I’ve loved getting a chance to explore the various trails around Austin. Especially at sunset. Sunset makes an already beautiful city look all sparkly and magical.

Last Wednesday we decided to meet at Towne Lake. It was an especially stressful week for me, and since screaming into a pillow and flicking doodle bugs into a gutter did nothing to ease my stress, I decided to head to the trail a little early with a book and a blanket.

Ever since I was a kid, whenever I am stressed, I tend to find comfort in hiding away in the trees. I used to “run away from home” at least once a week-and nearly every time I packed a bag full of kudos and Squeeze its, and squeezed myself into the tiny patch between two trees on the side of my house. I would sit there for about 10 hours (20 minutes) until I got so frustrated that no one in my family even missed me… at which point I would stomp back into the house crying that I had a very long day as  run-away and only came home because I knew my dad would let my mice go in the woods if I didn’t come back to save them.

My point is, I still get that feeling of comfort from a tiny secluded hollow  – so last Wednesday that’s exactly where I found myself.

It was wonderful.

After about an hour, we took a really long walk around Towne Lake and found a nice little boat dock to watch the bats fly from under the Congress Bridge.

If you aren’t from Austin, (supposedly) during the summer season at sunset-you can go and watch millions of bats fly out from their super secret hide-away under a bridge. I wonder if the bats get the same feeling of comfort under that bridge as I do hiding away in trees. I bet they do. 

I say supposedly, because the bats never fucking came. We thought maybe they decided to stop in trees out of site from our secluded boat dock, so eventually went to join the hundreds of other people who were eagerly waiting to watch the bats fly, (because there isn’t anything more exciting than watching rabies soar through the air) but alas, they decided to stay in that night. I tried everything from jumping on the bridge to shake them out, to yelling “hereeee battttty battty battty” with no avail.

I get it though, because sometimes when I’m in a particularly rabid mood, I don’t want to leave the house either. Maybe they were hungover or something.

Or maybe, what Austin needs is a giant Bat signal to tell the bats when it’s time to come out so that they can entertain us humans.

At one point I swore I saw a single bat fly out and hit my boyfriend in the face, so I freaked out at the prospect that he had contracted rabies and would be foaming at the mouth in minutes, but he assured me it was just a giant m0th.

Eventually, we begrudgingly made the trek back to the car-and bats or no bats-it was almost the perfect evening. Except that I couldn’t shake the fact that my boyfriend was probably going to go Cujo bat shit crazy on me, but I decided to just enjoy the time before I had to take him out back and shoot him.

On Thursday evening, I noticed a tiny itchy red spot on my face.

In my usual fashion, I took it repeatedly to the magnified mirror and poked it, and scratched it, and put alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, cortisone, and witch hazel on it until my lip puffed up like a water-filled tampon.

I went to the doctor the next day, and she told me that  it looked like a regular upper lip that had been poked and prodded to the state of infection. She gave me a prescription for antibiotics for the infection, and told me I wasn’t allowed to touch my face anymore. Which of course made me want scratch it even more.

At some point during all the scratching, I decided to look for other spots on my body that might be diseased. This, of course included several thorough examinations on my lady parts. Someone made a serious mistake years ago by gifting me the ginormous magnified mirror.

By late Friday evening, all the spots that I had checked earlier for spots now had itchy spots. I went back and forth for hours, trying to decide whether I actually had a rash, or if I was just insane enough to imagine it there.

By Saturday morning there was no question. My face, my chest my legs and my vagina, YES MY VAGINA, was covered in patches of red, puffed out rash.

Of course, I spent the day convinced that I had contracted some horrible, unknown parasite or a rare form of the HIV from a mosquito. We drove around all day looking for places for my sister and I to move in to, but my complete focus was on finding another bathroom so I could check to see if my vagina had grown  in size with my handheld magnified mirror. Yet another bad gift for a hypochondriac. Call it irrational, but what would you be thinking if your vagina suddenly puffed up into the size of a roll of quarters?

After a bajillion self examinations and a tear-filled confession to my boyfriend  that I probably had a contagious VD,  I forced him to take a look for himself.

BF: “You’ve got poison ivy.”

ME: “There’s no way! How would I get poison ivy on my vagina???”

