This is over my head, but underneath my feet

Sign of the times: I'm an adult and I know it because there's a good foot of snow on the ground and I have not once been outside to play in it. Snowball fight and snow angels were hindered by the fact that Megan has tonsillitis and I am in the mood to be lazy and sit warm and snuggly on the couch with my space heater and cat nearby.

I've been terribly MIA because the last 3 weeks have been long and ridiculous and dramatic. We had some housing drama that likened our living room to the set of Jerry Springer one week ago. Hint: housing drama NOT caused by either person pictured here:
To pile more to the drama, I was all busy acting. Note to self: do not EVER audition for a show or sign up for more stuff to do in the middle of busy season at work and right when a new property is opening. Bad judgment call, Alison. Whatever, it was fun. And Crissie and Jenn were in town too, so that just added to it all. Last Saturday night, 12 friends came to sit in the audience and cheer me along and find more reasons to make fun of me. Afterwords, we tumbled into a nearby bar and proceeded to be awesome. I loved it.
Once again, I am overwhelmed by the friendship, grace and laughter God has placed in my life. Due to aforementioned housing drama, I will not make it home for Christmas. That's ok. Megan and her parents are taking me in for the holiday, so that I will not spend it alone. And since friends are the family you choose, I will still consider the day spent with family. It's a happy ending in a sticky situation. I know now who I can count on, and who I cannot. (And who I can is a sum considerably greater than that which I feel I have lost.)

The next two weeks will be difficult, but I'll make it through. And then the "Noughties" will be over and I'll welcome a new decade and somewhere around January 6, life will slow to a crawl and I will catch up on sleep and blogs and money matters and another important things.

Twenty-four.

A couple of weeks ago, I was asked to write about home.
At the time, I rather liked my entry but now it just seems a mis-shaped mis-match of other people's words strung together with my ramblings, never quite reaching a point. The point I was trying to make is that the concept of home still completely escapes me and that suits me just fine.

But here I am in Georgia and suddenly home is everywhere. This isn't even my real home, but rather the home I've chosen for myself. And here I've been, watching my best friend in her day-to-day and holding Baby Caroline and chopping celery and driving through the suburbs and marveling over the things like the matching furniture, an adoring husband, lack of landlords, and in-house washer and dryer. This IS a home and not because of these tangible things. But because somehow, Lori found a way to still exist through it all. She's still there, behind the sterilized baby bottles and clean dishes and brand new dining room furniture.

And I think maybe THAT is my new perception of home. The place where you can exist simultaneously as best and worst case scenario you. The place that smells your morning breath and dirty clothes and produces the good hair days and positive life choices. It's what you both strive for and maintain. It's what you want, and what you've got.

I rent a room and I fill the spaces with
wood in places to make it feel like home
but all I feel's alone
It might be a quarter life crisis
or just the stirring in my soul

Either way, I wonder sometimes
about the outcome
of a still verdict-less life

Am I living it right?
Am I living it right?
Am I living it right?
Why, Georgia, why?
(John Mayer)

to be continued...

Twenty-one, two and three.

I'm in Atlanta, snuggling with Baby Caroline.
24 hours ago, I was hanging out in Charlotte with my girls.
6 hours ago, I was all alone and behind the wheel of a car, singing at the top of my lungs
I'm paying limited attention to my blackberry.
There will be pictures and grandiose explanations at some point later this week, I am sure.
But for right now, I'm totally content. (And full! Mama Diane and BJ cooked us one hell of a supper. WITH SWEET TEA.)
Now, all the adults in the room are sipping cocktails and preparing to dominate in Phase 10.
Oh, Dirty South. You will always be home sweet home to me. One day, I am sure I'll come back for good. But if one more person asks me "when??" on this trip why, I just don't know what I'll do.
It'll happen when it does.

Nineteen Twenty

Yesterday was very busy.
Today looks much the same.
Tonight will bring New Moon.
And tomorrow brings a plane.

(I didn't set out to write a poem, but I accidentally just wrote a bad one so deal with it.)

Whole lotta stuff going on in my life right now. This is the point in NABLOPOMO where I thought I might falter. So, if I go AWOL over the next week it pretty much means I'm enjoying my vacation and don't really feel like hopping online.

Here's hoping I can write you a doozy tomorrow from the airport though. In the meantime, I'm off to another full day of work! Think I can shave the 1000+ emails in my inbox down to under 200? Or make a schedule that will actually work for everyone? Or make sure all my guests are set up and ready to go and none of their plans will go awry? Or still have a full head of hair by the end of today.

We shall see. We shall see.

Seventeen Eighteen.

I did it.

I failed.

Yesterday came and went and not once did it cross my mind that I should blog. Well, not entirely true. It crossed my mind while I was at work and blocked from the site. But then work rolled into the after work party which turned out to be ENTIRELY too much food and a few too many delicous martinis (seriously - have I ever mentioned I LOVE MY JOB?!) so that by the time I got home, it was too late and I was far too woozy. (I said woozy. Not drunk. Thankyouverymuch.) It didn't even dawn on me till halfway through today as I was thinking up what I wanted to tell y'all tonight that I hadn't yapped atchya yesterday. Whoops.

What I wanted to tell you about today is that I spent it staring at these people.
Apparently, this should impress me. At the risk of sounding jaded and, well, old, it does not. You've heard me rave about Twilight (and I already have my tickets for New Moon). I've seen Kelly Clarkson in concert. (And David Cook and New Kids on the Block, too.) I've dialed into American Idol and So You Think You Can Dance voting lines more times than you should know about. There may have even been a brief obsession with Bachelor/Bachelorette recently, something I hope ceases by the time Jake takes over the selection process. I've supported, enjoyed, tuned into and fawned over countless other things associated with tweens, or poor taste in general. But Gossip Girl just isn't one of them. Nothing about this show draws me in, not even the fact that it's filmed all over my fair city and especially not even the fact that it's been filmed in 2 locations where I work. (With one of them becoming a regularly occurring spot.)

All that being said, it sure is fun to be on a set all day and watch the PAs scramble and scream "QUIET ON THE SET. ROLLING. CUUUUUUUUT!" and watch the magic of tv and film unfold right in front of my very eyes. (And MAN, every member of the production team of Gossip Girl is a tween themself. I swear. Youngest staff EVER, but at least they appear to know what they're doing, in their unwashed hair and simultaneously baggy skinny jeans and hoodies and beanies with belts securing goodness knows what 'round their hips.) Being on set also affirms another key belief: I never was and never will be cut out for film. All those takes and re-grouping and details and screeching. Nope. No thank you. Give me a stage and one shot to get it done any day of the week. I wouldn't last a day on this kind of set.

I say that with an enormous amount of respect for the actors who can do it, by the by. Despite my snarky undertones, I am positive the members of this cast and crew are actually extraordinarily talented. You'll just never see me chomping at the bit to extra for this, or any other show/movie.

And that's how I feel about that.

16

Know what's weird?

The more stuff I do and the busier I stay and the crazier life gets...THE MORE ENERGY I HAVE!!!!!

