Because Some Of You Asked...

And by some of you, I mean my mom.

I edited more clips from my cabaret tonight. 

They are up on YouTube.

If you ever wanted to know what it was like to grow up in a house with my father, you should watch this clip.

If you ever wanted to see me run around stage reenacting how I got my Actor's Equity card, you should watch this one.

And if you want a glimpse into the awkwardness of my teen years, you might find this amusing.

Feel free to browse around; there are a total of nine videos up there and there's still quite a chunk that I haven't posted. Welcome to my Saturday night, kids. It sure is glamorous.

Almost Too Gay To Function

In case you're just tuning in, we have been doing a bit of housecleaning around these parts. And by housecleaning, I mean repainting, replacing, redoing. It started with me painting our dining room bright blue and I wish I could say "and ended with..." but there doesn't seem to be any end in sight. I thought we would stop at painting, maybe cleaning out some closets. But one of my very very gay roommates arrives home almost EVERY SINGLE NIGHT with a bag from Home Depot or Bed Bath and Beyond and also, a few more batshit crazy ideas about what to redo next.

"Okay, now all we need to do is blow up some pictures, I'm thinking 8X10, black and white and line them along the wall here. Then we can repaint all the furniture, add some shelving to the kitchen and re-tile the bathroom..."

The other roommate and I are just kind of going along with it at this point. Wow! You brought home a huge candelabra? Okay! Wow, the candles smell like almond cream, which is, not so incidentally, the same name of the paint we used to paint the trim around the doorways? You bought it for that very reason?? OKAY! AMAZING! LOOKS GOOD. GREAT JOB.

I've been trying to help as best I can. I dropped off a huge bag of clothes at the thrift store this afternoon and recycled a ton of old magazines and papers. I also reorganized the entire linen closet, going through boxes of crap that I never knew existed. We've had quite a bit of subletters over the past three years and all of them have left behind various accoutrements.

"Who the hell uses Sun In?"

"What!?"

"Sun In! There is a huge bottle of Sun In here!"

"Isn't that, like, what 14 year old girls use to lighten their hair?"

"YES. SO WHY IS IT IN OUR LINEN CLOSET?"

I also found four bottles of L'Oreal self-tanner, prescription medication that expired on 04/2005, two pantiliners, an unopened Bath and Body Works aromatherapy gift bag and a pair of black knee-high boots I bought in 2003. Ah, cleaning. How fun.

I've been having an amazing time with both of my roommates, going through old beauty products, rearranging the living room, looking through college photos, laughing so incredibly hard at everything. They are both so very different and add such an interesting dynamic to our little home. I'm not sure how I even play into it myself but it's amusing just spending time with the two of them. We've been doing this a lot lately since for the first time ever, we're all on the same work schedule.

The other night, The Very Gay roommate was showing off all his new purchases for me while the Moderately Gay roommate sat in his room downloading new music.

TVG Roommate: And these are BRAND NEW POTHOLDERS! They can withstand 500 degrees and they totally match the tile. Do they match the tile? I think they match the tile. I am throwing out these green ones because they are DISGUSTINGGGGGGGGGG. Oooo look! New dish towels AND a new rug for right by the sink and here's my favorite thing: A NEW DISH DRAIN! Look! It fits perfectly and OMG it looks super cute! JUST LOOK AT IT.

Me: You realize that this house can't get any gayer right now, don't you?

Moderately Gay Roommate, exclaiming from the other room: OMG!!!!!! THE NEW GYPSY CAST ALBUM HAS *BONUS TRACKS*! SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

...

Uh. Yeah.

Change of Seasons

Some great people have been writing about the change in the weather. I seem to recall many past Augusts, full of humidity and perspiration, sundresses and record-breaking heat. This year, it feels like September has arrived early. It feels summery in the middle of the day but cool and crisp at night and in the early morning during my jogs. Yesterday, I went running in long pants and a sweatshirt. I felt so awake.

I wonder if this will disappear as soon as it came and if the mercury will climb again into an extended Indian summer. Last year, the heat seemed suspended forever, making me wonder if fall was ever going to show up. Now, it seems as if the next season is so excited that it can’t help appearing early. I can honestly say that I couldn’t more pleased, as autumn seems to bring out the best in me.

We’ve been doing a lot of evaluation lately, my friends and I. With quite a few birthdays hovering around, there’s been a bit of pensive reflection, a taking stock of all that has transpired and all that has yet to be. Every few months, with the change of seasons, I seem to do the same. I get the itch to clean, to compartmentalize, to look at my life and see what isn’t working. What have I learned? How can I improve? Where do I go next and how do I get there?

