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.

    

Nutbag.

I realize that there is a reason that I am single. I was contemplating this last night as I sat in my level 2 stand up class and began crafting a joke about a ring I recently purchased. It's a plain silver band with a round pink stone gently nestled under four metal prongs. It's a rose quartz, and I'll explain why this has anything to do with matters of the heart in a moment. But first, the events that occurred prior to and after my purchasing this ring.

I was home alone as my parents were visiting my grandmother in Ohio prior to the Christmas holidays. I was working a lot, and was spending my off time in my pajamas, laying on a couch and watching BBC television shows on Netflix. I was low. Lower than I'd been in a while. I was basically eating(too much) and drinking (too much), and was wallowing in self pity from being so overwhelmingly alone. No one called. No one cared. So, there I was. Miserable.

A friend called on a Sunday morning and asked me to join her and her husband for breakfast at my favorite restaurant. I decided to snap myself out of this self imposed exile and go. I dressed for the day in a cute sundress with ballet flats, blew out my shoulder length hair, and applied lip gloss to my somewhat overworked (from chewing) mouth. I felt good for the first time in weeks.

Something happened at that lunch. I decided that while I was out, I would go to the local green market and get some healthy foods to stop the constant intake of cheese, crackers, and alcohol. I still felt lonely, and the evidence of families shopping for dinner ingredients, couples canoodling of cannoli's, and old sad looking ladies with their dogs made me want to do more for myself. I deserved it. I'd been through depression, people! A jewelry vendor caught my eye. I walked over, and the lady behind the table told me that they could customize pieces while I waited.

Looking over their massive array of natural, polished stones, I noted that they had several rose quartz pieces. As a teenager, I became fascinated with the idea that certain stones represent certain things, and can create a certain energy if you wear them upon your person. Thirteen year old me started collecting rose quartz, which was supposed to draw love to the owner. During this period of my life, I also wrote intolerable sappy poetry. Here's a sample.

As I look into the sunken eyes
Of the one I hold so dear
I suddenly find sweet release
From unrelinquished tears
His sweet smile, but a shadow
On his work and haggard face
He looks at me with love so strong
And lets out a sigh
And with a weak squeeze of my hand
My love, he says goodbye.

Yeah. Melodramatic, much? Granted I had just lost both of my grandfathers to cancer, but still. A little odd.

So, back to adult Lauren, who is standing at this booth. Single. Still dramatic. Still wanting romance and love to come into her life. Waiting for an epic something to come around.

So, adult Lauren bought a ring. With a stone intended to attract love to her. And she's wearing it, now, as she types this blog. It's on the middle finger of her left hand, the side that is closest to the heart.

Shortly after her purchase, she also got her shoulder length hair caught in her lip gloss. And immediately went to the salon to chop it all off.

Adult Lauren has problems. And I guess admitting it, on a blog, for all the world to see, is a step towards dealing with those problems.

Til next time. I'm off to go and get some lavender and sage to smudge myself. Get rid of the bad juju to open myself up for a new start. And maybe I'll start working on this personality (which may be the real reason I am single to this day.)

Waka waka.

Bucket of chicken...I mean, bucket list.

A friend of mine recently posted a blog listing all of the items on her bucket list. I was blessed to be with her when she almost died on a flying trapeze (Item #46 on her list.) And it got me to thinking about my own personal bucket list, which is currently non-existent. The lack of a list is strange, as I have always been acutely aware of the fragility of life, having lost several dear family members while at a young age. I've never thought about what I want to do before I die, but have focused mainly on what I have done already should I kick it tomorrow. Here's that list. Let me note that I am in no way trying to brag and make everyone jealous that I am super awesome and cool. BUT I am trying to brag and make everyone jealous that I am super awesome and cool.

I was born.

In three separate instances, broke my nose, arm and paper cut my eyeball.

Have visited almost all 50 states. Still on the list-Wisconsin, Idaho, Hawaii and Alaska. Have traveled to Europe and British Columbia, and Canada, visiting these European countries: Denmark, Germany, Belgium, Austria, The Netherlands, Norway, Sweden, Finland, Czech Republic.

Seen and done these things: The Little Mermaid Statue, Berlin Wall, St. Charles Bridge, Bergen Belsen, Mozart's Birthplace, Anne Frank House, Praha Opera House (saw Rigoletto), British Columbian Rain Forests, Bungee Jumping, Flew a Cessna, White water rafting on 6 different rivers, hiking in 12 states and 3 countries, parasailing, rollerblading at a Vans Skate Park, went camping at the Red River Gorge, Rock Climbed in North Carolina, did a back country trip for 5 days in the woods, flew on a trapeze and performed a catch.

