The Story of How I Got My New Orange Hoodie

My boyfriend, his best friend and I areat KB Toys. They're having a going out of business sale and they're looking for some last minute presents. I'm not paying attention to those two, when suddenly I look up and something comes flying at my face and hits me smack in the right eye. The something being an arrow off a toy bow and arrow set. Luckily, it's one with a suction cup at the end, so there's not a big black and blue area around my eye. Yes. Luckily, I still have my eye. It was my wonderful boyfriend who shot me, no more than 3 feet away. It went shockingly fast, which is why it hurt so bad and caused me to have to sit down. It took awhile before I could open my eye again.

He kept apologizing all day even though I didn't complain. What's funny is everytime he'd apologize, I'd call him a pussybitch or something of the sort, 'cause it's really annoying to have someone apologize to you that often. However, anytime he did something wrong I'd tell him, "You shot me in the eye!" It ended much annoyances that day.

So, yes, he bought me a bright orange hoodie. Could have gotten a dress outta him too, but I ain't that kind of gal.

Sometimes, I want to fight. Maybe that's why I have slight anger issues. But, I don't mean 'fight'. I mean 'fight for'. I think all of us would like to have something to fight for, because that means we have a reason to fight for it. We need just as much reason as we need rhyme. And, well, it's about time.

It's true that a part of me is wanting for selfish reasons. That's what happens to all of us. Maybe it's not that I want to be famous, but well-respected. That's a fine wish to have, I think.

I suppose most blogs are about what goes on in our everyday lives. Maybe one reads this. And, if that one, maybe two. I would like two readers.

It's the beginning of the holiday season. Happy Hanukkah. And soon to Christmas. Soon to be New Year's. I actually bought gives this year, loving giving them. Though I am getting some, I admit that I am most excited for my boyfriend's. Though we are both Jewish, he is from Russia and celebrates New Year's as though it were Christmas. He is used to many presents (something which I am used to but of quite low, but loving quality) and keeps adding to mine (three at this point). I bought him a GPS which is more than I've spent on anybody and he loves. I have never met a human being with a worse internal compass then him, so this was the most useful gift he could have received. But, there is nothing that I specifically want this year, which makes me even more excited to see what he got me.

You see, it's not about the presents themselves. I really do believe that the love he shows me is the greatest thing in the world. Nobody makes me happier than him. But, what he wants to give me are things that he believes will make me happy. Because, he loves seeing me happy. I think I'm mostly excited for these gifts because he's excited to see me excited.

This is my first holiday season with someone special in my life. One year ago, I barely knew the guy. Now, he's the love of my life. And, it's all just a moment in a series of moments of time that both doesn't exist and lasts far beyond and far after my lifetime.

And, if right now all I'm fighting for is love and happiness, I think I'll be all right.

This weekend has been scattered with good and filled with bad. In the end, as I usually do when this sort of thing happens, I focus on the bad rather than the good. It's a bad habit, but I have an active imagination which loves to sabotage myself. I understand that I am drawn to drama, I'm a theater major, but I should be drawn to happiness as well. If things start going to well, I have no choice but to pick the pieces from the whole and pull them apart.

But, even if I react too strongly, I feel slightly justified by my feelings. This is not a self-pitying entry. None of them are. Because, even in the smallest amount possible, I'm right. Even a little bit. And I want to growl, How dare you? But, I've done that before and it falls short of truth and too passionate for the reason.

I want to feel more a part of than I am. Less lonely than I feel all the time. Even when you hold me sometimes. More loved. With more meaning and more friends. If I don't drink or do drugs, does that mean you won't hang out with me? Or is it me? Can I not fake laughter well enough? Can I not hurt myself hard enough?

Not sel-pitying. Contemplative. Bored. Always bored and tired.

And wondering why.

Hungry. But, not quite hungry enough to get off my lazy ass and... it's noon. It's noon already? Fuck. Okay. I'll get some food.

I wrote a pretty crappy 50,000 word novel. If I posted it anywhere, I'd post it here. But, am I willing to do that yet?

Sigh.

Done with Comedy Studies. It was amazing. My teachers actually think I'm talented and want me to go to Annoyance so that I can loosen up a little. A note that I'm well aware of. Stop asking questions. Stop being self-critical. Just. Fucking. Go. For. It.

And, hell, maybe that's what I'll do.

Well hello there blog. It's funny how nobody likes writing in you. How nobody gets anything out of you. But blah blah blah. Nothing to talk about. Class whines. Things are fine. Things are whatever. School. Work. Boyfriend. Which is going.

Oh. I'm kind of using this as a blog for school. So, if nothing makes sense, nobody reads this anyway. Hahaha.



Whatever.

I think I forgot about you, dear blog. Remembered again by another blog. How life changes and stays the same since. If I thought I had grown up before, I really have now. Moved out of the house. Still job. Still school. Never mentioned the love part before. More in love than ever. Not looking to get married anytime soon, it's only been 8 months, but I'll be spending more time with him once he moves out. Like, half living with him type of spending time together.