I have lived in my apartment over three years. Three years ago this past May, I moved in, a naïve, energized girl, thrilled to be on her own in the big city, envisioning that things would mostly be easy. A career would materialize effortlessly, people would instantaneously like me, acting jobs would flow, friendships would sustain, relationships would last.

It’s an understatement to say that I have grown up quite a bit since then. I wouldn’t classify me as bitter or jaded at all but there is a pragmatism I have matured into, a realization, an awareness. I have learned so much about me. The annoying cliché of a twenty-something moving to a big city to find herself irritatingly applies to me.

Some of these lessons learned have been hands down, disgustingly awful. Who knew I had so many faults?! I make mistakes. Huge ones. I mistreat people without meaning to, I sometimes manipulate the truth to my advantage, I care too much what other people think, I am a terrible auditioner, I gossip a lot, I don’t always see both sides, I am often incredibly vain, I am horrible at returning phone calls and even worse at keeping in touch. Also, if you tell me to meet you at 7 PM, I will show up at 7:08. I don’t plan it that way; it just always seems to happen like that.

But there have also been glorious revelations. Some of them are so surprising. Despite my apparent social ease, I am actually incredibly introverted. Group activities make me anxious and exhausted. I don’t enjoy being loud or drawing attention to myself in public and even if I’m dating someone I really enjoy, I usually always want to go home at some point and be alone. I sometimes suffer from anxiety, depression and issues with food.

My self-esteem which seemed to dissipate completely in my late teens has been steadily climbing. I feel like a stronger woman instead of a weak girl. I feel like I have something to say, something worth hearing. I am creative, I love to bake and pick out the perfect gift, I am witty and I will compliment your shoes if I think they are nice. I am observant and rarely miss anything--the writer that lives in my head is automatically scribbling down details as I talk to you. You may think I don’t notice. I do.

When I compare the girl I am now to the girl I was when I moved here, I am astounded. I really am morphing into some vague version of an adult. I still trip over my feet and smack my head on things and there are still people in the world who find me incredibly annoying or dull. But…now? I am kind of okay with all that. I am klutzy but I am spirited, I can be awkward but I can be enjoyable. I’m twenty-five years old and I feel like anything can happen to me, anything at all.

I have been clearing out our closets and drawers, repainting, retouching, making room for new things. I’d like to think I can do this metaphorically as well as literally. I am once again clearing out the chaos so that better things can come inside and bring me joy, maybe teach me something about myself.

Autumn makes me feel affectionate and cozy, alive and authentic. I’d like a new set of crayons, some new pairs of tights, a mug of cider, a fire in the fireplace. As the summer winds down, I feel hopeful for the change of seasons. I’m so grateful to be growing and maturing, to be touched by people, to live in an environment that challenges me and makes me want to become more aware, softer, sweeter, more honest and true. And really, I couldn’t ask for anything more than that.

Photographic Evidence

Currently, I don't have access to my camera so getting pictures up of our new home renovations has been a slow process. Behold, the "Before" picture of our living room. (And no, I don't know what the F is on that bookshelf either.)

Luckily, I stole my roommates' camera and discovered he had some hidden gems on there from the very first weekend of Operation Paint Everything In Sight including but not limited to a picture of my other "I Install Track Lighting While You Sleep" roommate making the best facial expression ever:

This is the part of the blog where I make out with the wall. Note the fantastic meeting of Pocahontas Brown and Fantasy Flight Blue. 

I had a crazy weekend of birthday debauchery so I'm going to crawl into bed and recover in preparation for the two other birthday parties happening later in the week. Why was everyone I know born in the same week? WHY??? 

 

I'm not sure. But I feel like I shouldn't question it because man, it's so incredibly fun to celebrate and relax and forget for a little while that things have been a bit rough. Between my Pocahontas walls and my friends who make me laugh and laugh and then laugh harder, I really am such a lucky girl.

See the rest on Flickr.

2 AM

My car is making funny sounds. It doesn't look good, kids.

Obama has picked Biden. Am very happy about this. No idea why.

Got some fresh tomatoes, fresh basil, a red onion and fresh garlic from the CSA this week. 

Tomorrow, I shall gather those ingredients, toss them in a pot and make some homemade pasta sauce.

I'm also planning on getting a mani/pedi because sometimes the Long Island in me is unstoppable.

Also, I have been instructed to begin painting the trim and molding around the house. The walls came out so well that now the boring white parts look, well, boring. And white. And a bit dingy. My roommate bought the paint already which saves me the hassle of running to the store.

"Oh! You bought white paint so I can do the molding?"

"Laura. It's not white. It's almond."

"You realize that you are very, very gay?"

"Completely."

