And now for something completely different.

So yesterday I turned 29.  Hoooooooray for the final year of my 20s!  This decade has been...well.  Intense.  And wonderful.  I did really cool things like graduate from college and figure out my career path and move to NYC and back to Charlotte again and cement friendships with people who are a thousand shades of brilliant.  And that whole figuring yourself out thing?  Pretty sure I did that too.  I am an unfinished woman, and 100% ok with it.  I like having wiggle room in my own life, so long as I'm never a completely lost cause. 

But frankly, I'm ridiculously excited to get to 30, cause I'm thinking if I'm going to get to do the things in this life that really matter, things like become and wife and mother, it's prooooooobably going to happen somewhere between 30 and 39.  Just a hunch.  And I dunno...it's like my 20s were the dress rehearsal for my real life and everything is going to get so much better from here.  I hope that's not false optimism talking. 

Excited as I am to turn 30, I do want to leave my 20s the best and brightest way possible.  The goal is going to be to enjoy each day for nothing more than exactly what it is, and focus on the present instead of the possibility.  I'll make it to 30, one day at a time.  And you'll get to watch, because I started a countdown blog that will get one post or picture every single day.

http://akturns30.tumblr.com/

I'll still use this blog from time to time for my longer rants and raves, but the main focus will be over yonder on tumblr.

Shine, shine, shine on.  Yes.  Won't you shine, shine on? (The Kooks)

The scars of your love, they leave me breathless, I can't help feeling we could have had it all

Fuck love.

There.  I said it.  And now I'm going to say some other things.  But before I do, we need to have a little up front contract.  I don't want to hear a word - not one word - of any variation of the following:
He's not worth it, no man is worth the tears and the one who is won't make you cry, you deserve better, wow, consider yourself lucky for dodging that bullet, time heals all wounds, one day this will be funny, what were you thinking, what was he thinking, I told you so, better you know now, one day your prince will come, buck up little chippy, everything happens for a reason, men don't make sense, or any other pseudo-intellectual response to a matter of the heart. 

So once more, with feeling...Fuck. Love.

Now.  Suffice it to say, I've always been the honest type with no problem sharing my heart, and I have willingly reaped both the rewards and the suffering by the hands of this blessed curse.  I regret very little in this life, if anything at all.  I believe in some bizarre mix of self-determined destiny and pre-disposed fate.  I am a product of the environment I have created for myself because of my faith in something bigger than even my over-active imagination can fathom.

And above anything else, I believe in the good in people and even though I'm busy hurling choice words, I still believe in love.  What I don't believe is how my life was just knocked from its safe place somewhere between a Broadway Musical and a Comedy Central special.  My best friend was right...my life truly is a bad country song. 

Without delving into too many personal tales, (or frankly, too long a story) in short, I gave he who I believed to be Prince Charming a road map along a sequined highway straight to my heart.  With an escape route!  I said you don't want this?  Totally cool.  Then take this path over here but dammit, please just choose a way already because Prince, it is EXHAUSTING dealing with your wishy washy ways.  And lo and behold, and for literally the first time ever in my life, my heart's most true confessions were received in both thanks and promise.  No "you're a great princess, but..." speech this time around!  Lets unit these kingdoms and get this party started! 

Not two days later, the Prince silently catapulted my heart into the swamp at the edge of the enchanted forest.  I found out about his change in heart and course over Ye Olde Facebook.  Why?  Don't know.  Cannot make heads or tails of it.  Pretty much just want to throw shoes and scream FUCK! a lot. 

Listen.  I know I bring this on myself.  And I know I found no Prince in the lad in this tale and it's time to get out with some thread of self-respect and grace.  He didn't break me; he broke us.  I will never be the prettiest girl, the best dressed, the most intelligent or talented, the perfect friend, selfless, overly kind, immensely charismatic, or the greatest human to ever touch anyone's life.  But if there is anything remarkable about me, anything at all, I believe that I was born with a ridiculous amount of love in an unstoppable heart that knows no boundaries.  If you need love, I will love the crap out of you.  I've got plenty of room in here.  And that's enough.  Because people who love big also get plenty from everywhere and everyone around them and the reality of the situation is that I'm only reflecting back all that shines on me.



I take back my earlier statement.  You know, the one revolving around the F-bomb.  Love's not the problem.  People who are afraid of it are.

Though I may be going down, I'll take in flame over burning out

I went on a date on Thursday.  My first date date in...well.  Let's not talk about that.  I am truly brilliant at failing at anything remotely romantic.  But, I've decided to turn this around.  I may still fail, but I'd love to at least have something good to write about.  I will no longer be terrified of the first date.  I will go on dates!  And then, I will come home and write about them!  And I will be brutally honest and you will be welcome to laugh because dating is a silly thing that is not to be taken too seriously. 

About every 2 years I get bored with the not meeting anyone in real life scene and re-surface on the internet dating scene.  I don't know why I do it to myself because it's never gone well.  I've been dumped by men I was never interested in, I've been stood up and ignored, and I've suffered a few minor self-induced panic attacks over the stress of it all.  Oh yeah!  And I've been slapped in a parking lot!  That's a good story...now. 

