So, tomorrow is Halloween. A day (well, evening) where children frolic about in overpriced costumes that get worn for a couple of hours and then shoved into the attic "for the memories". A day (well, evening) where it's okay to take things from strangers, despite constant parental reminders the other 364 days of the year to never talk to strangers, never mind accept candy from them (a stereotypical lure used by kidnappers), never mind actually EAT it (we check for pins in the chocolate first, so it's okay). A day (well, evening) where highschoolers race from door to door in their "I'm going as a teenager" costumes for the males, and for the females, their skimpy, sex-ified outfits under the pretense of being some type of "cute" animal or celebrity (despite the freezing temperatures). They beg for candy, knowing fully well they're a bit too old to be playing this game anymore and that the homeowners of where they're trick-or-treating really only want to see little children in their get ups, but they ignore these things... not because they don't want to grow up, but because, well, free candy is a good thing.

Halloween may seem like one of those holidays that's created by candy companies, but it's actually one of the world's oldest holidays. It's kind of remarkable to go through the history of Halloween and see how much it has changed over time, and how it's celebrated across the world. We think of it now as such a commercialized thing. Don't get me wrong, it definitely is, but it's roots are a far cry from the roots of say Valentine's day or mother's day. Just about everyone knows Halloween has something to do with old beliefs that spirits can come back this one night of the year. The story is part of the fun and tradition of Halloween today... ghost stories, graveyards, scary costumes, haunted houses and hayrides, horror movies... they're all associated. Now it's all fun and games but it's strange to actually think that way back when it was all taken very seriously. Family's ancestors were honored and invited home, including leaving plates of food for them at the dinner table, while harmful spirits were warded off by means of burning crops and animals in sacred bonfires as offerings to keep themselves protected. During the bonfires they wore costumes, typically animal heads and skins, to disguise themselves so evil spirits would mistake them as one of their own. I mean, this was serious stuff here. Sacrificing animals? They would also leave food on their doorsteps to appease evil spirits that roamed the streets that night. This could have contributed to the idea of trick-or-treating but it more likely stemmed from a tradition from a religious holiday, All Souls' Day-- November 2nd, where the poor would beg for food and families would give them pastries called "soul cakes" so long as they promised to pray for the family's dead relatives.

And somehow the non-secular and the secular joined together to make what is probably the most non-religious of all holidays. I mean, this is America, we're used to non-secular activites creeping into religious holidays... or, more like overtaking them. But Halloween isn't thought of as religious at all. And somehow it went from a day of celebration where people felt especially close to deceased loved ones (although it was also a day of sacrificing animals and burning valued crops), to a day of ghosts, pranks and witchcraft, to a holiday about bringing together the community in games, food and festivities, to a day where everyone gets free candy so long as they abide by the ever important rule of saying "trick or treat" after knocking on a stranger's door. You can see the connections between now and then (costumes, dead spirits, begging for food) but the 2000 year old road of changes still seem extreme.

I didn't intend this to be a Halloween history lesson. Alas, it has somehow turned into that. My apologies. Don't think I'm a walking encyclopedia on the topic of Halloween... merely curious, bored and an expert googler. I'm sitting here trying to think about my past halloween costumes. With the exception of costumes worn at college Halloween parties (cowgirl, 50's housewife, burglar) I honestly can not recall a single one. When I was younger I'm sure I obsessed over finding the perfect costume each year, and now I don't remember one of them. I'm even trying to think through the standard costume categories to see if some memory is ignited but I've got nothing. It's all a bit disappointing. Anyway, I think the concept of getting dressed up and running around your neighborhood for free candy is incredibly bizarre. I mean, really... take a step back... ignore the history lesson I just gave, ignore the fact that it's something you grew up with, and just think about it. We put on costumes. We ask people to give us candy, but it's not rude. We actually pick through their offerings to decide which we deem most worthy to be given to us. Again, not rude. We carve faces in pumpkins.

I'm just saying. We carve faces in pumpkins.

I'm giving in. Explanation of opening statement later... background info now.

For the past ten years I have been an avid Harry Potter fanatic. I've read the books at least 6 times each, have the three supplemental books J.K. Rowling wrote for charities (Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Quidditch Through the Ages & Tales of Beedle the Bard), own multiple HP analysis/reference/opinion books, visited mugglenet.com probably 912,000 times, contributed to discussions slash sent in either opinion or critical essays 612,000 of those times and of course, own all the available movies and have watched them to the point of memorization. At one point I even started an encyclopedia study-guide type list of all Harry Potter facts I came across while reading. (It was never finished but I somehow doubt that makes me appear any less of an extremist). I satisfied my HP craving before the final book release by gobbling up the countless, highly inaccurate 900 page "leaked" versions of Deathly Hallows that were inconceivably written (and formatted to look authentic) by highly ambitious fanatics with way too much time on their hands, read the 800 word prequel (actually written by J.K. Rowling) within 20 minutes of its unannounced online release, and still seek out new essays and analysis of the stories and characters. I'm up to date on the development of the Wizarding World of Harry Potter theme park, set to open this Spring... anyways, I think you get it. When I said I'm a fanatic I wasn't using the word lightly.

I firmly believe that anyone who picks up Harry Potter and gives it an honest shot will become hooked, no matter how much they claim to hate reading. I get highly defensive... I'm very protective of this phenomenon of a series. I largely credit it as the reason I'm a reader today, as I rarely picked up a book prior to Harry Potter out of a sheer desire to read. Well, (this is going to seem like a big jump of topic) when Lord of the Rings came around it was too much for me and my fifteen year-old self to bear. Yes, I know LOTR was published over forty years prior to Harry Potter, but I feel like its fanatascism with my generation wasn't really ignited until the movies came out... which was right around the time I had gotten into the Harry Potter series. I'll admit, I didn't jump on the Harry Potter bandwagon right away. I started reading the series after the third book was released... when there was enough hype to make me curious. Like I said, I wasn't a reader beforehand. Of course, I was instantly hooked. Two years later, the first LOTR movie comes out and critics and fans are PRAISING this thing. I had always thought of LOTR as one of those books that was only read by those weird, fantasy obsessed, dreams about dragons, plays Magic: The Gathering, quotes Star Wars daily type of nerds. Far from mainstream, more like a small cult following... like Rocky Horror fans or something. And all of a sudden, EVERYONE was talking about this movie, reading the series. I absolutely refused. The only series that deserved this level of hype and fandom was Harry Potter. I would not be involved in something that in any way competed. It became Harry Potter fans vs. Lord of the Ring fans. In my mind at least. A new craze fighting the rekindled fanatacism of 45 years earlier. I was proud to announce I hadn't seen the movies. Comfortable with the fact that I didn't know who Frodo was or "get it" when people started muttering "my precious" in an odd voice. Give me Harry Potter, ignore "that other fantasy series".

Like I said, I didn't understand the LOTR craze or think it deserved a moment's glory. I was shocked, therefore, in tenth grade to hear my english teacher, Dr. Liberman (who any Amity high schooler thinks of as the most brilliant, cultured academic to hit the entirety of New England, and often thought she should be a professor at Yale instead. Seriously, I know someone who has her listed as their religion on facebook) what was I saying??? Oh right, someone asked Dr. Liberman what her favorite book was. We all expected her to pause and consider from among the plethora of worthy novels she's read in her life, or rattle off a handful of titles, claiming each is respectable in its own right. The thing is, we were actually interested... like I said, she was like a literary God- hearing her answer would be like interviewing Charles Dickens' and getting his response. Well, there was no hesitation on her end. She instantly replied that Lord of the Rings is the best thing ever written and went into a detailed analysis of its literary goodies after stating how she sets aside a week of her winter vacation every year to re-read the trilogy. I was horrified. How could she think this? She didn't seem like a medieval sword loving, dreams about dragons type. Are the books actually something more than just your standard fantasy story blown into astronomical, unwarranted proportions by an obsessive America? I respected Dr. Liberman's opinion more than nearly anyone I knew, so I had to believe her. But I still refused to read. I didn't want to be swept up in anything but my Harry Potter. I was still angry by all of the attention Lord of the Rings was getting.

