Summer in New York is a tricky thing.
Tricky meaning, I don't like it.
I feel like most people think the summer in the city is cool and perhaps they even look forward to it. Not having to wear a million layers just to keep warm. Not trudging through snow. Being able to sit on patios. And just being able to enjoy this place in a different way.
And yeah...I totally love those things too. And while I am about to list all the reasons those things aren't good enough to win me over on my "summer in the city" feelings...I do look forward to those things as well.
...but
I haven't had a good summer in this city yet...
My first summer here I was out of work and living on (blowing through) my savings account. And then I got mugged...and lost $700...and all my i.d.'s...on my way to the airport.
-10 points for summer.
My second summer I was again out of work because I had just quit my job because of a busy final two months of school. So I found myself spending my days working a string of really shitty low paying jobs with really thrilling responsibilities that include but are not limited to: sweeping up peanuts and cleaning poop out of dressing rooms.
-12 points for summer.
-53 points for poop in dressing rooms.
My third summer was a little more stable in the work department but it was generally a summer of personal and emotional struggles. My own personal Chekhovian hell. And while my own hoopla didn't really have anything to do the fact it was summer time...I'm gonna go ahead and blame summer time anyway because blaming things that have nothing to do with weather on weather is just so much easier.
-9.05 for summer
-72 pooping in dressing rooms (I mean COME ON)
My fourth summer...well it's just beginning.
Today I really felt like summer was here for good. Maybe it was the unbearable heat. Maybe it was saying goodbye to my best friend who leaves NYC for gigs every summer, maybe it was the unquestionable choice to opt for iced coffee and not hot coffee at the bodega this morning. I don't know.
As the day continued and I walked to the train to go to work,. anxiety crept into my stomach. I thought about how much I love New York but when I don't like her (like I typically don't in summer time) she wears me out and fills my thoughts with doubts about the choices that led me here.
And then a clown car pulled up.
...No, I'm completely serious.
I was standing at the cross walk waiting to you know...cross...when I look up and this black jeep with big red clown lips and and clown eyes on the front of the car, pulls up to me. The window rolls down as a man dressed as the happiest clown I've ever seen simply said:
"Smile, beautiful."
And he drove off.
Woah.
Wait, what?
That's not real life.
All the sudden this damn city lured me back in with a classic "Only in New York" moment. I mean really though, only in New York can a clown drive up and intercept your negative thoughts with such a kind reminder to smile.
Hope for the summer began to fill my head. Could this could be a great one with so lots of smiles?
And then I got to work and I suffered a few blows to my recharged hope. A common hazard of the hospitality industry.
One of my first tables of the night was this older couple. The man of this duo pretty much asked me every question there is to ask about the menu, he sent me to the kitchen to ask the chef a myriad of weird questions, he made lots of uncomfortable references to he and his wife's sex life and tons of bad jokes at my expense.
They made things difficult and I was annoyed. My smiles were all forced as I powered through.
When the time came to drop the check (a long awaited moment), I thanked them, we shared one last bad joke and they left.
Relief.
I went to pick up the signed check and inside the bill holder was a generous tip and the gentleman's business card.
On the back of the card read:
"Keep that smile, Colleen."
Woah.
Wait, WHAT?
WHAT'S GOING ON?
My heart felt full. My smile felt the most genuine it had all week because Mr. Questions McBadjokes made my night.
Today I was full of doubts and worries for the impending change of seasons. Today a clown randomly pulled up to me and told me to smile. Today a bothersome but kind old man reminded me again, to smile. Tonight I am sitting on my porch, on this beautiful night, doing what I love, with a smile.
My fourth summer here...well, it began with an overwhelming desire to just...smile.
+100 for summer.
-94 for pooping in dressing rooms.
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Monday, April 22, 2013
The Care Bear Countdown.
When I was younger, I had no doubts that magic was real. I believed that bears with shamrocks and sunshine etched on their bellies were just as capable of saving the world as a group of teens with elemental rings that summoned Captain Planet.
Unfortunately as time passed my belief in things like these faded. With every tragedy, with every struggle that life dealt me it became all too easy to just resolve that life is hard and the only magic left in the world was the power of endurance.
Lately, all I have wanted to feel was the belief in magic again.
Now, as you know I am a bit of an enigma in our day and age. I had a conversation with a friend a couple of nights ago about the subject of my blog. He was generally perplexed as to how I could have possibly never had sex before. He went through a list of conclusions to be drawn as to why this could be so.
-I am bat shit crazy.
-I am super religous.
-I am waiting to fall in love.
-I am A-sexual.
Huh.
We then discussed each thing he listed in detail.