So, yes. I will be painting the house almond. It's worthy to note that RENOVATE THE APARTMENT 2008 has become an alarming obsession. The aforementioned Homosexual Roommate walks in the door with Home Depot bags EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Lighting fixtures, new light switch plates, primer, coat hooks, you name it. The kid is on a roll which is very ironic because he leaves on tour in a few weeks and won't be around to enjoy the fruits of his labor.

"OMG LAURA! I BOUGHT SILVER DOOR KNOBS!!!"

"But...we have door knobs."

"But they're not silver and they definitely don't match our new place."

"We don't have a new place. We just painted an old place."

"Stop ruining my fantasy."

In between me going to sleep on Monday night and waking up Tuesday morning, he installed track lighting in our hallway. TRACK LIGHTING. It illuminates...the hallway. And since the walls are pretty bare right now due to the fresh paint job, when you turn on the amazing track lighting, it casts a huge heavenly glow on...a blank wall. 

Speaking of which? We painted our living room a chocolate brown and the name of our paint was Pocahontas. Does anyone else find that racist? Anyone?

I probably should not be up right now talking about this. I have lots of almond molding to paint tomorrow and a rip roarin' birthday party to attend tomorrow evening. So, please pray for my car which is making a thumping/clacking/BOOM BOOM BOOM sound that can't be good. And also, please pray for my homosexual roommates. I hope they find the Lord Jesus but I really really hope they never stop going to Home Depot because OMFG DID I MENTION THE TRACK LIGHTING!?!??!?!!?

Sittin' on Babies

I'm with Owen and River today which is odd because it means I took the day off work to work. It's complicated. I digress.

I already got yelled at by two ladies who work for the Battery Park City Conservancy. These women are completely ridiculous and drive around on little golfcarts all day wearing ugly pale blue shirts pretending they have an actual job to do. And yes, I get it, you are conserving the parks. I take you and your authority very seriously.

They accused me of not watching my children because the twins were picking leaves off the ground while I pushed an empty stroller and let them explore. We were on a NATURE WALK and it was KIND OF AWESOME until I was rudely interrupted by haters.

"HEY LADY. MAYBE YOU SHOULD WATCH YOUR KIDS. YOU CAN'T JUST LET THEM PICK LEAVES AND FLOWERS OUT OF OUR GARDENS."

Oh. You mean the dead branches they picked up off the ground and the one huge hibiscus flower River plucked before I told him not to? Oh, that? Yes. I see what you mean. This is serious, definitely a situation that calls for yelling at me in public. I love being accosted on a beautiful day by two bitter people. In fact, I live for it.

I explained to them that I was indeed watching my children and also, could you please lay off the judgment of my parenting skills? They tried to continue bitching at me until I flew inexplicably off the handle and started ranting about supporting each other as mom's and as females and that I could DO WITHOUT THEIR CONDESCENDING TONE AND RIDICULOUS BATTERY PARK NAZI WAYS. POINT TAKEN. NO MORE FLOWER PICKING. MAYBE NEXT TIME YOU COULD USE A LITTLE UNDERSTANDING AND COMPASSION. I'M NOT HAVING THE GREATEST DAY.

I actually said that. It was so out of character for me to actually stand up for myself that I started shaking and crying as I walked away. After thinking about it later, I was kind of awed at how defensive I became. I mean, I went ballistic super mom crazy and THESE AREN'T EVEN MY CHILDREN.

In other news, during quiet time today AKA "Let's All Sit On Our Beds And Shut Up Thank You", I was reading "Where The Wild Things Are", the boys' current favorite book.

Me, Reading Aloud: 'And now', cried Max, 'Let the wild rumpus start!'

The next three pages are full of pictures of Max and the wild things cavorting in a weird way that strikes me as almost sexual and inappropriate and I decided to add my own commentary since there aren't any written words.

Me: See, now Max and the wild things are dancing.

River: No. They're not.

Me: What? Yes, they are, dude. They are parading around and dancing and having a grand old time.

River: No.

Me: Okay, fine. What are they doing?

River: LAURA DLUG. THEY ARE RUMPUSING.

Oh. My bad.

And now, since Owen is singing Rihanna's "Unfaithful" and River is trying to throw a football into the toilet, I'm guessing I should get back to work. And by work, I mean the boys and I are setting out to find the Battery Park Conservancy ladies and kick their ass into the Hudson River. Wish me luck.

The Toughest Part

The hardest thing about what I'm going through is that I have to do it 100% on my own. I mean, my friends can talk to me or take me to Target or buy me some Thai food. But I cannot hash it out directly with the person involved because frankly, I find it inappropriate.

