I had a dream last night that I met my current celebrity crush, and it was in the sort of setting where he was able to see me perform. And after the performance, a whole bunch of people were sitting around talking about artsy things, and he kept making a point of coming over to talk to me and standing really close, or if I was sitting, he would crouch down next to me so there was an excuse to put his hand on my knee and at one point, I sort of put my arm around him and started playing with his hair, so scared that it was inappropriate, but so not wanting to let this opportunity (if it was an opportunity) pass. And it was an opportunity.

So of course, my cat had to wake me up. Which is what he does at 4:30 in the morning. He's a cat and I'm a light sleeper. It's bound to happen. Nightly.

I very politely shut my cat out of my room and went back to sleep thinking about what a lovely dream it was I had just had and wouldn't it be nice if I could get back there for just a little bit? Because it had felt so nice to share some sort of physical contact with this person, and I could feel his attraction to me and it was...amazing. And I went back to sleep and got back into the same dream! But this time, I was sitting on a couch next to him in the same room we were previously in and some other dude came over to hit on me, so I inched over toward my crush who asked if I needed rescuing and I replied yes, and he rescued me. And I went to move away after the other dude left, but my crush once again found reasons to place his hand on my knee (in a very non-skeezy way) so I very embarrassed-ly told him that I had just had a dream wherein he was interested in me. In my dream, I told him that I had a dream about him. I don't remember his exact phrasing, but he let me know that it hadn't been a dream and that he was interested and I was so excited but so terrified at the same time. He got a little frustrated with my disbelief in the fact that he could be interested in me - he said he was blown away by my talent (he called it my "Henry V training"), essentially, which was the root of his attraction - so I decided to just go with it. Just accept it.

This was not a sex dream. No sex was had in this dream. It was a connection dream and a trust dream. And in my dream, I made the choice to trust this man's love for me and it was such a...relief.

In my class last night, I got to do my monologue twice. I actually asked to do it a second time because the first time was kind of chopped up and I wanted to try to get in one smooth, start to finish go at it. And in my second go, I could see the teachers out of the corner of my eyes wanting to jump in and do some side coaching, but I think I caught what they were going to say and I did it before they had to comment on it. I think. The second run through felt wonderful - I was hurt and vulnerable, but also strong and confident in my innocence. And when I was done, the male teacher jumped up and ran over to hug me. And pretty much as soon as he put his arms around me, I started sobbing. Uncontrollably. Which I don't do. I don't let people hold me when I cry. I want so badly for someone to hold me when I cry sometimes, but I never think to ask and then I get all embarrassed about the fact that I was crying in the first place and sometimes I'm such a mess when I cry that I'm afraid to let people see that, but in class, I just couldn't help it. I sobbed on this man. And the wonderful, beautiful teachers that they are, they let me. She came over and held me, too. And they told me I did a wonderful job, that I got the "But I love you and two days ago, you loved me" part of the monologue and it had great texture and things. It felt great. And it felt great to be held for a minute while I cried.

Which I think is why I had the dream about meeting my celebrity crush and just deciding to trust him. I survived having that sort of meltdown in front of a room full of people and they still loved me afterward. Perhaps even more because in this setting, to be able to do that is golden. So I had a dream wherein I let myself go there. And it was so lovely. Though admittedly, the combination of the two experiences has me feeling a little sad and lonely this morning.

The funny thing is, I had a dream once before wherein I just trusted in a relationship with a man, and shortly thereafter, I started dating a guy about whom I felt very strongly. He turned out to be a jackass, but still. I kind of have to wonder if this means someone amazing is coming my way and when we meet, I need to remember to stay open to it.

I hope I remember to stay open to it.

(And I secretly hope it turns out to be my celebrity crush, or someone who looks like him and also has an amazing personality, which I think my celebrity crush does, but as I've never actually met him, I don't know for sure.)

Hi.

I need to vent for a minute, and it's really stupid and I know it's really stupid but it's bothering me today, which is also really stupid, and unless I rant about it for a minute, it won't stop bothering me, so here goes.

Eight and a half years ago, I became vegan. It was my choice to become vegan and to be honest, I did it because I realized I was judging an entire segment of the population without even really knowing much about it. So I thought I would give it a whirl for a year and see what happened. Turns out veganism works well for me. I love the food, I love the products. And it wasn't until afterward that this sense of calm at knowing nothing had to die so I can live kind of settled in. I don't dwell on that bit much, though. It's mostly that I like the lifestyle.

Thing is, I know that for a lot of people, veganism is weird. Let's face it, the human body was not designed to digest only plant matter, as is evidenced by our teeth and our inabilty to digest cellulose. I get that. And for a long time, I thought vegans were weird. And let's face it, a lot of them are. There are lots of vegans out there shouting about how cruel KFC is and reminding people that the burger they are eating came from an animal that is considered sacred in parts of the world and showing people videos of bunnies being skinned alive and things like that.

Thing is, I am not that person.

When I was transitioning to veganism, I talked to my mom about it and she felt it was important that we use the proper terminology - it's not that I can't eat something, it's that I choose not to eat certain things. Which I think is a very important distinction. I choose not to eat anything that comes from an animal. I choose not to use products that contain animal ingredients or that were tested on animals. Because to me, veganism is about not subjecting animals to human desires. They would not choose to be food or clothing or shampoo, so why should I ask them to become that when there are perfectly wonderful alternatives available?

But the important thing is that this is my choice. We all have choices in life and this is one of mine. And I know that just because this is my choice, that it doesn't have to be yours, too. I'm fine with that. And in my eight and a half years of being vegan, I think the only time I have made a disparaging comment about someone's non-vegan lifestyle was when I was defending myself against their attack on my vegan lifestyle. I freakin' went to a barbecue joint in Kansas City with my friends for the sake of being social where the only thing I could even consider eating was a pile of soggy French fries. I did not sit there making vomiting noises. I did not tell them they were gross for eating piles of meat. I did ask what the thrill of eating something called "burnt ends" was, because normally people don't like to eat burnt stuff, but I think that was about it. I did complain that the fries were soggy, which they were. And when we left, I went back to my room and ordered a salad. The next day when they went to another barbecue joint, I politely declined the invitation to go along. I could be wrong, but I don't think anyone on either side was offended.

Yet for some reason, there are some people in my life who think it is okay to make fun of me for this choice that I have made. Fortunately not the people who I am closest to (my close friends and family are actually really supportive and are happy to eat the vegan treats I make for them, and for that, I thank them), so I don't run into them that often, but it makes me sad that they are out there. I wonder if these same people make fun of people who keep Kosher. And while I know that everyone has the right to their opinion and they may have a different opinion of soy products than I do, I do have to wonder why they feel the need to share their negative opinions with me. In a pointed fashion. By pointing at what I'm eating and calling it icky or gross or weird. What other purpose could that comment possibly serve beyond trying to make me feel bad about my choice?

Granted, it may not be intentional. They may just be the sort of people who need to share their opinions on everything. Okay. If I let you know that I find your comments offensive, though, will you stop making them in my general direction? You are welcome to keep your opinions - I have heard them and made note. You don't have to tell me again.

It's possible that I'm being overly sensitive, too. With all of the stuff in the news lately about bullying, I have to admit that I do, from time to time, feel like I am bullied about my lifestyle choice. I'm not giving up my Star Wars thermos, though. I like being vegan and will continue to be vegan until I die (or some medical necessity (i.e. pregnancy) requires that I change). And in the meantime, all I ask is that since I don't walk around making disparaging remarks about other people's life choices, that you please extend the same courtesy to me. Please?

I've posted on all of my other blogs today and this one was feeling kind of lonely, so I thought I should put something up here, too.

I would like to start this post by saying I sometimes think there is something wrong with me, but "wrong" usually implies "bad" and I don't know that this thing is necessarily "bad." I think it is probably "different" to a lot of other people I know, but I could also be wrong about that - this isn't something we talk about very much. So I'm just going to say that I feel the need to clarify something that may or may not be odd.

This was inspired, too, by a conversation (or piece of a conversation) I had with my classmates and a famous person last night. I was chatting to one of my classmates and mentioned that there was an actor I liked (though I don't quite remember how we got on him, because we were talking about a lot of actors last night, being actors ourselves and all) and the famous person was shocked that we liked this particular actor because the famous person had gone to school with the actor we like. I don't think his shock at our admiration was any sort of reflection on the actor's talents, but more a, "I know that guy and you're all gooey for him?" kind of a thing. But anyway. The conversation went something like this:

Me: Oh, I love this actor.
Famous Person: Him?
Me: No, Him.
FP: Yeah, Him. I graduated with Him.
Me: You seriously know Him?
FP: Yes.
Me: Would you give Him my number, please?
FP: He bats for the other team.

The thing is this, and this is maybe where I'm different to other people around me, but I don't care. I wasn't doing the "give him my number" bit because I'm hoping for a booty call at some point. This happens to be an actor who I quite enjoy and I think is adorable and I would love the opportunity to either get to work with him, or just tell him that I think he's a groovy actor. That's it. I wasn't even thinking about sex.

See, I get these crushes on people. Artists, mostly. Often times people I've never met. I call them Artist Crushes, to try to differentiate them from Crush Crushes. (Crush Crushes are the ones where you picture yourself spending the rest of your life sharing every moment of your existence with a certain person who makes you feel all tingly in the nether regions.) Artist Crushes are artists I like who I'd love to have a chat with. Seriously. Artists who make me want to be a better artist. Artists who I think would have interesting things to say if we were to sit down and just shoot the shit, so to speak. Not artists who I want to take home for a quick roll in the hay. I don't think that way. I just don't. The two artists I look up to most at the moment are both male and honestly, in my dream scenarios, I would sing a song with one of them and act with the other (or do both with both). I don't know them well enough to know if I would want to take them home. And because of this, it doesn't matter to me one bit if the artist is straight or gay or married or single or whatever. My desire to know/work with a person has nothing to do with anything romantic so sexual preferences and status should not factor in.

