Thursday, November 8, 2012

Ghosts of Jackets Past...

If you know me you are probably aware that I have an affinity for jackets. For some reason I just love a great jacket or coat. In the summer months I find myself looking forward to jacket weather.

I typically find a new jacket every fall. But not just any kind of jacket but a jacket worthy of joining my sacred collection. My birthday is in the fall so as a sort of 'Happy Birthday' to myself I get a new jacket.

This morning I got dressed and ready to go to the West Village for a rehearsal. I dressed myself for a typical day in November in New York.

Bitchin' tights. Cute dress. Great boots.

But what jacket to wear?

I have a purple down coat that I have been wearing a lot lately and while it is a very practical and a warm option, I was feeling bloated and as any girl in the North East knows, down coats are just about the worst option ever when you're already feeling like the Michelin Man sans puffy coat.

So I opened my closet and there it was...

A little more than eight years ago I lost my grandpa.
My Granddaddy.

He was a very important figure in my life. For as long as I could remember he spent 3 months of the year and every Christmas with us and we ate truck loads of ice cream together and rarely missed a nightly episode of Wheel of Fortune. And maybe most importantly he was by and large the funniest man I've had the pleasure of knowing.

The funeral was on a bone chilling January day in Simsbury, Connecticut where my family is from. I, however, spent most of my formative years in Texas...meaning I was and still am pretty terrible at dressing for freezing temperatures and heavy snow.

When my dad, sister and I arrived in Connecticut it was very clear that my light Texas jacket would not keep me warm in the -10 degree weather. But my wardrobe took a seat on the back burner when we arrived. Saying goodbye to a man that touched our lives so profoundly became much more important.

My dad knew I was interested in writing a eulogy. In the Catholic Church eulogy's are not part of a traditional funeral. But my grandpa was loved by so many people and so many of us wanted to share our fondest memories of him. So our family approached the priest and asked if he would make allowances for my grandpa's funeral the the next day. He did. But he would only allow one person to deliver it.


I was terrified.

My dad, sister and I got into the rental car and I think my dad could see me trembling in the back seat with fear. So he took me to JCPenney and said "let's get you a warm jacket."

I couldn't think straight sorting through the coat department and then my dad came up to me with a light suede jacket with beautiful red and purple embroidery and a thick, fluffy and warm lining.

It was perfect.

We bought it. I put it on and we headed back to our hotel where I sat at a desk for hours trying to find the perfect way to say goodbye for all of us.


And then more nothing.

After many failed drafts I looked at my dad, who was silently watching TV on his bed and told him I couldn't do it. It was too much. And then my dad said.

"Colleen, relax. You can do this. If you don't I know you will look back and wish that you had."

And just like that, the words came to me.

The next day I put on my new jacket and folded the piece of hotel scrap paper full of my words of love and goodbye and placed it in my pocket.

This moment in my life will forever remain as one of my most vivid and difficult times I have ever experienced. But because of my dad I can look back and remember the time he gave me the warmth and courage I needed to express my heart, gratitude and remembrance for my beautiful grandpa.

As I opened my closet today there my jacket was. Without hesitation I grabbed it, buttoned up and ventured into my day.

I've been having a tough time lately. A time when warmth and courage are something I need very much and as I walked through this city as a Nor'Easter coated the streets with snow my core felt warm and very much not alone because I was wearing a memory of love and support and after all these years the memories and the jacket still keep me warm.

...if only I had worn gloves and waterproof boots.

But I am learning. Learning so much about survival and how to thrive...even if it is one layer at a time...

Sunday, July 29, 2012

Mountain Air Manifesto

Greetings and salutations!

Long time no talk. I apologize but you're probably used to me taking my sweet time in between entries...I like to build anticipation to manipulate your interest in my writing.

And here we are.

I am happy to report to you that I am in fact not writing to you from the majestic and scenic borough of Queens but I am writing to you from this dump of a town with views that don't even come close to rivaling the Triborough Bridge and Queensborough Bridge. (side note: sarcasm is my strongest suit.)

I am still sexless though. (another side note: consistency is overrated.)

In all seriousness though, Aspen, Colorado may be the most beautiful place I have ever been to. I find myself surrounded by the most beautiful mountains and breathing the freshest air that has reached my lungs in years.

