MILKSHAKE!!!!!!

Okay, I haven't updated for awhile and that's for two reasons.

1: Things have been pretty lowkey and I don't want to be the bitchy blogger who just complains about absolutely nothing.

2: The Show that I started in the last entry ended up not, well, let's say- fun for me. So I didn't blog about it. (we all know how much trouble that gets me into.)

But- I'm about to leave for another contract, and I have to tell you about what has been maybe, the worst week, ever. No really. EVER. So convinced am I that it was, infact the worst week ever that I'm going to begin with the end, just to get you going. That's how I work. I want you to make the sound you make when someone tells you something really bad happened to them, that actually has happened to you- you know the one. " My tire blew out on the freeway, you guys." "Awwwww." That's the sound. You've made it, you love it, you're about to make it right now. Here's the end of my week, people. Root canal. That's right, root canal. Lets bring it back.

So- like two weeks ago, I'm eating grape nuts cereal (I hear it cleans out the arteries) and I feel this really bad feeling in the back of my mouth. It's not a pleasant feeling- it's kind of like when you were little and you thought "Hey, how bad can chewing foil really be?' (did you just make the sound?) Yeah, it felt like that. And as I swallowed the helping of cereal on my spoon, I realized that, wow- that did not taste like grape nuts. No. I had swallowed a filling- and it wasn't just like an average filling. I have a tendency to get cavities that are so angry and swift that they destroy two teeth at once, like from the middle. So this filling- created a gaping hole- a chasm if you will in my mouth. It was from the back- but it was big. No it was really, REALLY big. I was cutting my tongue on this thing. I checked it out in the mirror after it happened, I really could have used it for storage. Okay- so you get it was big.

Now, I call the dentist- who has been my dentist since I was a child. He was like, the guy who made me swish with blue stuff two show where I wasn't brushing my teeth- remember that? Taught me how to floss, gave me that cute little sticker that said "I went to the dentist today!" and it was like a smiling tooth-This was the guy. And he's had the same staff the whole time too. So the receptionist, Holly, gets me on the phone, I tell her what happened and she's like "No, that's no big deal." I'm like "What? No this is a huge deal. I'm storing tupperware back here, it's a very big deal, Holly." She thinks I'm hilarious. See, they know I'm an actor, right, so she decides I'm just being dramatic. Like this is a bit. Hahaha That's hilarious, she wants horrible, painful reconstructive dental surgery, isn't she great? What a hoot! So she sets me up for an appointment on monday, (2 and a mother fucking half weeks later) and that's where the week begins.

Monday- I go to get what I think is going to be a regular filling. Just cover up the gaping hole and send me on my way. Well, no. See what happens when you have a fucking canyon in the back of your teeth is shit gets in there. (and I brush my teeth, people) Stuff you think is just food, candy, diet coke- it all turns into like this acidic poison that eats your teeth away. You know- plaque. So he has to drill. FUCK. I hate the drill. Oh my God, I'd rather eat my own face then have that drill on my teeth. I hate how it sounds, smells- I hate how you can feel it in your skull, kind of rattling and making your brain vibrate. The drill is Satan's tool, I know it. The devil invented the drill. So he drills (and drills, and drills) and puts a crown on my tooth and sends me on my way. I'm thinking-"Well, that sucked, but its monday- and I'll be fine. " No. NO. After the novacaine wears off and I'm home, watching The Hills (love it. LOVE IT!!!) This raging pain hits me. Like, can't see, sensitive to light, mouth throbbing like someone is repeatedly punching me in the jaw pain. I'm like- okay, gotta go back to the dentist. I call and Holly, again thinking I'm being dramatic says to me (oh, you'll love this) "Just take some Advil, honey and go to bed, you'll be fine." FUCK HER. As if I didn't try Advil immediately. Gah. So I took like eighty Tylenol PM's and went to bed.

Tuesday. Pain is worse today- as if that is possible. Today, standing hurts. Are you getting this? Being upright hurts MY TOOTH. So I call the dentist again- Holly says she can fit me in. Gee thank you. So I laid in a dark room all day with an ice pack on the side of my face, repeatedly taking fistfulls of Advil until my appointment which is late in the afternoon. My dentist is like "Well, we probably have to do a root canal. Looks like you hit the root with all that decay." Look, I don't want to sound oversensitive- but it kind of made me feel bad.Like I don't brush my teeth. Like I was sitting there in my room purposely shoving plaque into my teeth. So he does a root canal- funny thing- my teeth aren't taking to the novacaine right away. No, my lips are totally numb. My tongue can't feel a thing, but I can feel everything on my teeth. The man shoots me full of novacain SEVEN times to make it work. He drills (and drills and drills) puts a crown on and sends me on my way. Only this time- a warning. "Call if there is any pain." Okay, I was already in pain so I had no idea what to do. I took about four thousand tylenol pm's and went to bed.

Wednesday. Insane, profound pain today. I saw Jesus. I really did. He was standing in front of my bed, like reading Jane Austen. And it came in waves too so like, It would be okay, a little achey and then WHAM, Its like I got hit in the face with a truck. So I had to go back to the dentist. At this point, the staff is like annoyed at seeing me. Like I couldn't wait to see them, right? Oh, it gets better. At this point, my mouth is nearly immune to Novacaine. He shot me literally 10 times. And the last two were directly into my tooth. I shit you not. I don't need to tell you he drilled. (For like an hour. I think he saw my uterus in there) H, and by the time he was finishing up- I was starting to feel stuff. Like- I kinda knew what was going on in there. Thak God, he was almost through. He patched me up and sent me on my way.

