over the rainbow with Alec Baldwin

It's a normal day in Richardson, TX. I'm driving around with my family, and I find myself riding in the backseat next to Alec Baldwin. As if this were the perfectly natural and acceptable thing to do, I lean my head against his shoulder. He puts his arm around me, and leans his head against mine and begins to nuzzle my hair. Suddenly, I'm very aware that my father can see us in the rear view mirror, and mystified, not that it's Alec Baldwin, but that for the second time that day a man nearly twice my age is making advances on me. Earlier that day I was hanging out with Don Draper and he tried to make out with me. These hunky daddy types need to back down!

We pull into the parking lot of Chili Gordos, a family favorite Tex Mex dive, only it's in the location of the Cleaners on the corner of Plano Road and Campbell Road. When did they move? Weird. As we are walking from the car to the restaurant, I notice the sky is an ominous green, and there is a serpentine dark cloud winding it's way down from the gloomy, low hanging clouds. I'm Tornado Alley born and raised, I know that means! I scream for everyone to run into the restaurant, and we watch through the glass front of the restaurant as a fully formed tornado descends upon the parking lot. My instincts kick in as it barrels towards us, ripping a tree down and sending it through the front of the restaurant, shattering the glass and throwing sparks high as it crashes through a electrical wire, and I run, screaming for the others to follow me, into the bathroom in the back of the restaurant which conveniently has no windows, and once I'm inside, no doors? I find myself trapped in a white cube with a tile floor with a mother and her two teenage daughters, yammering about something inconsequential as I feel the entire bathroom/box lifted from the ground. I feel us spinning and soaring through the air for what seems like forever, and all I can think about is how injured we are going to be with the tornado drops us to the ground; I have no idea how high in the air we are. Finally, with me on my hands and knees, the bathroom thunks back to the ground with much less force than I feared.




Then I woke up.


If you're wondering how I'm doing, just ask my subconscious.

Death: The Final Frontier

When I was 19, and still a pre-nursing major, I took a Life Span Psychology class at Quad C. I loved it, it was fascinating, when it came to the time where half the class was puking and the other half was weeping during the childbirth video, I was on Team Tears. I'm always loved children in a way that I consider to be one of my true gifts, I don't have enough patience to finish the instructions to a Sudoku puzzle without getting frustrated, but when it comes to little humans I am infinitely understanding. This gift of mine, in true Libran, balance dominated fashion comes with a price. Old people terrify me. Death, mortality, the decay of mind and body are subjects that I don't deal with well. In the aforementioned class one of our last assignments was to write our own will and plan our own funerals. I couldn't do it. I just didn't turn it in.

I said the words "I'm going to die someday" for the first time in my life last week.

Needless to say, the recent events in my life have thrust me into a wilderness of emotion where I feel completely and utterly lost. I've always considered myself to be a very emotionally intelligent human being, but when it comes to the subject I am a kindergartener. No one is ever ready to lose a dear loved one, but I have been very fortunate in my life to have not had to face a loss of this magnitude in my near 26 years. I made the comparison today that it's like having chicken pox. The younger you get it, the less dangerous it is for you, but as an adult it can be pretty serious and detrimental. Coincidentally and somewhat ironically, I've also never had chickenpox.

So what do I do? Of course, I feel the need to write about it. My actor/artist obsession with the human condition makes me live in a constant state of self evaluation and gives me a strange need for documentation. So here I am. Trying, like I do every so often, to sort out my feelings via blog.

Also, I feel that this is an open letter to everyone that is dear to me, sort of a disclaimer or explanation of sorts. I'm lost right now. It's bleeding into other areas of my life and I feel like I'm walking around with my heart, gaping wide open, on the outside of my body. It's making me rash, destructive, it's making me reactionary and lonely, it's a fight between reclusion and codependency. I'm a mess, it's a mess and I ask for your love, patience, support, prayers, positive energy, juju, whatever it is you have to offer.

Family is the most important thing, it's the most important thing. I'm so lucky to have a large clan, blood related and otherwise. I'm so fortunate, and I love you all. Be well.