Fast forward nine years and I still haven't read it, still haven't seen the movies. I don't get quite as angry as I used to if Lord of the Rings is mentioned, though I will admit I get more satisfaction than I used to when I see people's shocked reactions upon hearing I haven't seen any of the movies. But another new series has also entered into the category of extreme fandom. This one, I'll admit I was completely unaware of until the movie came out last year. Of course, I'm talking about Twilight. I don't know if the release of the movie sparked people to read the series more or if they were reading all along and I was clueless, but my recognition of the Twilight craze started last year. Here was further competition. Competition that was harder to beat now that all of the Harry Potter books were released. I'm more grown-up now than I was at fifteen... arguable, I'll admit.... so, I was less "bothered" by the Twilight series than LOTR... I would just not read the books and that was that. No need to get angry or argue with fans. To each their own. Just let me have my Harry Potter and the rest of America can read whatever inferior series they desire.

Now, to my opening statement. I'm giving in. After all this time, all of this protesting and defending, I'm going to read Lord of the Rings as well as Twilight. Why now? Well, first off, I have this impossible goal to read all of the greatest books ever written, and see all of the greatest movies ever made. There are lots of definitions of the word greatest. In this context, in my mind, greatest books means the classics 90% of America can name off the top of their head, plus "current" best-sellers... anything that's become a recognizable name among those who frequent Borders or Barnes and Noble. Greatest movies means "the permanents" on imdb.com's ever changing list of top 250 movies. I have come to accept the fact that Lord of the Rings fits into both the book and the movie category, and sadly, Twilight fits into the book category as well. I'm being harsh, but really... if there's a good book out there, I want to read it. There's something to say about so many people loving these stories, so I'm giving them a try. Besides all that, I really have been curious since Dr. Liberman's announcement of her favorite book. I'll be honest, I'm expecting to enjoy Lord of the Rings... probably become an obsessive fan, years later than the rest of the world... at the very least, gain a respect for the trilogy. I can't really conceive of the fact that it is a bad series, despite secretly hoping that I in fact, end up hating it. Twilight though, I expect to hate. I have never enjoyed a single "love story" novel, no matter how many other genres they squeeze in there. That, coupled with the fact that it really is geared to teenage girls, and deals with vampires (no matter how re-invented they are), and the fact that many, many, many critics and writers have said the author can't write at all, leads me to believe I will not enjoy this series.... probably hate it... possibly, enjoy it as a guilty pleasure, though admitting to myself that it's really pretty bad... definitely not respect it.

So there we go... I'm letting go of my Harry Potter defensive ways just enough to give these other series a go, knowing that they could never replace Harry Potter and that Harry would still win in an imaginary battle between any of the Lord of the Ring characters or whatever evilness resides in the Twilight series. I'm sure I'll have updates. As for now, I need to muster up the determination to actually go GET the Lord of the Rings. I've made the decision to read it but picking up the book too soon might scare me off. Need to get comfortable with the idea first.

The other night I went bowling after a performance with friends who are also in the show. Besides thinking back to when I shamefully desired "bumpers" at age 14 but was too embarrassed to ask slash be seen playing with them, I found myself remembering how my dad glorified bowling alley french fries. Whenever we went bowling he would say "Have to get the french fries! Nothing compares to bowling alley fries" and as an adoring child I believed him whole-heartedly... that no other french fries in the world could compare to those found at your local AMF 30-laner. That was the other thing... it didn't matter what bowling alley it was: 10-pin or duckpin, 4 lanes or 50, national chain or hole-in-the-wall local, if they had a food bar (and they all do) and they had fries (and they all do) they would be phenomenal (and somehow they all are). I remembered his little tip: to always eat them with your left hand so your bowling hand didn't get greasy. I took these things as facts that I lived by... bowling alley fries are fantastic and when you get them, eat with your left hand. There was no arguing either of these. They were just true. To this day, I believe both... and while I'm not obsessive about only eating with my left hand, I still smile thinking back on this little tip that at the time I thought was a golden secret the rest of the world would only be so lucky to know. This got me thinking about other things from when I was younger.... things that I accepted as fact, and in some ways, lived by, in the appropriate situations (such as, when at a bowling alley)... things that intrigued me... that I found to be special in some way, even though when looking back they're at best simple and banal and at worst, illogical and idiotic. Allow me to divulge...

Let's start with one that's completely illogical but fairly saccharine. (Sorry for the formal word choice, it just came out.) One time when I was very young and sick with a stomach ache, my dad asked if I wanted him to rub my tummy (there's no grown up way of saying that). I told him no, that that never worked and it was a fake and stupid remedy that tried to convince your mind that it was like a medicine but really it did nothing (I was a clever, stubborn child who wasn't assuaged by the usual signs of parental love for a sick child). He told me that I must have been rubbing the wrong way. I was clever and stubborn, but also curious... what did he mean by the wrong way? He told me that if you go in circles in one direction you will feel better but if you go in circles in the other direction, you will actually feel worse. At the time he told me if it was clockwise or counterclockwise that did the healing. I don't remember which it was. This idea totally comforted me and I believed it 100% (how clever was I really?). My whole life I must have just been rubbing in the bad direction! What I now see as an obvious parental trick to get your child to feel better, at the time it was another secret tip-- one only my dad would know, and I felt lucky to receive this tiny speck of wisdom. In the future, whenever I got sick I would forget which direction was "the good one" and ultimately "remember" after my testing both directions and deciding that one felt infinitely better than the other. One time I remember I couldn't figure it out and I asked my mom which direction it was. She had no idea what I was talking about and told me it didn't matter how I did it. Obviously, my father hadn't clued her in on his cure for the stomach ache, or at least he didn't realize I would take it so seriously. While this should have been a sign that his medicinal rule was in fact made-up, instead it made me smile that my mother didn't know.... it was mine and my dad's secret... a tidbit of information so special that he didn't even tell it to her.

Here's another one that stems from an anecdote of my fourth-grade teacher. Fourth grade was the year you were forced to write in cursive for every assignment turned in. By fifth grade it was pretty much your choice, but in fourth grade, if you handed something in with printing, you had to redo it. An attempt to force us to be comfortable with script. Well, telling any fourth grader they HAVE to do something typically leads to complaining, or at least quiet resentment. To us 9 year olds, who had been writing in printing for our whole lives, an entire 3 and 1/2 years, cursive was the most unneccesary, complicated, useless thing to learn. Who cares if you can write words without lifting up your pencil (which is the reason every teacher gave as the benefit of learning cursive). It saves, what... point-oh-nine seconds? While I was an incredibly respectful child who NEVER questioned authority (and teachers were the highest authority of all), in my most secret thoughts I too decided that the minute I didn't have to, I would never write in cursive again. That is, until my 4th grade teacher shared this story... one day when my fellow classmates were, once again, complaining and questioning the reasoning behind having to write in script, she told us how she received a letter a few years back from an old student of hers and she was in complete shock when she saw that it was in printing and not cursive. She smiled in a knowing way and promised us that we will all eventually see that cursive is so much easier... it saves time and your hands never cramp, and that this letter she received surprised her so much because every adult she knows writes in cursive, except this ex-student of hers. While this was essentially a re-hashing of the "cursive is more efficient & easier to do" speech, this story fascinated me. I believed at that moment that every adult wrote in cursive and decided that this would be my own way of realizing when I'm an adult... when I prefer script to printing. I would be mature and grown-up the day I agreed with her and thought that cursive is easier and printing is a waste. Completely ridiculous, but it's what I thought. When fifth grade approached and I was allowed to actually choose between script or printing, I still went back to printing. Why? Because it was part of the process. At that moment in my fifth-grade life, I thought printing was better. I hadn't reached my stage of penmanship enlightenment yet. And that was okay with me. For the record, I never switched over to primarily writing in script. I don't feel guilty or immature. Part of me sometimes fantasizes about writing her a letter in printing, and picturing her being horrified.

