Breakdown....communication style.

I'm not ashamed to post this photo. Note the Blackberry in my hand.

It seems like we are getting further away from each other as more and more ways to stay connected are created. E-mail, skype, texting, online chatting...all were created so that we can keep tabs on each other in a convenient, time efficient manner. But there is something missing, an integral piece of the puzzle that is somehow lacking. I have found lately that even my closest relationships have been compromised due to the fact that with so many ways to communicate, we all try to make small bits of time for everyone and are now spread too thin.

For a while , I was so busy that the only time I caught up with people was on facebook chat or through e-mails. I knew I wasn't able to see them, so I would check in to make sure they still remembered that I existed. These friendships that I held so dear took a back burner to my career, to my art, to my self involvement. We would text about events in our lives, and have short, quick phone conversations to confirm one thing or another. But recently, I've had time to actually reconnect with these wonderful individuals, and sometimes, just sometimes, it feels odd. Being face to face has become an anomaly. Hugging goodbye is a change from TTYL. Laughing together has replaced the LOL. And I like it. I like it a lot.

There are days when I just want to punt my iPhone. When I want to bash my laptop with a bat. Where I want to grab my princess phone from when I was sixteen and lay on my bed and have a real conversation with someone. When I want to grab all of my girlfriends and be in a room together and sleep on the floor and make forts and eat junk food until we feel like we're going to puke. But there are husbands. There are boyfriends. There are kids. There are boyfriends who act like kids. There's 9-5 and 5-10. There's life. And I get that. I want to reconnect, with hands and hearts and hugs and love. Leave the cables and the webcams and the carpal tunnel syndrome and the text speak that bastardizes this beautiful language that has risen from grunts and squeaks and evolved into something that creates poetry and prose, and get back to a life where holding refers to hands. Where chat refers to a conversation over coffee. Where a message is a jotted note. Where "You've got mail" refers to a letter, in an envelope, with a stamp, in someone's own handwriting.

I think I've blogged about this before, but I guess it's a point of mine that really needs reiteration. Check your news feed for the link, e-mail it to your friends, and look for it on my Twitter account. Or just create a new google ID and follow me. It's that easy to stay connnected. :)

Resolutions, shmesolutions.

I resolve to stop being sarcastic.

Yes, that was sarcasm.

I have never been one to make resolutions in the New Year. I tend to get distracted by life and my overwhelming need to be constantly busy, as if a life without Tums and No-Doze would be a life without water or sunshine. Un-fulfilling and drab. But this year I have started contemplating resolutions and what they mean in terms of life and growing up. I have finally figured some things out.

I do not resolve to lose weight in the New Year. I've been there, done that...with mixed results. Instead, I resolve to eat what I want but counter that with being active. I will not buy a gym membership, but I will walk my dog a little bit more and find more friends that want to walk on the beach or ride bikes. I will move my body because some higher power somewhere gave me the ability to do so, and there are many people in this world who can't even do that.

I have never smoked in my life, but I resolve to make sure that I stay away from the hazards of second hand smoke. I resolve to make my sister's life a living hell until she quits. Side note: Can you make resolutions for other people?

I do resolve to love more. To be more forgiving. To be a person that my mom, dad, grandma, aunt, and Bailey can be proud of. To be a better friend.

I am not going to resolve to try and curse less. Eff that.

I resolve to not go into "poor me" mode when it comes to being alone. Being alone and being lonely are two entirely different things. A good friend told me that I am going through all that I am so that I can prepare myself for "The One." While I have my hopes that there is someone out there, the reality is that I am preparing myself to be a better version of the me I am today. For me, for my family, and yes, maybe someday, for "The One."

I resolve to save some time for me. I will not over commit, and I will not run myself ragged. Hahaha. See sarcasm resolution above.

In the New Year, how about we all try to be a little better...a little kinder...more forgiving...gentler...and maybe, just maybe...we'll survive and thrive and leave this world a better place.

I was dumped...by an elf.

I was on the phone with my friend and comic book artist, Bailee, last night for about an hour. She had called me about 10 minutes before my drive to Ft. Pierce, and mentioned that she had e-mailed me something. In the midst of catching up, I regaled her with the following tale. I think it's funny, and please know (should you be the offending party and read this) that I am a-ok, and there are no hard feelings whatsoever. It's just hilarious.