SUCK MY COCKTAIL.

Okay, I have to share this. It's too unbelievably ridiculous to not to be shared.

I have reached a real milestone as a server. A rite of passage, if you will.

That's right, I've been Yelp!-ed.

Let's begin with the whole story. I picked up a waitressing shift at Live Bait last Friday as a favor. I admit that I may have not been my most chipper, but I certainly wasn't in any kind of nasty mood. I was going about my business, waiting on my tables with my usual amount of cheer and attentiveness. I'm a pretty spunky gal. And I'm a really good waitress...up to a point. I simply DO NOT tolerate rudeness. So, here's what went down. A rather lumberjack-y looking, readheaded, bearded twentysomething man and his two older companions sat down in my section. I went up to take their order, and already something is off putting to me about this bearded guy, but whatever. Just a general air of arrogance and entitlement. Did I mention he looked like a fat lumberjack? Well, he did.

All sandwiches at Live Bait come with a choice of french fries, coleslaw, or salad ( a question that I have asked approximately 2343.9033 million times in the last year and a half). Paul Bunyan tells me he wants french fries, but he also wants a salad as well. Fine. The lady he's with orders a cup of soup to start, and the third guy orders no appetizer, but chooses salad as his side order for his ENTREE.

I put the order in the computer, and like any waitress with a modicum of common sense, I send out the cup of soup and the gingerman's extra salad first, before the entrees. I glance over a few minutes later, and the man who DID NOT ORDER AN APPETIZER is eating Beardy McGee's salad. I find that weird, but I assume maybe he gave it to him? Whatever. Not my meal, I don't care.

Moments later, I'm standing at the computer, and extra salad guy comes up to me and says, very rudely, "I don't know what happened but I think 'they' gave me salad to my friend".

I sort of just look at him, and reply "well, he didn't order a salad, so why did he eat it?"

"They gave it to him, not to me. Don't you have some kind of system so that they give the food to the right people?"

"We DO have a system, but sometimes people make mistakes. Do you want me to get you another salad? I'm more than happy to get another salad".

"No, don't bother. they're already passed that point in the meal."

At this point, he's being really grumbly and rude. Remember, he sat and watched someone else WHO DIDN'T ORDER A SALAD eat his. He waddles back to his table, and I go clear they appetizer plates and he makes a huffy comment about how they "still are going to need silverware".

OH, THANK YOU, you genius of dining. Thanks for assuming I wasn't going to bring you MORE.

At this point, I'm busy, so I don't get around to filling up their water or checking on them constantly. Not that I'm in any hurry to, when you're rude to me I'm not going to bend over backwards for your 8 dollar tip.

Which, by the way, they stiffed me. Which was to be expected. But in my mind, my dignity is worth way more than kissing your fat ass for 8 dollars, so I'll forgo the tip and take back the power by making you be thirsty for the remainder of your meal. HA! Take that!

Oh, I forgot to mention that as I walked past I heard him growling about how "he used to be a server" blah blah blah. Yeah, I get it. You think you can do my job better than me. If you've been a server before, then you wouldn't come up to me and speak to me like I am devoid of intellect. I went to college, buddy. I'm just working this job to pursue true happiness, unlike you who probably hates chopping down trees for a living.

On the way out, I heard him ask another server, very sweetly to make it seem like he likes me, what my name was, and I immediately knew what was going to happen. He was going to go home, create a Yelp! account because he doesn't already have one, and write something nasty about me because I could tell from the second he sat down that he was that kind of sad and petty person.

And I was right. You can read it all here:

http://www.yelp.com/biz/live-bait-new-york?rpp=40&sort_by=date_desc

Second one down. The most recent one was written by my dear friend, who not only do I wait on frequently, but is one of the most awesome people I know. Defending my honor on Yelp!, now that's friendship.