Another school related one comes from gym class... my worst enemy. I was that child who hated gym. Who wore dresses on gym days in hopes of being told to sit out of the activity. I enjoyed two things and two things alone: rope climbing days (because it's fun to see a rope dangling from the ceiling) and the Connecticut physical fitness tests (because I liked to be better than everyone else). While not competitive in sports or organized games, I was highly competitive when it came to dance and schoolwork. Included in schoolwork is all forms of tests, and I wanted to be the best at the physical fitness tests. There were the passing marks and then the "challenge marks", for those of superior childhood health. Merely passing would not make me happy. Merely achieving the challenge goals would not make me happy. I had to surpass the challenge marks by at least 5 for things scored numerically (sit-ups, push-ups and chin-ups), come in 20 seconds under the challenge mile time, and be the very best of my entire grade at the sit-and-reach. If any of those were not achieved then I failed. We were practicing our mile runs in preparation for the test and I was only barely making the challenge time during these classes. While I was praised by the gym teacher, who normally saw me as the girl purposefully ignoring the games and putting in zero effort, I knew that my times would not do. Once, he said to the class how the most important thing in running is to establish a breathing pattern and that he always did "out-out-in-in" in short breaths while he ran. He credited this as the reason he was able to run fast and not get very tired. That was it. The key to my success. From there on out I wouldn't even walk in the hallways without breathing out-out-in-in. I once overheard a friend tell another classmate that her dad ran every morning and that he didn't breathe that way and that the gym teacher's method was wrong, it would hurt your time and is bad for your body. Again, I rolled my eyes at her inferior sense of judgement. Obviously, the gym teacher was right and if she chose not to take his tip then it's just another person I would outrun. I ended up reaching all of my physical fitness goals, and finished behind only one boy in my class in the mile that year. I KNEW it was because of my breathing.

Here's another one, somewhat related. Like I said, I was very competitive in dance, though very quietly so. I secretly wanted to move up in the company levels faster than everyone else. I wanted to have the highest kicks. I wanted to be front and center all the time. I wanted to be thought of as the best in the class. One thing that destroyed my self-esteem in dance for the longest time (aka until fifth-grade) was that I couldn't do a split. For me, who strove to be better than everyone else (at least I'll admit it), to be the highest off the ground in my class when we practiced our splits was absolutely mortifying. I'd go home and cry afterward, sure that all the other girls were laughing at me and how I was so bad at them. Once, my teacher saw me get teary eyed (which by fifth grade, yes you're still young, but not young enough anymore that it's commonplace to cry in a group of people when you're frustrated or embarrassed). It was on a parent observation day and I was so embarrassed by my splits and that my mother, and all the other parents, had to see them compared to everyone else's. The teacher came up to my mother after class and reassured her that I would eventually be able to do a split. She said it to my mother as if I weren't there but knowing that I was listening in... I think it was an attempt to save me from further embarrassment by not directly addressing me about it. She told her that all I had to do was straighten my back leg and eventually I'd be able to get all the way down. I had never heard this straighten the back leg rule before. I went home and immediately began practicing splits with a straight back leg. In class I'd still bend the back leg because it gave the appearance of being lower to the ground... when both legs were straight I was waaaaay too high off the ground for me to deem it acceptable for others to see. I felt like my teacher let this little rule slip just to me because she liked me the most of all the girls and wanted me to do well (I was a self-centered and insecure little child who, despite severe social anxiety and shyness, craved praise and admiration). A year or two later I had my splits all the way down and had progressed to doing beyond-splits (absolutely awful for your body, but impressive when you can go past 180 degrees). I became one of "the more flexible girls" and mentally thanked my teacher for giving me this secret piece of fail-proof advice. It was like I was given the gift of a piece of magic. This straight back leg rule makes complete sense physiologically but at the time it was something I obsessed over and thought no one else knew.

In summary I was an overly, overly conscientious and egocentric child.

A blog about cars. No, not about sports cars or a new car purchase or detailing and "ride pimping" or... I don't know... venting about used car salesmen. More like a couple of random anecdotes regarding events of this past weekend, both dealing with cars. (Can the end of that sentence be considered a clever pun? Dealing with cars... car dealer... I'll admit it wasn't intentional, but I find it amusing after-the-fact. I consider it a funny on my end. You should too. ... additional side note that I didn't want to do a "parentheses in a parentheses" for so I added a dot dot dot within this set of parentheses despite the fact that it's a relatively separate comment (don't know the technical term for a dot dot dot)... darn, parentheses in parentheses, unavoidable. Anyways, long-winded way of saying additional note, I just spent 15 minutes looking up figures of speech to try and determine if what I said was actually a pun versus a euphemism, hyperbole or whatever else... 15 minutes later and I still don't know what it is. Funny that I spent so long looking up that, to no avail, yet I don't look up the real name of a "dot dot dot", though I could probably find the answer to that in under a minute.) Anyways, returning from ongoing side note land....

So, car anecdote #1: You know that horrible moment when you get out of your car and then think to yourself, uh oh.... what did I just do with my keys? And 9 times out of 10 they're in your purse, where you absent-mindedly placed them several seconds earlier as if on auto-pilot, without realizing you had done it. The remaining one out of every ten times they're on the roof of your car or, god forbid, locked inside. Well, Saturday evening I pulled into my driveway and had this moment of panic mere seconds after getting out of my car. Instinctively, I rummaged through the depths of my purse, even though I knew if my keys were there they would be somewhere right on top. After 21 seconds of rummaging I walked back to my car, where I saw them, taunting me on the passenger seat. Okay... not a problem. I'll get the spare. Go inside my house, go to where we keep all of the spare keys, sift through about 19 different sets, don't find my car key. Where's the spare? Let's call people who may know... 15 minutes later, no one knows. Good... missing a car key. I have a valet key, but that's in the car. Time to call AAA. I've never had to call AAA from the luxury of my own home, as its always been a "call from my cell phone, whilst sitting in my non-functional car and usually freezing or sweating to death" type of situation. Calling from home with no immediate needed usage of the car, a definite bonus. Of course, it was this situation where they showed up in 10 minutes, rather than the usual 50+ minute waiting time. Now, watching the half-hour scene that ensued upon AAA man's arrival was mildly hilarious. Let's call this part of the story "Problem Solving 101, or Unsophisticated Methods of Breaking Into a Car". So, some young guy shows up with a rubber wedge type of device and what looked like one of those orange sticks you use when checking the oil level for your car... except elongated to about eight feet. He shoves the wedge in the upper part of my driver's side door, by the window, and sort of hammers it in a bit, to create a gap between the car and the door. Next step... inserts the orange stick. He fumbles around with it a bit... clearly trying to get it to poke the automatic lock button. I stand there, silently watching. 8 minutes later he asks me if it's a "push lock" or a "pull lock". I reply push, to which he groans and says "that explains it". (Sentence sounds raunchy out of context, first part anyways) Then he realizes it's too dark to see what he's doing so he pulls out his cellphone, which he has to open and close every 10 seconds in order to utilize it as a makeshift source of light. I fully realize that at any point I could have gotten him a flashlight or at least offered to hold his cellphone for him and be the designated opener/closer, but my sitting back and watching was much more enjoyable. He tries pushing rather than pulling the automatic lock for several minutes before switching to work on the manual lock... who knows whether he was trying to push or to pull with that one.

