Auld Lang Syne

Should old acquaintance be forgot? And never brought to mind?

Yes. If only it was as easy as singing a song at midnight on January 1st.

Kevin the dog and I were walking this morning, and I started really thinking about what I want my life to look like this year.  I've already made positive steps in the end of 2012 by moving out, getting a dog, and starting a new improv troupe with a friend.  And I realized that while I'm really fantastic at doing me, I'm not so great at doing others.  Wait.  That sounds bad. What I mean is that I'm a fabulous, fantastic single me, but couple me is not so great.  Obviously.

Maybe if you got out more and stopped taking and posting photos of me on social media, you'd meet someone.

I had an epiphany on that walk.  As I pondered the question of my singledom while bagging Kevin's super stinky poop, I realized that I have been in the dating scene for 15 YEARS NOW.   And no one has really stuck.  And the one common denominator is ME.  Neurotic, control freak, scared of commitment me. And it needs to change.

So often I'm attracted to people because I know that they're no good for me.  I've never once been in a relationship where I felt that this person was meant to be in my life forever and that we'd shoot out some babies and share a mortgage.  Maybe it's that I've yet to meet that special someone. Maybe it's that there have been one too many one sided relationships, where I felt more than the other person did.  Or maybe I'm getting in my own way.  And I'm carrying around way too much baggage, kinda like the stinky poo bag I had to carry four miles before finding an appropriate bin where I could throw it away.

I'm gonna stop that nonsense. I'm gonna throw out the metaphorical stinky poo bag.  I'm going to open myself up in the new year to being a better me.  And through that process I hope to meet that person who will be around longer than a year or two.

OK. Enough waxing philosophical about my relationship failures. Time for some New Year's Resolutions.

In 2013, I resolve to do the following things.

1) Make resolutions.

 I hope you all have a fantastic New Years and that 2013 treats you well! 

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

I'm an adult. An adult who at this moment is wearing penguin pjs, eating cookies and sipping milk out of a penguin coffee mug while wearing sock monkey slippers. I swear I'm an adult.  I've been watching Christmas movies all day, and I thought that this would be a good time to write to you.  I'm not going to wish for my Prince Charming, as sweet, lisping Lacey Chabert did in the Hallmark movie I watched an hour ago.  I'm pretty sure that Prince Charming does not exist.  And I'm really ok with that.  There are so many more important things to ask for during this holiday season. I don't have a list of toys that I want, and I'm not a cold hearted business man looking for redemption during the holiday season like Kevin Sorbo in that weird movie where he's cursed to look like Santa until he learns a holiday lesson and wins the girl.  I'm just a girl who's feeling sick, both physically and with recent events in the world, spiritually.

Yesterday, something terrible happened.  Something so terrible that I don't even want to type what happened here in this letter. I just keep imagining toys purchased and hidden in homes with no recipients on Christmas. Families who will be mourning when they should be celebrating. I wish that it was the first terrible thing to happen this past year, but it's not.  And there's no knowing that it will be the last either.  This world we live in is increasingly more dangerous, and there's no guarantee that something like it won't happen again and that it won't happen closer to home.  I want to squeeze all the babies I know, and protect them with everything I have.  I've been wishy washy about my desire to have some of my own, but this past year I've made a decision that I would love being a mom.  I'm pretty good at the "aunt" thing, and I have no doubt that a child of mine would be adorable (SUPER ADORABLE) and loved.

So, I guess I need to get to the asking, Santa.  I want to ask you for more understanding this year.  For the ability to love more and to reach out more to people who may need a kind word or a gesture.  To love everyone in my life wholeheartedly.    To  appreciate every moment with the people who are here because life is just too short. And I want to ask you, as well, to help the people in the world to stop being angry all the time. There's so much that is beautiful and wonderful in the world.  And if a slightly jaded 31 year old woman can see it, I hope that the rest of the world can as well.

This letter probably won't do much in healing the wounds of our society.  I'm not trying to do that.  I just ask you to help remind me in my darker moments that everything is going to be all right and that we have to have faith in our fellow man, especially in times like these.

I'm going to get back to my milk and cookies and this cheesy Hallmark movie starring Casper Van Dien. Thank you, Santa. Have a good trip on the 24th, and spread a little more cheer this year than years past.

Simply Improv

It all started with a car ride back from an improv mixer in Miami.  Brad Barfield and I started talking about a show created entirely on the spot, with music, dancers, and comedians.  It was late at night, and the ideas were flowing with the assistance of exhaustion.  As he dropped me at my car, he asked, "What should we name our new troupe?"  It took me a second, but the name The Rejects popped into my mind.  We had both been involved in various improv troupes in the area, and it just seemed fitting.  A lot of people told me that the negative connotation would turn people off to our shows, but I thought it was the perfect name for such a ragtag group of performers.  We brought together a group of people who were passionate about the art form, but who had various levels of experience on stage and in the spotlight.

Awesome logo by Amanda Marie Fuentes

We scheduled our first show for October. It was cancelled due to Hurricane Sandy.  We were pretty upset, but it was for the best as the weather was unpredictable and the safety of our audience was more important than our desire to put on a show.

Things continued to line up.  We settled on our 5 person troupe as the holidays were nearing, and conflicts with other performers schedules trimmed down our numbers.  Brad had brought in his friend from high school, Harry Bayron, who brought two other professional musicians into the fold to create the improvised music for our shows.  

Last night was the culmination of hours and hours of rehearsals, creation of new formats, and a lot of sweat and tears (and blood as Brad sliced himself on his sound equipment, and I paper cut myself on our raffle money envelope.)  Having a show on a Friday is stressful when you have day jobs, school, and a drive from Ft. Lauderdale.  We were setting up right until the house was supposed to open at 6:30pm, and finally brought the audience in at 6:45.

The shows were not without their flaws. But the band played some awesome, catchy tunes. The audience laughed. We laughed.  And we sold 131 tickets over the 2 shows, collecting 10 Toys for Tots.

Some highlights from last nights show:

• Harry and the boys of Rogue Theory (I finally got the name right!) playing 4 original, improvised tunes to the suggestions of Christmas, Cherries, Cookies, and Rabbits.  
• 2 completely wasted Day in the Life interviews that ended up being pretty funny regardless of their lack of participation.

• The premiere of two new improv formats that The Rejects created during our rehearsal process. Interpretive Dance and SongForm Improv.  Vicky got so into her interpretive dance that I had to drag her off the stage during the first show.  During the second, she and I both put our dancers (Rose and Brad) through the ringer physically.  BJ did an amazing job of introducing this format.  The SongForm is a 25-30 minute long form improv where a suggestion is acquired from the audience. The ban starts playing a song based on the suggestion, and sing a verse and chorus, when the actors take over and introduce their characters in song. After all 5 intros, the actors start performing 2 person scenes in reverse order.  THEY WERE BOTH AMAZING!

There were a lot more highlights, but I'm sleepy from a full day of work and shows yesterday.  Photos from the show are pending, so you'll be able to see for yourselves.   Now it's time to plan our next show.  Thank you a million times to everyone who came out to support our first endeavor. There will be more improv and music to come!



 

Dan's Christmas List 2008 version

As you know, my brother Dan and I are very sympatico in a number of ways.  Our trip to San Diego for Comic-Con this last year was the culmination of 31 years of nerding out over the same things. 4 years ago, he wrote a Christmas list that to this day makes me giggle, chortle, and titter. Read on and get a glimpse of the strange man who helped me become the nerdbag I am today.

 Nerd. But he's OUR nerd.

My name is Daniel J. Pottinger.  I like short walks on the beach because walking in sand is tiring.  I like sunsets, but not because they are pretty but because it's getting dark and people are going to sleep and thus ceasing to annoy me with their presence.  I'm an animal lover....the more I can eat in one sitting, the happier I tend to be, unless vegetables interfere with my world, then it's WAR!

This is my Christmas list.  It's all the things I WANT.  The holiday is about giving me what I want, and nothing to do with the birth of Christ.  The shopping malls all say it's so, so it must be!

