Everybody Hates Singles

I love being single. In a squirrely, never want to leave the house kinda way. I enjoy my own company and I am unashamed of that fact.  But our society has been giving me more and more signals that single is not the way to go.

One bedroom apartments in safe neighborhoods are 15 gazillion bazillion dollars.  One bedroom apartments in crappy, scary areas with chalk outlines of bodies are in an affordable range.  It's cool.  I'll sell some eggs or a kidney for that 800 sq. of safety and comfort.

Plus One on a Wedding Website RSVP-Won't go through unless the second email for Guest is filled in. Umm. Thanks for your generosity, but I don't have a plus one. So, I put myself as my date. Suck it, happy couples who are getting married and love each other.  I'm having chicken AND steak.

Single Serving Frozen veggies-Broccoli and cheese is mostly stalks. WHY DO COUPLES/FAMILIES GET ALL THE FLORETS?  GREEN GIANT, YOU BIASED BASTARD(S)!

There are two Twix and 4 Kit Kat. I have no one to share with, so end up feeling like a glutton when I scarf that stuff.  I CAN'T JUST PUT THEM BACK IN THE PACKAGE AND I CAN'T THROW THEM AWAY. That would be wasteful.

SleepNumber Commercials. Why's it gotta be all about couples?  Maybe some days I like the left side to be super hard and the right side to be super soft.  That way, when I roll from one side of the bed to the other (WHICH I CAN DO AS I HAVE THE WHOLE BED TO MYSELF AND DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT GETTING KICKED, SMACKED, OR SNORED AT), I can enjoy a different sleep experience. Also, maybe Kev might like a soft side. Pets are people, too.

Publix key lime full pies are too big.  Half pies are too big. But not if you eat them over 3 days.  Right?

I'm gonna drink the other half of this bottle of wine cause I don't have to spend as much money on alcohol cause I only have one or two glasses at a sitting. HEY! Being single is great!!

YAY!

Insomnia Makes a Great Mirror

I haven't been sleeping well. I'm too...something. Too wired. Too antsy. My legs won't stop twitching and my mind won't stop wandering. I dwell on the inane and the insane.

Thoughts:
"Why are my veins all protruding recently? Am I dying?  What would WebMD say?"
 "Is Kevin happy? Why does he lick himself so much? Why doesn't he lick himself more?"
"Where am I going to live in two months?"
"Why am I so mean to myself?"
"Why do I try so hard?"
"Why don't I try harder?"
"What do I want to do?"
"Who do I want to be?"
"Is there ice cream in the freezer?"

On this, the third night of raging sleeplessness, I decided to take a melatonin early so that I could drop into sleepy time without a hitch. It hasn't worked yet. I read a book.  I watched some Netflix. I took pictures of my dog.  Then I decided to get ready for bed.  The roommate is away, so I've been T-shirt and
underpant-ing it up for bed the last few nights out of a weird sense of rebellion.  I know.  Underpant-ing is not a word. Get your own blog.

I washed my face and scrubbed with all my might. I used my water pick. Brushed my teeth. I took out my eyeballs. Took my hair down and applied night cream. And stared at my reflection in the mirror. Make-up less except the smear of mascara I always miss under my right eye. Hair in disarray.  White long underwear shirt and granny panties with a paisley pattern on them. I've been skipping the hair dye as it's expensive to do right and a mess to do myself. The mousy brown strands that I've been dyeing since I was 12 peeked out from above the dark brown ends.  I looked.  And looked closer (I'm blind without my eyeballs.) And I realized something extraordinary.

I like myself. I finally like myself. I felt more beautiful and together in those few moments than I have for the last few years.

I've been panicking for the last couple of months...

whereamigoingtobewhatamigoingtodowhoamidopeoplelikemewhyamidoingthisjobidon'tknowhowtodowhyaminotgoodenoughmaybeishouldrunawaystartoverwhydidiscrewthatupican'tdoanythingrightsomeonetellmewhattodoi'mnothappywillibehappywillieverbehappy WILL I EVER BE HAPPY?

