'd like to get more specific about a previous suggestion, you can leave a comment on this post or on the original. Thanks so much everyone! I'm a little shocked no one wanted to know more about my uterus or urinary tract. WHY ARE THOSE THINGS ONLY FASCINATING TO ME?!

A Bit Blocked

2008-11-20T08:38:00.002-05:00

Every day I'm all, "I NEED TO BLOG." And then I'm all, "BUT I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY."

So, uh, does anyone have any ideas?

Anything pressing we need to discuss?

My urethra? Perhaps a debate on Obama's tax plan? A story about an ex-boyfriend? My upcoming trip to Los Angeles next week? Audition stories? Stories about how I fell down in public and embarrassed myself? Eco-friendly living? Vegetarianism? Questions? Comments?

I was thinking you guys could unblock me. You know, the four people who read this? Surely you have an opinion. Or an interest. Or a reason to keep refreshing this website. But...what on earth is it?

Suggest a topic and I will write an essay, in MLA format, with a Works Cited. Or maybe just a blog post.

Any takers? Any at all?

Molting

2008-11-15T20:02:00.004-05:00

There are many ways that acting, as a profession, messes with your psyche. Because the business is overcrowded with competition and chock full of rejection, in order to survive, you need to develop a thick skin. Despite my wanting to and probably born out of necessity than anything else, I have developed a thin protective veil that allows me to keep moving forward without wanting to curl up in bed and die. And while this veil is necessary for survival in such a harsh climate, I find it hinders other aspects of my life, other aspects where I don't really need to wear it.

Becoming a hard, bitter person doesn't happen over night in the same way that self-esteem can't grow in a day. For someone like me, who is naturally confidence-less and who was raised in an environment that didn't boost what little I had, there seems to be a fine line between building self-worth and building an inflated, narcissistic ego. I have been actively concentrating over the past few years to build up some confidence, to take risks, to be more self-assured and I wonder if I have been overzealous in this endeavor not because I suddenly find myself with an astounding amount of self-confidence (I don't, at all) but rather because I am noticing a pattern of negativity in my thoughts, a critical voice that no longer just criticizes myself but everyone else around me.

Perhaps this is just an extension of the go-to defense mechanism that I learned while growing up: I will beat myself up before anyone else can. This is best manifested in my fantastic ability to self-deprecate. Allow me to make a joke about myself so you can't hurt me first. Let's put aside how messed up and unfortunate that way of thinking is and look at how dangerous it can be when it proliferates into I will beat YOU up before you can beat ME up.

I realize this is the nature of the business but I am disheartened to realize that I have bought into it, bought into a career centered around Me Me Me and What You Have That I Don't. I am constantly ingesting the underlying mephitic whispers of my chosen profession: that I am only of value at my thinnest, that I am already too old to get anywhere, that I have nothing to offer anyone and sadder still, that when You are successful, it immediately means that I Am Not. None of these things are true, of course, and I used to know that. I find I am more forgetful now.

There are many layers to this. Wanting to protect myself from rejection is natural and building up a wall of some kind seems obvious as any actor will tell you that to some extent, it is absolutely without-a-doubt necessary for survival. But I have been paying close attention to my innermost thoughts lately and I do not like them. There is very little gratitude, very little humility, lots of criticism, lots of jealousy and anger, a kind of insatiable cupidity that disgusts me. Perhaps acting is only a piece of that, perhaps the path I have taken, a path of over self-analysis, of psychotherapy, of living in New York City, of keeping a blog, that this path has helped create a young woman who is incredibly self-absorbed. This is ironic because I don't feel more confident, I just feel like an asshole.

I'm thinking that my recent discovery of commitmentphobia is directly tied to my negative attitude. I am less loving and therefore, less open to being loved. While I still manage to find hope and joy in so many things, when it comes to relationships, I am startled to find out that I seem to start off any adventure waiting to be let down. Disappoint me now, come on, I know you will. That strikes me as overwhelmingly sad.

I realize that I am a 25 year old living in a notoriously hard, fast-paced, jaded city. I am therefore completely unable to return to my spoony adolescent attitude of consistent hope and firm belief in my talents and ability to love. But surely there is a way to balance protecting yourself and your heart while still allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Is that in and of itself naive? Is there a way to let down my guard more while still maintaining my sanity and good nature? Or do I have to pick sides?

There must be a way to build myself up emotionally without mentally putting others down. There has to be a way to experience rejection and disappointment without internalizing it and allowing it to consume you. Perhaps there is a way to put up my wall in an audition setting and take it back down again when dealing with people and relationships. It is so difficult to find a happy medium and I am honestly so turned off by myself lately.

I am independent to a fault. You can't take care of me because I already know how. I can't bend my schedule to accommodate yours because mine is too important. I can't slow down because my business never slows down and can't you see that since I started so late, I am constantly playing catch up? I have such a hard time letting someone in because MY PRIORITIES! MY ROUTINE! It is all SO IMPORTANT.

Newsflash: in the grand scheme of things, it actually isn't.

I am posting this for the reason I post a lot of other things: accountability. Now that I've owned up to it, I can change it. I can also perhaps treat myself gently. The acting thing is a huge part of this but I can count three major events that have transpired in the past six months that have aggrandized the subtle negativity into a level that no longer feels comfortable. I am partly to blame for one but the other two were out of my hands, 100% and maybe it's natural for us to get a little bitter when life kicks us in the ass repeatedly.

I have already taken some steps to shed the negativity which I'm excited about and hey, we can all agree I'm on the right path if I'm still able to get excited, right? Maybe I'll share some of my pointers for Drawing Yourself Up Out of the Muck in case anyone else out there tends to get into these negative Hate the World funks. No? It's just me? Okay then, um, just forget it.

As always, thanks for listening and I hope that if you know me personally, I have been deft at shielding you from my nastiness. If I haven't, please forgive me. If you don't know me personally, BE VERY GRATEFUL. That is all.

Your Friendly Reminder

2008-11-14T08:08:00.004-05:00

TO COME ON DOWN!!!!

I don't know why that picture of me is uploading in blue. Apparently, I am a smurf. So, come see the Freak Show!! It's going to be fun. Plus, there's booze. And my dad. And my dad drinking booze and TRUST ME YOU DO NOT WANT TO MISS SUCH AN EXPERIENCE.

I Cried When I Saw This

2008-11-12T22:33:00.001-05:00

I spotted this on E's livejournal. Thanks, E!

Double Whammy: A Post About My Uterus AND Uretha. You're Welcome.

2008-11-11T12:16:00.004-05:00

At 7:30 this morning, I pushed the silver faucet to the left and a gush of water began flowing into the bathtub. I waited for it to warm up, holding my fingers in the stream of it and when I was convinced it was at its hottest, I pulled up the drain and the tub began to fill. My head felt light and my stomach felt queasy but neither were a match for the sharp stabbing pains in my lower back and the deep wrenching contractions of my abdomen. I glanced at my face in the mirror and it was so pale it seemed nearly translucent.

As soon as the water rose a few inches, I climbed in, still wearing the navy blue USNA '05 t-shirt that I had slept in. It hadn't occurred to me to take it off and I couldn't find the energy to do so anyway. The heat intensified the cramping and my body screamed in protest.

"Roommate?" I croaked, unsure if he heard me over the whirring of the bathroom fan.

A few moments later he replied, "Are you dying?"

"Yes."

His face popped up as a reflection in the mirror and he looked down to find my head and arms draped over the side of the tub, staring at him in agony.

"I need a pot."

"A pot?"

"Yes."

"DONE."

He fetched a silver pot from the kitchen and placed it in front of me. I was only inches away from the toilet but I knew that heaving myself out of the tub every few minutes required strength I did not possess.

And that is how I spent two and a half hours this morning alternately laying in the tub with my head against the rim and leaning over the side of it, wretching stomach bile into a big silver pot.

...

Friday morning I awoke at 5:30 AM and decided I had a urinary tract infection. I have a fantastic history with these which I have posted about before. This particular infection, like the previous infection in June, came about for seemingly no reason at all and I seem to be contracting them by simply thinking the word "bacteria".

I got myself to work and called the Actor's Clinic where I was firmly told by the secretary that the doctor could NOT AT ALL see me today, NOT AT ALL. I begged her, insisting that I had seen him before for this very reason, I just need a prescription for an antibiotic, for the LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY. She snapped at me that that was NOT POSSIBLE and how DARE I think I could get a prescription without seeing a doctor first.

I hung up on her which I felt guilty about later but when your urethra is on fire and you don't have insurance, it's hard to be polite.

I called three other clinics, all of them full because it was Friday! Of course! Only one clinic takes walk-in appointments but they charge a flat rate of $125 which, surprise I do not have. I mean, okay, I HAVE IT. But did I want to spend it on getting antibiotics for my 500th UTI of the year? Answer: NO.

JK finally recommended I walk over to my company's health clinic which is located in another building. I had attempted this once before at a different location and was turned away due to my rockstar temp status. Since options were limited and I was peeing rusty nails, I decided to give it a shot.

The clinic was quiet and friendly and a plastic jack-o-lantern sat on the table, grinning at me, full of mini Twix bars.

"I NEED HELP," I blurted to the secretary.

"Yes?"

"I think I have a UTI and if you don't help me, I'm going to throw myself into the East River."

"No problem."

She handed me a clipboard, I filled out the information, nobody asked me any questions, no one wanted to know if I was a temp, no one seemed to care at all.

I gave the nurse a urine sample (wasn't she lucky!) and she took my temperature (normal) and my blood pressure (100/60.) She asked me a few general medication questions about allergies (none) and past surgeries (zero) and then, in thick Long Island, she said, "And now, I am going to ask you some personal questions."

"AWESOME," I said.

There are always fantastically embarrassing questions that are asked about a UTI, most of them involving peeing and sexual activity.

"Isn't that lame?" I asked the nurse as she scribbled on a chart.

"What's that?"

"That I don't even get these from sex? That I get UTI's from sitting around and blinking at the wall?"

At this point she laughed and then asked me how many I get in a year.

"1 2 3 4 come on baby say you love me?"

Because, who doesn't throw in some Gloria Estefan when they can help it?

She furrowed her brow and went to fetch the doctor. While she was gone, I glanced around the examining room, taking note of the scale and the white crinkly paper on the table and the counters full of q-tip containers. I am one of those freaks who LIKES doctors' offices because oh my goodness, the CLEANLINESS. THE ORGANIZATION.

She returned with a prescription for an antibiotic and two tiny pills in an envelope which would get ride of my symptoms immediately.

"Also, I would get to a urologist when you can."

"Wha???"

"It's okay to get a UTI once a year or so but two or three? With very little reason? It's a bit odd."

"You think it has something to do with the fact that I generally have to pee every 20 minutes or so?"

"Um. UROLOGIST. SEE ONE."

"KTHXBYE!" I squealed and walked out the door, taking care to grab some Twix bars for the walk back to work.

...

It seems that my body is falling apart. I have the continence of an elderly woman and the uterus of someone who is perpetually in childbirth. How is this even fair?!

The UTI's concern me but not nearly as much as my traumatic menstrual cycle. Now, not every month is this bad; the last time it was like this was back in February, at work. I spent approximately two and a half hours in an office toilet stall, begging for mercy. It's a lot easier to handle at home because 1) I can get naked and B) I can get in a bathtub. I've thought about finding a suitable place to soak in a tub at work but I can't seem to make that happen.

These episodes have been hitting me since high school with little warning and in a variety of settings:

1 - Collapsing in chorus class, the nurse wheels me in a wheelchair to her office which is the coolest thing that ever happened to me as a high school junior. And by coolest, I mean most embarrassing. To make it more awesome, she cannot get ahold of my mother so my father leaves work to take me home. He puts a blanket over me while I lay on the couch and nervously wonders what on earth is going on.

2 - In Amish country in Pennsylvania. My father took my other siblings out of the hotel for the day while I sit in the bathtub and cry. My mom holds my hand and asks what she can do.

3 - In the middle of rehearsals for a college production of "Children of Eden". My friend Rosie who was assistant directing, scooped me up off the bathroom floor, took me to her dorm room and put me in a hot shower. I vomited three times. It was the first time I didn't care that anyone was seeing me naked.

4 - Temping at my first job out of college. Mid-morning, I lose all color in my face and double over in pain. My creepy coworker who spent his down time shooting squirrels in his backyard helps me into my car and drives me home since I am unable to do it myself.

5 - Wintertime in Astoria. A Saturday morning at 8 am. My roommate holds my hair back while I kneel on the bathroom mat and vomit into the bathtub. Later, he makes me a cup of chamomile tea and we sit on the couch and watch the Food network.

6 - Last February, at work. A coworker eventually finds me hugging a toilet, gets me a heating pad and puts me in a taxi. My boss suggests birth control or a hysterectomy. I tell her they both sound like amazing options.

7 - Today. Called in sick to work around 10 AM when I finally made my way out of the bathroom and into my bed. The nausea persisted for a total of five hours. JK stops by with Gatorade and sits across from me while I sip it and eat dry Cheerios one by one.

The episodes are getting longer and more intense as I get older. I personally believe my body is revolting my decision not to have a baby at this point in my life. I have no scientific evidence that supports this; it's just my own little theory. Good, right?

There would normally be a lot of pain, a bit of nausea but it used to be over in about a half hour. I was able to take some pain medication and be fine for the rest of the day. Over the past year, the episodes persist, longer and longer. Today, I was in the bathtub for over two and a half hours, without an ounce of relief. The pain comes in waves, like contractions, a few seconds of peace before my abdomen clenches up again and I attempt a feeble protest.

I stood up in the middle of it this morning in a pathetic attempt to wash my hair but was greeted with one big I DON'T THINK SO as my knees trembled and I was forced to lay back down in the water. Thanks to my stomach finally calming down and the ingestion of the Cheerios, I was able to swallow some Motrin which has helped enormously.

It should also be noted that once I found solace in my bed, the doorbell rang. And rang again. Hoping it was someone coming to take care of me, I slowly made my way downstairs, clinging tightly to the banister. When I opened the door, an Asian man handed me a pamphlet about Jesus, which I took, to be polite. I then offered a meek "thank you" and shut the door in his face before he had the chance to proselytize.

I realize that people suffer with ailments all the time, most of them so much worse than this but I mean, this is my blog so am I allowed to just say, WHAT THE HELL!?????

Thank you.

I hope this is the last post I ever make about my uterus on this blog but long time readers will tell you not to believe that for a SECOND.

And now, I am going to continue dying a slow death over here on my couch.

Funny because my period came a week early--this was supposed to happen on the day of my cabaret next week.

So, I suppose, I should be grateful for that?

Or something?

But I'm too busy sitting on the couch, figuring out ways for my gay roommate to knock me up so we can be done with this once and for all.

Carry on, you guys. Don't worry about me. Happy Tuesday.

Done and Done

2008-11-10T21:17:00.002-05:00

TO DO

#47. ~~Get commercial agent.~~

Ah, that's better.

Conversations with Four Year Olds I've Had In the Past Week

2008-11-10T07:28:00.002-05:00

Owen: I need Akon on my iPod.

Me: You do?

Owen: Yes.

Me: Okay, what song?

Owen: Akon.

Me: Akon is a singer. He sings lots of songs. Which one do you like?

Owen: AKON.

Me: Akon is the SINGER'S NAME. NOT THE SONG NAME.

Owen: NO! THE SONG IS AKON.

Me: THE SONG IS NOT AKON, OWEN! LOOK AT YOUTUBE! THOSE ARE ALL AKON VIDEOS!

Owen: I WANT AKOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON.

Me: *shoots self in the face*

Owen: I want THAT one.

Me: "Right Now Na Na Na"?

Owen: YES! AKON NA NA NA!!!!!

Me: Okay. We'll download it and then I'll put it on your iPod.

*five minutes later, Akon successfully loaded on the iPod*

Owen: (singing along to his new song) I WANNA MAKE LOVE NA NA NA NA!!!

Me: Oh...my...God.

...

River: THIS IS MY BELLY!

Me: Very good! Where is your arm?

River: HEEERE!

Me: GREAT JOB! What about your foot?

River: HEEEERE!

Me: Awesome, Riv! What about your chest?

River: HEEEEERE!

*Riv stops, looks confused*

River: (pulling at his shirt) What are THESE?

Me: Your chest?

River: NO! THESE?

Me: Uh, you mean, my boobs?

River: RIGHT! MY BOOBS.

Me: No no! You don't have boobs! Just girls!

Owen: MY MOM HAS BOOBS.

Me: Yes, she does.

River: (lifting up his shirt) NO! THEEEEEEESE!

Me: Ohhhh, your nipples?

River: RIGHT! MY NIPPLES.

Me: Yes, those are nipples. Boys and girls all have nipples.

Owen: (pointing to his stomach) I HAVE A NIPPLE HERE!

Me: Oh! Um, that's a freckle. That's different.

Owen: A nipple?

Me: A FRECKLE. See? I have them all over my arms.

River: YES! YOU DO!

Me: I know! And my face too!

River: YES! LAURA! YOU HAVE A NIPPLE RIGHT ON YOUR FOREHEAD!!!!!!!

...

Me: Okay! So, we talked about our day and we read five books and we sang lullabies and you're all tucked in so I'm going to shut off the light! Have a good night, boys!

Owen: Laura?

Me: Yes?

Owen: I'm hungry.

River: Me too.

Laura: SIGHHHHHHH. Okay, let's go into the kitchen. What do you feel like eating?

Owen: Swiss cheese.

River: Sunflower seeds.

Owen: Also, an oreo.

Me: Not a problem.

*five minutes later*

Owen: I'm done.

River: ME TOO.

Laura: Okay! Back to bed! Both of you! Goodnight!

River runs back into the bedroom. Owen just stands and stares at me.

Owen: I can't.

Me: You can't what?

Owen: Go to bed.

Me: Why not?

Owen: I need to do a Google search.

Me: I...what?

Owen: A GOOGLE SEARCH. I NEED TO DO A GOOGLE SEARCH.

Me: NO WAY, OWEN. Computer time is over. Goodnight.

Owen: Tomorrow I can do a Google search?

Me: Absolutely, tomorrow you can Google whatever you want. Try "Laura Loses Her Mind".

Election Reflection - (It's A Long One)

2008-11-05T22:55:00.009-05:00

I left an acting seminar last night around 8 pm and wandered up a few blocks to meet Alayna and her friend Emily at a bar/restaurant in Hell's Kitchen. There were four huge television screens, all broadcasting CNN, Wolf Blitzer and John King and maps and statistics and red versus blue. The bar was buzzing, as if we were all collectively tapping our feet in anticipation or wriggling side to side, unable to sit still like grade school kids.

When I walked in, Kentucky had been called along with a few other states, none of which struck me as particularly surprising. I hugged Alayna and Emily hello and promptly ordered some delicious drink containing Rum and Cointreau. The three of us sat on the same side of the table, snug in a booth, backs against the wall, alternately scanning the television screen, texting friends and throwing out stories and comments and explanations.

CNN had a fantastic countdown right before polls were closing in certain states. As soon as it hit zero, the screen would flash with the news - OBAMA WINS PENNSYLVANIA - and the bar would ignite with whoops and hollers and electric energy. There was a camaraderie that was palpable, a mutual understanding that we were about to be part of something historic and momentous, a fervent hope that America would finally stand up and say WE NEED CHANGE AND WE NEED IT NOW.

As the evening went on, the chatter grew more animated as beer was sipped and waffle fries were nibbled and we all eagerly awaited the confirmation of results of uncertain states. Pennsylvania was huge, Ohio even bigger and I believe when they called it, I knew that it was over yet I didn't want to jinx it. The Senate race steadily occupied the bottom of the screen, the blue line gradually overtaking the red. The analysis of voter demographics, the popular vote numbers, astounding me, impressing me, causing my heart to swell with pride. This is happening, in my lifetime, I am witnessing something that is so much bigger than me.

Tipsy with rum, belly full of gnocchi, at 11:59:30, I grabbed Alayna's arms and energetically shouted, "LET'S COUNT DOWN LIKE IT'S NEW YEAR'S!!!!!!!" and the crowd took the cue and there we were, screaming with all our might 10 - 9 - 8 - 7, eyes wide, glued to the screens above the bar, fingers tingling, temples pulsing, 6 - 5 - 4, everyone present and focused and getting ready to stand, 3 - 2 - 1 and as OBAMA ELECTED PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES illuminated the television screen, we all joyously lost our minds.

The bar erupted, cheering from their guts, crying, hugging strangers, pumping a fist in the air, louder and BETTER than New Year's because, uh, it wasn't. It was a Presidential election and thankfully, so thankfully, I live in a city that is unabashedly Democratic and proud because my God we have been through a lot. There was instant optimistic connection in that bar, in midtown, in my great city. Various ages, truly diverse and different, all supporting the same man, all willing to stand up and wish they could touch him through the hard glass of the television screen.