With that said, let the list begin:

--A roomba.  It's a robot that vacuums for me.  My current vacuum sucks.  Not sucks in the good way, but sucks as in it does not suck well at all.  Does that make sense?  I think I confused myself.  Needless to say, a ROOMBA would be sweet, because it has a mind of it's own and just cleans up for you.  This also increases my odds of being right in the middle of it when robots rebel against us humans.  I might just side with the robots.  You've been warned.

--The gimmicky things like the Perfect Push-Up and the Perfect Pull-Up seem right up my alley.  They have the word perfect in them, so that's a great start.  I think I'd prefer the pull-up variation, as I already do perfect push-ups (possibly of the girly variety, but shhh, that's our secret.)

--New books from new authors that YOU think are good.  That's very vague, but it's also a chance for you to recommend something to me.  Just know I'll be judging you as I read it.  I prefer suspense, horror, sci fi, fantasy, and military fiction.  The military fiction I prefer leans towards not very wordy complicated code word bullcrap *cough Tom Clancy cough* and more general stuff like Ted Bell and etc.  Just so you know.  If there is a monkey in the book, it's an award winner in my eyes and heart.

--I think I'm going to lean away from video games this holiday.  I barely have time to play as it is, and I'm way behind on my gaming.  If someone wants to randomly purchase me the new God of War game for the PS3 next March, it's never too late to be thoughtful.  I'm not sure if I want Rock Band or not......everytime I try to play the drums, I lose a little self esteem.  It is pretty sweet though.  Amanda loves my singing, so I guess I could just always be the singer........"my girl wants to party all the time, party all the time, party all the tiiiiiiiiiiiime!"

--Gift cards to techy places are good, but I always seem to fall into the gift card trap.  See, companies want you to give gift cards knowing that the recipient will most likely head to the store and spend MORE than their gift card has to offer.  It really makes me angry that I fall for that.

--If someone wants to decide what I do next, that'd be cool too.  I'm almost 30, but it's time to go back to school, probably......but do I pursue a masters in Psych and deal with the crazies or go into Law and deal with the crazies?  Why am I always drawn to crazies?

--Does it bother any of you that I just typed "I'm almost 30"?  If so, I am amused.

--No CD's please, or Itunes gift cards.  You'd be taking away my pirate eligibility if I did things legit when I didn't have to.  I got my cred to worry about here.

--Blu Ray movies are ok, however.  I got nothing witty to say here.  Sorry.

--These shoes are freakin' sweet!  http://www.vibramfivefingers.com/products/products_sprint.cfm
I have always said I prefer running bare foot than with shoes.  I hate shoes.  They interfere with balance and flexibility.  Plus, what if zombies attack and I don't have time to put shoes on.  I'll be like "man, I run pretty much barefoot all the time anyway, so long suckers."  While everyone else is trying to get their shoes on, I'll be running fast as fast can be, and they will have their brains eaten.  I win.

--Board games like: Tripoley, Balderdash, Boggle, Scrabble sweet carry case edition.  Basically all dorky games I'll never have a chance to convince anyone to play with me but that make me feel good about being good at.

--An electric guitar.  I did say I was 30.  It's about time for a mid life crisis.  I just want to see if I can hook one up to my computer, turn it on full blast, and then play Van Halen and blow up the speakers before I go back in time in.......

--I want a DeLorean.  Someone make this happen.

--This really isn't a helpful list.

--I sure would hate to be the person that draws my name.  I'd look at this list and be like, "how is any of this under whatever the limit is this year?!?!?" and my answer to myself would be "it's not."

--If I think of anything else, I'll be sure to mention it offhandedly to my mum.  It'll spread like wildfire if I do that.

That's all folks....now stop looking at me.

--Daniel

---

 

Attention Deficit Dis....

It's been a month since my last post. I swore I would be better about posting here, and I once again became lax in my duties because of life getting in the way.  I'm sitting at home on a Saturday, watching Hallmark movies and blubbering like an idiot.  Don't judge.  This really tough lady just started crying cause they found a lump and she was being a bitch to the main character because she was worried about it AND NOW THEY ARE FRIENDS.  For some reason, this has made me want to blog.  It's gonna be a random one, as that's how I roll. Bear with me, as I'm spitballing here.

Change is happening in my life, and as such I am forgetting EVERYTHING. I mean, everything.  This week alone I have shown up a week early for a dentist appointment. I bought two bottles of shampoo when I needed shampoo and conditioner.  This morning, after a late evening watching horror movies, I slept late until my phone rang with an unknown number.  It was a woman who had contacted me for an emcee gig for  February, reminding me of our meeting scheduled today for an hour and a half after her call. I'm gonna be honest and say I have never shot out of bed faster.  I had scheduled to chat with a publisher this morning at 10am, so I ended up calling him as I drove to Delray for my appointment.  I decided to kill some time until 1pm, when I was going to meet a new friend for an event at the convention center downtown, only to realize she told me she wanted to meet at 4pm.  DOH.

Hopefully, all this will be alleviated when I actually finish out the next two weeks of insanity.  I'm moving. Not packed yet. Have a member event, wedding rehearsal dinner, and wedding all next weekend and FORGOT ABOUT THEM AND SCHEDULED MY MOVE. I AM LOSING MY MIND.

I am doing absolutely nothing this weekend until my brain refocuses on how to connect dots. This bottle of wine will help as well. Or it will kill the remaining befuddled brain cells.  Either way, Bailey will be happy as I'll be right here on the couch, with him by my side.

Oh, crap.  There's an infomercial with people who can't use cotton swabs to clean their ears, so they're buying an ear wax vacuum.  Two for only $10.   WAXVAC JUST MAKES SENSE.

Who knew?

Note: This is going to be a pretty personal blog.  If you don't want to read about someone discovering how to be happy again after a bout with depression, then you should probably read no further.

I haven't written in a while, as I have been pretty...tired.  Creatively, I was numb.  Mentally, I was exhausted. Spiritually, I was despairing.  And I say all these things not in a "Woe is me" kinda deal. I in no way am trying to inspire anyone to pity, feel sorry for, or sympathize with me.  I'm just telling it like it is. I was depressed and I admit it with no shame.  I wasn't enjoying ANYTHING, and it made me a pretty miserable, horrible person to be around at times.  It's telling that one of my favorite songs ever is "Tears of a Clown" by Smokey Robinson.  It's been the theme song of my life thus far.

You may be saying, "No, Lauren. Not you.  You were never depressed.  You're always doing SOMETHING.  You're always laughing."  I'm an actor, people.  Others might be saying, "Oh, wow.  this is so PERSONAL.  How can she share this with the 12 people who read her blog?" And to that I say, "How could I not?"

This is the face of a crazy person.

Depression is a thing. It's scarily like the commercials, where everything is gray and the people are tired and hurting.  Except I don't lay on the couch all day, cause I have a job and at least I know that I have to make money and being around other people sometimes makes things less depressing. If I distract myself with shiny objects, it'll be better.  And that's how I've gotten to the place I am in now.  A place where I realized that I HAVE to change, otherwise I'll be wasting the life that I was given.  A place that was super butt sore from laying on the couch for a week and not doing anything with myself except working, taking care of the dog and eating. A lot. And drinking. A lot.

So. I've been going to therapy.  I had a pretty major breakdown/breakthrough last week, and EVERYTHING IS DIFFERENT.  Food tastes better.  I laugh a little easier and joke a little less.  I've only had one major anger moment, and it resulted in a bunch of people laughing at me and me apologizing instead of simmering in the stew of the anger for the remainder of the day.  I realized that everything in my life that is bringing me down can be changed by dealing with it in the now and not pushing it down until it bursts out of my chest like the baby from the first Alien movie. I joined Weight Watchers, because my physical state is  directly tied to my mental state.  I invested in new clothes that are actually ME, makeup that makes me feel more beautiful, and have been getting back into the creative part of my life.  And I'm still DOING everything, I'm just enjoying it more and analyzing it less.