I am not used to magical lands such as these. So much so that my first night here my head hurt so badly and my body swelled up like the Michelin Man. I was told that it was the altitude but I think my body was in overdrive trying to figure out where the smell of urine and sweaty homeless people went. But I woke up the next day feeling just fine, so I think I will survive just fine...fear not.

I could get used to big mountains, fresh air and quaint towns. There is something strangely humanizing about places like these. Places where nature is the star of the show and towns are built to allow us to look up and marvel at the unexplainable beauty that was created for us and not created by us.

I fancy myself a creator and I spend so much of my time figuring out how to be an effective and successful creator that I don't really stop to smell the roses...ever. Living in New York as a struggling artist doesn't really afford you much time or opportunity to stop and take a moment to just appreciate what is and forget about the worry of what will or could be.

But this morning as I write to you, I am discovering how important it is to come up for air every now and again. Even if the air is reallllly thin.

I have been really beat down by the hustle and bustle of life lately...feeling over worked, underpaid and finding myself forgetting all the reasons as to why I am in New York. Lately living in New York means waiting tables and hoping I can afford rent, student loans and 3 cups of coffee a day. And this may be a surprise...but that's actually not why I moved here three years ago. But as I sit here amongst mountains, good coffee and a stranger's dog who is resting his sweet head on my foot I can't help but feel glad that I have worked hard and been beat down a bit and that I can take a moment to go to a place like this, spend time with someone I love truly and sit in a coffee shop and just be glad to be alive and realize just how lucky of a girl I really am.

I have heard many people say that one of the best parts of living in New York is leaving New York and today I know that to be true in my life.

I love being a New Yorker. I love that the city holds some of my hardest and darkest times and I love that it also holds some of my most beautiful and brightest moments. I love the sense of pride I feel when I tell people where I live and that I am there ultimately pursuing my dreams and my art and that I don't just survive in New York but I thrive there.

But to thrive sometimes you need to take a step back and breath so when you jump back in you return with focus and purpose but more importantly you return knowing that life isn't about the future, it's about the now and the now can be simple and beautiful no matter where you are, no matter how confused by life you may be, no matter how tired you may find yourself.

Right now I am happy and in the mountains spending time with one of my best friends. Right now I am content.

We should always find the fresh air and mountains. And if there aren't any mountains and there is a short supply of fresh air, then we may need to get creative. But I bet there will always be smiles, laughter, sunshine and puppies just waiting to brighten our day if we take time to notice.

Maybe...more than likely.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

A Fancy Flush

My life is nothing short of glamorous lately. I find myself drinking too much, wanting to eat skittles, cheeseburgers and cake every hour on the hour.  Glamour.

Like if I become a diabetic alcoholic explosion, I will only have to worry about that and not whether or not I am doing something substantial with my life...

Logic has never been my strong suit.

About a month ago I really found myself questioning my life and my choices.

I work at a fancy restaurant, with fancy customers and fancy prices and sometimes extra fancy people buy the restaurant for a great big fancy party celebrating their fancy lives.

I can assure you that when I am scheduled to work these fancy life is less than fancy.

How many times did I just say fancy?


So I get to work that night and I am told that I will be standing outside our bathrooms with a tray to hold our fancy party goers drinks, while they pee, snort coke, have sex, vomit, or just simply go #2.



I begrudgingly take my tray, head to the bathrooms and prepare for battle.

As the party started I contemplated life, as I stood in what felt like solitary confinement.

And then it was about time for the drunks to break the seal...and we all know that once the seal is broken there is no turning back.

At first people seemed bewildered that I was willing to hold their drinks while they were in dispose ( I use the term willing as loosely as possible). And then I started to keep a tally of all the d-bag men who said "feel free to slip a roofy in there, if you want." Everyone's a goddamned comedian.

Then I began to notice that there was this young kid, who was maybe 17 or so standing not too far from me. He was clearly at the party as he was dressed to the nines but he was also very clearly out of place. Once the wave of seal breakers subsided for a moment I decided to ask him how his night was.