Thursday. I'm actually awoken by pain. Yeah, Awoken. I'm trying to think of an accurate description. It's like someone took a railroad spike and with one swift move, rammed it into my face. I sat bolt upright in bed and even though it was like seven am, I called the dentist. I'm like pissy with Holly at this point, right, like it's her fault. "Uh- yeah, Holly. It still fucking hurts. Yeah, I need to come in. I don't care if it's seven am, you bitch, make it happen." I'm like Star Jones. So I go in there right after they took their lunch-so everyone's in this great mood. "Oh I had pad thai" "Oh, I had this delicious baked ziti with oregano and basil...." I'm like "I drank a fucking hamburger through a straw bitches! FIX MY TOOTH!!!" So get this. I've become immune to novacaine at this point. I swear to God. He shot me at least a blillion times and a few times directly into the nerve. I. Felt. Everything. I felt like I was being tortured, I kid you not. They should do that shit in Guantanamo Bay. There were a few nurses fucking holding me down. I felt literally everything. Unreal pain. After he was through with the brutal pain, I couldn't even speak. Not because I was numb- because the pain was so intence I couldn't make word sounds. I was like limping out of the office. I looked like a released hostage.

So, okay, Friday, I was still in pain. Throbbing, the whole nine, right? But I would be DAMNED before they fucking sent me back to Guantanamo. I wasn't going. I was like "Fuck it. I dont have to eat. I'll live off Advil, slim fast and a prayer." But, of course, as the day progressed, it got worse- before I knew it it was nine pm, I was crying like a little bitch and I knew I had to call the dentist. Ha ha- funny story. He was gone. Like- out of state. Yeah, fucker decided to vaca while there was a little war happening on my mouth. I know, he's a human, blah, blah- I'm the only one that matters here, okay? So I mixed a cocktail of vodka (yeah, I drank, deal with it) Advil pm and valium. (yummy) and went to bed.

This morning, I called his emergency referal service and walked, yes, walked to this other guys office. The new doc was so cool. He was like Rebel Dentist (Not in a Little Shop way cause whoa..) He had like cargo shorts on and like this AC/DC shirt on, he's got the tv going, you know, like a Harley out back, he's totally rad, right? He's all youngish and adorable. He takes a look at my x-ray and get's all gentle with me like- "Well, I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but I gotta rip that temporary bad boy off and figure out what the hell is still making you hurt." It was kind of dreamy. Then again, I was completely delerious. I thought the starbucks guy was dreamy and he was a she. Okay- so he rips the bad boy off, and turns out- I had like a resorption thing happening. Ha ha. Do you know what that is? It's when your nerve literally eats itself. So basically the inside of my tooth was just raw flesh and enflamed nerves. Yummmm. So here we go again, right? Novacain, feeling the whole thing, terror, tears- no. No! This guy had the good shit. Oh my God, he was THE MAN!!! He like shot me with something that was so intense, I was like a stroke victim. Half of my face was totally numb, I'm not kidding. Drill, drill, drill, fill, fill, fill- he prescribes me Vicodin (Thank you God) and I walk home. I might marry him.

I'm supposed to have all of my laundry done. I was supposed to have done alot of things this week- I'm SUPPOSED TO LEAVE ON MONDAY MORNING. Instead- Worst. Week. Ever. Was I right?

So okay- I want a milkshake, It's a thing with me. Its my reward for dental surgery, but I'm not gonna have one. I'm gonna take my vicodin and go to bed. Hopefully, next week is better- Oh who am I kidding? I could be abducted and it would be better. Infact, if I got abducted by aliens on the way to the airport Monday morning, my week would fucking rule compared to this week.

Well there ya go.

Oh, and hopfully I'll talk to you soon.

Never done heroin. I promise.

It's tough having an addiction. I mean, it works it's way into every part of your life, right? I imagine, a cokehead can't just say "Well, I'm gonna go get lunch with so-and-so, then maybe, I'll figure out what to do tonight, etc...." First of all, I guess cokeheads don't eat- second, They can't really go anywhere that doesn't have a place they can whip out the old vile and snort lines off of a flat surface, now can they? Not to mention- it's not like they can get a normal job. Can you imagine how difficult it would be to sit in a cubicle all day while vibrating on a coke high? Flat surface be damned, I don't think it's possible. Plus the money situation has to be incredibly tricky. Well, you get the idea. It's gotta be tough to be a cokehead.

So, what if your addiction is to something else- there's food- I've been through that. That one is really REALLY hard- Because it's not like alcohol or well, coke. You have to eat. If you don't eat, you die. So you can't just stop that addiction, like smoking. My dad quit smoking one day while he was still driving trucks. Just looked at the pack and thought "No, I don't want this anymore." So, on the highway between two midwestern states, he tossed the pack out the window and never looked back. You can't do that with the food. You can't just toss a burger out your window and not ever eat again. So for a person with an actual food addiction, you have to find a balance. A diet that works- it's painfully, tragically difficult! But okay- this blog isn't about food addiction.

This is about an addiction to a person. Now, person addiciton is actually alot like drug addiction because you CAN actually live without them. You can metaphorically toss them out the window and never look back, but for whatever reason you don't, You just can't. Maybe you think, one day, this person will be the person you want him to be. Maybe, he'll become what he was when I met him. Or, maybe, like heroin, you chase the dragon. Apparently, the first time you do heroin, it's the greatest, most profound experience you can ever have. It's high and low and enlightening and fantastic- so, that's what heroin addicts are doing. They're trying to find that place again. They try so hard, they buy and buy and use and use, but they're never riding that dragon again, it's just not happening. But the big trick is, the whole time they were chasing, the drug was working it's way into their bodies and, well, what d'ya know- addiction. Same thing with that person. Maybe when you first met him, he was spectacular. He was sweet and smart and caring- then something happened. Who knows what it was, but, you know, you just KNOW it's never gonna be the same as it was when you first met. Every once in awhile, you may see a glimmer, a moment where you see that guy you met a long time ago, the one you fell for. But it's fleeting. Gone, just as quickly as it appeared. Guess what?! The whole time you've been chasing this mythological person that they were either pretending to be or you made them to be, you were becoming addicted to them. It happens.