BF:”Well you have a rash on all other parts of your body, have you touched your vagina recently?”

ME: “Well yes, all the time… especially when I’m looking for diseases. 

BF: ” Now wouldn’t it be a lot more logical to assume that you got poison ivy from walking in the woods?”

ME: “Ummmm NO, cause your supposed to tell me before I step in poison ivy!!”

THE BIGGEST BITCH MOTHER NATURE MADE

So in conclusion, he was right. I have poison ivy. And because I’m so fucking neurotic that I can’t stop examining myself, I spread poison ivy to parts of my body that no plant should ever touch. I almost said “Unless that plant is a feather,” then I remembered a feather isn’t even a plant. These meds are getting to me. 

But in even more conclusion, I kind of blame my boyfriend for not pointing out to me that I was stepping in poison ivy. How am I to know which ivies are poisonous? I bet Adam was in charge of telling Eve which ivy plants were safe to put over her hoo hoo.

Regardless, I’ve learned my lesson. For now on, I’m not taking a step in the woods without having him look at every plant that might possibly touch my foot. And also I’m going to stop self examining my vagina. (Unless I have a really good reason, like when toilet water splashes up on me in a public restroom)

PS: Even though I kind of blame my boyfriend for being in the most uncomfortable state of my existence… ( I SERIOUSLY WOULD RATHER HAVE POOP SOUP FOR A MONTH) I have to admit that he’s pretty awesome for putting up with the bitchiest, whiniest, most obnoxious cry baby in the world this weekend. Cause I just don’t do itches, yall.

Partly because I’m afraid that if I don’t keep going, I’ll fall back into a funk. But Mostly because I’m majorly obsessed with everything in my life right now. I’m like a fat girl at a buffet. I like everything so much I just keep stuffing myself and stuffing myself until I can’t even walk… and even fat girls get to a point where they can’t eat anymore.

I’m desperately trying to find the right balance in my life. I know it’s important to take some time to myself but I just don’t want to say no.

My therapist gave me some good life advice recently, and she stressed that it wasn’t professional-but just something her grandmother used to tell her… (and she told me this in her adorable German accent) (Is it weird that I think  my therapist has an adorable accent?)

“Say no 99 times for every time you say yes.”

She may have worded it a bit differently, but that was the gist.

Now let me say, when I first let that vibrate through my ears, it felt completely wrong. I’ve considered myself a “yes” girl all my life. After all,  I get my gibbers from trying new things and  meeting new people. Hells, I wouldn’t be doing ANYTHING with my life right now if I went by that philosophy.

I tried to explain to her that her grandmother’s little life philosophy went against everything I knew in life. I have spent the last 9 years trying to apply improv’s “yes and” principle to my life to expand my horizon and allow me to experience interesting scenarios and relationships. That and YES MAN IS MY 3RD FAVORITE JIM CARREY MOVIE OF ALL TIME!!! In fact, the only area of my life that I could think of that would have actually benefited from this was of thinking was my sexual past.

She shook her head at me and per usual, explained that I was black and white thinking. That philosophy wasn’t meant to keep me locked up in my room starving to death because I cannot even say yes to food.

Instead she asked me to examine some of the recent activities/favors/decisions in my life that have caused me anxiety. What would have been the consequences had I said no? Were any of those “yeses” chosen because I wanted to say yes, or were they because I was trying to please someone else?

And then I understood what she was trying to say.

I’m a people pleaser. Big time. And until I can learn to say no once in a while, I’m never going to be able to fill up my time with the things I truly want to do.

I’m not saying I (or anyone) should be above favors. Lord knows there is no better feeling than doing something nice for someone out of the kindness of your heart. I’m taking about avoiding situations that lead you into getting taking advantage of. Where there is little or no appreciation on the other end.

That, and sometimes there just isn’t enough time-and that’s OK too.

All that being said, I’m pretty pleased with all the “yesses” I’ve made recently. I love all the shows I’m involved in. I love my work. And I love LOVE LOVE the results of a photo shoot that I was scared shitless to take part in. (More pics will be posted later)

More pics to come on the site!

