Shmesolutions

And so 2007 begins. It has taken all of my strength not to crawl under my desk and die today. I thought that this whole, "fly back in the morning, go straight to work" thing was an excellent plan. What I didn't factor in was the fact that I was going to feel like baked asshole for pretty much the entire day yesterday (and the fact that I've pretty much been on a drink, sleep, eat chocolate bender for the past week and a half). New Years Eve pretty much kicked my ass upside down and sideways. I fell off a barstool. That's how hard it kicked my ass. I decided to fight with gravity and gravity won (as it usually does).

Anyway at some point after the two pitchers of sangria and before I told one boy that he had to give me his mardi gras beads and another that I hoped he died a miserable death in the next fifteen minutes (I was trying to talk to Christine via cellphone! Do not try to have conversations with me when I am on my cellphone, particularly when I'm talking to Teeny-pants) there were jell-o shots.

A LOT of Jell-o shots.

We decided during the sangria and tapas (aka respectable) part of the evening that the best bet for the less-respectable part of the evening would be a fun lil divey bar in Adams Morgan (or Ad Mo, as I have just decided I'm going to call it...see also: North Fruit Loop) called Millie and Al's. Millie and Al's is my favorite bar in DC for one simple reason: $1 Jell-o Shots. The only thing better? Free jell-o shots.

This plan was cememnted when we realized that Millie and Al's had no cover. NO COVER! On New Years! Someone wants me to be happy! About 15 seconds after we had staked our claim on a fine piece of bar real estate the $1 jell-o shots light went on. I dropped a Jackson and we were on our way.

20 jell-o shots. 3 girls. Happy New Years to us.

C, because she is by far the most Suzy High-school of the thrio of us decided that for every shot we had to make a resolution. Here are mine (although I think the tally was up to 9 shots by the end of the night I think we got Courtney drunk enough that she stopped hounding us about it so we only made half a dozen or so).

1- Have a successful, healthy romantic relationship that lasts a substantial amount of time (although, that's asking a lot of me and the men of Chicago...I think that on NYE I said a month, I'm scaling that back to 2 weeks. Baby steps, people).

2- Have some mindblowingly good sex that ALSO makes me forget the english language (apparently these things are mutually exclusive)

3- Get an acting job. Any acting job (that doesn't require me to take off my clothes).

4- Learn to accept compliments instead of argue with them

5- Buy Pants. Really good pants. Mindblowing pants.

6- Stop dwelling on Matt Demos (oh wait...)

7- Solve all of C's problems by sleeping with the cute kid in her grad program, thus breaking up him and his girl friend and allowing Courtney to swoop in and be his new lovah.

8- World Peace.

Happy 2007. May you only write 2006 on all documents until mid-March.

Whoops

It is 3:06 in the morning, central standard time. I have not slept since last night when I managed to squeek in a few hours of shut eye between being shit-faced drunk with my bosses and faxing, messengering, and answering phones for my bosses. I am beyond tired right now. All I want to do is sleep. For a solid 8 hours, maybe even 10. I haven't gotten 8 hours of sleep (in a row) since last Thursday night (I think, although, I can't really remember that far back. Apparently drinking your birth weight in vodka and cranberry kills all of your short term memory). The reason I am still awake is that in 4 hours I'm boarding a plane for sweet, sweet Maryland. Land of crabcakes, football, hot cousins, people I still refer to as sophomores even though they're graduating from college this year, my family, a vast majority of my friends, 7/8ths of my wardrobe including a pair of boots I've wanted to wear at least three times since I've been in Chicago, Christmas, relaxation, uhhhh, other stuff too, I guess (did I mention that I am drunk right now? this is my first -- of what I'm sure will be many-- drunk blog, eat it up. yum).

Anyway, I'm trying to keep myself awake, except that my godmother and her bf are asleep like normal people so I can't play the music or watch the television I'm left with the internet, which should be fine except for the fact that I spend all day every day on the internet, and I think I've kind of run out of things to look at.

The upside is that my cab is coming at 5, it is now 3:14 and I still have to change my clothes (I decided against wearing my slutty going out clothes on the plane, much to all of the other passengers' chagrin I'm sure) so, I really only have like an hour of this inanity left. In fact, I could push up my cab to 4:30 so I'll have an extra 30 minutes of play time in the airport. Play time meaning that I can sleep there because it'll be someone else's job to make sure I'm awake in time to catch the plane.

Other fun things about my travels in the coming hours: I'm using my brand new uber-WASPy Vera Bradley duffle for the first time. I feel like it should come with some tennis whites and trust fund, but sadly it does not. It does have a handy side pocket for things like my wallet and cell phone.

