Mousehole McRomance

When I was a little girl I was notorious for locking myself in my room and disappearing into my own little worlds. My dad used to make fun of me and the common joke around the house was:

"Where is Colleen?"

"Oh she is just in her own little mouse hole."

My mouse hole was pretty magical...(that's what she said.)

But really though, it was. In there I was able to be the sassiest Spice Girl I could be. I starred in thousands of gripping and tragic episodes of Rescue 911. Sometimes I was Celine Dion, sometimes I was Whitney, sometimes I was Annie Lennox and most times I was Meatloaf (circa Bat out of Hell).

This past week my thoughts have been consumed with something I forgot that I used to transform into in my mouse hole when I was a kid...

I would elaborately act out my wedding.

I know, I know...a little girl dreaming about her wedding? So original and unpredictable.

I completely forgot how often I did that when I was young. I assume it's my irrational desire to seem like an self sufficient cynic and hater of all things love, that suppressed the memory but I can't help but be charmed and a bit saddened about it in retrospect.

I would strip my "Little Mermaid" pillow case off of my pillow, carefully construct my bouquet of tissue roses, slip into my favorite red polka-dotted dress and grab my favorite teddy bear and stand in the mirror and let my imagination take hold.

My pillow case would suddenly become the most beautiful lace veil, my bouquet transformed into the most luscious and vibrant red roses, my polka-dotted dress turned into the white version of Belle's ball gown in Beauty and the Beast...and my teddy bear...oh what my teddy bear became was the most special of all. He became my very own prince and I loved him. I loved him passionately, I loved him innocently and I loved him joyously. I was my very own version of a Disney princess with my very own prince charming.

After the vows were made, the marriage sealed with a kiss on the cheek, I would put my pillow case back on, throw away the bouquet of tissues, keep the dress on (it was a really great dress), and put my bear back in his appropriate spot and I would wonder about the day I would actually be married. I just knew it was going to be the most remarkable day ever and I was so excited for it to come.

Weird how things change...

These days instead of pretending to be a future bride, I pretend like I am bad at love and that I simply don't want it. I'm just as elaborate in my pretending though, that has not changed.

For me, hiding behind a facade of the self sufficient cynic is safe, it's comfortable, it's the wall that has protected me from the unknown and the potential heartache.

For me, claiming to not believe that love or marriage is for me, claiming that I am just gonna go to a bar and have sex with the first stranger who approaches me just to prove that I don't care is easier than letting people know what I really believe and how I really want to share that physical connection with someone who I am enchanted by and that I always want to remember fondly.

So what I am trying to say is, all pretending aside, I am a hopeless romantic.

Ew.

But I am. I believe in magic. I believe in soul mates. I believe that I could be special for someone. I believe I am going to love someone passionately, innocently and joyously. I believe in Prince Charming. I believe that one day soon I will be brave enough to let that little girl with the pillow case on head and tissue in hand come back into my life.

I believe that I'm gonna let my magic mouse hole shine...(yes, that's a vagina joke.)

Oh my actress, why do you act so blue?

I know what you're thinking...

"It's been 6 months since Colleen blogged. That can only mean one thing...Colleen is probably not an old virgin anymore."

You're right. I'm not. I'm an oldER virgin now. I've turned 24 within those 6 months after all.

Ahhh yess...A lot has happened since last we spoke though. I've lost a bunch of weight, I've nearly completed my acting training, had a couple Chekhovian breakdowns and I've become a vegan...sorta.

Change. And lots of it. Some for the good and most for the confusing.

I'm still chaste though...yippppeee.

My life has been overwhelmingly chaotic these past months. Non-stop. Intense. Stressful. Full of joy. Full of tears. Full of feeeeellliinnngsss. Sooo many actory, self indulgent feeeeellings. It's been nuts and now here I am on the brink of being thrust upon the "real world" where most people don't cry everyday or roll around on the floor painting imaginary walls with open vowel sounds...a shame really.

I moved my life up to NYC two years ago, to train as an actor...and in two months those two years will be complete and the time to truly be what I am and do what I love will rest solely on my shoulders.

Scary.

I feel in my heart an exhilarating excitement for what I can do, what I can become and what I'm capable of as an artist and as a person but my head is full of doubts and mistrusts that I carry with me from the past. And just recently I've come to realize that my head and my heart never truly see eye to eye.

My heart is full of these beautiful ideals. The world through my hearts eyes is a world where anything is possible, where it's okay to be in love, where wanting and needing are not signs of weakness but signs of humanity, where creation and art in all it's forms are the only riches you need to survive. A place where love is always enough...where it's always requited and it never hurts. My heart's world is ideal. Infinitely and beautifully ideal.