No one spoke during McCain's speech. I couldn't take my eyes off him and found his words touching, honorable and gracious. We all clapped for him and I suppose I can only speak for myself but I think he commands and deserves respect regardless of how I find his policies.

I stepped into the oddly warm November air somewhere after midnight, smiling taxis gliding by. I had seen images of Times Square on the television and knew I had to cross through to board the train home. I envisioned a horrendous New York situation--police barricades and stern "No Ma'am, you can't pass" apologies. As I grew closer to Broadway, the rumbles became roars and little American flags fluttered above a sea of heads.

I remember thinking that the pathway to the train was miraculously clear before my emotions caught me off-guard and I randomly burst into tears. It was the third time that night but it was the most intense. The sheer number of people standing transfixed in one spot, the tears on their faces, their beautiful eyes upturned to the monstrous television in Times Square, it was just overwhelming for me. I felt like for the first time in a long time, I was breathing in cool, clean fresh air.

...

I realize that Barack Obama is inheriting a country in disarray. Everything is wrong. EVERYTHING. And trust me, I am aware that change is not going to come overnight but that also, many people expect it to and will be visibly disappointed when it doesn't. I was prepared to be faced with reality a few days after Election Day, I knew that I would go back to work and find a mess of an economy, an increasingly dangerous situation overseas, my usual lack of health care. But...but...I thought I would at least have a full night or a full few days to really just bask in the glow of Obama and his remarkable groundbreaking achievement.

Ha.

I called my mother shortly after 11 pm last night, not to gloat but to share in a truly awesome moment of American History.

"Ha," she said bitterly into the phone. "There's no way he's going to change the country in four years, everyone will be disillusioned and another Republican will go back into office in 2012. This is temporary."

Well, hi! Hello! I think the voter turnout WAS astounding and WOW a black man won over the state of Virginia and HEY I AM REALLY HUMBLED BY THE FIRST AFRICAN AMERICAN TO BE VOTED INTO OFFICE TOO!!!!!!!! Nice chatting!

Today was no better, if not worse. I called home to at least slap a verbal high five with my 18 year old little brother, his first time voting EVER and he got to vote in THIS election, I mean, is that just amazing or what?!?!

Or what.

"I VOTED OBAMA AND REGRET IT."

"What? Jem? Wha?? How could you SAY that?! What on earth!?"

Apparently, my brother got into a heavy discussion with a few of his friends' fathers yesterday. They are Long Island blue collar small business owners and fervent McCain supporters because while they are blue collar and own things like landscaping companies (a Long Island staple!), they make an upper-middle class income.

They explained to my brother that Obama is going to double Capital Gains Taxes to 40% and that they will suffer, all small businesses will suffer, you the public will suffer because they will raise prices and this is SOCIALISM SERIOUSLY and basically, the country is going to the crapper.

I just want to say that in case they didn't notice? The country is already in the crapper. KTHX.

I listened to my impressionable little Long Island brother begin to rant and rave about how Obama's taxes are going to kill us all because, right, he's 18 and apparently very concerned with his small business? (HE IS IN COLLEGE. OH MY GOD.) I gently explained that 1) Taxes are just ONE issue and 2) Please do your research! Via BarackObama.com, I easily noted that Barack's plan includes ZERO CAPITAL GAINS TAXES for, and I quote, "Small business and start ups" so uh:

Propaganda: 1

My Little Brother: 0

I pointed out something that was bothering me even more than the wrong information. Many people we know on Long Island who own these contracting businesses, landscaping companies, etc. HIDE THE MAJORITY OF THEIR INCOME. They also (fact, not assumption) hire illegal immigrant workers to work for their company. It was evident by my brother's language that he was just repeating the words of his friend's fathers, namely that the government under Obama is going to "TAKE AWAY MY MONEY" and use it for "WHATEVER THEY WANT".

You call it taking away your money? That's funny. I call it PAYING INCOME TAX. Weird.

To say the conversation was disheartening is an understatement but I was not expecting it to get WORSE from then on. After Jem was able to listen to my points (which he did! with great tact! Jem the Gentleman: 10 Points!) he agreed that Obama was overall the better choice for other reasons that might be important to him. He apologized for saying he regretted his vote and handed the phone over to my father.

You get that I love my dad, right? You get that he is the most lovable person on the planet? And that he is a fantastic listener and ridiculously well-read and able to talk about anything and he will make you a cup of tea if you ask him and I LOVE HIM A LOT, RIGHT?

My parents are both Independent voters and my father voted for Bush in 2000 and Kerry in 2004. All summer, he was fiercely anti-Obama due to the fact that "the guy can't seem to make up his mind". However, as the September days flew by and the economy got worse and worse, my dad flipped. He became disillusioned with the McCain campaign and realized, as he says, that McCain had less of a plan than Obama in terms of the economy and that was enough to vote Democrat this time around. GO DAD.

"HEY DAD! OBAMA ROCKED IT OUT LAST NIGHT!"

"Eh. I'm not impressed."

"WHAT!? ARE YOU KIDDING!? BLACK GUY IN THE WHITE HOUSE? TOTALLY AWESOME! CHANGE FOR EVERYONE? GONNA TURN THIS BABY AROUND?"

"Well. No. I mean, I guess. I hope he's not all talk."

"Well...yeah...?"

"I just get real sick of hearing people talking about how they'll get free handouts once he takes office."

"What? Who is saying that?"

"Someone asked a lady on NPR yesterday why she voted Obama and she said 'Because he'll lower my gas prices and pay my mortgage.' What kind of crap is that?"

"Well, dad, Obama never said he personally was going to pay someone's mortgage. Maybe she just meant it generally, like, he's going to improve the economy and fix the housing crisis."

"No. I don't know. That pissed me off."

"Why?"

"Because people think he's giving handouts. Come on, all those taxcuts? It's essentially welfare."

"A tax cut is welfare?"

"Yeah. It's getting something for free."

And here is the inherent problem I believe members of my family still grapple with: a selfish Republican-esque view that people ought to help themselves and do not deserve ANYTHING for "free" served with a side of occasional racism.

Are there people who voted for Obama solely because he is black? Yes, I am sure of it.

Are there people who voted for McCain because Sarah Palin is a woman and that was good enough for them? Yes, I am sure of that too.

But, I mean, those were THEIR reasons for voting and while I think it's a bit misguided, perhaps those factors were enough for people. My mother votes solely on the Pro-Life platform, that's it, just that one issue. Many Catholics do and I believe the same about them: it is misguided but well-intentioned and their reasoning is not really my business anyway.

But this "Woman Wanting Obama To Give Her Free Stuff" BOTHERED HIM. I could tell in the tone of his voice, in his caustic skepticism, his sudden nervousness. He was instantly unsure--shit, maybe Obama WAS the kind of guy who was going to turn this into a socialist empire and give handouts to people, ESPECIALLY minorities. My father never said that and I am exaggerating, I know, but that doubt was there, for an INSTANT and I heard it and it saddened me tremendously. It's like the way people in my family constantly have to qualify the race of someone in a story. "Well, it was a black woman, NOT THAT IT MATTERS..."

Well. If it doesn't matter, why did you mention it?

My grandmother and my father both come from a generation with deep-rooted ideas about other races. (I exclude my mother from this because my father is significantly older than she is and also, she doesn't seem to share this particular attitude that both my father and grandmother do.) My father's parents were offensively, horrendously racist and considering the way they raised him, my father is amazingly tolerant and accepting. But...I suppose it's just the way he thinks: when it comes to social justice issues, my father and many other family members hold a very Republican "Help Yourself, You Are Not My Problem" attitude. THIS is what bothered my dad about that woman's comments about Obama as President, race aside: he is going to help people who don't deserve it and that isn't fair.

It's weird to hear that from Christians, right? The judgment and the caution that is displayed? I suppose you can just throw up your hands and say "Well, you can't help everyone!" or "They got themselves into that mess!" But...really...as a Christian, can you say that? Shouldn't you be saying YES, I am okay with helping those in need? YES, I am okay with LOVING MY NEIGHBOR AS MYSELF? No? Anyone? No one?

So, we had incorrect information about taxes and incorrect information about social reform and it resulted in me, full of JOY and ELATION, calling home (stupidly) expecting to share my happiness and was met with I DON'T KNOW ABOUT THIS. IT IS KIND OF ALL WRONG ACTUALLY. WHY IS EVERYONE SO EXCITED ANYWAY?

Someone asked me today, "Why were you hurt by that? Those are your family's views, they aren't ever going to change."

Yes.

But.

No.

It was just like I was a young girl and all I wanted was for someone to share in my joy. Except it wasn't joy for a picture I painted all by myself or a song that I made up, it was the fact that I helped elect the FIRST AFRICAN AMERICAN PRESIDENT, a man who stands for hope and change and reform and three of my family members simultaneously just kind of rolled their eyes like "Whatever" as if it's not a big DEAL, as if it doesn't matter.

My family is my family and I know I'm not alone with these struggles. I'm not hurt as much as I am sad. Sad that not one person I talked to (liberal older brother and liberal little sister aside) could say ANYTHING POSITIVE less than 24 hours after such a momentous election. That my parents could not rise above their uncertainty or sore loserness enough to say THIS IS AN AMAZING MOMENT FOR US AS AMERICANS, I AM SO GLAD YOU WERE ABLE TO PARTICIPATE IN IT.

I was met instead with bitterness and skepticism and a rant about a tax issue that isn't even true and concerns that maybe Obama was going to help some people. OH NO.

Cue: Happiness Balloon deflating in a matter of minutes. But, lesson learned: I am not going to have that kind of relationship with certain family members. There is simply too much standing in the way and I would do well to be tolerant and compassionate and realize that they just are not the type of people who are ever going to willingly support a candidate that I support. That is okay. We bond in other ways. For politics, I can turn to my two other siblings and we can rock it out alone.

There are other things that sadden me about this election besides my family, the passing of Prop 8 in California for one. The absurdity and frustration that strikes me when I think of so many people trying so hard to "protect marriage" as if marriage and love are things that only certain people can have, as if they have a limit, as if by giving someone else that privilege, someone might take yours away.

I was disturbed by some message boards and websites I read today, mainly Catholics "crying themselves to sleep last night" and accusing the Catholic voters who voted for Obama of "never going to church" and supporting a "man who stands for genocide". The abortion issue is one I particularly "love", as if the day after Obama is sworn in, every girl in the country will decide that a partial-birth abortion is a FANTASTIC IDEA and will run out to get one.

And here is the crux of what I want to say: Election Night was beyond memorable for me and a night I will never forget. And today? I was totally bummed by my family's reaction to it. I am saddened that I can never find common ground with one or both of my parents, saddened that we suffer from a generational gap of misunderstanding and biases and a lack of wanting to listen to each other. Add on to that an extreme attachment to religious ideals that sometimes gets in the way of reason and actually, Christ-like behavior and thought.

I voted for Obama because he represents all that is good to me--hope, change, love and equality. He makes me want to be a better American, a better person. He makes me want to get informed and makes me want to speak up and makes me feel like I matter. He does not seem like a person who would govern on the basis of fear but on the basis of faith and of perseverance and of STRENGTH. He inspires me.

When I have a daughter, I can't wait to tell her that I was present for this and a part of it, that Aunt Alayna and I LOST OUR SHIT at a bar and wept tears of joy. That I voted for change and I supported the best candidate for the job--a charismatic, generous and intelligent man who deserves that high honor. I want to tell her that I cast my ballot with her in mind--that I want the earth to be in good shape when she is living on it and I am long gone, that I believe she has rights as a woman that need to be protected and that I hope one day we can watch future election results together and celebrate a hard won victory.

Election Day in Queens

2008-11-04T07:05:00.002-05:00

So, I just voted for our next President of the United States, Barack "Rockstar" Obama.

I was going to talk about the giddiness I felt, standing in line with my roommate at 6:30 in the morning, the joy and the excitement as I waited, the honor and the humility I felt as an American, as a woman, as a young person with an opinion who was able to express it.

But I think the better story here is the elderly woman in charge of signing us in at our district's table. As my roommate said, she probably voted Lincoln into office and she got in a HUGE fight with the other volunteer. Something about counting, something about something, something about a HUGE LINE of people in QUEENS, I don't really know but I DO KNOW that New Yorkers are not the most patient people.

I was doing fine, thank you. But other people were not.

Let's also add a little bit here about a girl wearing a HIDEOUS sweater and how she asked my roommate and I where the line was for the 15th district.

"We're in it!" we chirped and she stood in line a few people behind us, rolling her eyes and tapping her foot.

Cut to Typical Queens Guy wearing a football jersey who suddenly yelled out, "ARE YOU TELLING ME I HAVE BEEN STANDING IN THE 15th DISTRICT LINE WHEN I HAVE TO VOTE IN THE 13th!?"

He then started directing us, as if we were traffic. Turns out, we were all globbed into one line and there was supposed to be two and damnit if that wasn't the BIGGEST CRISIS THAT COULD HAVE EVER HAPPENED IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD. I bet he's voting for McCain.

So we dutifully shuffled into proper lines but I guess the roommate and I were moving a bit too leisurely for some people because Hideous Sweater Girl CUT US!!!! She jumped the line by about FIVE PEOPLE. Now, because I am working on my criticism and my anger and because it was ELECTION DAY and because I was about to vote in the most historic election of my life so far, I didn't really think much of it except to make a mental note to cut her later if I ever saw her again.

After my roommate explained to me how to use the voting booth (THESE THINGS INTIMIDATE ME PEOPLE and last time I voted, it was by absentee!) about ten thousands times, it was my turn! Behind the mysterious black curtain! I refrained from making Wizard of Oz jokes. BARELY.

And so it's supposed to be a secret but it's not because I have a blog and when I moved the lever and the Obama/Biden box showed a little "X", I squealed with glee. HISTORY IN THE MAKING PEOPLE.

On the walk back home, my roommate and I were pointing out the beautiful leaves and the oddly warm weather and talked about how we are kind of awesome human beings. As we turned onto our street, we spotted Hideous Sweater girl taking out the trash.

"Is it her?"

"What?"

"No...way..."

Hideous Sweater girl not only lives on our block, she is our NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR.

She took one look at us and carefully avoided eye contact.

THAT IS RIGHT, GIRL. You better think twice before you cut people in the voting line. NOW I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE.

I Lied About the Last Post Hitting A New Low

2008-11-02T22:40:00.004-05:00

I forget things.

It might be genetic, it might be a bit of early dementia, it might be genetic early dementia. Who even knows. I've been suffering my entire life.

I will forget my keys, my wallet, my cell phone, my jacket, etc. My cousin Tom once suggested inserting a magnetic plate into my forearm so I can hang a bunch of essentials on me at all times. It would save me a lot of trouble.

On tour, I left my wallet in a Wendy's bathroom and had to drive two hours there and two hours back in wintry Michigan all by myself to retrieve it.

This past winter, I left my favorite cream-colored cardigan behind at the Actor's Equity building. It did not make it to the Lost & Found.

Last spring, I left a very important-to-me ring on the bench in the women's locker room at the gym. I also left behind a bracelet and a watch on two separate subsequent occasions. I no longer take off my jewelry at the gym.

Last weekend, I left my brand new yellow scarf in a dressing room at the mall. I do not remember which store. I went back to the Gap to buy a new one and they were all gone.

Tonight, I rehearsed with my accompanist at a studio in midtown and boarded the train home around 8:30. On the subway, I realized that I didn't have my glasses in hand. I assured myself I had put them in the case at the bottom of my bag but I was carrying a cup of tea and a magazine so I couldn't check. Once I had my hands free, I opened up the glasses case and it was empty.

Cursing under my breath at the supermarket, I called up the studio and after reaching three separate voicemail systems, I left a message asking them to PLEASE PLEASE call me in the morning, I was in studio D, I left my eyeglasses there on the piano, pinkish purple, thanks, here is my number, PLEASE I hope you have my glasses!!!

I walked in the door to my apartment and set my huge bag of groceries on the kitchen floor.

I grasped my coat to begin to pull it off when something caught my eye.

"Please," I sputtered to my roommate through peals of laughter. "Please take a look at what I have on right now."

"Oooookay," he said slowly.

"My glasses," I said. "My glasses are hanging on my shirt."

"Yes?"

"Guess who just left a message begging the people at the rehearsal studio to find her glasses and call her in the morning if they have them?"

"OH. MY. GOD."

"Ohhhhh yes indeed."

I am getting old before my time, kids and that is a fact.

SIGH.

Where This Blog Reaches A New Low

2008-10-31T08:40:00.005-04:00

I've been totally slacking when it comes to blog posting.

I find this funny since I often refresh other blogs over and over again throughout the day, often frustrated because "WHY AREN'T YOU POSTING? DON'T YOU KNOW IT IS YOUR DUTY TO ENTERTAIN ME SO I CAN ESCAPE MY CO-WORKERS' DEMANDS!? DON'T YOU?"

And then on my own blog, I write, like, a line or two and call it a week.

I wish I could say I've been MIA due to some exciting new developments.

Uhm. Let's see.

It's Halloween! Right.

I have no costume ideas but am headed down to the Village with Alayna and James later to check out the scene.

Uhhhhm.

I slept last night?

That was fun.

OH! I GOT A NEW PHONE!!!!!!

That's my interesting tidbit for the day.

Now, my co-workers and others around me have been making fun of my phone for a loonnnnggg time. I remember one specific instance where I thought I had lost it and I was frantically searching my bag when Ivan, the mailman, came by my cube.

"What are you doing?"

"IVAN. I THINK SOMEONE STOLE MY PHONE."

Ivan burst out laughing at this and exclaimed, "LAURA! WHO WOULD STEAL THAT?!"

Um. Good point. My phone was the free phone, you know? When you sign up for a contract and Sprint is all, you can buy this phone for $200 or this phone for $150 or HERE HAVE THIS THING FOR FREE. IT KIND OF SUCKS.

The internet on this phone was never enabled and despite my many attempts to rectify that, it is STILL not enabled because I kept telling myself I would upgrade it to something better. And lo! Two years went by and I still could not receive a damn PICTURE or check my e-mail or anything like that. The text message inbox also stalls out at 50 messages, forcing me to MANUALLY DELETE THEM. And the camera is the worst thing ever and I only used it to take pictures of interesting bank teller's names while waiting in line at the bank.

(I'm sad to say that when I upgraded, I lost all those pictures and it's a DAMN SHAME because I had some fantastic photos of bank name plates! FDIC Insured!)

When it comes down to it, my phone is just ghetto as all get out.

So, last week, I ventured over to the Sprint store and was all, PLEASE FIX MY LIFE.

And the salesman, Cheo, was all, "Dude. I will hook you up."

And I was all, "What kind of hook up are we talking about here 'cuz your eyelashes are BEAUTIFUL!!!!! I mean, what? My phone! Yeah! Of course!"

I will not get into why I did not venture downthe iPhone route, as in love as I am with Mac. Just...no. I couldn't. First, I am not cool enough to own something like that and second, the touch screen could be the worst possible invention ever. DO NOT GET ME STARTED. I understand I am alone in this belief so, please do not judge me. Call me quirky and let's move on.

Soooo after a little while at the store, I made a decision, purchased an upgrade, renewed my contract and behold: my poor little old Sprint phone has been replaced.

Now, I realize that my life is really not important enough to warrant a Blackberry. I tend to be anti-cell phone to begin with because I hate that people can reach me all the time and this one time? I dated a guy who probably should've dated his Blackberry instead of me because he seemed to like talking to it a lot more and would often whip it out mid-conversation with me. I think he probably tongue-kissed it when I was not around.

Point is, poor little Sprint phone did not take kindly to being replaced.

Heyyyy buddy! Whaddya say I get to stick around? Laura still has a special place in her heart for me!

Whadda say ol' buddy, ol' pal? Can't we be chums? I know I'm old! But I have sentimental value!

NOT ON YOUR LIFE! YOU BETTER RUN YOU OLD FART BEFORE I KICK YOUR ASS VIA WIRELESS INTERNET!

OOMPH! AHHHH! @%!#$!!! NOOOOO!! OWWWW!!! GULP! SIGH KAPOW!

VICTORY.

So, that is the story of how my Blackberry came to power. It's intense, yeah, but I mean, have you SEEN a Blackberry? You don't want to mess with it. Trust me. I still feel it's unbridled power AKA I have no idea how to use it.