I guess it just kind of irked me because it was almost implying that I'm not allowed to talk to said actor, or I wouldn't want to talk to said actor anymore, or said actor wouldn't be interested in talking to me because he likes players with different equipment. Since when does one's sexual preference dictate what kind of friendships or even acquaintanceships he or she can have? But then I had to remember that not everybody thinks like I do and the phone number comment was probably perceived as an invitation.

Anyway. I just wanted to clarify. If I have an Artist Crush (and I have quite a few), I just think the person is a great artist and I'd like to meet them and/or work with them. It's nothing sexual.

Moving on. As I was leaving, I got to hug the famous person and it was a really nice hug. A real hug. Not one of those "Oh, I'll see you tomorrow so I'm going to politely wrap my arms around your shoulders for 2.6 seconds to give the appearance that I tolerate your existence but really I'd be fine with waving, too" kind of hugs. It was a strong hug with a bit of conversation involved. And famous person also prefers players with equipment other than mine, but that doesn't mean I can't hug my friend, does it? I don't think so. And yes, I have an Artist Crush on him, too.

And for the record, great hugs are just about the most wonderful thing in the world.

We lost a legend last night. Ron Santo passed away at the age of 70 from complications related to bladder cancer.

In a way, we shouldn't be shocked. He battled health problems his entire life. But at the same time, he was so full of life that it is hard to imagine that he's not around anymore.

I never met Ron Santo. Everything I know about him, I know because of things I have read in the news or because of the documentary "This Old Cub," or because I listened to him call baseball games on the radio for years. So this post may not be 100% accurate. But it is how I felt about this man I never met, but who was such a large part of my life.

Every spring, the first spring training game that was broadcast on WGN Radio would bring tears to my eyes. Tears of joy that my boys were back and that all was right with the world. I loved listening to Pat and Ron - their voices brought peace to my heart. And as the seasons wore on, I loved them more and more. Ron teasing Pat for his horrible sweaters. Pat teasing Ron for washing his toupee in the dishwasher. These men knew baseball and loved baseball and helped us all love baseball, too. Ron's cries of "Oh, geez" and "Come on!" will be just as much remembered as his cries of "All right! Yes!" when the Cubs did something good. And when games got really bad, it was still fun to listen to Pat and Ron talk about everything but the game. They kept our spirits up as Cubs fans even when the Cubs were at their worst.

I loved the passion with which Ron Santo called games. He was a fan, first and foremost, and he loved the Cubs as much as the entire rest of the Cubs fan base combined. He took us through the ups and downs of the games and the seasons, feeling the same joys and disappointments as the rest of us. But he still loved the Cubs, no matter what, just like the rest of us.

From what I hear, he was a really great man, too. He was a husband and father and grandfather and he treasured his family. He did a lot of work with the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (though he often forgot what the acronym "JDRF" stood for in his broadcasts), and he would take the time to talk to kids with diabetes, one-on-one about...whatever. He would take the time to talk to fans and it seemed like he was always grateful for the amazingly blessed life that he lived, even with all of the hardships he faced. He never let them bring him down.

I'm sure that he will be inducted into the Hall of Fame now, but I'm sad that he won't be around to see that. I'm sure his induction speech would have been grateful and humble and joyful - I would have liked to hear it. And it kills me that he never got to see the Cubs win the World Series. We got so close. He got so close in 1969, but it just didn't happen. He wanted it so badly, and worked so hard for it, and loved the game and his team so much, and it didn't happen in his lifetime and that's devastating.

I've only cried at the passing of two celebrities - Madeline Kahn and now Ron Santo. We'll miss you, Number 10. Thank you for all of the amazing, brilliant years you gave us.

I had a dream last night that I gave birth. I remember giving birth in the dream, too, and thinking, "Wow, that didn't hurt as bad as I thought it was going to." But I also remember that for some reason, as I was pushing out my child, they had to give me an injection in my nether-regions, which was significantly less fun than actually pushing out my child. And it was a little boy. I have no idea where the father was, or where my family was, for that matter, in my dream. If this was real life, I know I would not have been in the delivery room alone with the doctors. And if this was real life, I would not have been left to my own devices after the birth of my child to go get a snack. But seeing as this was a dream and my mind is, well (let's be honest), kind of goofy, once the kid was born, I had to wander about and try to find something to eat. And all I could find was one of those newspaper stand type places like you find in airports or bus terminals and it must have been late at night because most of the wares were packed up. There weren't even any good magazines left to choose from. But I got a box of crackers or something and went to buy it, and it took me a long time to dig out the correct change. I groggily apologized to the clerk, saying, "Sorry, I just gave birth," as my excuse for why it was taking me so long to dig out a few pennies. She was then kind of excited and asked what the kid's name was, and I realized I didn't know yet. And that kind of bummed me out. But it was soon followed by the realization that I could name this child anything I wanted to (which is what leads me to believe that in my dream, I was a single mother. I didn't have to check in with the father to see if the name was okay with him). And I thought of a bunch of sort of bland names and finally ended up with Linus James - Linus because I love the name Linus and James because it was my grandfather's name. In my dream, I thought it was the name of both of my grandfathers, which made it kind of a no-brainer for the middle name, but in reality, it was just the name of one of my grandfathers. When I woke up, I found myself hoping the non-James side of the family wouldn't feel slighted that I hadn't used a name from that side of the family.

The really weird things about this dream are that:

a) I had a kid. I physically remember the labor I was in and getting that injection. I have no idea what was going on in reality while I was dreaming, but I remember giving birth;
b) I was a single mother. And beyond that, my family was absent. As I watch my family with my niece, I know there is no way in hell that my family wouldn't be there if I had a kid, and they would not leave me to my own devices to raise it alone, but in my dream, I knew I was on my own now with this kid; and
c) that the hospital let me/made me go out in search of food right after giving birth so I had to buy crackers at a newspaper stand.

And what is really strange about it is that I think all of these things were sparked by the fact that I spent two hours at the library looking up words and character descriptions and plot summaries and histories for "The Winter's Tale" by William Shakespeare.

I'm taking this beginning Shakespeare monologue class and they gave me a piece by Hermione (the queen) from "The Winter's Tale" to work on. In the monologue, she's on trial for adultery and treason (both of which she is innocent of) and she is threatened by death and comes back with, "I'm not afraid of dying, you dink, because you have already taken away from me everything that I love in this world, so put that in your pipe and smoke it and won't you feel stupid when you find out I'm innocent after you've killed me?" But in fancier language. So I went to bed with the image in mind of this queen giving birth to her daughter in prison ("the Child-bed privilege deny'd") and then having the baby taken away from her before she really even gets a chance to breast feed it. And it turned into a dream about me giving birth to a baby boy named Linus James all on my own and I had to leave him to go get a snack.

The brain is a funny thing, isn't it?

So if you read my acting blog at all, you know I'm in a pretty good place right now as a performer. Not that I'm in anything at the moment, but that I trust myself and I understand raising the stakes and I've been auditioning well as of late. I have the confidence to be able to say I think I could hold my own if cast opposite just about anyone I am likely to be cast opposite at the moment, and that's a really good feeling.

The other thing I need to remember that goes along with that is that my performance abilities will be the same if I have a 24" waist, a 34" waist, or a 44" waist. My ability to create a character and bring her to life and infuse the given text with purpose and meaning has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH WHAT SIZE CLOTHING I WEAR. Nothing.

I saw an article about some actresses who found they were offered more roles when they changed their hair color, and you hear the stories about how when Jennifer Aniston first went to Hollywood weighing 140, they told her she had to drop 20-30 pounds before an agent would even meet with her. These things make me almost unspeakably sad. My talent has nothing to do with my hair color. My imagination has nothing to do with how much I ate today. I hope that someday, I am cast in something great because I am good at what I do, not because I managed to starve myself for six months to get down to a size two.

I am a good actor. Right now. I can walk into an audition, take over the space, take direction from the auditors, and deliver an engaging performance - enough that they want to see me do more. I have to trust that. And I hope that directors and public opinion will come around to see that, too.

Or I'll end up moving to England where they seem to cast more on talent than looks. (Seem to - I don't know for sure because all I've been able to see of British television is what they send over the pond.)

I went to the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear over the weekend in Washington, DC, and I have to say, it was wonderful. It was encouraging to be surrounded by 200,000 people who were all just being cool and letting each other exist and have opinions and do their thing. So many of the signs were hysterical, and there was good conversation to be had. It was just...a really lovely day. I want to thank Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert for coming up with the whole thing, and their entire teams of people who put the event together in about a month. Well done, guys. Well done. I am so glad I was able to attend.

Part of the reason I was able to attend was because they organized these rally buses. Buses from all over the country that were scheduled to get to Washington at about 9am on the day of the rally, and leave at about 8pm that night. It was cheap, it meant I didn't have to spend anything extra on a place to stay, and it meant I didn't have to take any time away from work. Brilliant idea. And it also kind of made the whole thing feel more hippie-ish to me (which was a large part of the appeal). You see these movies wherein rallies happen back in the sixties and when it's over, people get back on the bus and go home. It's romantic somehow.

What they don't show you in those movies is what the actual bus ride is like.

