The Grooming List: Some Thoughts

This may be TMI, but you're choosing to read this of your own free-will, therefore I will not worry. My eyebrows are like the hair atop my head: they grow quite quickly...like scary-quick. As in, I can go get my eyebrows done and then the next week I am wondering why a very long and dark caterpillar has decided to take residence on my forehead. There have been many days when I bemoan the idea of being a woman. Don't get me wrong, I celebrate the female gender: I love my girly shoes and clothes and the fact that the male species has to hold the door open for me. But then I look at men with their (sometimes) sexy facial hair, fully grown brows, and hairy forearms and legs and get mad that somehow my gender has to be the one to groom. Though I don't take a stance like Norma Rae and grow leg hair long enough to braid, I curse every time I have to make a trip to my version of a grade A torture palace: the waxing facility.

When I was eleven, my mother decided that while I had a penchant for tube socks (see a couple posts below), didn't really know what to do with my "she could either be a member of Lionel Richie's band or the ethnic Orphan Annie" hair, and baby fat along with boobs that could knock a dinosaur over, my eyebrows did not have to suffer and that I should be more girly. Therefore, she took me to a beauty parlor to give my eyebrows a "shape". During the whole car ride I was alarmed at the idea that someone was going to stencil triangles into my brows, making me even more of a "quirk-ster" than I already was. However, what happened was much worse.

My mom loves Middle-Eastern beauty parlors because they do threading. Threading, in my opinion, is what could bring even the most ornery of criminals confess to their crimes. A lady, most likely the height of a smurf, takes two pieces of what looks like floss, creates some sort of Cats Cradle shape within their hands and goes to town on your eyebrows. It can be painful at times, but mostly it just feels awfully uncomfortable. That day, I was already anxious because it was my first time and I got seated next to a woman whose moustache rivaled the late Pavarotti's. So anxious that I started to shake and accidentally kicked the smurf/woman doing my eyebrows. Needless to say she quit. I'd like to think she found a higher calling.

I am a creature of habit. I have been going to this beauty parlor since that fateful kicking day, and each time it doesn't get easier. The results are always fabulous ("Oh my GOD, I don't look like the caveman from that commercial!"), but you'd think I was about to be pushed off of a cliff. In California I haven't found a place I like-the first place I walked into, one woman was dozing in her chair if that's any indication. So I waited until I got home. This morning I looked in the mirror and knew that my sweet caterpillar had to go. Therefore, my latest list compiles the thoughts that went through my head while I was being made presumable for the public:

1) "That damn floss again. Shit, what's that? It looks like there's something on it...is that...oh God, is that food on the floss? What the...? Oh, no, it's not. Wait. Why is it moving?"

2) "If I were a war criminal, this is how you'd get me to confess. No waterboarding necessary. Just put me in this chair and threaten to wax my legs, I'll start talking within seconds."

3) "Still, it'll be nice to have shapely eyes. They are starting to run together."

4) "Oh, God, oh, God, my heart's racing. No, no, no, this is how people have strokes. Just breeeeeathe. You're doing great! You'll look infinitely better than your neighbors back in LA...people were probably starting to think you were related because of eyebrow similarities."

5) "Man, eff this. Why can't guys get waxed? Do they know how much we do to look 'pretty?' I'm going to start carrying around wax paper ready to go and just start chasing the random passerby."

6) "OH, GOD, HERE SHE COMES. Why is she smiling? Biatch."

7) "Different smurf. She just looked at my eyebrows and judged. I know it. I hope she gets in kicking reach."

8) "STOP SHAKING, KIRAN. YOU'RE TWENTY-THREE YEARS OLD. GROW UP. Oh, God, I'm twenty three..."

9) "Is this what's going to happen if I become a successful actress? I'll have to get groomed every week? Maybe I can start a new wave of actresses...bring back the Neanderthal look."

10) "OW."

The Home List

I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my tooooo-es...

Even when I am eighty years old, I will still get chills from the beginning of Love Actually. I could watch this movie all year round...but I feel like I'm cheating when I do. So I wait until December 1st and then bust that and the soundtrack out. To me, this signifies the beginning of the holiday season, and encompasses every single emotion that can occur.

I love Christmas. I love the month of December. Gingerbread lattes, the end of exams, the feeling of boots, Christmas trees, music, giving...I love it all. And I found out in November that my boss decided to give me two and a half weeks of Christmas vacation, and honestly, I got a little teary. I had been sad about the possibility of not going home, and now, I get to. Being away from home for a long time makes me appreciate it miles more, and I cannot wait to do the following:

1) Go to The Pit.
2) Go to the Royal Bean and read a book.
3) Visit Meredith, my second sweet home.
4) See all of my friends and cry hysterically when I see them.
5) Put on my Corn sweatpants and sit on my couch with my special blue mug filled to the brim with coffee and watch The Blues Brothers with my dad, a Christmas tradition.
6) Go for a walk on the Greenway trail take a picture over the bridge.
7) Not get killed by traffic.
8) Have a day where I can just sit and write.
9) Try to force my dog Bear into sparkle boots.
10) Sit with my mom and sister on the deck.

I'm already making my packing lists and planning my New Years' outfit...soon, sweet NC, SOON!

Reckless=Wreck List

The phrase "tryin' times" has always made me laugh for some reason...I don't know why, maybe it's because I picture an old Southern man with a cowboy hat with a blade of grass hanging out of his tobacco-laden mouth saying, "Yep...them's some tryin' times." However, after this past week I think I sympathize more. This week was the epitome of "tryin' times."

People being reckless=creating a new kind of list=The Wreck List.

1) My cell phone disappeared in a bale of hay: This is what I get for going to a fall festival and not reading the labels clearly and drinking quite a lot of cider from the, "Cider With A Little Somethin' Special" pot. Seriously. This past weekend Brian, Terri, and I made our way to Pasadena to see Ashley and celebrate her roommate's birthday. The backyard had been turned into this gorgeous fall landscape, complete with tea lights, fall food (pumpkin ale, brie-and-cranberry tart, mulled wine, pumpkin pies, and er, alcoholic cider...), a beer pong table, a beautifully painted banner, rocking chairs, and yes, bales of hay. Five hours after, on my way home I realized my phone that I am painfully anal about, was missing. And since last week it has not been seen since.