I must run to work now since I am late. (SURPRISE.) I plan on donating my deceased phone since my office is having a Donate Your Old Useless Got-Their-Ass-Kicked-By-A-Blackberry phone drive. I will miss it, that is for sure but I'm not losing any sleep over it. Wednesday night, JK taught me how to download ringers to my Blackberry and now, every time it rings, everyone around me is subjected to Foreigner and their classic rendition of "Waiting For A Girl Like You".

THIS GADGET COULD BE THE BEST THING THAT'S EVER HAPPENED TO ME.

Happy Halloween. Give me some candy, I will be dressing up as a super lame blogger, no costume required.

Bad Combination...

2008-10-28T21:08:00.003-04:00

Having the hiccups and applying mascara at the same time...

AGHHHHHHHHHH.

A Day in the Life

2008-10-22T22:25:00.003-04:00

Hello! In my previous post, I mentioned that I had attempted a sort of "A Day in Laura's Life" photo essay. To be honest, I found it kind of boring. I tried to take some more photos today in the hopes that I could piece together two days and show off something interesting.

Uh. Well. I'll leave that for you to decide. I couldn't get the pictures on here without them taking up the ENTIRE BLOG and then some, so I put together a set on flickr.

If you want to know what it's like to be me on a typical Tuesday or Wednesday, please click here. Since I took a few photos today as well as yesterday, you can see TWO days, that's right folks, TWO! Think of it as a CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE story. Does the heroine end up watching a play? Or baking pumpkin muffins? It's completely up to you!

In other news, a group I belong to entitled "Twentysomething Bloggers" declared that today is VIDEO DAY. Now, I had no plans to participate but unbeknownst to me, JK AKA the Wito took a video of me attempting to open a can of pumpkin puree this evening. I caught on that he was videotaping about 10 seconds into the video but not before making some fantastic faces. I am quirky. Here is the proof.

Issues With A Can Opener from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

I Will Let Go If You Will Let Go

2008-10-21T23:10:00.002-04:00

Today I took a picture of my entire day, a photo every hour or so, thinking it would morph into some really philosophical blog entry about my every day life.

Uh. It's just lots of pictures of New York City and maybe the door to the women's bathroom at work and maybe me in an elevator a few times.

So, um, not as good an idea as I previously thought? Let's move on.

I've been giving this commitment-phobe thing a lot of thought. And I am not going to lie here: it totally sucks.

I am up to the part in the book where I take a notebook and answer approximately 700 questions about my previous relationships. I am supposed to start at the beginning and work my way to the present. Allegedly, I will see a pattern. And it will be enlightening and stuff.

I got through two.

Two relationships.

And then I began to bawl and shut the book.

This is...progress?

Basically, what I'm saying is, it hurts. I know evaluation of the past is necessary to move forward. I don't want to linger there, I don't want to beat myself up over it because it's in the past but oh my God, it hurts more than I thought it would. The realization is that I have not been afraid of commitment over the past year or so but for the past six years.

I repeat. SIX. YEARS.

I have not finished the book and I do not have another therapy session until Monday so I can give you my theory right now, as it stands.

One day, a long time ago, at the tender age of 17 I fell flat on my face in love. It was all-consuming and powerful and I know, I was young but it was real to me. I firmly believed I had met the man I was going to marry, that I could find no one who connected with me like him, who challenged me intellectually, who made me laugh until my sides hurt, who showered me with affection often and with ease.

Two years later, the relationship was over. My heart didn't just break, it shattered into a pile of pieces that I could not put back together. I fell into a deep depression and the months that followed are now hazy. I do not remember walking to class or what I learned or anything at all except stretching on my back in jazz class and tears streaming down my cheeks and onto the dance floor.

My theory is that I emotionally shut off a switch. The pain was too great and I made up my mind that I would NEVER be that hurt again. I would NEVER open myself up to that amount of grief because then surely, I would be dead. So, sure. I would date again, I would have fun but NO WAY was anyone else getting close to me like THAT.

And so I established a lovely pattern of keeping men in my life at arm's length. Do not ask me to meet your parents or I will tell you that you are MOVING TOO FAST, even after a year of dating. Do not ask me to plan a vacation with you or to come to your friend's wedding or ask me what my plans are for the summer because then I will assume you want to stay with me for the long haul and I will promptly pack my bags and leave. It's been great but it really is getting so late! Phew!

This realization is so incredibly sad and painful to me as the young woman who thought that she was always giving all of herself, to everyone. I have not. My love has been conditional and full of escape clauses. The exercise in the book showed me that. When I compare the two lists of answers, the first list with my Very In Love Boyfriend and the second for the boyfriend who followed...oh, my. They are two different lists.

That is what made me cry, the overwhelming tidal wave of guilt and general YOU ARE SUCH AN ASSHOLE criticisms. To think that I have had long-term relationships with people who loved me, who wanted all of me and I...I ran away. I was running away from the beginning, the entire time and I was blind to that fact. The problem was always with them.

Now, there is something to be said for some men just not being the right ones. And I believe that, I do. But my Lord, have I dated some super awesome men and even THOSE guys? Maybe even some of those guys were not long-term dating material but I wish I had been more present in those relationships. I wish I had dared to fall in love with the wrong person, to open myself up to them, even if we were only meant to be for a short while. Instead, I dated in fear and over-analyzed every single one of them. I wish I had been able to shut that part of me off and been more open to the possibility.

I had an emotional meltdown this summer that many of you may recall. I am too tired to link to the posts and I think I have linked to them enough, quite frankly. They are a bit embarrassing. Summation: I discovered an ex of mine was getting married and I FREAKED OUT like a crazy person.

Everyone told me it was normal to feel that way. It was normal because I just wanted that for myself! And it sucked that someone else was having it! And blah blah. But I recall saying in a post or in the comments that that wasn't quite it. I truly didn't feel jealous that someone was getting married. I didn't take stock of my life or question where I was or compare myself to that.

Instead, I reacted as if I just got dumped. It was an absurd reaction and I literally cried for DAYS. The relationship ended years ago and I felt as if just the day before he had turned around and walked out. It was confusing and hard for me to explain to anyone. People didn't really know what to say to me because I couldn't accurately articulate what I was feeling.

Now, I get it.

I am learning that a commitment-phobe loves to have an out. They keep their partners at a distance. They tend to run from one relationship to another. They emotionally or physically cheat to create distance. Me personally? I like to keep all my ex-boyfriends around JUST IN CASE I suddenly change my mind and want to jump back into a relationship with them.

When I found out that my ex was getting married, I honestly felt dumped because the option was still there. Sure, we didn't talk! Sure, I had no idea what was going on with his life! But I was certain that in my head, should I want to get back with him, he would be there! And it would be great! The fantasy future I mapped out in my head made PERFECT SENSE TO ME. It included a farm! And babies!

Until it vanished. Until he politely closed the door and said, "I have moved on. Take care." And I crumpled. I sank. I couldn't breathe. I honestly felt rejected because in my head, WE WERE MEANT TO BE! HE WAS MY TICKET TO TRUE HAPPINESS. Forget that I hadn't reached out to him for months, maybe a year, HE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN! GAH!

So, phew.

I am learning.

I have not made an ACTION PLAN though one is sorely needed. I am just too overwhelmed right now to make up my mind about what I want. One day at a time is all I can do. There are lots of roads to take right now but mainly, I would like to overcome my fear. I have faith in myself that this is possible.

This is heavy stuff and I'm not sure it really makes sense so I apologize for the rambling and incoherence. I think these revelatory posts are going to have to make an appearance on here until I can get it all out and then years later, read about all my drama and make fun of myself.

Deal?

Awesome. Thanks for listening.

You Should Come.

2008-10-20T23:10:00.007-04:00

In case the text is unreadable on your computer, it reads:

"On Monday November 17th, Laura Pavell returns in all her quirky oddball glory when New York City is subjected to 'Lessons Learned'...

A heartfelt journey into a Catholic girl's dating history, complete with stories, songs and more than a little self-deprecation."

"Laura Pavell is hilariously talented and way more attractive in person than I originally thought." ~Everyone who came to her last cabaret

"I wish Laura would date me..." ~Starbucks barista, 47th and 9th Ave.

Where I Over-Analyze Myself Into Oblivion

2008-10-16T22:23:00.005-04:00

For the longest time, I have refused to accept responsibility for my relationship patterns. I was always the victim. Things always happened TO ME. Sure, I felt like crap hurting people. Actually, crap doesn't even begin to describe it--guilt, agony, searing pain. I knew how deeply I hurt others by leaving meaningful relationships. I felt that, of course I did. But, don't you see, I left because they were WRONG for me. I left because I was being PRESSURED into something that didn't feel right. IT WAS NOT ME AT ALL. IT WAS ALL THEM.

OMG GUESS WHAT YOU GUYZ?

It is totally me.

Now, I don't want to discount my gut completely because I think it knows what's up most of the time. I don't regret not pursuing a relationship with that guy who showed up drunk to our first date. I don't regret walking away from a longterm relationship that my heart was just not in. But I do regret jumping to the conclusion that the problems in other relationships were NOT mine and could NOT BE FIXED and hey, you go cry yourself to sleep while I get out of this commitment as FAST AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE.

I made some big steps in therapy this week. I realized for the first time that I am very afraid. I realized that this fear prevents me from doing certain things in my life that I say I want to do. I'm all, PLEASE SOMEONE LOVE ME AND LET'S HAVE BABIES while simultaneously running away from every potential relationship that has the power to make that wish come true. Why this is so, well, I'm not entirely sure though I do have some ideas. However, the important thing is realizing that it IS true and y'all, I feel like I have been smacked in the face with a good harsh dose of reality.

I blame Laurie for this naturally because she was the first one who suggested I might have a tendency toward commitment phobia. I immediately thought, WHAT? THAT IS SO CRAZY LAURIE. AM SO TOTALLY INTO COMMITTING. WATCH ME DO IT. It was only after some self-analysis, 10,000 more e-mails to Laurie and the longest therapy session of my life that some things were brought into the light. Things that SCARED ME, people. Things that made me think, DAMNIT! YOU HAVE WORK TO DO, WOMAN.

My therapist lent me a fantastic self-help book with the cheesiest title ever. I replaced it with a cover from a Harry Potter novel so when I ride the subway, people aren't clucking their tongues and thinking, "Ohhhhhhh. SELF-HELP FREAK!" Instead, I am cheerfully reading about Azkaban and Hermione and Quidditch.

I wanted to post excerpts from the book that particularly struck me until I realized that would involve copy and pasting EVERY LINE in the book. EVERY SINGLE ONE. But okay. Let's start with this list of things that might alert you to the fact that you have some "unresolved commitment conflicts":

* You have a history of relationships in which one partner wants more while the other wants less.

To expand on this first point, if you want less (AKA me! Always me!) this is common behavior:

- Your partners have typically complained that you are pulling back, withholding or constructing obstacles and boundaries to avoid closeness or commitment.
- You may be conscious of wanting less and may methodically limit how much you give as a means of avoiding the expectation of commitment.
- You resent realistic expectations, such as intimacy, shared time, or fidelity.
- You are very skillful at avoiding commitment and have a complex repertoire of built-in behavior patterns that help you maintain distance
- You are conscious of having disappointed and hurt your partners.

Other fun alerts include:

* Within a relationship your responses tend to be highly unrealistic and extreme--overly romantic, overly critical, overly involved, overly detached.
* You look at friends who have solid commitments and think that they have compromised in a way that you wouldn't.
* You believe that any difficulties you have with commitment will be resolved once you meet the "right" person.
* You become acutely uncomfortable when you feel someone is closing in on you and invading your space.
* You gravitate toward professions or employment conditions that allow you flexibility in terms of time and space.

Damnit, you guys. I am a textbook commitment-phobe and this is fascinating to me because I wasn't always this way. AT ALL. My therapist and I discussed possible reasons why I might now be more afraid:

1. I dated a mentally unwell person who had the opposite problems I did--boundary issues/co-dependency. Couple that with my need for space and you have the most volatile, hurtful relationship I have ever been in. Scars, anyone?

2. I'm getting older. A serious relationship at 25 means more than it did at 23 and more than it did at 19. I am afraid to try to work at a relationship because it might not work out and OH THAT HURTS. But also, I am afraid to try to work at a relationship because it MIGHT work and OHHHH WHAT THE HELL DO I DO THEN!!?!?

I'm sure there are more but those are the two immediate suggestions.

Is it a coincidence that for a very long time (YEARS), I kept in touch with EVERY SINGLE EX-BOYFRIEND I EVER HAD? I mean it. Every single one. What on earth was I doing? At the time, I told myself we were just being friendly. Now I see that I was really attempting to keep my options open, keep an escape plan handy, JUST IN CASE things didn't work out with my current beau.

I have said before on this blog that I don't talk about the person I'm dating for privacy reasons. Do you know what a load of bullshit that is? I don't talk about the people I'm dating because I don't want to be held ACCOUNTABLE. Because then you'll think we're serious! Or you'll think I've moved on for good! And oh shit, if YOU think that, IT MUST BE TRUE! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

So, I'm faced with some options right now. Naturally, the only way to work through commitment issues is to, uh, commit. WHO KNEW? This involves dating. It means getting out there and meeting people and giving it 100%. Or perhaps resuscitating an old relationship in the hopes of getting it right the second time around. Naturally, all of this terrifies me but is also kind of exciting because, hm, maybe one day I won't be such a freak.

Obviously, working on commitment issues only works if I truly want to commit. And honestly? I'm still not sure that I do. Part of me feels like I never got the chance to date casually and meet men and have fun. I always seem to gravitate towards the Marrying Type of guy. I'm not saying I want to run around town with a rich business guy but I feel like that is my right as a young New Yorker and I might want to take someone up on it before I settle down.

Then again, there is the part of me that knows that I don't particularly enjoy dating. I kind of hate Rich Business Guy and all that he stands for. (Quirky Farm Boy? SIGN ME UP!) I prefer to be a serial monogamist; I like the security and comfort of someone who knows me really well. So, I'm not exactly sure where to go with this now. I could go date and have fun until I am ready to be COMMITTTED. Or, I could seek out someone right now and learn how to commit or at least, learn how to work through my fears of opening up to someone that way.

I want to be well. I want to sift through all the bullshit that has built up over the years. I want to take it one day at a time, to understand that self-awareness is the first step, to know that I am lucky to be so young and so willing to do the work. I'm not here to know everything, I'm just here to learn. I want to be patient with myself and loving and forgiving. And really, at the end of the day, I know that no matter what, I'm going to be just fine.

Anybody wanna get married?

The Dork Factor

2008-10-13T23:03:00.000-04:00

In case some of you haven't been paying close enough attention to just how much of a dork I can be, I have more evidence. You're welcome.

You may have heard, we have a new subletter.

The first time I met him, I realized that he looked instantly familiar to me.

The second time I met him, I told him that.

"You look familiar to me," I said. Because, uh, I have a way with words.

"Everyone says that to me. I'm just That Guy," he said.

"Recognizable Guy?"

"Yeah."

"No, like, I KNOW YOU KNOW YOU," I said, not at all scaring him.

"Uh..."

"Have you done any shows I might have seen?"

He kept insisting that there was NO WAY I could've seen the shows he'd done and NO WAY I'd remember him if I did because he didn't have a large role, etc. etc. He listed one and then another and I abruptly cut him off.

"OH MY GOD!!!!" I screamed in the kitchen. "YOU ARE [INSERT NAME HERE]!!!"

"Yes??" he offered meekly.

"I SAW YOU IN LES MISERABLES, 10th ANNIVERSARY CAST, BROADWAY, 1998!!!!!!"

*sputter, strange look*

"How...do you know that?"

"BECAUSE I SAW YOU IN IT!!!!"

"I know but...like...I was in the ensemble."

"Dude, you have no idea what a music theatre geek I was. I probably had your name and bio memorized by the time I walked back to Penn Station."

"Holy."

"OMGGGGGGGG I BET I HAVE A PLAYBILL AT MY PARENTS' HOUSE WITH YOU IN IT!"

"Somehow I don't doubt that."

"I SAW YOU IN A BROADWAY SHOW!!!!! HA HA HA HA HA!"

"Not only that," he said. "You remembered me ten years later."

"Welcome to the apartment," I said.

"Good to be here."

He then went into his room and locked the door.

I do not blame him.

Major News

2008-10-12T01:11:00.003-04:00

This weekend, I joined the Hollywood elite and cut eight inches off my hair resulting in what I feel is a super fabulous bob. I'd like to give a shout out to my amazing stylist Alice Ann for making me look fierce. I doubt this haircut will ever look this good again considering I am inept at copying salon blowdrying technique. So, word. This is why I have a blog: to document important life changing moments like this. You're welcome.

Typical Saturday Night

2008-10-08T07:17:00.000-04:00

Typical Saturday Night from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

Why

2008-10-07T23:01:00.000-04:00

does John McCain keep referring to me as his friend when I am CLEARLY NOT?

Little Miss Almost Long Island

2008-10-05T19:18:00.005-04:00

I was sitting at my desk at work last spring talking to my mother, the receiver clamped between my neck and shoulder as I absentmindedly organized a spreadsheet.

"So," sighed my mother. "Your sister's entering a beauty pageant."

I started.

"What?"

"She's applying for Miss Long Island and I think she has a good chance of making it."

"DEBBIE IS IN A BEAUTY PAGEANT!?"

"Yes!"

"But...but..." I sputtered, trying to keep my voice down. "But she's so tiny."

"I know!" said my mother. "But what does that matter? Besides, her height doesn't need to be listed in the application. They have no idea how short or tall she is and who cares?"

"I don't," I admitted. "But I just thought pageant girls were tall, like models."

"No idea," said my mother.

"Well, what about talent? What is she going to do for her talent?"

"There is no talent."

"What?"

"This particular pageant doesn't require talent. It's just evening wear, bathing suit and an interview, which is good."

"It is?" I asked.

"Yeah," said my mother knowingly. "We all know Debbie doesn't have talent."

"MOM!"

"It's true! I mean she has talent in other areas but she doesn't have any beauty pageant talents."

"Please don't let her ever hear you say that," I warned.

"What? I already did. She agrees with me."

...

Walking across 47th Street a few weeks later, I scrambled to answer my vibrating cellphone while taking pains not to upset my full bag of audition gear and a cup of coffee. I caught it right before it stopped buzzing.

"Hello?"

"WHAT ARE MY HOBBIES?"

"What?"

"MY HOBBIES! MY HOBBIES! I need to fill out my hobbies on the application! What are they?"

"Deb," I answered slowly. "Isn't that something you should know?"

"No! I mean. Unless.."

"Unless?"

"Unless I can say bartender?"

"Since when you are a bartender?"

"I'm not. I just mean like, that's something I'm good at."

"I don't think that's an acceptable answer. I mean, I don't know. What do you like to do?"

"I LIKE TO DRINK."

"Deb? Can we steer this conversation away from alcohol? What else do you do?"

"I don't do anything! I go to college!"

"And drink! I know, I get it. Well, why don't you just tack on some stuff you did in high school? Field hockey? Student government? Or just make up some things that sound good?"

"Like what?"

"Like...knitting? You knit, right?"

"Yeah."

"You bake? Why don't you say you like to cook?"

"Because I don't. I like to bake."

"Say that then!" I blurted out, exasperated. "Debra, none of those girls actually tell the truth on their pageant applications. It's a well-known fact that everything is embellished. Come on, think about when you applied to college. How much of that was true?"

"Good point. I'll get back to you."

Click.

...

A few weeks ago, Ivan the mailman made his usual pitstop at my desk.

"What are you doing this weekend?"

"Going to a beauty pageant on Long Island," I confessed.

"Wait wait, HOLD THE FUCK UP. You're going to a LONG ISLAND BEAUTY PAGEANT?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"DUDE!!!!" he cried out, slapping his hands together. "THE AMOUNT OF FAKE TAN IS GOING TO BE INCREDIBLE!!!!!"

...

The pageant was held at a country club which sat majestically on a sprawling golf course somewhere out in Suffolk County. The lawns were immaculate, the skies clear, the temperature settled at a perfect crisp September degree. My family stood around awkwardly, making conversation until it was time for the doors to open, eyeing the other families who seemed to have the hang of how things were going to go down. We hadn't a clue, this being the first pageant any of us had ever attended.

"Are you ready for this?" I asked my brother and his wife.

"YOU HAVE NO IDEA," they replied.

It is probably not necessary to mention this but my family is so not a pageant family. With the exception of a 1994 dance recital, my family members have only ever sat through one of my many plays or musicals, something scripted, something with music by Andrew Lloyd Webber. But a PAGEANT? An event that left Debbie up on a stage in an evening gown and also, GULP, a BATHING SUIT!? A competition where there was a clear WINNER? How do we handle our pride when she LOSES!?!?