I've been watching a lot of Sex and the City lately (still no cable, so it's just about all I got) so pre-date I had to remind myself that dating isn't actually about Valentino dresses with Manolo Blahnik heels and incredibly comfortable yet witty banter with seemingly perfect men.  But still, if those girls do anything right, it's that they just don't take dating too seriously.  "No" doesn't really appear in their vocabulary, and maybe that's a better way to go. 

So back to the date.  After an intense amount of deliberation via Facebook over flip flops versus heels, I donned my tightest jeans and cutest heels (Steve Madden, Manolos are still just a pipe dream) and headed to the chosen meeting place.  Which was closed.  As was the 2nd place he suggested.  Third time was a charm and you know, the date was nice!  I had fun!  It was great!  No spark, but I didn't have a bad time.  Until I got home and the incessant texting began.  And continued into the next day, with a text (yes, text, not a phone call) asking for date number two.  That.  Night.  C'mon, dude.  Overzealous much?  1) Women actually PLAN their weekends  2) Back to back nights?  Really?  3) STOP WITH THE TEXTS IT'S CREEPY AND YOU OFFICIALLY LOOK DESPERATE.  Fellas?  You know that standard 3-days-till-you-call rule?  We need that space just as much as you do, because women take time to process and live for the thrill of the "does he like me?  I hope he likes me!" drama.  Women need drama.  It's true.  I will happily admit it. 

The good news is that since texting is his chosen form of communication, I am officially off the hook for an uncomfortable phone call and can instead send an awkward "it's not you, it's me (but it's really you)" text to follow up to the next he'll send.  Gross. 

My account on okcupid has since been disabled and I think I'm going to keep it offline moving forward.  I have too many single girlfriends that I can spend my nights and weekends trolling the bar scenes and hiking mountains and going to sporting events with to find real live men who I can actually tell if there's a potential spark with before subjecting myself to first date jitters.  Or?  Blog readers?  Know any (preferably non-creepy, non-clingy, super awesome) single men in need of a little female companionship?  Send 'em my way.  I'll wear heels, act cute, and then tell you all about it the next day.

Jump start my kaleidoscope heart, love to watch the colors fade

I'll write soon.  Really.  I will.  But in the meantime, I am going to let Sara Bareilles and friends tell you EXACTLY how I am feeling.

Seriously.

The lyrics, the mood, the bridge.  It's like she got a snapshot of my innermost workings and set it to a really amazing melody.  I love music.  It makes me feel less alone.



And for the record, I am fine.  Just, you know.  Figuring stuff out.  Occasionally wishing my life came with a manual or a crystal ball or something,  so  that from time to time I could just check in or read the index and at least make sure I'm close-ish to the right track.

But really, what would be the fun in that?

Please please please, come on and sing to me

Ok.  I am on my feet and up and running and have about a gajillion things I could blog about.  I cannot deny that I spent my first month back in Charlotte shaking my head and questioning both my sanity level and decision-making ability.  True, I wasn't happy there, but I didn't exactly fall into happiness here, either.  And I'm a happy person, dammit!

First and foremost - I did land myself a pretty sweet job.  Of course, I'm only one week in, so more on that later.

What I'd really like to do today is give you a visual of the new space I rambled on and on about in my last entry.  I couldn't be any more pleased with the way this place is actually coming together.  It's pretty simple to keep clean now that it's just me and a cat.  And though I still have a couple pesky piles of stuff to sort and hang and tuck away neatly, it's mostly done, entirely live-able, and INCREDIBLY WELCOMING FOR GUESTS!

Knock knock.

 When you walk in my front door, this is what you'll immediately see.

Turn your head slightly to the right and you'll have a better view into my bathroom.  Bathrooms are terribly exciting places, no?

Let's proceed!

Ah yes, the dining room!  I'll be getting a the rest of the chairs shortly.  The set is my Grandma Shirley's (Mom's Mom) and I just love love love the unvarnished wood and retro feel of the chairs.  Oh, and a super cool photo collage of the general awesomeness that exists in my life will be plastered across that wall. 

My living room is probably the most finished room in the place.  I have a couple more chairs coming my way, but otherwise the furniture is all set.  Most exciting?

 MY BIGASS TV.  42 inches of flat screened, 1080p, LED-LCD goodness.  I'm in heaven, and I don't even have cable (yet). 

Of course, I'm also a simple girl, who enjoys her bookshelf and balcony, too.

 

 There's the view looking from the back of the room and into the kitchen.  I am LOVING all the counter, drawer and cabinet space in the kitchen.  Through the door on the right is my laundry room.  That's right.  My laundry room.  I'm still pretty giddy about it.

Onto the next room...

My bedroom is far from done.  I rearrange the furniture daily and still don't love where I am with everything.  What I do love?  My curtains and chandelier.  Who puts a chandelier in their bedroom??? This girl.

Next we have one of the main reasons I got this apartment.