2) My car was totaled: Irony of ironies is more like it. The three of us had been having conversations during the week about how we had never been in a "serious" car accident and what type of car insurance the other had, etc. etc. On Wednesday I was supposed to go with Brian to meet Terri on UCLA's campus...while I was getting ready to go, something stopped it. I don't know what it was. Divine intervention? I don't know. But all of a sudden I didn't feel like going anymore. So, since Brian's car was in the shop, I gave him my car for the afternoon. And since I didn't have a phone at the time, I settled on the couch for an afternoon of writing and an apple and goat cheese salad. Suddenly, Terri Google chatted me, and all she said was, "This is not a joke. There's been an accident." And I cannot tell you how my heart plummeted. I felt my throat constrict and my eyes instantly fill. Brian had been driving through a light and this woman in an SUV sped on through to turn left and, without yielding, slammed right into my car, completely tearing the front. The car is gone. Like, there is no hope of reviving my dear Scoot-Scoot. But thankfully, by the grace of, well, something, Brian is fine. I am fine. When really, after this, it could've been much, much worse:


3) My 'I' key on my computer isn't working unless I punch it.

4) My pajama pants shrank, making me live up to middle school nickname, High Water: Shut up.

5) The fire from the stove almost took off my eyebrow when I was trying to extract a piece of carrot from the middle.

6) I turned 23 and almost had another crisis.

Reading numbers three through six makes me smile and marvel at the fact that these were my biggest concerns this past week. On my birthday, some of the people whom I had counted as my "best and closest friends" didn't call or text or Skype, and when my Netflix stopped working or the day, I almost had a tantrum. And then, after this week, I took a close look at my priorities.

The thing of it is, this 'Wreck List' seems bad. But really, it highlights the good, the great in fact. I'm alive and well (I mean, I could cut down my intake of bread and chocolate covered pretzels, but whatever). I have a job that I like a lot. I get to create. My real friends and hysterically quirky family love and support me. And at least I own pajama pants. So really...in spite of this list, I have a lot to be thankful. And the trifling things, like a so-called "friend" not staying in touch, a broken cell phone, or even a dead car...don't matter in the grand scheme of things. And so, as I sit here with a plate of falafel, wearing a long pair of mismatched argyle socks, I'm oddly content and ready to start anew.

:)

Poppin' the Pumpkin-Carving Cherry

I had a pretty normal childhood. Growing up, fall made me so happy. Mainly because of crunchy leaves, warm colored sweaters, the fact that I could now buy my Starbucks drinks HOT and celebrate the first day of the season with a pumpkin spice, homecomings, Powderpuff, my birthday, and Halloween.

Halloween. I can't help but laugh a little because I go back to the scene in Mean Girls where Cady Herron voices what this day really means for a girl: the only time of year we can be as slutty as we want to be and get away with it. I suggested to Terri that we go as a bottle of Adderol and a blue exam booklet (Study Combo, anyone?) and she laughed. And then wrinkled her nose and went, "But it's not super seeeeexy." Oh, how we chuckled. But really. There you go. Never my style, but so true when you think about it.

I had the 'typical Halloween' when I was younger: trick-or-treating with my friends, while my dad alternated between yelling at me to thank the person giving me candy and muttering about the fact that children begging for sweets qualified as a holiday (although he'd become much cheerier when I saved all of my Almond Joys for him), creating costumes, and basically being in a sugar coma the next day. However, there was one tradition that I'd completely skipped...until yesterday.

Carving a pumpkin.

Yup.

I'd never carved a pumpkin before!! While a part of me shrugs and says it's okay, another part of me is all, "SERIOUSLY? WHY didn't I ever carve a pumpkin?! That's not begging for sweets! Secretly in the pit of my mind, I KNOW I've always wanted to knife a scary, jagged shape into a harmless pumpkin! That's it. I officially come from a broken home." All was remedied last night when our two neighbors, Nicole and Christopher, asked us if we wanted to partake in pumpkin carving. Before they even finished asking the question, I excitedly said, "Yes!"

I'd had a migraine for the past three days. But this did not stop me. In fact, I sort of figured that maybe if I took out my anger at having a migraine on a pumpkin, I'd feel better. Twisted logic? Maybe. Did it work? Trick, yeahhh!

And so, I present to you, Culver Boulevard Apartment's pumpkin:

If you look closely, you will see that we carved a haunted house with little windows into our pumpkin. The graphic book said that this was the hardest and I think me, Terri, and Brian were all feeling super competitive. Regardless, I think it is beautiful :) And it was so much fun! I had to scoop out the pumpkin first (and scared Terri when I pretended to throw some at her) and then help cut. Granted, I got a little nervous when it was my turn to carve some of the big pieces. I was so afraid I was going to mess it up and make a really ugly gash or something...but when drinking cider, listening to fun music, and laughing about how one's roommate acts like Sheldon from Big Bang Theory (Brian), you remember to breathe and just enjoy!

And so, though I feel like this was a long time coming, I wouldn't have wanted to pop my pumpkin carving cherry with any other pair of roommates!

The Best Friend Rules

Those who know me know that I have a borderline obsession with The Office. A seemingly dry work environment that is in fact chock-full of sharp wit, sarcasm, a beautifully sweet man named Jim, and a to die for character named Kelly Kapoor who says things like, "I don't talk trash, I talk smack. They're totally different." And the actress who plays her, Mindy Kaling is definitely at the top of my "Actresses I Want To Be For 24 Hours" list. And she is a part of who inspired this blog post.