I will be wearing Navy Blue, and black, and brown in my traveling ensemble. Wait, wait, let me explain: I have this amazing hoodie from the Gap that's extra long with a 2-way zipper and is just the best thing ever, so I want to wear it. Then, because it's going to be forty-effin-six degrees the entire time I'm home I decided against bringing my winter coat, opting instead for one of my other favorite pieces of clothing, my navy blue Gap down vest. I wear it as much as humanly possible. It may have been the best thing that came out of visiting Courtney the week before I moved to Chicago (kidding, the best thing about that weekend was Daniel Vosavic, obvi). And, my favorite shoes to travel in for a myriad of reasons, boiling down to -- they're comfortable and are easy to get on and off for those pesky check in things are my black chucks. So there you have it. The fashionable women of yore are turning over in their graves at the thought of such an atrosity, but its 5 am and I regret not putting more thought into making sure that my 3 most favorite pieces of clothing all matched each other.

Also, I still don't really know what's gonna happen when I land in Maryland. I mean, I know I'll be there but beyond that I'm not sure what the plan is. Right now I'm taking the MARC train into DC but who knows at this point. Maybe I'll just spend Christmas at BWI. Its a nice airport, small, but with a fair number of Hudson News Stands and coffee marts.

Does anyone want to hang out with me on Boxing Day? It is the only day in the entire week after Christmas that I have nothing planned. Which means I should spend it packing and bonding with the siblings I now only see three to four times a year, but instead I'll probably sleep until 3 and then watch West Wing on the couch until someone puts some food in front of me.

I just had to save this post to Microsoft word because I'm having issues with my wireless connection, and I know somewhere in the far-away bit of my mind that this blog is probably the best thing I have ever written and if it gets deleted because of some trick of the internet gods' I will be very, very sad.

All I want for Christmas is to not have to climb the 400 stairs at the Woodley Park Zoo- Adams Morgan metro stop on New Years. There is only one person who can make this happen. Her name rhymes with Yourtney Cates.

Hahaha, the alarm I set back at 8:30 when I thought I was going to be drinking the entire night just went off. Yeah, I was back in my house by 12:30. How did I screw this up? I was supposed to have a crazy effin' night of partying. Oh yeah, I know how...uhh, my bffaeae skipped out to go to bed because she has "work" tomorrow (by which of course I mean today) and there were no suitable men at any of the bars we went to this evening and the boy that I am blindly chasing decided he was going to home after a 15 hour work day. Which is fine, I guess. However, someone should make it known to boys that it is much, much harder for girls to be cute and flirty and fun if you go home at midnight. Come on now.

Silver lining? I spent no money tonight. Not a dime and I am drunk (I may have mentioned that). That is a sucessful evening.

Okay, we've passed the 3:30 mark which means its time to change, call the cab company, straighten up my room and figure out where I put my purse when i walked in a few hours ago.

Thanks for coming on this magical holiday journey with me.

Happy Holidays.

What did I do with those ruby slippers?

I want to go home. To Maryland. I want to sleep on my uncomfortable twin bed in my closet-sized bedroom. I want wear all my clothes from High School that I just can't bear to throw away. I want to have nothing to do. I want to make my friends come pick me up like I did for them back in High School. I want to wake up to notes written by my Mom on the backs of envelopes in red felt-tip pen reminding us to empty the dishwasher and feed the cats. I want to spend absurd amounts of time on the couch watching movies with Buffy asleep on my stomach. I want to fall asleep reading The Wolves of Willoughby Chase and all my other favorite books from childhood. I want to be close to everyone, an hour away close. I want to go to the Met, to Velvet Lounge, Market Street Cafe. I want to fight with my siblings. In person. I want to debate going back to my high school and then decide I'm not that much of a dork. I want to debate going to Dee's then decide its not worth the muscle strain from all the fake-smiling. I want to use dial up internet.

Okay, not so much that last one. But, I'm getting that homesick feeling I get when I know I'm about to go home. I really do like Chicago and there is some fun stuff coming up in the next week and a half (Circus class! Office Christmas Party! Improv show! Bears Game!) and I do have other stuff going on to pass the time (full time office work! The quest for the perfect pair of New Year's shoes!) but it doesn't matter. Even though I know that after 48 hours in Maryland I'm going to want to strangle everyone in my family and wish that I was anywhere BUT home, I still wish I was home now.

As I've gotten older its gotten harder and harder to plan going home and its started to feel less like a vacation and more like a contest to see how many people I can manage to see in the space of 7 days. I keep moving things around, making plans, canceling plans, telling my mom she's coming to pick me up at BWI, deciding that it would be better to just take the MARC train, mentally packing my carry on, hoping that my bag is small enough to carry on, trying to figure out how I'm getting all my presents home, attempting to plan a party with my brother, having an internal moral dilema about drinking with my brother and all of his underage friends...

I'm weary. I just want to go home.

Someone out there is a dream-reader

I'm a little behind, I know, but I just discovered that George Clooney and John Krasinski are doing a movie together. Buh! My two lobsters sharing a movie screen! The only thing that could make this movie any more dream-ier is if they cast Michael Vartan in it too. If that happened...I just...like...my mind just exploded thinking about the sheer hotness that would radiate. I seriously think that if they put that trio together the sun would just give up. The sun would be like, "You got Clooney, Jim and Michael Vartan? Eff that, I'm out!" The only thing left to do is put a hit out on Renee Zell-sucks-at-life and drug the casting director so he'll hire me in her place.