Bat shit crazy. No, no I don't think I am. I think I am pretty grounded in reality and although I definitely have my eccentricities, I don't see myself ever slashing some dudes tires because he told me I was pretty and then didn't call the next day. I'm pretty easy going and a law abiding citizen...so...
He agreed. And since he's known me for a while now, I was comforted in his validation on this point.
Super religious. No. I grew up in the Bible Belt yes, but I have always had an inquistive and open minded nature and I didn't strap on any kind of Jesus Chastity belt...and unless some higher power is preparing me to give birth to the next Messiah without my consent or knowledge we can go ahead and rule this conclusion out right now.
He and I laughed.
Waiting to fall in love. I don't sit around and wait for things. It's not who I am. It's not what I do. I don't think falling in love and sex go hand in hand either. I think sometimes they of course do, but sitting around and waiting for an idea of what I maybe think love is or could be seems counterproductive. Too much pressure.
He and I agreed.
I'm A-Sexual. Haha, noooo. I am not. Not at all. I have a soft spot for watching documentaries and I recently watched a piece on the subject and I can safely assure you that I am not an A-Sexual. I go on dates guys...I swear. Not often but I do, do that kind of stuff.
He and I discussed my last dating disaster and laughed, again.
So after we sorted through all his theories I brought up my favorite theory of all.
When my friend Allison learned about my chaste ways she without missing a beat, blurted out with gusto...
"YOU'RE A UNICORN!"
This will ultimately go down as my favorite response ever.
It made me feel kinda cool. And guys, as an old virgin it can sometimes be hard to feel cool unless Tina Fey is on TV talking about how she was an old virgin too...am I right, ladies?
But why not embrace being a damn mythical beast? Because now that I have, I feel some pretty strong magic welling up inside of me. I've got an interesting story to tell. I've got friends with infinite magic oozing out of them willing to help me tell my story. And maybe once I do share my full story I can make people feel a little less alone with the things that make them feel different and judged. Because we are all in this together. And just because magic isn't what I once thought it may be, it's still very real. We all have it within us, we just have to not be afraid of it and let it shine through us with confidence.
Basically what I am trying to say is that if I were a Care Bear, my belly would have a unicorn on it.
Unfortunately as time passed my belief in things like these faded. With every tragedy, with every struggle that life dealt me it became all too easy to just resolve that life is hard and the only magic left in the world was the power of endurance.
Lately, all I have wanted to feel was the belief in magic again.
Now, as you know I am a bit of an enigma in our day and age. I had a conversation with a friend a couple of nights ago about the subject of my blog. He was generally perplexed as to how I could have possibly never had sex before. He went through a list of conclusions to be drawn as to why this could be so.
-I am bat shit crazy.
-I am super religous.
-I am waiting to fall in love.
-I am A-sexual.
Huh.
We then discussed each thing he listed in detail.
Bat shit crazy. No, no I don't think I am. I think I am pretty grounded in reality and although I definitely have my eccentricities, I don't see myself ever slashing some dudes tires because he told me I was pretty and then didn't call the next day. I'm pretty easy going and a law abiding citizen...so...
He agreed. And since he's known me for a while now, I was comforted in his validation on this point.
Super religious. No. I grew up in the Bible Belt yes, but I have always had an inquistive and open minded nature and I didn't strap on any kind of Jesus Chastity belt...and unless some higher power is preparing me to give birth to the next Messiah without my consent or knowledge we can go ahead and rule this conclusion out right now.
He and I laughed.
Waiting to fall in love. I don't sit around and wait for things. It's not who I am. It's not what I do. I don't think falling in love and sex go hand in hand either. I think sometimes they of course do, but sitting around and waiting for an idea of what I maybe think love is or could be seems counterproductive. Too much pressure.
He and I agreed.
I'm A-Sexual. Haha, noooo. I am not. Not at all. I have a soft spot for watching documentaries and I recently watched a piece on the subject and I can safely assure you that I am not an A-Sexual. I go on dates guys...I swear. Not often but I do, do that kind of stuff.
He and I discussed my last dating disaster and laughed, again.
So after we sorted through all his theories I brought up my favorite theory of all.
When my friend Allison learned about my chaste ways she without missing a beat, blurted out with gusto...
"YOU'RE A UNICORN!"
This will ultimately go down as my favorite response ever.
It made me feel kinda cool. And guys, as an old virgin it can sometimes be hard to feel cool unless Tina Fey is on TV talking about how she was an old virgin too...am I right, ladies?