Mindy is about to write a book called Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns). I have no doubt in my mind that this will be a hilarious read. However, there was a sweet sentiment to one of her chapters--the chapter about the Best Friend. She recently posted a link that called for people to write down their "Best Friend Rules and Regulations"...i.e. what makes the two of you work and inseparable. I read it and I immediately started to smile because who else should pop into my head but my own best friend?




This is Hilary, the other half who inspired this post. I have known Hilary since middle school...clearly we were meant to be because I was a thirteen year old chubster with oddly-shaped glasses, triangle hair, sarcasm, and a penchant for wearing tube socks to gym class...and she still wanted to be friends with me. Hell, I wouldn't have even wanted to be friends with me!!! Fastforward to high school where she was my number one go-to girl about all things important: the location of my latest boycrush, the code words we invented for people we disliked, the times I cried after a fight with my family, the time my hair was frizzy for my freshman school picture and she helped me put it into a bun...everything. And of course, after high school came college...and incidentally we both ended up at our beloved alma mater, Meredith. We were joined at the hip for the first two years, though a brief falling out left us flying solo for junior year and a bit of senior year. Even though I still felt like we weren't completely separated, I felt a bit empty for awhile. However, when all things were restored, it was like no time had passed at all and we were still a duo-riffic US, finishing each other's sentences, talking at rapid-speed about various celebrities, musing over our futures, giggling over THE MOST RIDICULOUS THINGS (like planning our weddings in tandem via wedding blogs/putting on Southern accents and yelling "YEE-YEE!" at the end of a sentence...madness, I tell you), but things that make me laugh even today.

Hilary is the epitome of what it means to be a best friend: she listens. Whomever wrongs me, she hates (within reason...whatever, she hates). She tells me the truth. She makes me laugh harder than anyone I know and will spend hours upon hours doing so. She supports me. She bakes cupcakes and I eat them. Really, what could go wrong in this friendship? But most importantly, she has seen me at my worst and has never judged me for it. Hilary is an assurance that I am just fine and dandy the way I am, and she will probably never know how much I appreciate that. And so, readers, I want to share with you, the 'Best Friend Rules' that I submitted.


THE BEST FRIEND RULES:

-If I call you at an obscene hour of the night, you must come pick me up, even if it is at the skanky dive bar that you warned me not to go because I could get an STD (don't worry, I'll repay you in coffee).

-If one of us goes through something horrible, like if the pair of hella amazing flats we hid in the men's underwear section at Target is not there anymore (or worse: a death, a break-up, a friend issue, etc.), the other will bring the following: cupcakes, funny movies, wine, trashy magazines, a laptop to Facebook stalk, and a shoulder to cry on.

-If you are sad, I will stay with you for hours until you are happy. Because I know you would do the same for me.

-If you are about to do something shiesty (like wear a multi-colored leopard print dress out in public, talk to your ex, or buy a fur muffler), I can be honest with you because I love you.

-When I move across country we will snail mail once every other week, call/text daily, Skype weekly, and communicate telepathically...because really, if we don't stay in touch, THERE IS NO ONE ELSE LEFT.

-You will be the maid of honor at my wedding. Duh.

-If I am unhappy about the same thing for awhile, you will help me figure out how to change it/take me to get Fro-Yo.

-If I sing the lyric, "I ain't got no car to take you on a date" from the baller song, "The Way I Are" a la Timbaland and Keri Hilson, you will immediately dance and mimic the lyrics because hello, we're a duo.

-I hate who you hate and vice versa. Okay, well, hate is a really strong word, but really. If someone wrongs you, I will dislike them intensely and wish them severe weight gain and bloated feet until they apologize/buy you something really cool.

-We make up code names/phrases for everything. For example: if I am on a bad first date and text you, "THE PAINT IS DRYING!!" you will know to immediately call me fake-crying about how you have a flat tire and are stuck in Bumfuck NowhereLand and I need to come "get you" (which really means sit on a bed with Goodberry's and wine and cry about how there are no good men left and the fact that my ovaries are going to shrink).

-You will be one of the godparents of my future child. If I have a child. Which I might. But still. It's gotta be you, babe.

-You constantly assure me that I would be a good mom and not accidentally break my child if I gave him/her a hug.

-I always tell you that you're pretty and vice versa. And it still makes me smile when you do!

-When I am making an acceptance speech YOU need to be my date so when I get to the, "Aaaaand to all of my haters...." the camera will pan on you smiling widely while you flip through a Rolodex of everyone who was mean to me.

-At your wedding I will cry because I'll feel overwhelmed at the notion of even HALFWAY letting you go.

-When we have homes, we each have a designated "Best Friend" room. Meaning no one but the two of us can go in there and hang out and anyone else who does will be killed.

-If you say you want to live in a city and travel and go camel-riding, I will support you. Because, hi, I'm coming with you.

-If I say I feel fat, you tell me to shut up.

-If my parents are embarrassing you don't mock them, but you just go with it.

-You will let me eat the last piece of pie.

-I will let you eat the last handful of M&M's because I know you love them.

-We can talk about PPB: Periods, Poops, and Burps. But we still get tickled over these notions.

-You will make me laugh like a hyena over everything, and hopefully, vice versa.

-We know that even though we're not from the same DNA pool, we're related.

-This isn't even about getting a signed copy of Mindy's book. Reading over this list makes me more thankful and teary and happy and just plain old LUCKY that I have you for a sisterfriend.

:)

The God List

Paula Vogel told us about the list. Well...I shouldn't type 'list' in all lowercase like it doesn't matter. THE list. The God List.

A God List, she said, was a list in tens. The top ten theaters where you want your work produced. The top ten playwrights you love. The top ten people you'd dream of working with. It's a good concept, no?

However, post-Kennedy Center life has me making other types of God Lists--the top ten male actors I'd like to have a, how do I classily put it?-a dalliance with, the top ten reasons why I shouldn't run over LA pedestrians (they suck, plain and simple...one of them kicked my car two weeks ago), the top ten places where I could possibly be 'casually discovered' like Charlize Theron, the top ten reasons why I shouldn't evade sleep...it goes on.