Helllloooooooo, closet space.  And oh-so-very Carrie Bradshaw in design.

We have now arrived in the bathroom.  This is what it looks like.

As you exit the bathroom and complete the circle, you'll see something incredibly important to me.

My apartment is chock full of Granny Connie's paintings and things, but this painting is far and away my favorite, and I couldn't be luckier to have it and look at it every single day. 

And that's all (for now) folks!  Stop by any time - I've got wine on hand, snacks in the fridge, and a whole lot of gossiping to do.  Oh my goodness, it is so good to be back in the South.

Because it's all about the in between and what lives in your dreams.

In happier news than that of the last blog, I got approved for my very own apartment today.  Mine.  No one else's.  No co-signor.  No roommates.  No one to blame if the dishes are dirty or there's no toilet paper.  No one to compromise with on the color of the walls, shade of the bathroom curtain, or the evening's television choices. 

Of course, no one to cook with, or vent to, or play board games with.  No one to help me back up when I fall or hug me when I cry or laugh uncontrollably when I do something ridiculous.  But somehow I think I'll survive.  There are phones in Charlotte, and I do have a car if the quiet is unbearable.

Mine.

The last time I lived alone, I was 21 and scared out of my mind.  I cried myself to sleep most nights.  I couldn't even tell you what exactly frightened me so, all I remember is that it was not my decision to be solo and I was hellbent on letting the world know that it made me miserable.  This lasted all of 2 months and then Jennifer rescued me.  It's been roommates for me ever since. 

And to be fair, I have generally been blessed with incredible luck in living situations.  Sure, there was the whole situation with She-Who-Shall-Now-Only-Be-Known-As-Bitchface back in December 2009.  Long story short?  She decided rent was optional, lied to all parties involved, and reduced what was suppose to be a lovely weekend to something that quite resembled a Jerry Springer episode.  Cops were involved, fake tears shed, words screamed and insults hurled.  It sucked at the time, but it's a pretty riveting story to tell now, if you ever have a couple hours to throw my way.  BUT OTHER THAN THAT!  Seriously.  Lucky.

But now it's time to live alone, hopefully for the last time in my life because it sure would be swell if there's love, marriage, and a couple of baby carriages around the next turn.  Who knows, though?  God laughs at plans, so I stopped making them awhile ago.  Wishes are different, thankyouverymuch, and dreams will always exist.

I digress.  New apartment.   Mine.  I sign the lease and get the keys on Thursday.  I made my preliminary Home Depot run today and have shiny new tools and picture hooks and lamps to show for it.  I sense Wal*Mart and Target and Old Time and World Market and let's be honest, probably Bed Bath & Beyond in my near future.  (I adore the thrill of new supplies, of almost any variety.)  The physical act of moving sucks, but the feeling of newness and starting over (yet again) is so, so worth it. 

Oh, and have I mentioned my fabulous new apartments has a bedroom/bathroom/closet layout uncannily similar to Carrie Bradshaw's and comes equipped with washer and dryer?  Lord Almighty, my prayers have truly been answered.

And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow

I wasn't going to bring this news to the world wide web, but I guess if you're invested enough in me to check my blog, you deserve to know that my Granny Connie left this world on February 10.  I knew I'd experience highs and lows when I moved - I didn't know I'd be singing at my Grandmother's funeral within the first 3 weeks.  In the end, she was ready.  She was tired.  It's what she wanted, and I guess God was ready to welcome her Home.  But it still doesn't make a whole lot of sense to the mere mortals still here on earth.

Childhood and adolescence are hard on everyone.  I know that now.  But when you're a kid and you're bearing the burden of figuring out life and learning it's sometimes harder than you'd wish and someone else always seems to have it easier, you need that safe place.  That person who says I love you exactly how you are.  That kitchen that's always full of your favorite foods, that backyard filled with your favorite toys, that bookshelf that always has exactly what you want to read, that swing where you learn to let your cares slip away.  Granny, you were that person: your house, that house, your things, those things. 

Thirty-something miles outside of Birmingham, AL sits the town of McCalla.  In the town of McCalla stretches a road called Eastern Valley, once full of all sorts of Kendricks, the brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, cousins, aunts and uncles of my family.  One by one they all passed, or moved.  Granny Connie was the last one standing.  I thought she'd be standing awhile longer, keeping watch, pulling up weeds, fussing over Sunday dinner preparations and showing me how to crotchet. 

If I've learned anything from her, it's that life is what's happening now.  She never complained or wished her life was any different than exactly what it was.  She didn't harped on the past or waste time dawdling in idle daydreams.  She raised three children who in turn gave her eight grandchildren, all of whom adored every second spent with her.  If I can be a fraction of the wife, mother, sister, friend and woman she was, it will be a major miracle. 

Sleep well, Granny.  God knows you've earned it.  I hope you're enjoying Heaven, arm in arm with Paw-Paw, shelling peas on the front porch, baking this world's best macaroni and cheese and cornbread.  Thank you for a lifetime of lessons, a lot of love, and a family I'm both lucky and proud to be a part of.  My happiest memories are filled with you.

Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be this hard.

I did it.
I moved.
And I thought the whole packing and moving and goodbye New York thing would be the hard part.  But suddenly what I thought I wanted - no plans, no strings attached - is suddenly the most daunting thing imaginable. 
And just when I think I can't possibly be any more overwhelmed I realize that the real root of the problem is the simple fact that I don't have a single clue of what I want to be when I grow up.  Which is an absurd thing for a 28 year old to say, but there you have it.  I'm sitting here staring at job website after website, fear rising that I am clueless, lost and painted to a mighty uncomfortable corner.

I knew moving wouldn't immediately solve all my beef with life and that things need time to set and gel.  I'm not surprised by these feelings.  But I still don't have to like them.

It's my blog and I'll whine if I want to. 

Being a wanderlust is only fun most of the time.

Rose tint my world.

Today I went to the grocery store and bought milk, which is an entirely uninteresting lead into a blog entry.

Except this milk expires after I leave, which makes things feel weird and final and definitely surreal.  I've got so many questions to ask the universe about what's going to happen after January 29th.  Where am I going to live and what company is going to employ me and who is going to love me and what kind of car will I drive and am I going to gain a lot of weight from too much sweet tea and Chick-Fil-A but not enough walking everywhere and how am I ever going to cope without tourists and the MTA to test my patience on a daily basis?  And are things going to work out as well as they appear to be working out and am I completely right to place as much faith in God and love and the aforementioned universe and even myself as I have been lately?

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
by Marianne Williamson
from A Return To Love: Reflections on the Principles of A Course in Miracle


 All I really know is that the milk in my fridge will still be drinkable, but I'll not longer be here to drink it.

Life's a ball, if only you know it

New York, quit callin'
New York, leave me be


I'm changing the plans that I've been settin' on
I'm scared of the way that my life's gettin' gone
Carolina, one day I'll, someday I'll come home. 

(The Avett Brothers, Salina)

I've loved those lyrics for years.  I've been anxiously awaiting the day I get to use them to announce what we knew was coming all along.  So here goes nothing.

Dear New York City,

I don’t know where or how to begin, so I’m just going to say it.

I think we should break up.

We had our good times, and most of our mutual friends thought we were perfect together. (Well, that’s not entirely true.  Most of my friends hated you at first but since you’re so darn spectacular, they eventually warmed up to the idea of us.)  But I knew going into this that I could never be yours to keep forever, and it’s only going to get more difficult the longer we keep this going. And the moments we’ve had and memories we’ve made have been both magical and mind blowing.  But it’s time.  We both know it’s true.

Now, it’s not you.  It’s me. I love you; I’m just not in love with you.  Really, I just don’t want to be tied down at this point in my life.    We’ve been drifting apart lately.  You just…want more than I’m prepared to give. I hope we can still be friends.

Oh, to hell with pleasantries.  In reality, most everything you do has bugged the crap out of me lately.  And I know you’re not going to change, so once again I’m going to have to be the one to adapt.  I hate the way you smell and I hate how noisy you can get at all hours of the night.  I hate how difficult you can make the most simple of tasks.  I hate how rude and how cold you are.  I hate how distant you can be.  I hate that baseball is more important to you than football and I hate that you don’t have a clue what sweet tea or grits are.  I shudder at the thought of raising children with you.  I don’t like how many times I’ve been frustrated to the point of tears with you and your ridiculous, self-obsessed antics. Somehow, I think you’ll be just fine without me.  In fact, you probably won’t even notice I’m gone.  There’s probably someone else already in your life.  Knowing you, probably multiple someones, really.

Let’s just celebrate this for exactly what it was, not try to make it into anything it isn’t, and move on from this with as much respect for one another as possible.  You deserve at least that much.  And who knows, maybe we’ll see each other in the future and reflect fondly on the love we once shared.  Being here with you has changed me for the better in more ways than you’ll ever truly understand.

Love,

Alison

I'm lovin' it.

Darling Lil Sis (in the sorority sense) came to visit me.  We did things that you do in New York City.

Liiiiiiike...

 Shots!

 And air guitar!

Followed by more shots.

I swear, I'm an adult now but sometimes it's nice to surround yourself with NYU College Students in a bar that features 5 shots of anything for $10.  And since I'm an adult now, I stopped in plenty of time to avoid the dreaded hangover and go on enjoying the rest of my weekend.

Because everyone knows you can't go ice skating hungover.  I mean, you can, but I have a bad enough sense of balance sober.  So off we went to join the throngs of tourists in Bryan Park, where skating is "free" but you still have to pay $13 for ice skates and $10 for personal item storage. 

 

See the man in yellow?  He spent a lot of time trying to make sure we didn't take pictures while on the ice.  We did what you do to authority in the Big Apple, and defied it.  Badasses.

I'm not a very good ice skater.  I tried.  Just like in every other aspect of life, trying too hard tends to be my kiss of death.  It's true.  And now I've ice skated in public in New York City which is an unofficial Bucket List item that I made up after I typed up the New York Bucket List. 