I mean, I woke up and did work and then went to work and did work and then I ran around and did some work before heading over to more work to do some more work. (There was a small break in there for turkey and brie with apples, nomnomnomnomnomnomnom.) And after all that work (which frankly, really should be called something else because my job is so fun/ridiculous it often feels like anything but) I spent a solid 27 minutes cursing the MTA, which was probably the only life-sucking force of my day, and then had rehearsal which was SO FUN.

Rehearsal tangent...it's like the 3 year hiatus I took was the best possible thing and any talent I may have had just marinated and cycled through my system because I suddenly feel so much more...capable? Is that possible? It's so weird and also SO COOL. I'm saying so a lot in this entry. Is that ok? I don't know. Last time I acted I just felt so disconnected and trapped. Like I was standing on the wrong side of a glass wall. I could SEE where I needed to be, I just couldn't get there. And this time? No wall. Just lots of trusting myself and the cast and directors. Crazy.

Anyhoo. So I arrive home and both roomies are here and suddenly, despite the throbbing pain in my feet, severe hunger pains, and knowledge that I SHOULD be ready for bed, I found myself running around the apartment giggling hysterically.

Meanwhile, Sunday, I sat on my butt all day and paid some much needed attention to the DVR and at the end of the day felt more tired than at the start.

Let this feeling be documented. I should do more so I have the energy to do EVEN MORE!!!

FIFTEEN!!!!!

Halfway point.

I have a busy two weeks ahead, so today has been delightfully lazy. (I did do a little cleaning. And ordered some makeup. Productive!!) Sadly, I'm terribly excited about going to work tomorrow for two reasons.

1) Today, I've spoken to no one but my cat, and I could use a little more interaction in the days to come.
2) I get to wear my neeew suit, neeeeeeew suit!

I never thought I'd be a suit. I especially never thought I'd be a suit AND ugly shoes. (I double dog dare you to find me cute shoes that allow me to stand comfortably all day. They don't exist.) And I really and absolutely, completely and totally NEVER envisioned I'd be excited about waking up early so I can put ON said suit.

But I am a suit now, so a suit I shall be. When I moved to New York, I owned no suits. Then I bought a blazer, and then another. Then my first "real" suit and now I'm up to four, two of which include both a skirt and pants. And labels? Started with Jones New York, graduated to Anne Klein, considered Tahari, and finally landed on Calvin Klein. What UP, life? Worse still, I wear pantyhose and pearls, too. And have a preferred dry cleaner.

And this week, I'm going to go get my neeeeew suit neeeeeew suit tailored. Seriously??

Some days, I don't even recognize myself. But then I spend a Sunday entirely in my pajamas, talking to my cat and locating my floor, and round it off with a blog entirely about suits and ugly shoes so I guess I'm still there somewhere.

Let the games begin. Rehearsals, lots 'o work, packing, Charlotte, Atlanta...here I come!

Fourteen...

I woke up and yelled at myself for being a ninny last night. Seriously. I'm an idiot sometimes. And then I sat in bed and moaned, and then I tuned my guitar but never really played it. Showered, committed to a bad hair day. Put on something I wear too often. Brewed coffee. And left for rehearsal.

The scene we rehearsed today is ridiculous and I'm kind of in love with it. The director had asked I take a chance and not settle into my typical pattern. So instead of playing a 70 year old Southerner named Pearl, I'm playing a 70 year old New Yorker named Pearl. Hilarious. I had no idea I could make my voice do neat tricks, but apparently I can. I feel good and thankfully, confident.

I left rehearsal and, despite the rain, decided to go do something about the fact that every pair of shoes I own seems to have holes in the bottom. Along the way, there was a Lori conversation and some pinkberry with pomegranate seeds. Mmmmmm.

Now, I'm usually an enthusiastic shopper, but shoe shopping kind of makes me break down into hysterical tears. I never find what I want for the price I need so I usually wind up with something that'll do for a price that's higher than what I planned. I have decided I need a pair of hot little ankle boots. Sadly, my favorite pair were $100. There'll be sales later this season, right? Right?

And then I remembered that upstairs sat Filene's Basement, and inside Filene's Basement lives a quarter of a floor dedicated entirely to socks and tights. Only when I arrived I quickly learned that where it was is where the women's suiting department currently resides. And I have to buy a new suit. So. Found a pinstriped Calvin Klein for 70% less than it was at Macy's. Guess I should stop being a snob about Filene's, huh? Didn't get any tights though. Whoops.

And now, here I sit with my cat and my DVR. Some might label me a loser, but I assure you, I've been plenty social this week.

13.

Today.
Was a day.
It absolutely lived up to being Friday the 13th.

But then today ended and things began to look up considerably. Once again, I'm coming at you live from my blackberry. I'm behaving, I promise. Just enjoying some wine and anxiously awaiting chocolate cake. Before that, there was Cirque du Soleil.

Tomorrow, there will be rehearsal, which is going SO well and is immensely challenging, which is kind of the point. And Sunday? Well, there won't be much of anything.

And then next week will be a hot side of crazy sauce and then the next week will be spent down yonder in the dirty dirty. I'm looking forward to things.

Editor's postscript:
I've just arrived home. I am sitting here in absolute awe of the world around me, and God's uncanny ability to provide never what I want, but precisely what I need. In this moment, I am engulfed in bizarre feelings of gratitude for the Universe's vigilant watch over my feelings and existence. I am exactly where I should be, in a million different ways. I am both humbled and grateful.

12!

Okay.

I thought I left drunk posting behind when I started ignoring my livejournal. (And for those of you who followed me over from livejournal, you know there was an abundance of drunken posts in my early 20s.) I also thought I was still young and hip and fun and could pull off nights that lasted all the way until 1 AM. But no. As a result of last night's escapades, I have been dragging all day. My alarm rang at 7 this morning and I literally felt glued to my bed.

I am officially no longer a spring chicken. And though I can handle my alcohol considerably better than early 20s Alison, I sure can't handle lack of sleep.

That being said, last night was fabulous and absolutely worth a slushy lame blog. The concierges and I descended upon the young, hip, fun Meatpacking District and ate sushi and drank sake and networked. But more importantly, we welcomed one of my Favorite People Alive home from his 9 months of travel 'round the world. He's home, and somehow the world makes sense once again!

11

This is absolutely and completely cheating. I'm posting from my blackberry from inside a bar.

I know. I KNOW. Reprimand me all you want. Adrian is home and I'm having a lot of fun right now. There will be pictures tomorrow. Perhaps the cutuest picture I've ever seen.

And even though it's not even midnight, we're already at the after party. I probably should stop drinking soon.

Yeah. We'll see about that.

OOOOOOOO. POTATO SKINS!!!!!!

Ten.

Carrie Bradshaw once noted that every New Yorker is constantly on the lookout for at least one of three things: an apartment, a job and a relationship.
Apartment? Check (and that probably deserves its own blog).
Job? Big ole check (and THAT probably deserves its own blog).
Relationship? Hahahaha. But it's also been said that two out of three ain't bad.