I told Abbey about the concept of the God List, and she said she probably needed one..."The Top Ten Reasons Why She Shouldn't Kill Herself This Week." I laughed, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't make that same list while in the midst of rehearsal/Corn/exams/college life. However, I realized I hadn't made a not-so-random list in awhile. You know, a list that gives you perspective. Makes me smile. And so, here is my latest:

The Top Ten Reasons Why I Will Be Happy:

1) If I am not happy, I will laze on the couch and not go jogging/power walking in my new turquoise work-out shorts. Which means they will never be seen. Therefore, I will be happy because the world needs to see my baller turquoise workout shorts.

2) I'm where I said I would be. I followed my dreams.

3) My friends, spanning from Alaska to Texas to New York to North Carolina, prove that they are amazing to me everyday. The Skypes, the e-mails, the snail mail, their constant support makes this transition so much more bearable.

4) My family, crazy pants and loving, keep me grounded. Example: I went on my first audition for a television show last week, and later, my dad called and said: "Just because you're auditioning doesn't mean you can forget to call your aunt and tell her you're sorry you missed her in Phoenix. You're not Jennifer Aniston. Only she could do that. And even then she probably wouldn't."

5) We have a police station one block away from my apartment. Therefore, no one is re-enacting what they saw from Law & Order: LA.

6) I am only a hop, skip, and a jump away from the beach.

7) Friday Night Lights. The end.

8) My roommates are so encouraging. Even in the throes of unemployment, my PhD-student roommates always find time to forward me potential jobs they think I'd be good at. Terri tells me everyday that she believes in what I can do. We have dinner every night. Brian plays 'Words with Friends' with me (granted he kicks my ass, but whatever). It's good.

9) I know I can always come home.

10) Everyday, even when I get super frustrated, I make myself remember why I'm here. And that I'm capable. And then things are alright.

:)

Revivial of the Veggies

I wake up every night at a certain time. It's always around 2:05 a.m. that something, a feeling, a thud in my chest, and the fact that somehow, my right foot is poking out of the comforter, making me aware that I am way too tall. I have been in California for almost a month. I realized that I told a friend of mine today that I've only been here for two and a half weeks, but when I got back to the apartment later, I realized that my concept of time clearly needs updating.

I would be lying if I said that everything is perfect. I am not making poignant and subtly-funny movies yet. I am not the new head of SNL, nor am I the head of my own company. My socks are still unmatching, and lately I've been feeling awfully sluggish and cranky due to an unfortunate trip to Phoenix. However, as I was sitting in my bed tonight, contemplating what I wanted to peruse on Netflix, I realized something: I haven't been writing. I haven't been reading as much. I haven't eaten vegetables consistently. I haven't worked out in awhile. I haven't emoted a lot and allowed myself a lot of good cries over the fact that I miss my friends and family so much that sometimes I feel like my stomach has been punched. I haven't given myself enough credit. And I haven't been able to tell my brain to shut up, which results in nights like these.

Re-reading my last paragraph makes me realize: I am happy I am here. I made a big move. I am allowed to feel that 'L.A. Hustle' and apply to six jobs a day...but I am also allowed to feel, period. It's alright if I have a bad day. It's not alright if I take out my frustration in little ways...such as foregoing broccoli (which I love) and drowning my sorrows in Cheez-It's and Diet Coke (Ah, soda, my enemy. We meet again). Frankly, if I'm an asshole to my body, it's not going to make this transition any easier at all. So maybe, just maaaybe, writing again, remembering that edamame is indeed, my friend, and being a human when it comes to emotion, will make this better.

And this anxiety, this, freak-out about not managing to meet an imaginary deadline due to the snide remarks of people who really, in the grand scheme of things, do not matter and are probably unhappy because they are alone and have five chins: it needs to be vanquished. I love what I'm doing. I love that I am an actor and a writer. No one said it was easy. I feel like if it were easy I wouldn't want it. I read The Help during the summer and I cannot help but smile every time I think about this line: "You is kind. You is smart. You is important." I am going to say this to myself every morning and remember that I am a lucky, lucky girl to get to hustle around trying to get where I want to be.


1) I will write more.
2) I will do the one thing that scares me each day: drive around someplace new every day. The fact that someone yelled, "Pick it up, North Carolina!" while they were tailing me will not haunt me anymore. Rather, I will instead wish him adult acne for the rest of his life and move on.
3) Be grateful.
4) Be happy.
5) Go hiking.
6) Create.

P.S. That picture? Totally my first In-N-Out Burger experience. Not pictured: the fabulous chocolate shake that could probably cause miracles to occur.

We're on West Coast time now...

Aaaand I'm in Los Angeles. I guess I had this mindset that "people are people" and that the culture shock wouldn't be too bad. Sitting at my gate in Charlotte alone showed me that clearly I was not going to be in North Carolina no mo'. However...I feel as though I need to get my bearings and get to work. If there is one thing that rings true about this place is that while cool, interesting, laid back, and breezy, everyone is indeed, an actor. I have to keep telling myself, "Well, what did you expect? It's time to get to work."

Thankfully I stumbled upon a little Sunday goody that made me feel much better. I am a huge fan of random blogs, Twitter-feeds, etc. I love the Daily Beast website and today I clicked on the "Horoscope" section. Normally I don't really pay too much attention to horoscopes--one of my best friends loves astrology so she fills me in on the pros and cons of my sign :) But this gave me some comfort on a quiet morning on the West Coast:

"Scorpio: This week isn’t short on excitement—labeling it drama is entirely up to you. With Mercury in the final throes of retrograde, your professional profile or public image may take a few hits, and you may worry that your glory days are behind you. They’re not. Still, it’s healthy for you to ponder this. By Wednesday, Pluto, Jupiter and Venus form a grand trine, eradicating fear, and freeing you to operate on faith—you recall a time when you lived on an exclusive diet of the stuff, which reignites a fire in your belly. After a retreat, you rise phoenix-like by Saturday, daring to excede expectations, even your own."