Fastforward another few minutes and he switches to the passenger side door. My immediate thought... does he really think it will be easier on this side versus the symmetric other side he was just trying? I quickly realized that he gave up on pushing/pulling any of the interior locks, be them automatic or manual, and switched instead to trying to hook the keys from my passenger seat onto the orange stick and move them up and out of the tiny space created by the wedge-like apparatus. It's at this moment that I curse the large gaughtiness of my keychain preferences. After several attempts at squeezing the set of keys through the wedged gap he tries to just get them close enough that he can stick his finger in the gap and press the unlock button on the key. This doesn't work either. The keys fall from the orange stick, as if in slow motion. He prods the keys with the stick end, apparently trying to press the unlock button on the keys, but all this does is slide the keys around on the car seat. It seems all hope is lost. He pauses, whether he was contemplating the next move or giving his other hand a rest from opening and closing his phone, who knows. He decides to give "bringing the keys out of the wedge gap" an attempt #2. Unsuccessful. But attempt #9 worked. The keys fit out the gap. Who knows how. I thank him for the amusing show and he's on his way. If you were to ever break into a car, I don't think an 8 foot orange stick would go unnoticed, nor the likely half-hour time block it would take to accomplish your feat of law breaking. Not to mention that how this guy managed to successfully get into my car depended upon the keys being locked inside in a visible and "easily accessible" location in the first place.... if I were you I'd just smash the window and replace it later.

On to car anecdote #2: This story has two parts really. First part... I'm driving home at some crazy late hour of say 3:30 a.m. on Friday night slash Saturday morning. As I pull onto my road I see what seems like 8 kids scatter from the middle of the road and run into a nearby yard. Teenagers on a sleepover, I assume. Slow down and drive by them, continue up the street, eventually pulling into my driveway. I was on my cellphone and didn't want to go inside yet, which would risk waking others up and them overhearing my conversation. So I turned off the car and sat there, still talking. Fastforward maybe 40 seconds and I see someone run up to my drivers side door, from behind the car and then like hit it and run in the other direction. I SCREAMED like I didn't know I was capable of screaming. (I have this odd fear that I will be attacked someday and not be capable of screaming because whenever I've tried to fake a scream a.k.a. scream in a non-frightening situation, it hasn't come out right. Now at least I know I can scream.) My first thought was that it was my brother trying to scare me, then I realized he's not 14 anymore and also, probably not awake. Instantaneously I come to the conclusion that it's those kids I passed by, who wanted to scare me so they must have chased my car up the street... otherwise how would they know it was me and my car, since I turned my car off upon pulling into the driveway? Remember, I'm still on the phone. So I'm explaining what just happened, the cause of my ungodly scream, when what seems like only 10 seconds later the same kid runs up to my driver's side window while another comes up to the passenger side. They yell something to each other ("what is she doing?") and I hear the passenger side door handle click. Sound like a horror movie yet? Thank goodness my car automatically locks so the door didn't open. I pound my window frantically and the kids scream and run away. I'm so shocked by what just happened and that these stupid teenagers actually chased my car up the road just to be jerks that I'm just angry, rather than frightened at this point. I'm expressing this on the phone, as I look around to see where any of these kids are and see absolutely none. While normally I would be paranoid and think they're hiding behind my car or a tree, I had an odd sense of knowing they left. I got out of the car, made sure it was locked and not even running, half-tempting them to come back and dare face me, went in the house, locking the door behind me. I was prepared to call the cops, half-convinced they would come back and hit my bedroom window or something to freak me out even further. And although I probably could have called based on what just happened alone, I thought of it more as a "stupid, annoying teenagers, need to grow up" thing than a threat to my safety. Though I didn't think about what could have happened if the one had gotten my door open.

That was part 1. Part 2 occurred 2 days later. I'm lying in bed, it's the morning and I'm awake but lazy and don't want to get up yet. I hear the phone ring and my brother answer it and hang up a few seconds later. I hear my mom ask who it was and he says "it was a recorded message from the police saying there has been a string of car break-ins and robberies in our neighborhood between the hours of midnight and 7 a.m. over the past few days so be sure to lock our cars and leave nothing valuable in them." I sit up in bed. No wayyyyyy.... I think to myself. Those annoying kids were car thieves... or, more accurately, car item thieves? Obviously I'm making a huge assumption, but it's a natural, albeit proof-lacking, conclusion. I decide to tackle my phone-phobia and call the police, partially to be a good citizen and partially because part of me likes being a tattle-tale when I know it's right. They listen to my story and say they're sending a cop over right away to get a written record of my account. Cop car pulls in the driveway a couple of minutes later. I re-tell the story again. I give the physical description of the one-kid I saw, halfway hoping they brought one of those "draws the criminal's faces based on the description" dudes with them, knowing they probably didn't. I'm asked if I could recognize him in a line-up. (This is fun!) My imagination again goes wild and I picture them having a whole line-up of men having to say "what the f*** is she doing?" one at a time, so I can pick out their voice as well. I'm sure I won't even be called again, but I can have my 2 second "crime witness with-little-risk-to-myself-because-criminal-is-a-kid-and-it's-a-petty-items-in-a-car-theft" fantasy. The cop gives me more detail on the case than I am fairly certain he's supposed to before leaving. Now I have some paranoia that the children's gang will find out I gave them a lead and destroy my car or something. But really I'm just hoping to hear some exaggerated, will never happen, story on the news about a group of underage car bandits who were stopped before causing more havoc to an otherwise quiet neighborhood.

Finally, a comment only (very) mildly related that interestingly enough seems more relevant due to the previous mention of looking up figures of speech... the homonym-like relationship between cars and my last name, Carr. Fairly obvious, I know... that connection in and of itself is not what I wanted to point out here. I feel like everyone at some point growing up thought up funny names... Eileen Dover, Anita Bath, Paige Turner, etc. Well at some point my brother and I realized our grandfather actually has a name like this... his full name is Robert Alan Carr... nothing strange, but you could call him Rob A. Carr, pretty funny. This weekend we joked that my brother should name his first daughter Lisa. Any others you can think of? Okay, so it wasn't related at all other than containing the word car.

So, another audition story. I've been determined lately to wait around until a non-theatre related blog topic came to mind because I don't want to bore you all with my redundant themeage here. However, this one's too unique to pass up and frankly I want to be able to go back, read this and remember the bizarre experience. So feel free to consider this a self-indulgent blog for my memory's sake and not for any of you. Anyways, it was an audition for A Chorus Line. If I were to get a part it would be my third time doing this musical. One might say I'm addicted to the show. Ironically, I don't love the show itself. But, it has a lot of great parts and is one of very few shows out there where I feel like (in pre-professional theatre land) dance wouldn't hold me back from getting a role. I always knew the music and the general idea of the show but when I first saw it however many, many years back I remember thinking "okay... there are five people in this show I would love to play at some point" (do you know me? can you name them? haha). I consider myself lucky to have been able to play one of them already. This time around I'm hoping for one of three of the remaining four. (One too many numbers in that sentence there.... haha... one too.... one two....) Anyways.