Performed in:
Deadlock (ha)

Oklahoma!

Fools

Guys and Dolls

Steel Magnolias

Roads (175 shows) Baby with the Bathwater

Naomi in the Living Room

StoryBox

Standprov

Page to Stage

3 years of Shadowbox Shows

A Christmas Carol (2 years)

2 years in a row Rock and Roll Karaoke Semi-finals

Vanities

3 years of Jove Shows

Beauty and the Beast, Really

I'm with Stupid

Performed with-Michael Winslow and Garrett Morris, met Bruce Campbell.
Duffy’s commercial
Labor Finders Video

Wrote a Comic book

Lost 35 pounds

Gained 35 pounds :)

Been on Burn Notice 3 times.

Went to ComicCon

Was interviewed on a podcast.

Met Christopher Moore. Sent him my web comic. Met Jim Butcher.

Published an online comic.

Met Jenna Busch.

Spoke on a panel at a comic book convention.

Took 2 Stand up Classes. Performed my first routine.

Wrote and Produced 4 shows on my own and donated over $3,000 to Gilda’s Club.

So. This is my "have done" list. The bucket list is pending, as I explore further in life what I want to do, be, do, be, do. I'll put the first thing on my list, which will actually be happening in February.

1. Visit New York.

I booked my flight today. JetBlue was having a sale. So, I'll be going in February to see my lovely friend, Tiffany, and to sight see. I may even get up the nerve to move there. We'll see. I only said, "visit" on the list. That may change.

What's on your list?

Meh.

Life's complicated. Love is worse. Something that was once two people meeting and having a connection has turned into a series of auditions that make me more nervous than any play in which I have ever tried to get a part. As an improviser, I have the utmost faith in my ability to get on a stage and make stuff up in order to entertain people. But get me in front of a strange audience of one male or on the phone for more than 5 minutes with a male I have yet to meet and I turn into a mush-mouthed mental 12 year old.

You know you've been single too long when your best friend's mom is trying to set you up with guys. My very best friend, Jen, knew a guy when she was 12 years old who still lives around town and works at a restaurant where her mom, Corinne, frequently dines. She loves this man. So much so that when he complained that he was just looking for a nice girl to settle down with, a light bulb went off over her head and she thought, "Lauren!" A slightly convoluted meet cute occurred. Corinne got Jen to send her a photo of me, he saw it, liked it, gave his number to Corinne, who gave it to Jen, who texted him my number after asking me permission to do so. See? Convoluted.

He called me last night while I was in my writer's meeting, and left a nervous sounding voicemail. I called back, and in the midst of leaving a message actually said, "I'm sorry I missed your call. I was presenting at a writer's meeting at the library...yeah, fun stuff. Anyway!!" Doh. I received another vm today, while at work, telling me he had to be at work at 5, which is when I get out of work. Not looking too good on the communication side, but Jen vouches for the guy and one date won't hurt. We keep missing each other on the old phone, but I'll keep trying. You never know who you're going to meet and why. This guy may be my new best friend. Who knows? Not me.

I do know I'm starting to get tired of this area. Not only because the available men have the mental acuity of a pre-teen. There is just too much history here and too many connections with people whom I would rather never see again. I've been seriously thinking about moving to L.A. in November, riding the waves of the Comic Convention season out there and just seeing where Bailee and I can go with our web comic and our general comedy shenanigans. I feel as if she and I are destined to do something bigger together...maybe I'm just re-directing the general need for a soul mate to one of a creative partner and kindred spirit. All I know is that she makes me feel like I am funny and it's been a long time since I felt that. I have things that I need to do before then, like produce another Jiggles and Giggles. But it's about time to actually start that "living like there's no tomorrow" thing that all the country singers like to sing about.

It's time for a change. I've already changed myself enough...now I just need to change the world.

Life is ridiculously funny.

It's been a strange couple of months. I've been on some dates and gotten booked to speak at a comic book convention, and gotten into some hijinks and shenanigans. This blog will be a free for all to really detail some of the things that are going on in the Guarded Area.

