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.