So, okay, say you give it up. Say you look at the relationship and say "No. I don't want this anymore." and stop. That's cute how you think that's gonna work. It does for awhile, right? What a glorious feeling it is, too! You wake up one day and realize that wait, maybe you're over him! You haven't thought about him in weeks, you're no longer planning your wedding or naming your children (never did that.), you're no longer crying at the thought of things he's said or done or pining over the pictures of the two of you together. You're just living- and wow- maybe even thinking about other guys. Then he calls. Or you run into him in an unexpected place, or he drops you an e-mail, and bam, there you are again. Mother fucker has alot of power for someone you were over, doesn't he?

I wish I had a charming little wrap up for this blog. Like "So here's what I've done." but I don't. You know, my friend Molly had this great relationship. They fell in love in high school and they seemed like soul mates. They were together for 5 years. It seemed natural when he asked her to marry him- then they broke up. It was ugly, messy. He hurt her in a way that will literally never heal. The thing is, Molly did get over it, sort of. She got married. She has a baby and a house. The husband- has nothing to do with the ex, their lives never crossed paths. However, it still took Molly years and YEARS to get over X. Infact, here it is, seven years later, seven years of wedded bliss, suburbs, etc and it's only recently that she and X are able to talk to each other amicably. They certainly don't spend any social time together, but they seem to care genuinely for each other's well being. Yeah- that only took SEVEN FUCKING YEARS. i don't know how I'm gonna do it. But I gotta give this up.

Why aren't there Boy Anonymous groups to join? I would so be at every meeting with a cup of terrible coffee talking about "Hi. I'm J and I'm addicted to the boy." "Hi J."

So there ya go.

This is why you have a best friend...

Soooo- greetings from the lobby of the Windemere Hotel in East Mesa-

Couple of interesting facts abou this hotel:
The pool/jaccuzzi stays open 24/7
Your key card can become unmagnetized if you so much as look at it wrong
There is a free breakfast buffet every morning from 6-9:39am
Also, this computer is an ancient artifact brought over buy the Aztecs.

(not sure about that last one, but the monitor is bigger than my house)

So, I began rehearsals for the King and I this week, and life has been pretty hectic and awesome. Nothing like the beginning of a new show- or as one of the other actors put it "the first day of school" We've been living out of this hotel for the past couple days- and I hate to say this because I'm probably the only one and I might be dragged out and stoned... but I really like it! I have my own room so I can talk on the phone and watch tv as loudly and as late as I want, plus there is room service- look, ok- I LOVE HOTELS!!!! there I said it. Certainly life will change when we move to cast housing. I hear it's fabulous; but I'm going to be living with all of the girls. FIVE of us in one house. I hope it works out. So far, I really like these people.

RE: the title-
Today, Red called me while I was out with the cast, post-rehearsal. "I have the most random and bizarre question to ask you" she said. Now, you have to understand, she says this in the beginning of about 80% of our phone conversations. The questions usually are pretty random, but- I usually prep myself for the absolutely bizarre (How fast do you think you would have to throw a cat to skin it using velocity alone?),only to be met with the mildly bizzare (What was the name of the movie where the girl who won the Tony for Hairspray played the fag hag to Scott Wolf and Jay Morr's shared lover?) (BTW that movie is "Go".) So the question: "How does the song "Quit Playing Games With My Heart" begin?" So, without asking why, I immediaely launch into the lyrics. "Even in my heart..." and I realize I'm singing at full level in a crowded Applebee's. SO I went outside, and together we came up with the lyrics to the first verse. Only then did it dawn on me that this is a strange situation- only after going outside and fully belting the first verse to a Backstreet Boys song did it occur to me that people don't normally do this. "What is this for?" I asked her then- and she told me why. Some of her servers wanted to know- It really isn't important. The whole purpose of this blog is to say that what happened here, tonight is why you have a best freind. So you can call someone int he middle of dinner and ask them for the lyrics to a late '90's boyband song and they will give them to you without asking why. Well- it's one of the reasons.

Here's what happens when the music stops...

That title is kinda dramatic, right?

It's like, the sound of silence and what happens inside our heads when we are suddenly faced with emptiness and what we do with it....

No- here's what it means. Wait, first, a story. While working at The Theatre, I was loaned a cd that I never listened to and never returned (ps, don't loan me things like that!! Even if I ask very nicely!!!) The cd was the soundtrack to a musical that I'd never heard of, called "Bare". That was January. I listened to it LAST NIGHT. So, the lyrics to the songs are pretty contrived. It's seemed kind of corny, actually, and I was almost, ALMOST disappointed until I decided to check out the musical online...And I read the synopsis. This show is literally the most depressing thing I've ever witnessed. Ever. And I haven't even seen it. Can you imagine being in this show and doing it every night? After like, an eight month contract, wouldn't you have healed over blade marks on your wrists from where you cut yourself so you could feel? (No, just me? Hmm)

Alright- remember how I used to be really, REALLY into the OC? I stopped. Now I'm into Lost. I'm totally into Lost and I swear to God- there is no one on earth who is as into it as me who I can talk to. Wait- I do have a friend who gave me this theory: "The island is another planet, " she said "it's in another solar system and that's why planes and shit get lost on it. It's being protected by NASA and that's why they reported all of the survivors dead".

To which I replied: "Hmm. Interesting." Dude- that friend is a loon.

Okay, so I have no other outlet, I have to get some things out.

1. I used to like John Locke. He was sagey and wise. HE knew how to do everything, He was the literal MacGuyver. Then season 2 happened and he went all crazy face about "the Island" and it's powers, and sacrificed Boone, etc, etc. The fact that they've finally consumated the insanity that is John Locke with the Others just like, made my life worthwile.