I get there all prepared in my "I'm a dancer but not trying too hard" outfit, my dance bag full of 8 different kinds of dance shoes and my sheet music for a song that's slightly different from the style of the show but shows off both a lighter side as well as the big old belt, i.e. some variety and range all packed into 16 bars. I'm a little nervous, as always, and a bit frazzled because I was 5 minutes late for when the "optional" warm-up was supposed to start. However, nothing had begun yet and everyone was just sitting around so it was all good. My friend Janice was there too so I was very happy to know someone else there. About 8 of us showed up for the warmup. Now, I knew going into this that the choreographer was a ballet guy. Didn't know what to expect or how that whole ballet background thing would go over with this show or the audition. The warmup was a ballet barre. Okay, that's fine. Don't get to do much stretching really, but I can do that before the actual dance audition bit, right? Let me say that the fact that this was called an "optional warmup" was kind of silly. After the ballet barre we went center floor and then did stuff across the floor. Essentially he was assessing our basic skills. Turns. Kicks. Jumps. It was a Dance 101 class, "show me that you have the essentials down". I seriously bet that anyone who wasn't there for this "warmup" was at a huge disadvantage. Especially once we found out what the dance part of the audition would consist of. At the end of the warmup he threw on some salsa music, taught us one little cha-cha type step that we did a couple of times. I figured he was just trying to see if we could move a little more freely, with some personality. Then he tells us we're to do that salsa step and then improv for 16 counts. Fine. I can do that. Throws me off a bit but whatever. Then we're told we can leave and they'll call us in one by one in a bit. Naturally, I go and choreograph my 16 counts of "improv". Well.... I'm called in and the 16 counts goes by and then there's another 16 counts, and another, and some more.... in the end I ended up having to improv for about 3 minutes all while the choreographer shouted things like "show me something!.... and jump!... turn out of it... start from the top!" (the top of improv?). It was insane-o. Considering I haven't had an actual dance class in 2 years and that the basic ballet 101 warmup deal that brought me back to 4th grade nearly killed me, I was dead after 3 minutes. I'm out of practice and out of shape. But I did it and I did it as well as I possibly could, considering it was improv. Today, day after, I have that sore but strong thing going on... it feels good. Anyways, as each person was coming out of this 3 minute improv thing we all started talking, wondering if there would be an actual combination to learn, a legit dance audition if you will. I had a feeling that the improv would be it. I couldn't imagine going through 3 minutes with everyone to then teach and perform a combination as well. My guess was right. The salsa improv was the dance audition. I really think all they could have gathered from that was whether you had rhythm, some level of confidence, some personality, and I suppose some basic technique... assuming with your improv you decided to do some actual dance stuff versus all salsa stylistic things. When I list it out like that it does seem to cover the essentials but I didn't mean it to be a positive statement. haha. I just mean that a huge part of this show is technique and that wasn't necessarily seen unless some auditioner is an excellent improver. As for me, I decided mid move what I would do previously... my body was behind my mind. Wait... reverse that... mind behind the body. As a result I'd be prepping for a jump and deciding on my way up what jump to do and wondering on the way down what I just did. But I feel like I committed to everything, even if my mind was confused. Commitment is essential. On to the singing/acting component...

This part of the audition was a little more standard but very brief and still a little bizarre. The group of 8 of us or however many were all called in at once. We're told we're each going to read from the show and sing. They say "you're all singing from the show right?" to which everyone else responds with an immediate yes except Janice and I who look at each other, look back at them and then say "well, we can!". I guess with this place you're expected to sing from the show and that's pretty much it. Good thing I know the music. As I'm announcing what part I'd like to read for and sing I'm deciding which part I will read for and sing. Though I intended to ask to read for Val, I asked for Kristine at the last second, mainly because I'm nervous and you can be nervous when reading for her but Val has to be beyond confident. And then I sing Val's song. The accompanist played it literally about one-eigthth of its normal speed. No, that's not right. Much slower. It was painfully slow. Painfully. We didn't get a chance to set the tempo beforehand and I hate those auditioners who look at the pianist all panicked and annoyed like trying to get them to speed up. I had a feeling he wasn't going to follow if I sped up anyways... I halfway attempted it during one of the lines that's spoken but then ended up just having to wait for the music to catch up to me. So I sang my 4 bars or so of Dance 10, Looks 3 as a ballad. All's good. That's right, it was about 4 bars. Sure I'm an exaggerator and I'm exaggerating a bit here too but it was really short. And that was the audition. 3 minutes of improv dance, 10 seconds of singing, 8 seconds of dialogue. And from that they pick the line. How? I have no idea. I was going into this thing already with a "we'll see what happens" kind of attitude rather than a "I need to get this or I will cry with disappointment". Partly because 2 of the last 3 shows I did were Chorus Line so it wouldn't KILL me to not do it again so soon, partly because it is a long drive to rehearsals, partly because I'm already in a show right now, partly because I know other shows I could audition for instead if I don't get this and partly because I'm learning more and more to not put all my hopes into auditions because it usually leads to disappointment. Really, at this point I'm just curious... curious how this show will be run, curious how they'll cast it, curious as to what parts they may consider me for even if I'm not offered one (which I'll presumably find out when callbacks are announced). We shall see...

So I just finished creating an extra long, extra intense, extra detailed, extra insane "Who are you most like from A Chorus Line?" quiz. Yes, to answer your question, I am that cool. My motivation stemmed out of boredom and I knew creating this quiz would be a process that would eat up a lot of empty time, but still be fun for me... for one, I knew I would include all 19 main characters... the line crew plus zach and larry. This meant each question would need 19 possible options. Also, it meant I would need a lot of questions... since there would be so many options it would be easy to select answers that belong to a whole array of characters and therefore get an inconclusive/inaccurate result. It also meant writing up little summary result things for each character ("You are so and so because...") and finding a great picture of each character to go with it... because pictures are fun. So, in summary I wasted a lot of time putting together this ridiculous quiz that probably about 7 people will take.

To me though it was fun... and I'm used to this sort of thing. Well, not writing quizzes. I mean the character analysis junk that goes into it. I know these Chorus Line characters inside and out, but very few people ever think about say, what the character's favorite childhood game would have been (question #9). Well, I'm one of those very few people. All because of one of my first directors, who I did 4 or 5 shows with. It was one of my first musicals, I never really did any acting before, and I had a bit part... a role, but a tiny one without much character development or anything. I was young and had no idea there was any sort of "method" to acting, nevermind multiple methods and I never considered in-depth character analysis. Well, about a week into rehearsals this director gave everyone in the cast, ensemble included, a homework project. We all had to write a detailed analysis of who we were, our character. It could be a list but it had to be as comprehensive as possible. Full name, physical characteristics, personality, family background, interests, favorites (everything... book, movie, food, music group...), least favorites, fears, hopes, what you're ashamed of, what your friends think of you, what your enemies think of you, what you think of you.... you get the idea. If you could think of something else to add, great. In the end it meant each of us had to research the time period so we could give appropriate answers for the character and we had to really give some thought as to who our characters were. It gave everyone a story and our director made sure we knew our story inside and out. I'll never forget one time I walked into a scene and the director stopped me immediately and said "where did you just come from?" then "why are you going here now?" and questioned every response I gave as well. In other words if I said "home" she'd say "where's home? what were you doing there?". It was a mortifying experience for me, someone who doesn't much enjoy answering questions about herself, nevermind "making up" answers on the fly about "someone else"... and feeling interrogated is hard when you're someone who can shut down under verbal pressure. But for that very reason you can be sure I thought of all of these things before ever walking onto a scene again. So, very early on I learned what it meant to really know your character and become that character. It was my first lesson in acting and something I use to this day.

Creating this quiz brought back all of those memories, of the character profiles and such, since that's essentially what I did for these 19 characters. And it made me wonder, if I were to create "a profile" for myself, what would I find? If I had to sum up my life and who I am and then read it over, in its summarized, list-like form what impression would I get of myself and would I like what I see? It would certainly be a lesson in self-discovery. I'm not going to lie, I think I would make one of the world's best character studies. haha. My mother was talking with me at dinner the other night, asking me all sorts of questions about how I think in various situations. At one point I laughed and asked why she was asking me all of this. Her response? "I know you better than 99% of the rest of the people in your life and you're still such a mystery to me. You intrigue me". My response? "So you like psychoanalyzing me?" Her response? "I do". I've always thought of myself as a very self-aware individual with strong perceptions. But I've just recently started learning new things about myself. Things that intrigue even me. Not all of which I'm proud of. Many of them seem to contradict other aspects of who I am, thereby expanding the interest of my imaginary character profile tenfold and then some. I'm not sure yet if these things are just new realizations, but parts of me that have always been there, or if they're new to my life... changes from growing up and coming into my own. Probably a mix of both.