My head is full of these unnerving realities. The world through my head's eyes is a world where anything is possible for the "lucky few", where being in love just hurts, where letting people know that I desire affection and I need to be loved makes me feel like I've failed in some way, where creation and art are a quick way to poverty and insanity. A place where love is rarely enough. My head's world is wayyyy too "Debbie Downer" for it's own good.

I've been trapped in my head's perspective for the past couple of months. But I write to you today my lovely readers, to tell you that I want to start changing gears and look with my heart a bit more. To trust my heart. To be a little bit reckless with it. To stop my fears and my clever tricks from sweeping my heart under the perverbial rug of safety and security that I cling to so dearly. To stop only taking risks in my acting but to start taking them in my life.

There is a new chapter about to open up and in it I will say I love you with no regrets or apprehensions, I will step on a ledge and not care, I will paint the sky with sunbeams instead of clouds, I will trust the resiliance of my heart and as cliche as it may sound...I will listen to it.

We all have fears, we all have shame, we all have a lack of trust, we all hurt, we all try to rationalize the irrational but what makes us special is what's in our heart and what we do with it. Right?

How ideal of me.

=)

Me and Nunny McGee

Hi. It's me again. It's been a while since I've actually took the time out and write, so instead of making excuses I'll just say...my bad and I'll mend my ways. Probably.

When I write I usually get triggered by some kind of outside force that inspires me. A song lyric. A strange encounter. A conversation. A smile. You know, just something. Anytime I schedule a time to write it is usually a pretty big steaming pile of shit. Everybody's favorite. Definitely.

As of today, I have been triggered by a said 'outside force'. Clearly.

I sat by a nun on the train today. If that's not reason to write, I just don't know what is.

Let me explain.

I got on the train today to head to work, completely reeling from my 40hr school week and my 35 hour work week and probably exuding a pretty pleasant "I hate the world and just want sleep" vibe. Just one of those weeks I suppose where everything is a personal offense, and you have to breath and think happy thoughts like Peter Pan suggests. But it didn't seem to be working to well for me today.

And then a nun sits down beside me.

At first, I think I was staring at her like she was Santa Claus, because I mean, I didn't know nuns really existed...let alone rode the train. Then I just started smiling really big.

She was about 55 years old give or take and she was wearing a Jansport backpack. Awesome. And then the thought dawned on me that we both, the nun and myself, were probably both virgins. The thought amused me quite a bit. I was on the verge of outwardly laughing but I figured that would be rude. And then at one of the stops there was one of those ever so lovely "ARE YOU STILL A VIRGIN?" posters and right next to it was a poster for a movie called "The Town." This is funny because the poster for "The Town" has people dressed as creepy nuns on it. I can only imagine that both those posters side by side were very unsettling for my nun friend, while only one of them is unsettling for me. Perspective.

After seeing both those posters my outward laughter was harder to contain. I made eye contact with a guy who was across from me, and he was smiling just as big as I was. We laughed. Little did he know, I was laughing because of the irony of sitting next to a fellow old virgin while he was probably laughing at the irony of a nun sporting a sweet backpack and a swanky wooden Jesus necklace, riding a train. I hope that's why he was laughing.

After the laughing urges settled I couldn't help but watch this woman. She was pretty fascinating. Her smile was one of the most genuine expressions I've seen in a long time. Everything delighted her. A little girl with pigtails, the mariachi band that sang songs for money, the man who gave his seat to a young lady...everything made her eyes turn into little slivers of joy and displayed her many laugh lines on her well lived face. I could tell she saw so much beauty in the everyday things and that made her one of the most beautiful people I have ever observed.

She was the embodiment of joy.

My heart has been kind of heavy over the past two months. I've looking at each day, thinking about what I have to do, what I haven't done, what I want, what I long for, what I lack, the stream of bad luck I've encountered and so forth. And as I result, I've been tired, I've been unpleasant and I've lost track of my joy.

I get on the subway train and I look for the least smelly person to sit by. I get pissed when the mariachi band is playing on the train because I can't hear my i-pod. I fill with rage when the train gets stopped for traffic and I want to throw my shoe at the creepy dudes. And I go through my day taking inventory of all the things I want to avoid and I seclude myself to the world with a cold demeanor.

But this nun. This damn beautiful, happy nun shook me up today.