I was invited to a pub crawl with a gentleman I had been seeing for about 2 months. Very casual, very slow due to my hesitancy with wholeheartedness. The pub crawl was to take place on a Saturday, and everyone was supposed to dress like Santa Claus. I didn't have a costume, so I went on a spree. My sister gave me a shiny red and green skirt. I bought white tights and a cardigan sweater, a little santa hat headband(with mistletoe), jingle bell jewelry, and bright green eyeliner with bright red lipstick. I put a couple of Christmas stockings over my shoes...it made them look like fabulous, red Ugg boots.

The gentleman in question picked me up, and he was dressed like Buddy the Elf, complete with syrup and candy. It seemed that it would be a fun night...I was nervous to meet his friends, and as a pretty much non-drinker I was also nervous that I would make an ass out of myself.

The evening was amazing. His friends liked me, I bought them shots, I danced on a bar, met a lot of fun people and had a rare night out where I just let go and joined the masses in celebration of life. He and I were affectionate all night. I was hit on inappropriately. It was great.

The night came to an end for the two of us, and he decided it was time to go home. We pulled up to my house, and the words, "I've been meaning to talk to you about something," came tumbling out of his mouth. He then broke up with me, for reasons that don't need to be listed here.

So, I'm telling my friend Bailee this tale. I end with the statement, "My life is like a really bad romantic comedy. Think about it. I was dumped, by an elf, while I was dressed like Santa."

Moments later, she and I hung up, and I checked my e-mail. She had drawn a Christmas card, featuring one of the characters from the comic book I wrote and that she is doing beautiful illustrations for. The character, Cassie, is based mostly on me in terms of personality and life experience. Here is Bailee's genius. This is the best case of Christ-met ever!! Thanks to Bailee for renewing my faith in the holidays! And by the way, I'm Lou. :)

Crappy Holidays!

I am not a Scrooge. I am not a Grinch. I am a new type of holiday Villain. My name is the SATYOWATWTOYTH. It's a little long, but stands for Single Almost Thirty Year Old Woman At The Worst Time of Year, The Holidays. I wear high heels every day. I put on make-up every morning. I make myself presentable to the world at every moment of every day as everyone I know tells me I am most likely to meet the love of my life at the least suspected moment. And God forbid that moment arrives and I have no eye liner on. And during the holidays, these efforts are for naught.

It's the time of year that is the worst (barring Valentine's Day which is a crock of s&*t anyway) for people in my situation. A time when jewelry companies advertise that bauble that says to the world, "I love this person!" When visions of romance and family life are at an all time maximum on television, billboards, and newspaper advertisements. When the childless feel the ticking of the biological clock, and the loveless feel the ache of a heart devoid of romantic love. Family and friends abound, but there is still always the feeling of being the odd one out.

Not only is it rough because of the love that abounds during the season, but which always seems to elude you...it's also a time of year when a single person's bank account is stretched to within an inch of it's life. I know everyone gets hit hard during the holidays, buying gifts and food and all the accoutrement that accompany a typical happy Holiday. But with one income, things seem a little tighter. I have started getting all of my couple friends gifts that will work for both, so I don't spend as much on the individual gifts. The gift exchange amongst my family members helps a lot, but I always feel a need to get everyone a little something. Luckily, for now I live with my parents so it's pretty easy to budget accordingly. But it's still terrifying to buy gifts when one is used to only spending on the necessities.

So, no Bah Humbug. No dog with reindeer antlers pulling a sleigh. Just a single lady looking forward to a lot of eggnog and Christmas cookies.

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Only Lauren sat stirring, clicking her mouse;

With foam curlers tied all up in her hair,

In hopes that some fullness soon would be there;

The family was all nestled so snug in their beds,

While gifts for their sweethearts danced in their heads;

I sat at my desk, portable computer on my lap

And couldn't sleep after my afternoon nap,

The ticking of keystrokes created such a clatter,

But there was no one awake to ask "what's the matter?"

Minimizing the windows, I updated my flash,

Grabbed some holiday candy from my well hidden stash.

Images from up North of new-fallen snow

I clicked between all the windows below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But an ad for a dating site, for me to find someone dear,

The process was easy, designed to find someone quick,

I clicked on a profile for someone named Nick.

More rapid than eagles a reply quickly came,

And I whistled, and shouted, and told him my name;

"Now, I want you to know, I'm not always a vixen!

But time is running short, and I need a date with all the fixin's!"

To the New Year's Eve gala! to the dropping of the ball!

Now kiss away! kiss away! kiss away all!"

As dry spells that before the wild hurricanes fly,

My hopes they rocketed straight toward the sky,

So into my closet to choose an outfit I flew,

With the dress from Franchesca's and my black pumps too.