"You enjoying the party?" I inquired.
"Yeah, it's great! I've never been to anything like this or seen so many celebrities."
"Yeah..." I replied with feigned excitement.

(awkward silence)

"Anjelica Houston is wasted..." I said desperate to keep this rare moment of human interaction on nights like these going.
"Oh really? I haven't seen her yet."
"I've started to time how long it takes her to need to go the bathroom, again...she should be back in about ten minutes if my timing is accurate."
He laughs.
"It's weird seeing her so sloppy...but she always thanks me for holding her drink...which is a change of pace tonight."
"How did you get stuck with this job." ( a question I had been thinking all night)
" I think my managers know I am the only one who wouldn't outwardly complain about doing it."

(cue silence as I imagine how fitting it would be to dress as a welcome mat for Halloween this year.)

"So do you do something else other than hold drinks?" he said cheekily breaking the silence.
"Ha! Yeah...I'm an actor...go figure, right?"

He then took a general interest in my life as an actor. I told him all about the shows I've been working on and my future goals and artistic dreams and he then shared with me his plans to attend Boston University in the fall for film production and we sweetly shared a moment of hope for the future. It was nice. It made me feel less jaded and when you've been standing outside a bathroom for hours, that's hard to do.

He then headed back into the party.

"I'll see you later." he said.
"You know where to find me."

And off he went. I wish my night ended there. With a lovely interaction with a kid who was generally enthused by life. Contagious enthusiasm. And for that i was grateful.

But alas, the beat down goes on...

Now throughout the night there was this...guy...this guy who was clearly trying to make connections with the fancy people all night...trying so hard that he was definitely following people to the bathroom...waiting for them to come out and magically give notice how AMAZING he was and demand that he be the next Robert Deniro...

He felt it was his job to try to make me feel small, uninformed and unimportant. Did he not realize I was bathroom duty girl that night?

"You know who that is?"
"An old MTV VJ?" I replied aging myself...
"Yeah she's a big deal."

I then sat back and watched this guy make a complete and total ass of himself as this middle aged couple approaches our general direction.

I have to give you the complete visual of this couple so you can fully appreciate the following interaction...

The woman was dressed up lavishly  as if to distract from the obscene amount of plastic surgery she has undergone, which I can only assume she endured to preserve her youth when in truth it just made her look 30 years older and left her with a face that conjured images of taking a lighter to a Barbie Doll's face and watching it melt.

The man was wearing khakis a respectable sweater and dark rimmed glasses that framed his happy little older man face.

Ok got it? Good.

Now the woman retreats to the bathroom and her husband strikes up a conversation with me by telling me I have a great haircut and asks me who my stylist was...

I don't know if it was my delayed response to his question because I was wondering if this man really thought the girl holding the tray outside the shitter of this party actually had a "stylist" or if was the obscene eagerness for my painfully annoying social climbing acquaintance that lead to the conversation to completely exclude me but it very much did as Ass Kissing Adam here asked the gentleman what had brought him to the party tonight...I mean what could I possibly contribute to that conversation? It was ever so clear as to why I was there...

The gentleman then revealed that his wife was a major celebrity talent agent...which quite possibly could have been the worst thing to mention to this ass hat...

He then began to give this poor man his life story about how he works in finance but his ultimate dream is to become an actor, and eventually melting Barbie came out of the bathroom and slowly began to realize that her husband had outed her profession to Ass Kiss Adam and she graciously told him a bit about the business and even more graciously accepted his Meryl Lynch business card, you she can make him the next Robert DeNiro...and then they left.

Realizing I was there to witness the entire interaction Ass Kiss Adam felt the need to tell me how big of a deal that conversation was and even went so far as to say "this is how stars are made."  and then obligatorily asked me if I was an actor and without hesitation I immediately said "no." And then he left me but not before saying "that was a BIG deal."


He left me there, tray in hand wondering why....

Why did I say I wasn't an actor?
Why didn't I try to schmooze the big wig?

The plain truth was...I didn't care or want to. I mean my self-degrading credit card had already been maxed out the moment I planted myself outside the bathroom that night...why should I make myself feel worse by grappling like he did?

It's so easy to look back on crazy New York moments like that and see a missed opportunity but hindsight actually fills me with perspective and not regret.