I've written countless letters to my future guy, and think about him often. And if I could beg just one question of the universe, my decision would be easy. Have I at least met him? Some days, I'm so lonely that I don't think I can go even one more day on my own. But somehow, I always do. And then on nights like tonight, I think about all the perks of flying solo.

I worked hard all day long. Now that I'm home (and it's not even 8), I'm wearing boxers so ugly I don't even know why I own them. (Yes I do. Costume party.) Makeup's gone and hair looks far from good. There's a pile of clothes on my floor that I probably won't hang up anytime soon because I don't have anyone to try to convince I have my shit together. My dinner? Probably going to be bachorette-orific and something along the lines of cereal. I'm on no one's agenda and have nothing to talk about and easy access to a remote that will not be fought over.

Would I give this all up in a heartbeat for the right guy? Absolutely. Will I panic if he doesn't show up on my doorstep tomorrow? Here's hoping...

I realize that all the points listed above are things singles often say to try and convince themselves it's not so bad. But somewhere along the way of realizing them, I actually started to believe in them. I'm either becoming independent, or a cynic.

I've been asked what seems like a million times recently why I don't have a boyfriend. Beats me, I'm awesome. But it all seriousness, there's something about that question that grinds on my last nerve. It's like telling someone who's overweight that they have SUCH a pretty face. (And trust me, I've gotten that line a fair share, too.) Being single is a transient state, and furthermore, one I do NOT have control over. Implying that I'm less than complete or somehow at fault because I cannot control something entirely out of my hands isn't nice. I don't KNOW why I'm single. If I did, frankly, I'd probably change it. Instead, I'll just make the best out of my current situation. (See third paragraph.)

I believe I have a lot of control in this life. I control who I'm friends with and what kind of incredible mischief we get into. I control my job and my success at it. I control my finances, what my cat thinks of me, what I eat, what shoes I wear, what color I paint my walls, what shows I see, what I buy, what scent I wear, what insurance plan I have, what social networking sites I belong to, and a billion other things.

Love and public transportation? Two things absolutely not on that list. It's somehow both calming and comforting to have reached such a revelation. Be the best Alison possible: the rest will somehow fall in line.

Nine.

Roots!
The funny limbs that grow underground
That keep you from falling down
Don't you think that you'll need them now?

Just find a place where no one knows of your redneck past
Yeah, you can easily dispose of your redneck past
You'll show them all back home
(Ben Folds Five)

Home. I was asked to write about home today. Which is good, because I don’t think my perception of “home” falls in line with the general assessment of the idea. Which might be something along the lines of…

Four walls, a roof, a door, some windows
Just a place to run when my working day is through
They say home is where the heart is
If the exception proves the rule, I guess that's true
(Dixie Chicks)

“Where are you from?” is always such a strange question for me to correctly answer. I spent 18 years in Alabama, 6 in North Carolina, and have resided in New York for just over 3. My roots are in Bama, my heart is in Carolina, and my body currently resides somewhere in the concrete chaos of the great Northeast. Where I am from isn’t as important as where I am going.

New York is not my home
(Jim Croce)

I guess for me, home is what I’m constantly working towards. Home is not only my past (yes, my redneck past), but it's very much in the here and now and absolutely driving me around the next corner.

Homeward bound,
I wish I was,
Homeward bound,
Home where my thought's escaping,
Home where my music's playing,
Home where my love lies waiting
Silently for me.
(Paul Simon)

Less physical, more spiritual, and certainly whatever it is my soul craves.

Do you wonder where the self resides?
Is it in the head or between your sides?
And who would be the one who will decide
Its true location?
(Andrew Bird)

The point of it all is that I’m still building my ideal home. In the interim, I already am, somehow, home. My friends and their love and God and a hot pink bedroom and the subway and my work? Also my home. Perhaps such is the way of this particular wanderlust.

Me and my girlfriends are crazy little cats
We hang around wonderin’ where our man is at
We drink beer from our thumb-dented cans
We are angels in the dying summer light
And nobody’s dreams are bigger than ours
We got lipstick and legs crossed and girlish little charms
And we use ‘em like lures till it’s lonely and dark
And we want babies, soft and sweet in our arms
(Lindsey Horne – For My Girls)

For now, this is home. And it’s a good one, but it only makes me more excited for the new shell I’ll move into someday. I hope it has a strong foundation and bright walls and is anything but lonely. Somehow, I’m not too worried.

And if you take of my soul
You can still leave it whole
With the pieces of your own you leave behind
We came for salvation
We came for family
We came for all that's good, that's how we'll walk away
We came to break the bad We came to cheer the sad
We came to leave behind the world a better way
(The Avett Brothers)

Click here to read from the inspiration of this post, and see what others have to say.

Eight.

I just rejoined okcupid.com (because I don't feel like paying for Match and eHarmony). I usually have an overly verbose About Me, but I decided to go with a more simple route this time around. I mean, they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results, right? So here we go. New tactic.

There's something about Sundays that makes me want to join dating websites. This occurs about once every 4 months. I have a spectacular weekend, and as I sit basking in the afterglow, I'm reminded that the only thing that could have possibly made it better would have been...well, a spontaneous dance party. (But a guy to share it with is a close second. Promise.)

So here I sit on a typical Autumn Sunday evening. There was lots of football, a little work, a considerable amount of laughter, some theatre, movies, beer, wine, food, adventures and a morning where I slept in all the way until 8 AM! If that doesn't paint a relatively accurate picture, I don't really know what else to tell you.


Gah. Don't judge me. But something in that department neeeeeeds to happen soon. Catch my drift?

7

I am from Alabama.

I am from Alabama, but I consider myself a Carolina Girl, save two very important points: Alabama Football, and barbeque sauce.

Up until this season, Crissie and I invaded Rhythm and Booze in our crimson hoodies and demanded at least one television. Then, Crissie moved to Tuscaloosa and this here Bama fan was left on her own to suffer through football season solo. Every other game has been watched from my couch, while I noisely scare those within earshot. Today, I decided to take my fun on over to Legends, where the LSU fans gather. (Because I'm tired of watching games alone, and because my football-loving friends are LSU types.)

I wore my father's Bama hoodie because I'm not going to do anything in this life quietly. I love my team, and I'm proud to support them, no matter how outnumbered I find myself. I arrived an hour and a half before kickoff, to secure a choice table. Within 10 minutes of my darkening their door, 2 fans had sent over rounds of whiskey as an ode to my brass balls, wearing said hoodie, despite such fierce opposition. There was taunting and high fiving, and much wishing one another a great game.

(I even complimented them on their considerable class, as compared to the Georgia fans. Two years ago, I found myself at THEIR bar. Why do I do this to myself?)

And the game was great. A bit slow on the start with a bit too much playing chicken for my taste. But then we found ourselves at the end of the second quarter and it was absolutely, GAME ON. I promised that Alabama plays its games in the second half. My team didn't let me down, or prove me wrong. And we won, but not until the final four minutes of play.