The seven Debbie Supporters dutifully filed into a row of fold-up chairs in a large conference room with a makeshift stage at the front of it. I knew immediately by glancing around that the Dlug family was way out of their league. Other competitors had families that took up seven rows at a time. They also had SIGNS, made out of posterboard, splattered with glitter. One perky row of relatives wore headbands with antennae spouting out the top. To the antennae, they had glued pictures of their daughter's face. You had to give them an A for effort.

My older brother, Paul, tapped me on the shoulder.

"I think it's time we start drinking."

"AGREED."

We stood in a line at the cash bar at the back of the room.

"Dude," I said to Paul. "THIS IS SO INSANE. Does Debbie even stand a chance against girls that have done this their whole lives?!"

"I have no idea," he said. "But the sheer Long Islandness of this room will make it allllll worth it."

Alcoholic beverages in tow, Paul and I made our way back to our seats and eagerly waited for the opening number.

We were not disappointed. The girls exploded onto the stage performing enthusiastic choreography by a cheesy pop song. I'm not sure what it was exactly because I blacked it out of my memory. The girls were outfitted in white t-shirts, jeans and white sparkly sneakers. My sister step-touched with the best of them and I have to say, in a completely unbiased way, though she was the shortest, she was by far the prettiest.

Each contestant had decorated their own shirt with PUFF PAINT, a substance I had not personally seen since fifth grade. Most of them painted on big neon words about their specific platform. I caught glimpses of their fine artwork "SAY NO TO DRUGS" and "RISE AGAINST DATING VIOLENCE" but I kept snapping my attention back to one girl with curly brown hair. Her platform, I would later learn from reading the program was "Spiritual Enlightenment". But I did not know that then and I spent the opening number unable to move my eyes from her white t-shirt, bare except for three huge crucifixes painted on in brown puff paint.

"That girl really loves Jesus," I whispered to my mother.

"I KNOW!" said my mom, throwing back a sip of apple martini. "ISN'T IT GREAT?!"

The girls ran back to change for the bathing suit portion and we were introduced to our host--Miss Long Island 1989. Paul and I guesstimated that she'd used approximately 1.5 bottles of hairspray while getting ready for the pageant. It was a head of hair I have only seen down South and I don't plan on seeing the likeness of it ever again which I have to say, makes me kind of sad.

At this point, I leaned over to my father and asked him for a pen. I spent the rest of the pageant scribbling furiously on the back of an envelope in bright purple ink.

"What is she doing?" asked my aunt.

"Oh, the usual," stated my mom. "She's capturing the details for her blog."

The host kept an upbeat persona, smiling while reading trivia about all the contestants as they cautiously walked the runway in front of the judges. I noted that she also liked to throw out words of encouragement. I counted at least six instances of "GO GIRL!!!!" throughout the course of the evening. I didn't even know that phrase existed anymore.

We sat through a seemingly endless parade of contestants, all strutting their stuff in tiny bikinis except for Miss Spiritual Enlightenment who wore a modest one-piece. I found the bathing suit competition to be an extremely uncomfortable experience. The Miss Long Island AND Miss Long Island Teen competitions occur in the same event. So, for every twenty-something girl you had working it in next to nothing, you had a shy 15 year old girl follow. I wanted to crawl under my seat, thinking of myself at 15 or 16 or hell 18. Get up in front of people in a bathing suit? NO THANK YOU. FOR REAL.

"I like her the best," whispered my mother, pointing out a Miss Long Island Teen Contestant in a white halter top.

"Why?"

"She's got cellulite."

I concentrated on the host's commentary which she read off index cards.

"Amanda enjoys playing the piano, flute and oboe. She has traveled the world and speaks five languages."

My grandmother, clearly tipsy after her glass of Merlot, pumped her fist in the air at that point and shouted, "GOOD FOR YOU!!!!!!!"

With the exception of my very encouraging grandmother, my family was out for blood. We were suspicious of anyone who outshone my sister. The tidbits got more and more absurd as the contestants came out on the stage. The girl ahead of Debbie had some impressive if somewhat outlandish achievements.

"Stefanie enjoys participating in student government, tutoring, working for Students Against Drunk Driving and recently? Saved an autistic child's life."

My entire family blanched at this.

"SAVED AN AUTISTIC CHILD'S LIFE?!" I hissed to my mother. "THAT IS NOT EVEN FAIR."

At that moment, my sister appeared on the stage, stunning in a red bikini and her so-called "stripper heels". She was confident and easy, walking in front of the judges, striking the required pageant poses. I wanted to cheer, I was so ridiculously proud. The host continued with information about my sister.

"Debbie enjoys baking, knitting and says that good things come in small packages!"

"WHAT?!" I grabbed my mother's arm, horrified. "THAT'S ALL THAT SHE SAID?! DUDE, SOME TEENAGER IS SAVING AUTISTIC CHILDREN AND SHIT AND DEBBIE LIKES TO BAKE?!?!?!?"

"Overachievers," muttered my mother, finishing off her appletini.

"And now," announced our host, her voice dripping with sugar, "We'd like to introduce our first performer of the evening! Miss Green Long Island!"

Miss Green Long Island wore gaucho pants and a tank top and performed an interpretive dance to an acoustic version of the Beatles' "I Want To Hold Your Hand".

I turned to my father and gave him a thumbs up. He rolled his eyes and declared, "I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON." Miss Green Long Island rolled around the stage, reaching out her hands in anguish, begging someone to help her save the planet.

"Oh, my God," exclaimed my brother behind me. "MAKE HER STOP."

My sister-in-law smacked him on the arm.

"I can't," I said. "No one can. She wants you to HOLD HER HAND. HOLD IT! STOP GLOBAL WARMING!"

"Laura!" hissed my sister-in-law. "STOP BEING A BLONDE BITCH."

"Dude," I calmly said, eyeing Miss Green Long Island as she pounded the stage with her two fists. "I am keeping it real."

Soon enough, it was time for the evening gown portion of the evening and for each girl, they played a snippet of a love song from the 1980's. When Debra appeared on the stage, the music abruptly shifted into Bette Midler's "Wind Beneath My Wings", a cliche heaped on a cliche with a side of cheese. She was breathtaking in a cream-colored floor-length gown. Her green eyes were alive and bright and she smiled confidently.

I felt all the "WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING HERE?" arrogance drain out of me. The feminist inside me who I had been pushing down all evening to keep from screaming was suddenly silenced. Yes, okay. I was at a PAGEANT where girls are judged on their FACES and their BODIES and yet, wow. There was my petite little sister, all grown up.

As Bette Midler belted her heart out, I felt tears form in my eyes and tumble down my cheeks. Debbie who was moody and aggressive, snarky and unpredictable had morphed into a lovely young woman. She was radiant in her evening wear and I wanted to jump to my feet and clap for her, to let her know that I loved her and I was proud of her and my God, she was the prettiest woman in the contest and in the room.

But pretty soon Bette Midler disappeared and the contestants filed out on stage together to await the selection of the top five. I immediately snapped back to reality and began judging everyone. My family held their breath to see if my sister's name would be called.

It was.

The host excitedly went down the line of finalists, asking them their FINAL QUESTION. Debbie looked alert and ready while my entire family inched forward in their seats, nervous and sweating in anticipation.

"DEBRA," smiled the host. "What do you think about women getting plastic surgery?"

"I..." started Debbie. She took a breath. "I think it's really sad that women feel the need to do that. But, if it's going to boost your confidence and make you feel better, then I think it's okay."

My grandmother took this opportunity to raise her fist again and let out a huge cry of triumph. You would've thought that my sister just announced that she could raise people from the dead and save our entire economy to boot.

The judges took a moment to deliberate, handed the envelope to Miss Big Hair 2008 and she painstakingly listed the winners, beginning with fourth runner up.

"PLEASE," I begged. "DON'T LET HER GET CALLED FIRST."

"I know," whispered my mother, agitated and nervous. "She's come so far!"

"Yeah," I said. "Besides, we are SO NOT FOURTH RUNNER UP PEOPLE."

Fourth runner up was someone else. I think it was the girl with the antennae family.

We collectively sighed.

Third runner up was another contestant.

Second as well.

And then, it was just Debbie and one other girl, standing face to face, gripping each other's arms, pretending to smile, pretending to be happy for the other person, NO MATTER WHAT.

"This is NOT HAPPENING." I turned to my little brother, unable to watch.

"DUDE, SHE HAS TOTALLY MADE IT TO THE END."

"And the first runner up for Miss Long Island 2009 is..."

I gasped, waiting. We all leaned over, practically falling out of chairs.

"DEBBIE DLUG!"

We all went crazy, applauding and howling like fools.

"DAMNIT! SO CLOSE!!!!" shouted my brother, slapping me on the back.

"But dude, FIRST RUNNER UP! Debbie freaking almost won a BEAUTY PAGEANT! HOW DID THAT EVEN HAPPEN!??!?!?"

"I KNOW!!!!!" shouted my mother, jumping to her feet. "AND TO THINK SHE DOESN'T EVEN HAVE ANY TALENT!!!"

"OH MY GAWD," said my dad, astonished. "DEBBIE ALMOST FREAKIN' WON DAT THING."

"I know, dad! That is kind of insane!"

Families stood up to stretch, trying not to be disappointed for their loved ones, the signs and posters laying still under chairs. The girls were ushered off the stage and told to get ready for pictures. My relatives stood, unbelieving, unable to digest the fact that my sister had come close to winning something so spectacular.

It was incredibly hilarious and touching to think that my sister had applied on a whim and every other contestant had been participating in pageants for years, investing in coachings, bathing suits, gowns, and consultations. Debbie had to be taught everything a few days before--how to walk, how to pose, how to hold herself. She hadn't had any expectations at all and she nearly won the entire thing.

Later at the reception, after the flurry of hugs and pictures and flowers, my sister sat with us at a table and dug into a plate of pasta.

"What did you talk about at your private interview?" asked my father. He was curious to know about the part of the pageant that we hadn't been able to witness where each girl meets the judges individually to talk about their platform. My sister had chosen "Alternative Treatments for Cancer".

"I talked about you, dad," she said. "I mentioned the treatments you're getting and how I'm applying to chiropractic school and how I'm really interested in alternate therapies."

"You talked about me?" asked my dad, his lip twitching.

"Yeah, dad! You're totally my hero!"

My father began to speak but was overcome with tears. He cleared his throat and took a sip of coffee.

"You didn't have to tawk about ME!" he said, embarrassed.

"But I did!" insisted my sister. "And they LOVED IT!"

"See, dad?" I said. "You are the reason for your daughter getting crowned RUNNER UP in a beauty pageant."

"Well," said my dad, smiling broadly. "Don't I just have da best family in da world?"

"You do," I said, squeezing my sister's tiny hand. "You do."

I Would Post But...

2008-09-30T08:41:00.002-04:00

I'm in the middle of some major music therapy.

Tonight, I have a date with my gangsta brother, Jem, and the inimitable Ben Folds.

Be very afraid and very, very, jealous.

And What It All Comes Down To...Is That Everything's Gonna Be Fine Fine Fine...

2008-09-26T23:42:00.000-04:00

I take back everything I said in my last post.

Alanis Morissette just healed my soul.

The End.

My 300th Post and Funktastic to Boot

2008-09-26T18:23:00.004-04:00

I'm in a funk.

It's a weird numb sort of feeling that I often bubbles up when my hormones are out of whack. Right before my period comes crashing down on me, I will lay on the carpet and blink at the ceiling. Or I will just simply answer, "I don't know" to any question anyone asks me. Actually, that is not completely unlike me all the time but whatever. The hormones aren't to blame this time and I don't really know what is. (And what the heck do I do when I can't blame something!? UGH!)

I woke up yesterday and there were three possible things to do--go for a jog, go to an audition, go to work. I didn't want to do any of those things and instead, sat at the kitchen table staring at nothing in particular wondering what to do next. Eventually, I got in the shower and showed up a bit late to work and then spent my time there doing the exact same thing.

I don't particularly feel like crying though I finally caved in and did a bit of that last night. But on the whole, this is not a depression. I know what that feels like and I am not suffocating in the dark. I don't feel particularly worried about anything either even though nothing lately is going my way. (THANK YOU LANDLORD FOR RAISING MY RENT. HOW DID YOU KNOW I FINALLY GOT A RAISE AT WORK? HOW??)

I feel tired. I feel off. I feel like I can't feel. My friends encourage me to take care of myself. "Just do something that YOU want to do! What would make you happy?" And...I draw blanks. Nothing, really, actually. I am okay and not okay with pretty much everything. Maybe that is the issue--where is my excitement? Where is my adventure? What am I looking forward to?

Nothing, really.

Auditions have sucked my soul. I very well may just be shutting down because, psychologically after singing OVER AND OVER for rooms full of people who don't care, my mind is all, "PLEASE STOP GETTING REJECTED ALL THE TIME. WE CANNOT TAKE IT ANYMORE." And my body is echoing that with a, "Seriously, are you insane? This sucks." And my emotions are just about dead so that sort of sums it up nicely.

So this is where everyone chimes in with, "But look at all you've accomplished!" or "Look at all you have!" And to that I say, "thank you" and start feeling like a selfish asshole. I didn't lose money in the stock market, I didn't lose my home, I don't really have anything to feel bummed out in particular. That may be the problem, right? If I could nail down exactly what was bugging me, then I could work towards finding a solution, hmmm?

If I don't know what's the matter, what on earth am I supposed to do about it?!

I'm not sure but I have taken a few small steps in case you are interested or suffering from the same ailment:

1. I sat with two handsome men last night and watched three hours of ABC TV. We also ate Halloween Oreos. I highly recommend this.

2. I bought a gallon of yellow paint for my bedroom. I will begin slathering it on my walls sometime this weekend.

3. I called out of work today.

4. I whined on mah blog.

5. I had Peanut Butter puffins for dinner.

I am going to get in the shower and make myself look presentable as the roommate and I have tickets to see Alanis Morissette at Radio City tonight. I'm hoping she will help me out a bit and make me feel something. ISN'T IT IRONIC, ALANIS? ISN'T???

I'm sad to be missing the debate tonight but I will catch up on it when I get home. It's all giving me a headache anyway. I don't discuss politics and economics for a reason--they do not interest me and they just make me upset. I mean, okay, don't freak out. I am interested in how it affects me and my family. I'm interested when useless people hold positions of power and make things difficult and YES OKAY, I am taking notice of the bailout and of Sarah Palin and the mortgage crisis...BUT, I am not really interested in debating it with you.

Does this make sense? Even if we agree, I just get bored. And trust me, YOU will get bored. I think other people are more articulate than me on this subject (see also: my older brother) and I'd rather listen to a conversation than join in one myself because, if you haven't noticed, I don't speak English particularly well. I learn a lot more listening to people discuss it than attempting to sputter out how I feel. ALL THAT ASIDE: I am bummed to be missing the BIG! DEBATE! and I look forward to viewing it later but oh for the love of God, please don't expect me to have anything intelligent to say about it afterwards.

So, Alanis and I are gonna belt our brains out tonight and I'm wearing a new dress, so what could go wrong!?

Answer: NOTHING.

Wish me luck, folks. I'm off to conquer the world the only way I know how--like a rockstar.

For All The Showtune Lovers Out There

2008-09-25T07:37:00.001-04:00

Yesterday, over a delicious lunch, Alayna and I were discussing how living in New York City can sometimes be sort of amazingly cool. Before meeting me at the always fulfilling Hale and Hearty, she had walked through Central Park to stare at David Blaine for awhile. I mentioned that it's sort of fantastic on so many levels to be able to physically partake in things that most people in the country only read about on the news.

This is often how I feel when a friend of mine asks me, "What do you want to do later?" and one of my answers is "Oh, let's go see a show!" and for no reason at all, we go see a Broadway play on a Thursday night. I always try to take a step back and remember to be grateful about this when I think of the rest of America, able to see maybe one Broadway show in their entire lives. Then again, I don't think the rest of America really CARES about Broadway shows the way I do and to that I say, FINE, I didn't want you to live here ANYWAY.

But along with the perks of being a New Yorker come the hassles. The fact that oh, millions of other people decided this was a cool place to live too! And most of them ride the subway to work at the same time and not all of them shower properly and OH MY GOD WOMAN STOP BUMPING INTO ME. Everything here is expensive, traffic is a nightmare, people don't have patience for anything and the general attitude is DO NOT FUCK WITH ME. (I could possibly be thinking of raising my unborn children elsewhere, for obvious reasons.)

My classes at the School of Practical Philosophy have helped me combat this negativity. I've learned a ton of exercises on how to let the impatient I WANT TO KILL YOU thoughts go, how to stay in the present moment and how, when things are chaotic around me, to really fall still and let the poisonous energy move around me, leaving me unaffected. This week, I have had numerous times to practice this thanks to the Important Political Stuff going on right near my office.

As most of you know, President George W. Bush and some other lovely people (the ever popular hockey mom Sarah Palin herself! Go girl!) came to visit the UN this week. Now, I don't usually pay attention to things like this, especially concerning the President because, wow, let's face it: I couldn't care less. But the second I climbed out of the subway on Tuesday morning and was caught behind a police barricade, all that changed--I was late to work (I am always late to work) and there was a mob of angry New Yorkers being held behind gates, unable to move in any direction and OH! THE! INJUSTICE!

I decided right then and there that I was not going to get upset so I immediately pasted a smile to my face, took a deep breath and started humming songs from the long-running smash hit musical, Les Miserables. Come on! It was so appropriate! The police barricade! The mobs! The need for a REVOLUTION!

Do you hear the people sing? SINGING THE SONG OF ANGRY MEN!

"Can't you just let us through?" whined an impatient middle-aged New Yorker with a black and red scarf around her neck.

Red! The blood of angry men! Black! The dark of ages past!

"No," said the policeman, not caring in the slightest.

"YOU ARE BEING AN ASSHOLE!" screamed another woman, "I WANT TO SEE YOUR BADGE NUMBER!"

The cop nonchalantly rattled it off, "726531. Go ahead and report me, lady."

And so Javert, you see it's true! This man bears no more guilt than you! Who am I? 24601!!!!

"I WILL!" she screamed, "I NEED TO GO TO WORK AND THAT OTHER COP SAID WE COULD PASS!"

Somewhere beyond the barricade is there a world you long to see?

"Well," said the cop, "I'm telling you that you CAN'T pass. And I'm in charge."

And so it has been! And so it is written! On the doorway to paradise that those who falter and those who fall, MUST PAYYYYY THE THE PRIIIIICE!

It was at this moment, in the middle of my rendition of "Stars" as the misunderstood Inspector Javert, that a lovely Southern woman with a bright pink fanny pack spoke up.

"I THINK YOU SHOULD LISTEN TO THE LAW ENFORCEMENT," she warned.

"Shut up! I have a JOB to get to!" exclaimed a few of the complaining women.

Lovely ladies! Come along and join us!

The Southern woman continued, "I really think you need to listen to the police. The president of the United States is driving by and I...I think they should just HAVE YOU ARRESTED."

And those who follow the path of the righteous, shall have their reward!

It was at this moment that the parade of Important Vehicles decided to finally pass. Black car after black car, an ambulance, police on motorcycles and yes, the President of the United States himself with men pointing huge guns out the window of his limousine, driving on by, as calm as could be. A few New Yorkers didn't even hesitate and whipped out their middle fingers as the Southern tourist and her husband gasped in horror.

Where are the leaders of the land? Where are the swells who run this show!?

After the President passed and was safely on his way to the UN, the cops began to open the barricades and let us through. A sea of business casual clad New Yorkers pushed their way onto the open sidewalks and hurried down the street, briefcases gliding by, high heels clicking madly on the concrete. I stood still for awhile, near the curb, letting everyone shove and yell, taking a few deep breaths, not ready to move right away.

On my own...

When the crowds had moved on and the sidewalks had cleared a bit, I finally decided to walk easily down to my office building. I realized that when I put myself in a positive place, showtunes or not, nothing really bothers me. I knew my boss would understand, I knew there was nothing I could do to change the situation and I knew that getting frustrated was a futile endeavor.

I was also able to see the humor in all of it--the New Yorkers yelling at the cops, the tourists yelling at the New Yorkers, me, singing a full-length Broadway musical on a Tuesday morning. It's just the energy in this town, I guess, the madness and the hilarity that I've come to really love and embrace. And it takes effort, my God, does it take effort not to want to punch people in the face on any given day. But now, I'm trying to send compassion their way and lots and lots of love, which, okay, is NEVER EASY here in NYC.

But, as my favorite lyric from Les Miserables states, "To love another person is to see the face of God." And so, I try. I really, really try.