But why not embrace being a damn mythical beast? Because now that I have, I feel some pretty strong magic welling up inside of me. I've got an interesting story to tell. I've got friends with infinite magic oozing out of them willing to help me tell my story. And maybe once I do share my full story I can make people feel a little less alone with the things that make them feel different and judged. Because we are all in this together. And just because magic isn't what I once thought it may be, it's still very real. We all have it within us, we just have to not be afraid of it and let it shine through us with confidence.
Basically what I am trying to say is that if I were a Care Bear, my belly would have a unicorn on it.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
After the Sneeze.
I was sitting on the train tonight and a lady sneezed.
Not breaking news or anything. Of course not even remotely unusual. But tonight it bothered me.
...not the sneezing.
But what happened afterwards...
It is a rare occasion that I won't say 'bless you' to someone if I witness a sneeze.
When I was a kid it felt like everyone always said 'bless you' after a sneeze and the sneezer always said 'thank you.' It was just what happened. It felt rude not to.
And as time went on and the older I got it seemed like no one ever said it anymore.
I was sitting on the train tonight and a lady sneezed and I said 'bless you.'
She then gave me the dirtiest look.
She looked at me as if I had just said something terrible about her mother. But I didn't. I said 'bless you.'
I almost instantly looked away in shame or shock (I can't tell) and I sat there and I wondered what had just happened.
Now, I am entirely used to people completely ignoring me when I salute their sneeze and I am always very surprised and delighted when people look up at me after releasing their nasal passages, with a smile and we share a little moment of wishing each other well.
But I've never experienced so dirty of a look before.
I sat there and I wondered why I even said it. Why do I keep saying it when no one else cares or not if you acknowledge the fact that they are sneezing? Do I just instinctively do it because I was raised to?
Maybe...I've honestly never thought about why I keep saying it before tonight.
Now, I'm the type of person who always gets stopped in the street and asked for directions or asked to take group pictures. I'm the type of person who if you are standing in a long line chances are if I am behind you or in front of you, we will end up talking. People who notice this quality about me generally say something along the lines of "it's because you seem nice."
I seem nice.
That's not a bad word. That's not a bad thing. But it's also not a specific word or a specific thing.
But I don't think it's the thing that makes these things happen.
We have so many opportunities to exclude ourselves from everyone around us. We put our headphones in and we rush off to our next destination lost in our own thoughts, worries and cares. We clutch our phones and surf the web, catch up with what's going on with people on Facebook and we rarely live in the 'now.' The very literal sense of the 'now.'
I use the term 'we' because I am very much including myself in those generalizations.
Tonight as I stood on the train platform waiting to go home I had a thousand things on my mind.
The train raced up to the platform as fast as the thoughts in my head. The doors opened. I sat down. I thought about how I miss my family. I thought about all the emails I have to send out. I thought about how I am going to need to buy new shampoo pretty soon. I thought about traveling. I thought about buying a dog. I thought about how I need a haircut. I thought about...
And then a lady sneezed and I said 'bless you.'
So tonight after a lot of thought, I've decided I will keep saying 'bless you' no matter if I am given a dirty look, if I am ignored or appreciated because it's an opportunity to check back in with the 'now' and wish another person, who may be sick, who may be feeling alone, who may be lost in thought, well. It's an opportunity to share a kindness.
And yeah...it's nice. I really like nice.
Not breaking news or anything. Of course not even remotely unusual. But tonight it bothered me.
...not the sneezing.
But what happened afterwards...
It is a rare occasion that I won't say 'bless you' to someone if I witness a sneeze.
When I was a kid it felt like everyone always said 'bless you' after a sneeze and the sneezer always said 'thank you.' It was just what happened. It felt rude not to.
And as time went on and the older I got it seemed like no one ever said it anymore.
I was sitting on the train tonight and a lady sneezed and I said 'bless you.'
She then gave me the dirtiest look.
She looked at me as if I had just said something terrible about her mother. But I didn't. I said 'bless you.'
I almost instantly looked away in shame or shock (I can't tell) and I sat there and I wondered what had just happened.
Now, I am entirely used to people completely ignoring me when I salute their sneeze and I am always very surprised and delighted when people look up at me after releasing their nasal passages, with a smile and we share a little moment of wishing each other well.
But I've never experienced so dirty of a look before.
I sat there and I wondered why I even said it. Why do I keep saying it when no one else cares or not if you acknowledge the fact that they are sneezing? Do I just instinctively do it because I was raised to?
Maybe...I've honestly never thought about why I keep saying it before tonight.
Now, I'm the type of person who always gets stopped in the street and asked for directions or asked to take group pictures. I'm the type of person who if you are standing in a long line chances are if I am behind you or in front of you, we will end up talking. People who notice this quality about me generally say something along the lines of "it's because you seem nice."