Other things that need to be discussed (while I have your attention), are my on-going issues with Studio 60. I really (really) want to like this show but I really (really) think they need to 86 Harriet. Stat. As someone who loves nothing more than a boy shoving her up against a wall sticking his tongue down her throat, particularly at inopportune/suprising moments (ie backstage), the fact that Harriet could not pull it together on National-frickin'-live television shows how useless she really is. I mean, come on! I get that we have to show the imbeciles still watching this show (Oh yeah, ps, Thanks Aaron Sorkin for writing as though the people who really want your show to succeed (so are still watching it) are retar-tars. We really appreciate it!) that Harriet is shocked (shocked! I tell you) that her ex-boyfriend who is seething with jealousy would do such a crazy thing as kiss her...but she's a professional and she's allegedly got some comedic/improvisational background and so should be quite good at not being a stupid, flighty girl. Let's be real here.

Though, in an effort of full disclosure, I did get a little misty eyed at the whole New Orleans musicians thing. You can't do a rendition of "O Holy Night", particularly a jazz one, with such kitchy-sad story line, that isn't going to make me just a wee bit weepy. You win that one Sorkin, and the one where Josh (rather creepily) tells Jordan that he is "coming after" her and then tells her to chew her sandwich, just because, a mouth full of food is kind of always funny. But thats it! No more playing on the fact that I love sad Christmas Carols and secretly want a boy to tell me to get ready to fall in love with him.

So now I'm going to spend the rest of the day pretending that instead of Josh it was Jim-from-the-Office (much easier to pronouce than his real name) giving that speech and the girl with the sandwich wasn't so much Jordan as it was me. Guh. He is so my lobster.

Of course...

This might be the most unflattering picture of all time. I'm tall and gorgeous. Don't these quiz people know that?

Smart, sexy, and sassy, both the press and other staffers know not to mess with Claudia Jean. A natural at her job, the press secretary is sensitive toward women's issues and stands up for 'the Sisterhood.' Her wit and one-liners along with her lip synching ability are known across the land.


:: Which West Wing character are you? ::

wa-hoo!

For awhile I thought I wasn't going to make it. The third week there, it was rough going for awhile. If it hadn't been for the Friday after Thanksgiving where I punched out somewhere between 9,000 and 10,000 words, I have no idea what would have happened.

This year was much harder because there was a lot more going on in life. Instead of temping, which is basically paid writing time, I'm actually doing real work and spending big chunks of time away from my computer. It was also hard because I think I picked a subject I wasn't really ready to write about. There are parts of the novel that I really love and think could really go somewhere. But it tore at my soul putting some events in there. This is especially true with the scene that I stopped in the middle of writing as I hit 50,000 words. I don't really know if I can finish writing. I know its good to get it out there but it hurts all the same.

Whatevers. I'm done. Doooone. Woot. Its good to be me.

Big fat congrats go out to my fellow NaNoers.
Olga, Liz (the girl from my cicus class), Kaylie (the daughter of a friend of Kevin's who is 14!!! and doing this) and of course, my number one writing buddy - Miss Courtney. I couldn't have done it without you, Boo.

Who's ready for 2007?

Dear Santa,

In case anyone is having some difficulty coming up with christmas present ideas for little old me. This should do it.

Shennanigans at the Rest Home

This post requires visual proof, because you will not believe all the events that transpired on what was supposed to be a sleepy, Sunday dinner with friends. I don't have pictures yet...when I do, be sure that I will post them. Just so you, dear reader, will have irrefutable proof that this actually happened (it happened to me and I'm having trouble believing it).

Some backstory: For the past month and half I've been living with my super cool godmother (A) and her super cool boyfriend (K). They're your average middle-age hippy-dippy artsy-fartsy types. They drink lots of wine, recycle all their old jars, buy organic, their house is covered in art and books. They're the kind of people I want to grow up to be someday. Their friends are the same sort of people.

Sunday evening A,K, and I were invited to eat "beef and cruicferious vegtables" (I told you they were kinda weird) at their friends C&C's home. When we got to C&Cs' house I was not particularly suprised to discover that the 7 of us (A,K, C&C, A&P and me -- initals used to protect the not-so-innocent) would be dining at a ping pong table with an indian print table cloth throw on top of it. Because, in the past month, I've kind of stopped being suprised by how different some people my parents age are from my parents.

We eat shrimp, and various things dipped in hummus and go through a few bottles of wine before we sit down to dinner. Dinner is quite a delicious affair, beef and salad, and promised cruciferious veggies, with garlic bread and perhaps other yummy things I don't remember because not only were we eating we were continuing to drink wine. So! Full of yummy food and several sheets to the proverbial wind, we come around to the fact that we're eating at the ping pong table. How entertaining and avante guard of us! And for some reason (read: I'm drunk) I say something along the lines of,

"Yea, I've only ever played beer pong at a ping pong table."