2. I'm really, REALLY over the Kate thing. Alright, already, so she's the hottest girl on the island. I know. I mean, Claire is pretty cute too, but you know- Kate hangs out naked alot more than she does. Anyway, she's been leading Jack on for three months, she banged Sawyer (which is understandable however skanky) and then she was somehow surprised that Jack took an interest in someone else. Hmmm. Seriously. Shut up, Kate.

3. If they kill off Charlie, the only likable character, I swear to God, I will lose my mind.

4. Whatever happened to the black smoke creature?

5. I love, love, LOVE the new and improved Sawyer. At first, with the stealing and the sneering, all he had going for him was that body..... which is fucking flawless, but whatever- Then season 2: he takes a bullet for Michael (the asshole)'s son, which is awesome- professes his love to Kate, (whoa), bangs that lesbian Ana Lucia (double whoa) and gets captured which brings me to now. I can't even say how fucking hot it was when he told Kate that she didn't have to use him, all she had to do was ask. Sweet Lord.

6. Jack: Asshole this season. It was getting on my nerves how fucking "good" he was all the time but, uh, please. Lets have some of the old Jack back. And Julliette, for God's sake? Seriously?

7. What are the Others? What are they? Please, Oh, my God, please!!!!

8. I'm so scared, literally terrified that they are thinking about pulling some Sixth Sense bullshit on us right now. Do not even think about it ABC. I know where you live.

9. I know about suspension of disbelief, right? But Hurley- lost weight in season two and somehow has managed to gain it back and then some. I mean, he hikes all the time and lives on fruit. What the hell?

10. It's been weeks! Why doesn't Jin know any more english?

11. Thank you, ABC for killing offf Nikki and Paolo. Burying them alive. Seriously, brava.

12. Did you notice that that guy- the one who interviewed Julliette and is an Other (and played the token Latino on Suddenly Susan) apparently hasn't aged in thrity years? He was like a jungle yetty in the seventies with long hair and then all that changes is- he cut his hair. Seriously not one wrinkle- what is that?

I think that pretty much covers it. I'm anxiously awaiting the season finale so I can have more questions to drive myself insane with all summer.

AND WHAT THE FUCK WAS WITH GREY'S ANATOMY?!?!

Izzy is totally out of her mind. I've decided that. How crazy-face is this girl? Out of nowhere- out of a drunken one night stand she's in LOVE with him? Propositioning him in the locker room? Okay and whoa, Alex! Who do you love? We know you have feelings for someone- but who is it for? Is it Ava/Rebecca- or is it Addison- make a decision and deal with it! Also- what? We waited three seasons for Merideth and Derek to get together so they could break up in two episodes? And DEREK FLIRTED WITH MERIDETH'S SISTER IN THE BAR!!!!! Is that the only place he can find women? And do all of his conquests have to be doctors? And is George leaving the show? WHAT?!?! Shonda, girl, please. If anyone should get the fuck out of dodge it's crazy-face Izzy! Better yet- Burk. Burk! That mutha-fucka left Christina at the alter? WHAT?!?! It doesn't make sense, none of it! Oh and they better not be thinking of introducing those five new characters as interns next season. I'll go gangsta, I will. And, you know what? I don't CARE if Taye Diggs is in the spin off, ABC, I ain't watchin' it. Stupid Addison and her stupid spin off. Fuck ya'll.

Okay- I know, I get a little too involved. Don't worry. I start rehearsals next week and I'll be away from my tv for awhile. I promise.

Just a week is all I ask!

So I've been 28 for a week and here's what I feel like-

I SHOULD be doing something better, yeah? This is my problem: I'm a product of television. The tv became my babysitter at the tender age of eight when I was plopped in front of it in the visitors lounge at the hospital my father was in. As fast as you could say "The kisses are hers and hers and his..." I was an immediate addict. It's where I learned about sex, love, relationships, my vocabulary, fashion, drugs, what you should be angry about, what should make you sad, what you should do with your life- the fashion labels you should be wearing, how to appear smart, how to make your friends laugh- It was essesntially my mentor. While learning from my mentor, I found out, that by the age of sixteen, you should have a really sexy, somewhat bad boyfriend who writes you love notes and slips them into your locker, makes out with you at the picnic tables at lunch, should drive a motorcycle or a really old beat up car (that he and his rotten old man rebuilt from the ground up) and is secretly wildly intelligent. After about a month of dating- he should tell you he loves you in this incredibly romantic way; and you should be thinking it too, only you let him say it first. Then you cry and kiss him and say somethng like "Oh, (boy's name here) I love you too!" You should also have a best friend who you tell everything to- you cry with her, she does your hair- and then you have a really big blowout fight with. And a passion for some extracurricular school activity. You should also have a political drive.

I did have the passion thing. I was passionate about theater. I did have a best friend- although i didn't tell her much of anything. I could have cared less about politics and I most certainly did not have a boyfriend- bad or otherwise.

Television is also where I learned about being a college kid. When you're eighteen, you should go away to college. It should be a long drive, but your parents do it. They help you move into your dorm, introduce themselves to your new roomate and after a teary goodbye, they leave you to your new life alone. You and your roomate either completely despise eachother or you become instant best friends. (the latter only happens if you and your roomate are from different races. As I am black, I assumed I would fall into that catagory) You drink alot when you're in college. Also, you have to become friends with someone who has a PROBLEM. Either she was raped or has an eating disorder or a drug or alcohol addiction. Whatever her problem is, you have to help her through it and learn a valuable lesson from it. You maybe rush a sorority, dependant on how lame it is. You absolutely must, must, MUST find a political cause to get behind, like Free Tibet, or the environment or women's rights or animal rights. You must demonstrate for this cause, either by participating in a sit in or marching or passing out fliers. This cause is where you meet your college boyfriend. He is sensitive and kind of granola-y. He wears hemp and smells like patchouli. He has facial hair and is passionate about his politics to a fault. Okay- either he is your college boyfriend or ideal-guy-that-your-parents-love-and-you-end-up-marrying is your college boyfriend. IGTYPLAYEUP is clean cut, gets good grades, probably plays a sport and wears dockers every day. He takes you away for the weekend to his parents summerhome in the country.