They turned on me. The same people that waltzed by our table each time we were down, full of cheers and jabs (or, bought me shots), refused to look me in the eye. I quickly put on my coat and tried my best to put on a brave face on their behalf. I made a quick exit, absolutely unwilling to win with anything less than utmost class and grace. It kills me that had they won, I would have proudly sported my crimson and white out that door while they continued the taunts and jeers. I was in the wrong place at the right time. Roll Tide.

I am from Alabama, and suddenly more proud now than ever. I was born into a family of Alabama Alumni who supported my choice to go elsewhere for undergrad. My baby brother will enroll next year, and I am proud to back him in his choice. I am an Alabama fan, and I will support my team, win or lose. (But I will certainly chant one hell of a Rammer Jammer when we win, even if only quietly to myself on the subway.) I am from Alabama, and it took me moving to New York, by way of North Carolina, to realize that I am lucky to call such a place home.

six

Jordan Knight walked by my desk today.

I didn't really realize it until after he'd passed and I'd already given him my standard warm smile and "Good morning!" greeting. And then I had a hot faced "ZOMGTHATWASANEWKIDINEEDTOCALLEVERYONEIKNOW" moment.

I'm wandering up to Harlem tonight to see Dreamgirls (soul-food lunch included) and don't really plan to be home much before midnight in order to fulfill my Day Six duties, so this is all you get. Then again, I saw Jordan Knight today, so I don't really think I should really be expected to communicate effectively for the balance of the day.

Five

Rehearsal?
Was amazing.

The cast is considerably smaller than I'd anticipated, and considerably more talented. (I'm sorry. I don't mean that ugly. I just mean that, frankly, I had no idea what I was getting myself into and the sides given out at the auditions did the piece as a whole NO JUSTICE.) We sat around in a very tight circle inside a teeny weeny studio and just let the words and laughter bounce and run their courses. And it's only going to get better. I am sure of this.

I don't want to say too much about the production specifically because I want those of you who will be able to see it to formulate your own opinions.

In the last acting class I took, I learned the art of being simple. My characters are often too contrived. I tell, beg, and demand the audience to feel exactly what I want them to feel. Which is crap. If I were any good at this, the audience, my audience, should get what I'm trying to convey without my banging them over the head with my own personal agenda.

So I have my work cut out for me. Neither character I will portray are anything like I've either done or considered myself capable of doing. So. I'm gonna do it. Because I'll only be a better actor if I figure out how.

I'm some crazy mix of nervous and elated and frightened and excited and humbled and I'm pretty sure I like it because I am anything but bored right now.

Four!

Let's talk about Halloween weekend.
Actually, let's not talk. Let's just look.
(Ok, fine. There will be a little talking.)

Meet Opal. She celebrated a birthday last week. So, we threw her a right nice party!
Looky there! We pulled out our fancy furniture and strung up our Christmas lights and I even wore muh fancy hat!

Now, I don't want y'all worryin' about my little buns in the oven. (That's right, buns!) My MawMaw smoked and drank the whole time she was preggers with me and I turned out juuuuuuuust fine! See?
Don't I have the purdiest sisters ever? Don't I? Opal, Ruby and Topaz 4-evah!!

Suffice it to say, the White Trash Bash was a success. Except I'm pretty sure I gained about 14 pounds on the macaroni and beer. And Halloween candy. And cupcakes. Lalalalala. Moving on...

Halloween proper was a considerably classier affair.
There was a killer bee and her beekeeper.


A couple of flappers.
(Yes, I absolutely googled flapper speak and spent the evening rattling on about getting bent and finding me a darling baby grand cause I cain't settle for no drugstore cowboy.)

Facebook made an appearance. Or for those of you who are Office fans, BookFace.
I love the amount of ridiculousness currently consuming my life.

Three.

Day Three and I promise I'm here, only in the 11th hour.

Literally.

I would have gotten here sooner, but a long walk turned into spiral practice with my football, which turned into another long walk and some hardcore boxing with the Wii. This, friends, is my ever so exciting life. It's getting harder and hard to drag my sorry self to the gym, so I'm trying to find other ways to stay active.

It's been brought to my attention that I haven't clued my audience into the ins and outs of my daily life. Well. That's because there's not much to "I woke up, ate some yogurt, went to work, made lots of people happy (I hope!), came home, went to the gym (again, I hope) and crashed on the couch with an evening of Bejeweled and bad tv." But there is something pretty exciting going on that I probably should clue you into.

I'm in my first New York theatrical production!

Yup. Three years after I moved here to pursue theatre, I finally pursued a little theatre. Sure, there have been a few auditions and a class. And I've certainly SEEN my fair share of theatre. But I dunno...somehow I never really took it seriously. I went to auditions I knew I wasn't right for that way the rejection seemed a bit less real and slightly more fair. "It's not that I suck. It's that I wasn't right for the role."

So I finally went to an audition where they couldn't type me out. Why? Because they wanted 20-something character actors who could play a wide range of ages and potentially some musical instruments. Well how 'bout DEM apples? I am a 20-something character actress who can play a wide range of ages and yes, even some musical instruments. So I submitted my two year old headshot and my laughably sparse resume and wouldn't you know, I got an audition. And instead of writing this one off and singing que sera sera all the way home, I actually prepared. I went in, belted my song, made some character choices, and smiled pretty and said "thanks for seeing me!"

Two days later, I got the call. Two roles (neither of which I read for, but that's ok). Rehearsals begin tomorrow. It's so NOT a big deal, but it is SO exciting that I'll actually be doing SOMETHING besides keeping my couch and my cat company. And who knows what this will lead to? It's a new show with a company I've wanted to work with for awhile. This could be the hobby I've been begging for.

So tomorrow, I'll wake up and eat my yogurt and put on my suit and go to work and make lots of people happy (I hope). And then, I'll go to rehearsal number one and meet my castmates and breathe life into Pearl and Patti.

I cannot wait.

Two.

It's been 10 years and that seems like a very long time. (But a very good time, too.)
I remember a night much like tonight. Cool, but not quite cold; probably something the poetic types would call crisp. I remember walking the path between Trexler and Belk and gazing at the sky, laced with gauzy clouds. I remember staring at the trees and feeling young and entirely independent and free. I remember loving that campus and loving our city and feeling thrilled to finally be a Carolina Girl. I remember finally understanding that the choices me make and the friends we have are absolutely what shapes our destiny. And I vividly remember that from inside such a moment, I felt like the luckiest, happiest girl alive.

Sure, the sky and the clouds, the trees and that campus, all loaned themselves nicely to such a wonderful feeling of pure contentment. I remember feeling that I had made it, that I had done something, that I had finally started to shrug away the angst of childhood and begun to embrace the possibilities that had arrived to pull me into adulthood. But more than anything, I remember that you were there, right next to me. And I kept this thought silent for a decade, but now I've decided to let it sing to the world. It was only a moment, but it travels with me daily. You were there the first time I associated pure happiness with my world.

So my wish for you, Jennifer Gail, is that the giddiness I felt that night with you at my side walks with you daily throughout your 28th year and beyond. You've shaped a large piece of me, and you carry a sizable chunk of my heart. Happy Birthday! I cannot wait to see you soon!