The answer is yes.  I will.  I am.  I just have to look more. It took a mental breakdown at work, a vacation with people I love, lots of wine and lots of puppy kisses, but I am happy. At least with myself and the rest can fall into place.

I like the mousy brown. It's me. It's who I am and who I was meant to be. I don't need to hide that person anymore. I'm not fooling anyone by being this figment of who I really am.  I can have hard days and I can have joyful days.  I just need to LOOK and realize that no matter what I do or where I am, what I wear or what I say, the constant is me. And liking me is the first step in an awesome adventure that is the rest of my life.

NOW IF THE MELATONIN COULD KICK IN, EVERYTHING WOULD BE GREAT.

VMA is more like T&A. Random thoughts.

The other day I was watching a concert.  I'm really not sure who the act was, but it was a group of rocking, soulful 20 something men dressed in jeans and tanktops, screaming into mics and thrashing poor instruments until it looked like either their fingers or frets were going to explode.  Hordes of screaming girls populated the audience, scantily clad in the outdoor arena in what looked like summer time.  I know. My attention to specific details is amazing.

This imagery started me thinking about the music industry in general. How is it that men can be un-bathed, wearing disgusting undershirts with ratty, pulled off the floor jeans and ladies have to dress like hookers?  I can barely walk on stage to sing a 3.5 minute song in regular heels.  I can only imagine 3 inches.  Actually...I wore huge heels once while at Shadowbox. I fell over on the way off stage and almost took everyone out, dominoes style.  It was uncomfortable and unnecessary. Though my legs looked fabulous, I almost died trying to get down a set of stairs in the shoes, and for what? So I could look like an orange Muppet turbo hooker with pink hair for a live version of Roam by the B52's.

As a side note-how come Justin Timberlake can barely sing half of his songs cause he's doing choreography at the VMA's but have a lady try to pull that off (Beyonce at the Super Bowl) and she's lambasted while he is glorified?  Can we all just admit that his falsetto sounded like he was a normal range singer who got kicked in the balls?  BUT GOOD ON HIM AND SASHA FIERCE FOR SINGING LIVE WHILE DANCING LIKE IDIOTS.

I watched the Miley Cyrus thing. Unfortunately.  And it's not just an issue of overly-sexualizing herself in an attempt to get as far from her squeaky clean teenage image.  It was almost like watching a completely crazy person lose her mind in front of an audience of millions. The tongue sticking out.  The weird ass behavior. The twerking. Robin Thicke and his team were also to blame for this. But there would be no need to see this shit if it wasn't for the glaring discrepancies in how we treat male and female musicians in this society.

I want Beyonce to come out on stage ONE TIME and be able to wear a shitty looking shirt with comfortable looking jeans. I want to focus on the person and the voice. I love artists like Sara Bareilles who allow themselves to just be. SB is all eyeballs and hair.  And I love that!  I love that.  As a performer, I get it. I get that you put on a persona and that's who people expect.  But I can also say that some of my favorite performances have been when I'm in boots and a cute dress, being me and not some Barbie/Vampy/Trampy version of myself.  And maybe if we move towards that aesthetic, then crap like dancing teddy bears and strippers won't assault our eyeballs and the eyeballs of the thousands of teens who are being brainwashed by this garbage.

That's a Coldshot, baby!

Feeling poopy.

Don't worry.  This blog is not about poop. Not really.

I got super sick on Monday. I ate a crab cake at work, and immediately felt awful. Itchy.  Flushed. Ran back and forth to the bathroom for the remainder of the afternoon. Went home early cause I was feeling like fire was running through my body. Doc at Urgent Care said it was an allergic reaction to crab.  Next time could be anaphylactic shock. Cortisone shot in my ass for swelling. Suggestion of over the counter meds for tummy. Swing by Walgreens. Crackers. Coke. Cherry flavored Nausea Suppressant for food indiscretions. Really. It says so on the label.