Okay- I went to a junior college that did not have on campus housing. I lived at home so my roomate... was my dad. I did not have a friend with a problem. I did not rush a sorority as the only sororities on campus were Phi Theta Kappa (the honors sroroity) and Lamda Delta Sigma (LDS for short, the Mormon sorority). Once again, I could have cared less about politics and I did not have a boyfriend, granola or otherwise.

Finally, adulthood. When you're in your twenties, you move out to a cheap, but really hip apartment where you live with a couple roomates. You are definetely best friends with one of your roomates. You get a job that turns into your career, you date a string of guys all with different genres (musician guy, doctor guy, guy that's younger than you, really funny guy, oversensitive guy, rich guy, et al). You have a fantastic group of friends who you go out with at least once a week and do incredibly fun things. You of course fall in love and get married.

The wedding is huge. Its the occasion of the century. It's perfect. All of your best female friends are there. You wear a multi-thousand dollar dress and your father cries. It is held in a church and a really old priest conducts the ceremony. There should be special appearances from people in your past who you never thought you'd see again, but showed up to your wedding as like a peace offering. Your best friend helps you get dressed and offers to help you disappear if you want to back out. You have an amazing band at the reception- where your best friend, of course, catches the bouquet. The best man and maid of honor give amazing toasts- and then you go away and change into a smart skirt suit-- and you and your new husband drive away in a limo as you wave goodbye to all of your friends out the back window.

Then you buy a house with New Husband. Then you get pregnant. Then you have a baby- who you love and name something meaningful. This all happens before you are twenty eight.

I think you see where this is going. I Barely graduated from college. My career is flighty at best. I'm not dating a slew of different guys. I do not have the cheap but hip apartment. I HAD a fantastic group of friends but as a result of some well placed misunderstandings, I do not. My point is this. I have no dea what I should be doing right now. Slowly, I have learned that all of the things tha happen on tv, in this way that makes you believe that it happens to everyone- don't always happen. Infact- they never do, to me. Tv was always this roadmap for me- this is what you do here, this is what you do here- and now- I have no map. I find myself stranded at twenty-eight thinking "Ishould have passed this place, this place and this place but I haven't! Do I have to go back and find these places or do I move on and find a new place; a place I didn't expect?" It's terrifying and exhilerating. But mostly terrifying. It's not that I don't know how lame it is that I based my entire life on what tv has told me to do, but I did. So, I'm lost. Not like "Lost" lost but, I'm completely disoriented and well, lost. It's like- I can see where I want to be, but I can't get there. Too many obstacles.

So- I should be there and I'm here. I'm twenty-eight. Where do I go?

My last few days in High School

I'm gonna be twenty-eight in 7 days.

You would think that this would be a time for me to be reflecting on life and relationships, to respect and fully realize my journey, who I am now, who I was then what I've grown to be, and accept what being twenty-eight really means. However, as I'm sure you read in the title... This was not the case. I have spent the last few days in what I can only assume is some sort of time warp into the abyss of High School! I'm not upset, more like highly aware and alert for the first time in awhile. so:

Here is want I've learned in my 28 years:

Don't argue with people about religion and politics. If they beleve differently that you, your opinion isn't going to change their minds. It's best to just keep your mouth shut.

Any marathon of basic cable is a reason to spend the day in bed.

Don't put expectations about yourself on anyone else. Just because you expect yourself to behave a certain way doesn't mean that others have those same standards for themselves. This will keep you from being disappointed in people.

Don't compare yourself to people doing better than you are. That will just make you hate yourself for not being what they are and who can live up to that kind of scrutiny?

If it's a crass movie with no discernable plotline and no comedy besides fart jokes and titty shots, its going to suck. I don't care if Will Ferell is in it, it's going to suck. Don't ask me if I've seen it. I haven't. It sucks.

Forget about soulmates. It's too much pressure. If the person you can't wait to talk to in the morning is your best gal pal, and you just can't wait to fill her in on celebrity gossip- maybe that's your soulmate.

Don't worry about looking stupid in front of your friends. Believe it or not, your friends love you for all of the bizzare little indiosyncrasies you have. And if they don't then they are not your friends.

Nobody wants to hear about your diet woes- mostly because they have no idea how to react when you say you're fat. Just try to take better care of yourself if you want to lose weight. And don't complain about your weight with a cheeseburger hanging out of your mouth.

It's okay to hate people who have hurt your friends, even if you have never met them. Just don't expect them to do the same.

If you get you hopes up about anything, anything at all, they will inevitably get crushed.

There's a point where talking to strangers becomes creepy. "Excuse me, do you know what time it is?" or "That's a fabulous purse" is acceptable, but anything further than that becomes awkward. Under no circumstances is it appropriate to share you life story with a complete stranger. Look, I'm sorry you had to work a double today and your boyfriend left you this morning and you have a bad back, but I really don't care. Just bring me my damn martini.

Just get it over with, whatever it is. Whether it's cleaning your room or doing your taxes or breaking up with the wrong guy, just do it. Yeah, it will suck while you're going through it, but you'll feel so much better once it's done.

Sometimes, you have to watch yourself in front of other people. Nobody is asking you to change your personality, but simply being courteous is just expected. That's why they call it "common" courtesy.

In the end, sleep is more important. Sure, I'll sleep when I'm dead, but then I won't have the next day to beneift from what a good night's sleep I've had.