I guess my point is, my goal this summer is to make a little bit of time for some things I’ve really wanted to do.. and that’s going to mean saying no once in a while.  I want to write more. I want to take more walks. I want to swim in every swimming hole Austin has to offer. I want to see the bats. I want to go kayaking. I want to have more lunches with the wonderful women I’ve met in this city. I want to paint. And if time allows it, I want to take an entire weekend away somewhere with no internet or phones.

It’s the little things people. And by golly gee, I’m going to make time for them.

And now, I’m off to do a performance of ANGEL LIVE at the Highball. If you live in Austin, you should definitely come and check it out. There are puppets and I get to maul one.

PS: A huge thanks to my man for talking all this out with me and allowing my brain to process all of this nonsense.

I am officially the worst blogger in the entire universe.

To be more precise, I’m probably the worst so-called blogger in all the universes in all the various time dimensions.

And you know what? I don’t give a mosquito’s ass. (See I substituted the word “fly” for “rat,” because I kind of like rat’s asses and I despise mosquitoes.)

The truth is-between working and rehearsals and moving and wanting to impregnate this beautiful city out of love-I haven’t even had time to write. Which does make me a little sad because I love to write.

And I need to. I have so much I want to put down on blog.

Tonight I searched my google inbox and was overblown by the number of emails I’ve sent to myself over the last few months with random thoughts, links, and topics that I desired to put up on this little ole’ blog. Alas, I’ll probably never get around to any of them-and that’s OK, cause new stuff just keeps a’happenin.

Let me start with a little catchup. Mmmmm I freaking love ketchup.

The last few months have been superfuncrazybusy. I’ve been working hard at learning the ins and outs of professional radio (Dudley and Bob Show 93.7 KLBJ FM). I got to choreograph and perform in a Live Action version of Dr Horrible’s Sing Along Blog. Tonight I started a new Live TV Show- Angel.  I’ve gotten to know a lot of wonderful people here and take part in some really quality comedy-both live and on the internets (Moosestache). I recently moved out of The House of “I want to kill myself” to a house where I actually feel comfortable sitting in my living room. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m in a really healthy and happy relationship.  I feel like I’ve taken great strides in some areas of my life that needed improvement.

Overall, I feel happier than I have in a long time. And I despise being that girl, but I can’t help it.

That being said, whenever I have months of consistent happiness-I always feel like I need to check myself. I don’t want to fight these feelings of supreme bliss, but I do find it important to reflect about how I got here. Because law’ knows it’s been a bumpy road.

And so… Here I go again. Attempting to blog… at least a with a little more consistency…

I’m not setting any goals or deadlines or structure. I might put up a video or just write a few thoughts.  But just in case there IS anyone out there, I figured I’d give you a heads up.

I don’t want you to think there is an intruder on my blog.

Loves and Teddy Ruxpins to you and your kin.

I used to spend a lot of time trying to come up with content for this thing. I didn’t want to come across as too sappy, or too emo, or too over the top. I should probably warn you that I no longer care. Sure, the ultimate goal is to share something humorous yet thought provoking… in theory. But the truth is, I’m just happy I feel inspired to put finger to keyboard again. So if I feel like writing something, I will write something. And if you don’t like it, shut your stupid face.

This week I had my first visit with a new therapist. I figured it was time for some maintenance. Plus I really really like talking about myself to someone who is required to give me their undivided attention…. as if you didn’t already know this.

It had been about 6 months since I have had any sort of official therapy and I had nearly forgotten how helpful it is. I truly believe that ANYONE can benefit from talking to an unbiased someone every once in a while. It really puts things in prospective. Granted, 9 out of 10 times – my sister, my friends, and my coworkers give me the same advice that the therapist gives me… but somehow it’s different when you pay someone to listen.

Since it was my initial visit with a new counselor, we had A LOT to cover. Three hours worth, in fact. Three hours of me giving her the rundown of every idiosyncrasy of my character, and every hardship I have ever endured. While it felt good to tell my story, it was a bit exhausting- to say the least. But it did make me realize something.

I’m dramatic. I’m emotional. I over-think and catastrophize every situation. I have a bad case of ADHD.  I have major sleep anxiety. I have general anxiety in nearly every situation in my life. I have a bit of an inferiority complex. I have absolutely no control of myself when I drink liquor. I’m constantly teetering on the edge of hypomania. I have a major case of body dysmorphia. I will probably never have a comfortable relationship with food.