Reigniting a fire in my belly and rising like a Phoenix? I do love that Harry Potter reference, DB :)

Blog betrayal and subconcious roamings...

Blogspot has betrayed me. It is saying that my Mer e-mail will not let me continue to blog on this anymore...something about "conflicting accounts" and a lot of big technical phrases that quite frankly I do not care to understand. Therefore:

1) I may have to get a new blog
2) This could be seen as appropriate because I am moving to LA and therefore need a new blog
3) Why the hell do I have to get a new blog?!?! I LOVE this blog!!!!
4) I could get a Tumblr...
5)...I don't want a Tumblr, they left out the "e" in the word.
6) Still, what am I going to do?!?!
7) I don't want a new g-mail account...that'll be 3 g-mail accounts.
8) Why doesn't the spare bedroom have curtains?
9) I shouldn't have watched Law and Order SVU, now I think there's someone on the roof trying to break in.
10) Oh, wait, it's just the light of the computer screen reflecting on said window.
11) Should I get a new blog???? Will people follow it?
12) Pfft, who cares if people follow it?
13) I do.
14) It's 3:21 a.m. I should go to sleep.
15) I have a craving for hush puppies from The Pit.
16) Ooooh, new Itunes music...

Just Go.

(Green Team)

The Kennedy Center intensive was only for ten days, but I feel like it changed me so much. In such a short time I made a group of friends, ranging in age and personality, that I know I will continue talking to for probably the rest of my life. We all got to meet and work with so many fabulous people (among them Paula Vogel, Marsha Norman, David Ives, Mame Hunter, Amy Attaway, Kristoffer Diaz...the list goes on) and it really cemented my decisions to leave come August.

Before I left for DC (and good lawwwd, I love DC), I was stuck. I was debating taking the safe way out and giving myself a year or two in Raleigh to save more money and then go. Sheryl said it best: "Sometimes you just need to shake things up in your life and then it all becomes clear." How true, how true. I went into this intensive calling Hilary literally ready to walk right back out of my dorm room ("I'm not ready for this! I don't belong here!") to coming out an infinitely better writer with more confidence, and the fiercest love I've felt for my crafts.

I talked to Paula Vogel for a little bit when she came. No lie, I was literally about to pee on myself. How do you talk to one of the most influential female playwrights, someone who has paved the way for women everywhere, without your voice cracking like a thirteen-year-old boy? Still, I introduced myself to her and told her about how we did How I Learned to Drive at Meredith. I told her about how I was having trouble placing myself in the artistry world, probably because I didn't quite know where to put myself generally. She was so kind; she smiled and took my hand and said, "How wonderful and lovely it is that you have had a chance to do it all with such strong women. Don't box yourself. Just go." Just go. Those two words meant so much last week and still mean the world to me now.

I try and explain how amazing and beautiful this experience was for me, but can't find the words to do it justice. It was so hard to come back. North Carolina is, and always will be my home. But I feel like there is a bigger need and ache to go and see and show what I can do. And come mid-August, this new adventure shall begin.

Ken Cen, oh hey!

I've been in DC for three days now. All I can really say is oh. My. God.

I feel like I could cry, I am so happy. I'm learning so much each day--my head is buzzing after nine hours in the beautiful building that is the Kennedy Center.

Gary Garrison, the man with many famous, fabulous, and intelligent hats said it best on day one: "Wake the fuck up and be the artist that you know you want to be. There is no time. You must be it now."

The people here are so accepting, sweet, cool, unique, and just...so different from the people I know at home. I feel like I've known them for my whole life. We have this thing in common, this need to write everything down and turn the everyday into something powerful. I have never felt so inspired.

June Jollies

JUNE.

In seven days, it will be precisely one month since I graduated. This is both delightful and vomit-a-trocious.

For Memorial Day weekend, one of my best friends (Hilary/Hil/YEE/Agnes) invited me to come take her sweet younger sister Karla to Camp Seafarer, and then hop a ferry to Beaufort and drive to Atlantic Beach. Before she even finished her sentence, I was packed.

I love the ocean. As in "love" cannot even encompass how much I adore the beach. I always feel the greatest sense of peace when I'm there, as if time just stops. And I've always sworn up and down that the day I have enough money, I will buy a place on the coast. And just as I expected, Beaufort was charming and just lovely. We ate lunch at Beaufort Grocery (sadly we had a really prissy waiter man named James, so I pretended to be a food critic and made him uneasy), visited the Sanitary Restaurant where I purchased a burnt orange shirt, and fiiinally drove to the beach. Atlantic Beach let me relax and check out for a couple of hours. It was absolutely gorgeous out...not a cloud in the sky, warm water, and a bright, tan-inducing sun. And hanging out with Hilary is always an adventure and conversation never runs dry. I am just plain old lucky.

One of my other sweet, sweet bests, Espanol teacher extraordinaire, Kellie, and another friend, Mandi were tweeting the other night and I caught a couple of their tweets. Kellie had the brilliant idea to turn June into "No Junk June" and clean house, mind, and body. Frankly, I am in love with said idea. While I am about to have an adventure with MK Cranny-Cran to Goodwill to get rid of a ton of clothing (Goodwill's about to hit the motherload...), it got me thinking. One of my biggest downfalls will be sweets. I mean, I love fruit. I will eat seriously any vegetable. But when it comes to chocolate, toffee, anything sweet, really, I cave. Can't help it. Summers have always been marked by a once-every-other-day trip to Henry's Gelato or late-night Goodberry's or Whole Foods to retrieve my ginger molasses cookie (always take the middle one in the glass case, they're the softest). Fine, Confessional Moment: I actually do have a royal title. I am Queen of Stress Eating. Proof: I sent my resume to a school in Los Angeles and promptly had cupcakes with Sheryl after. My grandmother asked why I didn't like the idea of nursing school (answer: I hate blood and bodily functions and will probably drop a bedpan on a patient), and I immediately went to Skinny Dip/broke out into hives. See? ISSUES. Why not make it a No Junk Food June? So thus begins my month of...substitution, so to speak. And, well, I just graduated and am still job hunting like a fiend, so why not toy with my BMI percentage? If anything, my Weight Watchers calendar will look like a freaking dream, points and all.