I then attempted to remain aloof

As I gazed out my window, across to the roof.

I spied a man there, with his sled upon the ground

Through the front door, Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in black, from his head to his toe,

He must have been boiling, without any snow;

Flowers behind his back he’d chosen to stick,

Though he looked nothing like his profile pic.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

Though smoking's a no-no and he set fire to our wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

I would have started working out, if I'd gained all that myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon confirmed what I had come to dread;

This online relationship just wouldn’t work,

Because I could tell that this St. Nick was truly a jerk,

And laying his finger inside of his nose,

Digging for gold, I really suppose;

He sprang to his car, and he gave me a whistle,

And away he flew, his car like a missile.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night."

My name is Lauren, and I'm an addict.

I realized last night that I have an addiction. It is an overwhelming thing, my cross to bear that drags me down constantly. It has created in me a furtive creature who will sneak away to fulfill the desire that burns within me. I am breathless waiting for that next fix. I wish with all my heart that someone would have meetings for it, though I have yet to hear of any church basements or YMCA's that host group sessions for this kind of craving, this kind of need.

My name is Lauren Pottinger, and I'm addicted to technology.


Ah, it's such a relief to get that off my chest. Just typing the words on my online blog have alleviated some of the strain that I feel on a constant basis. I may post it as my facebook status as soon as I am done with this entry. Potentially post it on my online acting resume on my website. I'll probably e-mail it to someone from one of my 7 e-mail addresses, as I am going to need a sponsor and I am sure that any one of my friends or family members would be willing to admit it as well.

I admit this now because of an incident that occurred the other night. I was texting someone back and forth, a very important conversation that we could not possibly had over the phone, as actually speaking to each other would be really too intimate. I found myself checking, over and over, my e-mail and my facebook on my smart phone, as I couldn't wait to see who had said what, if anyone had posted to my wall, sent a message, or e-mailed me in response to that query I had sent out. A text conversation took 2 hours, when a phone conversation could have taken one.

Here are my 12 steps for my addiction to technology.

1. I admit I am powerless over Facebook—that my social networking has become unmanageable.
2. I have come to believe that a power greater than myself could restore me to sanity. That power is named Mark Zuckerberg.
   
3. I have made a decision to turn my will and my life over to the care of God as I understand him. I understand he is a multi-billionaire played by Jesse Eisenberg in a movie.
   
4. I have made a searching and fearless moral inventory of myself. And posted it in a note on Facebook.
   
5. Admitted to Mark, to myself, and to 456 other human beings the exact nature of my wrongs.
6. Am entirely ready to have Mark remove all these defects of character.
   
7. Humbly asked Mark to remove my shortcomings. And all gaming requests. I don't play!
   
8. Made a list of all persons I have harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all. Though I probaby won't re-friend them.
   
9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others. I re-tagged the photos and changed the nasty captions, okay?
   
10. Continued to take personal inventory and when I was wrong promptly admitted it. On your wall.
    
11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with Mark, as I understand him, praying only for knowledge of his will for me and the power to carry that out. Also, changed my religious affiliation on my profile.
    
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, I try to carry this message to Facebook-aholics, and to practice these principles in all my affairs.

Please, let's help each other. Let's reconnect without the power of technology. Let's connect with our minds, hands and hearts and disconnect the USB cables, accounts, and emoticons. I'd rather laugh out loud with you than LOL.

Mothering gene...

My mom wrote the annual Christmas letter recently, and it got me thinking. I'm going to use her own words to establish my point.

'Ah, the ever dreaded holiday letter, filled with the musings and celebrations from the Pottinger family. I told the kids this year that I was going to write one line, "Nothing has changed, see 2009 letter." Daniel and his girlfriend of six years, Amanda, have still NOT gotten engaged or set a date, Brooke and Nick keep talking about the next step but it seems to be one step forward and two steps back. Lauren is single and a workaholic. I have no grandchildren, (though I am lucky to have 10 great nieces and nephews, and two on the way) so I spoil my dog.'

Now, I know my mom loves me and my siblings. The rest of the letter goes on to say how great things are going in all of our lives, and is really sweet and well written. This is in no way about her and her desire for grandbabies. It's about me. Which may be the problem.

I have been told for years that I would be a great mom. I get along with kids, I have fun with them and treat them like mini-adults, and they seem to like me. I remember Thanksgivings as a teenager/early twenty something spent in the front yard with my young neighbors or relatives playing, while the adults would be inside. I was the babysitter to call in our neighborhood, and I would come with a box full of books, games, and costumes so that the kids would go to bed exhausted and creatively fulfilled. I took one of the kids I babysat trick or treating one year. His costume was Darth Vader, so I dressed like Princess Leia, buns and all. I enjoy spending time with kids and helping them to become decent teenagers who will grow into fantastic adults.