Maybe the next time I'm bored and want to waste a few hours I'll do this suped up character analysis of myself and call it a condensed auto-biography. Part of me is afraid of what I'd see, but part of me knows everyone has strengths and flaws. I'm one of those people who believes that everyone, underneath it all, is good and worthy of respect and love. Everyone does what they think is best... whether it's best for themselves, best for others or a combination of the two... and both things are important, neither is better than the other. I may just be discovering some things about myself, and good or bad, they're making me feel more connected to myself, to others and to the world around me. Which is a good thing. The more I live, observe and experience the more I'm enjoying the learning process of life.

So, I finally have something blog-worthy. My hilarious injury stories. That's right, I used the words hilarious and injuries in the same sentence. Some of my funniest memories happen to coincide with moments of excruciating pain. And they all have to do with theatre/dance. Let's skip further pre-amble and jump right in...

Story number one goes back a little over a year ago, early January of '08. I'm back at Wheaton for pre-season for dance company... the best slash worst time of the college year (for theatre folk equate it to hell week). Essentially, we're in rehearsal for 8 hours a day, everyday, for about 9 days straight... learning up to 7 new works from the various choreographers that come in and reviewing the old routines from last semester that we probably forgot over Christmas break. You know an injury is coming since I gave the blog topic away in the opening paragraph... you would probably assume it would happen on day 6 or so.... when I'm somewhat into the process and my body is just overworked. Probably would also assume it happened mid extreme dance move. Such was not the case. Try day #1 during warm-ups. We're sitting on the floor, essentially in "indian position", which I know is probably a politically incorrect term, but I don't know what else to call it... criss cross apple sauce? Anyways, we're sitting like that and leaning our bodies forward, over our legs... nothing intense or anything, and I feel an odd sort of pop/pull on the right side of my back. It doesn't hurt, just felt funny. I think to myself, "hmm, that was weird" but kept going through the exercise. I finish the entire floor warmup, still not in any sort of pain. Then I stand up and I can feel it. Nothing too bad, but I knew I had a long week+ of dancing ahead of me so I asked to sit down, maybe stretch it out some more. Well, fast forward about 2 minutes and I'm on the floor, unable to move ANYTHING, and sobbing uncontrollably. Some college health guy comes in to examine me and he can't get me to so much as lift my pinkie without my screaming out in pain (no exaggeration). It's pretty clear, I need to go to the hospital. An ambulance and stretcher come to pick me up. They give me an insane dosage of morphine through the IV at the hospital because I keep saying I don't feel its effect, I'm still in insane pain. The doctor man tells me it's as clear a diagnosis as possible, I merely threw out my back. I think he HAS to be wrong... there's no way that's all this is. I couldn't even move my pinkie without a shooting pain stemming from my back. He insists that's all it is. I still think he is wrong, but I don't argue. Only thing to do, he says, is get enough morphine in me so that I'm able to get out to a car and get home... he'll write me a prescription for Percocet or something and some anti-inflammatory jazz that I'm allowed to take up to 4 times a day and I'll have to be on complete bed-rest for at least 2 weeks. I'm complaining because I'm not feeling the morphine and I'm convinced there's no way I will ever be able to get to a car unless they completely sedate me and do it themselves. Eventually they tell me if they give me any more morphine it would be too dangerous (after commenting on my unnaturally high level of tolerance for it and utter shock that they weren't even noticing it having any sort of effect on me) and that I should try getting out to the car. Well, the minute I stand up boy do I FEEL THE MORPHINE. I got super super dizzy but was able to slowly wabble out to the car, relying heavily on my friend Laura, who went with me in the ambulance, and the dance company director, who showed up later at the hospital and would be driving us both back to campus. Now, on the car ride home Cheryl (dance director) says I have to get some food in my system (this whole process took most of the day, god knows how many hours, and I hadn't eaten anything) and she insisted on going to the pharmacy at that moment to get the prescriptions as well as pick up one of those moist heating pads, which the hospital man recommended. She takes us through the McDonalds drivethrew, which in and of itself, if you know Cheryl, is hilarious. She eats nothing and has been known to make weight comments about dancers (oblivious to how they are received, not out of meanness. She's a little clueless... understatement), so the fact that she insisted Laura and I get something "of substance" from McDonalds cracked us up. But then she goes through the CVS pharmacy drivethrew, all the while commenting on how miraculous it was that there were drivethrews for such things now and asking if we were sure she could turn in the prescription there. We get up to the window and she gives them the prescriptions. They ask when we'll be back to get them. She says we'll wait.... at the drivethrew window.... not caring that it would take at least 10 minutes and there may be cars behind us. But the pharmacy man doesn't tell her that she can't. Just gives a funny look for half a second before remembering to be professional. Then, she decides to ask to the pharmacy man if he can run into the main part of CVS and also pick us up a moist heating pad, giving specific instructions on which type of heating pad would be needed so be sure to find the right one. I'm fairly certain this is not in their job description, to go shopping around CVS for random items for pharmacy drivethrew pick-up customers. Cheryl asks us if we need anything else, so she can ask him to get that too. Well at this point Laura's in the back seat trying not to laugh and I'm cracking up on the inside and drugged out of my mind, which is making the entire experience that much more hilarious. I'm realizing now that this is one of those stories that may not be funny in the re-telling, but if you were there and heard her ask the pharmacist to pick up the random store items for us as well, you would have found it funny.