None of the other people (having not gone to college in the past fifteen years) have ever heard of the game of beer pong. Which means I have to explain it. And I have to explain that there are geographical standards and practices. That rules change depending on which college campus you're playing on. The elders are facinated. So, for some reason (read: I'm still drunk) I go on to explain flip cup to them. And Canoe races. At this point I am bright pink with embarrasement (I mean, have you ever explained to a bunch of people, including the woman in charge of your spiritual guidance, the "bitches blow" rule?)

So, the plates are cleared and we've eaten dessert and are hanging out drinking coffee when someone (I swear to God, it totally wasn't me) has decided that they want to play this new fangled game of "beer pong."

"Well, you need red solo cups and cheap beer."
"We have those."

So this is how, at 10:20 last night I was setting up red solo cups, filling them with Old Style (C had suggested Heinekin and I had to explain to her that Heiniken is way to classy for a game of beer pong) and telling K that he was going to be on C's team, P had already dibbed me, even though I suck at beer pong (this is true, I'm horrible at it. I'm dynomite at flip cup though). What came next was the surrelist game of beer pong in the history of my entire life (perhaps the entire universe).

Its three people who were alive when JFK was shot and me playing "Chicago Style" (their phrase, not mine) beer pong while all of their significant others stood around watching (if they weren't in the living room watching Boston Legal or you know, cashing in social security). Go ahead and picture that. No seriously, shut your eyes and imagine playing beer pong with a bunch of your parents' friends.

It was a close game, P and I lost. Then, because I made fun of him, C chucked a ping pong ball at my nose. That's right. Threaten a guy's manhood and he will get violent. At any age.

I'm waiting for someone (anyone?!) to e-mail me pictures. Which I will then post. Because you really need to see this to believe it.

Thanksgiving day gloat

Here is what I am currently thankful for:

The current weather forecast for Middletown, MD: Cloudy with few showers. 45 degrees Fahrenheit. Feels like 39 degrees.

The current weather forecast for Chicago, IL: Partly cloudy with a 10% chance of precipitation. 57 degrees Fahrenheit. Feels like 54 degrees.

Hahahaha. Suckahs.

Mail bag

Dear Sarah Paulson,

Please stop being on Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. You're ruining everything. I'm sure you're a super nice person and a great actress but you are distroying this show. So please, just stop.

Love and Kisses,
Rachel

Biannual PSA

Alrighty bitches, you know what day it is. It is voting day. If you haven't already done it (which I have, thankyou) go out and get your vote on. A wise woman once told me that you are statistically more likely to get laid if you vote. I don't know if this is actually true, but you're more likely to have a government that:

a) says you can love/marry anyone you like
b) gives you the right to do with your body what you think is right
c) won't make you go to war against your will

Think about it people, in the wise words of one Miss CJ Cregg, "decisions are made by those who show up. You gotta rock the vote." (okay, its possible someone else said this before her, but she's who I remember saying it). Its just that simple, if you don't vote, you can only blame yourself if something doesn't go the way you want it to in the federal, state or local government. And this being a mid-term election, most people don't think it is as important, but people it is just as, if not MORE, important to vote in this one because if you know anything about government, you know that technically the legislative branch (aka Congress) is the one with all the power. Tragically, in the past few years it has appeared that the executive branch has been the one making all the decisions, and really...its kinda true, so, fix it! Make the House and the Senate the ones with the speaking power so that in TWO years (not next year like some people coughcoughJohnGrandicoughcough think) we can fix the Presidency too.

Thus endth the lecture.

Go vote.

Do it.

Now.