Following ice skating, a long search for a public restroom (Reason #97 why it sucks to be a tourist) and a stop for coffee, we headed over to do one of my ultimate favorite Things to do in New York City.  Rush for a Broadway show.  Typically speaking, $20 or so buys you a front row seat for whatever your heart desires, providing you have good enough luck and/or karma for you name to be drawn.  Lucky for me, Megan's name is VERY lucky in these lotteries and she scored me 'n Sarah seats for...yup.

 Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson.  Because if Sarah was only going to get to see one show, this was the one.  We enjoyed it immensely, especially the part where AJ himself (Benjamin Walker, aka BDubs) gave Sarah a lap dance.  Yup.  That happened. 
If you're going to rush for this show, pray you get BB102 or BB103.  Just sayin'...

And then, it was time for Italian food.  Nom.  Followed by laziness today.  Phew. 

It was the perfect weekend.  Exactly and precisely just enough quintessential New York with a little bit of real life mixed in.

Tales from the inside.

Yesterday, while I was deep in conversation with a couple of guests from Texas, a woman approached my desk.  She looked at my sign, which reads "Concierge Desk" and then lists some of the helpful and delightful things the concierge is responsible for.  As I was mid-sentence with the Texans, she piped in with a "Is this the Concierge Desk?"  I nodded and smiled, and then she proceeded to attempt to make a sales pitch to me.  Through gritted teeth, I let her know I was currently with guests and that I would be happy to speak with her momentarily.  The Texans scampered away. 

The interrupter then spoke again.
"Happy Hannukah!"

I responded.
"Thank you.  Same to you.  How can I help you?"

As if I'd just stabbed her with a blunt pair of scissors, she looked mildly hurt, mostly baffled.
"Oh, I'm not Jewish.  I'm a CHRISTIAN."

I assured her I had not been out to offend, I was merely returning the greeting that had been extended to me.  She then informed me that I just "looked Jewish."  And then tried to talk to me about her new salon and ask me to send her my "clients."

Note to people forced to solicit and cold call: probably not best to make broad, sweeping generalized comments and potentially offend would be business partners.  Also, get the lingo straight.  I work in a hotel, therefore I have guests, not clients.  Lucky for her, being told I "look Jewish" doesn't offend me but I still doubt she'll see any of my guests darken her door.  Pure silliness, y'all. 

File this one under "I love people."

I've been shot!

And I don't know what I'm good at
but I'm better at wrong than at right
but come my turn, baby like bourbon I'll burn
under the stage's bright lights...

My heart is a little heavy lately.  I'm not entirely happy and some days, I'm not at all happy.  I'm not particularly fond of this side of me, so I'm working to fix this.  There will be some major changes taken place soon.  (Most of you can probably guess precisely what that means.  It's true.  It's time.)

But you know what makes me obnoxiously happy?  Having had the opportunity to work with a photographer whose work I've admired for YEARS (and who I'm lucky enough to call a friend).  The shoot was incredible and I am blown away by Valerie's talent, abilities, and artistic eye.  So to commemorate 4 years in the City That Never Sleeps, and to freshen up my headshots in the event I step back onto the stage anytime soon...

 

File this under "One of the coolest things I have ever done."  And check out Valerie's work - she'd be happy to "shoot" you too!  Valerie's Website / Valerie's Blog

New York, quit callin'. New York, leave me be.

I’m leaving New York.

Not (necessarily) anytime soon.  No immediate plans have been made.  Plenty of notice will be given and tears shed when it’s time.  But it’s inevitable.  One day, I’m leaving New York.

Recent life events do make me think it might be sooner rather than later though, so I think it’s high time to make a NYC Bucket List.  Because there is a LOT I have done in my time here, but a few very important things I have not.

In no particular order…

1)   Camp out, secure tickets, and get into a taping for SNL.  (Or at least the dress rehearsal.)  This was attempted once, about a year and a half ago.  It was the season finale, with Justin Timberlake.  It poured rain all night and I absolutely cannot remember ever being so miserable.  To top it all off, only the first person in line got in that night.  I’ll camp out again in a heartbeat but NEVER if rain is predicted.

2)   Go to Ellis Island / Statue of Liberty.  Correct.  I tell tourists how to make this happen every single day and yet, I’ve never been.  What?  I’m a local.  Locals know to ride the (free) Staten Island Ferry instead.

3)   Attend a show in every single Broadway house.  I just checked.  I’m only missing two.  Which means I’m going to be seeing Addams Family (Lunt-Fontanne) and A Free Man of Color (Vivian Beaumont) sometime in the future.

4)   Go to the Opera.  Because I am very classy and sophisticated. 

5)   Go to a Yankees, a Knicks, and a Rangers game.  Because I’ve already got the Giants and the Mets under my belt, and since the Giants and Jets share a stadium, I only have to go to one.  (Roll Tide.  Sorry.  That really is the only team that’s important to me.)