While it was easy to feel subhuman that night, I ironically learned more about myself as a normal human and as an artistic human.

I refuse to take the path of Ass Kiss Adam because I have seen greatness and success in unconventional ways. I've been deeply inspired by my friends, who are true artists...who are hungry to create more than they are hungry for fame and fortune. I have seen them shine on stage after a year of relentless and often no pay work. I have been inspired by their growth and passion. I have been a part of total selfless devotion and collaboration to produce a home made show and I know what it feels like to know that together we've created magic. I have seen us all struggle deeply as the bitter life of a young actor in New York or simply just a young human in New York beat us down to tears and frustration...but we have overcome and we keep going because we are passionate creators.

Perhaps that's not ideal...perhaps thats crazy but the people and things I love most in life and wildly unideal and crazy but to me, that makes them more beautiful.

As I look back on that night I think of my young friend from the beginning of the night and I truly hope he finds a community of artists that inspire him as I have...because if he is ever on bathroom duty because he needs to make money somehow so he can live the artistic life he wants, at the end of the night he won't think that his life has gone terribly wrong but instead he will know that he's done something right because he is forging his own path...and that path is not simply is passionate, it's grueling but it's real and it's human and unique. It's endurance and beauty. It's something to fight for and something to stand proudly next to.

Like I said....I truly do live a glamourous life.

Saturday, June 2, 2012

Silver Lined Barking Spiders.

My back hurts. That's something older people say right? Like, if you were to make a pie chart of people with bad backs, the majority of the pie would be the color gray, representing people in their 60's or 70's.

I'm 25.

I want pie.

A couple of weeks ago, I decided I wanted to get a massage. I needed someone to get rid of all the bad feelings I hold on ever so tightly in my shoulders, and maybe I just wanted to be touched? (What?)

So I went.

It was my first time (ha).

I was nervous when I walked in. I checked in and the woman at the desk asked me if I was comfortable with a male masseuse and without hesitation I replied with an nervous and seemingly desperate, "I prefer it." I am not quite sure why I said I preferred it as that would imply that I had experience in the field of massages, which I don't. Perhaps I was referencing my boyfriend who sees the tension build in my shoulders and gives me a massage without me ever needing to ask....

No that wasn't it...

Annnnyywayy...they took me back to the room, told me disrobe and Mr. Massage would be in shortly.

Naturally I got undressed as quickly as possible to avoid any accidental naked surprises and I jumped under the blanket and waited...

And waited...

Where was he??

About 10 minutes pass and finally he storms in the room and the show begins.

He started on my legs and then spent an uncomfortably long time on my butt (not that I'm complaining.) Mr. Massage finally moved up to my shoulders. He then warned me that he is going to increase pressure to get rid of all the knots in my back.

Now when he warned me about increasing pressure I didn't know how much pressure to expect and let me tell you guys...there was a lot of pressure...and by that I mean...

Mr. Massage FARTED the most epic fart known to man. I mean, if my hair were down I am certain it would have blown back.


I'll tell you what you do.

For the first few moments you get super uncomfortable and pretend that nothing happened. And then if the masseuse apologizes; as mine lose all self control and laugh so hard that you cry. And you will continue to laugh throughout the rest of your massage because you will of course replay the moment when your masseuse ripped ass and you will make the poor and already embarrassed man, feel terrible but you know what? He farted and that's funny so...

Sometimes life gives you exactly what you need when you least expect it.

Am I saying that what I needed in life was for a man to rub my back and fart with gusto?

Yep I sure am.

I needed to laugh with complete and total abandon. I completely and full heartedly NEEDED it. I needed that moment of ghastly (pun intended) surprise to remind me that life is funny. It's hard as hell, but it's mostly just ridiculous. Right?

Today my heart feels a bit banged up and it lays heavy in my chest but the memory of the way I felt when I laughed at my farting massage friend strangely gives me hope. Because I know I will laugh again and that this feeling I have today will gas...


Thursday, April 26, 2012

One Rain Drop at a Time

I hate the rain. If you are a follower of my blog you are probably more than aware of this fact. But it sucks y'all. What I hate more than the rain itself is being caught without an umbrella. 