All that being said, I'm just not sure it's right for me. I have the inkling that I might enjoy it, and I understand that as a woman I won't know until it's happened...at least, that's what all my married/babied friends say. But the concept is a bit overwhelming to me even in the abstract. I would be responsible for a human life? A child which cannot defend itself and can't tell me what he/she needs? I can be honest with myself and say that I am a pretty lazy/self indulgent person. If I want to stay in bed til 11, I do. If I want to go to a movie, I'll take myself. I don't know about scheduling a whole day for another person, let alone myself. I look at all the moms in my life, mine included, and I wonder how they do/did it. They have a patience I don't see in myself. A selflessness that I don't know that I have.

So, it may be a wish unfulfilled for dear old Mom. She'll have to make do with grandpuppies, and I'll be the best darned Aunt on the planet. I'll always buy the loudest toys and give them the most chocolate and soda before I drop them back off at your house. I will give them the biggest and best gifts and be the one who is there when you get in a fight with them, to tell them the exact same thing you have been trying to say, but they'll listen to me, cause I'm "Cool Aunt Lauren.".

I don't want to go off on a rant here...

...but what is with the freaking car decals indicating the number of family members, pets, and the interests of every single family member that are present on almost every mini-van I see on the road these days?

I hate them. And everything they stand for.

I think it's great that Dad plays soccer. And that Mom likes to do Yoga. And I think it's adorable that the kids love Disney. But really? Do you think it's wise to publicize a)the number of people living within your household; b) the number and type of pet you have and c)what your children like? How easy would it be for Mr. Scary Man with intent to steal from/kill/rape you to sneak into your home knowing that you have a fluffy little dog that he just has to take out with tranquilizer laced hamburger meat? Or a bag of catnip for your cute little kitty that you have plastered on there. Or for someone to watch you drop your child off at school, knowing that they are big Mickey fans to use that topic of conversation to convince them to hop in a car with them?

Back when I was a kid, my school taught me all about stranger danger. Don't have your name on your backpack, as a would be kidnapper/rapist/murderer could see it and call you by your name and make you think you know them so they could lure you into their vehicle and you would never be seen again. Maybe I have read one too many Dean Koontz novels, or maybe I am just a paranoid person. Maybe I need to trust more, and delight in this cute, seemingly harmless trend that seems to be sweeping soccer parents everywhere.

Maybe. Or maybe I have a point.

A week is a long time.

I have not blogged much this week, as I have been struck with a cold that made it's way into bronchitis land. This has meant a lot of sitting on my rump, not going to work and watching hours upon hours of daytime television and Hallmark films with my sickness partner in crime, Wendy Blake Pottinger, who started the vicious bug and was on the other couch with me pretty much the whole week. I have made some observations about myself and life in the last 5 days that I would like to share with you all.

1. I am not a good patient. I am stubborn and a control freak. My mom came into my room, a jar of Vick's in hand and told me Vapo rub would help me breathe better. I refused like a 5 year old, until she actually put some on her hand and attacked me with it. We had a good 5 minute battle, with me flailing my limbs and yelling, "No, I don't want it, I'm a big girl." The end result was both of us winded from the fight and my chest covered in slimy, mentholated Vaseline. I took a shot of cough syrup and gagged at the flavor, almost throwing it up in the sink like a child being forced to eat Brussel Sprouts. I went to Urgent Care and got 5 different prescriptions, and have been taking them every day on the dot...as well as $45 worth of vitamins and supplements I purchased from CVS. Not to mention the detoxifying tea and orange juice that I have been chugging like a co-ed at her first kegger.
   
2. My mom is amazing. Even with a horrible cold that caused fatigue after working for 45 minutes, she still managed our household like a fiend. Dinner was on the table at 6pm, the floors were cleaned, her bathroom immaculate, 3 loads of laundry were done...she is the hardest working person I have ever known, and actually makes me feel slightly guilty for the 3 loads of laundry I did over the course of the 5 days. I also annoy the crap out of her. When the woman who birthed you asks you when you are going to be back to work so you won't bother her anymore...you might have problems.
   