I go home. I walk Kevin, in a daze. Make it short cause I can't make it more than around the block. I'm weak. Get in bed. Sleep. Sleep some more.  Poop. Poop some more. Eat a bunch of crackers. Eat more crackers. Get a text to call someone as soon as I can. Call.  Goes right to voicemail. Text an hour later saying I called but went right to voicemail. Get a text back, "At dinner." Wait for a call back.  Wait some more. Wait some more. Sleep. Poop. Throw up. Poop. Wait.

I got pissed. Pissed that this person would put an onus on me to call them, then completely blow me off. This person is poison to me. The few times I've been really angry lately have been when this person is involved. And I was done. Done being a doormat. Done being this person's go to everything, but never having that person be there for me.  Done trying to make this person happy while compromising myself and my mental/physical health.

I've had more than enough.  So, I'm done. I'm done with him.  Done with the business we created together. Done with feeling less than so he can feel more than. I'm walking away which is something I should have done months ago. People don't change.  Or won't change. And the only thing I can do is change how I interact with them.

I'm moving on. Life is too short to surround yourself with people who make you feel less than. I'm tired of it. I had a wonderful experience last week performing improv without the need to produce or direct it. And it was liberating. I realize now that I don't have to be in charge anymore. I can put my trust where it will be protected and earned. And I can do it, on my own.

Online Dating...again.

My mom signed me up for Plenty Of Fish. Again. Last night, she told me that she started messaging people in my stead. I was annoyed at first, cause 'GOSH, can't I just be single and be happy and that can be ok? ' But I realized that I am not ok. I mean, I'm ok in that I am happy with my life, but I'm not ok in that I've spent the last 3 weekends hanging out with my dog or my parents. So, I know I need to get back out there. Today is a slow day at work, and my boss is on vacation, so I decided to look at the profile that Wendy had created and maybe jazz it up a bit.  Here it is in all it's glory.

ABOUT ME

I am co-founder of an Improv troupe. I sing, act and do stand up comedy any where and any when I can. I'm writing and starring in a comedy web show starting in August. I love my family and my dog, mostly in that order. I love being outdoors and trying new things. Last year, I learned to fly on the trapeze. This year, I went skydiving and rappelled down a building for charity. I write a web comic and am currently working on a graphic novel based on the comic. I have gone to San Diego Comic-Con the last few years, but will miss this year because of my brother's wedding. I hate him for getting married to his best friend and compromising my Comic-Con nerding out. I'm also planning the wedding for them. My dog will be dressing up like Chewbacca for Halloween and I will be Leia. Not Slave Leia. I'm not there yet.

I challenge myself to do one brave thing every day. I started training for my first 5K two weeks ago and I haven't died yet, though South Florida weather is not helpful in that regard. I've already signed up for two races. One where I dress like a superhero and another where I'll be floundering in mud for 3.10686 miles with my lady friends. I love to travel and have been to Europe, Canada and almost all 50 states. I'm not afraid to travel by myself, but would love to have someone special with whom I can share those experiences.

I'm going to be honest here. My mom signed me up for this site, and she has probably awkwardly messaged you pretending to be me. I hope you're ok with that. She's on a mission to prevent spinsterhood. Her heart is definitely in the right place, though she uses LOL a lot when messaging and I think that's the first time I've ever typed it in my life.

I'm looking for someone that loves the arts but also likes sports, video games and beer. Someone who chews with their mouth shut. Someone who can take a joke and who loves to laugh. Someone who isn't afraid to jump off a cliff into the ocean but is also content watching movies at home.

Would you date this?

NAILED IT! HERE COME THE MENS!

Poopers.

My family talks about poop a lot. We think about it a lot.  We are a family of poopers. There's discussions of diet. Consistency. Turns of phrase like "I just peed out of my butt" at the dinner table.  It's totally cool and totally acceptable and totally bizarre to be a part of if you are uninitiated to the ways of the Poop in a Jars (a childhood nickname.  Good one.)

Nervous poopers...allergy poopers...coffee poopers...IBS victims.  That's us.

Road trips are planned according to clean pooping stops.

I would SOOOOO poop here.

Meals are coordinated depending on the distance one has to drive afterwards. We comment on poop. If someone disappears after dinner at the parents house, we know exactly where they are heading. Typically, mom has a book or two in the bathroom along with lit scented candles.  Decorative paper towels and vanilla scented soap are always in stock.  Every now and then, there are wipes!  It's all part of the dinner party prep.