The dating front. It is hard out there, people! The moment you feel a connection with someone, a shinier minnow comes their way and they are gone. It's good that people are so ADD because if genuine affection was actually created, there would be tons more heartache than there currently has been/is in my life. I have a date lined up this weekend. I planned it. We're going putt putt golfing. I couldn't stand the idea of sitting down in a coffee shop and making awkward conversation. We'll see how it goes. The guy enjoys the fact that I use Simpson-isms when I speak. Plus one.

On the negative side of dating, there are the absolutely ridiculous things that people say and do when they are on an online dating site. I have actually been guilt tripped by people for not writing them back immediately. The expectation is that if you are on an online dating service that is all your life is about. Finding the one. Sorry, I have a job, friends, family and a creative life that keeps me distracted. These guys also don't know how to market themselves to women of quality. I got a message from a man today who's screen name is Lovesblackpuss. Sorry, sir. You will not be hearing back from me. I'm not even sure why you messaged me, to be honest.

If this weekends date goes poorly, I will probably be removing myself from all sites. The pressure and judgments on who you are in 500 words or less and based on the images you carefully pick to represent the real you is a little overwhelming. If only I had stayed with my high school boyfriend and popped out a couple of kids at the get-go, I might have missed out on this stress-fest. Regardless, the time has come to focus more on my career.

I recently interviewed for a part time teaching position at a Christian school, teaching drama to 7th and 8th graders 4 hours a week. If I get it, my boss at Ironhorse has said that I could change my schedule to do both things. I am incredibly blessed to be able to do what I love and also have a career that pays the bills. Stating that...

Bailee and I are doing the web comic thing, and it is going incredibly well. We're still looking into how to market it better, but we've been invited to speak at a comic book convention Comikaze Expo in LA in November by a lady who thinks our comic rocks. Comediva is stupendously supportive, and we may be writing a whole series of articles about our upcoming trip to Comic-Con in July, which we will be attending as nerds.

The only downfall is that while I am extremely excited about this and the potential it has to be great, there are still and always will be people in my life who are more logical, who believe that the trip is a boondoggle (a Kirk Pottinger term.) It's really hard when you are excited about something and the people who are closest to you nay-say. I've always been a pretty sensitive soul, and it completely sucks to be so excited about something only to have the negative creep in to taint it. It's a constant source of stress and though I'll deal, it's just how I'm feeling today. My family is constantly supportive of my creative endeavors, and for that I am grateful...I just need to be making more money at it for it to mean anything solid. It'll happen. I'm putting that out there. Thoughts become things.

Stay tuned for a separate blog about my recent visit to the set of Burn Notice!!

Online dating gems...

Subject line of an e-mail:
Renascence Woman

Lauren's response: If you don't know how to spell a word, either a) don't use it or b) google it and see how it is spelled.

2nd Subject Line of an E-mail:
Stop working and start having fun

Lauren's response: Stop telling me what to do. We aren't even dating yet!

3rd Subject Line of an E-mail: Hi
Body of E-mail: Hello

Lauren's response: Yeesh. Really original and spellbinding. Keep up the good work with the creativity and allure.

E-mail Message: U Seem Kinda Cute

Lauren's response: You seem like a douchebag. Maybe your first mistake is using the words kinda and cute to describe someone you might try to date.

E-mail Message from 62 year old man: You are very sexy-looking.

Lauren's response: You are very old looking, probably have grandkids and smell like Aspercreme and Brut. No thanks.

Actual sentence from a guys profile:
My perfect match must know herself, where she came from and where she is going. She should be confident but not too independent.

Lauren's response:What is too independent? What is confident but not too independent? I am so confused. And feeling unconfident and dependent!

Stay tuned as I am sure there will be plenty more where that came from!!

I wore heels for this?!?!?!

I have a pair of fabulous high heels. They are purple and sparkly with high, thin heels. They make me feel like a rock star when I wear them, though my ankles tend to feel slightly weak and sore a day or two after I wear them. Last night I pulled them out of the closet for a date that I thought looked promising. It was not.

*Not my actual foot.

It's not that it was a horrible date. We went to dinner at Brewzii and caught Michael McDonald at the Improv for free. The format of the date was sound. However, when someone of the opposite sex admits (halfway through the date) that they could have lined up an out phone call with a friend, it kind of puts a damper on things. When they further admit that they experimented with every drug out there and ended up in Florida to go to rehab, that's an even bigger red flag. And when, after 3 and a half hours of conversation and 2 hilarious stand-ups, your date says the highlight of his evening was watching the manager of the Improv chase a guy who walked out on his bill, you pretty much know you've seen the last of this particular gentleman.