101 in 1001 Update

I am very much regretting not dating the completion of things. But I'll try to go back and put dates in where I can.
1. Finish reading Long Walk to Freedom June 27, 2006
2. Join a union (not super picky at this point which one)
3. Have a healthy romantic relationship that lasts a substantial amount of time (at least a month)
4. Have photographs published July 17, 2005 I should have been more specific regarding whether they were pictures of me or pictures I took, but we're on a deadline here.
5. Get a mac
6. Live in an apartment for more than 12 months September 2005. 46 Underhill. Good times.
7. Go to Vegas
8. Go to at least 2 more foreign countries (repeats don’t count)
9. Graduate from college June 1, 2006
10. See a dermatologist Feb 27, 2006 Best choice I ever made.
11. Go to a Yankee game
12. Go to at least three concerts
13. Sing kareoke in a bar November 11, 2006
14. Get my second tattoo
15. Finish reading all of Margaret Atwood’s books. She needs to stop writing books if this is ever gonna get done!
16. Dance on a bar October 1, 2006. Thanks Rose and Crown for that delightful send off!
17. Start paying my school loans
18. Go to LA
19. Go to Chicago April 21, 2006
20. Learn to cook at least one decent grown up meal I make a mean Chicken Parm, with penne and wild greens.
21. Host a dinner party
22. Stand up to a guy and tell him how it is (I did this once, but I think I need practice)
23. Do another show at the Maryland Ensemble Theatre
24. Find a new agent
25. Buy a black blazer
26. Get new head shots
27. Go see a taping of "The Daily Show"
28. Get another piercing
29. Learn to hem my own pants
30. See myself in a feature film (not necessarily on a big screen because just because I’m in it doesn’t mean I’ll drop $10 to see it)
31. Get the zipper on my green bag fixed
32. Fill my ipod October 28, 2006
33. Buy a real bed
34. Go to a WNBA game
35. Do more community service work
36. Help Cougar throw that yard sale we’ve been talking about for years. May 20, 2006
37. Go white water rafting again
38. Lose 15 pounds (and keep it off)
39. Learn to make a classy cocktail
40. Have that photo-picnic in the park I’ve been wanting for years
41. Stand on a Broadway stage
42. Clean out my mom’s attic
43. Buy a bookshelf
44. Organize all my photographs
45. Visit Nantucket and hang out with people my own age who aren’t related to me Summer 2006.
46. Get digital Webshots pictures printed
47. See myself on TV again (and try not to look like a dimwit with poor posture)
48. Re-master my right split, attempt to master my left split
49. Take another trapeze class
50. Drive across the country
51. Go to South Africa again
52. Do at least one dance audition with confidence
53. Get an internship at a theatre company
54. Live somewhere other than New York or Maryland/D.C. Nantucket, 2006.
55. Go to the Village Halloween parade This is half done. I walked through it and realized that wow! Crazy Pants! and walked out again.
56. Use that gift certificate for free dinner for 4 for that Italian restaurant in Bethesda
57. Get highlights
58. Get a hair cut I can manage and don’t hate.
59. Get a bikini wax
60. See way, way, way more theatre including "Ave. Q", and "Lion King"
61. Find a really great hat that looks great on me that I can rock any time
62. Send away something I’ve written
63. Learn to play poker
64. Either get a new remote or a new TV and figure out how to hook up my dvd player and my cable box
65. Wear my gorgeous green dress a whole bunch of times Maggie's wedding, New Years, Granny's 75th Bday, Dad's 50th bday. Mom's 50th bday Love it!
66. Tone my arm muscles
67. Watch all of Roman Holiday without falling asleep
68. Whiten my teeth
69. Go to Prospect Park while I still live in Brooklyn
70. Learn what all the abbreviations in baseball mean
71. Become a decent New York City tour guide
72. Go to the dive bar down the street from my apartment, Soda March 24, 2006
73. Start playing soccer again (even if it’s only pick-up games)
74. Do something wonderful for my parents (both of them. But separately)
75. Get rid of all the gift cards that are hanging out in my wallet (by spending them)
76. Have at least one non-miserable Valentine’s Day
77. Wear that kinda crazy beaded shirt with the fairy on it out at least once
78. Donate Blood
79. Join a gym
80. Take swing/ballroom dance classes
81. Bet on the ponies
82. Have an incredibly fabulous 21st birthday thanks to all of my friends. It was a month long celebration of Awesomeness.
83. Have someone teach me the finer points of football
84. Go to Gillette Castle, we went when I was little but I don’t have a visual memory of it.
85. Buy a beautiful and expensive piece of jewelry that I am in love with
86. Climb the Washington Monument, the Statue of Liberty and the Sears tower (read: get over my fear of heights)
87. Live in a bedroom that I have painted
88. Be scandalous in a bar
89. Continue to be scandalous on New Year’s Eve
90. Get a subscription to a grown-up magazine (read: not Cosmo) October 2006, Dad got me a subscription to the New Yorker
91. Get back in touch with my pen-pal Jessie
92. Make enough money to survive doing only what I love (read: not temping/waitressing/working retail at least for like a month or so)
93. See every Oscar Best Movie nominee in a year (before the awards show)
94. Flit off to some place tropical for a weekend November 16, 2005
95. Take enough dance classes to warrant buying new shoes
96. Buy a stereo (or just any kind of cd player that isn’t also my laptop or my dvd player)
97. Find a print of the Dali painting I saw at the Elsa Schiaparelli exhibit
98. Have more male friends who aren’t gay
99. Take an improv class or join an improv group UCB-style. And Cornbread. Ahhh-may-zing.
100. Buy one pair of really awesome jeans that look amazing, are the right length and I can breathe in (the last one isn’t a deal breaker)
101. Get my pink shoes fixed

A Chicago Update, Or Why Reading The Historian was a bad idea...

I am still in Chicago. It is still cold sometimes. Though sometimes it is actually quite warm, in fact, I ran around on Saturday in flip flops. Well, technically, I did not run. I kind of meandered slowly to and from brunch trying not to move my head around too much as I was still recouperating from the previous night's shennanigans...

A Back Story:

I am fairly apathetic when it comes to vampires and vampire lore. I never read Dracula or a single Anne Rice book, I never saw any of the movies, I think I've only ever put in those fake teeth once...

I bought The Historian because it was on sale for $7.99 in hardback at Borders and a great deal of people had told me it was an excellent book. I think I had some idea in the back of my mind that it was about Dracula but I was mostly focused on how it was supposed to be good and I needed a new book to read.