With that said, I am going to completely contradict myself.

The other day it rained HARD in New York. I woke up and the rain was beating against my window and I grumbled rolled over and wished for some sunshine. April showers blah blah blah. But as I got ready for the day it was very apparent that the rain would only get worse. So I did what any smart New Yorker would do and I grabbed my umbrella and I endured. I am so valiant, I know. But as I was walking home that night and the rain and the wind were at their all time peak, I wished I didn't have an umbrella. I wanted to be a victim of circumstance, ill prepared, but still trudging along with a sense of humor. But I had an umbrella and I was a step ahead of circumstance. 

Today I had a day off from work and headed into Manhattan to run some long overdue errands. As I was nearing Times Square the flood gates opened and down the rain fell. 

I didn't have an umbrella.

I was livid. 

I ran to an awning to wait it out. 

(Enter Cracked Out Toothless Homeless Man STAGE RIGHT)

If you keep up with my blog then you are also more than aware of the fact that I am a target of most homeless men's interest.

I am generally very courteous to my haram of derelict and I give them change and dollar bills to appease them and maybe make them smile but today, I assure you, was not that day. 

Something in me snapped.

This cracked out man immediately approached me and our interaction went along these lines:

"Gurl, you look good wet."


"What you don't speak English? Where you from ma?" he says as he naws at his apple. Naw being the opporative as he was missing almost all of his teeth. 

"I am from here, I am just trying to ignore you." I said more politely than was nessascary. 

"Oh I see you too good to talk to me." he responded as pieces of his lightly chewed apple fly at my face.

(cue shit hitting the fan)

"ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?" I said as I stormed off furiously into the rain. 

As I walked with no destination in mind, the drops washed away the gross apple chunks that I was too afraid to touch with my hands and I cried a little. (Shut up)

I didn't fully understand why this interaction brought me to tears because I stood up for myself (in a way). I have recently realized that I don't often stand up for myself...and by often I mean ever. I am a people pleaser to a fault. It is maybe my greatest strength and my deepest weakness. 

And while I was walking in the rain and crying (to ensure complete removal of homeless apple sauce) I realized that I was probably crying because I felt really badly about yelling at that poor man. His life is undoubtedly much worse than I could ever imagine life to be.

I get angry because I am caught without an umbrella.

He probably gets angry because he sleeps in the rain.

Who was I to not be kind and understanding of him?

And as this cycle of "Why I am a Bad Human" thoughts flooded my head...the rain stopped almost suddenly. I kept walking to my unknown destination and suddenly I felt a smile creep across my face. The smile turned into an almost laugh because when I stopped at a crosswalk I realized "I am upset because a homeless man told me I looked good wet and then spit apple in my face." 

Perspective is a bitch.

Okay so what? I yelled at a homeless man who was bothering me. He probably gets yelled at a lot, especially if he can't keep his nasty comments and produce to himself. But I don't stick up for myself a lot and I did today. I was ill prepared but still trudging along with a sense of humor. AND the sun still came out. 

Perspective + rain + crazy homeless men = progress.

I'll take it. 

Thursday, March 22, 2012

The Tree of Life (Lessons)

When I was about six I was tied to a tree on top of a hill in my old neighborhood. I was left there for at least an hour and within that hour I experienced a lot of emotions (who me?) Firstly, I was in disbelief, as I was certain that my friend who had tied me to the tree wouldn't really leave me there. And then as time ever so slowly crept by ( as it does when you are tied to trees) it became clear that I should redefine the term 'friend' and that I should start believing that my 'friend' wasn't coming back and that I was in fact experiencing what it felt like to be tied to a tree and left for the birds ( you know, like every child does...) I then went into survival mode and started to scream and violently shake the tree to break free from the rope. I probably only did this for about 2 minutes before giving up and residing that I was stuck and was going to die a slow, lonely death...and I cried. Dear lord did I cry (yeah, me.)

I remember that moment in my life so clearly. I remember how harsh the grass felt on my legs. I remember how tight the rope felt on my arms and how the tree's bark felt rubbing against my back. I remember how sad I was and how final this moment felt for me. It was the end. But what I don't remember is how I broke free. I don't remember if I finally stopped crying and realized that breaking free wasn't that hard and that I could have broken free the whole time (seeing how to this day I am known for jumping to irrational and dramatic conclusions, I almost certain this was the case for my younger self as well.) But the point is, I don't remember the victory and only remember the struggle.

