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Ahhh.. “Highhhhh Hopes, yes he had- highhhhh hopes. That song makes me happy. My mom used to sing it to me when I was a kid. I’m trying to remember that ant. Right now.

Last week everything seemed possible. I had some majorly high hopes that I could get back into a strong routine of writing and working out and being healthy and all that nonsense… Then, somewhere around mid-week, life sped up. It’s not all bad, it’s just hard to keep control with so much happening right now. I was shocked, I’m telling you SHOCKED when I realized that Thanksgiving is THIS WEEK.

I’m happy about it, because of course it means I have an excuse to see my family, take a few days off, and eat some well deserved pecan pies pie. On the other hand, I have to face the fact that this break is going to be very short lived and reality is going to hit me smack in the face again in about 4 days.

I’m working two jobs right now, which is great, on the one hand; but on the other I’m a little bit stressed. When I’m not working I’m trying to meet some other obligation that I’ve set for myself. I’m trying to maintain friendships, get to know new people, and see every live show and movie that I come across on a very limited budget. There are also vacations I want to take, books I want to read, and stories that I want to get down on computer- stat.

Have I mentioned I’m moving again next week? Again? Yeah it seems like I just moved.

Oh, probably because I did just move, like 6 months ago.

Not only am I moving again, but my best friend in the world/roommate has decided to leave me forever and take off for the far-away and foreign land of New Yawk.

That bitch.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for her. I know she’s doing what’s best for her right now. But I’m also jealous of her, and super angry that she’s leaving me all alone.

Which brings me around to Day 4 of my 30 Days of Truth. (I’m taking this super slow, shut your stupid face.)

Something I have to forgive somone else for.

It may seem a little contrived that I’m using my best friend moving as the one thing that I have to forgive, but right now it’s a huge thing for me. There are other people that I probably should make a movement to forgive, but the bitch in me just isn’t ready yet.

LA and I met the first day of sorority rush before my freshman year of college. Her first impression of me was seeing me trip and fall, then subsequently laugh loudly and introduce myself. She told me later that she didn’t want to join a sorority if everyone was as fake as I seemed. She quickly learned that my gregarious nature wasn’t an act… for the most part I am an overly friendly person. Sometimes annoyingly friendly.

Shortly after that first introduction we became fast friends. We’re opposites in nearly every way, but we’re alike in the ways that make a friendship work. From the very beginning we had something strong. I’ve never had someone in my life that wasn’t family, that I knew I would love unconditionally. We are partners in crime. Cohorts in catastrophie. Acclomplices in adventure.

A lot of people probably think our friendship is a little bit unconventional. We argue about everything, but that is something I truly appreciate about her. There aren’t many people in my life who I can express myself to without worrying that I’ll hurt their feelings. LA knows my deepest darkest secrets without me even having to tell her. We’ve gone through some really tough times, but have shared our happiest moments of the last decade together as well. She’s one of the only people who I can sit with for hours without anything, and still be completely entertained. We live together now, but don’t rely on each other to live the way some other friendships do. That’s kind of a lie, because I rely on her A LOT. She keeps me in check when I’m down. Tells me there’s no sense in worrying when I’m upset, and tells me everything is going to be OK when I insist that it isn’t. And somehow I believe her. Sometimes, even now, we go days without talking but I know that she’ll be there in a heartbeat if I really need her, and I hope she knows I’d do the same for her.

She’s taught me a lot about myself and has helped me grow. She’s taught me how to be strong, assertive and confident. Even in her weakest moments, I look up to the way that she handles situations. I know that I’m an independent person, and that she’s helped me a lot in that department, but it scares me to think that in a few months she’s not going to be just a short drive away to help me regain my sanity when I start losing it.

Blargh. LA- just so you know. I’m crying right now with glass of wine in one hand and your laptop in my lap. If you were here right now you’d tell me to be careful not to spill my wine on your computer. At least I know I still have your voice of reason in your absense. I can’t express how sad I am at the thought of you moving. Alas, I am happy for you. I’m here for you if you’re ever feeling lonely. I’m sorry for all the times I’ve ruined your shoes and lost your jewlery. I hope you can forgive me for that. In return, I won’t hate you forever for leaving me to fulfill your dreams. Love your BFF, Carissa. DON”T FORGET IT. AND P.S. IF YOU FIND A NEW BEST FRIEND IN A FEW MONTHS THEN SHE BETTER BE COOLER THAN ME. (Though I know that won’t happen.)

The truth is, things haven’t been all gloom and doom around here. It’s not like I’m sitting around in last week’s underwear listening to the Smiths on repeat while downing hot chocolate after hot chocolate. Not at all. Nope. I did laundry last weekend, am currently listening to the new Girl Talk album, and I  haven’t had a sip of hot chocolate in over 3 hours Yay me!

In other news I’m been geeking out in a major way the last few weeks. I haven’t spent a lot of time on the internets, but I have been spending a lot of time indulging in other things that make me oh so happy.

For instance, this weekend I was lucky enough to have some great girls join me on a wonderful musical adventure. I wasn’t sure it would be possible to have a night compare to the last time I went to see Joshua Radin, but -despite not making out with his drummer this time around (he had a new one who made weird sex faces when he played) it was pretty much the best night I’d had in a while.

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Per usual, Mr. Radin’s angel voice nearly made me faint.  I know I  wasn’t the only one by the way the crowd simultaneously sighed everytime he belted out a note. His new album is a little more rock-ish than I’m used to, but I actually dig it A LOT.