I've been scared to do a lot of things cause my brain was tricking me into thinking I couldn't do them, that it was a waste of time and that I would always, always fail regardless of past successes.  Maybe this voice was a result of abuse in a relationship during my college years. Or a part of being an actor and having rejection as a constant in my life (though to be honest, I haven't had much of it in that regard.) Or maybe it was a voice who was punishing me for stupid things I did in my past.  All I know is that  I'm telling that part of my brain to go fuck itself, because I'm not taking it anymore.

I went too long ignoring this part of me, and chalking it up to being tired, lonely, blah. I'm still tired and lonely, but now I know that there are things I can do to stave off the overwhelming desire to turn on Netflix and watch a whole TV series in a weekend. Though that certainly still has a place.

Keep your eye on the ball.

Taking a break from Comic-Con updates to basically have a mental breakdown.  This happens every year after my birthday. I start to contemplate mortality and legacy, and then get sucked into the mire of re-evaluating the life I am currently leading.  31 is not old, but it feels fucking old. I felt it a lot while I was in San Diego. I was tired from walking and over-stimulation.  Instead of staying up all night and partying, I sought the solace of 8 hours of sleep.  I probably missed a lot of things that, if I knew about them, would hurt my heart, because I was feeling too old, too tired, too out of shape.

When I was 18, I was lucky enough to be able to travel all over Europe with the group Up with People. It was an amazing experience, that started with training for several weeks in Denver, CO.  The training included inspirational speeches from people who have made a difference in this world.   One man was trying to end child prostitution in Costa Rica.  He inspired me at that young age to fight against the evils in this world.  Another woman was a doctor who gave a speech about keeping your eye on the ball.  This speech has haunted the dark and dusty corners of my brain for the last 12 years.

I haven't kept my eye on the ball.  I've stopped giving. Stopped helping.  I've become surly and complacent, and that's not what I want to be.  I've stopped trying to effect the world in a positive way, and instead of focusing on how to help my fellow man, I've focused on how to help myself.  I've closed myself off from people, when I should be opening up.  And I don't know how to stop.

Lately, I've realized that our country needs voices.  Voices of people who may not agree with each other, but that are informed and passionate about the issues that plague us as Americans.    Voices that are raised, not in anger, but with pride. As much as working a phone bank for my presidential pick for this election was stressful and boring, I realized that it was at least a small drop in the bucket for effecting change that I believe should happen in this country. It's created a small bit of me that realizes that this life I am leading is not enough.  And that when I reach the end of my life, I don't want to be saying, "I don't know who I want to be.  I don't know what I want to do yet."

Time to get my eye BACK on the ball. 

Comic-Con with my Bro: Day 2 and 3

Thursday we rose early to get to the Convention center in time for me to hit my first professional panel of the Con.  I attended from Fan to Creator: Goal Setting for Creative Types to get motivated to edit the 60 page graphic novel for PMS that I have been sitting on for 4 years.  It was a great session, and definitely gave me TOO MANY ideas for progressing PMS Adventures.  Have I implemented any yet?  Of course not.

Dan hung out in the Exhibition Hall until I was done, then we treked to a club called Belo to see what was going on with Geek and Sundry, a youtube channel run by Felicia Day that features Dan's favorite show, TableTop, hosted by Wil Wheaton. We got there in time to see Felicia wrapping up a meet and greet session, and Dan signed up for a free computer processor while I waited for the next panel to start.  The next panel ended up being Felicia Day doing a question and answer session. She was sweet and inspiring. I teared up listening to her talk about a world where all kinds of nerds can feel safe expressing themselves and their love of gaming, comics, sports, anything without the fear of judgement. I was also on my period.  After she was done, Dan and I played a number of previewed video games that were set up in the lounge. Super cool.

After some food, we decided to head back to the convention for a panel that featured artists and writers from Womanthology, a Kickstarted funded all female comic anthology.  Dan waited in line for a Time Travel panel, and was unable to get in, so headed down to the Exhibition Hall for more browsing and plotting. I joined him, and after seeing the Ninja Turtles and a lot of other cool, weird things, we headed back to the hotel to nap and get ready for the Stan Lee party that was being hosted by my friend, Regina, and her company, Comikaze Expo. The party was weird.  We were kinda tired and not really in the party mood, but we definitely enjoyed the Devo cover band and the cosplay dancing that went down on the dance floor.  About an hour in, we decided to head back to the hotel to try to get some rest for day 3.  I really wanted to attempt to make it in for the Firefly 10th reunion panel, but the line had already started and it was midnight by the time we got back to our room. Nixing that plan, we decided instead to shop and check out the Geek and Sundry tabletop gaming that was scheduled at Belo.

Friday morning saw Dan and I buying gifts and tabletop games in the Exhibition Hall before heading to Belo, where Dan immediately placed himself in a game of Ticket to Ride.  The prize for winning the game was the game that was used on the TableTop show, signed by Wil and Anne Wheaton, Colin Ferguson, and Amy Dallen.  While Dan was immersed in train domination, a girl started chatting with me about my PMS t-shirt.  While we were chatting, COLIN FERGUSON came into the room. Swoon. Two girls invited my new friend and I to join them in playing a game of Dominion.  I suck at all forms of table top games, but I tried! Halfway through the game, two of the ladies decided to go and try to get a photo with Ferguson, and I naysayed, thinking to myself that I was above all that.  They got their photos, I didn't.  Despondent, we wrapped our game and Dan and I prepared to leave.

As I returned from the bathroom, I saw Ferguson hanging at the bar, chatting with a bunch of people. He was joking about his next project, which was renovating his kitchen.   Dan demanded that I get my photo with Colin, as he had his own picture taken with the guy and he said he seemed cool. After listening to Ferguson complain that Comic-Con had advertised his presence for a signing that he was not contracted to be at, I asked.  Ferguson (who is the nicest man on the planet) said yes, and we posed.  Joking with him, I ended up making a horrendous face in the photo.  I further embarrassed myself by screaming "Viva La Revolucion!" as I left, as he was talking about overthrowing Comic-Con by signing autographs for free outside the Convention Center.

Doh.

We headed back to the room early as Saturday was going to be an early day again, due to a number of panels that Dan and I wanted to attend. More boring details tomorrow.

Comic-Con with my Bro. Day 1

We're sitting in the hotel after the first full day of Comic Con and boy, do I have to poop.

I left the computer open, and Dan had typed that while I was in the bathroom.  Not pooping.  Ok, I might have been pooping.  Sue me.  People poop.

Dan and I got back two days ago from an exhausting and exhilarating 5 days in San Diego. I intended to blog as we went along so I wouldn't have to try to remember what happened and when, but that fell by the wayside with nightly exhaustion after hours of walking and over-stimulation. I'll try to describe the trip in as much detail as possible with the fog that is currently surrounding my travel addled mind.

Dan came up on Tuesday night with the family after a giant meal at Maggiano's in Boca, where he lives.  The excitement of the trip got to both of us, and we stayed up a little later than expected for our 5:15am wake up call.  I stumbled into the shower.  We made it to the airport with loads of time to spare. I grabbed Starbucks.  Dan did not eat, as he did not want to have to go boom boom on the plane. We made it to the back of the plane, and in my seat sat an older Asian woman, who insisted that the aisle was her seat.  Not wanting to com-plane (ha), I took the middle seat next to my brother, who immediately fell asleep with his head on a sweatshirt pillow. I was not so lucky. Aisle lady elbowed me. Then threw off her wrap and slapped me with it.  Then, pulls out a tupperware with grilled SALMON, rice, and a baggy full of what looks like carob chips. She proceeds to eat with her hands, lustily sucking the salmon fat off of her chubby fingers while slurping tomato juice that the evil flight attendant handed her.  I'm sure Salmon Lady had a dietary restriction that caused her to bring her own food on the plane.  However, it was gross and annoying. And smelly.