3. I need to work. Sometimes I complain about my job, but who doesn't? But I never realized I would miss it. The last three days I have gotten up at 7:30, showered and gotten ready for a work day and was sent home to my disdain and dissatisfaction. I didn't even make it in yesterday. My boss texted me at 8:30 and told me to stay home. I actually resisted going home today, but when my GM looked at me and said, "You look like s*&t," it was time to go. The nap from 2-4 felt amazingly good. So, I tried to do work from home, laying in bed in my sock monkey pj's and slippers, making phone calls to try to book talent for an event we have next week...texting my co-worker regarding linens for said event...checking my work hotmail account to see if anyone needs anything. Sad. And even sicker than the bronchitis!
   
4. It's weird texting with your boss. Both my GM and my HR director were texting me all week, and I found it odd. They started joking (via text)about interviewing my replacement on Wednesday, and I was replying with what I thought were witty jabs...but witty jabs on tons of meds fall a little flat. There was a bit of backpedaling to do, but I can just blame the drugs. Though they do know me and my tendency to try to be funny, so maybe that excuse will fail, too.
5. I have really great friends. Everyone has popped on FB or text to see if I was ok. I like that.
   

None of this is too exciting or fun, but I haven't written for a bit and thought I would try it out on tons of meds. Let me know what you think.

Once upon a time.

There is a commercial currently running on television that makes my blood boil. It is not a political advertisement. It is not a spot for Rachael Ray's talk show (the existence of which makes me believe the Apocalypse is coming soon.) It's a commercial for a product for children that makes me want to throw things.

The opening sentence of this idiotic example of why our society is deteriorating at the rate it is states that, "Once upon a time there were books." It then goes on to show a mother, holding her small child in her lap, reading to her with an e-book. The child is delighting in the tale of Woody and Buzz and learning how to read. Pictures are flashing, and the kid can also watch the story be acted out by the animated characters. Yay!

I don't know that I really need to point out what is so wrong with this advertisement. First of all, giving children and adults everywhere the idea that books are a thing of the past, and putting them into the same category as fairy tales makes me want to vomit until blood comes out of my mouth. What happened to the concept of literature, of words on paper that can transport your child into a world of imagination? Of rocking your child to sleep with a dog eared copy of Wind in the Willows or Charlotte's Web? Of perpetuating a tradition of a love for the written word? What happened to a parents vested interest in teaching a child how to read by themselves without leaning on technology to do the work for them?

I am not a parent, and I have no idea what it is like to raise a child in modern day society. I know that my parents both worked, and I was reading by the time I was 4. I have fond memories of voraciously tearing into any book I could get my hands on. My grandfather gave me a hardback copy of Anne of Green Gables when I was 7. I was reading Stephen King by the age of 10. Reading is what I do, what I love, and that includes not only the words on the page but the feel of the book in my hand, the musty smell of a used book, the crack of the spine...reading is a sensual experience for me. I see the colors, the faces of the characters, the places they go and I live, love, and feel what they feel. I've never been to India, but after devouring The Namesake I feel that I have been there. I'm not a time traveler, but I can imagine what it's like when I pick up a Spider Robinson novel.

I hate to imagine a time when books will become obsolete. I have been told how convenient it is to travel with a Nook or other e-reader. "You don't have to carry 2-3 books, it's so easy!" Well, I like carrying those books. I like boarding a plane knowing that nestled in my green North Face backpack are 3-4 different tomes with different cover art that are available to me should I get bored. I like carrying ten pounds of reading materials. I like using my thumb and pinky to hold a book open, and that my hand gets tired after 2 hours straight of reading . I like having the ability to put a cute bookmark into the back of the book for insertion into my stopping part for the night. I want to read to my children, and have them read to me, and delight in a quiet afternoon in front of a fireplace or on the patio with just the silence of curious minds and imagination at work surrounding me.

Please, if you are or want to be a parent someday, keep the tradition of the book alive. Hold on to those dear moments and don't allow our society to convince you that a computer can replace your voice, your time, your teaching. Read to your kids, and read for yourself.

That's my rant for the day. Happy Thanksgiving weekend, ya'll!

Thanksgiving...

A dear friend of mine always posts notes on her facebook page giving daily thanks giving for her life. This has always inspired me, and in light of the upcoming holiday, I would like to give some thanks of my own. It's more like a life Thanksgiving.

I am thankful for my family. They really are the best family ever. My mom is my best friend, my dad is my logic (and my landlord), my sister is my life coach and personal stylist, my brother is my fun. I know no matter what they are there for me. Both of my siblings have chosen amazing partners for themselves, and though I pretend to hate Nick, I don't. Amanda is my graphic guru and is so much fun to be around. I miss the craziness that my extended family can get into around the holidays, and can't wait for the 4th of July, as you know I will be there and I'll be practicing my volleyball skills until then.