The real surprise of the night was his opener, Kelley James. I probably wouldn’t have been a huge fan of his music had I not seen him live but on top of having a knack for writing clever pop-culture related songs, the dude can really pump out some quality free-style- which is pretty much my favorite thing in the world. Seriously. I believe he shares a manager with Lil Jon, which basically makes us rapper cousins.

Well not really, but I did once challenge Lil Jon to a rap off at a nice Dallas eatery. After a few cocktails, I just couldn’t help myself. It didn’t actually happen… I’m pretty sure he thought I was joking, but I’m pretty sure I could have at least battled it out for 20 or 30 seconds before he Oh Yeahhhhed me outta tha’ place.

Here is Kelley James. I think we can all relate to this song a little. In fact, while he was doing the intro, my friends and I (all avid twitter and googlers) were ironically in the audience google stalking and tweeting at him like there was no tomorrow. Enjoy.

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In other non-related news, something huge has happened with my mouth.

You may recall the long time love affair that I’ve always had with ketchup? Well I’ve decided to have a serendipitous affair. With ketchup’s father.

Yeah I know, it seems a little bit gross. I always thought tomatoes were nasticular myself. I’ve spent hours upon hours of my life picking every single ketchup morsel out of pre-made salads. I’ve tossed many a tomato out the window after Wendy’s soggied up spicy chicken sandwich by ignoring my “hold the tomatoes” request. I’ve even grossed quite a few people out by spitting bites of chewed up tomato bits into my napkin.

Not only that, but I’ve always had a bit of an issue with the word “tomato.” I can never remember how it’s spelled. I always want to put an “e” on the end, making it “tomatoe.” Is that how the British people do it? Is that correct in some language? I don’t know. I do know that I also have gotten annoyed the way people say “tomato, tomahto,” and even more when people from my home state of Texas say tomater. Which is weird because I’m perfectly fine when people say potater. I don’t know, but I think it’s just because I always hated the food so much.

But now I say, “What the heck was I thinking?” Tomatoes are delicious, delicious I tell you! How did I go so long without them on my sandwiches, in my salads, plain with some pepper on top!???

I’m sorry ketchup, but you may not be as tasty as your father. I’m still up for a threesome though if you’d like.

Yummy tomato, get in my mouth!

Since November is apparently the month of ambition and rash decisions, I’ve decided to add another one to my plate.
Yesterday I mentioned the phenomenon of NABLOPOMO, and laughed at the concept of trying to participate. Well since publishing my last blog, ( which by the way was actually published on November 1st but I can’t figure out how to set the military style time on WordPress so it always publishes to the day before,) I’ve decided that I will, in fact participate.
I can’t promise that I’ll write anything worth reading, or that the words will even be readable, or even in English for that matter- but I can promise that I am going to try my absolute damndest to write a little something every day in November. At first I was going to try to write on my other blog, but I’m not sure I’m up to facing that subject matter just yet. Right now I’m focused on trying to clear my mind and move on in life. So bear with me.

Also, since my blogs have been a little down in the dumpsters lately, I’m going to attempt to lighten up.

So… here I am. Ready to start. On day two of blogging about happy things every day for 30 days.

Hmmm..

Oh… well before I get started on happy things, I guess I should start with saying a few things about my dog BB Jellybean, who died last Friday.

BB Jellybean, You will be missed.

We got BB when I was in the 9th grade. My little sister decided that she wanted a toy poodle, so that’s what we got. BB didn’t often look like a poodle though. We loved the hell out of that puppy, but my parent’s always preferred the afro-look to the well groomed poodle look. I wince to think that I got my own personal grooming habits from my parent’s dog-grooming habits.

BB was never the typical pet. She didn’t like to go on walks. She didn’t like to chase after balls. She hated water, and she preferred to sleep on a purple velvet pillow. BB went everywhere with us, and she went there in our arms. She was never happier than when she was perched in my little sister’s lap. She belonged to all of us, but she was really my sister’s best friend. I remember when my sister was in the 5th grade and her best friend moved away, that she spent an entire day cuddled up with our little BB – stating over and over that BB was her best friend.

I feel awful that I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. The last time I went home, which was only a few weeks ago, BB wasn’t doing well but I didn’t think she would be going just yet. She lost her eyesight a few months back, and I noticed that her hearing must have been going too, because she didn’t greet me at the door when I arrived. I let her sleep in my bed that night, and when I woke up she had left me a couple little presents, but I really didn’t mind. I just chalked it up to her not wanting to wake me up to let her out. BB was always really respectful like that.

About two weeks ago BB quit eating. She would barely even touch the scrambled eggs, cheese and ice cream sandwiches that my parent’s attempted to feed her by hand. The doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with her, but said that it was probably something digestive. They gave her some antibiotics, but she still wouldn’t eat.

I have been so busy the last few weeks, that I hadn’t really been able to digest BB’s passing until tonight. I’m not sure what I believe about the human after life, but I’m 1 thousand-million percent sure that BB is in a happy place now. She’s eating popcorn and fish- crackers and she’s listening to the Little Mermaid with my late parrot Billy and my rat Bogart.

As much as “Pet Cemetary” scares the bejeezus out of me, I’m pretty sure that I would reserruct BB if I had the chance. Zombie BB might be a little bit evil, but I loved her that much.  

I miss you BB, wherever you are!