The next two stories are much more recent and much funnier in the retelling. So, first one involves another (though MUCH less severe) back injury. I'm doing a couple of musicals this summer with a group up in Danbury (about an hour from where I live). These past few weekends I've had rehearsal for one show in the morning/early afternoon and then a performance of the other show in the evening... with about a 4 or 5 hr break inbetween. Since I live far away I just stay up there during the break, along with another few people who are in both shows and don't leave either. It is designated nap time. I pull up a lounge chair bench prop piece thing and fall asleep. Wake up, feel okay. Hour or so later back hurts. Another hour or so later and I can't get out of my car, finally realizing it's actually a pretty bad injury that won't just go away. I go to the doctor the next day... spasm and torn muscle. Nothing too severe, can still be in the shows (though advised to "be willing" to skip the first one or two, "if necessary"... which obviously to me means, go for it), just have to be careful and rest inbetween. Lots of ice, anti-inflammatories and Valium. I make it through a performance or two with little problem. Then, one performance night, mid tap trenches, I feel it... bad. I get offstage and about 10 seconds later someone else realizes something is wrong. Suddenly there are about 6 people there to help me. Someone is pulling me out a chair, I have about 3 people changing my shoes, another one holding a flashlight so they can see what they're doing, 1 trying to make me laugh to lighten the mood (and laughing made it hurt more so I was trying not to laugh but also nervously laughing at the situation of everyone catering to me and being so helpful. And of course, telling people to not make you laugh because it hurts makes everyone laugh more). And I'm sitting there trying to avoid crying, to no avail. I'm told not to go back onstage and to wait until they can get people to help me back into the house. I'm asked if I can walk (assisted) or if they will need to carry me in on the chair. I can walk. I get inside and everyone's asking how I am, they're all being super nice. Super stage manager Janice goes out to find my family, with my helpful assistance of telling her what they look like.... "there's my mom and about... well, some other adults... and 2 younger people... my brother looks like me"... that was the extent of my family's physical description, aka I gave her an impossible task of finding them, though she assured me she would, and she somehow did. Someone asks if I have any of my medicine with me. I take a Valium. Music director then tells me red wine relaxes the muscles. Well wouldn't you know it, I just happened to have a bottle in my bag. When I say this the reaction is hilarious. I do not normally have bottles of wine in my purse. I am not an alcoholic. The fact that I happened to have a bottle of red wine was a hilarious coincidence because I had picked some up for the night before, had most of it still left and had forgotten to take it out of my bag before coming to the show. I tell her that I just took a Valium. She tells me it's okay, have some wine anyways. I'm in pain so it's good advice in my mind. So here I am, sitting in a chair, having just taken a Valium and now sipping red wine from a 1.5 Liter bottle while crying and laughing as others go by at the absurdity of it all and knowing how ridiculous I must look. That's funny part number one... happening to have the red wine and then sipping it from the bottle after taking a Valium. On to funny part number two... the method of getting me in a car to get home. My brother pulls his truck up to the house and I'm assisted outside. After joking that they should just put me in the pick-up part of the truck we try to actually get me in the back seat. It is somewhat high up... I will not be able to just "climb in". Amazing Janice decides to act as my stepstool to get me into the back seat. But getting on all fours leaves her too high up, so she gets in plank position, nearly lying on the ground, held up by her forearms, while I step on her back to get in... next I'm kind of pushed into a lying position across the back seat. Then there's the whole ordeal of do I want my hair taken out? shoes off? feet hanging out the window so I fit better? something to prop under my knees? a pillow of sorts for my head? I have Janice on one end, taking out my hair, Ron on the other, adjusting my feet, and Anna and who knows who else outside the car, laughing with the rest of us at the hilarity of the situation. Then there's the rolling factor. Unless my brother drives 15 miles per hour the entire ride home I will probably roll around, quite potentially right off the seat. So they push the front seats back as far as possible to "tuck me in" and secure my position. The whole ordeal was my best worst memory to date. Yes it was painful, but it was also highly amusing.

Fast-forward another week or so and I'm in the foyer of the rehearsal space (henceforth referred to as Richter), with a few castmates, during another break between rehearsal and a performance. (No longer will I take naps there). Anyways, all of a sudden I get a HORRENDOUS charley horse. I'm talking worst one of my life. It was in BOTH my shin and my calf and there was no relief to be found. My foot was stuck at a ridiculous angle and I could not, for the life of me, get it to move to stretch it out. I was literally grabbing my foot with both hands and pulling at it, and yet it would not budge from its bizarre position. (You know how when you get a cramp your toes or whatever will get stuck in a funny way and the only way to get relief from the pain is to manually move your toes to a normal position to stretch out the muscles? Well, it was that, but my entire foot. And it would NOT move). So we're all laughing because my foot looks ridiculous but I'm nearly in tears also because of the pain. Janice says I should stand up on a cold floor, and we all know the only way it will go away is if I can manage to stretch it out, which probably involves standing. So three people help me up. I'm a little more than half-way up when I realize there is no way I will be able to stand. So someone goes and grabs a chair to slide behind slash under me that I can just collapse on. And I'm in so much pain, all I want to do is crash to the floor and helplessly grab my awkwardly bent foot. The second the chair is behind me I start to go down, with Janice in front of me, essentially completely supporting me. I turn into her arm on my way down and out of sheer pain I open my mouth to let out a cry and it slowly closes.... on her arm. By now I'm in the chair. A few seconds of silence.... assessing the situation (Is Trisha okay now? It's all quiet and calm). "Owww! I think I bit you." Laughter ensues. I most definitely bit Janice's arm on my way down to the chair, and she never said a word about it until my "ow, I bit you comment". Now we're all cracking up, not only because I bit her but because I said "oww" first before saying "I bit you", as if it hurt ME to bite HER. I proceeded to apologize 817 times for biting her while trying to alleviate my charley horse pain, which did eventually go away, but left my leg muscles sore slash weak for the entire rest of the night and into the next day. It was like the spasm was a workout my legs had never seen the likes of before. I decided bananas and water were my only hope in preventing it from coming back.... wanted to get a bunch of bananas but the store was closed because it was July 4th so I got a smoothie at Starbucks instead that had a banana in it. Came very close to eating the single banana that was in the kitchen at Richter, before realizing it was a prop that the lead character would eat on stage later that night in the show. Imagine if I ate her prop? Especially on a day all the stores were closed. Janice probably would have bitten me.

So now we laugh that a lot of the funniest moments at Richter seem to occur when I am in pain, and that Janice is always somehow on the receiving end of it as well. Oh, and not really related, but I'm going to attempt to make a mild connection between the two because I want to mention it here, is a dream that I had. The mild connection of which I speak is that it involves potential pain and Janice. In my dream I'm at Desert Moon (essentially a step between taco bell and a sit-down, full scale Mexican restaurant... there's one near Richter we visit often). And someone walks in, pulls out a gun and says "Everyone, on the floor!". Not two seconds after I get down to the floor do I feel something pressing against my back. I'm sure it's the gun and that I'm going to be shot as an example to the rest of the people that this guy means business. (Didn't find it amusing during the dream that this was occurring in Desert Moon of all places). Then I hear the voice of the "gunman" and it was Janice. She yelled "Give me your Harry Potter or else I'm going to jack hammer your spine!". It suddenly occurred to me that the thing pressing against my back was a jack hammer and not a gun. And in my dream state I remembered that Janice had seen me reading Harry Potter at Richter at one point (even though in real life I never have) and she must have really wanted the book.... badly enough to jack hammer my spine, if need be, to get it.

So there are my funny injury stories. A drivethrew CVS moment, some Valium and wine, being manhandled into a truck, accidentally biting a friend, and getting a jack hammer to the spine at a Mexican cafe.

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So here it is... in ranked order, my list of what makes being in a show enjoyable. Because I'm sure you're all dying to know my thoughts on the matter. My order for this here list has changed considerably from what it was, based on the two shows I'm currently in. If you're like me and you read into things (or I've been telling you stories about rehearsals) I'm sure you will be able to figure out what aspects of my current show experiences are beyond amazing, or on the other side, horrendous based on how these here ranks have changed. (That is, if the topic hasn't bored you enough that you already stopped reading...) In some cases I'll just say how these shows affected my opinion flat out. Eliminate the speculation. Speculation leads to misconception which leads to rumors... because I'm sure everyone will be gossiping about this stimulating blog of mine. I am, however, brutally frank. Just getting that out there. Warning.

I'll start with #1 in importance (previously #4) if only because I hate the suspense associated with "countdowns"... start with the good stuff- it eliminates reading in reverse. So, numero uno in determining how happy I am doing a particular show is the director. If you have an awesome director things run smoothly, and you are inspired slash in awe of their creativity, perception, visions etc. Their energy and personality sets the tone for rehearsals. I've always thought this. I've had a couple of great directors and I tend to follow them around, show-to-show, like a groupie. On the other hand, an awful director can destroy a wonderfully written show with a super talented cast. Worse than that, at least from a performer's perspective, they can completely ruin the overall mood of the cast and enjoyability of rehearsals... causing a rise of frustration that eventually leads to anger/disappointment outside of rehearsal. Just as I've had some brilliant directors I've had some horrendous ones, and they can completely ruin the experience. Whenever I have an awful director my first reaction is usually "I want to quit" and my later reaction "I want to take over". But I've never quit and I've never taken over, so no worries there. There's my praising and venting.