I'd love nothing more than to be reached out to. I'd love to have dinner or a drink or just an opportunity to see him again because I guarantee you I probably never will again. (Cue: Heart! Shattering!) I want to be able to say what I need to say and probably cry into my food. And I'd love to be told that I am still a lovable person, that I will always have a place with him and he wishes me the best. I want to know for certain that he is marrying for the right reasons, that he is blissfully happy, that he is very much in love, as much as that will kill me to hear. I want closure.

But really? This exists in my own mind. As I said before, my violent reaction to this news is no one's issue but mine. It is no longer his responsibility to take care of me, to look out for me, to fix my problems. And it is unfair to ask him to do so.  I've fretted with writing an e-mail or picking up the phone but I still feel fragile and I don't know what that would accomplish.

The options are to send him a note and wish him well or to declare my undying love for him and beg him to marry me instead. And since both of those things feel false to me because, well, I'm too sad to congratulate and I'm still not ready to move to the suburbs and become a wife, not to mention break up an engagement, my only action is inaction.

And so, for now, I grieve alone. There may not be anything else to say about this whole situation. So, maybe together we can look forward to moving past this, knowing that pain only makes us stronger and eventually, it does fade away to make room for boundless joy.

Dumbest Woman Ever

In the elevator today, I rode up to my floor with a woman and her male coworker. She was wearing a black skirt and blazer, black stockings and bright white socks and sneakers. I know that New York is a walking city and full of commuters and all but...um, why? There is simply no reason for such an ensemble. Especially in summer. NONE.

Male Co-worker (continuing previous conversation): Yeah and she paid like 11,000 G's.

Stupid Woman: What?

Male Co-worker: Like, 11,000 G's.

Stupid Woman: G's?

Male Co-worker: Nevermind.

*Awkward silence as we all scan the television which is broadcasting Olympic headlines*

Random Woman Next To Me Making Conversation: How old is Michael Phelps anyway?

Stupid Woman: 28.

Male Co-worker: What!? No. He was 16 in the last Olympics.

Stupid Woman: But that would make him, like, 21.

Male Co-worker: Yeahhhh...

Stupid Woman: So, that can't be right.

Male Co-worker: Why?

Stupid Woman: I don't know. I don't think people that young can compete in the Olympics.

This is the part of the story where I punch her in the knees and run back to my desk in awe. I'm sorry but I will never cease to be impressed with really really dumb people.

Intermission

I'd like to interrupt the current ramblings of heartache and agony to broadcast my very first foray into YouTube-dom. I understand that linking to this bridges the gap between Blogger Laura and Performer Laura in a way that I probably can never reverse. I rarely ever post video of myself talking let alone singing let alone making a total ass out of myself. But honestly guys? I've been blogging for ten years. We've been through a lot. And you should know that for your amusement and adoration, I will do anything.

And so, I present to you, the very first video clip of my most recent cabaret.

Spread the love and enjoy.

Clarification, BFF's, Target, etc.

The good news is that I've blogged a record four times this week.

The bad news is that I'm still crying.

However, I wanted to tell you that it is ALL GOOD. Last night, my nonsexual heterosexual life partner who shall heretofore be referred to as The Wito for reasons that will not be explained here, took me to Target. Well, I took HIM to Target because I have a car. A car without AC. Oh yes, people, I do live in style.

Anyway, I am now the proud owner of multiple picture frames to hang around my newly painted apartment and a vast array of eco-friendly cleaning supplies. Nothing really makes me happier than a trip to Target. Except perhaps a trip to Bed Bath and Beyond but don't even mention it, don't even SAY IT OUTLOUD because I might pee my pants.

Alayna is taking me out to dinner tonight because she is BACK IN TOWN! I picked her up at John F. Kennedy International Airport (I just wanted to say the full name) late into the evening on Tuesday. Her flight was supposed to get in at 12:40 but the plane couldn't find the gate (WHA???) and so we didn't get in the car to drive home until about 1:30 AM. Thank God there was construction for the entire length of the Van Wyck causing us to sit bumper to bumper until finally turning onto my street close to 3 in the morning.

But hey! Mah best friend is back and last night we had a very fantastic phone conversation. And by conversation, I mean that I wept uncontrollably while holding my cellphone to my ear and Alayna just kept talking, hoping that I was listening. I also maybe blew my nose into the speaker approximately four times. BUT THAT'S WHAT BEST FRIENDS ARE FOR. 

So, thank you to Alayna for listening to me blow mucus and to The Wito for taking me to Target, land of happy happy things I want to buy.

I just wanted to clarify something I've been thinking of since I last posted. Many of my friends kept asking me to identify my feelings about this whole damn "My Ex-Boyfriend Is Getting Married" thing. A number of them suggested, "Is it just because YOU'RE not getting married?"