Tonight I wish I remembered how I broke free.

...was that a dramatic statement?

I mean it though.

Lately I have been feeling trapped and tied tightly to something immovable and I've been struggling to break free.

Tonight as I sit on my porch and remember back on that infamous day of my youth, I am trying to think of what I would say to that sad little girl tied to a tree.

Maybe I would tell her that I know it would be easy if I untied her but I bet she could do it herself if she took a breath and realized that the rope isn't actually all that tight but the panic and the fear of never escaping is what is making it feel like she is stuck. I would tell her to find the humor in the struggle because sometimes if you think of what is causing you distress in the most simple of ways, it actually is pretty funny. It's especially funny when you are 6 years old in a worn out red polka dotted dress with matching bows and headgear to boot. I would tell her to not sit in pain just waiting for someone to come solve her problem because no matter how bad it may seem, when it comes down to it all she needs is herself to break free. I would tell her to not take her frustrations out on the tree because if you shake the one thing that is supporting you too hard one of the branches that is so kindly giving you shade may fall, hit you and leave you exposed in the sun and that will only make the struggle more difficult. Instead use the strength it's giving you to help you break free. Finally I would tell her to be patient because sometimes overcoming takes time, it takes courage, it takes strength and most importantly it takes trust in the fact that breaking free is always possible.

Yeah...I think that's what I would say to myself then, and what I will try to remember tonight.

But if you guys see any little girls tied to trees, you should probably just untie them....

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Jumbled Thoughts and Cold Panties

Well I've removed all the feathers and I am now writing to you close to a month after I promised. I think you can maybe forgive me?...'you' being the all five of you that have patiently kept up with my inconsistent thoughts and empty promises.

Any poop... I won't spend paragraphs and time trying to catch you up on the happenings of my life...or maybe I will as I am not sure what direction I will be taking this entry. That, and I know how all of you are deeply wondering about my life's current status and happenings...




I was at a bar the other night and there was a girl who was the embodiment of wasted and she started to gush about how she has a blog that documents all of her sexual exploits and mishaps and that we should all read it...and then she said she had to go home and put her panties in her freezer...

It was much like looking into a fun house mirror at a carnival...when you are feeling fat and insecure...

And yet, here we are.

I've been resisting the urge to buy a plane, bus or train ticket all weekend. A plane ticket to Thailand, a bus ticket to Maine and a train ticket to Boston. I don't really know the rhyme or reason as to why the urge to travel is so strong or why these three places are on my radar but it is and they are. Perhaps I'm craving a less exciting and more self deprecating version of Eat, Pray, Love entitled...Escape, Hibernate, Drink. But I think it's mostly because I am starting to really realize that I am in charge of my life and my choices and I am craving the chance to make more choices and take as many unexpected turns as I possibly can, just to test the waters of life a bit more. I am also craving adventure.

I've recently come to realize that I let too many of my choices be influenced by other people's opinions. Case in point, when I joined OKCupid. You know...the free online dating website. My instincts told me that I wouldn't like it but I joined anyway. After countless messages from creepy men about my boobs and an exhausting amount of messages consisting of just 'hey' I found my instincts to be right on the money. But I did meet one person who captured my attention by asking me which Greek God I would want to cook me meatloaf and which muppet I would want to run a real estate firm with and while I am sure these are questions he asks all the ladies, I thought I would give him a chance and get some coffee with him since he asked.

Now, I hadn't been on a proper date in a while and I have absolutely never been on a blind Internet date before so I was quite nervous and uncomfortable. We decided to meet up at a small coffee shop in the Lower East Side. So I got there and no sign of my Greek Muppet Man. At first I thought I would give him the benefit of the doubt since A) it was early and B) he picked the most inconvenient spot for a person who lives in Queens and a person who lives in Washington Heights to meet up at. But the Lower East Side makes everyone look so much cooler in the way that dimly lit rooms make everyone look more I understood, but once the 45 minutes late bell rang I was sent into the classic blind date panic. You know, the one where you are certain he stepped in, saw me, threw up a little in his mouth and quietly escaped unnoticed...maybe you don't know that panic...good for you.