I could go on for days about my emotional and behavioral issues, but what I realized was that I’m OK with it all. In fact, somewhere over the last year, I’ve learned not only to accept- but also to appreciate some of my issues… or at least the fact that I can acknowledge them and work towards dealing with them.

In the very least, they don’t freak me out as much anymore. The difference between this session, and the first time I met with a counselor last year is unbelievable.

That being said, I can’t help but imagine a world where I didn’t have to worry about keeping myself in check. Where I didn’t have to use “tools” like mindfulness and meditation to calm my nerves or talk myself down from cliffs. And especially where I didn’t act on such impulse all the time. Like, can you imagine if you could program yourself with your own, personal panic button that would prevent you from saying and doing things that you immediately regret?

Por ejemplo: Oh yay! Bob Schneider is playing my at my radio show’s Christmas benefit! He’s my favorite musician in the entire world. I should walk up to him and tell him about how much I love him.. and keep talking for about ten minutes until he looks like he might take off running in fear.

ACTIVATE PANIC BUTTON

Carissa. Take a deep breath. If you want to say something to your most favorite musician in the world, fine. But for God’s sake, he doesn’t want to hear your life story, or how you once drunkenly wrote him a facebook message proclaiming your love. Just. Stop.

Por ejemplo #2: I’m at a co-workers birthday party drinking a little wine. Just the night before I decided to swear off liquor because SOMEHOW I ended up waking up on the bathroom floor of a boy’s apartment who I actually really like. Boss hands me a shot. Boy, I sure do love shots. Especially warm cinnamony whiskey shots. And it would probably make me a lot more fun to talk to.

ACTIVATE PANIC BUTTON

Hey girl hey. If you take that shot, it’s all gonna go down hill. You’ll end up making an ass out of yourself in front of all your co-workers. Then you’ll proceed to call that boy you dig and ask, no beg him to pick you up. And THEN you’ll call your dad 10 times telling him you don’t know where you are. So, no… Don’t take that shot.

Sighhh… if only.

Instead, I have to learn these things the hard way. Stupid human body, unequipped with panic buttons. But I guess then I wouldn’t have anything to work on.

So until someone learns how to reprogram my head- I’m just gonna embrace my poor decisions and nutso brain.

ACTIVATE FREAK FLAG

If you know me at all, you know that I’m quite the songstress.

I’m not implying that I have any sort of musical talent whatsover, In fact- I’m a downright horrible singer. But I don’t tend to let that stop me. And why would I? For what I lack in talent I make up for in passion.

As I said yesterday, the last few months have been getting progressively better for me. It’s a hard thing to measure, my level of happiness. Some days are better than others, and I will always be the type of person that gets down every now and then… It’s good for your soul. Overall though, I can tell that I’m a happier person because I’ve been singing more and more lately… Especially the last few days.  And I’m no expert on life, but based on my experience- unless you’re a lunatic, Thom Yorke, or stuck in prison, you usually don’t just go around singing out of sadness.

OK I take that back. I just spent the last 10 minutes thinking of all the people who have made a living singing out of sadness: Morrisey, George Jones, Sam Beam, Ben Gibbard…. but for the point of this post, I MYSELF, don’t usually walk around singing when my heart is full of melancholy… unless it’s for the purpose of making myself more miserable… which I often love to do. It’s therapeutic!

I’ve noticed lately that people don’t always take kindly to my public outbursts of singing, which is disheartening. Sure, it may be a little weird to hear someone bust out in random song and dance in the middle of Bath and Body Works, but there’s no need for rude looks. People need to lighten up a bit. Even children seem to have lost the will to sing.

This weekend, while my sister and I were Christmas shopping- I subconsciously started singing the soundtrack to Doctor Horrible’s Sing Along Blog, which I’m currently in the midst of choreographing .  Just at the moment I realized I was singing out loud, I noticed a young girl- probably around the age of 10- glaring at me. With the rudest face I had ever seen. I laughed, expecting her to laugh back, but she continued glaring. I’m not sure why, but that moment was the most fury I’ve felt in a while.

Life should be more fun. I always feel better when I let loose, and I hate to think that there are children who think people singing is dumb. That little bitch.