I would like you to please keep in mind that the following story is true to the best of my recollection. And I do not intend this as any sort of commentary on the Rally or the rally buses or their organizers. This is a story about a jackass. The biggest jackass I have ever met and it needs to be told.

On Friday night, I showed up to the meeting spot to get on the bus. I saw one of my friends who was traveling with his sister and chatted with them for a bit. I asked if they would mind if I got on the same bus as them because my friend brought the good movies and, obviously, he is my friend. They said that was fine. It was around about this time that a very tall man standing behind me remarked, "It's not very sane to be a Cubs fan right now," when he saw I was holding a Cubs bag. We started talking about the Cubs and optimism and random small talk chit-chat and he seemed like a decent guy. As we started filing onto the bus, he asked if I was traveling alone. I replied that I knew my friend, but essentially, I was traveling alone. He asked if I wanted to sit together. I was hesitant - he was a very Large Man. Not obese, mind you, just large. Probably 6'5" or better, maybe 275 pounds? He was tall with broad shoulders and full around the middle. I knew that by sitting next to him, I was putting myself in the position of not having enough space to myself, but I figured I was most likely going to have to sit next to someone, so I agreed to sit next to him. I said I preferred the window; he said he preferred the aisle. I thought, "This could be okay."

I would like to take a brief moment to point out three things that you, the reader, should keep in the back of your mind as you read the rest of this story. First, the Large Man is a 49-year-old salesman from Sheboygan. I know this because he said he was going to poll the bus to see if he was the oldest person on it, and because he told me what he does for a living. He is a 49-year-old salesman from Sheboygan. Second, this was a brand new bus. The driver bought the bus and picked it up from the dealer the day before. We were the first group to ever ride this bus. And third, there were really only two rules on the rally bus - clean up after yourself and no alcohol. Not too hard to follow, right? Clean up after yourself is simple. And we're on an overnight bus for fourteen or so hours - most people want to sleep most of the way, so it shouldn't be too hard to not drink, right?

Maybe.

So, we were on the bus and I noticed that before we were even on the expressway, the Large Man was asking me the same exact questions that he had asked when we were standing on the sidewalk waiting for the bus. I also noticed that any time I pulled out my phone to see why it had buzzed at me, he would pull out his and call someone. I started to get nervous that maybe this trip wouldn't be okay. But then my friend made it known that he had DVDs and after reading off the titles, the bus decided to watch "Young Frankenstein." The Large Man did a little bit of flirting with me during the film, by saying the lines from the movie right before they were going to be said, or by saying the lines from the movie immediately after they were said, or by asking, "Has anyone ever told you you have a very cute, unique laugh?" "Yes, they have," I replied. Because they have. And I didn't feel like flirting. And at some point in all of this, he informed me that he had a bottle of vodka in his bag and offered me a drink. "No," I replied because really, who wants to be drunk on a bus for fifteen hours? Sounds miserable to me. He then got up and took his backpack with him to visit the restroom at the back of the bus.

When the movie was over and the bus made a stop so we could stretch our legs and whatnot, he started talking to me about music. His current favorite artist seems to be the woman who did a bunch of songs on the "Juno" soundtrack. I've not seen "Juno." I don't really want to see "Juno." When something is hyped up that much, it usually just turns me off. But he insisted that this is great music and pulled out his smartphone to play me a song. I have to admit, I was grumpy already when I listened to it and I didn't want to stick his earbuds all the way into my ears because lord knows where they have been, so it is possible that under other circumstances, I would have liked the song more. Or it is possible that since I had Mumford and Sons songs stuck in my head for the previous 24 hours that I wasn't really in the mood for singer/songwriter stuff plunked out on a child's toy piano at the time. Either way, I told him I found the song to be "meh," which was apparently exactly the wrong answer and he flew to the songwriter's defense. We eventually had to agree to disagree about the song. He asked if he could play me another to try to persuade me she was the greatest thing since sliced bread, but I replied that "Shaun of the Dead" was starting and I would really like to watch it. Yes, I've seen "Shaun of the Dead" a million times, but I love me some Simon Pegg.

Throughout the movie, the Large Man made several more trips to the restroom with his backpack and each time he returned to his seat, he smelled worse and slurred his speech more. To the point where my friend and his sister sitting in the row in front of us could smell him.

I think it was at the second rest stop, we both got off the bus, but I got back on before the Large Man. When I got back to our seat, I noticed that it was a disaster. The Large Man had brought snacks like Chex Mix and that bar mix that has the wasabi peas in it and had managed to drop quite a bit of it on the floor, which was then stepped on and in some cases, ground into the carpet. On a brand new bus. Where I was also sitting. I pointed this out to my friend and his sister and my friend thought we should let the bus captain know what was going on, so he did. The bus captain came back to talk to me. I told him I hadn't previously known the Large Man and I felt bad about the mess, but that yes, he was messy and was sneaking back to the bathroom to drink. When the Large Man got back on the bus, the bus captain asked him to pick up the mess around his seat a bit. The Large Man sat down with obviously no intention of cleaning up. The bus captain brought him a plastic bag he could put the trash in. The Large Man picked up a few crumbs, put them in the garbage bag, crumpled the garbage bag and threw it on the floor.

I felt horrible. Not only was this brand new bus a mess already, but I felt like the Large Man was now looking at me like I was a narc. I put on my iPod so I could try to avoid having to talk to him. He was not deterred. When I pretended to not hear him, he tapped me. I took out one earbud and said, "I can't hear you; I'm listening to music right now." He offered me another song by the "Juno" woman. I politely declined.

More trips were made to the bathroom.

Finally, it looked like people were going to try to get some sleep. I put my pillow against the window and leaned my head on it. Now, I know that the Large Man is a large man and as such, he was probably very uncomfortable trying to sit in the small-ish seats on the bus. I, however, like my personal space and don't necessarily like it when drunk people I've only known for three hours fall asleep on me. As it was, I was squished up against the window, just about as far over toward the window as I could get, and his entire leg was touching mine, and his back was resting on my shoulder. So I did the squirmy thing to get him off of me. Which he did...for about a minute and then he'd be back sleeping on me again. So I'd shove him off again and he'd come right back. I took a look at one point at where I was positioned and realized that he was reaching over half of my seat in order to lean on me. I had paid just as much as anyone else for a seat on the bus and as such, I felt entitled to a seat on the bus. A whole seat on the bus. I'm good at staying within my allotted seat space. And he was eating up his whole seat and half of mine. This started to piss me off. At least once, I shoved him off of me hard enough that he woke up. I asked him to please move over. He would for a minute, and then he'd be right back where he started. He would also occasionally sit up very quickly, smashing his leg into mine, rest his head on the seat in front of him (no doubt irritating my friend who was sitting there) and breathe very heavily. Then he would flop back again, his shoulder smashing into mine.

Needless to say, I did not sleep much on the bus on the way out there. When we stopped in Toledo, he asked me three times if we were in Ohio yet. Each time, I pointed to the large sign that was immediately outside our window that said "Toledo." He then asked me where Toledo was situated within Ohio. I told him I didn't know. Which would prompt him to ask again if we were in Ohio.

We finally got to Washington at about 11am on Saturday, and the rally was fun. A lot of fun like I said before, in large part because the Large Man was nowhere to be found.

The bus was supposed to leave Washington at 8:00pm, so I made sure to be back on the bus by about 7:30. A few people had done some seat shuffling, which sent other people into a panic when they got on the bus to find their seats taken. I tried to offer them the seat next to me so that the Large Man would be displaced. I also tried sending messages out to the universe that would prohibit the Large Man from getting back to the bus on time so that we would be forced to leave without him. I think the universe got confused because there was a passenger who did not make it back to the bus by 8, but it was not the Large Man. He reappeared on the scene in different clothes at 7:55pm and plunked down next to me. I could tell by his aroma that he had spent the time since the rally ended at 3 in a bar drinking. And he started asking me very loudly how I had passed the time since the rally and what I thought of the rally and whatnot. Which would have been okay, but the bus captain was trying to take a roll call to determine which passenger was missing so he could try to call them. "The bus captain is talking now and needs to be heard," I said. He was quiet for a minute and then asked me very loudly again what I had been doing. "The bus captain is talking now and people need to hear him." I felt like I was babysitting a three year old. The missing passenger was identified, called, and texted, and after an additional twenty minutes of waiting for a response from her, we had to leave anyway.

"Large Man," I said (though I used his real name because it would have been rude to call him "Large Man" to his face), "can I ask you a favor?"

"Yeah, what's up?"

"The whole way out here, I felt very cramped, like I was being smushed up against the window because you were sleeping on me. I paid for a seat on the bus and I would like to be able to use my whole seat without you sitting in it, too."

"I'm sorry, I didn't even know I was doing that. You know what? If I do that, you should just hit me or something."

"I did. I tried several times to ask you to move over and you kept sleeping on me. It made me very uncomfortable."

"I have no recollection of that."

"Well, if you could just be aware. I don't mean to be nit-picky, but..."

"No, thank you for telling me. And if I do that, you should just hit me or something."

I was actually a little bit proud of myself for that conversation. I stood up for myself. I asked for what I needed in a calm, mostly polite fashion. I thought, "Maybe the trip home will be better than the trip out here." My friend put in "Airplane" at the request of our fellow passengers and we were off.

Within just a couple of minutes, the Large Man was taking over my space again, so I pointed it out to him. "Large Man, when you are leaning on me like this, it makes me uncomfortable."

"I'm leaning on you?"

"Your entire leg is touching mine."

"I can't even feel that."

"Maybe it is the stuff in your pocket?" He moved the stuff from his pocket. "Thank you. If you could just try to be aware of when you're touching me..."