Leaning Toward the Left

2008-09-23T08:33:00.005-04:00

A few weeks ago, I went to Starbucks and ordered a pumpkin spice latte. I rarely order any of their specialty drinks, usually terrified of all the extra calories and sugar but damnit if a pumpkin coffee drink didn't sound like something I ABSOLUTELY NEEDED IN THAT MOMENT. So, I handed over my life savings and took an eager sip and...recoiled. Uh. Wow. That there is a sweet drink and after a few tastes, I'm pretty sure I developed at least four cavities.

I e-mailed my friend E who is a fabulous Starbucks barista extraordinaire and asked her if she could please instruct me how to order the pumpkin spice latte without all the...pumpkin spice? She e-mailed me back, nice as can be, telling me that the flavor comes from the sugary syrup and just to ask for less pumps of it in my drink. Then in paranthesis she wrote (Oh, and since you don't drink milk, you'd need to order it like this...) and proceeded to spell out the correct way of ordering the entire drink.

This made me very happy because I KNOW Starbucks baristas and they always roll their eyes when people order things "incorrectly".

"A medium...whipped...uh, a soy iced decaf...wait..."

I was proud that I was now equipped to order my deliciousness properly however, it took me about 3 days to memorize the drink order because apparently I AM VERY HIGH MAINTENANCE ABOUT THESE THINGS. I was a bit overwhelmed realizing just how precise I was going to have to be when ordering it. I thought of maybe just letting it go, it was too much work but sure enough the weather got cooler and OH! A PUMPKIN! COFFEE DRINK! PLEASE!

As I stood in the line at Starbucks a few days later, I was exchanging annoyed glances with the woman in front of me as the shop was understaffed and the people before us were ordering 10 drinks a piece.

"They should just let us enter our drinks electronically," she said. "Wouldn't that save so much time?"

"I suppose so..." I concurred, not really having any opinion at all.

"I mean, geez. Not to mention these people and their drinks! I mean it's just so ridiculous how specific people get."

"Isn't it?" I sighed.

"It is! It's just really unnecessary and pretentious."

And then she stepped forward and ordered a "tall skim latte" please and then flashed me a grin as if to say, "Look how normal I am!"

And then I stepped forward and said, "Hello. I would like a grande no whip soy two pump pumpkin spice latte please."

And the woman in front of me fell over and died.

And my head exploded.

And you know what? The pumpkin spice latte wasn't pumpkiny ENOUGH. I feel like my magic number might be three pumps. Now I have to go back and TRY IT AGAIN.

...

The other night, I walked in the door, dropped my bag onto a dining room chair with a huff and proceeded to remove my clothes. My roommate entered the kitchen to chat and watched me as I pulled my shirt off over my head. I had kept my sweater on for the walk from the subway and it was a little too warm for that not to mention the Starbucks drink I was sipping which had raised my temperature quite a bit.

"You know," said my roommate slowly as I stood there in my bra, "You're going to have to stop doing that soon."

"What?"

"Taking off your clothes in the living room?"

"But I'm hot!"

"I know. But...our subletter's coming soon."

"So what?"

"So...he's straight."

Pause.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Sucks."

"What about my pants? Do I have to keep those on?"

"LAURA."

"Sorry. It's just. Ugh. STRAIGHT PEOPLE ARE SO ANNOYING."

...

I feel like, when the Republicans rant and rave about people living in big cities that have no religion and no morals...

They are probably talking about me, standing in my underwear in my living room in New York City, drinking a $50 seasonal Starbucks latte. Keep your kids far away from me is all I'm saying. I am what is wrong with this country. YES I AM.

Night Owl

2008-09-21T05:18:00.002-04:00

Considering the time, I'm fairly certain I'm not going to want to get out of bed tomorrow. At all. The End.

Mouse Sighting #2 and Other Non-Related Ramblings

2008-09-18T22:33:00.003-04:00

Just as I flopped down on my bed to write something witty, out of the corner of my eye, I caught Sir Thump-A-Lot sprinting past my doorway and into the living room. I ran after him, a pathetic attempt at a high speed chase. (What exactly did I think I was going to do even if I found him? Me, a compassionate vegetarian living with gay people? Kill him with an almond cream scented candle? Smother him with a chocolate-colored throw pillow?)

Instead, I just glared menacingly around the living room and announced, "I WILL GET YOU SOONER OR LATER!" prompting my roommate to think I was talking about him.

"What???"

"NOTHING! THAT #$@#$%@%! MOUSE!"

I really don't know what to do about him. I definitely don't want him hanging around though he poses no real threat. He hasn't eaten anything as far we can tell. There aren't any droppings or crumbs or any sign that he lives with us at all. He's not disrupting the ecosystem. He's just, what? If he's not eating our food, what on earth is he doing?

The first time I caught him, he was in the bathroom, so, okay, maybe he had to pee. Or take a shower. Or organize my cleaning supplies. But just now he was running from dining room to living room so...? He ate a lovely meal and then wanted to watch TV? He wanted to fix my busted cable box? He wanted to stare out the window at the beautiful moon?

WHAT, LITTLE MOUSE!? WHAT EXACTLY ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?

And this is the blog entry where I quit my job and begin writing children's books.

Sigh.

In other news, a girl threw up on the subway tonight and of course she was sitting directly across from me. She didn't really seem bothered by her collywobbles; she just nonchalantly wiped her mouth and stood up to exit the car. When she did this, her iPod tumbled out of her hand to the floor. She didn't seem to care about this either as she held onto an earphone and subsequently dragged her iPod through the puddle of vomit as she walked off the train.

Oh, New York City. I love you.

Also, a new Philosophy semester began this evening. When I entered the lobby of the building, I felt like I was coming home. It's kind of like when I go to church. Except without all the Republicans. The topic for Part 4 is "Mindfulness" and OH COULD I USE SOME OF THAT.

I had a fantastic audition today, getting typed IN to a very popular chorus call and then asked to sing a SECOND SELECTION. To top it off, Mark, my accompanist from my cabaret, was playing the piano so he knew all my stuff. I always love coming into a room when Mark is there because he not only rocks my songs, his presence is familiar, both comforting and encouraging. I am making strides. Little by little. On good audition days like this, I just feel happy that I get to sing. I should remember to be grateful for that.

Tomorrow night, I have a hot date with Alayna which I am very excited about. We may go see a film which will be rather thrilling as I have not been to a movie in almost six months making me the only person left in the country who has not seen the Dark Knight. WHAT!? WHO AM I? Tom keeps telling me to go see House Bunny and if he suggests it one more time, I'm going to punch him in the face via the internet. I'm thinking the new Coen brothers movie instead. Anyone?

Wow! This entry contains thoughts on philosophy, movies, mice, vomit, and musical theatre. That could very well be why this blog is titled "The Spectrum". We really do talk about an array of topics here, folks. Stay tuned for a rather long post in the near future about my sister and a Long Island beauty pageant. I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING. NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT. You won't be disappointed. Happy Almost Weekend!

When the Lines of Communication Simply Don't Exist

2008-09-16T23:37:00.005-04:00

I'm not the best communicator. Can I just say that? This is especially true in situations where I am attempting to communicate feelings that make me uncomfortable, like anger or hurt or resentment. I tend to clam up and not speak at all. I'll sit, fuming for days, without making mention of it and then it will all come hurtling out of my mouth and I doubt it sounds very nice coming out like that.

The thing is...I don't think I can excuse myself with an "I'm sorry! I'm not good at talking! I'd rather write you a letter! Or a blog post! Cheers!" I would PREFER to write out my thoughts in a neat little notebook and then read them aloud to you when I am ready but holy, I think I am enough of a tool as it is. It's time to suck it up and learn how to speak.

In real life, in the real world, people talk and communicate and share what's on their mind, whether it's good or bad. I'm in my mid-20's and there really is no excuse for being awkward about this. And yet, I am. STILL. STILL!!! After over a year of therapy, I am still internalizing anger and hurt because I "don't think it matters" when I'm taken advantage of. I will take responsibility for my feelings AND yours AND your mom's AND your mom's sister because that way no one will be upset and we will all be happy while I sit seething in the corner taking everyone's shit.

I am trying to be patient with myself but it's hard. The only way to learn to communicate my needs properly is to practice. To actually speak up and tell my roommate, "I love you tons and tons but sometimes I wish you would remember to buy toilet paper," instead of maybe vomiting up a thousand things he's done wrong over the past few months that have frustrated me or gotten on my nerves. Hello to my future husband: You are in for a real treat, living with me! HA!

But oh man, dude. It's not funny. I need to learn the basic skills of confrontation. It is not a bad thing to be upset with someone, it is normal. Anger is a justifiable emotion, frustration too and yeah, okay, usually I don't mind picking up toilet paper but when I'm really in a pissy mood, my GOD does it seem like the most IMPORTANT THING IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. Especially because I'm a girl and uh, I need it every time I go. So, that is kind of part of it.

I think my lack of communication skills has really gotten me into some trouble in romantic relationships as well as friendships. I don't quite say what I mean whether in a fight or when ending the relationship. Therefore, I rarely ever get what I want. I worry so much about the other person's feelings, about how I might hurt them, about what they might think of me. I sometimes try to be so tactful that "I'm sorry, I don't think we're compatible" comes out like "YOU ARE SO GREAT AND SO NICE AND FABULOUS AND THERE'S PROBABLY A LOT WRONG WITH ME SINCE I DON'T LIKE YOU THAT MUCH. I MEAN. I LIKE YOU A LOT! I MEAN, WHAT? OF COURSE I WILL KEEP DATING YOU FOR A FEW MORE WEEKS! HA! WHY NOT?"

And then the relationship continues even though I didn't want it to. What follows is a lovely sense of resentment toward my partner that deepens every single day for "keeping me" in that situation when HELLO, LAURA, YOU CAN LEAVE ANYTIME. The relationship only ends when I am so miserable I am crying myself to sleep every night and can't help but finally blurt out "OKAY I WOULD LIKE TO BREAK UP WITH YOU BECAUSE I KIND OF HATE YOU A LOT." Or, uh, some such version of that.

This is, of course, an extreme example but a common one. And this is how my lack of communication skills really ends up biting me in the ass: by trying to protect their feelings and stay in a relationship I do not want to be in, I end up hurting them ten times more in the end. If I simply said after a few weeks or months, "Hey, I'm not so into this. I think we should part ways," I might actually be on speaking terms with more than one ex-boyfriend at the current moment. But I'm not.

I think my relationships end so badly because I lead that person to believe I feel a certain way when I really don't. I'm not being true to myself and therefore, am not being completely honest. This is not INTENTIONAL, just unfortunate. My therapist suggested that maybe I come on very strong. Not in a "PLZ MARRY ME KTHX" kind of way but in a bubbly, energetic, open way which is just me by nature. He suggested that I make the other person feel very special and cared for. So, essentially, the guy is like "WOAH THIS GIRL DIGS ME!" whereas I think I am just being polite.

Is this the worst thing you've ever read in your life? Ugh. I want to punch myself in the face.

Anyway, my therapist suggested maybe toning down the HIIIII I'M LAURAAAAAAA I AM SO PERKY AND EXCITED TO BE AROUND YOU attitude towards the beginning of my next relationship. (As if I am ever dating again, HA HA HA HA THERAPIST! YOU ARE HILARIOUS!) Since I'm not purposefully being manipulative or dishonest, there really isn't anything WRONG with coming on as open as I do. But maybe, for the sake of the boy involved, I could be a bit more cautious so they don't get the idea that I am rapidly falling in love with them. (Unless of course, I am, which, wouldn't that be fun!?)

And so, wow. Today, at my therapy session, I brought up all this stuff plus other stuff plus more stuff, yes probably about you, yes, you. I have been bottling up so many things and I apparently have been FURIOUS with people for a very long time. And yes, okay, they are taking advantage of me but dude, word, I am ALLOWING THAT TO HAPPEN. It doesn't take much to make it stop; it isn't a hard thing to fix. I guess I am kind of hating myself for being such a damn pushover and for not being as articulate as I need to be and for always putting other people first.

After I got angry, I stared crying because, wow, how sad is this? I can patch things up with my roommate and some other friends that are pissing me off lately. That's fine. But in terms of relationships, if I sum up all that I've analyzed here, it sounds like I am a total basketcase. Because I am such a lovable, open, happy, caring person, boys tend to like me a lot. And because they like me a lot and are generally awesome, I genuinely care for these men, even if I don't want to date them longterm. But it's too late, because somewhere down the line, they got the impression that we were going to be committed together for life. And then I break up with them and am all apologetic like, "It's not you, it's me, I'm so sorry, please don't hate me, etc." and then those boys get ANNNNNNNGRY.

I believe the anger stems from obvious heartbreak and hurt but also from maybe a feeling of being misled. And so their once mushy feelings of love toward me turn to bitterness and resentment. This is why I am on speaking terms with almost no one that I've ever dated. They never forgive me and they never forget and sure, they move on, I'm sure some would even laugh to read this for thinking that I care but, ow. Essentially, I am getting punished for being a loving person and HOW IS THAT FAIR?

It isn't.

But until I learn to openly communicate to people how I'm feeling, this is going to be a cycle that never ends. First, I need to forgive myself for errors that I've made, wrong signals that I've sent, happy shiny Laura coming on too strong and giving the wrong impression. Then, I need to stop blaming myself for being a terrible person. I'm not a terrible person, I'm just learning. Next, I need to allow the men to take responsibility for their own feelings. Yes, I made some mistakes but OH MAH GOD so did they. And that falls on them, not on me.

I'm hoping I can be more open in the future with all of my relationships. I want to be able to truthfully say, "I had a really nice time tonight" instead of saying it while thinking, "You bore me to tears." I'd like to one day be able to say, "I really don't think we're right for each other" instead of saying, "Let's try dating for a year just so I don't hurt your feelings." And I'd like to tell my roommate that even though I buy toilet paper way too damn much, I still love him and I didn't mean it when I said he doesn't ever vacuum. I don't either.

The End.

Realizing...

2008-09-16T08:00:00.002-04:00

Sometimes I talk too much.

Sigh.

City Mouse + Country Mouse = My Life

2008-09-12T23:31:00.004-04:00

I came home from a lovely dinner with my friend Michael tonight and intended to post an entry about it. Over dinner, Michael confessed to googling me a few months ago and finding my blog. He was hesitant to tell me he'd been reading it, feeling a little silly/stalkerish about knowing. But I am used to people finding me out this way, especially since I've added my last name to the side bar. I figured it was about time I start owning up to having this lovely internet website thing.

Anyway, I was going to post a little bit about how odd it is for me to introduce my blog to people I've just met or am becoming acquainted with. Do I put it all out there before they google me? Do I wait for them to bring it up? Blah blah.

And as I was considering all the things I could say about it, I ran to the bathroom to pee because, duh, I am always emptying my bladder. Not to be graphic but while I was on the toilet, I heard a little thump, thump, thump. I glanced casually toward the door and that's when I spotted him.

A mouse.

He was frantically trying to escape but I had shut the door to the bathroom so he was knocking himself up against it, trying to get out. It was then that I started screaming my head off (a reaction that surprised even me) and then the mouse got totally spooked and started RUNNING TOWARDS ME. Naturally, this made me scream even louder and I jumped off the toilet shrieking at the top of my lungs.

I lunged for the door, pulling my pants up on the way and retreated down the hall into the living room, shaking and breathing heavily. I have no idea why I was so freaked by his presence. I get totally skeeved out by roaches and certain creepy crawlers and I could see myself screaming like that if it was a snake or a huge city rat. But this was a tiny, fairly cute field mouse.

If you're an old fan of this blog, you'll recall I had a mouse situation before, in my college apartment in Buffalo. His name was Chewy and I eventually set him free after much agonizing. I will never forget the moment I first caught a glimpse of Chewy and how loudly I screamed and how my downstairs neighbors came thumping up to my door thinking I was being sliced to death by a machete.

I found Chewy's droppings in my cabinets in mid-November, towards the end of my last semester of college. He chewed through a bag of English muffins and left his tiny mouse poo EVERYWHERE. I was too freaked out to set a trap for him myself so I waited until my strong, very hot Republican college boyfriend came up for the weekend so he could deal with it. (Please award me points for setting back the feminist movement,THANK YOU.)

I convinced my man slave to get the cruelty-free kind of trap and we settled for a little glass cube with a trap door, gently placing a wheat thin dipped in peanut butter inside for him to grab. We put that cube in the cabinet on Friday night, expecting to find Chewy trapped inside the next morning. Surprise, that never happened.

We went out all day Saturday and still the cube remained empty. Sunday morning? No sign of Chewy. I drove my boyfriend to the airport later that afternoon and upon returning home, I opened up my cabinet assuming that there would be nothing to find. HOW WRONG I WAS.

I was face to face with two huge black eyes and two huge brown ears. Little Chewy was staring at me with longing, wondering how on earth to get out of the cube, his little tummy full of peanut butter, wanting to know HOW? HOW COULD I DO THIS TO HIM? And because he was so adorable and because of course, OF COURSE I HAD TO DEAL WITH THIS MOUSE SITUATION ALL BY MYSELF, I did the only logical thing I could think of.

I jumped back from the cabinet, screaming and screaming and screaming. (Do you get that I was screaming? BECAUSE I WAS SCREAMING! IN CASE I HAVE NOT YET MENTIONED IT.) The mouse was confined to a tiny plastic cube in my cupboard and still I screamed myself hoarse. I called my cousin Tom in a panic and he LAUGHED AT ME.

"But mice are SO CUTE!!!!" he cooed.

"THOMAS, I AM FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!??!?!?!"

"Set him free, Laura! Just take him outside."

"BUT HE'LL COME RIGHT BACK IN!!!!!!!!"

"So? Go for a walk and set him free."

"It's too late now! It's completely dark outside! I CANNOT GO WALKING ALONG THE HIGHWAY HOLDING A MOUSE IN A PLASTIC CUBE."

"Take him for a drive," suggested my cousin.

It took me an hour to pick up the cube. I am not exaggerating. One hour. I would reach for Chewy and then jump back screaming. (Again! With the screaming! For real!) Finally, I got tired of the freaking out and tired of the look on Chewy's face which was, essentially, "WILL YOU PLEASE STOP SCREAMING 'CUZ I IZ STUCK IN THIZ CUBE NOM NOM ON PEANUT BUTTER I GET OUT NOW PLZ AND EAT SOME MORE?" So, I picked him up, whimpering the entire time, grabbed my car keys and walked down three flights of stairs.

I put him in the passenger seat of my car and buckled him in with care and precision. I drove approximately 5 mph because I could not stop envisioning me stopping short or speeding and that cube falling off the seat and that freaking mouse running around my car OH MY GOD LET'S NOT THINK ABOUT THAT. I'D PROBABLY BE DEAD RIGHT NOW. Not only from the ensuing car accident but from sheer fright.

We soon arrived at the Williamsville High School and I set that cube down in the grass and ran as fast as I ever have in my life back to car so that little bastard wouldn't follow me home. So you see, I really have never been comfortable with the idea of mice. As cute as they are in books and in movies, I do not fare well when one is in front of me, either in a cube in my cabinet or on the bathroom floor, stupidly banging itself against the door.

And now, I am on my bed, paralyzed with fear but also kind of upset because I have to pee again. And I AM NOT GOING BACK IN THERE. I apologize, Michael, for not writing eloquently about our lovely time together this evening and hi, hello, thank you for acknowledging you read this blog.

If anyone has any tips for going to the bathroom without encountering mice, please let me know. And yeah, actually, I'd almost rather wet the bed than go back in there.

Also? Do you want to know what my roommate was doing while I was screaming my head off for those 20 seconds I was trapped inside the bathroom with a living breathing mouse?

Sleeping.

Do you know what he was doing AFTER I screamed my head off for 20 seconds after being trapped inside the bathroom with a living breathing mouse?

Still sleeping.

And once again, the woman is left to deal with shit on her own. OH LIFE. HOW CRUEL YOU BE.

As for Chewy's cousin, Sir Thump-A-Lot who is currently hiding in my bathroom?

Mark my words, little mouse, your days are numbered.

Class Last Night

2008-09-10T08:54:00.002-04:00

I feel like, if a casting director from the biggest casting office in the city says, "I notice you, Laura. You get better and better every time I see you. It's only a matter of time that things click into place for you. I know it can be frustrating, but keep on trucking."

I have to believe her. I have to feel validated. I have to keep going.

And I am stating right here, right now that I do believe that it will happen for me. Keep working, keep growing and sooner or later, something will click.

Ah, validation. You are so deliciously sweet.

Crippled

2008-09-09T07:47:00.007-04:00

"I can't feel my wrist," I said to my friend, Wito.

"What? Laura! Oh my God, that's BAD."

"It is? I mean, yeah. I guess it is."

"GO TO THE DOCTOR."