What the hell 2010? Where did you go? Last time I checked it was spring and I was getting ready for a long summer boat rides and camping trips…

Seriously though, I think I’m OK with the fact that my life has literally flown by before my eyes. At least October is over. October was a little bitch this year. Actually, looking back it was a bitch last year and the year before too. I think next year I’m just going to ignore October all together.

November though, now that’s a month I can deal with. There are so many things happening. So many things to take in. So many things I need to get done before the years over.

November, I hereby pronounce you my bitch. I’ll treat you well and in return you will keep me happy and busy and sane. OK? OK.

I really wanted to try to do that #NABLOHOMO thing, or whatever those letters are that you ambitious people  use to state that you are writing a novel in November. However, since October was an ungracious assholio that left me withering and crying on the floor begging to be hand-fed Cinnamon Toast Crunch, I’ve decided that I’m going to start with just trying to write a little something everyday. OK not EVERYday, but most days… either here or on the other place that I write. I’m also going to try to start reading blogs again. I know… this is all completely out of left field and seemingly drastic given my recent track record, but I’m going to at least try.

On top of trying to write and read like the scholarly person that I am, (HAHAHA) I’ve decided to set some other lofty goals for myself this November.

Movember: It’s a special time of year… A time that I love, not only because of the cause that’s behind the “mouvment,” but also because I really have an affinity for the mustache. Don’t get me wrong, they can be really creepy, but mostly they can be hot. Even when they do happen to be creepilicious, they give me something to laugh about, so basically the mustache is a win/win.

Creepy/Funny/Hopefully ironic mustache.

Good Mustache

(Huge thank you and a giant chest- bump to @Hipstercrite for reminding me that the above image of Burt exists, and so many other awesome things as well. I haven’t been able to comment much lately on anyone’s blog, but this lady’s blog has kept me very entertained the last few weeks.)

Anyway, I could go on about the mustache for days, and I probably will in an upcoming post, but this one is supposed to be about me.

As manly and handsome as they may be, I’ve got my own plans this Movember. Yes it’s true, I’ve decided that this month I will try my damndest NOT to grow a mustache. I know it will be hard, but it can be done. It’s no secret that I’ve been in a bit of a slump these last few months, but it’s time to pull myself together. It’s time I start brushing my hair, make a dentist appointment, and pull out my old friend Nair. It won’t be fun; it will be painful… but it CAN be achieved. If you want to donate money to me for every day that I maintain a womanly, un-ape-like appearance, I’ll gladly give a percentage of it to prostate cancer. Otherwise, I’ll just be doing it for the sake of woman-kind.

A Do-Run Run Run, A Do Run Run: My grandmommy always told me that “hate” is a strong word, so I reallydo  try to refrain from using it. However, I not only like to use the word “hate” when I’m talking about running, but I like to use it often, and usually in the sentence “I effing hate running.”  In fact, not only do I hate running, but I really detest it, and I’m pretty sure detest is a stronger synonym for the word “hate,” which makes the fact that I’ve decided to become a runner all the more Twilight Zone-ish.

I don’t actually know what has come over but I figure it’s time I set a fitness goal for myself. I keep saying that I want to get back to working out every day, but I can’t seem to find the ambition to do so. I figured that if I pick something completely ridiculous, like run a half marathon in three months, and announce that I’m doing it to the internet, that I will at least make an effort not to fail.

I started training for the run tonight. I’m afraid I didn’t get off to the best start.  I put on my running shoes, stuck my ear buds in, and took off down the block. I only got about fifteen yards before I realized I had forgotten to put on a sports bra, which you ladies know is a rookie mistake. I decided not to turn back, but instead turned up the volume on Paul Simon’s “Graceland,” and dance-walked my ass off. I swear, that Paul Simon makes my bootie shake somethin’ else.

So tomorrow I start running, for reals.

Not Drink:

…….

……….

*Crickets*

…….

Oh come on. Yeah right.

Well kinda.

Basically, I have decided to refrain from drinking during the week. It’s already been over a month.. woohoo! I made a little deal with myself. Rather than spend money on bottles of wine, I’ve decided that for every week that I go without drinking, I get to buy 3 (or 4) albums on itunes. For now, I’m sticking with the classic rock genre. I’ve decided that there are too many bands out there that I appreciate well enough, meaning I’ve collected all of their “Greatest Hits” and “Essentials,” but I’ve never really taken the time to delve into their albums.

This week (so far) I’ve been pleasuring my earballs with the aformentioned “Graceland,” and George Harrison’s “All Things Must Pass.” If you have any suggestions of “must-have” albums, please let me know.

Alright, I’m spent. Thinking about all these things I’m supposed to do this month has made me really tired.

I miss your faces and am excited about rejoining the land of the living. (I’m also excited about watching “The Walking Dead,” again next week because that show is badass!)

When I was a kid, those were my 3 favorite words in the world… but the rest of the sentence was really what was important. Whatever came out of my mouth following “Let’s pretend that…” would become my universe for the next three hours.

“Lets pretend that we’re mermaids. My mermaid name is Christina, what’s yours?… OK you’re Cynthia. Behind the barstools , that’s the lagoon where we live. The shark lives in the hot tub, so we only go in there when we have to. We have to meet Squish, the nice jellyfish, in 3 minutes for lunch. Come on!”

