I want to be a part of it....

I'm drunk.

Day 2. (I know, I can't believe that was ALL for Day 1. Insane.)

I woke up later than expected, and Tiffany and I headed to Gracie Mews, a diner a few blocks away from her house, to meet her friend Teddy for brunch. After a great meal with the worst service ever, we all walked towards the Metropolitan Museum of Art, stopping at Alice's Tea Shop for a scone for later. After paying $1 to enter the magnificent museum, we headed to the Impressionist area where I swooned over paintings by my favorite artist, Claude Monet. My nerd side delighted in the works of Vincent Van Gogh (Doctor Who, anyone?) And Tiff and I stared at a Jackson Pollack for about an hour before deciding to go back to her house for some down time before Karaoke shenanigans and Upright Citizens Brigade that evening.

Karaoke was fun, if tinged with sadness at the passing of Whitney Houston, which was sent to every single persons smart phone at the start of the evening...except mine. My phone in NYC was technically useless. Tiffany had booked a private karaoke room in a little Korean bar, where the song selection was fantastic and the service shit-tastic. Her friends and Randi all showed up for the evening. We kicked things off with a little "Wanna Dance with Somebody"(which is an eerily accurate song for how I was feeling that night.) Typical karaoke shenanigans followed. We left the bar with 15 minutes to spare before the show at Upright started, and I was supposed to meet my cousin, Joseph, and his boyfriend, Ryan, before the show. We grabbed cabs for our group of 8, and barreled through the streets to make it on time for the hour long improv show.

Seated all the way in the back row, I could not even see the stage, with the giants in front of me blocking my view. But the show that UCB put on was hilarious even without the site gags. Using a Day in the Life type format, they took the tale of a Palestinian living with an Israeli on an exchange program and turned it into an hour long story that made me fall in love with their theater. Almost every team member had a strength to contribute to the show, and laughing along with my friends (and family) made it a memorable part of the weekend. It made me want to be part of a giant improv team again.

Afterwards, we realized that NONE of us had eaten anything and it was now almost midnight. Joe and Ryan took us to a small restaurant a couple of blocks away, and we took over the whole joint, eating burritos and guac while talking about our lives and catching up. Not satisfied with ending the evening there, Joseph told us that we should go get ice cream at the Big Gay Ice Cream, a food truck turned storefront. A giant closed sign greeted us, so we headed to Ace Bar, a loud, full to teeming bar with skeeball in the back room. Heading to the bar with Joseph, he convinced me to get a Manhattan. Armed with this potent concoction, I was feeling fine. 5 games of skeeball later, it was time to call it a night. Tiff and I grabbed a Gypsy cab, and hauled our butts back to her apartment. She leaned over and whispered to me, "He said it's $25 but we're only gonna give him $20. He knows it's not that expensive to get to where we're going." Confused, I handed her a $20 bill, and we hopped out of the car as fast as we could, power walking away from the black vehicle. Slightly tipsy, I was giggling as we went to cross the road and the cabbie yelled out, "You owe me $5, baby!" as he sped past us.

Ah. New York.

Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder...SLEEP NO MORE SPOILERS!

Strangely, when googling this image, I read that the 9 of Diamonds is known as the Curse of Scotland. Irony.

So. Sleep No More. Remember that picture of me in the weird white mask? We got that at the show. Here's how it went, with spoilers...so, for anyone wanting to participate in the event in the near future...stop reading. From Sleep No More's website: "Shakespeare’s classic Scottish tragedy presented through the lens of suspenseful film noir. Audiences move freely through a transporting world at their own pace, choosing their own path through the story, immersed in the most unique theatrical experience in the history of New York."

We hopped out of our cab and joined a long line of people at the door to a hotel. The outside of the building was spotted with graffiti, but as we moved up the line I realized it was consistently the same image-the outline of a man's face. A bouncer at the door ID'd us, and then sent us into a long dark hallway where we were required to check coats and purses. The coat checks recommended we take credit cards with us for the lounge area. Everything was dark, moody, but urgent. We then made our way to the front desk, which was arranged like an actual hotel counter. As we checked in, we received two playing cards, the 8 of diamonds for me and the 9 of diamonds for Tiffany. We were then directed into a dark hallway with a series of turns, and only candles placed in corners to illuminate our way. Grasping each others arms in expectation of a haunted house type scare, we allowed a couple to go ahead of us to gauge the experience. No screaming drifted back to us, so we continued on, still holding onto each other for safety and comfort. I'm pretty sure we squealed a bit anyway.