I have great friends. I know a lot of people say that, but it is completely, 100% true. I have had some rough patches in the last couple of years, and they have all been there for me, in one capacity or another.

Jen Furman is the older sister I never had, and I'm thankful for her wisdom, butt-kicking, and mommy inspiration. Jesse Furman is the normal big brother I never had. Their beautiful son, Miles, is a light in my life. Lisagaye Tomlinson is a wonderful, talented, beautiful woman who inspires me to be just like her. Nathan Glynn is my go to for new culinary experiences and for deep thoughts. Danielle Bouloy is my chat buddy, someone who is always there for me when I need 3 hour long phone conversations(at the peril of cranberries everywhere.) Joy Lynne Groover makes me feel beautiful with her camera lens and is the strongest person I know. Maria Konrad and David Jarrell are my go to date nights, and my movie night pals who I can't wait to see get married in two months. Susan Fulks and Erica Sugar Phillips are the women I would love to steal their talent from, and are strong women who kick butt and make me want to as well.

Lori J Hunt is the woman who I know will get me back on track when I am feeling off with her humor and knowledge of who I've been and who I am. Bailee DesRocher is an amazing friend, artist, and comedian who I want to be when I grow up. Afton Palmer is always there with a story and goofy voices. Jay Barwick is my oldest friend, and he and his wife, Jaime, are people who I am glad have stayed in my life for the last 9 years. Sam Waters is the one who is always there with encouragement and a witty comment. Emily and Stephen Pogozelski are brand new friends who remind me that love is real and that life is meant to be enjoyed to the fullest.

There's more, but I'm at work and should probably do something. :)

All dressed up...

The other night, my friend LG and I met up for dinner and drinks in Delray Beach. She is stunning, and on good nights I feel like I can run with the big dogs. We both decided to be ultra-girly and dress up for each other, as we see each other so rarely (she lives in Ft. Lauderdale and travels, I live in West Palm Beach and am a recluse). So, we made it a special occasion, both wearing dresses and high heels. We had a nice dinner, and headed over to another location named Tryst, where LG knows the bartender. He's a great guy, and we were having a great chat over wine and Bailey's (not combined...she had wine, I had Bailey's.)

We're chatting and catching up, and these two gentleman take seats next to LG, and I notice over her shoulder that they are checking her out. Maybe me as well, but I obviously have a complex, so we won't go there. While I am asking the bartender for a glass of water, the one nearest LG struck. He started asking what we were up to, blah blah, yadda, yadda. And LG is the sweetest person on the planet, so she begins having a conversation with this guy, who looks like Jeff Conaway circa Celebrity Rehab only 5 inches shorter, and his buddy, who is basically his mute, Indian sidekick (and not nearly as cool as Silent Bob).

I am basically ignoring them, until Kinickie decides to get up and come over to me and start asking me questions about me, at which point my smartass personality starts to come out and I snarkily answer him with thinly veiled disdain. Especially when he offered to make me lunch the next day. Your assumption is that a)I am out to find a husband/one night stand/boy toy. b)I am attracted to you. c) I give a rats about your job, life skills, experiences. I am not interested. Period.

It's not that I don't feel sympathy for single people everywhere as it is horrendously tough to meet quality people anywhere, much less in bars. I just wanted LG to myself. We were not NYC taxi cabs, with Available signs glowing over our heads. Just two women out to have a nice evening without male companionship. The assumption that we were dressed for them was completely annoying to me and made me want to get violent. But LG was and is and always will be the nice girl who gives everyone a chance.

Eventually, my caustic barbs caused the two Casanovas to leave. But I lost out on a good 45 minutes of time with my dear friend because of them. So, to all you single men folk out there...please, PLEASE...make sure someone is interested in you interrupting their lives with idle chit chat. You'll know because their bodies will be turned out towards the room, and they will be looking around for potential mates/hook-ups. And, if someone tells you that she is not interested, whether it be verbally, physically, or subliminally....take the hint. Thanks.

Beauty hurts...

I am an idiot when it comes to girly things like styling hair and make-up. I love buying products but can never seem to get them to work the way they are intended. Any time there is a major event that I am invited to attend, my little sister swoops in and takes care of things like curlers, eyeshadow, contouring, all that. I sang at a friends wedding...she swept my hair into an updo and added baby's breath. I participated in a Rock and Roll karaoke contest to win $10,000...she picked the tank top, cropped leather jacket, and black knee high boots. I went on my first date after a long time recovering from a bad relationship...she covered all my blemishes and gave me smoky eyes. She introduced me to skinny jeans and layering. She's really my guru when it comes to all things fashion or cosmetic.