After that, the real world would cease to exist. I actually became Christina; I was her. It didn’t matter that I was once a 9 year old girl in a Tye-dyed one piece that kept riding up my left butt cheek. Once the three magic words were spoken, I became an 18 year old princess mermaid with perky boobs held up with a clam-shell bra. I would spend the afternoon fighting noodle-sharks and strangling pool-pump-eels. I made friends with thebubble-minnows that hung out near the drain. I lived by the law that if I stayed on land for more than five minutes, my fin would shrivel up and I would become a human for eternity. When the humans were on shore, they expected a show- so I would perform diving and flip shows where I would prove that I could do 15 or more somersaults without taking a breath.

It wasn’t always mermaids though. Sometimes I would pretend that I was a lion tamer who lived  in the jungle. I had a destiny to fulfill, and that was to ride the evil old Copper Spaniel lion that lived in the deepest depths of the trees. Other times I would be a mom who actually liked to cook.  Or if I was forced to clean, I would become a 19th century maid, mimicking the mannerisms of Cinderella. When I said I wanted to “draw,” what I actually wanted was to pretend I was a secretary. I would set up a nice little area with a stapler and a roll of tape, and I would imagine that I was completing highly important tasks. Every once in a while I would put down my number 2 pencil to answer an imaginary phone.

I continued playing pretend long after the other kids had given it up for spin the bottle and Girl Talk. Don’t get me wrong, I played those too… but when I was alone I would play out scenes with boys in front of the mirror.  I fantasized about being discovered and cast in Party of Five as the long lost Salinger sibling. I gave press talks and interviews about my rise to fame.

I know a lot of people have these sort of day dreams, but looking back, it feels like I took them to a ridiculous level. 

I realize now, that even when Idid finally grew out of 3-D fantasizing 24/7, I started to merge “pretending” into the real aspects of my life. In high school, I had several different groups of friends who were all very different. I had my dance friends, my theater friends, my cheerleader friends, and well… boys. It’s not that I was never myself around any of them, but I did learn how to pretend to be just the way they needed me to be. I don’t think this was really a bad thing though. I think I was just taking the idea of “fake it til ya make it”  and applying it to more practical aspects of my life.

For a while I thought that I was over pretending. After a college I went through a complete, life-changing transformation and for a long while I believed that I had finally found myself. I had taken up improv, which allowed me to fullfill the craving I had to “pretend;” and in my real life I was able to focus on who I really was.  I started finding music that I understood; I pursued interests that were mine, and mine alone; I lived alone and I ate what I enjoyed eating.

Somewhere over the last couple years I feel like I’ve let some of that “self discovery” disappear. I still know my passions, but I’ve found out that I’m still quite susceptible to slipping into pretend mode. I don’t do it on purpose, and Idont even realize I’m doing it, but I think I am.

Lately I find myself silently telling myself to “Let’s pretend that,” which is most often followed with “every-thing’s OK.” Whether it’s when I’m dealing with my family, my friends, or relationships- I feel like I’ve somehow trained myself  (as improvisers say) to “yes and” every situation that I’m in, until I establish what I’m dealing with. Once I know what role I’m supposed to play, I’m nice and ready  to take part in the newest “long form” improvised segment of my life.

I realize that everyone does this to an extent, after-all; we’re innately designed to adapt to our current situations. I just think that sometimes I need to completely remove myself from the stage so that I can reevaluate my real life.

I’ve found that over the last few years, I’ve started developing a habit of agreeing with peoplewhen I don’t really believe what they are saying to be true. Sometimes when I’m with certain people who expect me to be “on,” I put on a schtick because I know it will make them happy.

I still don’t think there is necessarily anything wrong with this. I’m a people pleaser. I’m a person of many faces. I enjoy being both ofthose things. The problem with my pretending is that at some point, if I ever want to keep moving forward in my starring role, I have to really establish my own character. I need to figure out the details of what makes me. I need to take note of what I love. Just as if I were performing in an improv scene, I have to ask myself these questions.

 If I’m going to go to the store to buy a bottle of wine, what wine would I  really want to drink ? If I’m going to spend $23.99 on an itunes audio book, what book would really make me happy? If I walk into a crowded coffee shop, where would I most likely sit, in a corner by myself, or would I sit down with a group of people?

Playing myself is a weird concept when I really start to think about it. I’ve started keeping a notebook with me again. This time, instead of jotting down ideas for sketches or blogs, I’ve just been writing down things that I like and things that I don’t like. I’ve already collected 20 pages that are now filled with phrases like “I could replace wine with grapes and be happy forever.”  Or “I really don’t like short shorts on men.” It’s been interesting really- recording facts about myself that I’ve never verbally admitted in the past.

I’m not sure what I’m planning on doing with my “Glossary of myself,” or my  ”Glossarme” as I’ve started to call it, but I guess I’m hoping that it will help me to move on. There are so many choices, so many options in this life- and I just have to gather up all the information I know about my character, and keep developing new scenes until I find myself in one organically progresses.

NOTE: *I’ve been in major self-reflection mode the last few weeks, so bare with me while I work some of this out on paper. I’ve decided that I’m not going to forwarn you or apologize anytime I feel inspired to go a bit sappy, it’s just where I am right now. And so is your face. So there.

OK that’s a lie. But mostly it’s not. I’ve really tried, and I think it’s working. I’ve been going to yoga every night. I’ve been meditating for at least 4 minutes before I start thinking about food. And more than anything, I’ve really kept most negative thoughts abay.