Needless to say I left the Lower East Side that morning highly caffeinated and deeply rejected. Not a winning combination, if you were wondering.

The Greek Muppet Man texted me 2 hours later apologizing profusely because apparently he slept through his alarm while I was waiting for him in the coffee shop imagining how my life will be when I have 46 cats and have a wardrobe consisting solely of snuggies and adult diapers. I was pretty annoyed but mostly relieved, as you can imagine. He left me 3 voice messages apologizing and asking for another chance. My instincts told me to tell him to go jump off the nearest bridge but I was going against my instincts with this whole online dating experience already why should I start listening to them now?

So we met up later in the week for breakfast. The safest date meal if ever I heard...

And it turned out he was lovely. He held a conversation well...kept up with my sarcasm and even made me laugh...So I was happy that I took a risk and gave someone a chance...until he started to 'crazy girl' text me an hour after we parted ways and with each text he slowly chipped any interest I had in him away and slowly but surely that was the end of The Muppet Man and me.

And after another month of obscene and bleak messages from strangers I deleted my OKCupid account. Whether or not I gave Muppet Man or the site a fair chance doesn't matter because I wanted out.

So I don't like online dating and I have intimacy and commitment issues...slap my ass and call me an American.

I realize that I don't go about things in a typical fashion. I am aware that I need to take more risks in the romantic field but I want spontaneity, I want surprise. I don't want to be matched with someone on a computer's terms but on my own terms. And of course that's not to say I don't believe online dating is great for those whom it works for but I am not among those folks.

I don't want to do things because I feel like its what I should do. I lack certain experiences (read: old virgin) but instead of being so utterly confused and ashamed of it and worried that my images of life with cats, snuggies and adult diapers are rapidly becoming a reality, I need to embrace it as simply a part of who I am, and that yes, it makes me a little weird and it makes people view me a little differently and it may make them judge me but that's not my problem because you are who you are, you make the choices you make and you are in control of your own adventure.

My adventure.

It may be strange but it's mine.

So here is to making your own way through life. Here's to just not giving a flying fuck whether or not people think your way through life isn't right or that you're doing something wrong because you're doing something different than them.

I'm an old virgin. I have intimacy issues. I wear too many patterns at once. I am afraid of milk. I am a weird girl with lots of feelings and I love who I am and I am learning to be okay with other people not loving who I am....because it doesn't all.

Anyways I have to go plan a some trips and put my panties in the freezer. Catch ya later.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Promises and Moons.

Okkkkaaayyy guys.

I am feeling alot of things right now and my main New Years Resolution was to keep up with my blog much more and I have some epic online dating stories in the hang tight.

But I lost my cell phone last night which was the straw that broke this old camel's emotional back so I went back to my journal before bed and I found this piece about the moon that I want to share again. I promise a new post in 2 days. If I don't post you can tar and feather me.

to keep from waning

In NYC, the moon is a hard thing to find. I see a skyline that is infamously beautiful, bridges sparkling, and a few stars glimmering in the black sky.

In Texas, the moon is huge. It sits in the sky with confidence, aplomb and a regal distinction and sometimes it looks like it is so big that you can stick your hand out and have it rest in the palm of your hand.

The moon is not something I've given much thought to at all, before recently. It's always just been...well you know...there.

I've thought it pretty. I've thought it grand but I've never really thought ABOUT it.But now I can't stop thinking about it.

The moon is powerful, distant but not untouchable. It's mysterious. Sometimes it's dark and sometimes it's bright. The moon holds a lot of romance. The thought that at any given moment during the long night that someone is looking at the moon and wondering who else is looking at it too is kind of special to me. Whether or not someone is looking at it to find answers or simply just looking at it and feeling a little less alone at night.

She changes the tides, she lights the sky, she marks time and she is one of a kind.

Tonight...I want to be the moon.I want to be in as many places as I can be at the same time. I want to be beautiful. I want to be alone but to always be in orbit with the things that keep me alive. I want to be discovered.

I want to be the moon. ...if only for tonight.