He started saying the lines from the movie right before they were about to happen. He also pulled out his snacks again and started eating very loudly, dropping as much on the floor as went in his mouth.

When the movie ended, the bus captain encouraged us all to try to get some sleep, or at least to be quiet so that our fellow passengers could sleep. The Large Man was already passed out, his head tilted back on the head rest, mouth open, snoring, and halfway on my chair. So I hit him. "Large Man, would you please move over?"

"Which way?"

"That way. Away from me."

"Is it really that big of a deal?" And he promptly fell asleep on me again. I wanted to scream at him that I found him to be absolutely repulsive and therefore, yes, it was a big deal. I did not want him touching me. I fantasized about screaming on the bus, "Stop touching me!" in the hopes it would sound like something much more inappropriate than it was and some good Samaritan on the bus with an empty seat next to him/her would fly to my aid and let me switch. Or kick him off of the bus. But instead, I flailed violently every time he touched me to try to get him to stop, and I smashed into him a few times trying to reclaim my seat back space. Eventually, he stopped moving away. I squished myself up against the window as far as I could go so I wouldn't have to touch this odious man - I could feel his stink penetrating my jeans where his leg touched mine. And then, I felt him make a conscious effort to move over closer to me so he would continue to be touching my arm. He was trying to piss me off now.

(I would like to mention as an aside that my friend offered to switch seats with me several times, which was very sweet of him. I didn't want to subject my friend to this guy, either, which is why I didn't take him up on it. Somehow, I would have preferred he go sit next to someone I didn't know so I wouldn't have to think about it anymore. Had my friend sat next to him, I would have felt guilty that my friend had a horrible trip. So thank you to my friend for offering, and thanks to both you and your sister for listening to me bitch about this guy the whole way there and the whole way back. You were the bright spot of the ride for me.)

We finally made it to the first rest stop. Yes, the first rest stop. This decline into drunken juvenile behavior all happened in the first hour and a half of the trip home. I waited for Gigantor to get off of the bus first, and then turned around to ask anyone who might be awake behind me if they knew of any empty seats. The guy who had been sitting next to the woman we left behind said he didn't know if there were any. Thank you, Sir Galahad. I got off the bus and went inside. When I came back out, I found the bus captain and told him that Gigantor was still drinking, still making a mess, and was now being intentionally disrespectful of my personal space. I asked if he knew of any empty seats I could take and he said he was sure there were a couple. The woman sitting across the aisle had two seats to herself, for example. I remarked that I would prefer to sit farther away from Gigantor than just across the aisle, but if that was my choice, that was my choice. I asked the woman in question if I could occupy the empty seat and she agreed. No biggie.

I then went to talk to my friend and his sister. Gigantor came over and asked my friend if he had "Sex Lies and Videotape" or "Pulp Fiction" with him. My friend replied that he didn't bring those movies in case there were children on the bus.

"There aren't any kids on the bus," Gigantor replied.

"Yes, there are. There is a kid in the front row," said my friend.

"So are you going to play another movie? You should put on 'Sex Lies and Videotape,' or 'Pulp Fiction.'"

"I'm not playing anymore movies. People want to sleep."

"Why aren't you going to play another movie?"

My friend, his sister, and I figured that the best way to end this conversation was to just go inside.

A few minutes later, we went back out to get back on the bus. Gigantor was already in his seat and when he saw me coming, he got up to let me in to my spot by the window. I reached across, took my water bottle and pillow, and sat next to the woman across the aisle. I gave him back his backpack and book, which he was storing in her empty space that was now my seat. She and I started talking about the rally and her kids and other random things. He pulled out his cell phone to call someone at 11:30 at night to tell them we were about half-way home (we were in Maryland) and he was on the bus and couldn't they see him on the bus? and he waved. I don't know who he was waving to, but we're all guessing that there wasn't anyone on the other end of that very loud phone call.

All in all, I don't think Gigantor was too broken up about having two seats to himself now. He kicked off his shoes which stunk up the bus. He managed to cover both seats and the floor under both seats with a nice layer of trash, which must have made him feel right at home. There was stuff under his seat that I don't even know where it came from - napkins, bottle caps, one of those straws that you use to stir coffee even though I never saw him drink coffee. And he would lie down on his back across both seats, with his legs in the aisle and his feet UNDER MY FEET. It wasn't enough that I had asked politely and not-so-politely for him to stop touching me. It wasn't enough that I had moved seats to get away from him. His feet were still occupying my space. And he kicked me no less than six times on the remainder of the journey. SIX TIMES. I kicked him back a time or two. He would then sit up, splay his legs, rest his head on the seat in front of him (no doubt waking my friend who was sitting there), and either breathe loudly or eat loudly. He made another trip or two to the restroom with his backpack, and when he came back, he made sure to sit down in such a way as to allow his butt to smack me in the shoulder. Needless to say, I didn't sleep on the way home, either.

When we got to the last rest stop before getting back into Chicago, the woman sitting behind what used to be my seat reached over the seat, tapped Gigantor, and asked, "Did you spill your water bottle or something? Because my feet are soaked." Upon further examination, we're pretty sure it wasn't water. But he spilled something THROUGH THE SEAT so that it soaked her feet below it. She had to throw her socks away. He denied spilling anything, and went bumbling into the rest stop, sans shoes, to get more Chex Mix or something. I took pictures of the carnage that was his seat.

We finally made it back to Chicago and I got off of the bus as quickly as I could. If I never see that man again, it will be too soon.

But it makes me wonder, how does a person get to be 49-years-old and have absolutely no sense of self-awareness? How could he not feel it when he was resting on me? How could he not have figured out yet that this is inappropriate behavior for a bus with fifty-some-odd people on it? How can he not know that when a woman asks you repeatedly to stop touching her, she means it? How is it that he hasn't figured out yet that when you are in a semi-confined space with fifty other people, you sometimes have to sacrifice a bit of your own personal comfort for the sake of the people around you? And how did this guy think that a Rally to Restore Sanity was the right place for him, seeing as he is clearly insane? Or at the very least, a raging alcoholic.

So my romantic notion of the bus to the hippie rally was rather squashed. My desire to only take road trips in the privacy of my own car was rekindled. And while my sanity was restored by the rally, I found out that I am incredibly intolerant of inconsiderate slobs with the maturity level of a three-year-old (no offense to the three-year-olds out there).

And I do have to wonder how it is that I attract these sorts of people so I can stop doing that.

I know that I don't know a lot about politics. I know that I don't stay as current as I could or probably should about a lot of it. Thing is, I like not having to pay attention. I like feeling like my country is doing okay and I don't have to get all up in arms about the day-to-day. I am blissful in my ignorance a lot of the time. Which may make the next bit I am about to say sound stupid and ignorant and un-thought-out, but it is my opinion and last I checked, I am allowed to not only have an opinion, but to express it as well.

The current state of our nation is not the fault of the Obama administration alone.

The problems we are currently facing go back many years, through the Bush administration, through the Clinton administration, and in some cases, through the other Bush administration as well. They are the result of lots of bad decisions that came from both sides of the aisle. There is no single person at fault for all of it - these crises took a lot of people working together (or in many cases, not working together) to happen.

And then Obama gets elected under the pretense that he will change things and try to clean up the mistakes from the past 8-20 years. And Democrats gain control in the House and the Senate because people are, frankly, sick of this shit and want something else. And over half of the country is overjoyed to have Obama in office, and I think, rightfully so. The Republicans, though, want nothing to do with him and sit in the corner having a snit, covering their ears and singing "la la la I can't hear you la la la" because they're sore losers.

I'm not saying the Republicans don't have the right to be upset that they lost control. But it seems to me that in many cases, they did everything in their power to stop Obama from accomplishing anything by just flat out rejecting anything he said without even really listening to it. They figure if they keep the "But where was he REALLY born?" thing alive, or throw around words like "socialist" and "fascist" and "communist" willy-nilly, then the majority of America will pay more attention to questioning Obama's credentials than they will to the fact that Republicans are blatantly standing in the way of compromise and progress. They're standing in the corner plugging their ears and holding their breath, waiting for mom to cave in and say they can leave the table without finishing their peas because mom has realized she just can't get through to them.

Look at how many filibusters have happened in the last two years (on both sides of the aisle, but Republicans used it more). Look at how much fear-talk has made it onto the news (supposed death panels and whatnot). Am I the only one who thinks this is ridiculous?

Republicans were in control for eight years and drove this country into the ground. They lost control and spent two years stirring up as much fear and resentment as they could so they could get control back instead of actually trying to fix the country. And you know what? It worked. Republicans have control in the House again. And I could be completely wrong and I could be talking out of my ass because I don't know the real story, but it pisses me off. Republicans had eight years to screw up this country, and because Democrats haven't been able to fix it all completely in two years, Democrats are the ineffective ones.

The Obama administration has done a lot in two years. A lot. No, the country was not magically restored in two years' time, but he never said that change would happen overnight. And a lot of the things he said he would do, he has done in such a way that most people haven't even noticed. If you want the not-safe-for-work list of what he's done, go
I'm stopping now because I'm sure I sound whiny and ignorant. I'm just disappointed. I'm disappointed that Democrats aren't given more of an opportunity to try to fix things. I'm disappointed that the Republicans in office refuse to cooperate when they can't have their way. I'm not saying Democrats are perfect, and I know they are to blame for some of the mistakes made in the past twenty years, but I'm still kind of reeling from the Bush administration and am afraid to see the country head back that way. I could be wrong. Maybe everything will be great. Today, though, I don't feel good about it.

This post is probably going to be too much information, but oh well.