We recently went on a family road trip, and we all ended up flying together.  Each sibling has their own form of poop Kryptonite, and the strategy for a no-poop flight was discussed, ad nauseum (literally) for the entire wait for the first flight, and during our 3 hour layover.

While traveling, I am a poop camel.  I have such air travel control issues that I just won't go on a plane. Ever. I flew from West Palm Beach to Dulles then on to France once and I only peed in Washington.  I refuse to drink anything but tiny, baby sips of water. I barely eat unless it's something that is carb-tastic with no dairy or soy. Coffee can happen first thing, but there has to be a buffer of at least an hour pre-flight so that can get taken care of before boarding.

After a week with my family followed by a series of flights, poop was still on my mind.  I ended up bringing it up with my co-workers on my first day back. They looked at me first in terror and disgust, then started cracking up. We're all so much more comfortable around each other, and it was a real bonding moment.  I actually came up for this idea after a spectacularly bad lunch decision.

Listen. Everybody poops is not just a children's book.   It's also a common denominator for human kind. No matter the color of your skin, no matter your sexual orientation, no matter your eye color, hair color, language, style, political or religious viewpoint...everybody poops. You never know who you'll need to ask to spare a square. So love everyone or get poopy on your panties. OK?

That got weird.

Drunk Running

A lot of my blogs lately have been super serious.  It's ok, right?  We all go through serious times in our lives, and that's ok.  I usually hide those trying times and dwell instead on the weird and funny. So, let's get back to that.

In an effort to train for a 5K, I decided to start a run/walk combo program called Couch25k.  It's pretty awesome. Combining it with Weight Watchers, I have made the effort to get healthier for my 32nd year.  I've signed up for two 5K's. One in October and one in November. Both will be fun times. If I don't die.  Though having survived one day of training after a bottle of Malbec and half a pizza, I think I can do anything.  They may frown on wine consumption at the Foster and Adoptive Parents Association 5K, but what they don't know won't hurt them, right? IT'S FOR A GOOD CAUSE, HIC!

I really am taking this health stuff as seriously as I can. There are definitely days when I know for a fact that I will not be very successful in my training. My leg hurts. My nose is full of snot and I can barely breathe when walking let alone running. Allergies are super bad this time of year. My asthma kicks into high gear and I'm panting like Kevin after an especially trying wang snarfling. But I do it anyway. The diet is difficult, as my brain keeps telling me that half a bag of Smartfood popcorn is equivalent to a balanced meal. But I put the points in and register the fact that I'm over...under...above..beyond. I'm taking full responsibility for what I put in my body (not THAT, pervs.) I'm not fudging what I eat anymore. Mmm. Fudge.

Every time I go out  I say to myself, "Just get to that tree." "Just run til you pass that light post." "Breathe into your diaphragm and out of your mouth....you've got this."  Then I swallow a bug, or one flies up my nose, or I run into a spider web. And I laugh.

This past Saturday, I decided to run in the afternoon. I needed to get my 3rd day of week 3 out of the way. I was wearing a 3 quarter sleeve shirt, and it was freaking hot. I got back to my apartment, with my legs on fire and my lungs puffing, sweat dripping down my face.  My roommate was sitting in the living room watching television, and I flopped onto the floor to recover.  "Are you ok?" she asked, a concerned look on her face as I lay there with my arm flung across my head, panting and trying to recover my ability to breathe normally.

If I could have uttered anything, I would have told her that I was fine, wonderful, fantastic.  Because I've finally discovered the me that wants to be an athlete.  The me that is ignoring the gawky nerd that I have seen in the mirror since I was 8 years old.  The new me, who wants to challenge her body to better her soul. The new me who got her bike fixed yesterday and felt like she was flying as she rode 3 miles around her neighborhood. The one who really needs a new seat for her bike now, as her ass hurts even when sitting on her comfy desk chair. And, who looks really, really stupid in her new helmet. What?  I have a giant head.