I seem nice.
That's not a bad word. That's not a bad thing. But it's also not a specific word or a specific thing.
But I don't think it's the thing that makes these things happen.
We have so many opportunities to exclude ourselves from everyone around us. We put our headphones in and we rush off to our next destination lost in our own thoughts, worries and cares. We clutch our phones and surf the web, catch up with what's going on with people on Facebook and we rarely live in the 'now.' The very literal sense of the 'now.'
I use the term 'we' because I am very much including myself in those generalizations.
Tonight as I stood on the train platform waiting to go home I had a thousand things on my mind.
The train raced up to the platform as fast as the thoughts in my head. The doors opened. I sat down. I thought about how I miss my family. I thought about all the emails I have to send out. I thought about how I am going to need to buy new shampoo pretty soon. I thought about traveling. I thought about buying a dog. I thought about how I need a haircut. I thought about...
And then a lady sneezed and I said 'bless you.'
So tonight after a lot of thought, I've decided I will keep saying 'bless you' no matter if I am given a dirty look, if I am ignored or appreciated because it's an opportunity to check back in with the 'now' and wish another person, who may be sick, who may be feeling alone, who may be lost in thought, well. It's an opportunity to share a kindness.
And yeah...it's nice. I really like nice.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Doc in the Box
A couple of weeks ago I fell quite ill.
My stomach was in knots, I couldn't eat, I could barely sleep and I knew what I had to do...
I had to go to the doctor.
Now let it be known that I truly hate going to the doctor, for many reasons. Namely, I don't like being weighed by a stranger and then have to watch them record the number with the knowledge that they will be passing it on to another stranger. It feels too much like middle school when someone gets ahold of a piece of paper that you've written Colleen Timberlake all over and then passes it around to the whole class. It's just too much personal information being unnessascarily exposed.
Another reason I hate going to the doctor is that I recently lost my health insurance when I turned twenty six and I am not a rich person. Believe it or not, I wait tables to pay bills, not just for fun. Weird, I know.
But the main reason I hate the going to the doctor is well...
They. Always. Think. You're. Pregnant.
I mean really.
If I went in there and told them I got hit by a bus or that my toe hurt, they would make me pee in a cup to "rule out pregnancy."
If you are a follower of my blog then I'm sure you know why this part of the doctor experience is a lot for me to deal with.
If you are new to my blog, well then allow me to be more specific...
The morning I decided to go to the doctor and make sure I wasn't dying, my best friend Taylor came and walked with me to my appointment. This Taylor Walsh guy is a real gem and he sat patiently in the waiting room while I filled out my paperwork.
"Do you want me to go in the room with you?"
I stopped and thought for a second and I decided that I did want him there with me to hold me responsible for my less than healthy life choices. It's easier to lie about how much coffee you drink when there isn't a person in the room who can call your bluff.
So he graciously stayed by my side and vowed to hold me accountable...because I'm clearly a child.
Now when I asked him to stay with me I had forgot about all the embarrassing questions the nurse asks you before the doctor actually examines you.
"Please step on the scale."
Ugh.
"When was your last period?"
Oh. Dear. God.
Not only is that just a personal question that I don't freely and openly talk about, it's also a question that leads to that infamous plastic cup that demands to be peed in.
My already upset stomach sank as the nurse shuffled me off to the bathroom to "rule out pregnancy."
She closed the door.
I stood there.
I stood there some more.
I stood there and knew that if I didn't just pull my pants down and pee in that damn cup things were gonna get awkward fast in this doctor's office.
Now, as I had told you previously, my stomach was a disaster and I couldn't eat or drink anything without wanting to be sick, thus the doctor visit. So trying to pee was a task to say the least.
I was in that bathroom for upwards of a half an hour trying to make myself pee. I was imagining waterfalls, fountains, rain showers, all while letting the sink pour water into the drain.
Nothing worked. My bladder was closed for business.
I started to panic because I knew that if I didn't walk out there with a full cup of non pregnant pee, I would have to tell them that there was no way I am pregnant and to be honest, I didn't want to have to deal with their doubt and judgement that morning.
So naturally I text Taylor from the bathroom with a frantic:
"I. Can't. Pee."
He then suggests drinking water.
Oh...right. There's that whole logic thing again.
So I sneak out of the bathroom and successfully make it to the lobby to grab water. The Pregnancy Police didn't spot me. So far so good...
As I try to slink back into the bathroom, the doctor spots me.
NononononononononononononononononononononononNO!
He guides me into the examining room where Taylor is waiting for me.
Taylor spots the empty pee cup in my hand and the full water cup in the other hand and we share a knowing look.