A little harsh? Perhaps. But regardless, she ruined my mood.. and I can’t stand when someone puts a damper on chipperness.

A few minutes later I decided to sing again just to annoy her. And you know what? I was happy again.

I’ve been trying to figure out what has caused this sudden rise of “music in my heart.” Perhaps it’s because I recently quit taking Zoloft… which was extremely helpful for a while-but it recently dawned on me that I was tired of not feeling anything. Maybe it’s the holiday season. It could be that I’ve found myself surrounded by awesomeness in the form of mortal human beings… which for a while there- I did my best to remove myself from. Or maybe it’s just because I finally got my ipod back.

I know this is probably the dumbest post I’ve ever written, but I have an extremely cheesy point I would like to make here.

That over cliche saying asking you to “sing like noone can hear you?” It has a point. It feels good. Don’t let yourself get to the point where every little thing annoys you, like I did. Blast that music and sing along. Step outside on your front porch and sing “Oh Holy Night” at the top of your lungs. Sing along to the Muzak version of Celine Dion in the grocery store.

And if someone gives you a mean look? Just sing louder.

Unless you’re incredibly wasted and the person glaring at you is a cop. Then you should probably shut the fuck up.

I know, I know… it’s been a kazillion bajillion years since the last time I uploaded this ole’ blog. For a while there, life got so busy that I completely forgot about it. Then one day I googled myself to try to find an article I had published once upon a time… and my blog was gone. I’m not gonna lie. It freaked me out a bit. I may not have the time to come here very often anymore, but I spent way too much time sharing my deepest darkest thoughts on this site to just let it fade away. Plus I have a horrible memory and I like to have a timeline for this particular time in my life.

And thus, I’ve decided to make yet another effort to keep this site going. I’m sure I’ve long been erased from every rss feed… I’m not sure people even use rss feeds anymore. The internet seems to have changed so much in the last year. WordPress is foreign to me. I had to search through years of emails just to find my password. Words are even different. I no longer understand internet speak. The people of the internet seem to have forgotten how to spell simple words… either that, or I may have gotten old.

One things for sure. 2011 has been the craziest year of my life.

When it started I was in an extremely dark place.  I’ve always considered myself a pretty happy person. Sure, I’m emotional as hell… but I had never before  really felt depression. Long story short, I spent the better part of 6 months working on how to get a grip on my life through various forms of therapy, meditation and yoga. I had fallen back into disordered eating, had anxiety about the things I used to love, and for a while I was convinced I had lost my fire.

Then I lost my job and had to get out of town for the weekend. I took a free improv workshop at the Institution theater here  in Austin, and decided not to leave. I signed up for classes, found a part time job, and found a couple of roommates on Craigslist. That was in May. I still haven’t made it back to Dallas.

I miss my friends. A lot. But to be honest, there is a part of me that doesn’t want to look back, at least not yet. It scares me to think about where I was 6 months ago. I know I’ve grown a lot this last year, and there is no way I’ll fall again that deep… but it still scares me. Plus I’m busy as hell here and I love it.

The last few months have been amazing. I’ve met so many wonderful people in this city and I thank all of you for your encouragement. People are good. I look around and I can’t believe how lucky I am to have so many inspirational people in my life. I could have never adjusted so quickly in a new city if it weren’t for my sister, the Austin Improv Community, and the kind listeners who have reached out to me.

And that being said, I owe a long over due thank you to over a hundred of you friends and readers who wrote  recommendation letters to help me land my dream job. I fully intended to write each of you to thank you, but time got away from me and for that, I apologize. Your letters and made me laugh and cry. I still can’t believe how many of you came through for me.

Moreover, I owe this new found happiness to those of you who supported me through my tough times. I know I haven’t been the best at staying in touch, but there are A LOT of you in the blogging community and old friends who put up with a lot of complaining, venting, and whining from me over the last year. You lifted me up and encouraged me to go for my dreams. I appreciate you. And I’m glad to be back in the living. I LOVE YOU!!!

Don’t get me wrong, I have no qualms with acting a fool in front of strangers. I kind of thrive on those moments. In fact, in awkward situations with strangers, I tend to to start word vomiting up embarrassing and/or inappropriate stories about myself.