That’s a lie too.

Negative thoughts cross my mind all day long. I don’t know how to stop them. I DO think that I’ve found a solution though. Or at least a temporary fix. It’s simple. Every time I think of something negative, I accept it and then just justify it with something that I do feel positive about.

An example? OK.

You know what really sucks stinky poo?

When you get that dreaded email from your bank saying something like “You have asked to be alerted when your bank account drops below a certain level. It is now below that level.”

FUUUUDDGEEE. Seriously, where does all the money go? I mean I get paid week to week, so I know I can make it.. but still, I’m on a budget yo. I’m gonna have to have a baby for someone or quit buying songs on itunes or SOMETHING!

But you know what makes it all better?

Knowing that I spent my money in a wonderful way. The boo and I literally had our own Deep Ellum pub crawl. We went to every bar in walking distance and only had a drink at each. It added up… but so worth it.

You know what makes me want to kill small children?

When “Mambo No. 5 ” comes on my Pandora. Seriously. I like nothing even remotely close to this song. It hurts my soul and my heart and my brain.

But you know what makes me smile despite the fact that “Mambo No. 5″ has played twice in the last week?

Smile Smile’s new video for “Truth On Tape.” I still love them so much.

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You know what makes me want to scream expletives at my grandpa?

Pain. Human pain. Of the physical category.

But you know what makes me want to have Steve Buschemi’s babies?

Knowing that the pain came from a weekend of marathon getting it on. What qualifies as marathon you ask? Nineya yo business.

That and my new tattoo. I’ve always wanted a comedy and tragedy mask tattoo. I think it stems from my long love of the theater and comedy. But now that I’m trying to adapt to this new “positive thinking” style of life, I decided that I wanted something that was a little more positive. I wanted something that I could look at that would remind me how good life is. So I went with this…

You know what makes me want to eat a pound of cheesecake and cry?

The fact that the hair on my foot in this picture makes me look like a man.

But you know what makes that OK?

Nothing. I’m a lazy excuse for a woman. But then again, I think I’m OK with that.

Over the past 9 days I’ve gone through so many emotions. I’ve felt irritated, empowered, angry,  depressed, and weak. There have been a few days when I haven’t been bothered at all, then others when it was all I could do not to flip out. I’m not gonna lie… I even broke down on Saturday and had a few puffs (after a few drinks) but I don’t think it set me back much. More than anything, I want to be healthier. Eventually I want to be disgusted by cigarettes- but for now, if I can cut myself down to a few puffs a week, then I think I can be ok with that. In fact, more than anything, I’m just proud of myself for not going postal on everyone who smiled at me and told me with their clean teeth and untainted fingernails that they were not addicted to smoking… that, and for not gouging my own eyeballs out with a number two pencil. I’ve also upped my pen chewing 123%, but I think I can deal with that.

I don’t know whether it’s the quitting smoking or the turning into a  28 year old woman, (and I use that term loosely) but lately I’ve been feeling like doing a little more soul searching than usual. For an example, last Thursday night I HAD to go see the meteor shower. At about 10:30 pm I dragged my roommate LA and Moops out of bed and made them drive me 45 minutes out into the country so that we could have a clear view of the sky. We drove forever, and finally found a patch of grass on the side of the highway to spread our blanket on. The three of us lay there  side by side in peace, trying to understand the vast arch above us. This lasted about 7 minutes when we begin to get bitten my gigantic Mothra-esque creatures, which made me remember the podcast I had listened to earlier that evening about ticks and the diseases that they carried. Just as we were gathering up the blanket, I saw 3 shooting stars which sent the three of us back into a trance for about 30 seconds until a cop pulled up.

This cop wasn’t your run of the mill city cop, no siree. This man was old, walked with a limp, and even wore an old fashioned badge. We didn’t freak out as we ususally would in cop sitchyeeatshuns, because for once, we weren’t actually doing anything wrong. He explained that he “had got a tele that some der folks were layin out on der road.” I kind of wanted to hug him because he was the first person I’d seen in at least a few days that could have walked straight out of a movie. Regardless we left, and I was forced to continue my soul searching elsewhere.

 (I took an ambien this evening and the majority of that previous paragraph was written in southern-cop accent, in case you couldn’t tell.)

Later that night, I decided to try to meditate. I put on a guided medidtation cd that I bought a few years ago when I decided I wanted to be a Buddhist, but all I could think about was how hairy my toes were and how much I wanted to go downstairs and eat some tuna salad and maybe even some popcorn… so after about 5 minutes of feigned calm breathing, I went downstairs, shaved my toes and ate a bunch of food. FAIL.

Some friends came in town this weekend and we spent the majority of our time playing Mario Party, which in a way a meditation of escaping reality, but for the most part I forgot about my quest to become a better person. Sunday night we went to see Eat Pray Love, which got me thinking all over again. Not necessarily about the movie… it was ok and all and I kind of want to lick Javier Bardem from head to toe, but all in all the whole thing seemed a bit contrived. I didn’t read the book and I don’t know much about the author, but it irritated me a bit that this whole story was based upon a woman who was most likely paid a book deal to go on the “quest” to find herself. But still, it made me want to do so even more. But what can I do?