AOT.

I wanna play the game. (I want the friction.)

I let October come and go without one single entry.
I said October would be better than September, and it was.
There were palpable differences I could see and taste and touch and feel, but there were emotional ties rebound and broken, too.

And now it's November and it's going to be my NaBloPoMo. (That is, National Blog Posting Month.) A post a day, for one month straight. Being that I haven't talked to y'all in awhile, I hope there's a lot to tell you.

Of course...there is a way you can help. If you're reading this, whether I've known you a month or all my life, whether you read this regularly or just wandered in this very minute, no matter what, comment and give me some inspiration. Perhaps it's a story you already know and want me to re-tell it. Perhaps it's a small idea you once heard me say in passing and would like me to explain in more detail. Perhaps you just really care about my thoughts on okra or sequins or Kevin Smith movies. Dunno. Just be my muse. Give me something.

November is going to be beautiful. Adrian comes home and New Moon hits theatres and I start rehearsals for my New York theatrical debut and I get to visit Charlotte and Atlanta and see the most important people in the world (and meet one of them) and the holiday season arrives and there's big things happening at work and there's always that possibility that around the corner, something crazy and exciting waits. Let's get started!

Don't waste your heart on a wild thing

Earlier today, I wore an Anne Klein suit with pearls.
And here I sit now, in a Bama hoodie and no name jeans.
I'm busy flipping back and forth between the Alabama/Arkansas game and America's Next Top Model.
I realized earlier how much I whine about being tethered to work via my blackberry, yet I can't go more than 2 minutes without glancing at the thing.
I claim to be a literature snob, but somehow I'm currently re-reading the Twilight Saga, because once wasn't enough.
I'd like a boyfriend, but only if there's plenty of room for things like space and freedom.
I beg for down time, yet immediately become bored and restless after five minutes alone.
I can't go in public without styled hair and applied makeup, yet will be the first to whine about those who judge based on outward appearance.
My cat annoys me when she won't cuddle but irks me if she meows for attention.
I'll sleep with the windows open or AC on only so I can wear more layers and snuggle with the comforter.

There's no point to this entry. I just felt like punctuating the fact that I am indeed a little bit strange.
Now. I think I'll go order dinner. A quesadilla. And a salad.

I tried my best to be guarded, but I'm an open book instead

Happy Anniversary, Baby.

At this exact moment three years ago, I was crammed in a minivan with all my wordly belongings and two of my very best friends. There weren't as many tears as I'd anticipated, but there was a racing heart and a roving mind and a whole lot of "what ifs" on the wide open horizon that stretched up the road from North Carolina to New York.

We all thought I'd be back after one year. We all thought I'd have my fun, stick my foot in the proverbial pool of New York life, discover the icy reality and run straight back down yonder where I am still quite positive I belong. I don't really know what's come over me or understand the force that binds me to this city. But here I am, and here I'll stay, for the time being.

And it's a different New York than the one that initially greeted me. There's no longer a Crissie residing in the bedroom next to mine. I've walked in and out of 3 jobs, into a 4th and been promoted to a 5th. I now swear by my blackberry and own Prada, but no longer wear high heels. I weigh 30 pounds less and don't wheeze after a single flight of stairs...or even 2, 3 or 5. I can tell you how to get wherever you're going without ever looking at a subway map. I've seen well over 100 Broadway, off-Broadway and off-off Broadway productions and have even auditioned for a few. My heart has broken, healed and broken again and boy hidey, have there been some atrocious dates. I've moved out of Brooklyn and into Queens and discovered that closets really do exist in this city. I've kicked Joanna Gleason out of her rehearsal space, gawked at Will Smith, smashed into John Lithgow and Diana DeGarmo and been stalked by Seth Myers. And more importantly than anything, New York owns an independent Alison who's not entirely afraid of being alone. Which is weird, and also kind of huge.

Anyhoo. I've done hardly anything I set out to do, but a million and one other things I'd never have dreamed into my own reality. I've quit guessing what the future holds and stopped acting like I have any decision making rights on this crazy ride of mine. It's more than a little bit funny that one of the loudest, rudest, brightest, most chaotic places in the world taught me how to relax and stop trying to control silly little things like life, the human spirit and destiny.

I guess I can't help but wonder if we're going to make it to four years.

Allow me to exaggerate a memory or two...

Following a failed attempt at a cartwheel in a park, my glasses found themselves fastened together with superglue. I received a lot of crap for this but didn’t actually care because they still helped me to see, which is exactly the kind of thing glasses should do. And though I live in New York, I’m mostly still a hick from Alabama who cares more for functionality and comfort and overall look than labels.

Seriously. If I feel like splurging, you’ll find me at Macy’s, as opposed to Target or Old Navy. The only labels I own were purchased in Chinatown, so I’ll give you a couple guesses as to their level of authenticity.

And I had contacts anyhow, so this whole conversation was pointless. Until, of course, the seasons shifted and the allergies attacked and I found myself with chronic dry eye and non-existent desire to poke myself in said dry eyes, pre-mascara in the mornings. Fine. Time to make room in the monthly budget for something more important than wine and new shoes. (Ok, so perhaps New York is rubbing off on me afterall..) So I headed to Cohen’s Fashion Optical, lured in by the promise of $100 glasses. I gave myself a very strict talking to prior to my arrival. I was to seek aforementioned functionality and comfort and, if necessary, compromise style.
But then I saw the sad little $100 glasses case. I think, in actuality, this case is not where glasses come to find their new homes, but rather a glasses graveyard. This case is where ugly, outdated glasses come to die. I knew no mate for me waited inside that case, what, with their rhinestone embellishments and golden feathering. (I am NOT kidding.) And frankly, by the time they add in all the things you need to get the glasses out the door (you know, like lenses and an eye exam) it’s gonna go over $200. So I wandered to the next counter. And the next. Ah yes, and that display, too.

Oh, why hello Gucci, Armani. Hi Coach! What’s up, Calvin, Ralph? Heeeey Dior! Yves Saint Laurent, great to see you! You too, Fendi. And then I saw them. Purple and Prada. The saleslady sensed my weakness and had them ‘round my ears and perched on my nose before I could say “STOPITICANTAFFORDPRADAAREYOUCRAZYGETTHESEOFFME.” And you know that moment in a movie when something big happens and everything is in slow motion and everything is quiet but the manufactured sound of a heart beating? That happened, as I leaned forward to peer into the mirror. I gasped. Saleslady gasped. Other sales dude, who REALLY thought I belonged in Coach gasped. The lady with her ADHD 9 year old son gasped. These glasses had to be mine, y’all. So they are now. (Forgive the bad cell phone picture - it's all I got for the moment.)
And that is what I am up to. While my friends wander the world and prepare to be parents and attack academia and fantasize about farmland and lots of other very important things, I am here in New York, purchasing Prada.

Just because I'm losing doesn't mean I'm lost.