And so, June, I welcome you while I fight the good unemployment fight, continue taking hip hop classes, make an attempt to not bite my nails, and choose healthy over heart-attack-inducing items.

(And no, I am not counting coffee as junk food. I'm not that intense. And plus, we all know I would probably throw myself off of a bridge after ten minutes if this happened)

See, what had HAPPENED, was....

...I graduated eighteen days ago. As in, I walked across the stage, shook Dr. Hartford's hand, didn't trip, knocked over Peggy's hat, and then left Dorton Arena no longer a student of my beloved alma mater (I kind of hated typing that), and a newly motivated, unemployed, coral-dress-with-pockets citizen of the world. So, for the past two weeks and four days, this has been my routine:

8:45 a.m.: Wake up to my alarm and turn it off.
9:45 a.m.: Wake up to my alarm and turn it off.
10:45 a.m.: See the time, and literally roll out of bed because now it's just getting pathetic.
11:45 a.m.-1:00 p.m.: Job-search and start screaming at one point because my ring is pointed outward.
1:30 p.m-maybe 3:00 p.m..: Schelp my stuff from my apartment to either my dad's house in Cary or my mom's house in Garner. Really, whichever house has the best food/coffee supplies at the moment.
4:00 p.m.-5:30 p.m.: Go to the gym/maybe go walking with Hilary
6:30 p.m.: Attempt to socialize with Thathi, but quickly get aggravated when she asks for the millionth time why I am not enrolling in nursing school and why I am leaving for Los Angeles.
7:00 p.m.: Dinner. Usually a toss-up between hanging out with the fam or driving insanely fast to Raleigh where my friends are.
10:00 p.m.: A text from Dad, merely starting with "Hi," but meaning, "WhereareyouwhatareyoudoingwhoareyouwithIamafraidyouaredoingrebelliousthings." All said in a jumble.
11:00 p.m.-2:00 a.m.: Job searching, YouTube research, Facebook stalking, and contemplating my life on a too-small twin bed in my closet-sized room with a broken AC.

Hilary and I were so enthusiastic when school was about to end: "Our post grad lives are going to be THE BEST!" And they are. It's just, when it all comes down to it, we get down to one of my massive flaws: I lack patience. I see myself were I want to be, but frankly, it's exhausting looking up apartments, sending out resumes, panicking over my completely uprooting myself and frolicking in a land where everyone's an actor. I was completely validated when my MCG's voted me, "Most Likely to be the Next Tina Fey." I was insanely happy with that title, but really, it's a loooooong ways off. And I'm starting to become slightly (okay, well, DEEPLY) petrified of what lies ahead/stricken by the thought of being homeless on the coast of California. What if nothing happens at all? THEN what? Go back to the basics, I suppose. But what exactly were my basics?

I overanalyze a lot, in case you couldn't tell.

And then I remember the exciting things that are getting me through: I got into the Kennedy Center Playwriting Intensive Program, so I head up there in July, and will probably vomit with all of the amazing things I learn/fantastic people I meet. And I remember that most, if not all of the grad parties I've attended are full of people who are just like me. The ones who have gone to "Top Notch" schools like Duke, NYU, Stanford, etc. are done and home and are jobless just like everyone else. It's humbling. The playing field's equal, and (hopefully) everyone's ego is slightly deflated. For some reason it's comforting.

I see the playing field.

I just need to make the first big step.

Denial...not just a river.

I've been putting off this blog post for awhile. By not writing about IT, buying black shoes for IT, buying a brightly colored dress for IT, writing a Class Day speech before IT the next day, and not thinking about decorating my cap for IT, I'd say I have been living my life blissfully in denial, smiling widely when someone dare utters the "G" word, only to feel my eyes grow hot and start to tear.

But alas, denial can only take you so far.

IT...ugh, fine, GRADUATION is this weekend. The four years I've spent at my second home, sweet Meredith College, are coming to a close. It's a frightening, wonderful, exhilarating, and honestly, upsetting feeling, a jumble of emotions that I cannot quite track. I feel like this last week has been so busy, not with anything academic related, but just...stuff. I've planned a theatre banquet, written another skit, folded one pile (out of ten) of laundry, gone on a safari for overdue library books, Web MD'd possible foot ailments...you get the idea. I haven't had time to just...be in my college, and take in the little things that have always made MC that much more special. I passed by Joyner this afternoon and was suddenly struck with the thought that I walked those halls as a student for the last time this past Sunday. I'm getting my Oddball wig ready for tomorrow, and I can feel that lump returning to my throat again, and that painful pang in stomach gets tighter.

Thankfully, tonight I saw three of my very best friends, all Meredith alums, and all so special to me in so many ways. Kasey, blunt one that she is, said, "It sucks for awhile. You'll always miss it...but it gets better each day." Kellie merely asked, "What do you need Kiki? What do you need right now?" Meghan just scratched my back, which just about put me to sleep. And I can bet you when I see Amy tomorrow, she'll probably do what she always does, and say wise words to me that are true and will make me cry.

The one thing that all three reiterated was to enjoy each moment and to not be sad. Because, in retrospect, it really is going to be a phenomenal weekend. Alright. Deep breath...and....GO.

And it's April.

"April," Amy Damone declared. "Is the most important month for a Meredith girl. No one else understands but those who are there."

And oh, how right she is. This month has been one of the most stressful (Convocations! Cap and gown purchases! Chord ordering! Wow, these are a lot of "C" things...), sad (a lot of "last's" are coming up for the seniors), and hectic (all I'm saying is who assigns a fifteen page paper in seminar? In the last month? When you're already ready to collapse? I ask you again, readers, WHO DOES THAT?!). But, in the midst of all of the craziness, I am finding little gems:

1) I'm finding that my parentals are pretty freaking great. They're starting to say things like, "When you move to L.A," and "When we find you, Syd, and Kathleen an apartment..." I think they're starting to realize that Kiki Subrawoman has a plan, a vision, a need for adventure, and a thirst to make it happen. I've been talking to my mom a lot more, and I'm finding that we actually have a lot in common in terms of how her mindset was in college. And I'm beginning to feel a lot more reassured.