I don’t really believe in bullshit self help books (no offense to anyone who uses them) but I was feeling like I didn’t have any other options, so this morning I broke down and downloaded “The Secret.” Yeah, that book that everyone and their great grandmother has read and apparantely became millionaires after reading it. I’m about half way through, and I have very mixed feelings. One the one hand,I agree that positive thinking is a.. well positive way to live your life. The more positive you think, the more active you are going to be in trying to reach your goals (though the book claims that all you have to do is “believe” that you will  become the person you want to be, and that you are that person already, and then acracadabra boom hiss your wish will be granted. )the better chance you have of actually obtaining them. But on the other hand, I have always believed that once you picture a scenario in detail- then there is a 99% chance that that exact scenario will never play out in that exact manner. If it did, wouldn’t that be some sort of deja vu space/time continuim fuck up?

I don’t know, but I think I’m thinking about this too hard. I don’t think these books are meant for cynical, questioning people like myself. I will try to apply more positive thinking to my life, and I do think that I could benefit from meditating more often, but I also think I need begin to work things out on a more rational level. My own way. I don’t have it all planned out. I have goals (see my last post) but I don’t have a clue about where I want to be in 20 years. I would like to be financially stable, but I don’t spend my nights dreaming about being a millionaire. I don’t have a dream job, I don’t have an innate desire to have a family at this point in my life… so maybe I just need to start with my small goals.I’m going to devise my own self-help stragedy. Like quitting smoking. I can do this. I will kick this. (Check out my positive thinking, yo). I’ve quit other things before. So perhaps I shall start with something small to help my cause. Maybe I should list out all the things I’ve quit before.

Here we go.

*I quit chewing on my knuckles at the age of four. Granted my doctor told me if I didn’t he’d cut them off. Also take note.. this was the first clue I had an intense oral fixation.

*I quit going to algebra my sophomore year of college because it stressed me out and cause a 3am breakdown when I ran out of lead of my mechanical pencil.

.*I quit watching Lost after the second season because it was stressing me out that nothing. ever. happened.

*I quit my job at the costume shop because my boss was a misogynistic blow hole, who made me pick up sequins while down on my knees in a mini-skirt and wouldn’t let me go home to get some sanitary help for my lady problem. He also told me I was stupid because I couldn’t work the cash register.

*I quit eating most dairy products because they make me feel like there is an angry, drunken, bowling team in my belly.

*I quit my job at the sandwich shop because I lost a nail in the vegetables and I was  probably going to get fired when they found out.

*I quit caring and talking about politics when I realized both sides are liars, but mostly because I wasn’t sure that I even cared.

*I’ve quit reading the Twilight series, Harry Potter, and every biography I’ve ever started. Mostly because of commitment issues.

*I quit going to my trainer because I had a crush on him and I found out he was like 6 years younger than me and I didn’t want to be a cougar at the age of twenty seven. Also I needed an extra $125 a month. Also because I don’t like people telling me what to do.

Hmmm… I’m sure there’s more but I’m tired and so I think I’ll quit writing now. I think we’ve established that I’m pretty good at quitting things. Especially things that suck. So now I just have to apply that to smoking, I suck on cigarettes, right? So technically they kind of suck (or blow)… Either way, I think this helped. If for nothing else, it’s helped me see that I don’t deal with stress very well, which is precisely why I smoked for so long,

Oye vey this ambien is making this confusing and I’m getting stressed again. More on this later, maybe. I’m off to suck on a lozenge, which is a word I still haven’t figered out how to pronounce.

Tootles.

Being sick.

You know what’s worse than just being sick?

Being sick that ISN”T  hungover. Cause if your hungover  then it’s at least a little bit worth it, right?

You know what’s the most worstiest of everything? (it’s a word)

Being sick on a VERY important week.

Duh duh. Duh duh. Duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh du…….

(Once again that was my very excellent version of the Jaws theme song, but you probably already knew that!)

No, I wasn’t talking about shark week though that is also very important. In fact, I deemed it so important that I sharked myself on the Discovery channel website.

I am not so good at sharking myself. But I think it looks like a zombie so I'm cool with that.

The term “sharking yourself” sounds kind of dirty doesn’t it?

I know, sometimes it’s like I’m 5  years old or something.

Actually that’s not true at all. A true statement would be “I act like I’m 5 years old or something.”

But what would really be accurate would be if I said “it’s like I’m 28 years old or something,” which is precisely what I will be on this Saturday. So… Happy Birthday me! It’s also my parent’s old (dead) dog’s birthday, or maybe that’s just what they told me when I was 8.

I’m really not so sure how I feel about this Birthday. Twenty eight seems like such an insignificant age, but then again they all sort of do from here on out. Except in my case, I’ll probably count myself lucky for any year that I survive after the age of like 35… in fact I think I’m pretty lucky to have made it this far.

But really… 28.

I had a bit of a freak out the other night when I started thinking about the fact that I am officially in my late twenties. I decided last year that 27 was definitely in the “mid to late twenties category… but 28… there’s no denying it. I really try hard not to dwell on these sort of things, but there are so many things that I thought that I would be by the age of twenty eight. I thought I’d be rich, famous, married to my friend Cameron, own my own zoo, drive a limo (I used to think that was better than riding in one,) have 14 kids, star on Saturday Night Live, and also princess of a far away country. Of course I thought all of this when I was in the third grade after a game of M.A.S.H., but still… Boy was I wrong.

I mean, if I can’t even afford to take care of a pet rat, I’m certainly not on the right road to owning a zoo. Then again, there are days when I really think I’ve done it right. I’m still figuring things out and I think that’s ok. I’m not entirely sure what path I’m on- but I’m still happy with the idea that I could move to Ireland tomorrow if I wanted to. Provided I win the lottery, that is.