And honestly? No. The feelings I have are complex and I am STILL trying to sift through them. But the one thing I didn't feel was "I WISH I WAS GETTING MARRIED TOO!" The fact of the matter is that I'm not in a position to get married right now not to mention that marriage has never been something I've ever been particularly excited about, as anti-girl as that may seem.

I never dreamed of my wedding when I was little. I have no idea about what color the bridesmaids will wear or what flowers I need to hold or what time of year to walk down the aisle. For some reason, it's just never something that ever concerned me. And while children have always been something I've known that I will need one day, marriage has not. 

It is more the IDEA of marriage and what it means. It is the hope of finding someone that I click with and that I know, inherently without question, that I want to spend all my time with, forever. It is having someone that close to you, the comfort, the security, the partnership, the team, the feeling of having someone who knows you better than anyone else in the world. And also, of course, being able to tonguekiss this person. 

So, no. I'm not upset because I want to be married. Maybe I'm upset because I'm not upset! MAYBE THAT. But you know? I think this is more about the specific person involved. As I said to Abbie in the post below, I think I would genuinely be happy for some of my exes right this very moment if they had found someone special. I think I could selflessly be all, "ROCK ON! THAT IS GREAT!" and I might even wipe my forehead with relief because thank GOD that crazy parade is movin' on to someone else.

But this one is different somehow. And that's what I'm going to explore as this pain continues to dwell inside of me. What exactly am I feeling? Why? What do I want to do about it? What will fix it? What can bring me to a better understanding? 

And of course, when will you take me back to Target?

Nightmares and Other Late Night Revelations

There are vibrating metal crashes coming from down the street, thunderous bellows that cause my heart to race even faster. Fear paralyzes me until curiosity wins out and I peek out the window only to find a garbage truck moving slowly toward me. The fan on my dresser is making a squeaking sound as it moves slowly back and forth, blowing a breeze around my darkened room. It took me a few minutes to realize where the sound was coming from. For awhile, I thought it was a mouse as I lay here breathing quickly, startled out of sleep by one of the worst nightmares I have ever had.

I almost reached for my journal so I could write it down and get it out of my head but the fact is that I do not want to remember it. I want to take a rag and a jug of Clorox and scrub my brain clean. I feel disgusted and horrified that my mind is capable of conjugating such images--dead body on a slab, packing up a bag, running and running and trying to escape.

I don't know if it has something to do with the scoop of peanut butter mixed with chocolate chips that I ate right before bed. Or if the stress of the past few weeks is catching up to me. Or both. But I had a nightmare, a terrible, startlingly real nightmare and I'm waiting for the details to fade.

I felt like a child, laying in my bed after waking up, unable to even get up and go to the bathroom because I was so afraid. Had someone been sleeping next to me, I would've turned over and woke them up but I sleep alone so I hugged my pillows and attempted to slow my breathing. I automatically began reciting Hail Mary's and some Our Father's.

I have been doing this a lot lately. It comes out of nowhere, the first time a few days ago while I was getting my monthly bikini wax. I suppose that is sacriligeous in some way but hey, there it is. When in pain, regardless of which kind, my Catholic upbringing rears its repetitive head and I methodically murmur words I learned as a child. And so, jolted awake at 3:30 this morning, I buried my head into pillows and prayed into them.

I've been struggling with the issue of censorship since I wrote Monday's post. This is of course a documentation of my life regardless of who chooses to read it. Though I am still afraid of coming off passive-aggressive by writing things here before or without addressing them in person, the fact is that I may never address them in person so, huh. What then?

This year has been a difficult stretch, a race full of hurdles that I never expected.

One year ago this month, my father was diagnosed with prostate cancer.

I got involved in a relationship with someone who was affectionate and good but also mentally unwell. After one of the most dramatic, tumultuous break ups to rival all break ups, I continue to encounter this person, if only through horribly passive-aggressive behavior, comments posted on other blogs meant for me to see. He is manipulative and cruel, in pain and bitter and the saddest thing about it is that he still thinks that I care somehow. And sadder still is that I don't.

I have lost a friend and while I have made peace with it, I will still never exactly understand why. It took me quite a bit to realize that it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with her.

I have not booked a show in over a year and while I now feel alright about that, I didn't always. I beat myself up and internalized a lot of rejection and continually fought a voice that told me that I wasn't "good enough".

And now.

An e-mail from one of, if not the greatest, loves of my life sits in my inbox at work.

"I am thinking of proposing..."

Proposing? To a girl I didn't even know you were dating?

And sure! Okay! I assumed! I didn't think you were sitting around waiting for me! But Jesus Lord in heaven, why didn't you tell me before it got to MARRIAGE LEVEL?! So I maybe could have had some time to process this?! Don't you know I'm the only one who's feelings matter here? Ha! I am delicate and self-centered! Surprise!