Fast forward to the past week where I have been racing through The Historian like a monster (it helps that I have no job, no friends and no real responsibilites to speak of). I started having the craziest dreams. None of them were nightmares about vampires or really had anything to do with the undead at all, but I found corellations between the dreams and things that were happening in the book. Example: Many of the places that they visit are large castles/monestaries that are near large bodies of water. I started having dreams about large bodies of water and walking around in huge buildings (ie castles) and they didn't so much scare me as totally freak me out. I am really enjoying the book and learning all this fun new stuff.

Jump to Friday when I am going out with a friend from NYC, E and all of her new PhD buddies. We start drinking at like 5 which, I am now realizing wasn't the greatest idea ever. But we needed to catch up, and by catch up I mean get really drunk with each other and retell all our favorite scandalous South Africa stories (and between the two of us, there are a bunch). We drink at a resturant, then at a bar, then we end up at this club that looks and feels like a Midwestern rip off of a tres-trendy bar in NYC, both named Apartment (well, technically in NYC its called Apt. but whatever). So we're drunk and dancing and generally having a great time and E starts dancing with a guy and wanders off with him. Her friend comes up and asks where she is and I say, "Oh [E]? I think she ran off with a vampire."

Yea, it kinda just came out like that and I spent the rest of the night very sure that this kid was a vampire. Not joking, I actually was dead serious that this kid (who was Eastern European and had a dark sinister look to him) was a real actual vampire. This deep seated belief in me probably had something to do with the 7 or so beers I'd had that evening; but it was still there.

And so THEN! (Yea, there's more. Sorry, this story is totally for Courtney, who could have just gotten it in an e-mail, but its pretty hysterically ridiculous, I figured I should share it with the general public) last night A and K, my guardians/landlords throw a dinner party and they and all their approaching-middle-age-ish friends get trashed. So I join in and we're running through bottles of wine like they're water and we're in the Sahara and someone holds up a bottle and the first thing that comes to my mind is, "Thats vampire wine." I manage to keep the thought to myself (but just barely) but can not stop staring at the label and I'm thinking, "Seriously, that is vampire wine."

And so we're gonna see how long this vampire trend lasts...and fyi, the ending of the book? So very, very disappointing. Also, my godmother and I are all wrapped up in the fact that Elizabeth Kostova is way, way, way too pretty to be a librarian.

Anyway. My first week and a half in Chicago have been a success. I have a job that starts in early November teaching dance, theatre and gymnastics to 1-8th graders and if you know anything about me, you know this is one of the most perfect jobs for me ever. Tragically it's only about 6 hours a week and so I do need a second job for which I am "searching" (I really am, but it doesn't actually feel like work since I don't get up until 11:30 and I do it in my pajamas). Now that I can use the internet in my house (sometimes, right now it's kind of being a bitch) I don't even really have a reason to get out of my pajamas ever for awhile I was going to the public library, and for that I felt I should put on some pants, if only because vampires are way more likely to come after you if you live in your pajamas.

rainy day sunshine

Chicago is cold. It is cold cold cold. Now that I have accepted this I can move onto other things. The starting is slow here. Today was my first actual day that didn't feel like a vacation. It was as productive as one can expect with my affinity towards procrastination.

I am maybe-sorta-probably enrolled in the coolest sounding acting class ever.

I have two potential improv classes that I'm waiting to hear back from before I sign up.

I have a job application from the 'Bucks... my reasoning for such a low-esteemed job being as follows: health insurance, flexable schedule, health insurance, close to my house, health insurance, free coffee, health insurance, v. little thinking involved, and health insurance.

Tragically none of my acting classes will start before the end of the month (unless I end up in one of the improv classes that starts this week, in which case I will have really jumpstarted things).

I still need to find a headshot photographer, but Annie and Kevin say they have a guy who will do it well and for cheap which is nice because neither food nor acting classes grow on trees aparently.

I already miss living with people my own age, although I'm sure this will change once I get out there and make friends. There's a concert tonight, one of my new favs is singing and yet, I'm probably not gonna go, simply because the codependent in me can not imagine what one does when they go to a show by themeselves.

I'm getting impatient, simply because thats one of my habits, but I've done okay for one day...Also, the mere idea of taking a circus class is gonna keep me feeling warm and snuggly until I actually get to take it.

Sweet Home Chicago

Okay, I'm officially (well, as officially as I'll ever be) a resident of the fine city of Chicago. I have a bedroom, housemates (my godmother and her boyfriend, both supercool) and 3 cats (Squid, Agnes and Miller). I have two tentative dates with the closest thing to friends I have in the city. So far I've found dill pickle potato chips and diet Cherry Coke in a 20 oz bottle, plus a winter coat, boots, and a really great thrift store. On my first morning it snowed and hailed as a little test to see if I would run screaming back into the warm embrace of Maryland. But nope...I'm a little stronger than that.

I Hate Moving, part 34573458

I am *giant exhale of relief* done packing for the 4th time since late May. I am still in my pjs, I stink, and I've been mainlining coke zero and caramel hershey kisses for the past 48 hours but it doesn't really matter because tomorrow I embark on yet another journey into the unknown.