Curtains parted ahead of us, and we found ourselves in a lush, red velvet draped lounge. Normal people like us mingled with glamorous actors dressed in 1940's style clothing, all playing roles steeped in mystery and menace. A table at the front of the room, manned by young, gothic women offered champagne and shots of absinthe. I thought it would be a great idea to try this beverage that I had heard so much about but never experienced. We bought two shots, and settled into a table to await the next phase of our experience.

A striking man in a tux (Leopold) drolly called out for all guests who were carrying the 8 of diamonds to join him. I panicked, realizing that Tiffany and I were about to be split up. I looked around for any 9 of diamonds, and switched with a woman who preferred to go in by herself. Then the 9's were called.

We all were handed white masks and moved into a small room with no windows adjacent to an elevator. Our new guide, a beautiful woman with a black evening gown and ruby lips, explained that we were to wear the masks at all times, there was to be NO talking, and that the only "safe" zone in the hotel was the lounge we had just exited. We were all then herded into the elevator, the silence heavy and expectant. Our elevator attendant let small groups off at each of the 5 floors that were utilized in this massive, intense and detailed performance.

Tiffany and I exited the elevator together, and were immediately enveloped in a film noir-esque home environment that spanned the whole floor. We were busy looking at the decor, noticing little details and figuring out what was going on when movement caught our attention. The actors/dancers/spooky people who make up the cast blend into the scenery and then explode into choreographed movement that is this company's interpretation of the story of Macbeth.

It was INTENSE. Tiffany and I were separated at a couple of points, when she saw a character moving in one direction and I noticed another walking determinedly in the other. At one point, she was in a room and as I was about to step in, the character I was following turned and slammed the door in my face. We ran after people, up stairs and down, and to be honest, after walking all day and a little bit of alcohol, I had sweat pouring off of me and I was panting, ready for a rest. What seemed like hours later, we ended up back in the lounge, where a band was accompanying a beautiful woman with a voice reminiscent of Billie and Ella. We plopped into an abandoned booth, and Tiffany went to chat with our emcee, the handsome tux wearing chap. I closed my eyes and tried to collect myself. I was ready to go home. I felt someone slide into the booth next to me, and opened my eyes to greet my friend. She was still standing by Leopold. It was our female guide.

Out of sorts, I stammered hello. She looked at me through her false eyelashes, and in a husky, dramatic voice asked me if I was in love. I laughed explosively, saying, "No" a bit too emphatically. "Do you want to be in love?" she asked, almost purring. "Umm. I guess it might be nice," I answered, not really sure where this was going. "What do you look for in a man...or woman...which do you like?" was her response. "Oh, most definitely men." She stared at me. After a moments hesitation, she muttered, "I think you will find love. Soon. I feel it will happen for you. A true love. A good love."

As this was the second time on this very day that I had had someone ask me about this specific subject, and had the very same response, I felt an eerie sense of something bigger than myself in play. Maybe I was supposed to be in New York. Maybe this year is the year. And I'm not talking about romantic love specifically, but maybe a more cosmic kind of love. A universal love. Positivity coming from the ether.

Or maybe that was the absinthe talking.

Catlady told us that we should head to the ballroom for a surprise. The surprise was...well. I'll keep it a surprise. But I'll hint at it with the joke, "No NOOSE is good NOOSE." It wasn't good noose.

More to come on the NYC adventures. If you care. :)

I'm leaving today...

Day one of the trip to NYC started with a subway ride with Tiffany to Union Square. She recommended that I hang out there for a while, as there were shops, a green market, and loads of food options for me. I wandered aimlessly, checking out statues and searching for a breakfast locale that was not a chain I could dine at back home. I gave up and headed to Whole Foods, where I got a bagel and a latte, and started texting Randi, a friend from back home who lives in Brooklyn. She agreed to meet me in Union Square, and I settled in to write. I got one or two good jokes down, and met with Randi outside in the 30 degree weather. She took one look at my almost empty latte and said, "Let's go get you a real coffee." Yay, New Yorkers! We grabbed a cup of joe at Joe Coffee, a hip, fun shop that made me realize that there are sexy baristas everywhere in NYC.