After a goodbye that consisted of "See ya" as he pulled out his cell phone and walked away, I wandered in the direction of my car, thinking to myself that I was leaving yet another bomb of a date, about to pay $9 for parking, walking in the painful yet hot shoes that I had chosen to go with a lavender silk shirt and jeans for this particular debacle. I decided I was not going to slink home with my tail between my aching legs, and made my way to the gelato shop at City Place. The adorable 18 year old boy working the counter scooped me some double chocolate gelato and as I paid in cash, he said,"We always appreciate singles at this hour." I said, "It's that obvious that I'm single and just had a bad date?" Confused, the young man handed me my change and said, "I meant the dollar bills." I grabbed the chocolatey goodness and ran. My sore tootsies directed me towards Barnes and Noble, where I grabbed Tina Fey's new book, thinking that my dating woes would help me be more inspired in my professional life.

As I checked out and wandered towards my car, I realized that this was all I needed. A good book, chocolate anything, and good friends to text when my evening didn't go as planned. I'm sure there is someone out there for me. Maybe not on PlentyOfCreeps.com. As my best friend said, it may be time for me to take a break so that Mr. Right can fall into my lap. I'll have to move Bossypants, the show that I'm producing, the web comic I'm writing, and a whole host of other things out of the way to make room for him.

Boudoir session...not for the young or weak at heart.

A little while ago, in an attempt to try new things and be a "yes woman", I decided to do a boudoir session with my very good friends, Emily and Steve Pogozelski, of Pogo Photo. Having been too thin last year and gaining weight again, I thought that I should embrace my current size 8 frame and get some photos done. Maybe I'll do another one after the next 6 months of eating better and working out.

As a single, I had no significant other to take these images for...except myself. It was fun, empowering and everything I'd ever wanted in a naughty photo session(though I never knew I even WANTED a naughty photo session.)

Being the weird individual I am, I decided to do a little bit more than the usual stiletto and stocking pics, and arrived at the shoot, arms heavily laden with props and costumes for what would turn out to be the most hilarious photo shoot of my life. Junk food, comic books, mic stands, and a towel turned me into somewhat of a "sex kitten"(phrase stolen from my best friend, Jen.)

Here is a sneak peek at some of my favorite images, with more to come!

If you EVER want a photo session like this for yourself or your beau, call Emily and Steve. They are the BEST!

Online Dating

Everyone has their own stories about online dating. Some are horrific. Some are adorable. Some are downright pornographic. I have been off an on all of the wonderful sites over the past several years, searching in vain for that special someone that I can make a cheesy, "We met and flowers exploded out of every orifice and unicorns cried," commercial with, to no avail. I have made decisions about whether or not to date a man based on even the smallest details on their profiles. Too young, too old, too buff, too annoying. As an experienced online dater, I would love to give tips to anyone thinking about breaching the annoyance and delight that is Plentyofmatchemistry.com's.

1. The one armed cell phone photo in the mirror is NOT CUTE. It makes me think you have no friends and don't ever go outside of your house. Also, the photo of you with a woman's head cut out of it? I'm sure this is not the end all be all of photos of you, and you should probably not indicate to me that you are a psycho who cuts his exes out of photos.

2. LOL, BRB, C U L8ER...not cute. If I wanted to text speak with you, I would give you my phone number. These are e-mails with no character limitations. Take the time to give details about yourself. Write full words. Don't use slang unless you want to seem like an uneducated toolbox. Also, learn the difference between your, you're, their, there, and they're. But that's for everyone on the planet.

3. If you are more than ten years older than I am, and you see on my profile that I am looking for men within a certain age range, don't message me. I got a Plentyoffish message from a 60 year old. I'm sorry, but I am looking for a mate and potential father of my children, not a sugar daddy. There are women out there with integrity.

4. If you list going to the gym and drinking as hobbies, move along. These are not hobbies. Hobbies are building miniature ships and putting them in bottles, or collecting Playboys. Alcoholics who drink six packs and have six pack abs may seem attractive, but not to quality women who have brains.

5. If you want to meet me after a couple of e-mails, make the decision. I don't want to have to go back and forth and try to figure out what you would like to do. I want to get to know you, so plan that first outing. I am old fashioned enough to believe that the boy should do the asking. Grow a pair.