An uneventful second flight dropped us into the beautiful city of San Diego. We got to our room via an airport shuttle, as my brother thought a cabbie would try to bone collect us.  The La Quinta was nice, but we dropped our stuff and immediately got on the shuttle to pick up our badges. Little did we know they would be dropping us off at the WRONG PLACE. We ended up at a smaller site where normal badge pick up was being held so traffic was lessened at the actual convention center. We were told by a kid who looked like he was barely out of puberty to hop on the trolley and it would take us to where we needed to go to pick up our passes. A couple of stops later, and a couple of conversations with a nice gentleman with few teeth who told me he'd heard of PMS Adventures, we were there. We got in a huge line and made our way to the badges. After acquiring our swag bags and PROFESSIONAL badges, we sought food and found it at an Irish pub that Bailee, Lori and I hung out at last year. The food was delicious, and we headed back to check out the exhibition hall.  It was Dan's first time in the great hall of money spending and sites to see, and I enjoyed our tour.   We then headed back to the hotel, via the shuttle, to plot the next day of panels and shenanigans!

WEEEOOOOO!!

TOMORROW!!  TOMORROW!! I LOVE YOU!! TOMORROW!  YOU'RE ONLY A DAY AWAY!

This is us.

We leave for San Diego tomorrow. This will be my first Comic-Con as a professional, and I'm blessed that my older brother, Dan, agreed to blow off work for 5 days and go with me to Nerd-vana.  Last Tuesday, we were on the phone at 2am plotting all the wonderful things that we were going to try to do, see, and experience while out there. If you have never been to a Con, you are missing out and should rectify that as soon as possible.  There's an energy that fills your body when you are surrounded by people who love the same things you do.  There's a thrill when you make it into a panel, beating out thousands of other people and grabbing a seat. A joy when you get to hear your favorite famous people speak about all the things they have done that made you love them. 

Have no fear.  We will be posting photos, blogs, and tweeting about our trip ad nauseum. 

My brother and I have always had an interesting dynamic.  Being the younger sister, the second born, I was a little bit more serious than he was growing up. There was a period of time when I idolized him.  Then I hated him and we fought every day. Then I realized that everything he loved was a major influence in my life. He listened to Scorpions.  I listened to Scorpions.  He read comic books.  I read comic books.  He played video games.  I played video games.  He introduced me to the Evil Dead movies. Some of the greatest memories I have of growing up included him.  He took me to Lollapalooza '96, my first un-chaperoned rock concert.  I was 15 and got hit in the face with a flying pizza plate as he and his friend moved closer to the speakers, leaving me by myself, but it was still exhilarating and gave me an appreciation for Metallica and Rage Against the Machine.

I moved away from Florida after college, but remember a Christmas when I found and sent him a Deadpool action figure.  When I got back into comics, I started collecting Deadpool because my brother loved him, which meant I would love him.  I wouldn't be who I am today without this weirdo. I'm so thankful he's going to go with me, though I really wish I could take the whole family as they are each nerds about so many different things.  May need to take one with me each year!

I guess I'm trying to say that I am excited to be heading West tomorrow for a whirlwind 5 days of panels, comics, parties, meeting new people, meeting famous people, photo opps, Walking Dead obstacle courses, and getting to hang out with the coolest brother a girl could ask for.  Is it 8:15am on Wednesday yet?!?!?!?

A guide to dating someone in the Guarded Area.

Title could also be: I'm an asshole and I don't know why you are dating me.

After some miscommunication this weekend, mainly on my part, the boyfriend and I are back in good spirits and getting along swimmingly.  After a 45 minute high school-esque phone conversation this evening (with me laying on the bed twirling my hair while he probably lifted weights on his end while fixing his hair with a switchblade comb), I made an offhand comment about him needing an instruction manual for dating me.  We laughed for a minute, then he said, in his serious voice, "Can you do that for me?"

I'm not proud of the fact that my boyfriend of 3 months has to ask me for a guide to dating me. In fact, I'm quite ashamed and feel my woman card should be revoked for being such a jerkface that I make loving me this hard thing to accomplish.  But I am who I am and he seems to want to be with that person, so I decided to take a stab at it. Here's a how to guide to dating me.

1) Don't take anything I say personally. Anything. I'm like a 5 year old with no censor.  Yes, you snore sometimes, but I didn't really mean that I was gonna suffocate you with a pillow if you did it again. I grew up with all guy friends, and that's how I know how to talk to men.  Like we're buddies.  I may even lovingly punch you in the arm sometimes.  It's not my fault.  I blame the testosterone. Theirs, not mine.

2) Don't assume I don't know something, cause I have an ego the size of Bruce Campbell's cleft chin that has been tried by condescending buttface ex boyfriends, and I will respond to you with snark and sarcasm.  I'm sorry  for the Tweet about you trying to tell me that Halo is a video game.  I know that. Assume that I know...and that if I don't know, I will ask.  Or I'll Wikipedia.

3) I have triggers. The word bitch has ALWAYS been a trigger for me, from the good old days in college when I had to move out of an apartment with my then boyfriend because he was a mentally and physically abusive and posessive jagoff.  I don't like it.  I also, like a five year old, don't like being told what to do. See above trigger from jagoff ex-boyfriend.

4) I don't need romance.  I need honesty and laughter and being goofy.   Romance makes me uncomfortable.  See above comment about growing up with guy friends.

5) My family and my friends are as important to me as you are.  I need time with them, and I need them  to know that I am here for them, as well as for you.  Balance is everything to me. I also really like hanging out with myself. It's weird, but I'm used to it after two years of singledom.  I'm independent, and that's what you love about me.  If I start being a jerk and bogarting too much time for pj/no shower/Eureka marathon days, it's ok to say so.  I may say I want to go to Istanbul by myself, and THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU. Just me being me and needing to conquer things on my own.

6) You are an important part of my life, but realize I'm still adjusting to having an amazing, wonderful, great smelling handsome man around.  I often feel like I don't deserve it, but I'm getting better and I'll continue to improve as time passes.

That's all I have for now. I'll probably think of more things I should warn you about, and if you are a friend or family member who reads this blog, please feel free to chime in!  But be nice. Or I'll get cranky.

EDITED ON 7/5 CAUSE THE BOYFRIEND TOLD ME THERE WAS A TYPO. 

DID NOT GET POINT OF BLOG AT ALL. 

EDITED ON 12/20 BECAUSE I BROKE UP WITH HIM IN AUGUST.  OOOPS.

ANGST!

I currently have a feeling of ennui.  A gentle, nagging feeling that the life I am currently living is not enough.  I live vicariously through others in the baby, travel, and grabbing life by the horn departments. I worry that I'm losing myself, in a job that's really just to pay the bills, in a new relationship, in friendships that are so comfortable it doesn't seem like any effort is needed.  Which can all be good things, because at least the bills are paid, and I'm dating a wonderful guy, and I don't need to be anyone but me with my friends.  But there is something severely lacking, and I think that thing is adventure. 

I traveled the world at 18 and got to be a brand new independent person overseas.  I came home at 19 and went right to college. I moved away from home and tried to make it as a performer. These things made me who I am today, and I don't regret a single moment. Well, maybe a couple of moments, but we all have those stories, don't we?  But I'm worried that I did too much too fast and now I'm the balding high school quarterback at the reunion who has gone nowhere but down since those bygone days.

I'm a thrill seeker stuck in a soccer mom's body. An adrenaline junkie stuck in a 9-5 job.  A jetsetter that flies West once a year for a comic book convention and longs for the sights and sounds of a new locale. I want to taste every single food ever made, regardless of if it's slimy and makes me barf like calamari. I want to smell the breeze in the Alps and buy handmade turquoise jewelry in Santa Fe.  And I also want to have a home that is mine that I have created. I want to explore and be a homebody at the same time.  And the conflicting desires are pulling me apart like string cheese wielded by an overenthusiastic toddler.

I recently became an adult at the age of 31.  Getting approved for a car loan was a giant leap from the broken 27 year old who fled Northern Kentucky with an empty bank account and a maxed out credit card to her name. That person is no more. But the girl who chose to take a chance on a new life is still inside of me, aching and calling to get out there into the world, to leave the safe and comforting behind and to make treks to places she has only dreamed about in the depths of the darkest night at her parents house.  Maybe that part of me should go away so that I can be content with the abundance that I am blessed with in my life now. Or maybe she needs to take over and allow me to stop being scared to take chances.