I am in the middle of trying to ride my exercise bike for 1000 miles in pursuit of a better butt. I have one friend (female) who says I have a pretty darn good butt to begin with, but I think we all know my stance that it is larger than I would like it to be. It is a decent shape at the moment - more curvy than blob-ish - but in my opinion, it could still use some work. My cycling friend says it takes 1000 miles to get a cyclist butt, so I'm going to try riding 1000 miles in the hopes of getting said cyclist butt.

I am about 92 miles in. Not as far as I had hoped to be by now, but I have motivation problems from time to time. Though in my own defense, how many of you have ridden almost 100 miles on your bikes in the last month? Probably more than I want to think about, but in my mind, you are all sedentary so my little bit of effort puts me in the "above average" category. I need that to keep going, even if it's not true.

But the really irritating part about it is that the seat of my exercise bike is not horribly comfortable. As in, if I ride two days in a row, I can feel it. That spot right where the butt joins the leg, kind of on the inside of the leg, right in a spot where you don't want to have to think about it and you certainly can't go up to your friends and point to it and say, "It hurts right here." But it hurts. Right there. Almost like I need to develop callouses or something. Which is irritating because I'd like to be able to ride two days and take a day off and ride two days and so on, but if there is pain involved, I tend to not ride. Crazy me. And I don't really want to develop callouses there. Callouses there would automatically remove me from the "better butt" category.

Anyway. That's what is irritating me today. It hurts. Right there.

I have a gray hair and I love it. I was a bit mesmerized by it on my way in to work this morning. It comes from somewhere behind my left ear and if you weren't looking for it, you probably wouldn't find it. But it is there. All by itself. I was trying to see if the texture of my gray hair was significantly different from the texture of my non-gray hairs, but it's kind of hard to tell with such a small sample size. See, I have (as my mother puts it) one of the all time great heads of hair. I really do. It is crazy soft and catches sunlight really nicely and I have a lot of it and it holds a curl well and I have this idea in my head that when I go gray, I will go silver like my great aunts and how beautiful will that be! My super soft, silky hair in a sparkling silver color. But I know that when hair goes gray, it can change in texture and become more coarse, which could get in the way of my dreams of being an absolutely stunning older lady, so I was trying to test the texture, but I can't tell quite yet. In any case, I have a gray hair and I love it. I almost wish the rest of my hair would turn so I could see what it looks like. If I don't like it, I can always put color back in. But trying to get the color out so it is silver isn't something my stylist can do. Trust me. I've asked.

And it's also rainy today, but in that comfy "I should be at home curled up in a chair with cocoa and my cat and a good book" kind of a way. On Saturday, for probably the first time, as I was clearing my breakfast dishes, I felt like my new apartment is my home. And today with the rain, I am fantasizing about being in my home, all snuggly and warm.

And I'm also wearing one of my favorite outfits today, so there's something else to feel good about.

For a Wednesday, today isn't starting out too badly.

I cut my wrist yesterday.

NOT WHAT YOU ARE THINKING! I promise, it was totally innocent and completely accidental.

I got home after picking up my car and went to go in through the back door, only to remember that I had latched the hook and eye latch on my back screen door. Apparently, the guy who lived there before me used to do this a lot, too, because he cut a hole in the screen just big enough to reach through and undo the latch. The latch was a little stuck, though, and when I finally pushed up with enough force to undo it, the screen scratched up my wrist. Not knowing what kind of whatever might be on the screen, I went inside and washed the scrape a lot and then put Neosporin and a band-aid on it to try to keep it from getting infected. I re-bandaged it (with more Neosporin) this morning after my shower. And now I feel a little silly walking around with a bandage on my wrist, covering up a nice, long scratch. This was not a cry for help, people. This was me being too lazy to go outside, walk around the building, and go in the front door.

I am a little concerned about what was on the screen, though, 'cuz the scratch kind of hurts.

On the up side, I got my car back and the driver's side door opens and closes like anything. Hooray! I can go back to my usual blissful ignorance about how my car works and just drive it for a while. Grocery store, here I come!

So I moved into a new apartment just over a month ago and for the most part, I love it. Last night, I stood in the middle of my kitchen and twirled around with my arms stretched out just because I can. But anyway.

My car is in the shop getting new hinges put on the driver's side door so hopefully it won't fall off again. Why it takes three days to do this repair, I'm not exactly sure, but it does, so I am without a car for three days (starting yesterday - I should hopefully get it back tomorrow). Which means I have to take the train to work.

In my old apartment, I was about a block away from the train station. Super crazy convenient, but still far enough away that "train noise" wasn't a big part of my life. In my new place, I am about a half mile away from the train station. Still pretty convenient, and my new train station is farther along the line than my old station, so basically, I had no idea how long it was going to take me to get to work on the train yesterday morning. I got up a little early and hurried out the door by 6:54am. I just barely missed the 7:03 train and jumped on the 7:08 train instead. Got off at my stop around 7:30, walked into the office by 7:42. The same time I normally get in when I drive. Nobody at work would have known I had taken the train if I hadn't told them (which I don't think I did 'cuz it's really not important). And this morning, I was in the same basic pattern, but I left my house at 6:58, got the 7:07 train, and walked into my office at 7:44am. Train schedules in Chicago are not exact.

I have a coworker who takes the train every day - he does not own a car. And just about every day, he comes in somewhere between 9:10 and 9:25am. His day is supposed to start at 9. (He knows when he wakes up in the morning how long it will take him to get to work (approximately), yet he is late four out of five days a week.) My day is supposed to start at 8. We're both supposed to stay until 5.

Does this strike anyone else as lopsided?

It strikes me as lopsided. So I started leaving around 4:45. If I walk into the office at 7:45, I think I'm within my rights to leave at 4:45 - that's nine hours I spent at work. The funny thing is, when I started leaving nine hours after I showed up, my coworker started showing up later and later. And one day, I stayed until just after 5 because I had a lot to do, which means I got to see him leave at 4:56. He got in at 9:25 that morning and left at 4:56pm. That's about seven and a half hours, compared to my nine plus.

Please note that I have nothing against this coworker as a person. He is a very nice person. The only reason this is even an issue for me is we have very similar job titles, which would seem to merit similar treatment in the workplace, but very obviously does not in this particular case. And I also bring this up as a sort of tip for employers - if you have two employees with similar job titles and/or descriptions who are treated in a significantly different manner from one another, you are, essentially, telling the one employee that his or her time or work obligations are not as important as the other person's. And to continue to let it happen, even when made aware of the situation, reinforces the one employee's belief that you really just don't care.

Just a tip.

I've been grumpy and feeling lost and I'm kind of tired of it, so I'm trying a few things to give myself the old kick in the pants (so to speak) and get my butt motivated to, well, improve my butt.

You'll notice that I've changed the layout of this blog. I think it was time to brighten it up and make it...happier. The dark thing with dots was a dark thing with dots. Now I have dandelions and it looks like nature, but without being pretentious about nature. At least that's what struck me about this template. It looks like fun nature. So that's one thing.

I signed back up for the nutrition and fitness tracker I used last year to lose about 14 pounds. I've put just about all of the weight back on (though it came back on differently than I lost it, so my old "fat clothes" don't fit right either and I'm kind of annoyed that none of my clothes are flattering on me at the moment) and that has made me grumpy. I do love to eat cupcakes. And I don't want to spend the rest of my life obsessing about whether or not it's okay to eat 13 grapes instead of my usual 12. But I know I'm overeating and I know it's not all healthy stuff and I know that puts me in a mood. So since I'm ready to get out of the mood, I'm going to try to do something about it again. Eat healthier. More exercise. A better butt in 2011.

I want to blog more. I am realizing that I kind of miss this. It's a good creative exercise for me. I think I got a little scared of it because there were a few posts that I wrote that offended people. I understand that. Those posts were, however, written in a very dark place out of a need to get that out of me (or maybe as a cry for help) and the fact that people got offended by my unhappiness is a little upsetting. Makes me not want to share. But this really is my blog. My place to say the things on my mind. If you find it offensive, you don't have to read it. I need to write it, though, and I need to be able to express myself here without fear of pissing someone off. I know the pissing off will happen, but I need to write anyway, if that makes sense.

Which brings me to "The Social Network" and "Catfish." I saw both of them in the same day, back to back. I was a little surprised at how much I related to this portrayal of Mark Zuckerberg. It was kind of one of those "dork does something to try to stop being a dork, but despite his success, he's still essentially the same person and therefore, still a dork" things. Like when I was little and I would go to other girls' birthday parties, I would see the guests fight over who got to sit next to the birthday girl and whose present she should open first and blah blah blah blah. They all made a fuss. At my birthday parties, my friends did not fuss over who got to sit next to me or whose present I should open first. They just didn't. I don't know if it was my friends or if it was me. I remember thinking every year that I should invite an odd number of people to my birthday parties so that including me, there would be an even number of people there, hopefully ensuring that I would have someone to talk to. It's sad that an eight year old would think that way, but I did. And I feel like I have done many things to put myself out there and become more sociable and more approachable than I was when I was eight, but I don't know that I will ever be the sort of person who gets fussed over. So I kind of felt for Zuckerberg in that respect.