This will not end well.
The doctor asks why I didn't pee. I coyly say:
"Just need some water, heh."
He then proceeds to have me lay down, unbuttons my jeans and begins to push all over my stomach. As I stifle my urge to throw up as he presses down hard on my abdomen, I begin to explain to him that I recently went vegan and that I think the diet change on top of a bout of anxiety may be why I don't feel well. He agrees and lectures me on how I need to be more careful with my diet change. He then prescribes some acid reflux medicine. And just when I thought I dodged the pregnancy bullet, he asks me to step into the bathroom and fill up the cup just to...what's that? Yeah you guessed it "to rule out pregnancy."
I look at Taylor for courage. He smiles and I almost instantly blurt out:
"If the pee is to just rule out pregnancy, then we can go ahead and rule that out right now."
He looks at me blankly.
I continue...
"I've never had sex."
He looks at me like a deer in head lights.
"REALLY?"
He couldn't even hide his shock and dismay.
"Yeah..."
He then looks at me sternly and holds up his right hand crosses his fingers in a "scout's honor" fashion and says:
"Promise?"
I reluctantly and embarrassingly hold up my right hand and cross my fingers:
"Promise."
"Who's this?" he says pointing at Taylor.
"My best friend."
"Oh...How old are you?"
Suddenly I am nauseous again and I pathetically utter a:
"Please don't ask me that, sir."
Silence.
"I'm 26."
Silence.
I sit there waiting for some kind of crack about how I wouldn't die if I were in a horror film or if he can have my phone number in case he finds himself up against some incurable disease and a drop of virgin blood is the only hope or something...
But he then says...
"Good for you girl. I'm proud of you!"
Great. The doc in the box is proud of me. Scratch that off the bucket list.
As he exits the room, Taylor grabs my leg as I sit there with my pants still wide open. He looks at me like a baby who just fell down and he desperately tries to fill the room with smiles and laughter and before we both know it I am sitting there exposed and crying like a damn baby.
Low point.
But as I cried I quickly replayed what just happened in my head and I start laughing really hard.
"HE MADE ME CROSS MY FINGERS AND PROMISE! WHO DOES THAT?!?!?! WHY WOULD I LIE ABOUT THAT?!?"
We laugh. Hard. Taylor then points out that, the doctor probably sees a lot of girls my age come in with their boyfriends complaining of stomach issues that are actually pre-baby issues.
We laugh. Harder this time.
The proud doctor re-entered, handed me my prescription for heartburn and saluted me with a:
"Keep doing you, girl."
I buttoned my pants. Put on my jacket and we left.
But I left with a little more than a prescription. I left with a little more courage.
You see the thing is, I am who I am and I can't and won't apologize for it. And yes, that means I am a weirdly old virgin. I'm not gonna be ashamed of that anymore. Because honestly, it's not a big deal. It's not some big moral choice I am making. It's more of a result of the life that I've lived, the things that have happened to me or not happened for me. I can't change that and as much as I hated that doctor that day, I am gonna take his advice and I am gonna "keep doing me." (Pun intended).
With that said I would like to take this opportunity to let you guys know that I am currently working on turning my story into a show of sorts. Why not? Right? Right!
My stomach was in knots, I couldn't eat, I could barely sleep and I knew what I had to do...
I had to go to the doctor.
Now let it be known that I truly hate going to the doctor, for many reasons. Namely, I don't like being weighed by a stranger and then have to watch them record the number with the knowledge that they will be passing it on to another stranger. It feels too much like middle school when someone gets ahold of a piece of paper that you've written Colleen Timberlake all over and then passes it around to the whole class. It's just too much personal information being unnessascarily exposed.
Another reason I hate going to the doctor is that I recently lost my health insurance when I turned twenty six and I am not a rich person. Believe it or not, I wait tables to pay bills, not just for fun. Weird, I know.
But the main reason I hate the going to the doctor is well...
They. Always. Think. You're. Pregnant.
I mean really.
If I went in there and told them I got hit by a bus or that my toe hurt, they would make me pee in a cup to "rule out pregnancy."
If you are a follower of my blog then I'm sure you know why this part of the doctor experience is a lot for me to deal with.
If you are new to my blog, well then allow me to be more specific...
The morning I decided to go to the doctor and make sure I wasn't dying, my best friend Taylor came and walked with me to my appointment. This Taylor Walsh guy is a real gem and he sat patiently in the waiting room while I filled out my paperwork.
"Do you want me to go in the room with you?"
I stopped and thought for a second and I decided that I did want him there with me to hold me responsible for my less than healthy life choices. It's easier to lie about how much coffee you drink when there isn't a person in the room who can call your bluff.