I live in NYC. I am going to school 5 days a week and being taught by some of the most extraordinary professionals in the theatrical world. I can pay my bills. I am surrounded by love. I am doing what I love. I live in a place I love. So why a I choosing to only search for the moments I am turned off by? Why is it that this nun seems to only see the joyful moments?

Perhaps it's the power of choice. She chooses to see light and joy. She is a real life Peter Pan living in her everyday Neverland because she chooses the 'happy thoughts.'

Sometimes it's easy to forget that we are strong enough to choose our thoughts and see the world as a place we like. And I like this world. And I really like that nun.


If ever our worlds collide again, I hope that when she sits next to me our old virginity isn't the only thing we have in common...but our joy.

Subtle Signs

Last week my good friend Mr. James Ortiz shot me a text and told me there was a phone number for me to call. The "Virgin Help Hotline." Now if you live in NYC or any city with public transit and lots of billboard space you have probably seen the advertisment. You know the big sign that says in big bold writing "ARE YOU STILL A VIRGIN? CALL FOR HELP." Yeah those ones...

When he told me about the signs thought he probably misread the sign. But I guess that would be too weird of a thing to misread because a few days later every single train stop I encountered was littered in the virgin bulletin posters. Sometimes the world mocks me.











Okay universe, I get it...

Cabbage Patch Kid Seeks a Man

I have a mirror next to my bed. It's a cool vintage full length mirror that my grandpa gave to my dad, and then my dad gave to me. Most days I like this mirror. It confirms whether or not I'm satisfied with the outfit I've picked out, whether or not my ass looks like the size of a pickup truck, or whether or not I feel svelte and debonair. But sometimes, when my alarm goes off, I roll over pretending not to hear the dreaded reminder of early morning and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Sometimes I have to blink twice and clear my eyes to ensure what I'm seeing isn't some homeless person who snuck into my bed for a full nights rest, but it is in fact me, hair going in all directions, eyes slightly poufy, no makeup and a pissed off scowl to boot. It's nothing short of horrifying.

You see, from a young age I've always been under the impression that ladies wake up with flowing luscious hair, with a perfectly chipper face and naturally we are supposed to run to the window, spring it open and let the little blue birds land on our finger and sing us a morning song all while the wind blows through our stunning tresses.

This has yet to happen in my life.

Like I said a typical morning results in me looking severely homeless, and I'm constantly haunted by certain voices in my family, asking why I don't date or where my boyfriend is, and me giving them a sarcastic response like "Well, if you'd see me in the morning you'd know why I'm single" and they then awkwardly laugh, feel kind of bad for me and then toy with the idea of whether I'm a lesbian or a strange recluse.

I'm not. A lesbian that is.

My sister and my mom gave me a lesbian time limit when I was in high school. My sister, who is absolutely stunning might I add, said "If you don't have a boyfriend by your sophomore year of high school, then you're probably a lesbian." My mother graciously said "No, if she doesn't have one by junior year, then maybe something is up." Thanks for looking out Mom.

Apparently, my ridiculous posters of N*SYNC and my obsession for all things Leonardo DiCaprio wasn't enough to convince them that I wasn't harboring same sex tendencies.

I could just see my mom telling the family, "Yes, Kelley is just as gorgeous as ever, all the boys are drooling over her and Colleen, well, she's just as smart and funny as ever…no attention from the boys, but that's okay, she may be a lesbian, and you know what I support her 100%."

The thought of these conversations happening between my mom and other family members really bothered me, for the shear fact, that I think they aren’t putting all the facts into play. My sister, looks like a Barbie doll with excellent hair and perfect skin and eats whatever she wants and maybe weighs 110lbs, where as I look like a Cabbage Patch doll, and have very bizarre hair and the pastiest skin this side of the Mississippi. Not to mention I watch very carefully what I eat, but I am still convinced my sister did some kind of magic trick when I was born to ensure that whatever she eats, I gain the weight for her. My sister gets hit on by the hot waiter, and I get hit on my the homeless man who really only wants the 50 cents he saw me drop from my purse. My sister has a gorgeous baby, and while I’ve yet to have kids, and won’t for some time, I can only imagine that my child will come out of the womb with his right leg attached to his forehead. You know, for consistency’s sake.

Although it is comforting to know that I have a family that supports me as a lesbian, even if it is a little disappointing to them, that I am as straight as ever.


Coming from a genetically blessed family is a burden.


Just when you thought starving children in Africa had it hard…

Hope

Soley Soulful

Soul is commonly defined as "the immaterial part of a human being actuating the cause of an individual life."

Which means that a soul mate is more than likely defined as a the puzzle piece that fits perfectly into that immaterial part of a person. A mate that completes the picture, that ices the cake of the individual life. Right?