"I don't have health insurance."

"GO TO THAT FREE ACTOR'S CLINIC."

"Only if you vote for Sarah Palin."

"NOT FUNNY."

Over the course of the past few weeks, I could no longer hold my iPod or my cellphone for very long without my wrist freaking out completely. However, after googling "Carpal Tunnel Syndrome" and finding out that the first symptom was numbness, I thought I was in the clear. Until, well, it actually went numb. And I don't know if you've ever experienced prolonged numbness, but it's kind of hard to ignore. So, uh, there's that.

By the way, do not google medical conditions if you can help it. I ignored the many warnings.

"Okay," said James. "Go to the doctor but please just don't google it."

"What? I haven't."

"LAURA."

"What?"

"I KNOW YOU. DO NOT GOOGLE IT."

"I know! I would, like, uh, I would never do that!"

"YOU DID, DIDN'T YOU?"

"Um..."

"Laura!"

"I'm sorry but NOW I AM TOTALLY FREAKED AND I THINK THEY ARE GOING TO AMPUTATE MY RIGHT HAND!"

"Sigh."

And so it was that I dragged myself back to the uninsured haven that is the Actor's Fund clinic. My right hand had been aching for over two weeks and had started going numb over this past weekend. On Saturday night, I sat on the twins' couch and iced it while watching The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford which is the longest movie that was ever made. I figured if putting ice on it THAT LONG didn't help, something was seriously off.

It is worthy to note that after I explained my symptoms to the doctor, he flat out asked me, "Have you googled Carpal Tunnel?"

I thought it was a trick question but I didn't want to lie so I guiltily said, "Yes."

And he said, "Oh good! So you know what's going on here..."

"OF COURSE I DO BECAUSE GOOGLE IS VERY INFORMATIVE AND DID NOT FREAK ME OUT AT ALL!"

After moving my wrist a certain way and after he tapped on a few places, I knew I was kind of in trouble. "Yes. Um. That would be my fingers, going totally numb right now."

He asked me if anything had happened that would bring this on so suddenly.

Did I fall? HA HA HA! Surprisingly, no!

Did I injure it in anyway? Um, not that I know of! And if I had, I'm sure I would've blogged about it!

And so, for unknown reasons or for many reasons, my right wrist has given up on me. I don't know if it's my excessive computer use or the weird way I bend my wrist back when talking on the phone or the seven years of piano lessons or all of it but my body, at the ripe old age of 25 is giving me the middle finger. Well, my left hand is giving me the middle finger anyway.

Diagnosis: Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. Prescription: thirty days of twice-a-day anti-inflammatory pills plus a splint when I sleep. SEXY.

"Best case scenario," said the lovely blue-eyed doctor. "Is that this goes away in thirty days never to return again."

"GREAT!!!!!!!" I yelled.

"Well," sighed the doctor. "Most likely scenario: this lessens in thirty days and then flares up again at certain moments."

"Okay," I muttered, rather glumly.

"But you'll know how to treat it now, just take an anti-inflammatory and put the splint on until it subsides."

"That blows."

"Worst case scenario," started the doctor.

"DO YOU REALLY HAVE TO GO THERE WITH ME?" I asked.

"Well. I think you should know."

"I HOPE IT INVOLVES CUPCAKES."

"No. Unfortunately, the worst case scenario is that this doesn't get better and you need surgery."

"YOU HAVE TO AMPUTATE MY HAND?!!!! OMG. I KNEW IT. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO? Will you give me anesthesia before you slice it off? Or do I need to bite down on a bullet? Because let me tell you something, I'm not excited about losing my right hand but I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED TO BITE DOWN ON A BULLET."

"No, Laura, wait. Woah. Surgery is very easy, you don't even have to go under completely."

"You just SLICE MY HAND OFF WHILE I WATCH!?!?!?!?!?!"

"NO NO. My goodness, no. We are not going to amputate your hand! We would just go in through the wrist and cut the tissue."

"YOU WOULD CUT MY WRIST OPEN?!?!?!"

"Yes! Just a tiny cut and look, that's just the worst case scenario, this could totally go away in thirty days."

"I THINK I WOULD PREFER AN AMPUTATION PLEASE."

So, I'm keeping my hand for now but I am very very angry with it. I'm so lucky to be able to go to that clinic as I am currently uninsured which, you know, OBAMA: HOOK ME UP PLEASE. Until then, I'm going to go take a shower and then wear my very attractive wrist splint and show up late to work as a cripple. Please send money and cupcakes. KTHXBYE.

Stuck

2008-09-08T08:12:00.003-04:00

Blog posts I started this morning include:

"I was supposed to get up at 6:30 to jog. I went back to sleep instead."

"I don't think I washed all the shampoo out of my hair."

"I can't stop watching the Legally Blonde reality show episodes on MTV.com"

Etc. Etc.

I have been so tired lately and unable to catch up on sleep and if you know me at all, you know that totally sucks.

My roommate leaves this morning for at least six months. He's going out on the road with the first national tour of Legally Blonde. (This is why I'm now watching the reality show. He got me watching the first episode and you know, since it's reality TV, I had to watch every single subsequent episode because OH NOW I CAN'T STOP WONDERING WHAT HAPPENS even though I know exactly what happens since the winners were announced, uh, months ago. But hey, that's how we do it over here with basic cable.) Two girls from the show are going out on the road with him and I love hearing about them firsthand and then comparing it to the way they were portrayed on the show. LOVE IT. AMAZING.

I was going to write a little bit about how I really will miss my roommate, how he is a fantastic dude, how fun it's been renovating our apartment with him, how hilarious he is when he's had too much to drink, etc. etc. But then two things happened. The first is that last night I came home from dinner with Alayna to find our air conditioning on, set to 70 degrees which made absolutely NO SENSE TO ME since the AC has been off for almost a month now and the temperature outside had dropped to about 70 anyway. THANK YOU FOR RUNNING MY ELECTRIC BILL UP FOR NO GOOD REASON.

The second thing is that I went into the refrigerator this morning to grab a glass of water and our Brita water pitcher is completely empty. My roommate is NOTORIOUS for this. He pours himself a huge glass of water, doesn't refill the pitcher and puts it back, EMPTY, in the fridge. What could possibly possess someone to do that? Like, SERIOUSLY???? IT DOES NOT FILL UP BY ITSELF.

So. Ahem. Uh. I'm thinking with the AC and the Brita, maybe we do need some space. So, I wish him tons of luck and can't wait to head out to see him on the road.

It's always kind of bittersweet when he leaves because I'm reminded that he is continually booking work, good work, and I am still here, auditioning my face off and getting nowhere. I'm at a low right now as far as the career thing goes. I woke up this morning with the intention of going to a chorus call and I just couldn't. I just lay in bed, paralyzed, thinking, "Oh my God, that is the last thing I want to do right now."

I will beat myself up for not going the rest of the day. Without decent representation, the burden is squarely on my shoulders to get up every morning and go to open calls. It's the only way for me to be seen for most projects and if I don't go, I'm not seen and therefore, can't be cast. But my God is it hard. To say that those calls are "emotionally and physically draining" is the biggest understatement of the year.

But that is really all I need to say about that. I have some classes coming up this week and next that will hopefully give me some insight into why I'm not getting roles. I really do believe that I am a terrible auditioner so, uh, there is that. But maybe I can learn some tools to help with that.

I am going to go rinse my head in the sink 'cuz my scalp is feeling kind of sudsy. And then I am going to eat a bowl of pumpkin raisin crunch. Then perhaps, I will hug my roommate goodbye and wish him on his way and wonder if he knows how lucky he is.

Because I Don't Like Confrontation

2008-09-03T22:04:00.005-04:00

I accidentally got into a political discussion this weekend with my mother and grandmother. I say accidentally because a political discussion with my mother's side of the family is something I NEVER would willingly want to get into.

I am not an articulate debater. I can write my thoughts out much better than I can speak them. This is why I will never be a politician or on a debate team or why I choose to blink at the opposite sex instead of talk to them. I don't mind discussing things with people but politics leave me tongue-tied specifically because with my very conservative relatives, it's usually not worth discussing.

*It should be noted that at the exact moment I'm writing this, I'm watching the RNC on MSNBC and the crowd is chanting "Drill Baby Drill" along with Guiliani. Please. Someone. Hold me.*

Anyway. The point is, we got into a huge argument. And by argument, I mean that my grandmother yelled at me that abortion is the equivalent of Nazi Germany and I sat on the couch and cried because that is how I react when people scream insanity at me. I know that we are all entitled to an opinion. I know that no matter what I say, I'm not going to change the mind of my 78 year old grandmother who openly admitted that she believes liberalism leads to communism.

Despite our differences, it was interesting to speak/yell at her. She is now living with my parents as my grandfather died in May and she just sold their house. It was weird to have her around this past weekend when I visited, a woman who normally keeps to herself and has rarely ever made the effort to be a part of my life. And now, there she is, sitting on the couch in her pajamas, watching the US Open, chiming in with her opinions.

She is a brilliant lady, stubborn and intelligent. At one point, I flat out told her to make her damn point already because she was rambling on and on quoting Scripture and philosophy and US History in one large breath. I would never have dreamed in a million years that I would ever be sitting in my living room telling my grandmother to shut up but hey, life is full of surprises, am I right!?

So we screamed and yelled and by the end, I had dissolved into tears, unable to clearly make a point because she wasn't really listening to me. And in the end, that's what always happens when you debate politics, isn't it? You're not really listening or taking in the other side because you're so intent on proving the other person wrong.

*Side note from the RNC: OMG is that Sarah Palin's son? HE IS HOT!!!!*

My mother had been joining in the argument as it went on, at first siding with her mother and then at the more absurd justifications, with me. She was a mediator of sorts, trying to bring us to neutral ground. She kept bouncing back and forth: abortion is wrong but my God, so was Bush about this damn war.

My dad had been sitting next to me the entire time, quiet as a mouse. Nodding his head, listening, as he has been known to do.

"I'm learning a lot living here," my grandmother said as I wiped my eyes and took deep breaths afterward, frustrated with the entire conversation.

"Oh yeah?" I asked. "What else did you learn besides the fact that I'm a communist Nazi supporter who loves Saddam Hussein?"

"Well," said my grandmother slowly. "Your dad really likes peas and corn."

"Peas and corn?" I said.

"That's right," said my dad, speaking up for the first time in almost two hours.

"Well," I said, "That's much simpler than politics."

"Yeah," said my dad in very thick Brooklyn, "Peas and corn with my dinner. Makes me very happy."

"That's great, dad," I said. "You know what makes me happy?"

"What?"

"A president who isn't batshit crazy."

"Good one," said my dad.

And then, "If you can't get dat though, peas and corn might really help you out."

Because Some Of You Asked...

2008-08-30T22:53:00.006-04:00

And by some of you, I mean my mom.

I edited more clips from my cabaret tonight.

They are up on YouTube.

If you ever wanted to know what it was like to grow up in a house with my father, you should watch this clip.

If you ever wanted to see me run around stage reenacting how I got my Actor's Equity card, you should watch this one.

And if you want a glimpse into the awkwardness of my teen years, you might find this amusing.

Feel free to browse around; there are a total of nine videos up there and there's still quite a chunk that I haven't posted. Welcome to my Saturday night, kids. It sure is glamorous.

Almost Too Gay To Function

2008-08-29T17:18:00.002-04:00

In case you're just tuning in, we have been doing a bit of housecleaning around these parts. And by housecleaning, I mean repainting, replacing, redoing. It started with me painting our dining room bright blue and I wish I could say "and ended with..." but there doesn't seem to be any end in sight. I thought we would stop at painting, maybe cleaning out some closets. But one of my very very gay roommates arrives home almost EVERY SINGLE NIGHT with a bag from Home Depot or Bed Bath and Beyond and also, a few more batshit crazy ideas about what to redo next.

"Okay, now all we need to do is blow up some pictures, I'm thinking 8X10, black and white and line them along the wall here. Then we can repaint all the furniture, add some shelving to the kitchen and re-tile the bathroom..."

The other roommate and I are just kind of going along with it at this point. Wow! You brought home a huge candelabra? Okay! Wow, the candles smell like almond cream, which is, not so incidentally, the same name of the paint we used to paint the trim around the doorways? You bought it for that very reason?? OKAY! AMAZING! LOOKS GOOD. GREAT JOB.

I've been trying to help as best I can. I dropped off a huge bag of clothes at the thrift store this afternoon and recycled a ton of old magazines and papers. I also reorganized the entire linen closet, going through boxes of crap that I never knew existed. We've had quite a bit of subletters over the past three years and all of them have left behind various accoutrements.

"Who the hell uses Sun In?"

"What!?"

"Sun In! There is a huge bottle of Sun In here!"

"Isn't that, like, what 14 year old girls use to lighten their hair?"

"YES. SO WHY IS IT IN OUR LINEN CLOSET?"

I also found four bottles of L'Oreal self-tanner, prescription medication that expired on 04/2005, two pantiliners, an unopened Bath and Body Works aromatherapy gift bag and a pair of black knee-high boots I bought in 2003. Ah, cleaning. How fun.

I've been having an amazing time with both of my roommates, going through old beauty products, rearranging the living room, looking through college photos, laughing so incredibly hard at everything. They are both so very different and add such an interesting dynamic to our little home. I'm not sure how I even play into it myself but it's amusing just spending time with the two of them. We've been doing this a lot lately since for the first time ever, we're all on the same work schedule.

The other night, The Very Gay roommate was showing off all his new purchases for me while the Moderately Gay roommate sat in his room downloading new music.

TVG Roommate: And these are BRAND NEW POTHOLDERS! They can withstand 500 degrees and they totally match the tile. Do they match the tile? I think they match the tile. I am throwing out these green ones because they are DISGUSTINGGGGGGGGGG. Oooo look! New dish towels AND a new rug for right by the sink and here's my favorite thing: A NEW DISH DRAIN! Look! It fits perfectly and OMG it looks super cute! JUST LOOK AT IT.

Me: You realize that this house can't get any gayer right now, don't you?

Moderately Gay Roommate, exclaiming from the other room: OMG!!!!!! THE NEW GYPSY CAST ALBUM HAS *BONUS TRACKS*! SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

...

Uh. Yeah.

Change of Seasons

2008-08-27T21:32:00.007-04:00

Some great people have been writing about the change in the weather. I seem to recall many past Augusts, full of humidity and perspiration, sundresses and record-breaking heat. This year, it feels like September has arrived early. It feels summery in the middle of the day but cool and crisp at night and in the early morning during my jogs. Yesterday, I went running in long pants and a sweatshirt. I felt so awake.

I wonder if this will disappear as soon as it came and if the mercury will climb again into an extended Indian summer. Last year, the heat seemed suspended forever, making me wonder if fall was ever going to show up. Now, it seems as if the next season is so excited that it can’t help appearing early. I can honestly say that I couldn’t more pleased, as autumn seems to bring out the best in me.

We’ve been doing a lot of evaluation lately, my friends and I. With quite a few birthdays hovering around, there’s been a bit of pensive reflection, a taking stock of all that has transpired and all that has yet to be. Every few months, with the change of seasons, I seem to do the same. I get the itch to clean, to compartmentalize, to look at my life and see what isn’t working. What have I learned? How can I improve? Where do I go next and how do I get there?

I have lived in my apartment over three years. Three years ago this past May, I moved in, a naïve, energized girl, thrilled to be on her own in the big city, envisioning that things would mostly be easy. A career would materialize effortlessly, people would instantaneously like me, acting jobs would flow, friendships would sustain, relationships would last.

It’s an understatement to say that I have grown up quite a bit since then. I wouldn’t classify me as bitter or jaded at all but there is a pragmatism I have matured into, a realization, an awareness. I have learned so much about me. The annoying cliché of a twenty-something moving to a big city to find herself irritatingly applies to me.

Some of these lessons learned have been hands down, disgustingly awful. Who knew I had so many faults?! I make mistakes. Huge ones. I mistreat people without meaning to, I sometimes manipulate the truth to my advantage, I care too much what other people think, I am a terrible auditioner, I gossip a lot, I don’t always see both sides, I am often incredibly vain, I am horrible at returning phone calls and even worse at keeping in touch. Also, if you tell me to meet you at 7 PM, I will show up at 7:08. I don’t plan it that way; it just always seems to happen like that.

But there have also been glorious revelations. Some of them are so surprising. Despite my apparent social ease, I am actually incredibly introverted. Group activities make me anxious and exhausted. I don’t enjoy being loud or drawing attention to myself in public and even if I’m dating someone I really enjoy, I usually always want to go home at some point and be alone. I sometimes suffer from anxiety, depression and issues with food.

My self-esteem which seemed to dissipate completely in my late teens has been steadily climbing. I feel like a stronger woman instead of a weak girl. I feel like I have something to say, something worth hearing. I am creative, I love to bake and pick out the perfect gift, I am witty and I will compliment your shoes if I think they are nice. I am observant and rarely miss anything--the writer that lives in my head is automatically scribbling down details as I talk to you. You may think I don’t notice. I do.

When I compare the girl I am now to the girl I was when I moved here, I am astounded. I really am morphing into some vague version of an adult. I still trip over my feet and smack my head on things and there are still people in the world who find me incredibly annoying or dull. But…now? I am kind of okay with all that. I am klutzy but I am spirited, I can be awkward but I can be enjoyable. I’m twenty-five years old and I feel like anything can happen to me, anything at all.

I have been clearing out our closets and drawers, repainting, retouching, making room for new things. I’d like to think I can do this metaphorically as well as literally. I am once again clearing out the chaos so that better things can come inside and bring me joy, maybe teach me something about myself.

Autumn makes me feel affectionate and cozy, alive and authentic. I’d like a new set of crayons, some new pairs of tights, a mug of cider, a fire in the fireplace. As the summer winds down, I feel hopeful for the change of seasons. I’m so grateful to be growing and maturing, to be touched by people, to live in an environment that challenges me and makes me want to become more aware, softer, sweeter, more honest and true. And really, I couldn’t ask for anything more than that.

Photographic Evidence

2008-08-25T20:55:00.005-04:00

Currently, I don't have access to my camera so getting pictures up of our new home renovations has been a slow process. Behold, the "Before" picture of our living room. (And no, I don't know what the F is on that bookshelf either.)

Luckily, I stole my roommates' camera and discovered he had some hidden gems on there from the very first weekend of Operation Paint Everything In Sight including but not limited to a picture of my other "I Install Track Lighting While You Sleep" roommate making the best facial expression ever:

This is the part of the blog where I make out with the wall. Note the fantastic meeting of Pocahontas Brown and Fantasy Flight Blue.

I had a crazy weekend of birthday debauchery so I'm going to crawl into bed and recover in preparation for the two other birthday parties happening later in the week. Why was everyone I know born in the same week? WHY???

I'm not sure. But I feel like I shouldn't question it because man, it's so incredibly fun to celebrate and relax and forget for a little while that things have been a bit rough. Between my Pocahontas walls and my friends who make me laugh and laugh and then laugh harder, I really am such a lucky girl.

See the rest on Flickr.

2 AM

2008-08-23T01:57:00.004-04:00

My car is making funny sounds. It doesn't look good, kids.

Obama has picked Biden. Am very happy about this. No idea why.

Got some fresh tomatoes, fresh basil, a red onion and fresh garlic from the CSA this week.

Tomorrow, I shall gather those ingredients, toss them in a pot and make some homemade pasta sauce.

I'm also planning on getting a mani/pedi because sometimes the Long Island in me is unstoppable.

Also, I have been instructed to begin painting the trim and molding around the house. The walls came out so well that now the boring white parts look, well, boring. And white. And a bit dingy. My roommate bought the paint already which saves me the hassle of running to the store.

"Oh! You bought white paint so I can do the molding?"

"Laura. It's not white. It's almond."

"You realize that you are very, very gay?"

"Completely."

So, yes. I will be painting the house almond. It's worthy to note that RENOVATE THE APARTMENT 2008 has become an alarming obsession. The aforementioned Homosexual Roommate walks in the door with Home Depot bags EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Lighting fixtures, new light switch plates, primer, coat hooks, you name it. The kid is on a roll which is very ironic because he leaves on tour in a few weeks and won't be around to enjoy the fruits of his labor.

"OMG LAURA! I BOUGHT SILVER DOOR KNOBS!!!"

"But...we have door knobs."

"But they're not silver and they definitely don't match our new place."

"We don't have a new place. We just painted an old place."

"Stop ruining my fantasy."

In between me going to sleep on Monday night and waking up Tuesday morning, he installed track lighting in our hallway. TRACK LIGHTING. It illuminates...the hallway. And since the walls are pretty bare right now due to the fresh paint job, when you turn on the amazing track lighting, it casts a huge heavenly glow on...a blank wall.