So he graciously stayed by my side and vowed to hold me accountable...because I'm clearly a child.
Now when I asked him to stay with me I had forgot about all the embarrassing questions the nurse asks you before the doctor actually examines you.
"Please step on the scale."
Ugh.
"When was your last period?"
Oh. Dear. God.
Not only is that just a personal question that I don't freely and openly talk about, it's also a question that leads to that infamous plastic cup that demands to be peed in.
My already upset stomach sank as the nurse shuffled me off to the bathroom to "rule out pregnancy."
She closed the door.
I stood there.
I stood there some more.
I stood there and knew that if I didn't just pull my pants down and pee in that damn cup things were gonna get awkward fast in this doctor's office.
Now, as I had told you previously, my stomach was a disaster and I couldn't eat or drink anything without wanting to be sick, thus the doctor visit. So trying to pee was a task to say the least.
I was in that bathroom for upwards of a half an hour trying to make myself pee. I was imagining waterfalls, fountains, rain showers, all while letting the sink pour water into the drain.
Nothing worked. My bladder was closed for business.
I started to panic because I knew that if I didn't walk out there with a full cup of non pregnant pee, I would have to tell them that there was no way I am pregnant and to be honest, I didn't want to have to deal with their doubt and judgement that morning.
So naturally I text Taylor from the bathroom with a frantic:
"I. Can't. Pee."
He then suggests drinking water.
Oh...right. There's that whole logic thing again.
So I sneak out of the bathroom and successfully make it to the lobby to grab water. The Pregnancy Police didn't spot me. So far so good...
As I try to slink back into the bathroom, the doctor spots me.
NononononononononononononononononononononononNO!
He guides me into the examining room where Taylor is waiting for me.
Taylor spots the empty pee cup in my hand and the full water cup in the other hand and we share a knowing look.
This will not end well.
The doctor asks why I didn't pee. I coyly say:
"Just need some water, heh."
He then proceeds to have me lay down, unbuttons my jeans and begins to push all over my stomach. As I stifle my urge to throw up as he presses down hard on my abdomen, I begin to explain to him that I recently went vegan and that I think the diet change on top of a bout of anxiety may be why I don't feel well. He agrees and lectures me on how I need to be more careful with my diet change. He then prescribes some acid reflux medicine. And just when I thought I dodged the pregnancy bullet, he asks me to step into the bathroom and fill up the cup just to...what's that? Yeah you guessed it "to rule out pregnancy."
I look at Taylor for courage. He smiles and I almost instantly blurt out:
"If the pee is to just rule out pregnancy, then we can go ahead and rule that out right now."
He looks at me blankly.
I continue...
"I've never had sex."
He looks at me like a deer in head lights.
"REALLY?"
He couldn't even hide his shock and dismay.
"Yeah..."
He then looks at me sternly and holds up his right hand crosses his fingers in a "scout's honor" fashion and says:
"Promise?"
I reluctantly and embarrassingly hold up my right hand and cross my fingers:
"Promise."
"Who's this?" he says pointing at Taylor.
"My best friend."
"Oh...How old are you?"
Suddenly I am nauseous again and I pathetically utter a:
"Please don't ask me that, sir."
Silence.
"I'm 26."
Silence.
I sit there waiting for some kind of crack about how I wouldn't die if I were in a horror film or if he can have my phone number in case he finds himself up against some incurable disease and a drop of virgin blood is the only hope or something...
But he then says...
"Good for you girl. I'm proud of you!"
Great. The doc in the box is proud of me. Scratch that off the bucket list.
As he exits the room, Taylor grabs my leg as I sit there with my pants still wide open. He looks at me like a baby who just fell down and he desperately tries to fill the room with smiles and laughter and before we both know it I am sitting there exposed and crying like a damn baby.
Low point.
But as I cried I quickly replayed what just happened in my head and I start laughing really hard.
"HE MADE ME CROSS MY FINGERS AND PROMISE! WHO DOES THAT?!?!?! WHY WOULD I LIE ABOUT THAT?!?"
We laugh. Hard. Taylor then points out that, the doctor probably sees a lot of girls my age come in with their boyfriends complaining of stomach issues that are actually pre-baby issues.
We laugh. Harder this time.
The proud doctor re-entered, handed me my prescription for heartburn and saluted me with a:
"Keep doing you, girl."
I buttoned my pants. Put on my jacket and we left.
But I left with a little more than a prescription. I left with a little more courage.