And finally:

Twenty-eight isn't that old. Sure, I may look at my twenty-three year old best friend and think about how old I feel compared to her, but somewhere, there is a thirty-five year old thinking the same thing about me.

Unable to resist...

MEN SUCK.

I'm sorry, I know I'm not supposed to say it. I'm not supposed to be the "all men are assholes" girl. Alright- my brother is not an asshole, okay? I guess Barak Obama isn't an asshole. But seriously, the unfortunate cesspool of men that I have surrounding me everyday have done nothing but prove themselves to be ASSHOLES!!! My best friend's ex- asshole. Her former roomate, the evil puppetmaster? Asshole. My dad? Asshole. That mother fucker of a spineless,dickless waste of skin who didn't call last weekend? ASSHOLE!! Columbian heir/ wannabe pimp? asshole. Mr. "Do you want to go out some time?" possibly an asshole. We'll see. I want to go on record as saying that if they don't clean up their act, I'm gonna be the all men are asholes girl.

so there ya go.

Sister, you're much better off...

Dude- so my bestie and the worst human being in the world (AKA her boyfriend) finally broke up. Thank God!! He is a MORON!!!

He had no idea that not only was he not good enough for her, but he never will be and she just did something that will save her life. He should : Grow up, get a life, figure out how to balance a checkbook, take care of his kids and LEAVE HER THE HELL ALONE!!!!!

What he shouldn't do: Call her, text her, beg and cry to her, send her suicide threats via text, show up at her work, yell at her, tell her she ruined his life- pretty much everything he's done for the past few days. HE is the BIGGEST LOSER!!!

Um, yeah- just had to get that out.

I hate men!

Playing with matches....

I watched a High School production of Fiddler on the Roof yesterday. I am now seeking medical attention for the giant hole in my ocular cavity resulting from the ice pick I repeatedly jabbed into my eye. I kid of course.

I did, however find profound and sage advice in an oldie but goodie "Machmaker" I suppose it comes from my current diagnoses of terminal singlehood (it's so tragic) and the man-problem epidemic that seems to be running rampent among my friends. Observe.

"Matchmaker, matchmaker, you know that I'm still very young. Please, take your time. Up to this minute I misunderstood that I could get stuck for good........ Matchmaker, matchmaker plan me no plans. I'm in no rush. Maybe I've learned: Playing with matches a girl can get burned."

Wow. Go on with your bad self, Sheldon Hardick.

Stuff that happens...

I am thankful for the sun.

I am thankful for my job.

I am thankful for the cool breeze.

I am thankful that Joe Francis is in Jail.

Neener.

Actually, I had to add to that.

Here's the thing- and seriously, don't feel too sorry for me. I DO get disappointed by guys. They always, always disappoint me. But it's not their fault, it's mine. It's my fault for ever believing that I was ever going to find anyone who wouldn't disappoint me. It's my fault for getting my hopes up, for thinking this time will be different- I'm not THAT girl. I'm not the one who gets men to fall in love with her- I'm the one who gets men to screw her and then take off- if it gets that far.

I'm not asking for diamonds, cars, marriage proposals, caviar and lobster- I want someone to be nice to me. To treat me with respect and maybe laugh at my jokes. I want someone to look at me the way I see other guys look at their girlfriends. I want someone to take an interest in me and what i do. What I don't want:

Guys who don't call.
Guys who only want one thing and ridicule and chastise me for not wanting it as well.
Guys who force me, or hit me.
Guys who lead me on.
Guys who lie.
Guys who treat me bad or make fun of me all the time.
Guys who tell me what's wrong with me.
Guys who don't look at me at all.

I'm not chopped liver. I may not be flawless, but I've worked hard to be what I am and I used to think I deserved a nice guy. But here's what I think now- yes, it is my fault. It's like beating myself over and over with a hammer and expecting it to feel good the next time. Its never going to change. I promise- I will not let it surprise me next time. Infact, fuck that. There will not be a next time. You think I have walls up now? Get ready for a god dammed fortress.

So there ya go.

I don't know. Not surprised.

Dissapointed but not surprised. What a shock. What a fucking shock.

Fuck it, that mother fucker can get it too, fuck him.

Who is she anyway?

Oh. My. God.

I should quit drinking. I have no idea who the hell I become when I'm wasted.

Sweet Lord- I can tell you who I am today. Hungover and Humiliated. Hey- alliteration. Who knew?

Because you gotta have a gimmick...

Okay, God, dammit, I've had enough. I really can't stand this chess game we call dating. Two reasons. 1: Everyone SAYS they hate games and yet everyone plays them because 2: Everyone thinks everyone else is playing games and they are terrified of being real while the other person out games them. I think it's bullshit- and yet- so clever.

I thought I spoke fluent game. But I was wrong. I wish there was a GSL (Game as second language) class at the local community college for me to take. It's a subject I'm very interested in. Dude, what the fuck, Karaoke guy? seriously!

Sexy Texty

I don't know. Maybe it's because it's so private and no one can see them but you, but there is nothing I like more than a little sexy texting. Well, some things- but not much.

You can sexy text anywhere. Work, school, church, the subway- no one knows what you're doing. Not like filthy stuff, save that for when you see them, but some choice puns, finely placed euphimisms, a little of the (dot, dot, dot). It' so exciting, and it just makes you want them more, right?

Still thinking about karaoke boy and I shouldnt be. This is how it fails. I know it. All that shimmers in this world is sure to fade, but, I like shiny things. I'm gonna play this one out.

Well anyway- there ya go.

Abide? I cant stand them!

That song "I Hate Men" from Kiss Me Kate is all fucked up. Here's why:

All of the things she talks about in the song are about husbands. How husbands are assholes- which indicates marriage. WRONG.

If you can get a fucking man to return a fucking phone call, you are a superhero and should have a comic book named after you.