It’s a special talent really.

I figure if everyone is feeling as awkward as I am, I might as well make everyone feel a little bit better about themselves by letting them know that hey, at least they aren’t as big as a dumbass as I am. It tends to be a good ice-breaker. It also tends to give off a really awful first impression of myself.

That being said, I’ve realized in the last three weeks, that moving to a new city has really brought out the awkward in me.

I’m used to being the person that brings people together. In my old life, I had different groups of friends all over the metro-plex, who REALLY knew me. I was rarely in situations where I didn’t know anyone.

Here, I only know a few people, and most of those people are new friends and acquaintances, which I am very much  enjoying… but also lends itself for ample awkwardifying situations.

For example.

I recently started taking an improv workshop to brush up and get to know people. Last week, a guy in my class came in with a cast on his arm. I asked him what happened, and before he could reply I went into the story about how I recently fell asleep on my arm after a rough night at SXSW. When I woke up I had no movement in my hand. I did not regain movement in my hand for 2 months and had to undergo weeks of Physical therapy with a therapist that looked exactly like Jake Gyllenhall. Yes. I fell victim to a circumstance commonly known to old-man drunkards as “Saturday night Palsy.”

While a true story, this is not the kind of first impression I should be sharing with people whom I respect and would like to respect me. I have an opportunity here to exist in a world where this didn’t happen, but noooo.. I go and blab my shame-filled stories with could-be friends who will now be weary of sharing a drink with me.

Por Ejemplo numero 2.

Today, I was in a coffee shop chatting it up with a very David Grohl-esque barista. We shared the usual small talk. I’m new to town. He’s in a band. I’m all hopped up on the caffeine, pa and can’t seem to concentrate enough to write. He’s in 2 bands actually. I saw a band last night. What band was that?, he asked.

“Oh just one of my favorite bands in the entire world, Other Lives. It was a kick  ass show. Yeah, they play every instrument in the world. I think at one point they even pulled out a bazooka. I actually don’t know what a bazooka is… maybe it was a trumpet. And then this dude that made cool paintings started talking to me, and all his friends were really cute. I kind of wanted to make out with a guy in the band but that was stupid he was in the band and probably wouldn’t want to make out with me… I’m pretty sure he saw me pick a wedgie… so instead we went and hung out with these other guys. Yeah they were a Daddy’s with daughters meet up group.”

“Oh… hmm.. OK. Well nice meeting you.”

And then I hugged him goodbye.

I HUGGED him goodbye.

As if spewing a nonsensical, snoozefestivus version of my night wasn’t enough, I found it appropriate to two-arm hug a complete stranger.

And that’s not the first time I’ve found myself in the role of Uncle Creepster hug-girl in the last few weeks. No. It’s like I’ve completely lost my sense of barriers with strangers. I’ve found myself reaching out to hug a friend of friend’s mother after run-in at the mall. Rather than shaking hands at the end of an interview, I go in for a big embrace. “Hi homeless person, no I don’t have any money… But I will give you a giant sweaty hug to make you feel better for not having any alcohol. I feel ya bro.”

And every time I’ve been met with the same stiff armed pat on the back.

I don’t know what’s come over me. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m loving being in a new city that makes me want to take every faux-relationship to the next level. Maybe I’ve just been feeling more insecure than usual and am asking the world accept me and love me for my awkward self. Either way, it’s very unlike me. In the past I’ve always had very strict rules about my personal space.

In fact, perhaps it’s time we review these rules and take note.

Hugging:  OK when greeting friends and family, saying goodbye to PEOPLE I KNOW, and meeting celebrities.

Not OK when greeting people I have not known more than five minutes, homeless people, gas station cashiers, sweaty people, or ex-boyfriends whom I dislike.

Shoulder massaging: OK anytime I’m the recipient or if there is a cute boy that I want to impress with my strong manly hands.

Not OK when I’m in the back seat of a cab and I mistakenly think that a massage will pass in lieu of actual payment.

Hand Holding: OK when crossing a busy street, playing Red Rover, on a first date at the movies, walking through a crowded music festival, or comforting an elderly person.

Not OK when I haven’t known you for more than five minutes or after I have had over three drinks under any circumstance.