This journey is a little different...first of all, I'm moving to a new time zone! I will be all alone in this new world of everything-one-hour-earlier. Everyone I love sits comfortably in Eastern while I'll be out there in Mountain or Central or one of those middle ones. Plus, I have NO safety net. This will be the first move where I have no job, or school, or given purpose for being there. For the first time in my whole (very short) life I'll have to find my own purpose.

Thats kind of fucking terrifying.

But I'll be fine. I had a wonderful last week in the Eastern standard thanks to Courtney, Daniel Vosovic, Jon, the casts of Carmen (the opera) and The Last King of Scotland (the movie), various delivery men in Queens, Uggs, the crepe guys, the fine people at Gap, Tierra, Lizzie, Niki, the bartender at Fado, Annie, Taryn, Moira and the folks over at the Monocacy Goodwill.

And Courtney gets one more shout out for not passing judgement on the Uggs, the fact I wear kids clothes, the fact that I flipped my shit over Daniel Vosovic, the fact that I have to change clothes like 6 times and many more things I'm sure.

And the moral of the story is...

*I posted this over on livejournal, but then realized its much more fun and less dreary than my last post, so it's going here too.

A moment can't be an actual moment unless some sort of learning happens. So as I sit surrounded by mounds and mounds of crap I apparently own, fending off the worst hangover ever (damn you tgi fridays), and refusing to be actually productive I give you some of the potential morals that came out of this summer:


Remember how fucking fabulous you are or no one else will.

Drinking tequila out of a water glass will probably cause you to make bad choices that'll make you feel really, really good.

Never believe the hype, particularly in regards to attractive guys, after parties, or $60 shirts.

A guy who thinks he dresses better, is probably a total fucking douche bag.

Wearing heels on cobblestones everyday does not make you a better person, infact, it makes you kind of stupid (Hello! They're cobblestones, why put your ankles through that?).

There is nothing wrong with hating someone for not being able to tell a story well.

There isn't anything wrong with getting up and walking out of the room in the middle of the never ending sucky story either.

Good friends take your keys, your cellphone and you out to lunch the day after they've put your drunk ass to bed.

Great friends don't make fun of you the next morning...after anything, except for maybe when you started throwing french fries.

The best friends don't judge even when you total deserve judgement.

Nice guys are probably actually only nice guys, like, 56% of the time. The rest of the time they're just as sucky as all the other ones who wear their suckiness on their sleeves.

A good night's sleep is probably better than whatever you're doing that keeps you up until 5:30 in the morning...probably...

Drunk text messaging is always a bad idea, even when it seems like a great idea.

Pinching people's butts to get their attention in the middle of a crowd works all the time.

Girls are funny, probably funnier than boys, its just that no one gives them a flippin' chance.

Wearing a captain's hat at a bar full of drunk, horny people will probably get you laid.

Being a girl in a bar full of drunk, horny people will probably get you laid.

Family can bond over anything, but hot doctors on TV are always the best bet.

A shot of Dr. McGillacudys (I'm not gonna pretend to know how to spell that) will never taste as good as you think it will. It will always taste like a shot of Aquafresh toothpaste....but you will do it anyway.

Wearing raggedy underwear when you go out increases the chances that someone will see them by about 40%.

Life is normally better after two or three Life is Goods.

Faraway friends are always the best for a little perspective.

There is nothing wrong with a redheaded slut. Or six for that matter.

An 'I hate penises' night every few months will do a girl some serious good.

If you throw a girl in a puddle, you will have to make out with her.

A little longer...

So I've had this old camp song running through my head the past few days. We always sang it at the last camp fire of the week and it always made me cry. I don't remember much of it but I remember the chorus:

Mmm-hmm I want to linger
Mmm-hmm A little longer
Mmm-hmm A little longer here with you

Mmm-hmm-hmm-hmmm

It's such a perfect night
Mmm-hmm It doesn't seem quite right
Mmm-hmm That it should be my last with you

Mmm-hmm-hmm-hmm



Its better when its actually sung, and even then there isn't much too it, but its kind of how I'm feeling. How I felt last night and this morning and now, as I sit in Logan Airport utilizing their very expensive wireless trying to figure out where my summer went.

It wasn't the most amazing summer, it wasn't everything I let myself dream it would be, but it was my summer. It helped me discover who I am and what I want and it got me ready for that big, scary world I'm heading out into.

The last month has been so strange. Ever since I came back from my brief sojurn to Maryland, everything has been slightly skewed and twisted and left me missing all the beautiful people I had been so anxious to leave to get back to my island paradise.

I've spent the last 30 days counting down to this moment and now that its here I realize that I didn't make the most of it when I had it. I should have said things, done things, spent less time in bed, spent less time in bars, made more bad choices, made more good choices, and really just experienced and embraced the time I was given instead of fighting it.

The fourteen days have lingered, perfumed with confusion and yelling and tears and (what else?) bad choices. They've just sat there, in bars, with half empty coronas and flip flops with long sleeved shirts.

Then last night it was the last night. The last night of laughing about jokes that aren't really funny, the last night of being mean, of stupid pictures and cheese-y waffle fries and I realized that that's all Nantucket it is. It's lingering. Nothing really happens. It's an island...what can happen??

