Glimpses

I used to be really good about posting pictures on Facebook...like annoyingly good. As in I was that girl-the one who would take pictures of absolutely anything and then post them with what I thought were clever captions. Lately I've been neglecting my pictures...I have so many that have yet to be posted! From study abroad to some photos from my last year in college, they've been hiding in the depths of my computer. But due to my love affair with my iPhone and iPhoto, I've been getting better about posting on Instagram. But for this post, I figured I'd post a couple snapshots, "glimpses" if you will, of the past couple weeks in Los Angeles.

1) My view from my office at work. I can't get over it.

2) A group of some wonderful friends before line dancing. Yes. Line dancing. In San Dimas, California, there lies a Texan-Western bar where there is a lot of flannel, a lot of cowboy boots/hats, and yes, a lot of dancing. Highlight of my night: the Cupid Shuffle coming on and and me and Ashley shrieking because of some pretty fabulous Meredith memories :)

3) I've had the same barista at work for a month. This is one of the many spelling variations of my name:

4) Sunset in Palo Alto. I've never felt more at peace.

5) Living so close to the beach means lounging here and not moving for hours:

The Sick Day

Yesterday I was feeling kind of sick...you know that achy, nauseated, most-likely-a-twenty-four-hour-bug-thing? Totally what I have. So today, I took today off. Thankfully my nice boss, Alex, sent me a sweet e-mail telling me to "load up on 1,000 milligrams of Vitamin C every hour." However, when I woke up in the morning after sleeping for nine and a half hours (this rarely happens), I realized that I lacked the following:

1) Coffee

2) ...real food.

My neighbors upstairs were blasting Lil Wayne music, so I figured that while this was going on, I may as well be productive. So I put on an old Meredith shirt, threw on a pair of yoga pants, and drove to Trader Joe's in downtown Culver.

Downtown Culver is one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. Palm trees, lots of fun and cute places, and hidden in the corner by Washington Boulevard is the Trader Joe's that I've started to claim as "my" grocery store. Lately I've been loving grocery shopping-not necessarily because I'm getting food (though in this case by the time I got to the coffee grinder, I was practically dancing with happiness), but because about two months ago the staff over there started treating me as a "regular." As in they remember the random details about my life that I don't even remember saying. Today a bunch of workers asked me how I liked the chocolate oatmeal cookies I had bought last time and if the wine I had bought for a party was well-received. Another lady, a sweet older one, asked me if my quest to find a colorful bookshelf was almost completed. Someone else asked me if I had fixed the imploded keyhole in my car (....no.). It was so sweet that they remembered and put me in a really great mood.

I was standing by the coffee grinder trying to figure out how to make it work (I have pretty much come to the terms that I'm not technologically inclined), when a new worker came up to show me. While we were waiting for the whole thing to grind, she leaned her face up to the machine and took a big sniff. "It's the little things," she said with a smile. "Ya gotta remember that."

So true.

The Three Necessities

"As I've gotten older," actor Jason Segel said in a speech. "The things I care about have whittled down to three things: my family, my friends, and being nice." He's one of my favorite actors and my admiration only grew. This is a concept I think a lot of us have lost somewhere along the way: being nice.

I think in a place like Los Angeles, where it can be very cutthroat and cruel, it's easy to lose sight of the important things in life. Instead, there are those who are so wrapped up in their own insecurities and are so twisted in trying to be "the best" that they cut others down in the worst possible ways. Now, as a girl from North Carolina, raised properly by a loving (albeit fabulously dysfunctional), I was taught that at the root of human existence is the characteristic of being kind. And lately, I've been questioning my need to "be nice" when it feels like the people who surround me are, in fact, bullies.

I talked to one of my closest friends today and she told me this: "We're nice to those who aren't because they're unhappy. They're hurting in some way, and whether they call you fat or talk about how they're going to exploit a weakness, they're insecure and cowardly, and those are the ones who need us the most."

She's a wise one, my friend.

