I'm sniffing an apple.

I don't really know if I want to eat it. Sure, it looks nice.  It's a Braeburn, which is my favorite kind of apple.  I bought it with the INTENT of eating it, as I'm trying to turn some sort of corner in the health arena and kick this weight gain in the buttocks . But I'm just not sure.  A co-worker just walked in on me sniffing it and asked what I was doing.  But it's kind of hard to explain that while the apple looks and smells delicious, I'm just not sure I want to put in the effort to eat it.  As soon as I take that first bite, I am committed. There's no turning back unless I want to stare into the mottled, browning flesh as I try to eat it later.

An apple a day keeps the doctor away.  I can hear my mom screaming, "Why would you want to keep the doctor away?  DATE HIM!"

Eating an apple is a little bit like life. That first bite is telling the world, "I am ready to invest in the mastication of this food stuff.  I'm willing to sink my teeth in time and time again in order to fulfill my needs."  Just like taking the first step in any direction is saying the same thing to the Universe.  I did it wholeheartedly when I started doing iPlay in college. When I accepted a position at Shadowbox and worked there for 3 years. When I moved to Florida and joined Gated Community, later known as The Jove.  The same with starting and running The Rejects.  It's exhausting, and fulfilling at the same time.  But it's easy to bite off a chunk of the professional "apple" and focus 100% on that to avoid upset stomach from trying to ingest other life foodstuffs, like relationships, friendships, and personal health.

I know I'm in a weird mental place when I can get all this from bringing an apple to work for a mid-day snack.  This weekend was weird. I got super depressed, as I felt that my friends/coworkers/past loves were functioning superbly without my presence in their lives. That even when I was reaching out to someone in an attempt to be a good friend, they were more than willing to not respond. I got so low on Saturday that I was checking and re-checking every social media outlet for any sort of effort, mention, like, or post so that I could have SOME connection with SOMEONE. I even accepted an invite from a young couple that joined the club several years ago and have been asking me and asking me to hang out with them. I worry that because I have focused for so long on the professional aspect of my life that I have in some way compromised my ability to be happy when I am not working.

So I'm going to bite that apple. I'm going to put the work apple aside and chomp down on a big ole friendship/relationship apple.  I'm going to make new friends. I'm going to meet new men. I'm going to be persistent in making sure my current friends know that I am here and that we should be seeing each other more often.  And I'm going to stop feeding my life with work.

And I'm gonna eat this fucking Braeburn apple. Eventually.

Child-like joy

Growing up, my mom never let me play with my food. Ever. She's a jerk.

I'm kidding.  She's not a jerk. Even though she really never let me play with my food.

My sister and I would cross our fingers that the parents had to run errands while we cleaned up dinner.  As the garage door closed behind them, we would look at each other over our half eaten plates of spaghetti and yell, "Hands Free Dinner!" We'd then put our arms behind us and plant our faces in the loops of noodles and tomato sauce.  If we ever, EVER had mashed potatoes, I was in heaven.  I'd take any leftovers and plop them on my plate, using my fork to create wonderful mountains and valleys awash with gravy rivers. I would beg to be able to do the dishes. I'd grab the remaining potatoes that I knew my mom was going to wash down the drain, and I would make little balls, dig my hands in and enjoy the squishy sensation.  She eventually caught on to my ploy and would immediately rinse that bowl so I would be unable to fulfill my goal of playing with my food.

I'm now almost 32 years old, and I live on my own.  I have a dog, a savings account, and a car loan. I decided last night to make my own dinner.  I bought a stuffed flank steak and popped it in the oven at 350 for 30 minutes after doctoring it up with spices.  I contemplated side dishes, and pulled out instant mashed potatoes.  I made my portion, plated both items, and poured myself a glass of wine. I had no thoughts of shenanigans, just planned on eating in front of the television as my roommate was out and I could watch all the shows I'd missed last week.

I took a bite of steak.  Delicious. I segment my food eating, so finished that before moving on to the potatoes.  I stuck the first creamy bite into my craw, and a flashbulb went off in my head.

There was no one there to tell me no.  No one who would judge me. No one to rinse out the bowl before I could play.

I'm an adult. But this totally happened last night, and it's sure to happen again and again.

Look, Ma! No hands!

Tune in next week when I eat an entire plate of spaghetti and meat sauce...WITH NO HANDS!!

Decisions.

I sometimes make decisions that I am going to call period decisions. I'm sorry if you started reading this blog thinking it was going to be some sort of in depth delving into my life and the decisions I've made recently and now are thinking, "Ewww. She's going to write about periods?"  To which I say, "Have you seen my web comic?"  (If not, PMS Adventures )

I have a medical condition known as PMDD. In laymen terms, it means I get bat shit crazy the week before my lady time. I know this, and have weened myself from the chemistry altering drugs that I was prescribed a couple years ago for this stupid yet overwhelming disorder. I've been pretty good, but every once in a blue moon I do something insane the week before my cycle that I now call a period decision.

Examples:

2007: I decide to move home to Florida from Kentucky. My dad has a minor skin cancer scare at the same time as my PMDD, I freak out and pack up my car.  I was also completely broke, in debt, and sick all the time.  But I blame the PMDD.

2008-2010 are pretty quiet. But that's probably because I wasn't dating anyone/doing anything weird.

2010: I decide to quit my improv troupe as we had a rehearsal and I felt I was not being respected as a performer.  A tear filled, explosive phone call occurred and my three year career there was over.  Two days later, period time.

2012: I was dating a guy for a couple of months, and we grabbed breakfast one Sunday and went to see the Dark Knight Rises. We go back to his house, and this panic rises up in my chest and I break up with him.  3 days later, PERIOD!

2013: I get offered a position with a non-profit company that helps abused children.  5 days in, I am completely overwhelmed and decide it's not the right fit for me.  I quit and return to my old job where I feel loved and supported.  2 days later...PERIOD.

I'm pretty sure I should start tracking my lady time a little more closely so I don't make important decisions when I am less than stable hormonally.

The Dog of my Dreams

If you read this blog a lot you know that I am sometimes a strange person.  I'm about to reveal to you something I've only told a few people in my lifetime. It's a sweet story about my expectations for love as a young girl.  Some girls cut out photos of wedding dresses and flowers, dreaming of the day when they'll meet that special someone with whom they'll spend eternity.  They create collages of babies, homes, and lives that they someday hope to grow into. I was not one of those girls.
 
I never dreamed of a true love that would sweep me off my feet and ride of into the sunset with me upon a loyal steed.  I never put a towel on my head and pretended to be a blushing bride while carrying a bouquet made of paper flowers.   I dreamed of the day when I would meet the dog of my dreams.

It's true. I'd pick up stray dogs and hope against hope that they were the one for me.  The Beagle mix I found wandering the streets of Palm Beach Gardens.  The Great Dane in KY. The red, fox like dog I fostered in my small apartment in Highland Heights.  But they never fit.  They were microchipped and went back to their loving homes, or were just too energetic to be forced into the life of an apartment dweller.  I'd keep my eyes peeled, looking into abandoned cardboard boxes to see if there were any cute puppies that would bond with me and be by my side for as long as they could be.  To no avail.

Then, my friend told me about a dog that needed a home.  I said YES!  before even really thinking about it. This dog came to me on Christmas Day, and has slowly become the dog of my dreams.  He may be older.  He may be a little cranky at times.  And his breath can peel paint. But he's MINE now and I'm gonna do everything I can to make the rest of his life comfortable and amazingly fun.

Where have you been all my life?

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!