2) It's okay to let people go sometimes. It sucks, that's for damn sure. But sometimes I look at how truly amazing my real friends are versus the ones who, well, just haven't been around. I see how different they are. This April has shown me that my fabulous friends really outdo themselves: from the e-mails, calls, texts, reassurances, and the constant, "Oh my God, you're going to be excellent in whatever you do!" it seriously makes me teary. I'm so grateful. Then I look at the ones who are the exact opposite. And then I realize that instead of focusing on the ones that aren't so great, I have the right to focus on the ones that are. And, as the always-wise Amy tells me, "You deserve great friends. Go getchu some."

3) Reconnecting with old friends is the best feeling in the world. I think my last semester has been fifty times better because of it.

4) It's perfectly okay to have an addiction to coffee, to the point where you have a myriad of mugs stashed in your car. I mean, really. I'm allowed a vice. I don't smoke. I work out (er...not as regularly right now, but I'm a senior, so whatever). I smile at cute children when walking by them. I deserve an addiction.

5) The best is yet to come. Cliche? Totally. The realization that this is absolutely true? Profound.

6) It's okay to use vindictiveness as motivation. There's always going to be people who doubt you. What I'm finding is that I'm going to use that to set my working soul on fire and prove them wrong. And then laugh and do cartwheels in my bright blue and yellow kitchen when I am successful.

7) I will find the perfect graduation dress. :)

Alright, April. Let's do this...

Alright, Internet, let's see whatcha got...

Confession: I am awful at creating online dating profiles. Why am I even on online dating websites? As lame as this sounds, after hearing my friends talk about it and how "it really is the New-Age form of finding one's soulmate," I decided to give it a shot. But honestly, I'm h-o-r-r-i-b-l-e at creating a profile because I'm not good at putting myself "out there." I have friends who don't even bat an eyelash as they fill out an OkCupid account or an "E-Harmony's Harmonious Relationship" questionnaire. I, however, have visions of serial assholes and Craigslist Killers dancing in my head as I type out my "About Me" summary. But this time, after talking it out with one of my best friends, I figured, why not? I'm definitely moving to California at the end of the summer and I'm in the throes of Senioritis (an epidemic that has struck the class of 2011), so instead of creating graduation announcements, I decided to fill out one of these said relationship websites. And all I have to say is oh. My. God. Maybe I won't "find my true match" or maybe Cupid will decide to evade this twenty-two year old biddy, but after perusing through quite a few profiles of "Striking eligible bachelors," I have realized that there needs to be guidelines for guys when creating a profile.

1) Thou shalt pick a decent username-I have stumbled upon profiles with the most ludicrous usernames. That one name can be an instant turn on or in my case, off. Because let me just say that I will probably not talk to you if your name is FluffyParrotMan39 or ViktoriousThugLyfe or even GitRDunBoi20435. This makes me think that you are either an animal hoarder with a fetish for feathers, missing a few teeth, or a really bad speller (and let me tell you that is an extreme turnoff).

2) Thou shalt proofread your profile-Maybe you meant to say, "If someone was in a burning building, I would run in and rescue them." Maybe you meant to say, "I would love to meet over a cup of coffee." But because of your slippery fingers or sheer idiocy, you have written, "If someone was in a burning building, I would run in with them," and "I would love to meet over a cum of coffee." Um. Bye.

3) Thou shalt not be an asshole with pictures-Okay, seriously? How many pictures of you with a red solo cup can you put up? And why, why, why would you put up pictures of you taking body shots off of a tranny hot mess of a girl? Hi. I do have some self-respect. A guy who messaged me (whose username was ironically YesIamBig) had his profile picture be a shot of him, sweaty and beer-laden with a bunch of Hooters girls and a puppy in his arms. I am not joking. Nor was I impressed.

4) Thou shalt NOT be an asshole in your profile-Example: I saw a profile in which the guy (who had more facial hair than a cult leader) had at the beginning: DISCLAIMOR: IF YOU ARE FAT, DO NOT TALK TO ME. IF YOU ARE BIGER THAN A MOUND OF DIRT, DO NOT TALK TO ME. I almost flipped a shit. First of all, remember rule two? SPELLCHECK, you idiot. And two, SERIOUSLY? Seriously. That's all I can really say to that. Another thing that's really aggravating, as least to me, is when I read profiles that start like this: "Ladies deserve men that are classy and fabulous. I am both of those things." and "I am one of the nicest guys you will ever meet in your life." Ohhhh, and let's not forget: "I'm very respectful of girls, and am a fan of casual sex." It makes me shake my head. And laugh. And then want to cry because this is the pool of guys I have to choose from? I'd rather die lonely surrounded by spinach and artichoke dip and a season of Glee. Sheesh.

5) Thou shalt not be pushy-No. I will not go over to your house for the first date. I don't know if you're Jack the Ripper in disguise or if you have a Confederate flag waving from your roof. I will meet you in public, preferably over coffee or Barnes and Nobles, some place where throngs of people can see us and potentially pull the, "I'll-Pretend-I-Know-You-But-I-Really-Don't-But-You-Need-To-Be-Rescued-From-This-Creeper" move.

I bet you there's more guidelines that'll pop up as this experiment goes on. But at least for now, I can happily say that this has been quite a fun form of entertainment. And on that note...onward!

A little bit o' hope.