But the big thing I took away from these two movies is that a person's online persona can be anything and you often have to be careful what sort of relationships you start with the people you meet on the web. And I started to wonder about my own online persona. I don't think I have tried to present myself as anything other than what I am, but it is possible that I am seen as something different. When I write these posts, I write them in my voice. When you read them, you read them in your voice. Something I intended as sarcastic and funny might be read as bitter and harsh. Such is the nature of online communication. But it does make me want to cut some people some slack. People who I know largely through their online communications. What I know of them is what was running through their heads for five minutes on a random Tuesday. I don't know what the rest of their Tuesday was like because I wasn't there. I don't know how much editing went into the post or if was totally stream of consciousness. Just because I read someone's blog does not mean I know what is going on with them in their life. Just like you, my dear readers, I love that you come here and read my brain droppings, but they are selective tidbits. I hate to say it, but you don't know the whole story. I love it that you read - please continue to do so. But reading my blog doesn't mean you know what's going on in my life.

That sounds mean. I don't mean to be mean. It was just something I was thinking about after watching those two movies.

But anyway, back to getting healthy.

I am going to get back on my exercise bike.
I am going to go on my adventure that I've been meaning to go on for a week and a half now.
I am going to cook more.
I am going to eat better.
I am going to say one nice thing about me to me every day.
I am going to do one thing every day to try to further my artistic career.
I am going to do my best to not let the little things get to me.

And in the immediate future, I'm going to get some more tea.

So I have some thoughts on suffering, largely because I read an article about the failed Times Square bomber who was sentenced to life and he said that he was defending himself in the name of the suffering of his people, or some such thing. Which made me wonder if there is a people on this planet who have not suffered. At all. Over anything.

Jews have suffered. Muslims have suffered. Africans have suffered. Europeans have suffered. Asians have suffered. Native Americans have suffered. Central Americans have suffered. Pagans have suffered. Christians have suffered. Women have suffered. Men have suffered. Children have suffered. South Americans have suffered. Hell, the Mayans and Incas suffered so much they don't exist anymore.

I know I'm being kind of blase about this, and I don't mean to compare the suffering of one people to the suffering of another. All I'm saying is that pretty much everyone has suffered because of something. So is it really fair to go blow up a city block because your people suffered? Guess what? I will bet you dollars to donuts that if he had been successful in blowing up Times Square, he would have killed a half-dozen Muslim people, at least. Because New York is a very diverse city. So the way he decides to get retribution for his people who have suffered is to kill them? His own people? Who suffered? Yes, others would die, too, but really? Who makes that leap of logic? It is also possible that walking through Times Square that morning would have been a lawyer who was fighting for the right to build a community center with a room in which Muslims could pray two blocks away from ground zero (or some such similar situation, because the community center thing wasn't on the table yet when he did his attempted bombing, I don't think, but there are always human rights groups lawyers running around, right?). So in addition to killing his own people to get retribution for the suffering of his own people, he would be killing his friends.

Really?

Really?

Is this the best you can come up with?

I understand pain, believe me, I do. Maybe not the same pain as that guy (who was living a very nice life in Connecticut before he went and trained with the Taliban who paid him nice sums of money and provided him with the tools he would need to carry out his plots), or as the Islamic nation, or as the homeless guy I walked past at lunch. But there has been pain in my life. Trust me on that. But never once have I wanted to kill my family or friends because of it. Never once has that pain made me think, "you know what, I've suffered so I think I need to go make other people suffer, too." I don't understand that. I just plain don't understand that line of thinking. In fact, when I'm having those self-pitying days or those curled-up-in-a-ball-sobbing-uncontrollably-wishing-it-would-all-just-be-over days where I might start to feel destructive, I stop and think about how my actions might hurt someone else, who is maybe already having a bad day, and how they really don't deserve that and maybe I should call them to see if they are having a bad day and if they are, I should lend a sympathetic ear but then I don't 'cuz I wouldn't be a very good conversationalist right now and then I feel guilty for not being a better friend and I decide to eat ice cream. Not to blow up a city block.

How about instead of "can't we all just get along," we say, "can't we all recognize the fact that humans have a rather sordid history and while I don't necessarily agree with your ideology, and you probably don't agree with mine, you, personally, seem like a very nice person and you have never held me captive in a bamboo pen and poked stinging nettles into my eyes, so let's just call it a day, huh?"

A little harder to put on a rally sign, but I think you get the point.

So I think I have decided how I would like to get married, if I ever get married. I see my future husband and I, in all of our finery, sneaking off to the mall in Central Park, New York, with an officiant of some sort (perhaps one of our friends) and we exchange vows on a fall morning with the joggers running by and nannies out taking the dog for a walk while the kids are at school. On a Tuesday or something. Just a completely ordinary day for the rest of the world, where we get to sneak in on the beauty of everyday life and share a moment together.

There can be a party later so people can celebrate with us, and that can be as big or as small as our families and friends dictate it should be. That part can be for them. The vow part can be for us.

I'm not a hotel connoisseur by any stretch of the imagination. I don't stay in them enough to really speak intelligently about what is good and what is not. But I am a person who has lived by herself for about ten years, so I do know how some living spaces should work and what is convenient and what is not and while I know I can be odd, I don't necessarily think that most of the big things I look for in a living space are that off the wall.

For example.

I'm at this trade show type thing in New York and we're staying in a boutique hotel on the upper west side (or it could be midtown west, we're right on the border), and you would think that for the kind of place that normally charges upward of three or four hundred dollars a night, you would get a top sheet on your bed. Not my bed. The bed in my room at this hotel has a bottom sheet and a comforter. And a little blanket draped across the foot of the bed that I don't know if it is big enough to cover the bed or not - I haven't unfolded it. But with six pillows on the bed (filled with various substances), you'd think they could spring for a top sheet. No such luck.

You'd also think that for a sort of posh upper west side hotel where there is a movie or television program filming around the corner that maybe the bathroom door wouldn't catch on the floor. Not my door. It sticks at the half-way-shut point. Which wouldn't be that big of a deal - I have the room to myself so it's not imperative that the door be shut while the restroom is in use - except that if you want to sit on the toilet (I'm a girl, that's what we do with toilets), you have to either shut the door all the way or open it all the way. The room is too small to comfortably get around the door with it in the half-way-open stuck position, and if you try to balance it any more open than that, the door touches the toilet. Unless you push it all of the way open. Then you have very easy access to the toilet. But not to the toilet paper, which is now hidden behind the bathroom door. Which you can't now open without scraping your kneecaps or using the toilet sidesaddle, so to speak.

You might also think that fancy showers have doors or curtains that prevent the user from spraying the entire bathroom floor with water while in the shower. Not my shower. The shower in my room has half of a door. In their defense, it looks really cool. Really cool. There is one of those rainfall shower heads mounted in the ceiling, and a hand-held wand shower head that reminds me of an oversized toothbrush, if you think of the water coming out as the bristles and the rest of the thing as the handle. And wood planks on the floor. I'm guessing they're supposed to smell nice when they get wet and as the bathroom gets all steamy during a shower, it's supposed to be like a sauna. However, when I turned on the shower this morning, it was set for water to come only out of the toothbrush wand thing, which was pointed directly at the rest of the bathroom, so I was soaked before I even got in the shower. And it took a few minutes to realize that there was a second lever that would turn on the overhead shower head. And since the whole shebang only has half of a door, I ended up getting most of the rest of the bathroom floor wet, just through the regular process of lathering and rinsing. I didn't even repeat. I did, however, drop the cap of my body wash bottle, which fell under the wood planks and rolled far enough back that my fingers can no longer reach it. So long, body wash bottle cap.

Speaking of cool, though, the bathroom sink is square. Like, the actual bowl of the sink is square, which is pretty groovy, I think. Except it doesn't seem quite slanted enough to inspire drainage, so when I wash my face, I then have to wait a minute for the sink to drain. And since the sink is a big, open, square bowl, there really isn't a rim. Which wouldn't be a big deal, except it's nice to be able to set things on the sink. Contact lens solution (and contact lens case) when putting in or taking out said lenses. Hairbrush while blowdrying hair. Toothbrush and toothpaste so they're easy to get at before you go out for dinner. Soap so you can wash your hands instead of just rinsing them. But there really isn't much "setting stuff down" space around this sink. Which wouldn't be that bad because the toilet is right next to the sink and sometimes, you can put things on the lid of the toilet tank - use that for the hairbrush and toothpaste or make up bag or whatever. But this toilet tank lid is slanted just enough so that you think whatever you put there might stay if you tiptoe out of the room and promise not to jump up and down, but then it slides off anyway as soon as you pull your hand away.

One might also think that a posh hotel would have the temperature control in the room thing figured out. We do have individual controls in each room for heating or air conditioning. They're not very attractive though. (The actual control panel part was replaced (I don't know how long ago) with a new digital control panel that is too big for the original hole cut out for the original control panel, so it's just resting on top. I opened the panel to adjust the temperature when I got here and the control panel went with the lid. I thought I broke it, until I realized it was one of those good ideas that someone didn't see through all the way.) So the designers thought to put curtains up on a sort of a curved rod, so that when you close them, the heating/air conditioning unit is hidden. And very effectively cooling the side of the curtain nearest the window, while the rest of the room stays nice and toasty.

Don't get me wrong - this hotel is lovely to look at. There is a giant mirror on one wall so the room looks bigger, but a little love seat thing in front of it so you can't get a full body picture of yourself. And a big metallic sun sculpture on the wall that does nothing but look cool. I just get the sinking feeling that whoever revamped this place when they revamped it was more concerned with design elements and not so worried about functional elements. And I'm guessing that the people on the 11th floor, right under the rooftop bar, who got to hear the loud, thumping techno music of the rooftop bar all weekend, would agree with me.

Or I could just have really bad taste. Who knows.