If someone asked me to define exactly what I would look for in a potential soul mate I assume it would be a short laundry list that was as follows:

• Effortless humor
• A manly protecting nature accented by sensitivity
• An artistic passion for life
• Loyalty
• Kindness
• A good hugger

I actually haven't given it much thought, to be honest. But I imagine that those six qualities would be present in a potential soul mate.

I have been thinking about this alot lately. Wondering if I even believe in soul mates, if everyone is made to match another human being in the world. It seems incredibly improbable in this world, but the idea is nice. The idea is grand and intoxicating, sure but is it just something that we all cling to for security? Security against loneliness?

We all come into this world alone, as so many people like to bring up in the most depressing of situations. I mean how many times have you heard the phrase "We come into this world alone and we will leave the world alone?" I bet you've heard it more than you care to mention. It never makes you feel better either. It's a depressing thought and a depressing word of wisdom but is it true?

Technically, it's not. You are not alone in the womb, because well..

A. It's not your womb.

B. It's INSIDE someone.

and

C. You are fully connected to another human being by an umbilical cord when you are pushed out into the world. (Unless you were a test tube baby, and in that case I really don't know what to say to you because I don't know much about test tube babies and the image I have of them is something along the lines of a baby growing in a jar full of baby growing juices until they take the lid off one day and the baby is fully developed and equipped with a diaper already on. That's how it works, right?)

But essentially we are alone but not at the same time. It's quite a paradox. Just like the paradox that people surround themselves in when they say that they love to be alone but then their biggest fear is being alone. It's just a weird, weird mix of human quirks.

I've always wanted a soul mate. I've always fancied myself the type that will have this epic story of romantic proportions to tell my kids one day.

"I was trapped inside of a burning theatre on Broadway I was working in and everyone got out of the building except for me and your father came swooping in, flying towards me like a majestic phoenix and throwing me over his shoulder and then bringing me to safety almost immediately. He realized he loved me and how could I NOT love him after that, then he kissed me passionately and that's how me and your ruggedly handsome fire fighter father met. The rest is just history."

You know...something like that.

But apparently my life isn't a 1930's melodrama and my romantic encounters in the past have been far from heroic, far from romantic, and sadly, no fire fighters. Which makes me really wonder if I do indeed believe in soul mates.

The idea of a soul mate was never an original idea in my own head, it was always something I read about, saw in the movies, heard people crooning about in love songs, so I figured it was just a natural part of life that we all were going to encounter at some point or another before our time is up on this Earth.

Which gets me to think, how many people have an idea of their ideal mate? How many people can give laundry lists of all the qualities they want that said person to inhabit? And then on the other hand how many people can make a laundry list of the qualities that make up their OWN soul?

Chances are it's easier for people to say what they want rather than what they are. Perhaps I am being presumptuous in saying such things but I really feel like I am right in this statement. I don't think people spend enough time being alone with themselves, falling in love with who they are and what they have to offer and celebrating themselves. Why do that when you can look at someone else, fall in love with them, celebrate them? Seemingly it's absurd and selfish to be self involved, it's more romantic to be invested in this other soul, this other life and marvel at it. Because then you don't have to think about the things that bother you about your own self. And then you are not (oh no, here that word comes again) alone.

But what if?

What if we were more selfish with our souls? Just for a little bit. Just enough 'me' time to really get to KNOW ourselves, so that we can share again?

I mean yikes, scary right? What if you delve into the recesses of your soul and find things you can't stand? I know I've been finding some gems in my own soul that I'm not proud of, but I think I'm getting to know them better and mustering up some courage to change those things or at least I'm acknowledging them more.

What I think I am trying to say here is, maybe we should stop getting so wrapped up in definitions. Definitions that aren't our own. Maybe we would be happier and more satisfied in life if we took our time more, figured ourselves out more, if we looked at the fear of loneliness and spit in it's face and realized that we aren't really alone most of the time and that patience is truly a virtue alot of us (including me of course) know not of.

I have this hope that once I am truly at peace with myself, all my quirks, all my charms, all my flaws, then I will bump into that soul who is finds those quirks, charms, and flaws intriguing and wonderful and I in turn will find theirs just as intriguing and wonderful and the rest will unfold from there. The rest will adapt, thrive and flourish and maybe then a more realistic (and yes I'll be the first to say) CLICHE story to tell the kids will be along the lines of...

"Well honestly, I met my soul mate when I wasn't even looking."

But until that happens, I am going to spend some more time getting to know this Colleen character.

I'm getting more and more okay with that.