I may be jumping the gun...
It's too early to tell...
I really shouldn't be opening my mouth right now...
And truly, I should not count my chickens before they hatch...
Or say anything until I'm positive...

But I think I have a new obsession.

And it's kind of causing me to take back a statement I made a few entries ago. Remember when I told you I would submit to the need to workout, but probably never have the desire? Uh huh. Yup. Ok. Fine. Might have been wrong on that one. You see, I'd been dragging my ass to the gym and onto cardio equipment and frankly, that's just not all that fun.

So last night, I went to a MegaMix Aerobics class and sweated and giggled my ass off. I enjoyed it so much, in fact, that this morning I awoke full of energy, checked the class schedule, and bolted out the door for Kickboxing. I enjoyed THAT so much that after class, I marched myself upstairs and requested a personal trainer to show me the weights and machines.

And now, there is not one room in that gym that I do not OWN.

And the mirrors I once feared are slowly becoming my friends. Because at the gym, the mirrors are not there to foster narcissism or elevate flaws. They're there to help you...to reflect body positioning and focus on improvement. Today, in the middle of my side kicks and jabs and hooks, roundhouses and upper cuts, I gazed into that mirror and saw an Alison drenched in sweat but somehow glowing, with shining eyes and a great big smile. And there, in that mirror, plain as day, was something I have never seen.

My neck.

To the population at large, neck sightings might not rank as breaking news, worthy of blog entries. But to this no-neck monster, it's exactly the kind of thing I need to see. As I stretched off the squats and rolled through the pain, my body made me aware of every muscle group, leaving me strong and capable.

Perhaps I've broken through a barrier. I feel like my life has kind of settled itself into some blase form of normalcy lately, and I'm thrilled for a new focus.

All I want is to rock your soul

Dandelions.
I loves them.
Always have.

I mean, check out my computer background.



As a child, I formed some kind of unnatural obsession with plucking any in sight and scattering those petals on into the wind. I guess it's the dreamer in me. Any reason to wish is reason to get excited. (And as an adult, I still do it. And wish on the first star spotted on any given evening, too.)

I guess I just keep hoping that the wind is just going to blow that change I seek my way. Which I guess says a lot about my personality.

Dear Universe,
I bow down to you and acknowledge that you are fully capable of making wishes come true if I only bend to your necessary whims and allow you to do your thing.
Love,
Alison

Last week, I got a wild hair and organized - I mean, really organized - my room and the living room. Those who know me know this is a biiiiig deal. For a solid week, I have maintained a very un-Alison like level of continued organization. I hate to admit it but...I'm kind of happier this way. I waste less time and energy finding things so that I have more of both to do the actually important things. Novel concept, really. But even with all the now niche-i-ness, something was missing. Observe.



While perusing a cute little home goodies boutique, I came across some adorable wall decals. They were pretty pricey though, so I avoided the purchase and headed for the internet instead. (And besides, decals? Surely I could come up with something arty-er.) Initially, I looked for stencils, assuming it would be the most economical choice and lend a little more "look what I can do!" to my wall. Y'all. Stencils are both expensive, and hard to come by.

Back to decals.

So over to Etsy I headed, because Etsy never lets me down. And I found this.

Dishes are done, man. Dishes are done.
But to sweeten the deal, I also found this.

Which I ordered in light pink (not black) and will accompany the scattering seeds I will send sailing across my bright pink wall. And then I ordered a tiny set for my computer, too. It really shouldn't be left out of all the fun. There's a chance I may later order a bright pink set for my bland white wall later but I didn't want to go too overboard just yet.

So within the next week, my room will receive it's final touches. And every day, I will wake up and remember that I am a girl who never stops wishing.

It's impossible to you, not impossible to me.

And so the journey begins again. I've been stagnant and dormant too long.

On January 1st, 2005, I began Weight Watchers. Over the course of 11 months, I dropped 60 pounds.

For the year that followed, I maintained.

On September 22nd, 2006, I moved to New York. Over the course of the next year and a half, I dropped another 27 pounds. I wish I could tell you this was done entirely healthily, but I think we all know that my first 2 months in New York had me living on McDonald's Happy Meals, granola bars, and peanut butter. Ah, the life of a starving (hopeful) artist.

For the year that followed, I maintained within about a 5 pound fluxuation range.

87 pounds down, and sadly, about 50 more to go.

Somewhere in June, I joined a gym. (As you have already read.) I guess an eensy weensy part of me hoped my schedule would magically clear up, I would spend 2 hours there 4 times a week, and life would be magically healthy and the pounds would melt away. As we all know, that ain't so. After talking to Megan's parents about their success, I have decided to give South Beach a go. Frankly, my body needs a bit of a cleanse and I've got nothing on my plate (pun intended) for a couple weeks, so now is as good a time as any.

The good news is, Marielle and Megan are doing it with me which is going to make this sooooo much easier. And, Megan already had the books. Here we go.


No fruits, fewer carbs, and no alcohol for 2 weeks. If I'm crankly, I apologize. Here's hoping I emerge from Phase One at least 10 pounds thinner. From there, it will be onto Phase Two and the re-introduction of carbs, fruit, and (thank GOD) wine. The goal is 25 pounds by September 15th.

And after that? Only another 25 pounds until my FINAL GOAL. I finally feel close. Perhaps somewhere in early 2010, 5 years after I started, I will hit that "I've lost 127 pounds from my heaviest point" mark. I will slap it square across the face and remind it it is indeed my bitch. And I will never. EVER. Go back.

It gets so bad, but I just keep coming back for more

I keep meaning to write you a long and wordy post about how I'm ok and flooded with love and realizing the difference between wants and needs.

Instead, tonight I will regale you with stories from the gym. Or as I playfully love to call it...well. Hell.

I keep hoping I'm going to wake up magically one day and be one of those people who just loooooooves to work out. Now check it. I have in fact lost 87 pounds from my highest point. Across those pounds, I have tried walking. Jogging. Running. Pilates. Yoga Booty Ballet. YMCA. Curves. Yoga. And lately...Lucille Roberts. Because it's 20 bucks a month, around the corner from my apartment, and yes, I am now at the point in which I need to be toning and doing cardio in addition to learning fries and pizza a well-rounded meal do not make.

And even though I love how I feel AFTER I work out, and occasionally I love that great warm spread in my chest that comes with breaking a truly remarkable stride...I do NOT love the act of working out. For me, I look to the gym how many people look at their ex-spouse. Specifically if a marriage shattered with kids in tact. Everything is done politely, but with gritted teeth and bruised egos. Y'know. For...the kids.

Only for me, the kids happen to be my multiple chins, my jiggling arms, my buddha belly, and my thunder thighs.

On my first morning at the gym, I was a solid 7 minutes into my QT with the elliptical when a very polite woman approached my machine, demanding it was her turn. An obvious rookie, I hadn't realized when I signed up for a machine, it would do me some good to make sure I got on the right one. The silly part of this story is that amidst her yelling, (all in Spanish, to boot) no less than 4 machines stood empty. The kind woman next to me finally relinquished control of her machine only after I screeched "IT'S MY FIRST DAY. I DO NOT KNOW WHAT I'M DOING. DO YOU REMEMBER YOUR FIRST DAY?!"