Recently, I decided I wanted to try and be more...something. Girly, put together, professional. Any set of words that when stringed together would negate my entire college experience which encapsulated a lot of plain T-shirts, overalls and too light highlights. Something that would help me recover from 3 years of working in a Rock and Roll club where black eyeliner and teased hair with fishnets and micro mini's were the norm. I have always been a casual individual, but I felt the need to be an adult and look like a 29 year old woman with her life together (no need to mention the fact that I live at home with my parents.)

So, one morning, as I was blowing my stick straight hair dry with a round brush and mousse (which has been my "look" for the last 3 years), I noticed a large barrel curling iron plugged into the outlet. I flicked it on. Images of luxurious waves streaming down from the sides of my face with rays of light radiating from the red strands smoothed by the heat of the instrument that I would instinctively know how to use started flicking through my mind. I clicked off the dryer. I grabbed the iron. I pulled half of my hair (still partially damp as I don't usually blow the back dry) into a hair clip. "How hard can this be?" I asked myself, not realizing that a lack of sleep and caffeine were going to be my downfall on this day.

Hair, meet iron. Iron, meet ear. The scent of perfume mingling with burnt flesh is not an appealing aroma.

I burned myself on the first try. The hair I had so carefully wound around the large barrel of the curling iron had a slight curl in it...at the top, near the roots, where I had inadvertently crimped it. The ear was only a minor burn, but still smarted enough that it was a constant reminder throughout my work day that I had lost my woman card that morning. In the days since I have tried it again, and have gotten to a point where my hair at least looks like I TRIED to do something with it other than allowing it to plaster itself to my skull. Someday, maybe when I am older and able to multi-task/learn new tricks, I will be proficient enough to look put together. For now, I'll call my sister. Good thing she lives just down the hall.

That's life.

I have come up with my personal philosophy on life. It's very "Gump" esque. To me it's not like a box of chocolates. Instead, it's like a toasted whole wheat bagel with cream cheese.

Here's the inspiration to the observation. I am a creature of habit. I pretty much order the same thing at every restaurant I visit. My friends who know me well know exactly what I get at every location and have been known to order for me (in a sweet way, not a Neanderthal, controlling way.) At Duffy's, where we frequently dine, it's "She'll have the saucy tenders with zucchini and sweet potato fries." At Original Pancake House, it's "French crepes and a side of home fries."

At bagel shops, it's a whole wheat bagel toasted with cream cheese. Without fail. I have deviated from this formula before with disastrous results. So, I order my carb feast in wax paper, and I eat. Bite after bite, I luxuriate in the rich creamy cheese, the crisp toasted exterior and the softer interior. And then, it happens. The one bite that, for some reason, tastes like onion. I obviously did not order an onion bagel, yet without fail there is that one bite that has been compromised by an onion, and it makes the entire taste experience from then on tinged with onion flavor.

Life is like that bagel. You can be swimming along, with one intention and then something can come out of the blue, unexpectedly, that changes your perspective. At first, I hated that onion bite, but I realized that if it wasn't for that one bite I would never know what it's like to have an onion bagel instead of my boring old wheat.

I have also tossed around the idea of a "crunchy bit in the McDonald's hamburger" philosophy. But that's just gross.

There's a reason I'm guarded.

I've had several instances in the last couple of months where people have become upset with me and have decided that the best way to clarify their anger is through text message, e-mail or Facebook message. Not only is this completely cowardly, it is also pretty disrespectful to me as a human being with feelings. Please, feel free to phrase things any way you want to because there couldn't possibly be repercussions to you typing hateful, mean things, because it's e-mail and you can just claim it was mis-interpreted. Well, friends (and no longer friends), here's what I want to say to you. It is not your job to teach me lessons. It's not your job to point out my flaws, as I could certainly retaliate and tell YOU everything that I dislike about YOUR personality...but I don't. Because I know what my faults are, thank you very much. And instead of pointing fingers, you should be looking in a mirror.

This song says it all.
King of Anything

In the future, you can call me and we can talk about things. Or we can have coffee and you can vent. But please don't hide behind your computer screen and let your anger and fingers do the dirty work.

As my mom says, "You have to be a friend to have a friend." Lucky for me, I have enough friends that want to BE friends, and that I want to be there for. You are no longer included in that. Have a great life!