Birthdays are a funny thing though. I never know how to act. There are days when I think that I would like to let it simply go unnoticed (LIKE THAT ONE YEAR WHEN I WAS TEACHING DANCE IN NEW YORK AND NOBODY CALLED ME, DON”T THINK I”VE FORGOTTEN BITCHES!) but when it comes down to it- I think I can be down right bratty when it comes to my birthday. It is after all, the one day that I can call my own. I really try not to get that whiny “but it’s MY birthday” attitude… but I’m afraid I’m not very good at that.

My favorite birthday of all time was the year I turned 10. My family got up real early and took my cousins and I fishing. I caught a huge fish that snapped my fishing pole right in half. It was a carp so we didn’t get to keep it, but I didn’t have to worry about things like baiting my own hook back then. When we got home, I was surprised to find that I had gotten my very own purple bicycle, with a basket and everything. The real surprise came when my cousin presented me with a pie in my face. Only it wasn’t a surprise at all, because I had been begging asking to have a pie thrown in my face for my birthday for like 3 years. I was a weird kid who watched entirely too much Nickelodeon.

Despite being sick, this week has already been a pretty smashing birthday week. I started celebrating last Sunday with a little bit of day drinking. We hung out at my favorite dive bar (Adairs, for those of you in Dallas) with a bunch of old guys who were jamming their guitars. I even got to hold one of their glass eyes. Then on Tuesday I won last minute tickets to go see Aerosmith, and he was every bit as sparkly as I imagined he would be.

This weekend my family is coming up to spend my birthday with me for the first time in years, and we’re going to see my favorite comedian of all time – Mr Michael Ian Black.

So instead of getting a pie in my face, I think I’d like to have a Michael Ian black in my face. Or in my mouth. Either way, I’m pumped. My mom also decided that she wants to film a zombie movie, starring me as a zombie- which I’m a little on the fence about. We shall see.

I also am requesting gifts I actually need this year. My list so far:

-3 light bulbs

-pens with a plastic chewable top

-new bed sheets

-a new lap top

-new phone (since I bit and cracked mine)

-my $665 TXU electricity bill to be paid (SERIOUSLY EFFED UP)

-A new car since mine is about to die forever

-John Cusack

So now I will shut my whore mouth and clean house so that my parents don’t find out that I live like a 14 year old boy. A fourteen year old boy who drinks copious amounts of wine.

CHEERS TO YOUR FACE!

PEEE ESSSSS. : I still plan on doing a giveaway for my blog birthday… but I decided to wait until after my birthday so I can give away the gifts that I don’t want for myself.

PEEE PEEE ESSSS (teehee pee pee) If anyone in the area is interested in joining in on some shenanegans this weekend (I’ll be out both nights) just tweet me yo.

Stay tuned.

Well first of all, I’m finally trying to follow through on a New Years Resolution I made back in 2008…. then again in 2009. I gave up making resolutions in 2010, but now I’m determined to give it another shot.

For the last 10 years I’ve lived in the Dallas area, and I’ve never really given the city a chance. I mean… I’d venture out beyond my neighborhood for the odd concert or karaoke bar, but for the most part -I’d long ago written it off as being void of culture, and have said time and again that the most notable thing that this city has going for it is the unbelievable number of Douchengoyles and $30,000 millionaires. The plan has always been to work here in DFW as long as I needed to in order to save a little bit of money, and then to take off for Chicago or New York…

But a few years ago it became clear that I wasn’t going to get discovered on a street corner, and I’m not currently motivated enough to find a job that allows me to live beyond paycheck to paycheck, much less save for a plane ticket to a far away land… Plus, it dawned on me that I really like being in a city where I know people. . I realized that just as I am sometimes quick to deem a girl driving a BMW a bitch or a guy wearing a graphic tee as a douche canoe (which, is actually usually true) I had prematurely judged Dallas as being boring and industrial, with nothing to offer. That’s when I made the decision to make friends with Dallas, to really get to know this city before I pass complete judgment on it.

After college, I interned at the then start-up newspaper Pegasus News, where my “job” consisted of driving around to different neighborhoods and trying to gather information on local restaurants, bars, and entertainment venues for our database, so I already had a vague notion that there was more out there south of Denton and Plano. The last few years I made several attempts at exploring some of these places, but it wasn’t until the last 3 months or so that I’ve really made a conscious effort to delve into my local culture.

I won’t go into detail now, but I will say that I owe a lot of my recent discoveries to twitter, and also the fact that the guy I’ve been dating lives right in the middle of Deep Ellum so it makes it a lot easier when you don’t have to go too far. In the last few weeks I’ve spent some time at local museums, historical hotels, dive bars and comedy clubs, and I’ve been surprised at how much I’ve enjoyed myself. I really wish I would have embraced this fine city years ago. But more than anything else, I’ve really gotten into some of the local music, which to be honest I wasn’t aware existed much outside of Denton. Last week we went to the Dallas Observer Music Award Showcase and had a freaking blast of a time.

My favorite show of the night just happened to coincide with my most recent obsession, and ummmm.. you might know by now what happens when I get obsessionated.