Stop or the wine gets it!

I haven't blogged in a while, as I have had little to say.  But at this moment, I say this.  I want more.  And I'm damn well gonna go get it. 

Blame the boyfriend.

 Hmm. How can I distract Lauren with my attractiveness and willingness to love her?

I haven't written here for a while. I told Jason that I was going to blog and blame the lack of entries entirely on him.  Because it would be fun and easy for me to blame the new boyfriend instead of a complete lack of creative energy.  Instead of blaming him, though, I'm gonna blame the real culprit.

Republicans.

I kid, of course. There's no problem here except for time management issues and a bevy of things to distract me. Marvel Avengers Alliance.  The firing and relocation of several co-workers.  Being sick for a week.  Being in a new relationship.  Stand up.  Singing. Writing other things.  Shiny objects. All seasons of Eureka on Netflix. Sloth videos.  Burning Love. Bleu cheese or blue cheese? I don't know.  But it's definitely a distraction.

I feel like I'm being pulled in too many directions. A visit to my doctor yesterday revealed that I have gained 4 pounds since my last visit on the 17th of May.  Penciled in workouts ASAP.  Work is insanely slow one moment, and then the next is busy and overwhelming with a lack of support that is astounding and frustrating.  It's often an indication that you should pursue different avenues when your staff of 30 is down to a staff of 10.

PMS is back up and running. YAY! The new artist is working hard, and I can't begin to express how amazingly awesome she is and how excited I am for the future of this weird little comic.  Already have a T-shirt on the way for Comic-Con, so my professional badge will not be squandered! On that note: My older brother, Dan, and I will be attending the Con this year.  It was a very last minute decision, and thankfully, everything fell into place.  We got a less expensive hotel about 5 miles from the Convention Center, so we'll be in for some shuttle shenanigans and a lot of nerding out.  He taught me everything I know about nerd-dom, so it will be amazing to get to experience San Diego with him, with a Professional badge around my neck and a Professional Guest badge around his. I told him that we should re-enact the road trip from Paul on the way home, but alas, we don't have enough vacation time accrued to do that right now.  Some day.

Needless to say, things get busy and sometimes a blog falls by the wayside.  Some people might comment that now that I'm in a lovey dovey, barfy relationship, maybe it's time to retire the Guarded Area.  Love should make the area less guarded, right?

To those people I say: I guess you don't know me that well at all. 

Until next time when I attempt to do a fiction Friday on my birthday after a late night opening for Adrian Mesa in Boca Raton. So. Drunken Fiction Friday.  YAY!
   

Fiction Friday-WOOOOO!

News: I  have an official boyfriend, he met the family, they love him, Bailee quit PMS, I cried and now I'm PMS'ing.

Now on to Fiction Friday.

I had a friend comment on a status update with "Mmmm, brains." So. That's gonna inspire today's Fiction Friday.  I hope you like it.

Brains

by This Girl

I've been sitting here, in this jar, for what seems like ages. Floating around in formaldehyde, with no stimulus other than the occasional mad scientist's assistant coming in to steal one of my neighbors for some crazy, misguided experiment. They never pick me.  They barely even glance in my direction.  I'm going to be honest and say that it's beginning to effect what was once a brilliant and somewhat egocentric mind.  I was never the last one picked. Always the first, always the best.  And now there is a film of dust covering the label on my jar that screams to the world two names that during my life were connected with the word genius.  I honestly couldn't tell you at this point of my death what those two names were, but I hope you'll forgive me as it's been years since this brain was actually inside a skull.

I can remember how I died. An argument with the wife distracted me whilst I was combining elements that required precision in measurements, and boom! My hands were blown to smithereens and I bled out on my laboratory floor while she screamed like a banshee for help that never came. Why I ever married that woman is a question I have pondered on countless occasions while on this shelf. I should have stayed in the lab when my dear mother told me to come upstairs for that ridiculous party.  I should have never bowed to societal pressures and began courting that ridiculous creature, and should definitely not have placed a carbon allotrope ring on her finger.  She was always nagging about how I loved my work more than I loved her, and she was right. That night she had gotten upset about my missing a dinner party. She claimed my absence caused her embarrassment.  Usually, her complaints fell on deaf ears, but the addition of flying missiles being hurled at me from the staircase caused my attention to wander.  I'm sure she has since remarried, or has died of consumption. I don't know and I don't care.

I long for the day when a hunchbacked Igor will grab my jar from the shelf.  When a Dr. Frankenstein will take my gray matter into his hands and plunge me into the cavernous skull of some patchwork cadaver, then animate me with the electricity of the gods.  The day will come when I will be able to walk and talk and create again.  My research was on the verge of completion when that harpy ended my life with her absolute idiocy.  An irony to die while researching immortality, but no one can say that I don't have a sense of humor.  Didn't have a sense of humor, as I can hardly laugh in my current state.

The day will come. I'll be plunked from the death I could not avoid and live again. My hands may be larger and rougher than my delicate, white hands with which I was born.  My gait may be lumbering.  My speech may be impaired, but the ideas and the genius behind them will be immediately recognizable.  I will outreach even my new master in regards to fighting and beating death.  I will conquer death and with it, the world.

If I had a mouth, I would maniacally laugh right now.

   

Fiction Friday, Finally.

To my few readers who enjoy the Fiction Friday Format, I apologize for the delay in postings.  New relationships are wonderful and all consuming, so here I am, a week late in continuing the story created two weeks ago.  I apologize to my dear readers, and hope you will stay with me on the incredible journey of love and blogging. Ewww. Insert barf noise here.

Hope Returns

by This Girl

(continued from two weeks ago)

I heard a rustle and realized that Ms. Adaams was making her way over to my table. The scent of cigarette and Jovan White Musk hit me first. I heard her take a breath to speak. My own breath sucked in, a defense mechanism from years of non-smoking. And she said, with a voice raspy from menthol's and screaming orders to the kitchen area, "What'll you have?"

Looking at the food smeared menu that served as a place mat, I pointed a shaky finger to a breakfast combo that looked large enough to feed a family of four.  Eggs, hash browns, bacon, toast...the standard diner fare.  After a series of follow up questions that I answered with one word sentences, she sauntered away to grab my  coffee and small orange juice.  Realizing that staring at the wall and identifying various stains was not going to amuse me for the entirety of my meal, I reached into my purse and snagged my dogeared copy of Jane Eyre.  Taking out the gas station receipt bookmark, I entered the alternate world of a down on her luck governess and her passionate affair with the lord of the house. Immersed, I barely looked up as Morticia dropped off my drinks, instinctively pouring suspect creamer and sugar into the coffee in the exact measurements required by my palate.  Morticia hesitated a moment, inhaled to speak, but seemed to realize that I was not in a talking mood and turned on her heel, squeaking her shoe as she walked away.

Ten minutes later, she was back and I took a break from the goings on of Thornfield Hall to gaze upon a mountain of breakfast food that had been placed before me.  As I unwrapped my silverware, Morticia spoke up. "That's one of my favorites, although my copy is a little worse for wear," she said, gesturing to the book that was now lying open on the chipped table. I was surprised by her comment, having made assumptions about her character and intelligence based on her profession and appearance.  "Really?" I asked. "What's your favorite part?"  Her face softened, revealing a hint of hidden beauty behind the cosmetic facade.  " The end. When Jane goes back to Rochester and he's been hurt. It's so romantic. Much better than that 'haunting the moors' nonsense of Wuthering Heights. Well.  Enjoy your breakfast."

She walked away as I sat, dumbfounded.  I had judged her harshly, given her surroundings and my own perception of societal norms. Given my mental state, I allowed myself a moment of indulgence that road weariness and my own life being so overwhelmingly shitty that I had merely transferred my negative emotions onto this poor woman who had done nothing to me but look differently. I dug into my meal, my book now laying ignored on the table as I ate with a gusto that had come from nowhere.  I swore to myself that the next pass the waitress took of the table would find me in a more talkative mood.