6)   Take a trip to the Adirondacks.  They’re close(ish).  I should get on that.  I like nature. 

7)   Buy something at Tiffany.  Even if it’s “only” a keychain. 

8)   Frequent at least a few more top notch restaurants and order off the Chef’s Tasting Menus.  Partially because Le Bernadin proved it’s OH SO WORTH IT and also because the more $200 meals I partake in now, the more I’ll squeal with delight over prices when I’m safely back down in the dirty. 

9)   Spend a night at The Plaza.  Attend high tea at the Palm Court AND order room service for breakfast.  (And look for Eloise. I love her.)

10)  Take at least one more acting class.  Or at the very least, a workshop or intensive.  Remember acting and how it was why I moved here and then found a hundred other reasons to stay, instead? 

New Yorkers and New York lovers…is there anything I missed?

It’s kind of fun and terribly exciting to think that this time next year, I could very well be living somewhere entirely different…

 

Van Buren, why do you have to be such a MOTHER F*CKER!

Holy. Crap.

I have a tremendous new crush.
On this man.

And the entire cast, crew, and anyone touching anything having to do with the musical in which he is currently starring. 

  

Sexypants, indeed.  And sexy lead, sexy supporting cast, sexy set, sexy lights, sexy props, sexy script, sexy music, sexy costumes, sexy musicians, sexy ideas, sexy levels of complete and total utter ridiculousness.  Sexy sexy sexy.  I have never in my life been surrounded by so much sexy.

See?

Most are calling it emo, but I'd consider it almost gothic.  Broadway's newest Emo (Gothic) Rock Opera about America's 7th President, presented with not entirely true factoids and haunting parallels to modern-day government.  How could this possibly go wrong?  In a world where American Idols, fallen has-beens and remakes of ridiculous Hollywood triumphs and flops seem to rule the Great White Way, it is SO REFRESHING to see and hear and experience something entirely new.  A contemporary look at early American history - I likes it a LOT.   

Because it all works.  Every second is beautifully scripted, brilliantly directed, effortlessly acted, and yet somehow nothing feels contrived or rehearsed.  This is a show that is literally bursting at the seams, every moment, every move, every second full of something new and absurd.  Just like every show I've ever raved about before, this is one that knows its audience and appreciates, but never apologizes for, its place.  If I had to complain about anything, it would be the unmemorable music and often lackluster lyrics, but I was too busy loving everything else to let that bother me too terribly much.  (Oddly enough, I recognized some of the chord progressions and a quick check in my playbill revealed why - it was written by Michael Friedman who also penned Gone Missing which is probably one of the other best shows I've ever seen.  Take THAT, musical snobbery!  pwned!)

I plan to groupie the hell out of this show.  And hopefully, eventually, work up the courage to stage door Benjamin Walker.  Yum.

Baby you'll be famous, chase you down until you love me

I "ran" a 5k this weekend. 
I came in 2038th.  Or, 8th from last. 
Now's the part where I try and soothe my bruised ego and remind myself that I didn't exactly try my hardest or give it my all, that I walked when I could very well have run, that I sat on top of the cargo nets and stared down in fear for too long, that I barely broke a sweat, that I found it more important to cross the finish line with Megan than cross it alone.  Could I have done better?  Yup.  Is that an excuse that doesn't matter because in the end, all that counts is what actually happened instead of what you say should have?  Uh huh.

But was this my last 5k? 

Not in the least.  The good news is, the whole point of training for the course was to knock my weight loss out of its 3 year hiatus and get things moving again, which I feel I did.  And.  I kind of WANT to keep running and not out of obligation or dread, but because I might be starting to like it.  Weird, right?

Doing this 5k taught me that if I could change anything about myself, I wouldn't be such a 'fraidy cat about not at all scary things and I especially wouldn't be so afraid of doing things alone.  And that if I'm not careful, I'm going to quickly become one of those people that receives eye rolls and hears "you're all talk, no action."

I don't want to ever be a spectator in my own life and spend all my time thinking about what could have been or should be.  This weekend, I remembered once again that I really to need to learn how to be present.  Be here now. 

Thankfully, this weekend was so much more than the course.  I needed to get out of New York City and away from work and rudeness and neediness and the noise and the rancid trash and the subway and my life and everything else that was giving me the urge to throw punches and hissy fits.  I spent too much money at Wal*Mart.  And Target.  I didn't fix my hair or put on makeup for 3 straight days and oddly enough, didn't mind.  I played with puff paint.  I had a lovely night in (near) Boston with Kim and played Phase 10, and then followed the race with an entirely spontaneous trip to Maine.  Why?  We had a car, 2 more days off work, and a free place to stay.  Why not go eat lobster and wear sweatpants and get to see stars?

Y'all.  I miss seeing stars and feeling grass between my toes and Wal*Mart and roadtrips.  I miss a lot of things that NYC can't exactly give me...
Then again, NYC is still very much my present so perhaps I'd best learn to appreciate it for what it is instead of resenting it because it's not what I wish it could be which is basically a metaphor for my entire life, really.    (There were a lot of unnecessary words in that last sentence.  Forgive me?)