And amid the sea of grief, the acknowledgement of a door slamming shut with the greatest finality, the crazed wondering if I made the right choice when I walked away those years ago, the humiliation at continuing to keep in touch every few months because I didn't even know she existed, there is a peace that has to come. I wish it had been done sooner, I wish I had not found out in an e-mail at work, but at the root of it all, it is no one's fault.

No one should feel bad about getting married. No one should have to feel weird about telling me. It is my own fault that I flip the fuck out and stare blindly at my computer screen, unable to respond, almost a week later. I figure that until I can honestly 100% type, "I am so happy for you, congratulations!", I will write nothing at all. Mama needs some time to accept this and rectify her own insecurities.

And maybe I will surprise myself. Maybe I will wake up soon and laugh and realize that he is the first but he won't be the last. The men that I have dated will all eventually partner off (except maybe the crazy ones but that is for the best) and I will have to deal with my feelings of letting them go, wishing them the best, raising a glass to their futures with wives and houses and children.

I suppose underneath it all, my fear is that they will one by one move on and I will still be here. I will be renting my New York City apartment while they have mortgage payments. I will be pursuing an unstable career while they are secure. I will wake up terrified from a nightmare that rattles me to the bones and I will be unable to call them for comfort because they are sleeping next to their wife.

It's a funny thing, this crazy life I lead, risking my heart and my head jumping into relationships when I know after they are over, I am often left alone and wounded. But I am still optimistic enough to think that I should still try. I'm going to shut my laptop, drift back to sleep and wake up tomorrow and think about how I'd like to keep searching. I think I know deep down that one day I will wake up, cheeks wet from horrible dreams and someone will be there to reach for, a chest to nuzzle into, a voice groggy with sleep whispering that it's all gonna be okay.

Comic Relief

My cousin Tom, who lives in LA, usually calls me on Tuesday afternoons on his drive from work to his acting class. Tonight, the following conversation transpired.

Tom: Yeah, that's totally what I was gon--WHAT? THERE IS SO MUCH TRAFFIC! WHY IS THERE SO MUCH TRAFFIC!??!

Me: (dripping with sarcasm) It's the Olympics, Tom.

Tom: YEAH, LAURA. That makes PERFECT SENSE. The Olympics just picked up and moved from Japan to Los Angeles.

*pause*

Me: Tom?

Tom: Yeah?

Me: The Olympics are in China.

Tom: Right. That's what I meant. OH MAH GOD THIS #$^!@@#$! TRAFFIC!!!!!!!!!

Still Crying But In Color

My roommate walked in the door on Friday night, caught sight of our new robin's egg dining room and exclaimed, "Way to take action!" I grinned at him, paint brush in hand, covered in specks of blue.

The sudden EXTREME MAKEOVER HOME EDITION frenzy was contagious and over the course of the weekend, my roommates and I painted the entire apartment with the exception of the bedrooms and bathrooms. I expect those to be done shortly as soon as we decide on colors. My original thought for my bedroom was pale yellow until recent events shattered my soul and my roommates now refuse to accept my new suggestions.

"Why can't I paint my room black?"

"SERIOUSLY, LAURA?!?! Stick with yellow, it's more 'you'."

"What if I did a mural?"

"A mural of what?"

"I don't know, like, maybe all my ex-boyfriends covered in their own blood?"

"Well. That image would definitely get you out of bed in the morning..."

"Exactly."

I found the repetitive movements of painting comforting. Up and down, back and forth, it required just enough thought to keep me focused and calm without enormous amounts of concentration. I taped the walls and doorways and methodically lowered a roller or paintbrush into the tray. Sky blue, chocolate brown, apricot, the white walls of my apartment came alive this weekend, vibrating with color, warming up to me as I coaxed them into life.

On Sunday afternoon, after breaking down again while the roller in my hand dripped dark paint onto the protective canvas, my roommate became exasperated.

"LAURA! You are going to have to stop crying sooner or later! We are RUNNING OUT OF ROOMS TO PAINT."

I wiped my nose, nodded and rolled my grief onto the walls of the hallway.

...

It must be odd for you to read about my suffering without having an explanation for it. For the gaps in the plot, I apologize. But if this blog has taught me one thing, it is that I must always live in truth in real life before posting it on here. In the past, I occasionally had experiences and reactions and then wrote about them on here without first alerting the people in my life who were a part of them. This causes confusion and hurt, especially if I act a certain way in real life and then get on my blog and freak the hell out.

It must be disconcerting to hang out with me, have a grand old time and then read my blog only to find out that I kind of hated every second. This is an exaggerated example but one worth noting. I'm trying to respect boundaries now. It's important for everyone.