My favorite nights on the island were spent doing nothing, being nowhere, and I didn't appreciate them until now...when they're gone.

I spend my whole life waiting for the next big thing to happen, even if it's as small as seeing naked McSteamy on my TV (OMG, can we discuss???) and antisipating whats gonna happen next week, and now I get that on Nantucket it's not about that. Its about lazy mornings, and "nantucket time" and appreciating what you're doing while its happening.

I'm gonna miss that little island out to sea. It made me smarter, sexier, sassier, funnier and more aware of how totally freaking awesome I am.

An Open Letter to All the Nice Guys

Dear Nice Guys,

I am sorry. I really, truly, deep in my unconscious am very sorry for the way we treat you. By "we" I mean girls. Pretty girls, nice girls, sweet girls. We're not "hot" or particularly "sexy". We're the girls who befriend you instead of just brushing you off. We treat you bad, and I'm sorry. We throw our arms around you and profess our undying love with that "like a brother" hanging unsaid in the air. We drag you out as our straight friend accesory so that maybe you'll help us land a douche bag. A guy who will take us home and never call. A guy who will make us cry on your shoulder. The guy that we'll take back over and over again in all of his different identies because when you're a girl and you're warned to "stay away," it only makes you want it that much more.

Eventually one drunk night we'll figure it out. We'll realize why you always call us back, why you always buy our drinks and let us crash on your bed while you take the couch. We'll deny it though, out loud and in our brains, stressing that you need "a good girl, a nice girl," our very definition. We don't mean to lead you on, even though we know it's not gonna happen tonight, tomorrow night, this year, next year, but we need the security of you. Of someone wanting us, loving us and being nice enough, sweet enough to hang out with us while we hunt out and take down any number of bad choices.

I'm sorry that this is the way it is, but we're probably not going to change quite yet. Give us a few more years of scavaging then we'll realize that it was you. The whole time. You were the perfect person and you stood there night after night waiting for us to figure it out. Maybe, if you're lucky, you'll get a better girl, a girl ahead of the curve who figured it out that much faster. And you deserve her.

You also get one night. One stupid drunk night where you get to, either directly or with the use of euphamisims or metaphors or whatever, you get to make us feel bad about the way we live. Because we know its bad and knowing you're pissed makes it even worse. You should probably apologize the next morning, because even though you're the one with the hangover, we're the ones with the soul, just slightly cracked, that has to rebuild and reflect. What you say probably won't change our behavior, and you'll go back to your status as official Boy Who Makes Us Feel Better, but you'll have said your piece and it'll stay lodged in our brains as we go out looking for the ones who will break our souls and never turn around to help pick up the pieces.

And for that, and everything. I'm sorry.

11 things I learned during my 56-hour* "vacation" in Maryland

*This is an exact number people, we're talking time spent on land in the state of Maryland. It should have been 54 but American Eagle Airlines (which does NOT provide you with free polos and jeans contrary to my hopes and dreams), Logan Airport, The City of Boston and Tropical Storm Ernesto can suck my balls for the extra two. THANKS.

1. I hate flying. No two ways about it people. Flying death tubes aren't for me. I discovered this at about 10 AM on Friday morning as the 50-seater I was on rocked back and forth like two fat kids on a see-saw and I sat gripping the arms of my seat, quite sure that any moment we were gonna drop out of the sky and I was gonna die before ever meeting and seducing Michael Vartan. I know that the life of the rich and famous requires a great deal of red eyes and hops across the pond so it's something I'm gonna have to work on. Luckily when you get to the rich and famous level you get things like first class and valium.

2. I'm a very neurotic traveler. If they say be there two hours ahead, I'm gonna be there two hours ahead. If someone tells me a horror story about a cab being late, I'm gonna set up a cab for half an hour before I need to leave. If I'm connecting to a different flight and my first flight is delayed, I'm gonna call the other airline every 30 minutes to make sure I'm still gonna make my flight. This may seem like an obnoxiously sucky way of living, but the amount of weight I lose in worrying alone makes up for the chocolate croissant and pumpkin spice latte I inhale en route.

3. I love Malls. I know, malls are trashy and tres tres un-chic, but they are SO convienent! All the stores! Right there! In an enclosed air contitioned space! And a food court! I love SoHo and whatever funky boutiques I come across in my city dwelling but deep down inside, my favorite place to shop will always be Montgomery Mall (though Columbia Mall is also v. nice).

4. I am an excellent listener. Particularly when my mother is telling me that if I tell the waiter at the chinese resturant that it is her birthday she will have me killed and mounted and not feel bad about it. At all.

5. When given the choice between hooking up with a kid that I kinda knew in high school and talking to Lizzie, watching Mean Girls and falling asleep at a "reasonable hour," I'll take the latter...


WHERE DID THE REST OF THIS ENTRY GO?! I'm fairly certain one of the blogger gods ate it for brunch with a mimosa or two. Weirdness. Anyway, sorry I've killed too many brain cells to remember the other 6 things... I bet they were super important and had something to do with the fact that I love my Mom, my friends, my magic green celery dress and champange straight from the bottle.