The past two weeks have been relatively uneventful. I'm learning the quieter times when I don't have to fight for machines and can steer clear of those directly in front of the floor to ceiling mirrors.

Yeah, can we talk about that for a second? There is NOTHING I look forward to more than planting myself in front of a mirror and watching the sweat pour and my face turn into a veritable Ally Tomato.

And then today rolled around. After a weekend of overindulging in birthday cake (for me! for America!) and beer and wine and burgers and cheese and sushi and pizza and gelato, I shimmied myself into my favorite pair of part lycra (aaaaallllll comfort) pants and headed to see good ole Lucille. 2 miles on a bike had me good and revved up for 40 minutes of "let's see what I can do!" on the treadmill. Well. 3.5 miles is apparently what I can do - 2.5 of them at an actual run. Go me, right?

Right.

Until it was time to get off the treadmill. My feet hit that nice and still and steady ground aaaaaand...I fell. Right on over. Yup. I did that. And I mean, I couldn't help but laugh because what else do you do when you appear drunk at a gym at 10 in the morning?

It's fine. I'm not bitching. I'm just aware I'm never going to love this modern torture chamber called the gym. But I'll keep on going.

Y'know. For the kids.

How many times can I break till I shatter?

Saturday Night. 8:45 PM. I’m sitting on my balcony, alone, with nothing but a six pack of Red Stripe to keep me company. It’s finally not raining and I’m thankful I can see the sky and feel a completely unseasonal cool breeze. I’m positive there are things I could be doing and friends I could be hanging out with, but somewhere in the chaos of New York it feels nice to be alone and not speak with anything but my fingertips.

I don’t regret much, but I do regret my mouth and my heart and the world of hurt they’ve both brought raining down upon me in the past month. If I could un-love him I would. If I could find a way to be happy just being his friend I would, too. It was a long hard fall, learning I’d once again misread the signs and given my full self to someone who neither wanted nor deserved it. So I’ll open up to you, Cyberspace, and apologize to the Universe for the tangled mess I’ve become. I have completely unraveled.

One year ago and a few days ago, Lori was here. (Lori is now pregnant and in Georgia – two things I both love for her and hate for me.) One year ago, I made the promise I make every year – that this was finally going to be my year and I’d finally conquer this whole love thing. One year ago, I honestly believed that by the time I reached the point I’m at right now, I would no longer be alone. Lori rolled her eyes and reminded me that I say that every year.

Birthdays stop being fun when you start to approach your scary age. 27 is my scary age. It now looms a short 5 days away, and Unraveled Alison must now step up to the plate and admit she is not where she wants to or thought she’d be. In all fairness, I am at least things I never thought I’d be and I won’t apologize for or doubt my successes, wherever they may lie.

When 27 arrives, I will make no promises. I will tell no one that this will finally be my year. I won’t open up my heart or gently place it on my sleeve for the universe to locate its partner. I am not going to let myself believe that I am actually any different than any of the other lost souls out there, hoping to figure it all out before it’s too late. My time will come when God is good and ready to give it to me, and no wishes placed on burning candles will ever change that.

This year I’ll only swear on the things I can deliver. I’ll be a better boss, a better daughter, a better neighbor, a better roommate, a better friend, and a better Alison. I won’t be selfish, but I will be self-aware. I’ll make the time anyone spends in my presence as pleasant, good-natured, and fun as possible. I may have done nothing wrong, but I sure don’t feel like I’ve done much right, either.

27 may be my scary year, but the world isn’t going to stop turning because I’m uncomfortable. And that’s all I have to say about that.

This ain't no love that's guiding me

I couldn't make this up if I tried.

Today at work, an older gentleman approached my desk. We got to talkin', and I couldn't help myself from inquiring about his thick Southern drawl. (Afterall, a girl from Alabama must find her people in this world.)

"Where you from, sir?" I posed.

"Baby. I'm from Bowlin' Green, Kentucky!"

(And though I'm usually not a fan of being referred to as "baby," especially by complete strangers, he was at least charming about it.) This lead to a whole discussion of all things Southern, and therefore all things good. He looked down and noticed my empty left ring finger.

"Baby, you single!" (It was definitely more of a statement than a question, even though I kind of believe things like that should be approached a liiiiiiittle more cautiously.)

"Let me see your palm." A demand, this time. I held out my left palm and he shrugged it off, motioning for my right. After a brief once-over, his face lit up as he marked with pen on my hand.
"See this? It should be up here. It's not. This tells me you are a very positive person. People whose lines go all the way up are ho-hum and hum-drum. You are not. Even when you're sad, you still remain positive."

I think I may have had to blink back a couple tears. My clouded expression probably didn't help my case.

"See that? Even now, you're sad about something but it don't matter - you're still just as positive as you can be."
Another pen mark, this time in the bottom center.
"Oh, and you're a healthy girl."

I, of course, muttered something under my breath about that ending with my healthy appetite.

Mr. Kentucky then tried to bid me adieu.

"Wait!" I pleaded. "You asked to see my hand because you seemed interested in the love side of things. What does my palm say about that?"
(Really, Alison? An old man reads your palm, tells you you're healthy and positive and now you're going to seek love advice from him?)

Relunctantly, he gathered my hand in his once more.
"Baby. You ain't got no love."

There we have it. I ain't got no love.

"This here hand is always changin', just like you," he continued. "But I wouldn't really be lookin' for much of anything there for another 6 or so months."

Given the things that have gone down in the past 3 weeks, he's absolutely right. And for some bizarre reason, I actually feel better. I have a timeline. Six months. I can't even begin to understand why, but perhaps these things happen for a reason. Perhaps my heart is currently shattered for some just cause and perhaps God sent me Mr. Kentucky today as some kind of messenger of things to come.

Baby, you ain't got no love.

But I'm positive that someday, I will.

Somethin' tells me I'm into somethin' good

Onto the next adventure!

This weekend, I decided it was high time I abused my job to all new heights. As in, 2000 feet in the air. So on Sunday afternoon, Megan, Jeff, Danielle and I hopped into a helicopter and went soaring over New York City. It was...breathtaking and remarkable and I loved every second. (As evidenced by the mouth agape in every. Single. Picture.)

See?

Calling out, somebody save me, I feel like I'm fading.

It's June 1st.
A new week, a new month, and a beautiful day at that.
I've always liked June 1st, because after June 1st comes July 1st, and after July 1st comes my birthday. And I love the new hope that each birthday brings because my curious self can't ever help but wonder if this will be the year I've been waiting for.

Perhaps I will approach 27 with a little more caution and tact than the previous 26 years, but something tells me the only thing I've ever gotten good at is being Alison which is to say, probably not. Alison does not reign it in, and Alison certainly does not bottle. Sometimes I wish I was better at these things, as a little control and a little mystery really never did anyone any harm.