Some people should not be allowed to eat out. But what do I know? I'm just a waitress.

i want, i need, i can, i will

there's just no question about it.

i want to travel the world. i want to see places that sound alien and impossible to my limited perspective. not just the beautiful and awe inspiring, but the haggard, desperate and ugly. the places that will make me forever grateful to call such a charmed place home, and inspire me to to work to spread such privilege elsewhere.

i want to pet an elephant. to see a blue whale in person. to wrap my arms around a tree older than Jesus Christ. to see dolphins engage atypical social behaviors. to run from a beetle bigger than my fist. to see plants that can swallow insects whole.

i want to fight fervently for a cause that I truly believe in. to see the day in which sexual preference will not mean restriction of liberty. i want to understand how anyone could deny equality to another human being based on sexuality.... but I never, EVER will. I want to live to see the day where there is no need to hide, explain, or edit your choices in matters of love and family.

i want to amaze someone with my ability to love without fear. to have a boyfriend i just don't care that much about. not to be cruel, just to learn. to inspire someone to not shut down, to have them see me as the freshest breath of air. to have someone delight in my insanity and idiosyncrasy. to have someone shake the very roots of my foundation and self image, yet find that I was right all along, but passionately embrace his suggestions.

to create. to fulfill, inspire, connect. to embrace my loss of direction as a happy detour. to take a wrong turn that turns out to be the place I was heading all along. to fuck up royally. to dissemble. recreate. edit, polish, rebuild.

to not feel like an outsider. to feel magical. vibrant. shimmering. absurd. open. loving loving loving loving.

to have my inability to not open myself wholeheartedly -not- be my downfall, but my one true gift. my Excalibur. My wand with the phoenix feather core. my ....whatever it is that sets one apart from the frightened masses.

i want to not give a shit that you might read this and call me a cheese ball. actually, I don't give a shit if you call me a cheese ball. i really don't. I'm special. you're scared.

to shape young lives. to make something of the fact that I understand children better than I do adults. to stop feeling like the only other beings in my world are rushed, hunched over, unhappy creatures that just fill the time between diaper and death with a 9-5 safety net.

to feel like i'm doing it all right and all wrong, all at the same amazing, confusing, enlightening time.

that's not too much to ask, now, is it?

the blame game

I feel like I was blessed with a natural sense of diplomacy. Maybe it's because I'm a libra, maybe it's the way I was brought up, maybe it's just the way I am. But I honestly feel like there are very few instances in life where I'm too close to a situation to fairly see all sides. It's both a blessing in a curse, as I frequently am the devil's advocate, or negotiate against myself. And sometimes, it's downright maddening.

I take full ownership for my actions. I don't excuse myself. But when I'm faced with a situation where someone is adamantly blind to their own hypocrisy, it's frustrating. I would never, ever revoke a person's right to react to whatever life hands them however they see fit, but the must do it with at least the acknowledgment that we are all to blame, and no one's to blame at the same time.

The bottom line is this. We're all shitty, and we all do shitty things when we're lonely. the only thing that makes us less shitty is the ability to understand why other people do shitty things. And the patience and humanity to understand. We all just want to get by, and we all do whatever we have to do to survive, but as soon as someone else's actions to do just that impede on our own sense of pride or ownership, or territory, or whatever it is, we get offended. or hurt. or take a head first plunge into martyrdom. and we become blind to the fact that all we have is now, this moment. this relationship. this love, this life. whoever and wherever we were a month ago, a year ago, this morning... those moments are not where we live. they make us who we are, but we should not dwell, only absorb, adapt, and move forward. and learn to let go, let love, let live. and end the end, hopefully we'll all end up happier and better than we were a month ago, a year go, this morning.

tenacity, grace, and diplomacy...open heart, open mind. Maybe it's the wine, but I feel like with these handy tools in my pocket, there's no way I won't get what i want out of life. Or at the very least, what I need to get by.

give love to make more, try to stay alive

find the joy find the joy find the joy find the joy.

I'm trying to rise above the 13 days straight I'm in the middle of working (in an industry that has a flagrant disregard for labor laws i.e. things like breaks and overtime), my knees and feet are giving up due to standing in high heels for 6 hours at a time, the weather is absolute shit, and I just ate Mexican food made by Chinese people. I feel like someone has literally beaten me, physically and emotionally.