And if you're gonna love me, you're gonna deal with my fire

Dear God,

I know we don't talk nearly enough, so it might be a little gauche to do so now in so public a forum.  But it worked pretty nicely for Liz Gilbert in Eat, Pray, Love and now she's got a movie about her life experiences and she's played by Julia Roberts so I guess it can't be all that bad.  But I'm not asking for a national bestseller, or an A-list celebrity to play me in a C-grade movie or anything.  I just wanted to address something with you, and I kind of wanted anyone who visits my corner of cyberspace to be fully aware of my awe for you right now. 

Today, I worked (and I mean WORKED) for 11 hours straight.  I ate nothing but a luna bar and went 8 hours without peeing.  (Hey.  My corner of cyberspace, my talk with God, I get to share what I want to.)  I left work nearly an hour and a half after I was supposed to, and about 20 minutes after I intended to.  And when I got off the subway I ignored the serious hot melty cheese craving attack and went to Subway, because I am on a diet afterall and pizza period but especially on an empty stomach with a crashed metabolism probably would have been a bad idea.  (I'm not apologizing for the Doritos instead of Bakes Lays, though.)

As I left Subway and rounded the corner towards home, I was greeted by a police van and 6 cop cars, with about 15 cops detaining 2 men against a Mustang.  (The car, not the horse.  Like this blog needs to get any weirder.)  And because it's New York, the streets were lined with onlookers, all mumbling about whatever rumble had apparently just gone down.  So thank you, God, for keeping me nice and occupied in Manhattan and safely out of harm's way in Queens.  And thank you for letting me go hungry today and then giving me the will power to make the right food decision instead of the wrong one, because not only will the 5k be that much easier, but I'm kind of glad as much time as possible was placed between me and the cops' arrival.  And thank you for letting me see the end of whatever meltdown that was so that I could once more be reminded that time and again, I am saved by your grace. 

And while I'm on the thank-you tangent, thank you for the drunk men in plaid pink suits that danced around and hugged me and sang Christmas jingles in the middle of the crowded hotel lobby, and then tried to coax me into the limousine I had called for them so that we could all go to the shooting range I was able to locate for them.  I hope they're safe and happy tonight.  New York City truly is a magical place filled with ridiculous people and every day is an opportunity to live more stories to share.  Thank you for leading me here.

Also, thank you for knowing underneath all the sass in this blog and angst currently in my heart, I really do love you. 

Yours forever,
Alison

At times I feel myself smiling, at times I'm not. Doo doo doo doo.

The calls for a new blog post have started to roll in again.  Ah, to be popular. 

So I guess the first bit of big news is I've signed up for my first 5k.  And not just any 5k.  Allow me to walk you through it (pun intended).  First, there will be some running through the wilderness, followed by cargo nets.  More running, then some "island hopping" through cold and muddy water.  Running.  Mud.  Running.  Cold muddy water.  Running.  Tire jungle.  Running.  7 foot barricades.  Running.  Tunnels.  Running through the forest.  Running.  Tunnels.  Running.  Running up a large hill.  Running.  LEAPING OVER FIRE. 
Finish line.

My training has turned from mmmm, doesn't yoga feel good? to mmmmyeahyoga plus serious cargo plus things that make my arms and shoulders go OW.  OW OW OW OW OW OW OW.  Megan and I have started Couch 2 5K which is helping a LOT.  I still just don't think I'm ever going to be "a runner" but I do think I'll survive this course without dying of a heart attack.  Nothing to kick-start my dormant metabolism like training for (and executing) a course designed by Navy Seals, right?

Sigh.  Now that I've led with the big news, anything else I say is going to seem pretty wussy and weak.  In short: work crazy, cat cute, Autumn arriving, diet succeeding and FOOTBALL SEASON IS HERE.  Basically, I couldn't be anymore giddy over this time of year.  Between the new Broadway shows to look forward to, the better weather, and Saturdays filled with the best sport (and team) ever, I have a lot to look forward to.  And then, without time to recharge, it'll be time for holiday season and all the chaos (and joy) it brings.  I am literally breathless with anticipation.
Or perhaps, just breathless from all the running. 

And now, I'll leave you with some pictures from a lovely Monday spent at the beach.  Adieu, Summer.  I am SO glad to see you go. 

I wanna go back to my room and find a message in dry erase pen on the door.

Dear Baby Bro,

I don't like to make pointless guarantees and empty promises, but mark my words: today is a Very. Big. Day.  First and foremost, congratulations on making it 18 years without choking or being choked by our darling parents.  No one else on the planet understands this feat quite like I do. 

Ten years ago, we parked cargo van in our front yard, and loaded it with suitcases and yaffa blocks, coordinating sheets and throw rugs, communal bathroom supplies, an 8 year old you and an 18 year old me.  I can't believe it's your turn, though something tells me your move to college will be much simpler and less dramatic.  (But that's pretty much par for the course, and a key difference between you and me.)  Speaking as the elder sibling, I'd now like to load you up with some advice that will help you navigate through the next four years (and probably beyond) successfully. 