Thanksies need to be made to my beautiful friend, Sam Cib. Here she is, fellow blogettes:

Sam not only made my day today by telling me that The Perks of Being a Wallflower is being made into a movie, but last week, thanks to Facebook creeping, she accidentally introduced me to a blog that has been copied, bookmarked, and tabbed on my crumbling MC laptop, right next to my Y schedule: http://thefrenemy.tumblr.com/. Seriously. Best. Blog. Ever. I wish I could write as well as this person does. Today this blogger basically took my thoughts about e-books and Nooks and created the most eloquent post ever. My favorite passages:

"There is nothing, nothing like a book that is yours. The tattered and wrinkled dog, the pages you have scanned over and over, rubbed your fingers down the spine as real as human flesh. The first time you read a book that is yours is like finding a soulmate. It could be a sentence, three sentences, a paragraph before you know. You are hooked. You hug the book. You are elated at finding the kind of words that speak to all the parts of your bones and organs. You take it with you to all the apartments you’ll ever have, packing it safely in the boxes you write BOOKS on. You underline the BOOKS part in the box it is in so you know to be extra careful with it. You go to certain pages when you are sad. 97 will make you cry. 313 will make you laugh. 14 contains the life mantra you live by. You look at the corner crease in the upper right back cove- that came when you let your best friend borrow it. The ripped binding. The underlined sentences. The oil stain in the third chapter. It is as weathered and loved as your very first blanket. The reminder of somebody you loved, you take it back to the time in your life you were in Pennsylvania whipping your hand out the car window. This book is as memory inducing as a favorite song. For me, this book is The Picture of Dorian Gray. For you, it is whatever made you love the written word. Pull it out when you want to visit beloved friends."

"With real books, there are moments in a a doctor’s office. You watch a girl, maybe fifteen, pull out the Great Gatsby. You remember the moment you fell for it during the bare legged swing and lemonade sip of your sophomore summer. That month you soaked up the pain of love with the kind of awe and understanding that you will never be as brilliant as Fitzgerald. Or Vonnegut. You remember reading sentences from the great and the dead that throw you against a wall or rip your heart out, so you touch the pages and run your fingers down the ink in substitute. There are moments on the subway. A cute, tousled hair kind of guy pulls out a book you have never read. You watch his face, the movements of his mouth as he soaks it up and for a moment you love him. You take out your book, ruffle through your purse, find that paperback and let somebody fall in love with you as you struggle to read with one hand gripped on the crowded railing."

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

This week has been an emotional one. One of the girls in the theatre department just lot her mom. I think as you go through college and get involved with your major, the other people who are with you become family, and even if you don't hang out with them daily, there is the sense of fierce protectiveness and love. So when one loses someone or something, it affects everyone. I'm not going to lie, it made me feel a lot of things: incredibly sad, the shock that while I may be stressing about little things, there are much bigger things happening, and the sudden need to call my own mom, apologize for our fight last week, tell her that I love her a lot, and take her off of my "Block" list from Facebook (yes, I took her off of Facebook. What can I say, I was mad...). And I guess I needed to read something, see something that would maybe restore a little sparkle, a little hope in my world. And well, for me, that other blog post did just that.

So, Sam? Thanks, lady.

Looooooove

Valentine's Day is next Monday and last week I had a voracious appetite for doing the very things that sometimes make me irritable around this time of year:

-Surfing wedding blogs
-Looking at every single wedding profile on The Knot
-Reading the "Happy Couple" section in People and Self
-Couple watching in Starbucks...and making faces
-Playing the, "How? How does this stanky celeb have a boyfriend?" with only the closest of my girlfriends (which is mean, I know. But like Spence says, sometimes it's just necessary)
-Eating chocolate but not going to yoga

And then I have to remember the things that make me happy:

+I do what I want. Within reason.
+My time is mine.
+I have a fabulous group of girlfriends that I wouldn't trade with anyone for the world
+I am getting ready to embark on an equally fabulous adventure next year
+I am actually quite happy with the way things are going in my life.
+And on Monday I am going to (quite contentedly) make handmade Valentines (goofy, of course) for my best friends and treat myself to some much-needed Ben and Jerry's. And probably send my dad an e-mail demanding that he be my Valentine.
+Yoga class. Fine, fine...I'll go.

New Year, New...Feet?

It's day two of a new semester and it's already a snow, er, ice day. I'm sitting in my room in my super comfy bed, a cup of coffee in hand, and a reading on Plato. Life is pretty fabulous right now.

It's 2011, y'all! 2011. The year I graduate. In four months. Asdkfjasdlkfjkjdakfjalkd! So far 2011 has consisted of the following: cobbling together resumes, auditioning, toting around a new purse (thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, sweet Kasey G!), and marveling at he fact that next year I will be in a different state.

Every new year I make a list of goals, most of them the same as that previous year; things like, "I won't bite my nails," and "I will fold my laundry and not let it sit on my floor," and "I will not treat my floor as an extra shelf." But really, these are more like daily goals that I try to work on. So I figured it was time to shake things up, and my lovely pal Kellie gave me an idea. Instead of focusing on a ton of mini-goals, I decided for the year of 2011, I would work on one thing that seems to have a common occurrence this semester and was the cause of my semi-demise towards the end of the semester: stress. My goal is to make sure that I don't get too over my head in my last semester of college, and to always make sure to check in with myself periodically. And maybe instead of saying yes to everything, thinking it through. Before last semester got super hectic, I loved going to the gym to take a class, run, and basically get out some frustration and kick in the endorphins. But I stopped going once school, Corn, the show, finals...everything started piling up. I really missed going and seeing the friends I made in toning and dance classes, and I missed getting the "me" time I knew was long overdue. Over winter break, I started going six times a week, taking classes, rocking out on the elliptical, and...taking yoga.

My dad said that taking yoga would not only work on building the flexibility I used to have when I was younger, but it would also give me a chance to check out and chill for about an hour. All of the stretching, all of the "downward facing dogs" and whatnot means you stare at your feet a lot. And frankly, after about two weeks I got tired of staring at my unpainted toes for so long. So I decided to make a little purchase:

And the rest is history. I feel almost dainty when I lean down to stretch out my back and calves and I see my classy red toes. We'll see how the rest pans out.

Alright, 2011, let's see whatcha got!