Guilty feelings.

A friend of mine sent me a message for an audition for a show about an hour away last night. I agreed, thinking that as a performer I should never turn down an opportunity to showcase my talents and to make new connections. I was excited about the prospect...it was a musical comedy, two things I love separately, combined. Great. So, I sit at my desk for the 8 hour day at the country club and contemplate the exact way the evening should go. The audition is at 7, I get out of work at 5, the dog is out of food, I have to get some for his dinner, I have to shower, change, figure out what I'm going to sing, find my character shoes, get in my car, drive 45 miles, get that amount on my already over driven leased Mini Cooper, audition, then come home and figure out what I will do if I get the part.

So, I bailed. I put on my pajamas, ate some re-heated chicken marsala (from my cooking experiment two nights before) and watched a movie with my sister. And I felt guilty. The whole time. I was laughing, goofing around, and watching Glee, but inside I had some major guilt for not going. I started feeling sick at around 7pm, knowing somehow that I had made the wrong decision and that this show could have been the thing to rebuild my faith in myself as a performer.

My sister, who, at 27, is one of the least bothered people on the planet, knows me well. She looked over at me, curled in the recliner, the quilt she had made me surrounding me like a shroud, and said, "Get over it."

That's it. "Get over it." Such a short phrase for a philosophy that I have never, ever grasped. I hold onto things as if they were changeable. "If only I had just..." "If this had happened differently, I'd..." At that moment I realized that the best decision I was going to make that night was to actually listen to my bratty sister, and "Get over it." Maybe, if we all "got over it" this world would be a better place.

But maybe I'll just see if they cast anyone. :)

Domestic goddess

I have never claimed to be a whiz in the kitchen. I'm a little attention deficit. Dinner for me is typically meeting friends out or driving through. I barely passed home economics in middle school, and I'm pretty sure the only reason I did was that the teacher pitied me in my ineptitude with needles, thread, flour and sugar. She knew I was never going to be the perfect housewife or even a sub par one at that. So, I got a C for a crooked heart shaped pillow I hand sewed and a cake that was barely passable as a food item. Since then, I have perfected 3 dishes that are my go to recipes for dining. Chicken Marsala, lasagna, and a dessert known to my family as Sex in a Bowl. Easy peasy.

I've been pondering lately what it means to be domestic. As a 29 year old woman who has really never been on the cusp of any sort of matrimonial situation, I began to wonder whether it was a lack of culinary ability that might be detracting from my value as a long term girlfriend. It sounds sexist, but I was grasping at straws.

I thought it would be an interesting experiment to see if I could just follow a recipe. I grabbed my mother's cookbook. I pulled out her fancy Kitchen Aid mixer. I followed each step in an almost manic attempt to prove ixethat I can cook. No, I didn't let the butter get to room temperature before mixing it. No, I didn't have lemon zest, cause it was late at night and our porch light is broken and I couldn't see if any of the lemons on the tree were yellow. Yes, I did sift the dry ingredients. I baked it for the time recommended. And it was tasty...as batter. Once I baked it, it had a dry consistency that didn't immediately scream Pound Cake to me. But, covered in enough Redi-whip, anything tastes good. Maybe I'll try again.

Maybe not. There's a shiny object in the corner of my eye. I'm going to go check it out.

A rebirth...

Recently, I decided to change my life. I was unhappy. Really, really unhappy. So, I cut ties to all the things that were making me unhappy and decided to start over. I've done this a couple of times in the past...an abusive relationship helped me move to KY and start working for a theater up there. A medical malady made me leave that theater and move home to sunny South Florida (and after 3 winters I was about ready!!) Now, I have quit my job with an improv troupe that I had been working for for 3 years to try and make my own way in life. It's terrifying. I felt safe there for these last few years, but I realized I was never going to get the fulfillment out of it that I desired.

So, here I am. 29 years old, living with my parents again after rent on my beautiful apartment was raised and my salary was not. I am single but dating. I have baggage like anyone else, so my guarded area is both my heart and my naughty bits. I have no artistic outlet at the moment other than singing occasionally at cabarets and the weddings of friends (and of course, in the shower.) I write things down that I think might entertain people, but have yet to attempt an open mic night. I am working on a comic book with a friend, but that is at a standstill while she makes a life in LA and I work 40 hours in Florida. I am at a standstill. But I am living a very full life and have a lot of ideas and opinions. So, here's my blog. If no one reads it, fine...but it'll be a place I can vent and hopefully, entertain.