I'm also in the Comedy Studies program which means taking my classes this semester at Second City. An old post mentioned something about me not caring about my Gen Eds and this just allows me to not have to worry about it.

Yes, I'm happy. Yes, I can still be sad. But, life is moving forward. Isn't that something?

Too Much? Not Enough.

I'm working on my plays for my TML audition on May 31st. I have 8 plays and 9 titles. I'm not very funny. However, what I have is good. I don't know if they're good enough, though. I'm confident I won't make a fool of myself. They won't read my work and wonder why the little girl is even trying. I think, yes, I think they'll be surprised. But, they'll be surprised because they don't know me and I'm 20. They don't know what experiences I've had. They don't. Maybe John. I mentioned to him I was going to audition and I could feel the silence. It wasn't until after I told him it would be fun that I felt something again. I don't know what it means, but it lowered my confidence in my skill. Still, he could be right. That's why I'm keeping this fun. I can't wait to audition. I honestly think it's going to be

fun.

Half-Hearted Girl

She was cigarette laced
Panty twisted
Mind on the moment
Completely simplistic

So I fell in love
With the half hearted girl
Knowing she could never love me back
But the smell of the ashtray
And feel of her skin
Could always make me crack

I left home to find her
Traveled the earth
Followed in her footsteps
To figure out exactly how much she was worth

So I fell in love
With the half hearted girl
Knowing she could never love me back
But the smell of the ashtray
And feel of her skin
Could always make me crack

And I cracked like no one before
As I stared into her coffee colored curls
Wondered when this moment would fall into dust
And if she could even remember my name
So before my heart was broken
I left the half hearted girl
Found her then left her on the other side of the world
Knowing she could never love me back

Married with kids
I saw her again
Called out to her
Tried to make amends

But she fell in love
With the half hearted boy
Thinking that I would love her back
But the smell of the ashtray
And feel of her skin
Could always make me crack
So before my heart was broken
I left the girl in love
Thinking I could never love her back

When A Finger Is Cut

We were thinking about comedians from before our time
The humor and laughs and blue collar crime
Well, it’s not like anyone died from their comedy
Except Belushi, Pryor, Close, and Candy
Maybe a couple more could be stated
But we wouldn’t want them to be overrated

It is said that tragedy is when a finger is cut
But comedy lies when beaten by a slut
And I’m on the edge of finding the truth
Concerning comedy’s vices doused in vermouth

We were thinking about becoming comedians this time
Working on our acts and cutting out all the grime
But where are our heroes to show us the way
The fall of the spotlight can come any day
And I’m hoping the laughs will never go away
And soon there will be nothing left to say…

It is said that tragedy is when a finger is cut
But comedy lies when beaten by a slut
And I’m on the edge of finding the truth
Concerning comedy’s vices doused in vermouth

So, the end is coming near
And everyone will cheer
But not before we go out with a bang
The last comedians to finally hang
With a red lipstick smile on our cheeks

Futuring.

School has become less of a priority for me. I still plan on passing all my classes, I hope. But, my Gen Eds just aren't focusing me. I'm commited to my acting classes. Never before have I cared so much about them. I'm going to be taking a class at the Neo-Futurarium which will help my body awareness. This is strange for me. No longer am I just acting because I can, but it's starting to become a passion for me. Something I love and can't live without. Being on stage. Performing. And, don't get me wrong, doing something like TML which is considered "not performing" is still a dream of mine. The dream of mine, possibly.

I wonder if this passion is partly coming from the relationship I am in right now. He knows how to make me happy without being anything other than himself. And, that makes me want more and more passion in my life. More and more happiness. Because, I refuse to let this feeling go. Who would want to?

This year, it's a story.

How would you feel about singing in the rain?
We'll start with the chorus and finish on a refrain.
We may mumble the words and get a few notes wrong.
But I can think of nothing better than you with this same old song.

((I know a chorus and refrain are the same thing, thank you.))

We have no reason to complain. That doesn't mean we'll stop.

/writer

She would stare at the blank page and wonder why no words were appearing. Millions would circle her mind, but none felt as though the proper combination on the page could mean anything more than what it was. Words. Not a story to enlighten or pursuade or even exist in some fashion that would cause any emotion. So, she wouldn't bother. Wouldn't even try. The page would remain blank as her fingers hovered over the keys.

Fuck.

Actors hate to audition. Because, you want them to see the character you create. But, they're only seeing you sweat.

boss battle

"Oh, dear," she said. "Oh dear oh dear oh dear." Was this not what she expected? Was this not a breath of fresh air? It would seem that all her life was brought up to this moment. A feverish pace and here she was. I know it. I know what it feels like to have everything. What it can do to you. Boy, it can make you sing. Until it becomes too much and you fall into that deep, black hole that has become you. It is such a fate to have. What to do... what to do... what to do...