You see the thing is, I am who I am and I can't and won't apologize for it. And yes, that means I am a weirdly old virgin. I'm not gonna be ashamed of that anymore. Because honestly, it's not a big deal. It's not some big moral choice I am making. It's more of a result of the life that I've lived, the things that have happened to me or not happened for me. I can't change that and as much as I hated that doctor that day, I am gonna take his advice and I am gonna "keep doing me." (Pun intended).
With that said I would like to take this opportunity to let you guys know that I am currently working on turning my story into a show of sorts. Why not? Right? Right!
Monday, January 28, 2013
The Naked Truth
Oh man guys...
I know, it's been a coon's age!
But I am still here. If my intentions where more active I would have posted at least 25 more blogs since the last time I updated but you know...My intentions are most of the time just intentions, as I am sure you are now realizing.
Anyway...
Life has been weird lately. Weird is vague but I feel like the illusive nature of the word is ever so appropriate to describe how my life has been.
I don't know how to properly describe it. But let me try...
I've lost sight
Being happy now, while never losing the will to keep following the road of possibility and dreams.
Right now, I'm standing on the road of possibility and dreams and I am looking back too much. Trying to figure out how I got here and constantly forgetting to look forward at the road that is ahead of me.
It's kinda like walking backwards down the road that lies ahead and
I had an interesting moment that really made me realize this a couple of weeks ago.
I was at the gym, pumping iron. And by pumping iron, I do mean running on the treadmill while watching GIRLS on my IPad. After I finished my workout and my episode, I went back to the locker room and stripped down to a towel to prepare for my ever so coveted time in the sauna.
Now time for real talk. The women who frequent the gym and more specifically, use the suana, get butt ass naked. We're talking about women just walking around naked, drying their hair with their tits to the wind, having deep conversations with only towels wrapped around their wet showered hair. It's pretty much a National Geographic episode in there.
But they are so free and comfortable.
I am not.
I am that girl who wraps her towel around her fully clothed body so that I can undress without any kind of display of any part of my lady business.
But I have envied these brave naked women and wondered how they just dont care. How they know that no one cares at all that they are naked. Like, at all.
I wanted that.
So, on this particular day, I do my towel changing routine and decide to weigh myself. And as a naked woman stepped off the scale this toweled woman (me, incase your visual isn't clear) stepped on. And as I looked at the number I wondered about my towels. I wanted to stand on that scale and not have a towel on. Because these two small towels MUST weigh 10 lbs...each...right?
But I kept the towels on and headed to the sauna.
As I opened the door to the sauna I saw this girl. She was trying to exit the heat as I was on my way in and the look in her eyes was alarming.
Was she dying? Why wasn't she walking out? She's just standing there.
And before I knew it me and this girl got super close, as she promptly collapsed as I immediately dove in and caught her before she hit her head.
Oh man...I hope she's not dead.
"Ummm, okay okay...I am just gonna carry you over here. We gotta get you out of the sauna okay?"
No response. Obviously.
"Hey, hey can you hear me? Here's some water. Drink this water!"
No response. Panic.
At this moment I am holding her on the ground outside of the sauna trying to put a water bottle to her lifeless lips, when other women ran to help.
And then she woke up. She was confused. Very confused.
One would assume she was confused because she didn't know what happened or why she passed out. Which of course, is totally legitimate.
But I have a different theory.
I think she was confused because of all the naked women standing over her and why I was naked and holding her while she too was naked.
So. Much. Naked.
You see when she fell into my arms her towel also fell. But while I really wished that didnt happen, it would maybe seem insensitive to let her fall, cover her back up and then drag her out of the sauna...you know?
And while I was manuevering her out of the sauna, you bet your bare ass my towels didn't stay put either. But while I really wished that didn't happen, it would maybe seem insestive to push her off of me and cover back up...you know?
Like I said, she had all the reason in the world to be the most confused person in the building.
But she was gracious. She thanked me profusely and walked off a little embarassed. And I stood there.
Naked.
And I didn't care. The others didn't so why should I?
I went back to the scale. I weighed myself with no towels. I got off the scale. Picked up my towels. Went back to the sauna. Layed my towels down on the bench and sat my naked ass down and I felt accomplished.
I did it. I became the naked locker room woman that I always wanted to be.
I was forced into something I strangely wanted but never had the courage to do on my own.
While there was a definite victory in this, there was also a definite realization.
That being, I find myself always passionate about who I want to be and what I want to do but I am in constant need to be forced into it.
I often times lack the courage to really commit. And I get stuck in the middle of the road, looking back and not moving forward. But for the first time in a long time, I think I am ready.
I am ready to risk it all for all of the things and people I love. I am ready to risk failure. I am ready to take a risk for positive change. I am ready to risk not being liked. I am ready to risk opening up about who I am and what makes me...well me.