I'd also kind of like to know why. I don't mean that to sound accusatory - I'm asking because I don't know. The friend who told me he'd had a thing for me for years, but who I now haven't spoken to in about a year and a half. The friend who played me not once, not twice, but thrice. And Fucknut. Dear, sweet Fucknut, who one of my friends implied may have told me he was gay so I would back off. Can I ask why? Am I that gullible that I fell for it and you all never really liked me to begin with? Am I a bad kisser? Am I too smart or too independent? Are you looking for someone to take care of and you don't see the need for that in me? Am I physically repulsive up close?

I know it shouldn't bother me, but when you find yourself falling into a pattern that spans over fifteen years, you kind of have to ask why all of these men invest this time in getting to know me only to disappear before anything goes anywhere. It's not like they're even getting the free milk out of the deal - they leave before the carton comes out of the fridge. So why? What is it? It can't all be them. If it was one or two guys, maybe. But we're talking a half-dozen or so, which would imply that it is something about me. I'm just curious to know what it is. I'm not saying I'm going to change it to make other people happy, I'm just curious to know what it is. And would it be wrong of me to email these guys and ask them why? Probably. So I won't. Because they're not worth the time.

I"m still curious, though.

So last night as I was very unsuccessfully trying to fall asleep, I found myself thinking about a friend of mine. This is a friend that I had hoped I would be able to see soon because I've not seen this friend in a very long time and I miss him. Yes, it is a male-type friend, but not that kind of friend. I think the world of him and he thinks the world of me, but we have had that talk and we wouldn't date. And no, he's not unattractive - he's quite hot, thank you very much - there are just some things we each want in a relationship that the other one doesn't offer. So we are friends and I love that. I can tell him I love him and there's no weirdness. But as it turns out, I won't be seeing him anytime soon. When he used to come visit, he would sleep on that side of the bed and I would sleep on this side of the bed and while I was very unsuccessfully trying to fall asleep last night, I found myself wishing that he was sleeping on that side of the bed. Which is silly because I am a very light sleeper and I don't sleep well with other people in my bed. But last night, for some reason, I wanted him there. I wanted to be able to hold onto him while I slept. Which now has left me in the very weird position (and perhaps him, too. If you're reading this and you've identified yourself, I'm sorry if this is weird. It's not a sexual thing, I promise. I just miss you) of wishing there was someone in my house with me. And not just anyone. I know of a couple of men who I think are currently interested in me (and who are local), but for one reason or another, nothing is happening. And when I try to think about one of them sleeping on that side of the bed, I feel all ookey and not in the good way. It's really only the thought of this one particular friend that is bringing me comfort at the moment.

I'm sorry. That's weird, isn't it? To need not just a hug, but a hug from a specific person who you haven't seen in a while who lives very far away?

And that, by extension, makes me think about the fact that there are a couple of men right now who I think are interested (but with whom nothing is happening) and what if I did have a certain someone who always slept on that side of the bed and without whom I couldn't sleep at all? Like my cat, but a person. But in order to get there, I'd have to go through all of the getting-to-know-you dating type crap first. Spending evenings talking about our families and school experiences and political views until we trust each other enough to invite one another over to our houses, but then there's the whole "do I ask if he has a spare contact lens case 'cuz I didn't bring one and if I sleep with these in, I won't be able to see in the morning, but it's really not romantic to say, 'hold that thought, I gotta go take my eyes out'" thing where you really need to follow your routine but you're afraid to let this new person know what your routine is because what if they disapprove for some reason and yes, that nightie is sexy, but the ratty t-shirt is so much more comfortable and what if all I really want to do is sleep? I'd like to just fast forward to feeling comfortable enough with someone to just sleep next to them, like I can with my friend, and be able to actually sleep. And then be able to tell him the following day that he has to go sleep in his own bed because my cat is pissed that he didn't get his spot last night and I have some making up to do.

I miss my friend. My cat is softer and really cute when he's snuggly, but my friend gives better hugs.

I don't know if I told you or not (I think I did, or it was mentioned somewhere), but I told the man I've had a crush on for years that I had a crush on him and, in my opinion, he handled it exactly wrong. He chose to not speak to or interact with me at all instead of just a polite, "Thanks, but I don't think of you that way," or whatever. Though his response is the more popular choice, I have to say, it leaves a person feeling rather like shit. Anyway. He was in my dream last night. I was traveling with a lot of people, and I could tell in my dream that my introvertedness was starting to kick in and I was really just done with being around people, but we had to go to this place that was like a giant diner/bar/truck stop food court. And one of the restaurants in the food court was named after my mother. I don't think it was intentional on the part of the restaurant owners to name it after my mother; I think they knew someone (or were someone) with the same name and chose the name for that reason, but there it was, so we had to eat there. And they had vegan cakes, too, that all looked like baby cradles or graves. Not very appetizing. But anyway, this guy, the one I've had a crush on for a long time, worked at the restaurant named after my mom. And I tried so hard to not notice him, the way you try to not notice someone you really want to see after they've told you that you mean nothing to them, but I failed because eventually, I had to go to the register to pay for my cake and he was working the register. And of course nobody that I was traveling with knew who he was because they'd never met him, so nobody thought it was a big deal that I should have to pay for my own cake. So I went and paid and he asked me if I wanted to see his ring. It was a gold band with a light green square stone that he said he got in Utah or some such place. I remember thinking it was rather girly, and not in the "feminine" way, but in the "I had a piece of costume jewelry that looked very similar to that when I was five" kind of a way. But I nodded and walked away. He was playing it in the "hey, we know each other so I should say hi, but really, I'm uber cool since I work at this diner/bar/truck stop food court" kind of a way. Which is sad because this particular person has been in many of my dreams in the past and he is usually a lovely human being in them but now I guess I'm so annoyed with how things were handled that he's going to manifest as a tool. But anyway, in my dream, he was also traveling with a couple of friends who stopped by the diner/bar/truck stop food court and then there was music (probably his, as he is a musician) but I wouldn't let myself listen to him play and his friends were kind of eyeing me but I wasn't all that into it and I turned into a giant introvert who just wanted to go home and be by herself but couldn't figure a graceful way out of the scenario. And every time he came anywhere near me, I hid or found somewhere else to sit. I avoided him completely.

All in all, a very unsatisfying dream that left me feeling kind of sad when I woke up. I'm sad that he would be a jerk to me. I've met him in real life and hung out with him a time or two and he always seemed like a cool guy to me. So it really bothers me that he couldn't handle someone saying, "I have a crush on you." Or that he couldn't handle me asking him to say "Thank you, but no." Maybe I was annoying. If I was, I'm sorry about that. But I miss thinking of him as a good person. I miss being able to listen to his music without getting really sad. I don't want him to be just like every other guy out there.

You know, it's kind of funny. I had my first crush on a boy in preschool, when I was four years old. I remember his name, too, and my friend and I used to fight over who was going to marry him. Come high school, I don't think he knew who I was. But ever since then, I can pretty much define where I was in my life by who I had a crush on. I almost always have a crush on somebody. And they usually get to the point where I would just like to know if I even have a shot, so I say something, and he avoids me for three months, and I sort of sit in limbo until I can find someone else I'd like to have a crush on. I am trying really hard this time to not develop a big crush on someone famous because those ones are, I think, the saddest. Yes, they are safe because that person will never have the chance to tell me "no" as we'll never meet, and even if I did write some fan letter, it would probably never get to the actual person. But I would like to have a crush one someone. I think, in a weird way, life is more fun if you have a crush one someone. That little flutter in your stomach when they call or send a text. The skip of a heartbeat when you see their picture. It's fun to think of someone as special. And when you don't have that...things just kind of plod along. Anyway.

And maybe the really funny thing is I don't think I would know what to do if the opportunity for a relationship presented itself. If I said to a boy, "Hey, I think you're really groovy," and he said, "You know, I was thinking the same thing about you," I don't know that I would know what to do next. The introvert in me wouldn't want to call every day which might irritate him or make him self-conscious or suspicious. And/or if I did want to talk to him every day, that might get to be too much for him. Honestly, I don't know. I don't know how to date or be in a relationship. Which may be why guys shut down when I express an interest in trying one - it's too much work to teach a newbie. Anyway.

I'm sure this guy really is a good person and an upstanding citizen and a caring family member and all of that stuff. I know that he is. I think my subconscious is just trying to help me get over it and how badly it was handled. Which is ridiculous because it amounts to two or three text messages which probably shouldn't have been sent. A friendship lost over a couple of text messages. I wish there was a lesson here (maybe don't drink and text?), but in the long run, I'm glad I said what I had to say because I think it's better to say those things than to not. It just makes me sad that the ears they fell on didn't want to hear them, that's all.

So I'm working nights this week, shooting training videos for work, and I feel like I'm cheating. I need to be there about 3, and I have some props to get beforehand, but I feel like I'm cheating since I slept in (until 7:30), worked out, and am doing laundry before I go to work. It was part of the deal - take all of my other work obligations off of the table so I could focus on videos for a week - but it feels weird. Really weird. I'm just saying.

In other news, I love my new apartment. I miss my old neighborhood. I'm not that far away, but it does feel different. Probably because there is construction going on out front, and probably also because I don't have my routine set yet. My gas will get turned on tomorrow (good thing I'm working nights), so then I'll be able to cook, which will be nice. I don't miss the little old man who would masturbate in front of his window, but it looked like he moved out, too. I like having more space. I like having hardwood floors again. I like being able to reset my own fuses if they blow. I feel a little bad that my cat isn't totally comfortable in the new place yet - he still likes to be where I am, and right exactly now he's running around like a crazy person. I can't tell if it's a weather thing or a new apartment thing or just an "I'm a cat and I'm kind of nuts" thing. Anyway. All in all, I think it was a move up.