Randi guessed that I wanted to see a few sites on my first day, so we walked to Washington Square, saw a guy setting up a portable piano, meandered past NYU and Cooper Union, stopped at a Vegan bakery and St. Mark's bookstore, then headed towards where I was supposed to meet Tiff for lunch. On the way we passed the Flatiron building, popped into Eataly, a gigantic Mario Batali created fresh food market, and caught up on each others lives. She had to hop a train back to Brooklyn for a going away party, so we planned to meet for dinner that night with Tiffany.

With an hour or so to kill, I parked my near frozen, footsore butt in a Think Coffee House. As I approached the counter, the hipster boy at the register asked what he could get for me. I told him to surprise me. He recommended a Spanish Latte, that combined fair trade espresso with condensed milk and cinnamon. HOW DID HE KNOW ME SO WELL?!?!? More writing, with more contemplation and caffeination to come.

I met Tiff at work and we headed over to a small, hole in the wall Puerto Rican restaurant. We proceeded to stuff ourselves silly on plantains, black beans and rice, and for me-shredded beef. Full to brimming, we parted ways and I decided to then walk towards Tiffany's recommendation for dessert, a little joint called Milk and Cookies. Tiffany had waxed poetic about the fresh cookies and dipped ice cream sandwiches, and though I was full, I wanted to take advantage of my time in NYC. I stepped into the cute shop, which only held two other occupants and the lady at the register. I use the term lady loosely. I approached the counter with a smile on my face, but cranky "lady" was not happy to see me. "What do you want?" she asked, lip curled. "Ummm. Uhh. The Penguin," I stammered, looking at the board and picking one that would be least likely to overwhelm my taste buds or kill me (most had nuts in them.) "Which one?" she asked, as if she did not even know her own menu. "Umm. Uhh. The double chocolate with vanilla. T-t-hanks." She slapped it together, and I took the remaining table to enjoy the treat. The other two people left, and it was just me, alone with Surly Shirley. There was an issue with her coffee machine, and she kept attempting to reach behind her espresso machine to unplug it, but her ample bosom was not allowing her to get her arm far enough back. Said bosom also turned on the milk steamer not once, not twice, but three times in her attempts. Internally, I was laughing at her steamed boobs. Externally, I was annoyed by her litany of curses. So, I took my sandwich and left. I threw it away after a couple of bites, as it didn't taste as good with the bad taste in my mouth from the experience.

I walked down Bleecker Street, as a good friend loves it. Then I walked back towards Tiff's workplace. I parked it in a wine and crepe bar, a glass of Merlot in my hand. My feet were on fire, and my cheeks were frozen. We met up, grabbed some hot chocolate, and then went to dinner at Marble Lane. Tiff has a friend who works at this restaurant, which also has ties with her company. Randi met up with us, and we sat down to a gigantic meal (I got crab cakes and Filet Mignon...and had a glass of Malbec.) Randi headed home, and Tiff and I hopped in a cab that took us to our next destination-Sleep No More NYC. And that will require a blog of it's own.

Start spreading the news....

I'll explain this later.

All right. If you follow me on the face pages you know that I absolutely fell in love with New York. It was the best 4 days of this year (and as we're only at February 15th, that's pretty good!) This may be a boring blog about me on vacation, but you should read it. It's gonna be really good. Maybe. I dunno. I haven't had much sleep and have consumed way more alcohol than I probably should have in the short amount of time I was gone...and yesterday, as it was Valentine's Day and that's what we singles do.

A little background. My friend, Tiffany, has been badgering me to visit her in NYC. But, with trips to LA for conventions and family vacations taking up my precious time off, I had never gotten around to it. In a previous blog, I mentioned that another friend of mine was starting to mark things off of her bucket list, and I (on a whim which is how I live my life these days) decided to book a flight to New York, so that I could mark that off of my list. As I clicked the confirm button on my JetBlue order, I knew that it was going to be a life changing event, one that I desperately needed. I planned it for the weekend before Valentine's Day. I'm single, so felt this would be a gift to myself...much healthier than chocolate.