All of that being said, my sister is getting married and that is infinitely joyous and certainly has brought a great deal of light to this weekend. There is absolutely nothing more amazing or important than two people that are in love enough to make that kind of promise to each other. I'm deliriously happy for them, and despite my own personal doubt that I'm capable of an functional relationship I have unending faith in them. They deserve the best, and they've found it in each other. I wish I was closer to their joy, because I feel pretty far from it up here in Asstoria.

There is a purpose to this rant beyond mere bitching. I'm getting there, I promise. I know that I've absolutely chosen every bit of my current state. I chose to live in New York, I chose to get a second job, I chose to put myself in the crosshairs of emotional destruction. I think I wouldn't have it any other way, for many reasons, not least of all this:

and we've reached the actual story I wanted to tell. Today, after I went in (on my one day off) to train behind the bar (without pay) I was riding the train home. It was slow at the restaurant, so I spent most of the day playing Taboo with the other bartender's boyfriends. One of his clues was "New Yorkers use these so they won't have to talk to anyone" and I instantly shouted "headphones!" Oh, too true. I was sitting on the train with my face buried in Vonnegut and Rilo Kiley blasting in my ears (aren't I so cool? meeehhh) and generally avoiding human contact (such is the way of the NYC commuter... and interesting concept on a packed train car) when the group of guys came on who always sing gospel in four part harmony walked on. I'm not gonna lie, I usually like these guys and other subway musicians, even though I admit to often being way too hungover for early morning N train mariachi music. About 50 percent of the time I reach into my pocket to crank up the volume on my own music and act too involved in my book to make eye contact so I don't have to feel artist's guilt when I don't tip them. But today, I glanced up as the guys began to sing and noticed the little girl across from me, she was probably about 8 years old. She was sitting with her parents, and when they started to sing she got the biggest smile on her face and looked at her parents with such awe. I couldn't help it, she was just so delighted that -I- became also so delighted and I took out my headphones and fished a dollar out of my wallet. She literally brightened my entire day.

There it is, that sneaky joy. It's not that hard to find, really. I guess. particularly when stop hiding from connecting with one another.

it's not all for nothing.

walking in a wonderous winterland

Somewhere between the front steps of a trendy gay bar and a small apartment in Astoria, something almost mystical transpired.

She pushed open the obscenely heavy door and took in the street before her. Between the tiny Asian drag queen picking a fight with the bouncer and the snow blowing sideways all she could muster was “Goddamnit.”

Up went the fur lined hood and the fierce city girl defenses. Dodging sideways looks and unctuous comments she made her way for the subway after weighing the financial consequences of a cab ride.

An untimely full bladder prompted a desperate stop into a McDonald’s populated by a 2:45 am crowd of late night snackers, snow beaten evangelists and wayward midtown spirits. Once relieved, she faced the next challenge: how long would it take for the N(ever) train to arrive?

Fortune strikes and she waits less than two minutes for her train home. She boards, and feels the mood of the exhausted straphangers around her. Once one the other side of East River she digs out her gloves, ties back her hair and dons her hood once again, ready to face the miserable 7 minute schlep through the tundra to her modest apartment.

Then, it happens. She can’t help it. The perfect one inch layer of powder on the streets is…. Lovely. The month old piles of melted and refrozen, melted and refrozen dirty snow are coated by a frosty layer of fresh snow. The sounds of the neighborhood are muffled to a peaceful near silence.

Halfway through the 7 block trek she realized her pace has slowed to a crawl. She stops at an intersection and gazes up the quiet street. She looks behind her, and is taken aback by how tiny the footprints she’s left behind her are.

As she turns on her street, she stops completely when she realizes that the only tracks on the street are hers, and, just for a moment, in a city of nine million people, she feels like a pioneer, like the first person ever to set foot on this path. She looks up at the sky, and remembers: She loves the snow. She always has. And she realizes, that this is all there is; these moments when we drop our emotional armor and find the beauty in what we have come to only know as inconvenience. And for a brief moment, it didn’t matter any more; who she was supposed to be, who she would ultimately become. It was just …. White, quiet and beautiful.