6. If, for some reason, we do decide to meet, don't change your mind 15 times about the location. Chances are good I have taken a lot of time and energy to adapt my ensemble to the locale, so having to change 20 times makes me cranky. (This happened once. An hour before the date I got a message that he would be late. 45 minutes before I got a message that he couldn't contact the cute, indie coffee shop I'd selected for our meet up. We decided on Starbucks. As I drove there, he messaged saying he wanted to go to a fancy, popular restaurant instead. Ungh.) Oh, and SHOW UP!

7. If we are texting, please do not send me photos. I've seen your photos on the web, and certainly don't need to know what your workplace , your cat Jingles, your room at your parents house, or any other aspect of your life looks like. We haven't even met yet. And please, please...no shirtless, one armed shots. (I felt a need to re-iterate.)

Everyone out there is trying to find the one, and yes, this list may make me seem as if I am high maintenance. I just want to meet someone who is respectful, well read, decent to people, smart, and somewhat attractive to me. Is that too much to ask?!?!?!

Maybe it is. Harrumph.

So...about that Valentine's thing I said earlier...

I trudged home today with a heavy heart and loads on my mind. It has not been the most spectacular year for me, but I took a really crappy personal situation and have begun to make opportunities for myself to enjoy life and to create in my own way, on my own terms. I vented in a previous blog about how much Valentine's Day blows chunks, and I was feeling every word and punctuation as I opened the door of my house and walked inside.

My mom immediately beset me, telling me I should go upstairs and change...that I looked beat and that I should get out of my work clothes and into something more comfortable. The more and more she insisted, the more and more suspicious I became. Had she purchased me something and placed it in my room to cheer me up due to my lack of Valentine? If so, it was probably going to hurt more than not getting anything at all.

I walked upstairs, and sitting on my bed amidst the mess that is my room was a box of Godiva chocolates, with a card. I yelled down to my mom that she shouldn't have. She was standing behind me and said, "I didn't." I look at her inquisitively, and open the card. On the outside is a hole punch. On the inside is a message that says,
My friend, Nathan, had arranged with my mom to sneak into my house while I was at work to place the candies. He said he wanted to renew my faith in the holiday. He then arrived at my house in a suit and tie, and took me to dinner at IHOP, our favorite hangout. From IHOP, we went to Denny's, where we ate even more food. Then Emily called and said she had something for me, could I swing by? So, Nate and I did.

Here's what she had for me.A wonderful, sweet, hand drawn card. Love everything about it and my new "bestie."

And of course, no year would be complete without a card from my friend from college, Sam. He knows me well, so picked a Maxine card that said, "How do you know if the chocolate and card that you received on Valentine's Day were last minute purchases?"Many thanks to my friends who made me realize that it's not all about romantic love. I love you guys.

Mid life crisis at 30.

I feel as if I am heading for the downhill slope, and I haven't even turned 30 yet. I'm antsy, wanting a change and to try new things. I have the perfect excuse, as I am attempting to write for a comedy website. So, in the interest of comedy, I have tried some things. Set up other things to try in the future. Things that I would have never done prior to this recent incarnation of me. I am grabbing life by the horns (in some cases, literally), and doing irreparable damage to my body and wallet.

And I'm ok with it.

This recent desire for thrills is one I have felt before, but never acted upon. I've been tempted to go wild before, but never had a reason. I have always done for others, and now I am choosing to do for myself. It's thrilling and terrifying and lonely at the same time. While I am jumping off of a trapeze or hopping onto a mechanical bull, I am reveling in the action and adventure. I am getting footage and photos so I can prove to the world that I have lived. And while I'm doing that, I am putting all of my energy into positive thoughts and goals for my life. I am shedding the weight of the last 10 years of heartbreak, and embracing a new woman that only says no if there's a really good reason. And I'm attempting, subconsciously, to tell all the people in my life who have ever told me that I can't or that I am not good enough, that I can, and that I am. It's hard to heal. I still haven't. But I'm filling my life with laughter, stories, and making memories that will be mine, always. And no one, ever, will take that away from me.

So, for now...here is my list of things to do in the next two months.

Striptease class
Boudoir photo shoot
Trapeze
Chemical Peel
Paintball
Salsa Class
Fencing Lessons


If you have any suggestions, please feel free to comment below. Or on my facebook wall.

The Gift that Keeps on Giving....

