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?)