As she wandered over with a coffee pot to top off my cup, I finally looked into the face of the woman who was taking care of me.  The makeup was harsh, but underneath the eyeshadow were hazel eyes that shone with intelligence and life.  Her lips may have been crimson and over drawn, but there was a genuine warmth in her smile that reached two small dimples in her cheeks. I finally looked at her name tag, wanting with all my heart to know the name of the woman that I had given such a harsh nickname. "Hope," I said, glancing up at her face as she poured a fresh cup with an expert hand.  "That's my name," she said, "and what I believe in. Jane had it.  Rochester had it.  And I have it, in abundance."

As she turned to walk away, I reached out and placed my hand gently on her coffee wielding arm.  Without thought, tears welled up in my eyes as the words "Thank you" came tumbling from my toast crumb dusted lips. She stopped, turned towards me, and winked. Walking away, she called out to the boys at the counter, teasing a laugh from them with her words.  I didn't hear what she said.  I only knew that I would be leaving the diner with something that I had not come in with. And that was a big ole helping of Hope.

Wha ha happened?

I've been a solitary soul for the last two years.  I'm used to doing my own thing. To going on one date with a man and immediately knowing that it wasn't going to work out.  I've posted a number of blogs about horrible dating situations, and used my romantic escapades as humorous anecdotes to entertain my friends and family, and even strangers while performing stand up sets.  I hear sweet stories from friends about their significant others being romantic, and I awww while making puking sounds.  I guess, in a nutshell...I'm a 15 year old boy when it comes to matters of the heart.  So, I'm going to be honest and say that I am currently befuddled and maybe smitten.  Which to laymen would be really amazingly awesome, but to those who are acquainted with me know is slightly awkward and complicated.

I'm not gonna whine about how I got to this slightly off centered view of love and hearts and cupids.  I'm not gonna list the umpteen jerk faces that have damaged me.  We all have those, and we all deserve better. Done. Awesome. But I am gonna tell you a fabulous tale of two people becoming reacquainted and going on two very lovely dates.  And the reason I'm befuddled and maybe smitten.

The cute boy who asked me out on a date for Friday picked me up at 8, after I finally broke down and allowed him to know where I live.  Usually I meet someone out for a first date, but I thought, 'To hell with it.  My friends all know him so if I end up getting chopped to pieces, they'll know who to blame.' Yep.  I'm a psycho.  He picked me up in a convertible after I had just washed and styled my hair...AND I DIDN'T MIND. Usually, I'm a control freak, but it was just so nice to see him, and it didn't hurt that he had brought me a GRAPHIC NOVEL and a metal bookmark with an inspiring quote from Thoreau on it in lieu of flowers. SCORE!

We went to dinner and had sake, sushi, and some laughs.  Then came decision time...would the date be extended or would we part ways?  We ended up drinking half a bottle of wine on my patio until 1am. The first kiss was awkward, but amazing. (He said, "Gimme some sugar, baby" and kissed me. Swoon!)  I didn't fall asleep until 2:30, and had to be up and ready for a baby shower early the next morning.  I was in a haze. Chopping tomatoes for a salad, I was humming and cheerful...texting him with tomato gooed hands. I felt like I was 15, only a female fifteen year old who wanted to scribble his name on my notebook and be an idiot.  So, we made plans for later that day.

We went to the comic book store that I frequent, and wasted some time and money there. Then dinner, and  a kids dance show.  One of my favorite girls asked if we were dating.  I said yes.  She said she approved. Since then there have been a series of emails back and forth, and I'm starting to get the hang of it.  He's been so open about liking ME, for me, and I just really like him back. I'm still scared, and still worried about losing the fiercely independent me that I have grown to love over the past 2 years. Concerned with how I'm going to allow someone into the finely tuned scheduling that has been my romantically isolated life. But I'm willing to try it out. I'm pretty sure there has been a significant change in me from just two dates, so who knows what the future may bring.

Eh.  Three serious blogs in a row.  I'm slipping!

Fiction Friday Numero Seis

It's Friday, and I anticipate yet another late night posting, as I have a date, as you probably already know.  So, here I am, at the day job, ignoring actual work to bring you another Fiction Friday.  This one will probably reflect my current inner feelings which are surprisingly happy and hopeful.  Maybe my mom did the right thing when she gave me the middle name Hope.  So, here it goes.

Hope

By This Girl

Driving down the highway at 90 miles an hour with tears streaming down your face is never a good idea. Teeth chattering as the high speed created vibrations through the body of my beat up old Nissan, I contemplated driving into oncoming traffic, off the side of the road, or into the rear end of the tractor trailer in front of me. I imagined a Hollywood style fiery inferno engulfing the car, myself, and my problems.  Nothing would ever be right again.  I was running, running from a bad relationship, a crap job I had just been fired from, and a host of personal demons that haunted my days and nights.  I had no direction, no destination, just a full tank of gas and desperation.  I had no idea where I was, or where I was going, and I didn't care.

As the cracked open window allowed the warm air to dry the tears on my mascara smeared face, I looked at the destination sign on my right. My instincts had kicked in, as the next exit would take me home.  I didn't want to go there.  I blew past the exit and, on a whim, continued down the road as the sky and my mood continued to darken.   There had to be something else, somewhere else, a light at the end of this tunnel. So I drove. And drove.  I stopped at a rest area to relieve myself and grab a snack from ancient vending machines, and drove. I passed small towns and big, streets and lanes and just drove.

My eyes started to droop and my stomach started to growl almost simultaneously.   I stopped at a diner in the middle of nowhere with a 24 hour sign lit in the front window. A film buff, I anticipated a smartass waitress named Ethel, popping her gum while she asked me what I would be having.  Lined up on stools at the counter would be rough and tumble truckers who were sweet as pie on the inside and were fiercely protective of the employees and women in general. The food would be surprisingly good, and I would finish off my meal with a slice of Ethel's famous apple pie ala mode and a coffee.  All would be right again, thanks to the wisdom of Ethel and the boys.

My expectations, like always, were not met.  The interior of the diner looked as if it had never known the caress of a cleansing agent or washcloth.  A smoky haze permeated the air, the source of which was a chain smoking Morticia Adaams look alike with a sweat stained waitress uniform and putrid pink lipstick on her sheet white face.  Her hair, long and stringy with patches of gray, was swept into an updo that had probably required 3 bottles of Aquanet to obtain.  I hesitated on the threshold of the building, wondering whether I could slip away before Morticia noticed me. A loud BING-BONG sounded, alerting the entire room of my presence. 

All eyes were on me.  The sole occupants of the counter were rotund flannel clad road jockeys, slurping coffee and making remarks to each other while giving me the once over.  Feeling small and threatened, I sidled into the nearest booth and reached for the menu that was propped behind the sugar caddy on the table, with my back to the room. I heard a rustle and realized that Ms. Adaams was making her way over to my table. The scent of cigarette and Jovan White Musk hit me first. I heard her take a breath to speak. My own breath sucked in, a defense mechanism from years of non-smoking. And she said...

TO BE CONTINUED...

A short one.

On Monday, I received the best Facebook message ever.

On Tuesday, I received another message that trumped the other as the best Facebook message ever.

On Wednesday, I received an e-mail that had me beaming and acting like an idiot for the whole day. Up until 1am, when I finally fell asleep.

Today, I re-read that e-mail. Twice. And it's only 9:45am.

I'm  very much looking forward to tomorrow.

A normal, non-fiction blog. Maybe.

I want to tell you all about a breakthrough I had over this past weekend.  Usually, I have these breakthroughs and they provide temporary respite from my normal mode of anxiety and general dissatisfaction. After my last blog regarding my adopted nephew, the week got even better. I actually went out of the house for a good portion of the weekend, which is rare for me as I am typically a stay at home and read kinda girl.  The breakthrough is still effecting me today.