Gently touching knees: Never appropriate. No. I don’t like it in a car. I don’t like it in a bar. If we’re sitting so close that our knees our lightly brushing against each other- back the eff off. It gives me the oogies.

Gently Tickling the inside of arms: I will never say no to this. Strangers, creepers, bums, hotties- BRING IT ON.

Tickling arm pits: I WILL PUNCH YOUR FACE!

Touching my butt: Only OK if you are boosting me up into a tree or over a fence.

So there.

I’m sure there are more but I will tell you if you’re over crossing any important boundaries. As for me, watch out, yo. My rule-breaking awkward ass is sure to hug you in the near future.

I’m sure all five of  you are just dying to know what the hell I’ve been up to for the past 6 months. I mean, it’s not like I could have spent EVERY SINGLE SECOND of my free time giving myself multiple nerdgasms watching Doctor Who.

Well I probably could have, but then when would I have found the time to watch Firefly? HUH?

So basically, some really shitty stuff that I had no control over happened in my life. When it did, I tried my best to take control over the things that I could. I made it my mission to try to “find myself.” To work out every day. To meditate. To eat healthy. In short, to be perfect.

Until that point, I had always maintained a sort of  “controlled chaos” lifestyle. But I made it my goal in life to change that. I no longer wanted to be the funny girl. I didn’t want to be the person that people told stories about. I didn’t want to be the person that got herself into horrible, ridiculous situations anymore.

The truth is-by trying to calm the chaos in my life, I somehow created the perfect storm.

The harder that I tried to define myself (or find myself)- the further I fell from the things in my life that defined me. The aspects of my life that I had been trying so hard to control, began to control me.

I found myself truly depressed for the first time ever. I quit writing and doing comedy.  I fell back into disordered eating. I withdrew from my friends family… and THAT’s when the obsessive Dr. Who-ing occurred.

The one bright spot in all of this, is that I was able to recognize that I was in a bad place and that I wouldn’t be able to get out of it alone. I’ll go into it more one day when it’s farther in my past, but I will admit that much of my free time the last few months has been spent in therapy, group therapies, support groups and doctor’s offices. It hasn’t been fun, but it has taught me a lot.

When I got laid off 2 weeks ago-  I was sure I was going to plummet even farther into despair. In those first bleak hours, I figured I would lose even more control and that I would spend the rest of my days flying in weird octagons over the cuckoo’s nest. I imagined my parent’s selling everything they owned and putting on benefit concerts trying to raise enough money to give me a lobotomy.

Amazingly enough, the opposite happened. (You can read more about this in my previous post) It could be just temporary, but I honestly feel more like myself the last three weeks than I have in the past eight months. I’ve been sleeping again; albeit odd hours since I’m not currently working normal hours. I’ve been eating again, normally… when I’m hungry and not obsessing over every single thing that I put in my body. I haven’t even worked out except for the occasional walk here and there, and mostly just to get myself to a destination. I’ve found that I can find a balance in the meditating, obsessive yoga aspects my life and the crazy chaotic ones- and that I like it.

Most importantly, I’ve been recognizing that there is still so much that I love about life… and THOSE are the things that define me.

I had a breakdown at the end of my first senior year of college. I had just finished failing algebra for the 4th time, and I was looking at an entire summer of leftover classes and working at the job from hell, literally.

Ironically, the job that the devil built had the clever facade of being a “Christian Costume shop.” Meaning: they played nothing but Christian music, hung up fliers about God all over the store, and rented church groups costumes at a deeply discounted rate. But they didn’t fool me. No sir. From the first day, I could feel the heat in that place.

The owner was one of those men who worked hard to make a good first impression. He would offer a “God Bless you” at the end of a sale and would fake-laugh his way through conversations with elderly women trying on wigs for a Senior Citizens ball;  but anyone who had the terror of working for him knew better.