My best friend once told me my life is a bad country song. I didn't believe her until now. I mean, if your life has to be a country song, one could at least hope it was a badass one like a Johnny Cash or a Patsy Cline. Nope. My life is of the bubble-gum country persuasion. Taylor Swift probably sings my song, and millions around the world delight in the tedium as it blasts through the airwaves. My life is Soap Opera Network, when I would really prefer Comedy Central.

(My best friend is honest and also right, and I wouldn't be much of anything without her and I typed the last paragraph as an attempt to return to my funny. Please take it as such.)

My best friend also gave me the most sound advice I've ever gotten today.

...but don't hold on the present hoping for the future

Hows about I just start holding the future accountable for all I know it will be, instead?


It's clear this conversation
Ain't doin' a thing
Cause these boys only listen to me when I sing
And I don't feel like singing tonight
All the same songs

Here, in these deep city lights
Girl could get lost tonight
I'm finding every reason to be gone
Nothing here to hold on to

Could I hold you?

(Sara Bareilles)

Guess you'd better go get your armor.

I'm heartbroken, hurt, troubled, stunned, shocked, shaken up, falling down, freaking out, humbled, confused, sad, and a lot of other words that can't seem to find their way to me right now.

Some good will come of these emotions, someday, but for now I kind of wish I didn't have to be the way I am.

Lucky for me, my heart's used to this by now so I know exactly what to do. I know good and well that dwelling, moping, and toxic negativity do nothing to alleviate the pain. So. I'll cry to myself, let my friends support me like I know they can, and keep right on doing whatever it is I'm doing.

I wasn't ready for this. And I really don't have any clear next step. I'm lost.

and there is nothing more to it than that.

This year's love had better last. Heaven knows it's high time.

It's Sunday morning. I'm sprawling on my old bed which somehow feels new because it's freshly made and has new pillows. And I'm staring at a hot pink wall, which feels new because it is new because it's in my new apartment and also, I just painted it two days ago.

I didn't really intend for it to be THIS hot pink, but I'm pretty sure I love it.

From here, I can see Maggie sniffing all the luggage and piles of things that will somehow have to find new homes in my new home. And my new bathroom. I can definitely see my new bathroom, right here, from my perch, in my new old bed in my hot pink room in my new apartment. I say MY new bathroom, because here it sits, in my new bedroom, all for me. Which is a lie, because I fully intend to be a nice roommate and share with the others. But still. I live in New York and I have a hot pink bedroom and my own bathroom and I'm pretty sure life doesn't get much better.

Remember when I told you change scares me? If it results in things like this, and things I'm pretty sure are coming, it's actually not so bad.

I'm moving onto the next part of the story. There were infant years and adolescent years, high school years and college years. Then came the Charlotte years and the I'm moving to New York years and the Holy Shit, I just MOVED TO NEW YORK years. And though each chapter builds the book, this is a passage I never intended to write so it's probably going to be the most exciting yet. Really. I never meant to stay. I meant to come up here and poke around, pat myself on the back for trying and make some kind of triumphant return back down yonder.

Life's just more fun when you let it be an adventure.

Correspondance Thursday/Friday. And Merry Everyday, too.

Wherever I seem to be, there you are.

You, darling Elizabetta, have pretty much seen and heard it all when it comes to the tales my life spins. And when I was 24 and made a great leap into a massive unknown and landed in New York, you quickly became a safety net. Perhaps I didn't take full advantage of you and me, us in this city. But all along, there haven't been many greater comforts than just knowing you were here.

You know everything about me, and yet you love me anyway.

(I think that often about those nearest to my heart.)

There have been road trips and giggle fits. Chocolate sundaes and french fries, and Tasti-Delight, too. Anxieties. Weight Watchers and long walks. Photo shoots. The Brooklyn Bridge. Boston. Every city and every interstate in the greater Southeast. Warm afternoons in Bryant Park. Bad musicals. Music. Oh goodness, the music. Haircuts and boys in eyeliner. Jobs. Hobbies. Fails. Wins. Losses. Second, third and fourteenth chances. Compassion and love. Change. Acceptance. Jesus.

You've spared the kindest words that have ever been said to someone like me. I am grateful to have shared a time in our lives that nothing and no one will ever be able to touch. And I love that our lives are so similarly connected, so absolutely unplanned that we'll never have to worry about the silly little things like time and distance that seem to bog others down.

I would never have made it this far without you. And although I hate that we can no longer have instant adventures, I am positive that in the grand scheme of things "we" are not only far from over - we have barely begun. I'm happy to share you with a world that needs you. I can't wait to continue to be able to point and say "See her? She's my friend."

Love. Love. Love.

You wanna show the world, but no one knows your name (yet.)

New things scare me.

It may surprise you to know that I get very, incredibly, absolutely and super nervous when facing something unfamiliar. I'm a quintessential creature of habit. Lucky for me, I'm equal parts anxious and self-aware, so I know how to arm myself with the proper tools to address the unknown.

My latest fad has been to label every new thing I encounter an adventure. Adventure just sounds so entertaining and intriguing and engaging and lots of other wonderful words. Say it! I'M GOING ON AN ADVENTURE! There. Doesn't that sound awfully nice? I think so.

And my fail-safe backup has always been to take reinforcements. I do better with people around. (Haven't you noticed?) I usually give these people pep-talks before we embark on our adventure. I tell them what I will do and how they should react. It helps.

So it may surprise no one that on Saturday, I set out for my latest adventure. An open casting call for a new reality show called More to Love. I can tell already there is going to be a lot of love and a lot of criticism for this show. I hope it swims. I hope it soars. I hope it's something shiny and new and not just a reproduction of the tried and true reality tv production - drama queens + cameras = win. I think there might a good message in there, and I'm wishing and hoping and praying that I get to be one of the ladies putting my heart right there on that screen.

Because I'm me, I knew I would panic at the crucial moment. Because Crissie is a good friend, she came along to give me that nudge. (Because I'm me, I knew she was the one to ask.) So with any lucky, hopefully last Saturday will go down as the day my universe shifted. It's all going so very well. Now I'm in the sit around and wait for a phone call portion of this adventure. It's wreaking havoc - much more than I ever thought it would. I can't sleep cause I'm just so gosh-darned excited! I just keep picturing me, beamed across televisions across the country. Me, going on fantasy dates with some kind of ridiculous dreamboat. Me, putting it out there that not all chubby bunnies are lazy and sloppy and lethargic.

I've started many adventures in my life. Somehow I'm suddenly feeling each step has been a stone on a path en route to this. So, onto the next adventure!

(I hope.)

If I ever start to think straight, this heart will start a riot in me.

Today is rainy and in the 40s. And my whatever-I've-got-that-keeps-making-me-feel-like-poo is re-attacking and binding me to the couch.

But yesterday was gorgeous. Crissie and I ate burgers, went to Barnes and Noble, and sat our little butts in the park for a few hours. Know what I want more than anything? A football, and someone to throw it to. Don't let my squishy white arms fool you - my daddy taught me how to do a mean spiral.

And then there was gelato.

Mmmm. Spring is ALMOST here. See?