This past Saturday I was invited to birthday drinks for my two friends, JH and JF.  JF's wife is my bestest of all friends, and she asked me if I wanted to grab dinner before hand. Another group of friends asked if I wanted to join them at the closing night of a crappy nightclub that we frequented on a couple of occasions. I said yes.  My mom and I decided to spend the day together, and we headed out to Bealls to grab some jeans for my grandma in Ohio, who loves a certain brand that they only carry down south.   We decided to take a pretty circuitous route, heading up Beeline Highway in the Jeep, all the way to Indiantown. This took us on scenic back roads and allowed us to drive without the complication of traffic.  As is our wont when driving together, we ended up stopping for lotto tickets and exploring the backwoods areas before making it to our department store destination.

Two hours of boring shopping later, we stopped for lunch. Mom wanted to make one more stop at the Gardens Mall, so we went in. $500 later, and I had an all new wardrobe, plus new underthings. I was excited. I got home and hopped in the shower to prep for my night out. Dressed in cobalt blue skinny pants and a black satiny blouse with heels and clutch purse, I felt beautiful for the first time in a long time, and not because an outside source was TELLING me.

Dinner with the girls was fun, as always.  We made fun of the somewhat skanky girls that were dressed like ballroom dancers for the prom that was happening that night.  We headed to the bar, and had a great time there as well. I got to see people that I haven't seen since I left the Jove, and it was wonderful to reconnect and know that they missed me as much as I missed them.  There was some tension as someone whom I did not really want to see was supposedly coming, but that person never showed up. At about 11:45, I had to leave my friends to meet up with the group at the club. I didn't really want to leave, as I was having such a good time, but the group promised to meet up with me.  So, I got in the Mini, changed into flats so I could dance my butt off in comfort, and headed to the Club.

In the parking lot, I ran into a couple of friends who DJ and are regulars at the club, so I didn't have to pay cover or show ID at the door.  It was nice to walk in with people I knew, and we proceeded to head to the bar.  Telling them I had to find my other friends, I grabbed my drink and happened upon the group out on the dance floor.  I have known these women (and man) since I was 12 years old.  They liked me when I was nerdy and more awkward than I am now, and still like me today.  I'm so lucky to have them in my life, and they know exactly how to pull me out of my shell.  I even danced with an older gentleman called the Milkman, who is a staple at the club. And by danced I mean he bent me backwards, over the stage and dry humped my leg for about 5 minutes.

We danced.  All night.  My other friends joined us at 1:30am, and we danced some more. There was laughter and goofiness, and general shenanigans and tomfoolery. My middle school friends left, and it was just the birthday people and myself.  The club closed, and we decided to head to yet another party location, a bar and grill that stays open until 5am. The group consisted of myself, JH and his girlfriend, JG, along with some of her friends from high school and a couple of cute boys that I was having fun peer pressuring into dancing with me. My body was hurting, but I just couldn't keep myself from moving.  I'm sure I looked ridiculous, but I just didn't care.  I had fun, and it's been a really long time since I had that kind of fun, without self judgement or insecurity.  And it was nice.

One of the cute boys has since asked me on a date for this Friday. I'm looking forward to it with little to no nerves, because this is someone who met the real me and actually liked that person. There will be no dancing involved, so we'll actually get to talk to each other minus the intense club beats and alcohol/adrenaline cloud that surrounded me on Saturday. I feel myself start to worry about it, but am able to tell myself that it's going to be great and to chill out. I think that is the best thing to come out of this past weekend.

That and my new matching bra and underwear. Which I will probably wear on Friday! :)

Fiction Friday the Fifth or Damn, I love alliteration.

This week, I was discussing Fiction Friday with my mom, complaining that it was harder than I thought.  She casually threw out the sentence, "Then maybe you should stop giving your writing away."

WHA?

I'm so used to giving it away. My writing, my voice, my acting, my time, my emotions and my energy.  I don't know any other way.  People have OFFERED to pay me for all of the above things, but I've rejected their advances. Why, I don't know.  But it's something I will continue contemplating.  Who knows where I would be if I insisted? Not me.  It's not my nature.

Ah, well.  Another late Fiction Friday, though this time is was due to watching Monte Carlo until 1 am and feeling depressed and sorry for myself while eating half a box of Cracked Pepper Triscuits.  Mostly cause I'm jealous of Selena Gomez's amazing boyfriend. BIEBS!! (I kid.)

Here it is.  No suggestion from anyone on this.  Just my brain.

Darkness

By This Girl

Slow and stealthy. Sinuous steps. A sigh escapes me in anticipation as I reach the prone form sprawled across the fallen chair that moments before had held a breathing, living being.   I looked at the surprised expression on Gary's face as I grasped the heart tipped pink and red arrow and pulled it from his chest.  Wrenching it out from between fragile ribs, I delighted in the spray of blood that followed a squelching noise of which I had become very familiar.  I was getting better at this. The first few times had been messier, noisier, and less quick for my victims.  Now it was rote. Watch, wait, then shoot.  Always aim for the heart. 

My predecessor had trained me well.  As a young Cupid in training, I had believed wholeheartedly in the idea of true love. I'd signed on for the job of creating romantic feelings between two human beings, of fulfilling individuals by bringing them together with their perfect mate.  I wore the diaper proudly, and the day I received my own bow and quiver had been one of the best days of my life.  I was happy. I'd watch the couples I had brought together frolic through sunshine, have picnics in parks, and marry each other in a ceremony that was intended to cement the love I gave them for eternity.

Then it went wrong. They weren't staying together for eternity.  They weren't even staying together past a night.  Romance and love gave way to carousing and one night stands.  And I watched each and every person that I shot with my arrow of love interpret it as lust and squander the gift I had given them for the next tumble in the sack.

I'm not gonna lie.  I became depressed. So depressed my normally pink and chubby frame lost the baby fat and became gaunt and sickly.  My diaper didn't fit.  My curly blonde locks were limp and lifeless.  My wings went from snow white to smoke grey.  I had no motivation. I could barely hold my bow, and my arrows were careening so far from their intended targets that I once had a woman fall in love with the Eiffel Tower. They even got married, which would have been a success story were it not for the fact that it was a building and she was a human being.

And then I got mad.  How dare these human beings not appreciate the gift that had been given to them by the GODS THEMSELVES?!!?!?  How dare they make my job, which I had done every day without fail since I got my wings, OBSOLETE?!? WHO THE HELL DID THEY THINK THEY WERE?

And I snapped. I sharpened the tips to my arrows, and worked on becoming real.  I concentrated, with all my might, on physically effecting the human world.  It was slow work, taking years and years to perfect.  And one day it happened.  I found a lone man sitting in front of a computer, looking at multiple windows on his screen.  One was a dating site.  The other was a streaming adult video. My anger helped send the arrow into his sternum, just missing his heart.  As he screamed, I sent another arrow through his throat, ending his miserable life. His landlord found him shortly after, but the killer, me, was nowhere to be found.  There wasn't even a murder weapon.  And I got away with it.  And I'll keep getting away with it.  WHO'S GOING TO STOP ME?

I've lost track of the number of people I have killed.  They far outnumber the number of people I helped to fall in love. I've even caught up with a few of the no longer couples that so disappointed me. They deserved this fate. They had something that I will NEVER, EVER have and I hate them for having had it and throwing it away.

    

Aunty Woovin.

I love this kid. Not only for his ability to double fist milk and water.

After a rough day at work yesterday, I put a call out to my friends for some alcoholic/revelry time. I needed some sort of distraction, as the things that were going down at the job were pretty intense and will probably change my work environment in major ways. I got an offer from my best friend to hang out for a little while with her and her two year old son, who are two of my favorite people on the planet.

I decided to head over before the alcoholic beverage consumption occurred and parked my car in their driveway at 6:45pm, just after bath time. As I got out of the car, I saw a little blonde head bobbing up and down in their front window. I heard the sound of a little boy screaming, "Woovin's here, Woovin's here!" as I made my way to the front door. As I turned the doorknob, I heard him yell, "I'm gonna hide, Mommy!" and I feigned surprise that my little pal had disappeared.