It's time and BY GOD, I am ready.
(Editors Note: My towels didn't weigh 10lbs. That was just my thighs, unfortunately.)
I know, it's been a coon's age!
But I am still here. If my intentions where more active I would have posted at least 25 more blogs since the last time I updated but you know...My intentions are most of the time just intentions, as I am sure you are now realizing.
Anyway...
Life has been weird lately. Weird is vague but I feel like the illusive nature of the word is ever so appropriate to describe how my life has been.
I don't know how to properly describe it. But let me try...
I've lost sight
Being happy now, while never losing the will to keep following the road of possibility and dreams.
Right now, I'm standing on the road of possibility and dreams and I am looking back too much. Trying to figure out how I got here and constantly forgetting to look forward at the road that is ahead of me.
It's kinda like walking backwards down the road that lies ahead and
I had an interesting moment that really made me realize this a couple of weeks ago.
I was at the gym, pumping iron. And by pumping iron, I do mean running on the treadmill while watching GIRLS on my IPad. After I finished my workout and my episode, I went back to the locker room and stripped down to a towel to prepare for my ever so coveted time in the sauna.
Now time for real talk. The women who frequent the gym and more specifically, use the suana, get butt ass naked. We're talking about women just walking around naked, drying their hair with their tits to the wind, having deep conversations with only towels wrapped around their wet showered hair. It's pretty much a National Geographic episode in there.
But they are so free and comfortable.
I am not.
I am that girl who wraps her towel around her fully clothed body so that I can undress without any kind of display of any part of my lady business.
But I have envied these brave naked women and wondered how they just dont care. How they know that no one cares at all that they are naked. Like, at all.
I wanted that.
So, on this particular day, I do my towel changing routine and decide to weigh myself. And as a naked woman stepped off the scale this toweled woman (me, incase your visual isn't clear) stepped on. And as I looked at the number I wondered about my towels. I wanted to stand on that scale and not have a towel on. Because these two small towels MUST weigh 10 lbs...each...right?
But I kept the towels on and headed to the sauna.
As I opened the door to the sauna I saw this girl. She was trying to exit the heat as I was on my way in and the look in her eyes was alarming.
Was she dying? Why wasn't she walking out? She's just standing there.
And before I knew it me and this girl got super close, as she promptly collapsed as I immediately dove in and caught her before she hit her head.
Oh man...I hope she's not dead.
"Ummm, okay okay...I am just gonna carry you over here. We gotta get you out of the sauna okay?"
No response. Obviously.
"Hey, hey can you hear me? Here's some water. Drink this water!"
No response. Panic.
At this moment I am holding her on the ground outside of the sauna trying to put a water bottle to her lifeless lips, when other women ran to help.
And then she woke up. She was confused. Very confused.
One would assume she was confused because she didn't know what happened or why she passed out. Which of course, is totally legitimate.
But I have a different theory.
I think she was confused because of all the naked women standing over her and why I was naked and holding her while she too was naked.
So. Much. Naked.
You see when she fell into my arms her towel also fell. But while I really wished that didnt happen, it would maybe seem insensitive to let her fall, cover her back up and then drag her out of the sauna...you know?
And while I was manuevering her out of the sauna, you bet your bare ass my towels didn't stay put either. But while I really wished that didn't happen, it would maybe seem insestive to push her off of me and cover back up...you know?
Like I said, she had all the reason in the world to be the most confused person in the building.
But she was gracious. She thanked me profusely and walked off a little embarassed. And I stood there.
Naked.
And I didn't care. The others didn't so why should I?
I went back to the scale. I weighed myself with no towels. I got off the scale. Picked up my towels. Went back to the sauna. Layed my towels down on the bench and sat my naked ass down and I felt accomplished.
I did it. I became the naked locker room woman that I always wanted to be.
I was forced into something I strangely wanted but never had the courage to do on my own.
While there was a definite victory in this, there was also a definite realization.
That being, I find myself always passionate about who I want to be and what I want to do but I am in constant need to be forced into it.
I often times lack the courage to really commit. And I get stuck in the middle of the road, looking back and not moving forward. But for the first time in a long time, I think I am ready.
I am ready to risk it all for all of the things and people I love. I am ready to risk failure. I am ready to take a risk for positive change. I am ready to risk not being liked. I am ready to risk opening up about who I am and what makes me...well me.
It's time and BY GOD, I am ready.
(Editors Note: My towels didn't weigh 10lbs. That was just my thighs, unfortunately.)
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.
Me.
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.
Nothing.
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...
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.
Me.
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.
Nothing.
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.
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.
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