Speaking of which? We painted our living room a chocolate brown and the name of our paint was Pocahontas. Does anyone else find that racist? Anyone?

I probably should not be up right now talking about this. I have lots of almond molding to paint tomorrow and a rip roarin' birthday party to attend tomorrow evening. So, please pray for my car which is making a thumping/clacking/BOOM BOOM BOOM sound that can't be good. And also, please pray for my homosexual roommates. I hope they find the Lord Jesus but I really really hope they never stop going to Home Depot because OMFG DID I MENTION THE TRACK LIGHTING!?!??!?!!?

Sittin' on Babies

2008-08-20T13:07:00.003-04:00

I'm with Owen and River today which is odd because it means I took the day off work to work. It's complicated. I digress.

I already got yelled at by two ladies who work for the Battery Park City Conservancy. These women are completely ridiculous and drive around on little golfcarts all day wearing ugly pale blue shirts pretending they have an actual job to do. And yes, I get it, you are conserving the parks. I take you and your authority very seriously.

They accused me of not watching my children because the twins were picking leaves off the ground while I pushed an empty stroller and let them explore. We were on a NATURE WALK and it was KIND OF AWESOME until I was rudely interrupted by haters.

"HEY LADY. MAYBE YOU SHOULD WATCH YOUR KIDS. YOU CAN'T JUST LET THEM PICK LEAVES AND FLOWERS OUT OF OUR GARDENS."

Oh. You mean the dead branches they picked up off the ground and the one huge hibiscus flower River plucked before I told him not to? Oh, that? Yes. I see what you mean. This is serious, definitely a situation that calls for yelling at me in public. I love being accosted on a beautiful day by two bitter people. In fact, I live for it.

I explained to them that I was indeed watching my children and also, could you please lay off the judgment of my parenting skills? They tried to continue bitching at me until I flew inexplicably off the handle and started ranting about supporting each other as mom's and as females and that I could DO WITHOUT THEIR CONDESCENDING TONE AND RIDICULOUS BATTERY PARK NAZI WAYS. POINT TAKEN. NO MORE FLOWER PICKING. MAYBE NEXT TIME YOU COULD USE A LITTLE UNDERSTANDING AND COMPASSION. I'M NOT HAVING THE GREATEST DAY.

I actually said that. It was so out of character for me to actually stand up for myself that I started shaking and crying as I walked away. After thinking about it later, I was kind of awed at how defensive I became. I mean, I went ballistic super mom crazy and THESE AREN'T EVEN MY CHILDREN.

In other news, during quiet time today AKA "Let's All Sit On Our Beds And Shut Up Thank You", I was reading "Where The Wild Things Are", the boys' current favorite book.

Me, Reading Aloud: 'And now', cried Max, 'Let the wild rumpus start!'

The next three pages are full of pictures of Max and the wild things cavorting in a weird way that strikes me as almost sexual and inappropriate and I decided to add my own commentary since there aren't any written words.

Me: See, now Max and the wild things are dancing.

River: No. They're not.

Me: What? Yes, they are, dude. They are parading around and dancing and having a grand old time.

River: No.

Me: Okay, fine. What are they doing?

River: LAURA DLUG. THEY ARE RUMPUSING.

Oh. My bad.

And now, since Owen is singing Rihanna's "Unfaithful" and River is trying to throw a football into the toilet, I'm guessing I should get back to work. And by work, I mean the boys and I are setting out to find the Battery Park Conservancy ladies and kick their ass into the Hudson River. Wish me luck.

The Toughest Part

2008-08-19T08:36:00.003-04:00

The hardest thing about what I'm going through is that I have to do it 100% on my own. I mean, my friends can talk to me or take me to Target or buy me some Thai food. But I cannot hash it out directly with the person involved because frankly, I find it inappropriate.

I'd love nothing more than to be reached out to. I'd love to have dinner or a drink or just an opportunity to see him again because I guarantee you I probably never will again. (Cue: Heart! Shattering!) I want to be able to say what I need to say and probably cry into my food. And I'd love to be told that I am still a lovable person, that I will always have a place with him and he wishes me the best. I want to know for certain that he is marrying for the right reasons, that he is blissfully happy, that he is very much in love, as much as that will kill me to hear. I want closure.

But really? This exists in my own mind. As I said before, my violent reaction to this news is no one's issue but mine. It is no longer his responsibility to take care of me, to look out for me, to fix my problems. And it is unfair to ask him to do so. I've fretted with writing an e-mail or picking up the phone but I still feel fragile and I don't know what that would accomplish.

The options are to send him a note and wish him well or to declare my undying love for him and beg him to marry me instead. And since both of those things feel false to me because, well, I'm too sad to congratulate and I'm still not ready to move to the suburbs and become a wife, not to mention break up an engagement, my only action is inaction.

And so, for now, I grieve alone. There may not be anything else to say about this whole situation. So, maybe together we can look forward to moving past this, knowing that pain only makes us stronger and eventually, it does fade away to make room for boundless joy.

Dumbest Woman Ever

2008-08-18T18:41:00.003-04:00

In the elevator today, I rode up to my floor with a woman and her male coworker. She was wearing a black skirt and blazer, black stockings and bright white socks and sneakers. I know that New York is a walking city and full of commuters and all but...um, why? There is simply no reason for such an ensemble. Especially in summer. NONE.

Male Co-worker (continuing previous conversation): Yeah and she paid like 11,000 G's.

Stupid Woman: What?

Male Co-worker: Like, 11,000 G's.

Stupid Woman: G's?

Male Co-worker: Nevermind.

*Awkward silence as we all scan the television which is broadcasting Olympic headlines*

Random Woman Next To Me Making Conversation: How old is Michael Phelps anyway?

Stupid Woman: 28.

Male Co-worker: What!? No. He was 16 in the last Olympics.

Stupid Woman: But that would make him, like, 21.

Male Co-worker: Yeahhhh...

Stupid Woman: So, that can't be right.

Male Co-worker: Why?

Stupid Woman: I don't know. I don't think people that young can compete in the Olympics.

This is the part of the story where I punch her in the knees and run back to my desk in awe. I'm sorry but I will never cease to be impressed with really really dumb people.

Intermission

2008-08-17T01:48:00.004-04:00

I'd like to interrupt the current ramblings of heartache and agony to broadcast my very first foray into YouTube-dom. I understand that linking to this bridges the gap between Blogger Laura and Performer Laura in a way that I probably can never reverse. I rarely ever post video of myself talking let alone singing let alone making a total ass out of myself. But honestly guys? I've been blogging for ten years. We've been through a lot. And you should know that for your amusement and adoration, I will do anything.

And so, I present to you, the very first video clip of my most recent cabaret.

Spread the love and enjoy.

Clarification, BFF's, Target, etc.

2008-08-15T08:22:00.003-04:00

The good news is that I've blogged a record four times this week.

The bad news is that I'm still crying.

However, I wanted to tell you that it is ALL GOOD. Last night, my nonsexual heterosexual life partner who shall heretofore be referred to as The Wito for reasons that will not be explained here, took me to Target. Well, I took HIM to Target because I have a car. A car without AC. Oh yes, people, I do live in style.

Anyway, I am now the proud owner of multiple picture frames to hang around my newly painted apartment and a vast array of eco-friendly cleaning supplies. Nothing really makes me happier than a trip to Target. Except perhaps a trip to Bed Bath and Beyond but don't even mention it, don't even SAY IT OUTLOUD because I might pee my pants.

Alayna is taking me out to dinner tonight because she is BACK IN TOWN! I picked her up at John F. Kennedy International Airport (I just wanted to say the full name) late into the evening on Tuesday. Her flight was supposed to get in at 12:40 but the plane couldn't find the gate (WHA???) and so we didn't get in the car to drive home until about 1:30 AM. Thank God there was construction for the entire length of the Van Wyck causing us to sit bumper to bumper until finally turning onto my street close to 3 in the morning.

But hey! Mah best friend is back and last night we had a very fantastic phone conversation. And by conversation, I mean that I wept uncontrollably while holding my cellphone to my ear and Alayna just kept talking, hoping that I was listening. I also maybe blew my nose into the speaker approximately four times. BUT THAT'S WHAT BEST FRIENDS ARE FOR.

So, thank you to Alayna for listening to me blow mucus and to The Wito for taking me to Target, land of happy happy things I want to buy.

I just wanted to clarify something I've been thinking of since I last posted. Many of my friends kept asking me to identify my feelings about this whole damn "My Ex-Boyfriend Is Getting Married" thing. A number of them suggested, "Is it just because YOU'RE not getting married?"

And honestly? No. The feelings I have are complex and I am STILL trying to sift through them. But the one thing I didn't feel was "I WISH I WAS GETTING MARRIED TOO!" The fact of the matter is that I'm not in a position to get married right now not to mention that marriage has never been something I've ever been particularly excited about, as anti-girl as that may seem.

I never dreamed of my wedding when I was little. I have no idea about what color the bridesmaids will wear or what flowers I need to hold or what time of year to walk down the aisle. For some reason, it's just never something that ever concerned me. And while children have always been something I've known that I will need one day, marriage has not.

It is more the IDEA of marriage and what it means. It is the hope of finding someone that I click with and that I know, inherently without question, that I want to spend all my time with, forever. It is having someone that close to you, the comfort, the security, the partnership, the team, the feeling of having someone who knows you better than anyone else in the world. And also, of course, being able to tonguekiss this person.

So, no. I'm not upset because I want to be married. Maybe I'm upset because I'm not upset! MAYBE THAT. But you know? I think this is more about the specific person involved. As I said to Abbie in the post below, I think I would genuinely be happy for some of my exes right this very moment if they had found someone special. I think I could selflessly be all, "ROCK ON! THAT IS GREAT!" and I might even wipe my forehead with relief because thank GOD that crazy parade is movin' on to someone else.

But this one is different somehow. And that's what I'm going to explore as this pain continues to dwell inside of me. What exactly am I feeling? Why? What do I want to do about it? What will fix it? What can bring me to a better understanding?

And of course, when will you take me back to Target?

Nightmares and Other Late Night Revelations

2008-08-14T04:21:00.003-04:00

There are vibrating metal crashes coming from down the street, thunderous bellows that cause my heart to race even faster. Fear paralyzes me until curiosity wins out and I peek out the window only to find a garbage truck moving slowly toward me. The fan on my dresser is making a squeaking sound as it moves slowly back and forth, blowing a breeze around my darkened room. It took me a few minutes to realize where the sound was coming from. For awhile, I thought it was a mouse as I lay here breathing quickly, startled out of sleep by one of the worst nightmares I have ever had.

I almost reached for my journal so I could write it down and get it out of my head but the fact is that I do not want to remember it. I want to take a rag and a jug of Clorox and scrub my brain clean. I feel disgusted and horrified that my mind is capable of conjugating such images--dead body on a slab, packing up a bag, running and running and trying to escape.

I don't know if it has something to do with the scoop of peanut butter mixed with chocolate chips that I ate right before bed. Or if the stress of the past few weeks is catching up to me. Or both. But I had a nightmare, a terrible, startlingly real nightmare and I'm waiting for the details to fade.

I felt like a child, laying in my bed after waking up, unable to even get up and go to the bathroom because I was so afraid. Had someone been sleeping next to me, I would've turned over and woke them up but I sleep alone so I hugged my pillows and attempted to slow my breathing. I automatically began reciting Hail Mary's and some Our Father's.

I have been doing this a lot lately. It comes out of nowhere, the first time a few days ago while I was getting my monthly bikini wax. I suppose that is sacriligeous in some way but hey, there it is. When in pain, regardless of which kind, my Catholic upbringing rears its repetitive head and I methodically murmur words I learned as a child. And so, jolted awake at 3:30 this morning, I buried my head into pillows and prayed into them.

I've been struggling with the issue of censorship since I wrote Monday's post. This is of course a documentation of my life regardless of who chooses to read it. Though I am still afraid of coming off passive-aggressive by writing things here before or without addressing them in person, the fact is that I may never address them in person so, huh. What then?

This year has been a difficult stretch, a race full of hurdles that I never expected.

One year ago this month, my father was diagnosed with prostate cancer.

I got involved in a relationship with someone who was affectionate and good but also mentally unwell. After one of the most dramatic, tumultuous break ups to rival all break ups, I continue to encounter this person, if only through horribly passive-aggressive behavior, comments posted on other blogs meant for me to see. He is manipulative and cruel, in pain and bitter and the saddest thing about it is that he still thinks that I care somehow. And sadder still is that I don't.

I have lost a friend and while I have made peace with it, I will still never exactly understand why. It took me quite a bit to realize that it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with her.

I have not booked a show in over a year and while I now feel alright about that, I didn't always. I beat myself up and internalized a lot of rejection and continually fought a voice that told me that I wasn't "good enough".

And now.

An e-mail from one of, if not the greatest, loves of my life sits in my inbox at work.

"I am thinking of proposing..."

Proposing? To a girl I didn't even know you were dating?

And sure! Okay! I assumed! I didn't think you were sitting around waiting for me! But Jesus Lord in heaven, why didn't you tell me before it got to MARRIAGE LEVEL?! So I maybe could have had some time to process this?! Don't you know I'm the only one who's feelings matter here? Ha! I am delicate and self-centered! Surprise!

And amid the sea of grief, the acknowledgement of a door slamming shut with the greatest finality, the crazed wondering if I made the right choice when I walked away those years ago, the humiliation at continuing to keep in touch every few months because I didn't even know she existed, there is a peace that has to come. I wish it had been done sooner, I wish I had not found out in an e-mail at work, but at the root of it all, it is no one's fault.

No one should feel bad about getting married. No one should have to feel weird about telling me. It is my own fault that I flip the fuck out and stare blindly at my computer screen, unable to respond, almost a week later. I figure that until I can honestly 100% type, "I am so happy for you, congratulations!", I will write nothing at all. Mama needs some time to accept this and rectify her own insecurities.

And maybe I will surprise myself. Maybe I will wake up soon and laugh and realize that he is the first but he won't be the last. The men that I have dated will all eventually partner off (except maybe the crazy ones but that is for the best) and I will have to deal with my feelings of letting them go, wishing them the best, raising a glass to their futures with wives and houses and children.

I suppose underneath it all, my fear is that they will one by one move on and I will still be here. I will be renting my New York City apartment while they have mortgage payments. I will be pursuing an unstable career while they are secure. I will wake up terrified from a nightmare that rattles me to the bones and I will be unable to call them for comfort because they are sleeping next to their wife.

It's a funny thing, this crazy life I lead, risking my heart and my head jumping into relationships when I know after they are over, I am often left alone and wounded. But I am still optimistic enough to think that I should still try. I'm going to shut my laptop, drift back to sleep and wake up tomorrow and think about how I'd like to keep searching. I think I know deep down that one day I will wake up, cheeks wet from horrible dreams and someone will be there to reach for, a chest to nuzzle into, a voice groggy with sleep whispering that it's all gonna be okay.

Comic Relief

2008-08-12T22:37:00.002-04:00

My cousin Tom, who lives in LA, usually calls me on Tuesday afternoons on his drive from work to his acting class. Tonight, the following conversation transpired.

Tom: Yeah, that's totally what I was gon--WHAT? THERE IS SO MUCH TRAFFIC! WHY IS THERE SO MUCH TRAFFIC!??!

Me: (dripping with sarcasm) It's the Olympics, Tom.

Tom: YEAH, LAURA. That makes PERFECT SENSE. The Olympics just picked up and moved from Japan to Los Angeles.

*pause*

Me: Tom?

Tom: Yeah?

Me: The Olympics are in China.

Tom: Right. That's what I meant. OH MAH GOD THIS #$^!@@#$! TRAFFIC!!!!!!!!!

Still Crying But In Color

2008-08-11T19:19:00.006-04:00

My roommate walked in the door on Friday night, caught sight of our new robin's egg dining room and exclaimed, "Way to take action!" I grinned at him, paint brush in hand, covered in specks of blue.

The sudden EXTREME MAKEOVER HOME EDITION frenzy was contagious and over the course of the weekend, my roommates and I painted the entire apartment with the exception of the bedrooms and bathrooms. I expect those to be done shortly as soon as we decide on colors. My original thought for my bedroom was pale yellow until recent events shattered my soul and my roommates now refuse to accept my new suggestions.

"Why can't I paint my room black?"

"SERIOUSLY, LAURA?!?! Stick with yellow, it's more 'you'."

"What if I did a mural?"

"A mural of what?"

"I don't know, like, maybe all my ex-boyfriends covered in their own blood?"

"Well. That image would definitely get you out of bed in the morning..."

"Exactly."

I found the repetitive movements of painting comforting. Up and down, back and forth, it required just enough thought to keep me focused and calm without enormous amounts of concentration. I taped the walls and doorways and methodically lowered a roller or paintbrush into the tray. Sky blue, chocolate brown, apricot, the white walls of my apartment came alive this weekend, vibrating with color, warming up to me as I coaxed them into life.

On Sunday afternoon, after breaking down again while the roller in my hand dripped dark paint onto the protective canvas, my roommate became exasperated.

"LAURA! You are going to have to stop crying sooner or later! We are RUNNING OUT OF ROOMS TO PAINT."

I wiped my nose, nodded and rolled my grief onto the walls of the hallway.

...

It must be odd for you to read about my suffering without having an explanation for it. For the gaps in the plot, I apologize. But if this blog has taught me one thing, it is that I must always live in truth in real life before posting it on here. In the past, I occasionally had experiences and reactions and then wrote about them on here without first alerting the people in my life who were a part of them. This causes confusion and hurt, especially if I act a certain way in real life and then get on my blog and freak the hell out.

It must be disconcerting to hang out with me, have a grand old time and then read my blog only to find out that I kind of hated every second. This is an exaggerated example but one worth noting. I'm trying to respect boundaries now. It's important for everyone.

So, I have to address the situation in person first and the most excruciating thing is that I can't. I'm not 100% sure that the person involved here reads this but they have been known to in the past and I am indeed Google-able so that leaves me paralyzed. Writing about anything else seems like a lie. There isn't any use denying it: I am not feeling so frivolous at the moment.

I have no idea how to articulate my feelings as the wound is still so fresh and raw. I'm thinking the following options are likely:

1. I will wake up one day and be healed. I will achieve closure. I will move on.

OR

2. I will do none of those things but I will be better able to articulate my complex feelings on the matter. I will share them with the person in question. We will get on the same page. I will then be free to write on here as I wish.

OR

3. I will drink too much wine, sign on to blogger.com and write something COMPLETELY INAPPROPRIATE AND INCOHERENT.

But for now. For now, I will be vague and I will dance around it and in a few days, in a week, in a year, I will open up and pour it out and maybe even smile about it and we can all paint each other's nails. Maybe then I will be old and wise and have some sapient advice to share with you young folk. So, if you can go with me on this and just allow me to ramble about something that may or may not make any sense to you, that'd be great.

The more I type, the more I realize that it doesn't matter what the provenance of the pain is. Pain is pain right? And I am feeling it in a startlingly real way, experiencing all the levels and stages as if in mourning. I am angry, I am mortified, I am nostalgic, I am surprised, I am, above all, achingly, despairingly sad.

...

I left my roommates to tackle the rest of the living room on Saturday afternoon so I could head into Manhattan to babysit. As with the paint, I channeled my focus on the twins, allowing them to lift me up and distract me. We splashed in the water, sat in the sand, ate some macaroni, sang lullabies.

Around 11:30, I heard whimpering from inside their bedroom and got up from the couch to see what was wrong. When I opened the door, Owen stood there, tears streaming down his little cheeks, reaching his arms out to me.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

He didn't respond but I scooped him up and brought him over to the couch to sit on my lap. He wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled into my neck, something that is getting harder for him to do as he grows lankier and longer. I soothed him a little bit, rocking him back and forth, telling him that everything was okay and that he was safe.

I held him out at arm's length so our eyes could meet.

"Are you scared, Owen? Are you sad?"

He slowly shook his head, his eyes puffy with sleep.

"Not anymore," he whispered and curled into me.

The light from the television flickered in the darkness as I rubbed his back and realized that even though he wasn't either of those things, I was both. I breathed in baby shampoo as I rested my chin on his head and together we exhaled.

Volatile

2008-08-09T01:11:00.001-04:00

For the past few weeks, I've been so incredibly happy. I'm finding peace with my career options, I'm working at the most flexible, stable, generous job I've ever had, I've been delighting in the small things I'm able to accomplish by living a lowkey lifestyle. I bake a lot, I clean, I take long walks after dinner, I spend some great quality time with old and new friends.