I walk out of their home after a visit and leave feeling refreshed and wonderful. I love when this little boy tells me he knew as soon as his mommy told him I was coming over that I was gonna be funny. Cause I'm always funny. His mom told me that my little guy said that when I came over, I was probably going to call him a giant. And I did. It's moments like this where I realize that I am supposed to be right here, right now, if only to be the silly aunt to this amazing little boy.

I got to hear about the dragon ride at a festival the family went to over the weekend. About how his dinosaur has a spiky tail. I got a kissed finger when I pretended to have a booboo after touching it. I ate toddler toes, then put the imaginary chewed toes back on his foot, to which he said, "Now I can't walk, Woovin!!" I got to listen to his reaction to seeing Yoda and Darth Vader on a television screen for the first time, and about how his favorite character was R-Do-Tee-Too. I heard a two year old do a Darth Vader impression, and say, "LukeIamyourfather" as one word, and a long drawn out "NOOOOOOOO!!!" in response.

Who knows what path my life will take from here. Who knows if I will ever have children of my own, or if I will be the cool aunt until my dying day. I don't know, and right now I don't really care. I do care about my little guy, and my friend, her husband and their entire family and I am blessed to be allowed into their lives. I want to make sure that he knows me, because knowing him makes me a happier, sappier person. (Obviously. See above post.) And I'm gonna do the same for his baby sister that is due in June. They're my family, and it's my job to spoil them rotten.

Tapestry.

This image is called Trapped Unicorn. I'm not that innocent.

Since I was a kid, I have loved the song Tapestry by Carole King. It's a song about a woman who has lived a life full of different colors, textures, and viewpoints. The first verse of the song always gets me. "My life has been a tapestry of rich and royal hue. An everlasting vision of the ever changing view. A wondrous woven magic, in bits of blue and gold. A tapestry to feel and see, impossible to hold." I actually JUST put it on my iPhone at work. It's definitely better than the Mariah Carey song playing on our Muzak at work.

I love the idea of life being a series of color experiences. Today I tried to put my own life into this spectrum, and it leaves a little to be desired. The past few months I've felt that my life has been a little too gray. Anxiety, depression, a feeling of being lost and general malaise have caused the last two years to be colored a light shade of gray with definite blacks and whites. Not that my life hasn't been pretty amazing. I have great friends, a wonderful family, and I am able to pay my bills. The past two years have included some pretty memorable experiences, and I don't take them for granted at all. But it seems that something is missing. Some feeling of joy, excitement, ecstasy...you name it, and it is lacking.

It was lacking even when my favorite actor said hello to me on the set of Burn Notice. Lacking when I was on a comic book convention panel for the first time ever. It's been lacking since the day I accepted a full time position in a country club when my heart and soul belonged on a stage. The day I allowed someone else's perception of me to be MY perception of me. It's been wonderful to get out of debt and have some real savings in my bank account. I have been squirreling away money for an eventual home purchase, but everything in me is screaming to not be here anymore. There's too much anger and hurt associated with a place that was once my home. I can't get past it. I want to, but I don't know how. I feel as if I am stuck in a limbo that was created for living beings. And I want out.

I want the gray to go away. I want to be able to be happy, and I hope that a change in locale will cause me to remove myself from this self destructive and negative place in which I find myself mired. I want the blues and golds. The rich and royal hues. And maybe, just maybe, if I challenge myself again and move outside my comfort zone, I'll get them back. I'll stop feeling this constant sense of not good enough, and start feeling better than.

Or, I'll be back in debt. Who knows? I've come pretty far for a chick with a Bachelor's Degree in Theater. I'm just ready for that next step, whatever it may be.

And don't judge me for loving Carole King. She's the bees.

Fiction Friday, the Fourth on the Thirteenth.

My friend gave me the suggestion of clams to inspire this post. I didn't like it. So, I reached out to my facebook people in an effort to get another word that would inspire me, as I'm basically a curmudgeon and a control freak. Their responses were even less inspiring to me. I feel full of piss and vinegar today. I don't know why. I slept well, ate good food and got to visit with some kids that I used to babysit that are now 28, 27, and 25...oh, wait. That may be why. I'M OLD, PEOPLE!

So. What word will inspire today's post? Clams, prickly pears, confidence, Postimperialism, Antidisestablishmentarianism, Defenestration, Bjork, and Paraprosdokian.

PS-I have NO IDEA WHY I WROTE THIS PARTICULAR STORY. It just came out. Interpret at will. I am not pregnant. Just in case you thought that. As I said to my boss the other day,"There's a whole process that has to occur before that can happen!"

None of the Above
by This Girl

The fluorescent lights clicked above my head as I waited impatiently for my name to be called. It had been over an hour since I had borrowed a clicky pen from a cup at the front desk and checked in for my appointment. I had already filled out my paperwork, checking the single status that they require for some reason. My legs were asleep. The anorexic magazine selection had ceased to entertain me, and the hacking cough being forced from the lungs of the man across from me was not only getting on my nerves, but had probably transmitted some sort of virus to everyone in his vicinity. I hate doctors. Hate them. And this one was about to ruin everything.

It had started simply enough. A drunken night. A one night stand in my one bedroom apartment. An expired condom. A missed period. Wishing symptoms away had not worked. Finally biting the bullet, I called my ob/gyn and scheduled an appointment. For this day. For an hour ago.

I knew in my heart what the pee test would say. I knew as well what the sperm donor would say. I had no idea, none at all, what I was going to say. To myself. To the something growing inside me. To my parents. To my friends.

A bored looking nurse in puppy dog scrubs came through the patients door, squeaking in her bright orange Crocs as she mispronounced my name. Looking at my hacking compatriot, I grabbed my overpriced handbag, smoothed out my pencil skirt that had become a little snug in the last two weeks, and followed Nurse Humane Society into the back room, my 3 inch heels clacking on the dingy linoleum. We headed to where the humiliation was about to begin: the scale. "Hop on up, honey," Pound Puppy said, impatient with the time it was taking me to drop the purse, kick off my shoes, and unclip my phone. Every ounce counts.

"My name is not honey, " I snapped as she adjusted the weight further and further over from where it had sat for the past 5 years. "Hmm, 145...that's a jump from your last visit. Let's head to room 1." After the niceties of taking temperature and blood pressure, she asked me the question. "What are you here to see the doctor for?" Wanting to correct her incorrect grammar, I told her. The snarky expression on her face softened. She lead me to the bathroom, and I stared into the toilet, cup in hand for what seemed like an eternity.

The time had come.

Ever the perfectionist, I didn't spill a single drop as I deposited my sample ( a sample that could change my world, would change my world, oh God, what was I gonna do) and exited the small sterile bathroom . Plopping on the exam table fully clothed, I waited. And waited. And waited some more.

I was about to lose my mind when a delicate knock sounded at the door. I squeaked a "come in" in a voice I did not recognize. The doctor, followed by Nurse Scooby, entered the room with a neutral expression on her face. I couldn't read her. Scrappy Doo was an enigma as well. Had these women trained at some sort of acting school to not show any emotion as they delivered news that could shatter a person's life? I wanted to scream at them to tell me...just tell me, goddamnit!

Then they did. Slowly, calmly, they told me that the test was positive. That I was pregnant. That all the worries and the sleepless nights wondering had been confirmed. They looked at me with sympathy as I lay back on the table. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't speak. They left me alone to recover myself.

Tear were welling up in my eyes. Why was this happening to me, now? When I finally had my life in order. When I had a career, and friends, and happy hours to go to. When I was alone and not ready. I wasn't ready. At all. Not for this. Not...

And then I looked around. Really looked around me. I saw pictures of babies. Diagrams of a child in the womb and advertisements for different types of formulas. Sample packs of pre natal vitamins.

And I started thinking, I can do this. I can do this.

And my life did change. It was shattered, but put back into place in a different formation. And I was right about the father. About how everyone would react. But they don't matter. None of it matters.

All that matters is you.