So, I have to address the situation in person first and the most excruciating thing is that I can't. I'm not 100% sure that the person involved here reads this but they have been known to in the past and I am indeed Google-able so that leaves me paralyzed. Writing about anything else seems like a lie. There isn't any use denying it: I am not feeling so frivolous at the moment.

I have no idea how to articulate my feelings as the wound is still so fresh and raw. I'm thinking the following options are likely:

1. I will wake up one day and be healed. I will achieve closure. I will move on.

OR

2. I will do none of those things but I will be better able to articulate my complex feelings on the matter. I will share them with the person in question. We will get on the same page. I will then be free to write on here as I wish.

OR

3. I will drink too much wine, sign on to blogger.com and write something COMPLETELY INAPPROPRIATE AND INCOHERENT.

But for now. For now, I will be vague and I will dance around it and in a few days, in a week, in a year, I will open up and pour it out and maybe even smile about it and we can all paint each other's nails. Maybe then I will be old and wise and have some sapient advice to share with you young folk. So, if you can go with me on this and just allow me to ramble about something that may or may not make any sense to you, that'd be great.

The more I type, the more I realize that it doesn't matter what the provenance of the pain is. Pain is pain right? And I am feeling it in a startlingly real way, experiencing all the levels and stages as if in mourning. I am angry, I am mortified, I am nostalgic, I am surprised, I am, above all, achingly, despairingly sad.

...

I left my roommates to tackle the rest of the living room on Saturday afternoon so I could head into Manhattan to babysit. As with the paint, I channeled my focus on the twins, allowing them to lift me up and distract me. We splashed in the water, sat in the sand, ate some macaroni, sang lullabies.

Around 11:30, I heard whimpering from inside their bedroom and got up from the couch to see what was wrong. When I opened the door, Owen stood there, tears streaming down his little cheeks, reaching his arms out to me.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

He didn't respond but I scooped him up and brought him over to the couch to sit on my lap. He wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled into my neck, something that is getting harder for him to do as he grows lankier and longer. I soothed him a little bit, rocking him back and forth, telling him that everything was okay and that he was safe.

I held him out at arm's length so our eyes could meet.

"Are you scared, Owen? Are you sad?"

He slowly shook his head, his eyes puffy with sleep.

"Not anymore," he whispered and curled into me.

The light from the television flickered in the darkness as I rubbed his back and realized that even though he wasn't either of those things, I was both. I breathed in baby shampoo as I rested my chin on his head and together we exhaled.

Volatile

For the past few weeks, I've been so incredibly happy. I'm finding peace with my career options, I'm working at the most flexible, stable, generous job I've ever had, I've been delighting in the small things I'm able to accomplish by living a lowkey lifestyle. I bake a lot, I clean, I take long walks after dinner, I spend some great quality time with old and new friends.

I spent the majority of work today clicking my fingers on the keyboard, finishing some odds and ends, looking forward to the weekend. And because life is funny this way, in one instant I was laughing with a coworker and in the very next, I locked myself in an empty office and laid on the ground, sobbing into the carpet while my cousin reminded me over the phone to breathe and breathe and breathe.

I have always been a sensitive person. I can blame that on hormones or the fact that I'm an actor or I can just accept that this is the way I have always been. I'm wired to take things personally, I often react dramatically, I usually always cry, I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.

I don't drink to numb my pain, I don't yell. I don't turn to chocolate, I don't break dishes. I tend to rearrange furniture. Or reorganize my closet. And then I go for a long run. These are all coping mechanisms that I draw on after the pain is slowly making its way out of me.

Initially, when the hurt hits me dead on, unexpectedly, out of nowhere, I lay down on a carpet because it makes me feel safe. Sometimes I talk to no one, sometimes I talk to God. I like to say, "This is pain, this is pain," so I can experience it fully, recognize it and let it go. It helps me understand that it is temporary and that it will pass.

I've been finding this blog restrictive lately. It seems everything I need or want to say is hindered by the fact that people read this or *could* read this. I know that seems ridiculous since the point of a blog is to have an audience, but it's become more of a challenge for me as I find less and less that I want to share with the general public. (And by general public, I mean the 4 of you who read this. Hi. Hello. You have great hair!)

I want to be honest and write from my heart. I want to tell you about the delicious peach-apricot cobbler I baked last night. I want to tell you that my ex-boyfriend passed me in the street on Monday night and shot me a look full of so much hatred, I wanted to scream at him that his bitterness is not my fault. I want to tell you that that has nothing to do with the heartbreak I experienced today. I want to tell you so much about that and about the overall way life has been overwhelming for me this year.

But if I admit that to you, then it means that things are not really okay. And for the most part, things are completely okay, they are beyond okay, they are magnificent and miraculous and I'm grateful. Today was just one of those days and I wanted to document it here so I would remember it.