I spent the majority of work today clicking my fingers on the keyboard, finishing some odds and ends, looking forward to the weekend. And because life is funny this way, in one instant I was laughing with a coworker and in the very next, I locked myself in an empty office and laid on the ground, sobbing into the carpet while my cousin reminded me over the phone to breathe and breathe and breathe.

I have always been a sensitive person. I can blame that on hormones or the fact that I'm an actor or I can just accept that this is the way I have always been. I'm wired to take things personally, I often react dramatically, I usually always cry, I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.

I don't drink to numb my pain, I don't yell. I don't turn to chocolate, I don't break dishes. I tend to rearrange furniture. Or reorganize my closet. And then I go for a long run. These are all coping mechanisms that I draw on after the pain is slowly making its way out of me.

Initially, when the hurt hits me dead on, unexpectedly, out of nowhere, I lay down on a carpet because it makes me feel safe. Sometimes I talk to no one, sometimes I talk to God. I like to say, "This is pain, this is pain," so I can experience it fully, recognize it and let it go. It helps me understand that it is temporary and that it will pass.

I've been finding this blog restrictive lately. It seems everything I need or want to say is hindered by the fact that people read this or *could* read this. I know that seems ridiculous since the point of a blog is to have an audience, but it's become more of a challenge for me as I find less and less that I want to share with the general public. (And by general public, I mean the 4 of you who read this. Hi. Hello. You have great hair!)

I want to be honest and write from my heart. I want to tell you about the delicious peach-apricot cobbler I baked last night. I want to tell you that my ex-boyfriend passed me in the street on Monday night and shot me a look full of so much hatred, I wanted to scream at him that his bitterness is not my fault. I want to tell you that that has nothing to do with the heartbreak I experienced today. I want to tell you so much about that and about the overall way life has been overwhelming for me this year.

But if I admit that to you, then it means that things are not really okay. And for the most part, things are completely okay, they are beyond okay, they are magnificent and miraculous and I'm grateful. Today was just one of those days and I wanted to document it here so I would remember it.

Dear Laura,

Sometimes you are sad.

Sometimes you are happy.

You are always special.

And ridiculously physically attractive.

Love,
Laura

Tonight, I sat on my couch for a long time and stared at the wall. Then I put on Alanis Morissette's new album and sang and danced around my living room. When I was sufficiently exhausted, my bestest buddy brought over some Thai food and we talked and I maybe cried a little. And then I painted my entire dining room bright blue.

In case you were wondering, it is absolutely fantastic, getting better and better by the minute.

And so am I.

Channeling My Inner Cheese

2008-08-07T08:53:00.002-04:00

I have an audition today for one of the cheesiest musicals of all time. I could not be more excited about this because I get to sing a SUPER CHEESY song while acting in a SUPER CHEESY MANNER while attempting to look like I take the material very seriously. Hooray! Thank you, Universe!!

Someone recently told me that I may very well be too smart to do musical theatre. That compliment meant so incredibly much to me and I'd like to expand on how I feel about that but every time I sit down to write about my career and where I'm headed right now, I start BORING MYSELF. I can't imagine how YOU would feel.

So, I don't know. It's not that I don't think musicals can be smart. Or that musicals don't have their place in society or that I don't take my job seriously. That is not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is, I have a SUPER RIDICULOUSLY CHEESY audition today and when I YouTubed other performers who have performed this role recently, I could NOT STOP LAUGHING because the acting! was so! incredibly! BAD!

I am going to take a deep breath today and try to remember how I acted in high school. And then I will multiply the exaggeration and "forehead creased in agony" by about a hundred. Then I will maybe cross my arms and hug myself and then stare longingly out in the distance. I'm hoping if I do this accurately, I will get a callback. WE SHALL SEE.

And now, I'm late for work.

Slasher

2008-08-04T21:47:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, on a nesting kick, I cleaned, scrubbed and reorganized every last inch of my apartment because I'm single and this is the kind of stuff that turns me on nowadays. ANYWAY, when I got to the cabinets underneath the bathroom sink, I discovered that someone's bubble bath had exploded and coated quite a few items in a lovely sticky Avon goo. Who's bubble bath IS this? And who buys things from Avon?! Couldn't be any of my roommates. They're both gay. They know better.

I cleaned it up as best I could and then started rinsing off nearby products that were covered in slime. An open bag of disposable razors was a casualty and I decided to rinse the blades off individually. I left them out on the counter to dry and without thinking, tossed the protective plastic caps into the trash. I carefully loaded the now OPEN RAZORS back into their bag and put them under the sink. And by "carefully loaded", I mean I threw them jumbled in a huge mess under the sink without thinking because I am stupid. And should never be around children or small animals.

This morning, I remembered that while cleaning yesterday, I found a second toothbrush. AND YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD MAKE LIFE SO GREAT? If I brought my toothbrush to work! I know! It's genius! I can brush my teeth in the bathroom! In the morning! In the afternoon! And I will feel all clean! And my dentist will be proud! And the world is rainbows and sunshine!

Considering myself a genius, I reached under the bathroom sink to grab the magical toothbrush and as I extracted my hand, the back of it brushed against a nearby open razor, effectively slicing two parallel lines into my skin. I stared at my hand for awhile as it turned pink and then started to bubble up blood. It bled uncontrollably for quite some time, causing me to be late to work but let's not kid ourselves, this is nothing new. I am always late to work.

Everyone's been staring at my hand all day and being all, "WTF???" And I can't really tell them what happened because it just sounds bad to blurt out, "I CUT MYSELF WITH A RAZOR." And then they stare at you all, "???? Was that intentional?" And I'm all, "Well no, because I cut the WRONG side of my hand with it. If I wanted to do it right, I would've cut it on THIS SIDE." And then your coworkers kind of blink and back away quickly because DUDE! SECRETARY IS SUICIDAL.

Yeah. It's awkward. So, for now, when people stare, I tell them I got into a really bad gang fight this weekend. Or I busted my hand when I thrust it through a window attempting to save a puppy from a burning building. Or maybe, just maybe, I cut it on an open razor blade because I am an anal retentive yet absent-minded dork. YOU DECIDE.

That May Be All I Need

2008-08-01T00:16:00.002-04:00

I just got back from a concert at Jones Beach.

Maroon 5.

Counting Crows.

Stop making fun of me, the concert was amazing, shut up.

The smell of the ocean, a soft summer breeze, bare feet tapping to the music.

All of it made up for a pretty shitty week.

Driving in the dark along the Northern State Parkway, headed back to Queens, Sara Bareilles on the stereo, four kindred spirits singing along in harmony...

Yeah. I feel better now. My soul is settling back down, crawling back to a peaceful place. And now, I'm going to collapse into my pillows and ease into a deep sleep.

Thank you and good night.

Summertime Flashbacks

2008-07-30T21:55:00.003-04:00

My bangs are sticking to my forehead because we don't have air conditioning in my house. Despite the heat, I have a sheet draped over me because I like to feel covered when I'm sleeping. The sheet is worn from being washed too many times and there are small nubs that cover the faded primary colored-alphabet letters on my pillowcase.

The cicadas are whispering through the window while my sister sighs in her sleep in the bed across the room. I am on my side, cradling both a Babysitter's Club book and the clip-on light from my Gameboy. I prop the light next to the pages and the spine crinkles as I strain to read. If I finish this one tonight, I can go back to the library tomorrow for more after my swimming lesson. Hopefully, the next one in the series will be waiting for me on the shelf. I hate reading them out of order.

...

Clothes are swaying lazily on a clothesline at my aunt and uncle's house as I walk through the backyard to the pool. I am wearing a brand new black bathing suit that my mother bought for me on sale. There was excitement in her voice when she plucked it from the rack at the store and had me try it on.

"Laura, it fits you so well and it's so cheap." I clutched the bag holding the bathing suit all the way home. I couldn't believe my mother bought something so beautiful for me and so brand new.

The piping around the neck and legs is bright royal blue and there's a sleek hole cut out in the back that gives me an interesting tan line. It is the kind of bathing suit that professional swimmers wear and I never want to take it off.

The red bricks surrounding the pool soak up the sun while small weeds grow in between them and watch us swim. My cousin Tom and I take turns hurling ourselves off the diving board. We make up rhymes and ridiculous songs, talking non-stop as we haul our soaking bodies out of the pool by way of the silver ladder that hangs sadly in the deep end.

Tom hands me a pink diving ring and I put both feet through it, binding my legs together. We pretend to be mermaids. Sometimes, little brown beetles accidentally fly into the pool and then struggle to get out. I like scooping them up and putting them safely down on the bricks. They scratch my fingertips when I save them from the water and their prickly legs feel like straw against my skin.

Later, sitting around a picnic table, my cousin Christine points out that the chlorine in the pool is turning my hair green. I touch my wet ponytail and it feels slimy. I stare across the table at her perfect auburn hair and wish mine were red too. I pile my plate with hot dogs, macaroni salad, cucumbers, tomatoes, corn on the cob and a piece of fresh mozzarella cheese. I save that for last as the sun sets behind the fence.

...

I'm at the ocean with my mother and siblings. We didn't get here until almost evening because the parking is free after 5 pm. Most people have left for the day but we are just getting started. The sea is angry today and the undertow is strong. I shriek every time a new wave appears over my head, both scared and excited. My mother dives into them, disappearing and reappearing effortlessly through the water.

"Just go with the flow of it," she tells me, wiping her wet brown locks from her eyes. "Don't fight the current, just slowly move with it."

I promise her that I will and together we dive and jump and splash. When I get tired, I try to find a break between the large waves so I can swim safely for shore without getting crashed down upon. I wait for my mom to tell me when to go and when she yells, "Now!" I go as fast as I can. She always seems to know exactly how to time it. I wonder how she knows.

...

My older brother and I decide to sleep out in the backyard in our bright blue tent. We pass the hours playing poker and debating whether or not bears live in the forest behind our house. I'm too scared to spend the whole night outdoors and though playing cards with Paul makes me feel safe and important, I decide to go back inside and slip between the alphabet sheets.

My heavy eyelids eventually float shut no matter how I try to fight it. I awake the next morning with a a book and a Gameboy light laying next to my pillow and the smell of pancakes beckoning me from downstairs. I jump out of bed to follow the scent, my bare feet thumping all the way. My book stays behind, laying in the still-warm sheets, patiently waiting for me to return.

Boyz In Ma Phone

2008-07-28T22:59:00.006-04:00

I rarely make a habit of "going out" to meet boys. And by rarely, I mean I have never "gone out" to meet a boy. There are many reasons for this but the biggest one is that I'm an old lady and have no desire to go out to a club, sip a cosmopolitan and dance to Rhianna while some frat boy tries to feel me up.

Inevitably, when I do go out, whether it's to a bar or a party or when I am standing on a street corner like a hooker, men sometimes ask me for my phone number. This always makes me uncomfortable because

1. I don't want to give them my phone number
2. I don't want to appear rude
3. I don't want to give them my phone number

So I say, "Why don't you give me YOUR number?" And then they do. Problem solved. I only run into complications when they say, "Okay. Now, text me so I can have yours!" And then I blink a few times and pretend I don't know what "text" means.

I always input their numbers into my phone with an alias so I can remember who they are and make a mental note to delete it later. Thing is, I never ever delete them because who on earth clears out their phone numbers?! The labeling system I use is a bit haphazard as you will soon see, but at the time, the nickname I give them makes perfect sense. Going further, it makes a TON OF SENSE after a few Tom Collins'. I never call these men, have never called these men, have no plans to ever call them, etc. but I dutifully enter their numbers in my mobile device because I FEEL BAD SAYING NO. (Hi! Yes, I'm already in therapy, thanks for asking!)

Today, I decided to go sift through the numbers in my phone and found quite a few entries that I've accumulated over the years. Some of these names I recall easily. I remember the noisy bar or the swanky party or the brightly lit street corner where I met the eager beavers. Others? Your guess is as good as mine. I'm still baffled over quite a few. REGARDLESS, I'm feeling like sharing the love so, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,

I give you:

Boyz In Ma Phone v. 1.0.
by Laura Elizabeth

Dogwalker Dave
Eric O'Jersey
Alistair
Photographer Joe
Richard Gere
Sorbet Lewis
Atlanta James
Dennis #3
Kent University
The Man
Homophobic Craig

If any of you single ladies need a phone number, I'd be glad to pass them around. Cheers!

I Wish I Was Asleep Right Now

2008-07-25T00:34:00.002-04:00

I attended a performance of "South Pacific" this evening at Lincoln Center. I just want to give a shout out to the people and things who made it so memorable:

1. To the woman in front of me who turned around and told me to shut up and stop talking while the lights were still on at intermission and people were filing back to their seats. I'm not sure if you noticed, lady, but in between acts, I AM ALLOWED TO TALK. I have a BFA in Music Theatre, I think I should know.

2. To the row of gay people behind me who sang every single song. Not while the actors were singing mind you, but just after a song ended while we all clapped or during set changes or during scenes with dialogue. And I'm not talking humming, I'm talking flat out belting. SOME ENCHANTED EVENIIIIIIIIIIING, YOU MAY SEE A STRANGERRRRRRRRR! I did not pay money to hear you sing in my ear. I paid money to hear the people on the stage. See also: my Music Theatre degree.

3. To Rodgers and Hammerstein for perfecting the art of reprising a song 10,000 times during the course of the show. Margot and I could not get over the fact that the show was set up as follows:

a. CHARACTER SINGS SONG
b. AUDIENCE CLAPS
c. CHARACTER SINGS THE WHOLE DAMN SONG AGAIN
d. AUDIENCE CLAPS
e. CHARACTER SINGS LAST 16 BARS OF THE SAME DAMN SONG
f. AUDIENCE IS CLAPPING UNETHUSIASTICALLY AND THINKING "WTF?????"

I get it! I do! You're in love, you're in love, you're in love, you're in love, you're in love with a WONDERFUL GUY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

4. To some of the most brilliant lighting I've ever seen on a Broadway stage in my entire life, holler.

5. To Margot who had the genius idea of meeting me after work and waiting in the cancellation line.

6. To the universe for allowing two people to cancel their tickets so Margot and I could enjoy three hours of Rodgers and Hammersteiny goodness.

7. Finally, to the 400 pound man sitting next to me with his girlfriend (who was half his age), who was talking on his cellphone as the lights went down and the orchestra started playing and yelled loudly into the phone that, "THE SEATS HERE ARE MADE FOR LITTLE KIDS, THE USHERS ARE YELLING AT ME TO PUT THE PHONE DOWN, WHAT? WHAT? THE SHOW? OH. THE SHOW IS STARTING RIGHT NOW."

...

At intermission, he took his lady friend and never came back. And for that, I thank you, my dear overweight, miserable gentleman because I put my bag on your seat so I could have more leg room and enjoyed the second act without your ridiculous commentary that may or may not have included, "THAT GUY SINGING IS A FAG."

Thank you for leaving the theater. If you hadn't, I would now be on my way to jail for killing you.

Love,
Laura

On Current Eating Habits

2008-07-23T18:44:00.004-04:00

I feel pretty good today. I think it has something to do with the fact that I shaved my legs this morning. Plus, I made my bed before I went to work. Accomplishing tasks always lifts my mood. Check, check, check.

I'm supposed to be napping right now. I told myself I'd come home from work and lay down for awhile before heading back to the city to meet Ashley and her fiance for dinner. It's Restaurant Week in NYC, something that I've never taken part in. This evening, we will be dining here. I have very high expectations for their olive oil. THEY BETTER NOT LET ME DOWN.

The thing that kills me about veganism is the constant "What am I going to eat?" debate that begins every time someone suggests going out to eat. I'm not always sure I can find something I'd like to eat but I LOVE LOVE LOVE going out to restaurants so it's caused me a bit of stress over the past year and a half, trying to reconcile the two parts. I'm finally in a very comfortable place with my eating habits and since I'm not napping, I think I'll keep telling you about it. (Please, cover your mouth while you yawn.)

I've made peace with the fact that my eating philosophy shouldn't necessarily be labeled "veganism" anymore though it's true that on any given day, you'd be hard-pressed to find me eating any animal products. For someone who has been known to have a somewhat tumultuous relationship with food in recent years, my attitudes have changed slightly. I have adopted a diet entitled "Whatever Laura Wants, Laura Eats, The End." This works for me better than anything has ever in my life.

And it's been so interesting to see exactly what my body actually wants to eat. My body, for the most part, adores following a vegan diet. It wants fruits and vegetables, whole grains, fried tofu, pasta, soup, peanut butter, black beans, guacamole, rice, hummus, etc. Oh yes, my body also wants lots and lots of cupcakes, regardless of the ingredients used to make them. So, on a daily basis, this is what works for me. Plus pancakes.

I find that occasionally (once every few months, maybe?) my body likes an omelet. It also has been known to seek out a piece of fish or some shrimp. It has been known to have a bite of someone else's cheese and then later, object with sharp shooting pains in my stomach. But oh, that bite was worth it.

In Kathy Freston's book, "Quantum Wellness", she speaks quite eloquently on becoming a vegan. My favorite thing she says is not to stress out about things that may or may not have been made with a tiny bit of animal product. i.e./ a tiny bit of butter on a plate, cookies made with whey, etc. She basically says that you do the best you can and it's a philosophy that's helped me immensely with my relationship with food.

One of the most ridiculous things anyone ever said to me when I went vegan was, "UGH! Vegans are SO ANNOYING. They always have to look at the nutritional information for EVERY SINGLE THING THEY EAT." I just kind of blinked at the person who said that because, uh, isn't that a good thing? Are you comfortable ingesting just about anything without realizing what's in it, vegan or not!? (Sidenote: My other favorite comeback for veganism that came out recently was, "But...but...bacon tastes good." Uh, yeah, I know, I think you're missing the point.

I am an avid label-reader so I still tend to stay away from all non-vegan products when grocery shopping. I find that I make exceptions usually only when out at a restaurant, something that makes me feel comfortable socially and also gives my tastebuds a treat. It's interesting to note that I have never once made an exception for meat. I won't go so far as to say that meat disgusts me and it smells like rotting flesh blah blah MEAT IS MURDER. I mean, it is, I don't believe in eating it. But I did eat it up until a year and a half ago and I can honestly say that since then, I have never once craved nor have I ever once looked at it and wanted a piece of it.

There is no point to that paragraph. I just wanted you to know. YOU ARE WELCOME.

I wanted to just jot down exactly where I am with my food and stuff. I am not yet brave enough to delve into the entire story of my food issues, perhaps one day I will. For now, I will say that this works for me. And it's kind of at the front of my mind lately since the recent NYC Laws went into effect mandating every chain restaurant to list calorie content.

It kind of startled me at first, not because I was surprised but because I wasn't used to seeing the little numbers in the display cases. I have known for a long time that Starbucks' pastries are the devil and can't remember ever eating one in my entire life. I'm kind of disappointed with Chipotle's labeling since they categorize their food with a RANGE of calories. Depending on what you put inside it, your burrito MIGHT be 400 calories but also might be 900. GOOD LUCK FIGURING IT OUT.

But honestly, I think some of that is just common sense. Sour cream and cheese = bad. Lettuce and tomato = good. Since reading Michael Pollan's book, In Defense of Food, I have most certainly gotten more careful with my food selections, preferring to think less of calories and more about what I'm gaining from eating a certain item. More than five ingredients or a list of ingredients I can't pronounce? No, thank you. This is the main reason that I've switched out my Luna Bars for Lara Bars. Small change, but I feel so much better about it.

IN SUMMATION, I'd like to tell you all that I'm enjoying a lovely summer of CSA fruits and vegetables and an occasional vegan cupcake recipe. I love how I feel after I've eaten a good meal of whole, unprocessed foods that have had a minimal negative impact on the earth and on other creatures. Please give me a gold star.

And now, I am going to send that philosophy to hell by going out to eat with Ashley. I hope to ingest some seafood though I am torn about what to order for dessert. A trio of homemade sorbet? Or the berries and cream? Or everything on my plate AND Ashley's? OR SOME BACON JUST BECAUSE IT TASTES GOOD!?!?!?!?!?

Who knows, with my legs shaved and my bed all made up, I'm feelin' crazy.

Currently Pissing Me Off

2008-07-21T21:52:00.003-04:00

The really tall man who consistently steps in the elevator with me and then stands in the front left corner, effectively blocking the television screen.

All I get to do on the ride up to work is stare at the back of his head and wonder what the headlines for the day are saying and how stock prices are doing and which celebrity had their baby. It's all in my imagination since I can't actually see anything because he's standing in my way THE ENTIRE TIME. I think tomorrow when he moves to step inside the elevator, I'm going to elbow him in the gut and dump his coffee on his head. I think that should send a message that says, "I want to watch elevator TV too, you ignorant tall person and also? I hate you."