I believe in this statement: "Always be kinder than you feel." Seriously. It'll bring a smile to your face. And I promise, whether you want to teach someone "a lesson in dumbass-ness," make a comment about how someone appears to be socially awkward, or even go to the point of jeering at the fact that if 2012 were to ever wipe out the human existence, certain individuals would be the first to go, not saying it may actually make you feel better. Being a bully? Not impressive. Not attractive. And not how we as human beings should conduct ourselves.

My three necessities parallel Segel's:

1) My family.

2) My friends.

3) Being kind.

Maybe it's something we should all look into.

Viva 23!

This year I came up with a catchphrase for turning 23: "Viva 23!" As in, HOORAH! Big Girl World is about be owned. Hilary always makes me laugh because she incorporates the good with the bad. For example: "Hilary, I have a pimple." "Well...VIVA 23!" And today, she joins me in 23-year-old Land.

Happy, happy birthday sweet pal of mine!

Love Never Dies: My Romance with Google

A very thoughtful life quandary. At least I thought so:

The Not-So-Sparkly List

One of my favorite quotes of all time is by famed producer, director, general "everything man" Mel Brooks:

"If you're quiet, you're not living. You've got to be noisy and colorful and lively."

I came across this quote randomly and felt it jump out at me, like someone had literally taken the three adjectives that I would want someone to describe me as being and made it real.

And then I started to cry. And bear in mind, I do not cry prettily. I actually suffer from the UCS (Ugly Crying Syndrome), where my eyes burn and get all red, my snuffles sound like a foghorn, and my throat starts to close, making me panic, and do the kind of breathing I imagine women going into labor do. I haven't felt 'noisy and colorful and lively' in awhile. I just felt like everything that I had been so hopeful about once the new year started, was starting to shrivel into nothingness. Oh, and it could also be because, yes, it is That Time of the Month. You know, the IT. Surfing the crimson wave of hell. So as I sit here with my heating pad and hot water and lemon (and as I re-read this sentence, I wonder if I've turned into a ninety-year-old woman), I am composing a new list. A Grumpy List.

Why 2012, A Seemingly Sparkly Year, Has Currently Turned Me Into A PMS-Y Cynic:

1) I have writer's block, in the worst possible way. I'll get an idea, I'll sketch something out in my notebook...but then when I sit down to type it out, I...can't. I don't know why, but everything that I write sounds horrible. And I erase every single thing I write because it isn't what I wanted and then there's nothing. Then I get cranky.

2) I feel like I'm still putting on an invisible jacket of, "Please don't swallow me" every time I step out of my apartment. I love LA. I do. But I get so antsy before I leave, mainly because I am convinced today is the day a truck is going to take my life as it barrels down a 40-MPH road. I get into these moods where if I have everything I need (food, water, various social media outlets, face wash, a full DVR, coffee maker, and a sushi takeout menu), I really don't have to leave my space. So the Kiran Cave goes into full effect, with me applying to more jobs, hating my writing, doing yoga in front of my lifted television, and not leaving. I am social. I love being social. I am not used to exploring on my own, especially when I feel like all I do is get lost and panic as my car shakes on the highway.

3) I can't find my chocolate-covered Cheerios. Also, our DVR is full of Criminal Minds. This is not good for my sleeping habits.

4) I can't find my CamCard. Duh, I'm not a student but I want it. And plus, there was a gift card to Target in there. Dammit, WHERE IS IT?

5) I still need to unpack.

6) I am really starting to see that in "the business," sometimes if you have a plan, it really doesn't matter. At all.

7) My Words With Friends account FORFEITED all of my games because I didn't play while I was at home. So now it says that I lost a bunch of games, when really, with the exception of my roommate, I was kicking everyone else's ass.

8) MY THIGHS TOUCH.

9) An old professor of mine told me I should think about doing stand-up, and all I can think about is having a panic attack on stage and having NOTHING TO WRITE ABOUT.

10) I would just really like all of my friends to live in the same neighborhood. Because I miss them and the fact that they know me really well and that I don't have to start over.

11) My ex-boss has not paid me, yet I still have access to his social media accounts. Hmmm.

12) I think my dad snuck one of his shirts into my suitcase on purpose. Because now I miss home all over again. Stupid girly monthly visitor.

13) My next post will be positive. Perhaps I'll go out and take pictures of all of the hot men I see.

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.