I have been working at a country club for three years as an administrator. Every year at the holidays, people bring in candy, cards, and gifts to show their appreciation of the work I do, and it's very nice and sweet. Sometimes the gifts are monetary, other times they are more personal. This year, I received a lovely jewelry set, some candy, some cash, and this...
The lady who brought it in was very excited about it, and told me I could put it on my desk so I could have pictures of my family to look at during the long hours that I am at work. I'm sure she assumed that I have children, or a spouse, or something to put in there that would remind me of why I am working in the first place.

I open the box, and these are the examples they have for me to go off of...
So, I need to find a man. Get me some babies. Dye my hair blond. Buy two adorable puppies. And travel. That's what this company says will make me happy, so I'd better get on it, stat.

I've got the travel part down. And I can put in photos of my old, arthritic dog, Bailey. And maybe a picture of me bungee jumping in British Columbia, or one from my future trapeze lesson I bought myself. Or a photo of me and my girlfriends in LA, or a picture of my cute little Mini Cooper. Or me on the St. Christopher Bridge in Prague, in front of the Mannequin Pis in Brussels, or at Bergen Belsen in Germany. And when people get confused by the photos and ask, "Where are the pictures of your family? Your kids? Your perfect husband and perfect pets?" I'll tell them what I always want to say, "I'm single, unattached, and adventurous. And that's good enough for me. Can it be good enough for you?"

Happy Yew Near!

Have I mentioned that I hate the holidays?

New Years Eve is no exception. It's not just that it is just another couple's holiday where singles are pressured into finding someone, anyone to kiss at midnight. It's not because of the old adage that whatever you do on New Years Eve is what you will be spending the next year of your life doing. It's not because of the champagne, and Auld Lang Syne, and watching Dick Clark fight through a stroke to still be the face and voice of the NYE celebration in NYC (Ryan Seacrest can go eff himself).



It's because of the ball dropping.

How many balls had I dropped, in terms of my career, love, life, friendship over the past year? How many times had I let someone else down? What could I have done differently? What can I do differently in the next year to make sure I'm not in the same place on December 31st, hoping and wishing and making plans for a future that is unsure and fraught with questions? I reflect on these things as the countdown starts and see the next year looming as 365 days of potential doom.

I may be a pessimist. But I'm a pessimist with a sense of humor.

You see, if this New Years is the bar to which I should measure the next year, I will be spending 2011 with friends and loved ones, slightly tipsy on Jello shots and vodka cranberry, scarfing a gourmet spread made with care by my two dear friends. It will end with me climbing up on a rooftop, still tipsy and in heels, hanging out with a handsome man until three in the morning, and will be swept off of my feet into his muscle bound arms and dumped in front of my car door before I make my way wearily home to bed. I will then wash my face by splashing water on it clumsily, brush my teeth so as to not give plaque the ability to deteriorate my tooth enamel, and pop my bleary, make up clogged contact lenses out of my eyeballs into solution to sit there until I wake up at 8:30 to start the day.

Bring it on, 2011. Bring. It. On.

Breakdown....communication style.

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

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

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

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

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

Resolutions, shmesolutions.

I resolve to stop being sarcastic.

Yes, that was sarcasm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crappy Holidays!

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

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

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

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

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

Only Lauren sat stirring, clicking her mouse;

With foam curlers tied all up in her hair,

In hopes that some fullness soon would be there;

The family was all nestled so snug in their beds,

While gifts for their sweethearts danced in their heads;

I sat at my desk, portable computer on my lap

And couldn't sleep after my afternoon nap,

The ticking of keystrokes created such a clatter,

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

Minimizing the windows, I updated my flash,

Grabbed some holiday candy from my well hidden stash.

Images from up North of new-fallen snow

I clicked between all the windows below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

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

The process was easy, designed to find someone quick,

I clicked on a profile for someone named Nick.

More rapid than eagles a reply quickly came,

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

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

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

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

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

As dry spells that before the wild hurricanes fly,

My hopes they rocketed straight toward the sky,

So into my closet to choose an outfit I flew,

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

I then attempted to remain aloof

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

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

Through the front door, Nicholas came with a bound.

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

He must have been boiling, without any snow;

Flowers behind his back he’d chosen to stick,

Though he looked nothing like his profile pic.

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

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

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

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

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

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

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

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

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

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

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

Soon confirmed what I had come to dread;

This online relationship just wouldn’t work,

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

And laying his finger inside of his nose,

Digging for gold, I really suppose;

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

And away he flew, his car like a missile.

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

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

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.

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.