The first day I was there, he informed me that I had “the handwriting of a five year old” and that “that was a sign of stupidity in women.” The second day he told me that it was inappropriate for me, as a woman, to hold such lengthy conversations with the male customers. The third day, I overheard him call his wife an retarded bitch in his back office. The fourth day I showed up in a jean skirt and he informed me that the vaccum cleaner had broke, and that I would need to get on my knees and pick up every sequin on the floor… IN A COSTUME SHOP. The fifth day, he decided to berate me in front of a customer. He came out and apologized to the customer for me being an idiot, and continued to talk down to me. The customer, a lovely older African American woman, asked to speak to him in private and when she walked proudly out of his office,  she  looked at me and loudly said, “MMM girl. Don’t you ever let any man talk to you that way again. If I was you I’d walk out of here right now. ”

The sixth day, he was extremely angry with me for embarrassing him. I tried to stay out of his way, straightening and re-straightening the costumes on mannequins, and organizing the piles of fake mustaches and prosthetic bloody noses into stacks. I tried hard not to let him see that I was crying when he told me he was surprised I was a college student because I “had to use a calculator to figure out the tax on a tuxedo rental.” Then I realized I was really in trouble when I went to the bathroom and found out, that unfortunately; my womanhood had struck once again at a very inopportune time.

I only lived a few blocks away, maybe a 5 minute drive there and back, but I knew he wouldn’t just let me run home to grab something real quick. So I decided to be honest. I approached him like I would a king or a really mean teacher- with my head down, and simply asked “I am having woman issues, would it be OK if I ran home for a second and changed clothes?”

He looked at me like I had asked him if I could take a body shot off of his man boobs, and said “No. You’re going to have to deal with it. You should have known that was going to happen today, or are you some sort of whore?”

At that point, I could no longer hold back my tears. I made my way to the bathroom and proceeded to have the biggest break-down of my 23 years. I cried audibly, and didn’t care if the customers could hear me. And then, I sat down on the dirty bathroom floor and called my dad. I told him I just couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t spend the summer being talked to like I was an idiot. My dad, being the amazing person that he was- told me to do whatever I felt I needed to.

I didn’t want to walk out and admit defeat; but the truth was- I was broken.

Looking back, it wasn’t just the job. At the time, I was heartbroken that a boy that I had been in love with for four years was now in a serious relationship. I was jealous that so many of my friends had graduated and were taking real jobs, some of them had even already moved away. The end of my college career was close, and I still had no idea what I really wanted to do with my life. So I packed up everything I could fit into my car, and I drove home.

It may sound rash, but it ended up being the best decision I ever made in my life.

The second I got home, I started applying for summer jobs with more tenacity than I had shown in my previous 4 years of college . I didn’t really want to stay at my parent’s house for 3 months, but I only had limited work experience, so I applied to jobs that I knew I could handle. Within a week, I had a handful worth of phone interviews with summer camps.

Unfortunately, I had forgotten that my voice mail was a rap that said – “Hi you’ve called Carissa and she’s not here, she’s probably out studying or drinking some beer, so leave her a message or call her back- but if you don’t then that is whack, wicca wicca wicca.”

Luckily, I eventually landed a summer job teaching dance at a camp in upstate New York, (which is really another story in itself) but it was amazing.

Until recently, I had forgotten how invigorating it could be to take things into my own hands. For so long, I’ve let myself fall into a pattern of “I’ll change things when the time is right.” I thought that it was fine to continue with the same  mundane jobs, the same happy hours, the same nightly patterns of watching Netflix on my computer… I figured that eventually, life would hand me the opportunity that I needed to make things right.

And in a way it did.

When I first found out I was laid off, I was devastated. I bawled until I couldn’t breathe. I concentrated on the fact that I would no longer have health insurance and I wouldn’t be able to see my therapist, AND OH MY GOD HOW AM I GOING TO PAY FOR MY $140 A MONTH YOGA CLASS???

And then I took a step back and realized that life had handed me what I had been asking for for so long. For the first time since my first senior year of college, I wasn’t tied down with a lease, or a boy, or life I didn’t want to walk away from. I was free. So I took it. I packed up my bags, spent a weekend with my wonderful inspirational aunts, and started applying for jobs with a vengeance.

That was 14 days ago.

Today I started my first day at a new job in a new city and I couldn’t be happier. I’ve been doing comedy workshops and RIGHT NOW I’m writing for the first time in 6 months. I’ve been reconnecting with old friends and making new ones.

Long story short, I have no idea where this decision will take me, but I’m nothing but excited. I can’t wait for tomorrow. I freaking love the liberation of being free!