Dear Laura,

Sometimes you are sad.

Sometimes you are happy.

You are always special.

And ridiculously physically attractive.

Love,
Laura

Tonight, I sat on my couch for a long time and stared at the wall. Then I put on Alanis Morissette's new album and sang and danced around my living room. When I was sufficiently exhausted, my bestest buddy brought over some Thai food and we talked and I maybe cried a little. And then I painted my entire dining room bright blue.

In case you were wondering, it is absolutely fantastic, getting better and better by the minute.

And so am I.

Channeling My Inner Cheese

I have an audition today for one of the cheesiest musicals of all time. I could not be more excited about this because I get to sing a SUPER CHEESY song while acting in a SUPER CHEESY MANNER while attempting to look like I take the material very seriously. Hooray! Thank you, Universe!!

Someone recently told me that I may very well be too smart to do musical theatre. That compliment meant so incredibly much to me and I'd like to expand on how I feel about that but every time I sit down to write about my career and where I'm headed right now, I start BORING MYSELF. I can't imagine how YOU would feel.

So, I don't know. It's not that I don't think musicals can be smart. Or that musicals don't have their place in society or that I don't take my job seriously. That is not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is, I have a SUPER RIDICULOUSLY CHEESY audition today and when I YouTubed other performers who have performed this role recently, I could NOT STOP LAUGHING because the acting! was so! incredibly! BAD!

I am going to take a deep breath today and try to remember how I acted in high school. And then I will multiply the exaggeration and "forehead creased in agony" by about a hundred. Then I will maybe cross my arms and hug myself and then stare longingly out in the distance. I'm hoping if I do this accurately, I will get a callback. WE SHALL SEE.

And now, I'm late for work.

Slasher

Yesterday, on a nesting kick, I cleaned, scrubbed and reorganized every last inch of my apartment because I'm single and this is the kind of stuff that turns me on nowadays. ANYWAY, when I got to the cabinets underneath the bathroom sink, I discovered that someone's bubble bath had exploded and coated quite a few items in a lovely sticky Avon goo. Who's bubble bath IS this? And who buys things from Avon?! Couldn't be any of my roommates. They're both gay. They know better.

I cleaned it up as best I could and then started rinsing off nearby products that were covered in slime. An open bag of disposable razors was a casualty and I decided to rinse the blades off individually. I left them out on the counter to dry and without thinking, tossed the protective plastic caps into the trash. I carefully loaded the now OPEN RAZORS back into their bag and put them under the sink. And by "carefully loaded", I mean I threw them jumbled in a huge mess under the sink without thinking because I am stupid. And should never be around children or small animals.

This morning, I remembered that while cleaning yesterday, I found a second toothbrush. AND YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD MAKE LIFE SO GREAT? If I brought my toothbrush to work! I know! It's genius! I can brush my teeth in the bathroom! In the morning! In the afternoon! And I will feel all clean! And my dentist will be proud! And the world is rainbows and sunshine!

Considering myself a genius, I reached under the bathroom sink to grab the magical toothbrush and as I extracted my hand, the back of it brushed against a nearby open razor, effectively slicing two parallel lines into my skin. I stared at my hand for awhile as it turned pink and then started to bubble up blood. It bled uncontrollably for quite some time, causing me to be late to work but let's not kid ourselves, this is nothing new. I am always late to work.

Everyone's been staring at my hand all day and being all, "WTF???" And I can't really tell them what happened because it just sounds bad to blurt out, "I CUT MYSELF WITH A RAZOR." And then they stare at you all, "???? Was that intentional?" And I'm all, "Well no, because I cut the WRONG side of my hand with it. If I wanted to do it right, I would've cut it on THIS SIDE." And then your coworkers kind of blink and back away quickly because DUDE! SECRETARY IS SUICIDAL.

Yeah. It's awkward. So, for now, when people stare, I tell them I got into a really bad gang fight this weekend. Or I busted my hand when I thrust it through a window attempting to save a puppy from a burning building. Or maybe, just maybe, I cut it on an open razor blade because I am an anal retentive yet absent-minded dork. YOU DECIDE.

That May Be All I Need

I just got back from a concert at Jones Beach.

Maroon 5.

Counting Crows.

Stop making fun of me, the concert was amazing, shut up.

The smell of the ocean, a soft summer breeze, bare feet tapping to the music.

All of it made up for a pretty shitty week. 

Driving in the dark along the Northern State Parkway, headed back to Queens, Sara Bareilles on the stereo, four kindred spirits singing along in harmony...

Yeah. I feel better now. My soul is settling back down, crawling back to a peaceful place. And now, I'm going to collapse into my pillows and ease into a deep sleep.

Thank you and good night.