So yeah. I should eat some lunch before I go to work. I am a little afraid I'll like this working night thing so much I won't want to go back to working days. I don't think I have a choice in the matter, though, so even if I'd rather work nights, no such luck. Working nights would make doing theater and music hard, too. Until, of course, the day comes when theater and music is all I have to do. *sigh* Someday...

I am quite possibly the biggest geek in the world. When I went to look at my new apartment, the guy said they might be putting in a dishwasher. I, of course, talked myself out of the idea that I could live in a place so luxurious as to have a dishwasher. I've kind of been in an ookey place for a little while which means I've been spending a lot of time expecting the other shoe to drop or for the bottom to fall out. But when I called today to find out when I can pick up my keys, he told me that they're putting in the dishwasher tomorrow. He said a bunch of other stuff, too, other things that are being upgraded and rehabbed, but all I heard was "dishwasher." See, I love to cook, but I hate doing dishes. Hate it. So much so that I sometimes procrastinate doing them a day longer than I should. But in addition to having more space and more closets and doors that close, I get a dishwasher in my new place. I can cook to my heart's desire, use as many prep bowls as I want, and wash them all in the dishwasher afterward. I went to the store tonight and was looking at Eco-friendly dishwasher detergents, excited to be able to take them for a spin.

It really is a silly thing to get excited about, I know. But sometimes you have to revel in the little victories in life. Like a brand new apartment, complete with dishwasher. Whatever it is that makes you smile so hard you cry is a good thing, yes?

Yes.

Okay, so I know smoking is an addiction. I don't have a very addictive personality, so I don't know that I can fully understand what it feels like to have a nic fit and to need a smoke. I know that.

But what I don't really understand are those people who take an hour lunch break and then take a smoke break on the back end of it. You were just outside, away from your desk for an hour. You couldn't use the last five minutes of your break to have a cigarette? You have to tack an extra five minutes on to it? Even if you were walking somewhere and were running late heading back, couldn't you have your cigarette while you're walking back to the office so as to avoid extending your lunch into the "inappropriate length" territory? And it seems that these are usually the same people who need to take a smoke break twenty minutes before the day is over. Really? You're jonesing that bad that you can't wait twenty minutes until the work day is over? You have to take that one more break with just a few minutes to go?

I don't get it. The only thing I can come up with is that it is laziness and/or it stems from a desire to work as little as possible while at work. Personally, I think it kind of sucks for those of us who don't smoke. I'd love to go take a five or ten minute walk around the block every hour and a half. But unless I was smoking, that would not be considered appropriate.

Anyway.

So real quick and not related to anything.

Blago was found guilty on only one charge. The jury was split on all of the remaining charges, sometimes with a margin of 11-1, sometimes with a greater split.

There is a sound bite of Blago and crew that has been played about three hundred times since the press conference yesterday wherein they talk about how they didn't even put up a defense and the prosecution couldn't prove his guilt.

Be he was also not found not-guilty.

Which means the prosecution planted a big enough seed of doubt in the minds of some jurors that they could not let him walk. Which means there is at least some credibility to the remaining charges. Perhaps if Blago had testified, he would have cleared up those charges and he would have been found not-guilty on the remaining counts. Maybe he would have verified them. But in either case, I don't think a hung jury means a win. I don't think a hung jury is the same as being exonerated. And, the one count they were all able to agree on, they found him guilty. So if it were me, I wouldn't be partying too hard in the Blago camp. You can have all the press conferences you want wherein your lawyers sound like evangelists preaching about how cruel the whole trial process is, but he was found guilty on one count and he was not found guilty or not-guilty on the other ones. You're going to have a lot of work to do to clear his name entirely.

(And yes, I know that in this country, we are innocent until proven guilty, but the fact that the jury could not find him innocent either says something. I'm sorry, but it does.)

Dear You,

Its funny to me in retrospect how many times we talked about how much we didn't want to screw up our friendship. How many times you told me how important it was to you. And how after all of that, you kissed me anyway and we haven't spoken in a year and a half and I know it hasn't even occurred to you that we haven't spoken in a year and a half. I just think that's kind of funny. In the way that makes me really resent movies where these two best friends secretly have crushes on one another and by the end of the movie, they both admit it and they live happily ever after. Because I know it doesn't work that way.

Dear You,

Three times, man. Seriously? Three times! How big of a chump am I? We both admit on three separate occasions, many years apart under different circumstances that we are attracted to one another and then we kiss and you say you'll call and nine months go by and we haven't spoken. My guess is that you're with somebody new because that's what you do, but I had to take you off of my friends list because I honestly just don't want to know.

Dear You,

It's not okay for you to say that you love me. You were awful to me. Granted, I probably wasn't a peach either, but you ditched me because I wasn't cool enough. And now you're going to try to tell me that you've always cared? &#$* that.

Dear You,

I remember being really happy for you when you met your husband, but I knew at the same time that our friendship would then be over. Trust me, if I could have found someone so that it could be a foursome hanging out instead of a threesome, I would have. And I realize it probably wasn't fun to hang out with someone who was bitter about couples in general, but it wasn't really fun to hang out with couples then, either. So we went our separate ways. Do you ever even wonder where I am or what I'm doing now? Maybe I should just man up and say hi, but I'm scared to. I don't think I mean anything to you anymore.

Dear You,

When someone gives you a compliment, you should say, "Thank you." It does not mean said person wants to run off, get married, have babies, or start a cult with you. It's a compliment. That is all.

Dear You,

I secretly hoped we would have a shot and when that time finally came, you took the shot and ran thirty seconds later. You knew me better than anyone and you just plain bolted.

Dear You,

I will always love you. Sometimes, I think that is what I'm here for. My purpose on this planet is to love you, just to show you that there is something good and not everything has to be seedy. But sometimes, I just can't do it. I can't hold my breath for you anymore, especially when I know you're not coming, and the excuses really only make things worse. I love you. I always have and I always will. Sometimes, I'll have to love you from a distance.

Dear You,

I love you probably more than you know. Or maybe you do and you just don't...whatever. I think we shared some things that will keep us tied together forever. And I know I'll never have a shot at being a primary character in your life and that's fine, but it still kills me to see my younger, prettier, more extroverted friends falling in love with you the way we all did at one point or another. I wish you were as interested in being a part of my life as I am in being part of yours. I realize I may have messed a lot of that up a long time ago. But I'm jealous of your life and of those who get to share it with you. I'm sorry about that.

Dear You,

Are you sure we wouldn't work?

Dear Me,

You are amazing. It hurts to say that and it hurts to hear it, but it is true. You are strong and beautiful and there is no one else on this planet like you. You are one of a kind. That is wonderful and beautiful and amazing and really hard. You're doing pretty well, though. You have learned how to survive and you're good at taking care of yourself. Don't forget how to do that. You will someday find someone you want to cast in a leading role, who will be thrilled at the offer and who will give 110% to it. I mean, really, think about it - you've already found a few. I don't know quite how they've managed to hang on through your selfish phases and your moods, but they are and that is such an amazing gift - don't let that go. And yes, there are people who will turn down leading roles, and those who will cast you as a supporting player or in a bit part. That is their choice. It is not a reflection on you. Because those who do get to enter the funhouse that is your life know what an amazing place is truly is. Those who choose not to, choose to miss out.

Hang in there, kid.

So I am, admittedly, not proud of that last entry. I was being petty and trite and egotistical and whiny and for that, I apologize.

I will also admit that I'm having a bit of the "But what's wrong with me?"s lately. A bit of it in connection with the plan that almost happened but is now back at the starting blocks waiting for the next run to start. A bit of it having to do with non-returned phone calls or emails or whatnot. And a large part of it having to do with the fact that I'm just all kinds of off in my regular schedule at the moment. I'm not eating right because I'm moving soon so I don't want to stock my cabinets and it's also been too hot to cook so I'm grabbing what I can when I can. I've not been exercising like I should because it's too hot. I've not been sleeping well because my dreams keep reminding me of all of the things in my daily life that are wonky at the moment. I'm just kind of restless and antsy and ready for something to be different (which it will be in about two weeks when I move) and I'm feeling like a whale even though I'm not necessarily looking like a whale and whatever. I just kind of feel icky at the moment.

But I made this movie ten years ago, and in honor of the ten year anniversary of the filming, the director has been posting links to where all of the chapters of the film are posted online. And I went back and watched my parts of the film. I have to say, I'm good at this. I was good back then. I'm still good now. And I went to these two auditions this weekend knowing I could do whatever they asked me to do and now I get to sit and wait and see if they call me back and if they don't, is it because I look wrong with the leading guy they like or is it because I'm not sure how much potential nudity I'm comfortable with on stage or is it simply because I'm going to be out of town at a trade show for a couple of days in the middle of the rehearsal process? I don't know. And I won't know. I just have to keep going out there and auditioning for stuff to get my thick skin back. Because I am good at this. I am really good at this. I am fun to work with and I am creative and I am invested in every character I play in every situation that character finds herself in and I am open to whatever sort of direction they want me to take. I am good at this. And I am much more attractive than the current picture of me in my head would imply. I need to remember those things. There is plenty that is odd about me, but nothing so odd that I can't get a job or make friends or anything like that.

That being said, I'm still really looking forward to moving. I was packing up the clothes from my closet last night and realizing that I haven't worn most of that stuff in about a year, so maybe it is time to trade that stuff in and get new clothes that feel more like me. Even if it means having fewer garments for a little while (which means more frequent laundry), I think it might be time to upgrade my wardrobe. I'm ready for change in my life, and I am of the opinion that drastic can be a good thing.