I discovered the Dallas duo  Smile Smile a while back and haven’t listened to much else since. Their new album “Truth on Tape” (that’s the link to purchase on itunes!)  is the best $10.00 I’ve spent in a while, and simultaneously makes me want to laugh and cry. Smile Smile’s is made up of Ryan and Jencey, who were once engaged.. which makes their amazing music and their undeniable chemistry  even more interesting. There’s nothing I love more in the world than genuine music that I can dance to.  Check it.

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Also they are super nice and posed for pics after the show. I know. I’m such a fan girl.

Ryan from Smile Smile!

Smile Smile band (my lazy eye comes out when I'm drunk)

I really can’t talk about local bands without mentioning my other current fave, Sleeperstar. I grew up with their bassist, and had no idea until fairly recently how much they rocked. I cannot wait to see these guys in person, and you really have no excuse for not checking them out. They are pretty much guaranteed to be the next big thing. Love.

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Here is a link to their album on itunes!

As you can see I’ve neglected my blog for perfectly good reasons. I mean, what is a better way to spend time than singing and dancing your heart out?

Speaking of, I’ve also invested a little bit of time into So You Think You Can Dance. As if you’re surprised.  I’m so torn on this season. Every season before I’ve had an absolute favorite. Now I’m not so sure, but I think I’ve decided to route for Robert, because.. umm.. HELLO!!!

Mostly he just kind of sort of reminds me of Mark from a couple of seasons ago. You know, the weird one who wore guyliner but was absofreakin amaze-balls at everything he did? Here’s a little refresher. Sit back and prepare to wipe some drool from your lips.. or maybe I’m a freak.

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*please note, I will now be using sarcasm. I wasn’t using sarcasm when talking about SYTYCD. It IS awesome. It doesn’t really work when I have to point that out, does it?

Besides watching and re-watching quality television, I’ve also seen a few incredibly awesome movies. Like just this week I caught an Emilio Estevez (The Mighty Duck Guy, I swear to God!) classic called Freejack.How this movie didn’t win an Oscar I will never know. And such good special effects. Have a mentioned the acting? Uh-maze-ing.

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And next up? Well I can hardly contain my excitement for this one…

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Alrighty, I’m out just like Lindsay Lohan’s about to be. Happy weekend!

I’ve always been a little sensitive, and that’s something that I think that I have really made a conscious effort to improve on in recent years, and I think I’ve really come a long way.

I remember when I was young, I was never really bothered when I wasn’t invited to a sleepover, or that I wasn’t the most popular girl in school. The things that had the most effect on me were the words that I suspect that no one else would remember or that others would have brushed off as a joke.

When I was in Elementary school I sometimes had to wear an eye patch because I had a lazy eye. I only had to wear it a few hours every day, so my parents usually allowed me to do my time after school hours. I also fell off a slide onto concrete and shattered my right arm so I had to have it attached to my body for several months. For the most part, neither the eye patch or the cast that made me look like I only had one arm were really a big deal to me. For the most part.

Back in those days they used to line the kids up for lunch or recess alphabetically. I’m not sure if they still do that, but it always really blew if your last name started with a letter in the middle of the alphabet, because you never got to be the leader. I always wished that my last name was “Adams” or “Zookeeper,” so that I would get to be at the front of the line. Why that was such a big deal back then, I can’t remember… but it was.

One day, I believe it was a Tuesday, my mom had forgotten to force me to wear my eye patch the afternoon before, so instead I had to wear it to school like an asshole. On this particular day, since I was in fact wearing a flesh colored patch (not even a cool black one) and was half gimp and my teacher must have felt extremely sorry for me, because for the first time in the history of my life- she decided to line us up starting with the letter “Mc.” (That’s me!)

So there I was, standing at the very front of the line, smiling my little booty off- when all of a sudden I noticed that the line that had formed in the classroom across the hall were pointing and laughing. At first I didn’t think much about it, because surely they were just laughing because someone had tooted or something, but it still made me a little self conscious. It wasn’t until I hear “It’s a one armed pirate!!!” that I knew for sure that I was the topic of discussion.

It still hurts a little.

As life went on, there are several other instances that I remember being particularly hurtful that I would (hopefully) laugh off today.

Like when my teacher asked us “how do you figure out (insert silly little word problem here)? Andwhen I called upon to answer, I replied “Well first you take a calculator….” At that point,  the class erupted into laughter, and my teacher told me I should have been blonde. In present time, I think that was a perfectly smart reply, because duh I’m going to calculate that shiz on a calculator. But at the time I really felt stupid. I even went home and cried about it.

I also remember a time when I threw up because Curtis Mack had a bloody nose at the lunch table, and everyone accused me of spilling my chocolate milk. I don’t know why I was so much more embarrassed about spilling my dirnk than I was of throwing up, but I was.

And then there was also the time when I was inexplicably jealous that Steven, who I had a crush on, threw up on my friend Kelly instead of me. Yeahhhh…. that was just weird.

But even now, as much as I’ve built up my armor, it seems that it’s still the little things- whether physical or verbal- that hurt the most.

Like…A couple of years ago, LA and I decided to paint ourselves up like Indians with a cactus fruit that we found at my farm. Who would’ve thought that we would have little pricklys stuck in our faces for months to come?

And then just this weekend, I got into my car to drive to meet my friends to get a margarita- and just happened to sit on a penny. A tiny little penny… well that fucker had been sitting in the Texas sun for 8 hours and branded the hell outta me!

This picture really doesn’t do it justice…

Happy Weekend people!! Let us all go out and create new wounds.