SuperKate.

The singles scene

Ummm- I just took a valium so this shouldn't take long.

Bar hookups. Not like, one night stands but "Hi, I think you're cute, here's my number, call me." bar hook ups are such a crap shoot, aren't they? Like why do they fill you with such anxiety? It's like an audition. You know whenyou go to an open call and it's not a show you're even really that interested in- but you get a few callbacks- suddenly it's all you can think about? What is it about that bar flirtation that gets oyou so hopeful? Is it the anticipation of possibly seeing them again in the light of day without the social lubication of alchohol? Or is it the dread of not hearing from them at all- or both? I don't know. I got his number but the ball's in his court.

Peace.

Oh, oh- Oh, my God, it wasn't a dream!

*deep breath in*

So say you had like this really intence secret about someone. Say- okay- say you have this girlfriend named Jane who's fabulous and you love her dearly and then some friend of Jane's that rotates outside yours and Jane's circle calls and tells you this really, really intence secret. It's not so much about her like "I heard Jane sleeps around" but it's involving her, like "I'm gonna offer Jane a part on Broadway" only not that awesome. Okay? Don't you just want to call Jane? Aren't you like foaming at the mouth with this incredible peice of information about Jane? But here's the thing- it's a secret. You CAN'T tell Jane. Keeping the secret is in the best intrest of Jane, no matter how much you hate Broadway and you think it's a bad idea- Broadway is her choice and you have to let her make her own decision. And calling and telling her about it will ruin Jane!

*long sigh out*
*deep breath in*

Why? Why did Broadway have to call and tell you? Broadway isn't stupid! Broadway fucking knows you hate it. You've always hated it. Infact, back in the day when Broadway and Jane were first courting, you couldn't even look broadway in the eye. You were like "Fuck Broadway, and Fuck Jane." Even though you and Jane made up- you still hate Broadway. It knows, why can't it get that through it's thick, giant, useless skull? Calling you up in the middle of the day with this information. Seriously, Broadway must have giant brass balls. Oh, my GOD- I'm gonna KILL Broadway.

*short gasping breaths in*

JANE CANNOT GO TO BROADWAY BEFORE ME!!! JANE IS YOUNGER THAN ME, GOD DAMMIT!!!! No, no, that's not the only thing- its one of the things. Hey, if she goes through with this, she completely retarted. Everybody knows it. Okay- maybe not retarted but- Oh dammit what is the damn word? The thing is- if she goes through with it, she may get to Broadway before me, but she will also LEAVE Broadway before me. Get it? Oh, you totally don't! That's the beauty of this ridiculous metaphor! Oh, God! Okay- Jane is a smart girl. She and Broadway just barely got back on speaking terms. We all know she and Broadway couldn't make it work when she lived in... New York. (I guess?) Let's just be cool here.

*long sigh out*

I have to tell her. Oh GOD! I can't!

*hyperventilation*
*loss of consciousness*

Birthday alarm

One time when I was like 9, I got the worst flu in the history of time. It was tragic because not only, was I vomitting every thirteen minutes, have the highest temperature on record, and the inability to sleep for more than 20 minute intervals, but I also had the chicken pox. No, this seriously happened. Awful, right? No it gets worse. In the middle of the plague that infested my pink gingham bedroom was, get this, my ninth bithday. Yes, it was my birthday and I was the walking dead. Oh, my mom tried to make it fun with a nutritious birthday pedialyte and a new lovely ice pack- but she also bought me a tv with cable- which made the pestilence a little more bareable. That birthday was horrific, but it taught me a lesson. That lesson was this: Just because it's your birthday doesn't mean that you're going to have a good day. It's a hard pill to swallow at the tender age of nine, but then again what isn't?

Now don't get me wrong, it's not that I haven't tried to have fun on my birthday every (goddammed) year, but something always comes and screws it all up. I say I want it low key and I end up in some Irish pub on a college campus with like 15 of my coworkers. I say I want a party and suddenly everyone is busy. Check this out. Recently on my birthday, I planned what I thought was the most brilliant of plans. All I wanted was to go to my favorite restaurant. Crowd be damned- I just want me and my favorite people to eat my favorite food. That is ALL I want. So I say to anyone who wants to know- "Hey, I'm going to Char's. Come if you want to." Surprisingly, alot of people responded! I was pretty shocked and (here's where the giant mistake got made) I began to think "Hey, maybe life isn't that bad. Maybe I do have alot of good friends.Maybe it really is all good. So an hour before dinner, two of my girls from work cancel. One actually had the decency to call and break my heart, the other told me through TEXT. Then, my oldest friend calls and says she has a knee injury from rehearsal and she really shoudn't go out because she needs to rest up for her show. Then, another one of my friends, someone who has never let me down when it comes to a party before calls- she has to work "Can we all possibly meet her around 11pm?" The thing was, some actually wonderful people showed up that night. But, since I had so foolishly gotten my hopes up, all I could do was feel like shit all night. A few days later was my best friend's boyfriend's birthday. (A guy I don't even like.) Guess who got guilted into trekking her black ass to his shitty birthday party? Exactly.

That brings me to my next point. It seems like everyone elses birthday is always diamonds and roses but mine never EVER is. My best friend has monumental birthdays every year. She has like eight parties and everyone always has fun. Oh my God, I took her to Vegas for her 21st birthday! I have this other friend from an old job who gets the most rockstar birthdays I've ever seen! I'm talking champagne, clubs, limos- destinations! Last year, there was this guy I was pretty obsessed with, he'd had a pretty lousy year so I wanted to show him an awesome time. I went all out! I took him to this awesome restaurant where our meals got COMPED! We went VIP to like 4 clubs in Scottsdale! I'm not kidding, I even got this gorgeous dancer/model from inside the club to make out with him. I said "It's my friend's birthday" and pointed and she went and shoved her tongue down his throat. BEST BIRTHDAY EVER. So good infact that here, a year later, we barely talk and he just invited me to his birthday- you see how that goes? Hey, question: Did he even make an appearance at my low-key birthday dinner at my favorite restaurant. Answer: What the hell do you think?