The week prior to the trip was crazy. Work blew up, my legs were wrecked from working out, and I was out of sorts. The big day came and I was stuck at work until 4:00pm, with my flight leaving at 5:30pm. Rushed drive to the airport, quick goodbye to my mom and I was paying $2 for my luggage. Nice. Hopped aboard, and was offered Popcorn Chips as a snack. Nice again.

I nearly ran from the plane to set foot in a city that has always called to me. Baggage came out quickly, was 2nd in line for a cab and barked street names in a cool, New York way that I had been mentally rehearsing for most of the flight. We zigged and zagged, and I looked out the window at a perfectly full moon bracketed by the steel and stone girders of a beautiful bridge. This was gonna be great!

I got to Tiffany's place, and paid the cabbie. My not so little duffel, backpack from my UWP days, and my bright orange pea coat surely screamed TOURIST to passersby. I called my friend, and there was no answer. She was on the subway, heading towards me and her home, but I did not know that. I panicked for a moment, then told myself that I am a grown woman so there was no need to panic. Duffel, backpack, pea coat and I headed down the block to a diner with flashing neon lights and Greek waiters who were more than generous with their attention and their compliments. I ordered breakfast for dinner, and awaited my friends arrival. I was in New York City, sitting in a booth in a diner, and sipping decaf. This was going to be great.

ARRRGHHHHH!!!

This message brought to you by my day job.

That is all.

Bullying is for all ages!

I was bullied last night, and I'm still cranky about it. I'm 30 years old, for crying out loud. I should be able to assert myself in situations when I feel like I am being picked on unnecessarily. But I felt out of my element, and basically just allowed this woman and another to verbally and physically push me around. I was picked on a lot in middle school, to the point where I wanted the world to just end. But I'm not that scared little girl anymore. And now, I'm just mad.

As most of you know, I've been going to a boot camp for the last 5 weeks, and it has been great. I'm being challenged physically, and I've lost 6 inches from my waist, which is fantastic. I felt so great about it that I decided to sign up for another month. This week has been hard, as I'm still having issues breathing and typically have to puff on my inhaler a few times, and recently started having intense pain in my shins. Shin splints. Yay. So, I wasn't feeling so great when I walked in yesterday and found out we were doing a team workout.

After a rowing warm up and a series of calisthenic exercises to warm us up, we were split into groups based on numbers. I was the first of the 5's, so held my hand up. 4 other ladies joined me, as well as bully and her daughter, who was maybe 13 years old. As everyone walked up, I jokingly said, "We should call our team Ovary-actors." Bully looked at me with a peeved expression and, disdain dripping from her words, said, "Why?" "It was just a joke, "I stammered, shocked that someone who I had just met was giving me such an awful attitude. "Well, we're all bitches so I say we should be the Sick Ass Bitches, " she grunted, punching one hand into another. I looked at the 13 year old, shocked that she would be using this kind of language in front of a kid. Noticing my glance, she snarled, "That's my daughter. She's heard worse."

Now keep in mind that this is a TEAM workout. Where we're supposed to be working TOGETHER. Now all of the girls on the team are looking at me like I'm a major schmuck bag, and I feel butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Granted, they may be looking at me like a schmuck bag due to the fact that I'm wearing a t-shirt that has two penguins looking at each other, a heart between them with the saying, "Melt hearts, Not Ice Caps," on it. But I digress.

The first activity our team is required to do in three minutes is to throw 12 pound medicine balls against the wall, step aside and have the person behind us catch the ball, squat, and then throw. And on and on down the line. I was 4th out of four in one of our lines. The girl in front of me had no aim, and no height, so I was hanging back to see where the ball was going to go. It went wildly to the left on one toss, and I ended up dropping it on the ground, forcing our team to have to do 3 burpees (where you drop to the floor in a plank position, then bring your feet to your hands, then jump in the air.) My bad. Another girl on my side told me I needed to scoot up, then proceeded to PUSH me towards the wall. Uh uh. No, she didn't.

My rage continued through the next several exercises. I didn't say anything, as we were supposed to be there to workout, sweat and work hard. I did my best, and that's all I can say. But that Sick Ass Bitch better watch out, cause the next time I may not be held back by asthma, shin splints, and nausea. No, I won't resort to violence. I won't name call, and I won't return her poor behavior with mine. But, I can aim my overexertion inspired vomit towards a certain persons shoes. And I had salad for lunch.

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.