1) Parties are great.  DDs are better. 
2) Speaking of drinking, the myths are true.  Tequila is always bad, but especially if the night began with Natty Light.
3) Speaking of Natty Light, always spend the extra money for better beer.
4) Enough about drinking.  Go to class.  Seriously.  Go to class.
5) No one works best under pressure.  It's just a lie we all tell ourselves so we don't feel quite so pathetic for procrastinating. 
6) Make new friends.  Don't forget about the ones you already have, but make new ones, too. 

(Sidebar: Mom just called as they drove home.  They're child-free for the first time in 28 years.  Let the celebrating AND the empty nest syndrome set in.)

7) Speaking of Mom calling, call her.  She won't hover, but she will be curious what you're up to and it would be nice if you'd update her.
8) I am deeply jealous of you for going to a big university.  Make the most of it.  Promise me you'll go to as many football games as possible, when you're not busy running circles around the other track kids.
9) Please don't let your room, or especially your bathroom, smell like dude.  Trust me, it's not manly.  It's just gross.  And for the love, change your sheets regularly - has Dad ever told you about his first college roommate?
10) Find the perfect greasy spoon, open 24 hours a day diner/coffee shop/whatever.  Visit at least once a month, preferably between 11 PM and 3 AM.  Some of your loudest laughs and happiest moments will take place inside. 
11) Roadtrip.  Best idea ever.
12) Remember your roots, but don't be afraid to grow new branches. 
13) Take at least one class a year that has nothing to do with your major.  And audit something that does but you don't necessarily need - you'll enjoy it more and apply it better.
14) Keep playing bass.  Chicks will dig that.
15) Go to concerts but never, EVER wear a tshirt for the band playing, or a band you saw playing with the band playing. 
16) Take complete and total advantage of being a student.  Things are cheaper and easier because the world feels bad that you have to spend hours a day studying instead of working.  Truth is, most of us no longer in school wish we still were so no pity should be involved.  That being said - go on the trips offered, and take the discounts available. 
17) Don't fall in love in the first 2 years. 
18) Don't be afraid to ask for help.  In life, in class, in any challenge you encounter.  No one expects you to go at this world alone and people are generally willing to help if they know you need it. 
19) Life never ever ever works out like you planned.  Stop putting energy into planning it and start being ready to just live whatever is thrown your way. 
20) You are loved.  

And above all else, study hard and have fun.  Blink and it will all be over.  These will be some of the best years of your life, but only if you never take yourself all that seriously. 
Of course, to me, you will always be my little Evie-Boo-Boo, lover of M&Ms, fly-feet, Trains Planes and Automobiles, and Buzz Lightyear. 

Roll Tide Roll,
Your Big Sis

Rock on, rock on with your fashionable frown

Despite what my previous post may have suggested, I'm fine.  Not crushed or depressed or in a bad place or anything.  I mostly just needed to vent and to remember cliches are overused for a reason and that I'm not the only one who's ever felt this way and that I (hopefully) won't feel like this forever.

Oh and also, that no man is worth the tears and the one who is won't make me cry.  Whoops.  Sorry.  Had to slide one more in.

I've rejoined both match.com and okcupid recently.  And this time I think I'll be a little more open to dating for the sake of dating than dating for the sake of sensing immediate sparks, getting married, and having babies.  Safer approach, yes?

Work is insane right now.  Not bad, just busy.  (And if it's like this now, I'm a little terrified for November/December.)  I have a 60 hour week waiting in the wings, and at first I was nervous but if I just focus and take it day by day, I'm pretty sure it won't be the end of the world.  Instead of eating like crap and not exercising enough, I've decided to up the yoga to twice a day and try a new diet.  Don't worry, nothing quick, no fads.  Just a really basic, simple, common sense approach.  You see, I went to the doctor and she recommended a little something called the Rainbow Diet.  The key thing to remember?  White isn't anywhere in the rainbow.  So, no white bread, sugar, salt, etc.  She also recommended I cut back on my dairy intake which...well.  I refuse to ever stop eating cheese but ok, I can eliminate a little milk and yogurt if I have to.   She wants me on rice or almond milk, neither of which I'm crazy about, so we're compromising on one serving of soymilk a day. 

Best part?  She told me, specifically, to eat a lot of pineapple.  Confused?  Please direct your attention to the web address of this very blog.  Yup.  Eat a lot of pineapple?  I got this, Doc.  I'm a little concerned that the diet is relatively fruit heavy and lacking in veggies, protein and carbs but...we'll see?  I'm pretty sure eating lettuce, fresh fruit, and chicken all week isn't exactly going to make me gain. 

For the first time in my life, I have been silent for over 24 hours by my own choice.  (I've done it several times before due to necessity, or double-dog dares.)  It's been lovely.  I think I'm going to enforce one Mute Sunday per month, in addition to the No Pants Sunday rule already very much present each week.  Mmmmm.  Good idea, me.