I'm not gonna lie- I would try to say "Fuck my birthday" and just never celebrate it, but then you know what would happen? I'd just get pissed off that no one cared enough about me to throw me a birthday party. God, I just hate my fucking birthday! I have the most prime day of the year for a birthday too. Right before summer! It should be the best party day- but hell no. What am I really celebrating anyway? The fact that I was born? Well that's no cause for celebration! I mean, cool, I'm here, but what does that mean? One crazy night in August my parents got a little horny and nine months later- me. Whoopdi-frickin-do. Or are we really celebrating the fact that I haven't died yet? Wow, that's a joyous occasion. "Yay! You haven't contracted a fatal disease or been hit by a bus! Have some cake!"

Here's what I'm gonna do. No, I'm not gonna say "fuck my birthday". I'm gonna say "Fuck ALL birthdays." Yeah, you heard me. I'm going on strike. I will sit in thisvery spot oblivious to the day you were born until I get one good birthday. I'm not asking for a plane ticket to Maui or a new car or even an epic party. All I'm asking for is one good day. A day where nobody cancels, a day where our fun plans actually get executed. A day where I don't get sick. A day I don't have to work three jobs. I just want it to be a day I can look back on and not think "If only (insert catastrophic thing here) hadn't happened. I bet it would have been fun." That's right, no birthdays until mine works, once. Sorry- that's just how it's gonna be. So there ya go.

Wedding addiction!

I am not this girl, I swear.

Somehow, maybe by accident, I've stumbled upon this David's Bridal website and it has this feature where you can dress your wedding. Well, obviously, I'm not getting married anytime soon- but, okay, I thought it might be fun. The next thin I know, I''ve been oon this damn computer for HOURS planning a wedding that doesn't exsist. I've got my gown, my bridesmades, the
setting(s), the groom, his groomsmen- I even dressed my imaginary groom's imaginary mother. I have a spring wedding, a destination wedding, a fall wedding and an indoor ultra formal wedding. I've officially lost it.

I wish you could see it, it's intence.

Just not... wait how do you say it?

Oh yeah, before I forget. Two doors down. That uh- that never happened. Oh we hung out. Oh- we did the drinking- we just never got past that. I think he looked at me like a peice of furniture. (read: Never wants to have sex with me. EVER)

Gawd- what is the DEAL?!?!

Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera....

I guess I can say I've always wanted to be a Prather girl. When I moved back into town having sworn off theater, at least for the meantime, someone said to me "Hey, jenn, did you hear they built a new theater right next to you house?" At first I couldn't be bothered with a theater in east mesa. I mean, come on now. But, one day, I took the five block drive and checked it out for myself- and what d'ya know? It was actually a classy joint. They were doing Evita at the time, as I recall. I didn't see the inside of the house for a few years- but I did audition for the Prath' two weeks after my initial sighting. I guess I did alright- who knows? But I didn't get a job....

For the next few years, I did what every scorned actor does, I set out to find out every horrible peice of publicity on that theater that did the said scorning. And yeah, I added my own two cents in. Okay, there. I said it. I saw a couple shows- look, alright, i was seething with jealousy everytime someone I knew was in a show there regardless of what the show was or what I thought of it. Then, a good friend of mine got a tour with the Prather's and I knew that I had to get a job there, somehow. Left and right I saw friends of mine picking up contracts there. Not me- not once. And it didn't help matters that they never did any shows appropriate for me (read: no black people).

So I started working for THE THEATER. Once again I am bombarded with people having worked for the Prather's. I knew I had to work for them if I was going to have any street cred! So I went to Tennesee, auditioned for like 80 different theaters and guess what- I got a job with the Prather's. Cute little classy joint five blocks away from my house in east mesa.

So excited! Phew! That only took five years!

Here I was thinking I was just going to have to suffer through another workless summer in AZ. Good Lord. The tragedy. But no! Not only do I get to work, but I get to work for a company I've been striving to work for for a very long time. Oh- and here's the best part. I'm going to be in The King and I. This, my friends, was the first musical I was ever in. And in May 2007, it will be a literal 20 years to the date I starred in it.. Well, not exactly starred- exsisted in was more like it. Anyway- I will be playing a role my mother played- 20 YEARS AGO!!! can you believe it? I'm sure she can't either! Anyway- I just had get that out.

YAY!

I want to go outside!!!!!

So bored. So effing bored I could scream for no reason- infact... there. that was unsatisfying and loud.

Ballsack. Nowhere to go, no contract to run out and fulfill, no money, no plans. Feeling a bit like I'm drowning. Just had to get that out.

Hey, ya'll. I'm back.

Back to the Beach

So I've officially landed head first back at the theatre and guess what. I'm back in Nantucket. Only that couldn't be strange enough. This time I'm in the little room with two little beds! I'm sharing a room like I'm in college! This is seriously a journey into the awkward. My roommates are cool, but then again it's only the second week.... the room that I used to have is being occupied by the Captain. She's like the most popular girl in school, everyone loves her. She has a magnetism that I can't even explain. And, I'm a little afraid of her, not gonna lie. I share a room with Lang- she seems cool. That or she hates me, I can't tell.

Two doors down is off studying somewhere. I can't wait for him to come home then maybe I can sleep in a bed that's a bit bigger than I am. Oh, and also have sex. That could be cool.

Well, tonight is our first night bowling. Hopefully there won't be any pot cookies and awkward silences. Tomorrow- the first ten out of twelve. Dying inside. Slowly.

So there ya go.