#2 (previously #3) = Cast. Though this may seem straight-forward, "The Cast", in its high ranking number 2 spot, encompasses a lot of things. First off, they have to be talented, because if they're not you will feel embarassed to be on stage with them. Let's be real, we all think it. If you have an untalented set of people, forget it... you ultimately want every show you're in to be the best it can be and it's AWESOME to work with a cast full of talent. But then there's also part of you that doesn't want them to be too talented. If there's too much talent you are overshadowed. And if there's a severe excess of talent you can be intimidated (I have to sing and dance in front of them?!?!? What will they think of me?). So there has to be that balance between "how could they not currently be starring in their 32nd Broadway show?" and "never open your mouth or attempt to dance again, even in the privacy of your own home because then your own pets may disown you". A great or awful cast, talent-wise, can certainly affect your level of rehearsal and performance satisfaction. What I'm primarily referring to here though doesn't really depend on talent. It's more basic: are they good people to be around? A nice cast, with energy, some humor, and good work-ethic can make the experience 817 times more enjoyable. And of course the reverse holds too... if it's cliquey and full of complainers you end up begging for the show to start so you can skip right to the performance aspect and avoid the rehearsals.

#3 (previously #1) is your part in the show. Not necessarily whether you're the lead or not, but how featured you are in whatever you are doing. Let's face it, everyone wants the best parts. And about 98% of actors think they deserve the best parts. I buy right into the stereotypes. You end up counting your lines, determining who is downstage center the most in the group numbers, decide upon your "rank" in the show in terms of size of the role, decide upon your "rank" in the show in terms of talent, decide upon your "rank" in the show in terms of audience likeability, and the list goes on. You can't help but feel a bit of pride when you realize your part is better than so-and-so's. And you probably won't be too happy if you get zero-stage time. The old saying "no part is a small part" or whatever it is... it's a lie to 95% of the performing community. It's an aspect of being a performer. We all want to be featured and we all get upset when we're not featured to the level "we deserve". It's a narcissism thing. I'm not ashamed to admit it. And I know you're nodding to yourself in acknowledgement.

#4 (previously #5... aka didn't change much) is the choreographer. Now this isn't just because I'm a dance person. I feel like the choreographer has a HUGE role in the level of satisfaction you have doing a show. First off, it's usually a majority of the cast who considers dancing their weakest point... the choreographer has to be encouraging, helpful, and make the steps at an appropriate level yet exciting for the audience to see without "dumbing-them-down". They also have to work with a wide variety of levels. I feel like the dance aspect of the show is where the cast is most likely to get frustrated. The choreographer is the primary person who sets the mood at these rehearsals. There's a way to make it fun and enjoyable. I've seen a bunch of choreographers get frustrated with the cast for "not getting it" and just as many make the steps easier as they decide it's "too complicated". Only the best are able to inspire the cast to work at it while convincing them that they will get it. A choreographer who isn't just good at making up the steps, but who can also lead the dance rehearsals and gain the like and respect of the cast makes a world of difference.

#5 (previously #6) is the costumes/makeup. This one is simple. Who doesn't love getting dressed up? Who doesn't love finally "looking the part" once the performance time hits? Great costumes and makeup can make the show so much more exciting to the performer in the great costumes and makeup and really boost confidence as well.

#6 (previously #2... can we say giant leap?) is how much you like the actual show you are performing in. I used to think this was key. Be in a show you love. If you connect to the story and the music you will enjoy the experience that much more. While I do think it can help, the satisfaction from rehearsals and the overall experience do not rely on this at all. I've been in shows where I've HATED the plot, songs, characters, dialogue... the whole bit, and yet I've LOVED the experience. Same goes in the reverse. I've been super excited to do certain shows I essentially had memorized before joining a cast, including knowing bizarre random facts about, oh I don't know, how the original assistant lighting designer came to be part of the show, and yet I've really not enjoyed the rehearsal experience at all. Surprisingly, how much you like the show itself makes little to no difference in satisfaction with the experience.

#7 (has always been #7) is the musical director. I get their importance and all and yes, it would be lame to have one who was really mean or did absolutely nothing, but I've never done a show where they've had a profound meaning or purpose to me personally. I take the score home, plunk out the alto notes, learn them, go into rehearsal and sing them. Simple as that. Musical directors make a huge difference in terms of the vocal performance level of shows, don't get me wrong. They just don't really effect how much I enjoy a show or not.


So that's my list. I should probably mention that the crew also falls into the cast bit in #2... both in the talent aspect and the likeability aspect... though I feel no competiton from them, they should know what they're doing. And with that, I'm off to rehearsal.

So this blog is really just a small look into the mind of Trisha... how neurotic I am and how my thought processes generally go. I've mentioned it before, but in case you're new, I take the train to work. Previously I've gotten monthly passes, mainly for convenience, considering I just figured out they actually only save about $2.20 a month. But anyways, since I started my two shows I've had to take my car into work quite a bit in order to get to rehearsals afterward. Henceforth and forthwith (totally don't know what that actually means, but I wanted to say it), I ceased the use of the monthly pass and decided to buy 10 trip passes and use those whenever I do take the train.

Well, today was a train day. I haven't taken the train to work since last week and this weekend I switched some stuff from my main purse to a different one. During the drive to the train station this morning I thought to myself "you should probably check and make sure you have your ten-trip pass thing in this purse Trisha". But then I decided I was being paranoid... there's no reason that I would have taken it out because I didn't need it in my "weekend purse". So I didn't check. Sit down on the train, pull out my book and go to grab my pass for when the conductor comes by. If it wasn't already blatantly obvious, the pass wasn't there. Now, if we know me at all we also know I don't carry around cash. Reason number one, credit cards are easier to use, harder to lose. Reason number two, I can get away with saying "sorry I don't have any cash" in various situations, which always leads to spending and lending less money. So I'm on the train, ticketless and cashless. What do I do? Well about 187 scenarios run through my mind. Really about 3, but I exaggerate. Let's discuss what went through my mind...

Option 1: Fake sleep. Pray they don't try to wake me up. If they do, fake deep sleep. Pray they won't want to make a scene by shouting at the sleeping girl. If they do, fake death. If pulse is checked, fake coma. But then how do I stop faking in order to get off at Stamford for work?

Option 2: Get up and just walk around the train for the entire 40 minute ride, never stopping long enough for a conductor to find me. If spotted and looked at in a questioning manner ask which car has the closest bathroom. Pray I'm not standing in front of one as I ask it. If I am, play stupid, clueless girl who gets really embarrassed when she is told she's standing right in front of it. Or, only if verbally questioned, say I was headed back to my seat in the other car, and just came from the bathroom.

Option 3: Spin-off from the bathroom idea... wait until the conductor is a few rows away collecting tickets and then get up and ask him where the closest car is with a bathroom. Make my way in that direction, by the time I'm back he's gone through my car and collected all tickets. Maybe to be safe instead of returning to my original car I will instead sit down in the car he came from previously, where tickets were already collected and where he wouldn't be looking for "that girl who went to the bathroom while I was collecting tickets".

Option 4: Pretend I don't know I don't have my ticket. When conductor comes by rummage through my bag. Keep rummaging. Hope he's tired of your rummaging and "comes back" to you, but never does. Only if needed say "I can't seem to find it".

• Option 4a: Play the pity card. When told I can't find it, conductor will say I can pay with cash. Open my wallet, show him it's empty. Offer him the ticket I happen to have in my wallet (from over a year ago, never used) from Stamford to Rye, NY as alternative payment... even though it's expired and about $5 less than a ticket for the trip I was taking. If needed, get teary eyed.
  
• Option 4b: Flirt my way out. "Are you reaaaaally going to kick me off? How about you let this slide and I'll.... (smile coyly, pause for effect)..... let it be our little secret"

Option 5: Play it cool. Super slick. Hope the conductor recognizes my face as one of the people who always has a monthly pass (because up until May I always had), tell him I left my pass at home by mistake, but say "you've seen me before, I always have the monthly pass" and hope I'm in a relaxed enough manner that it will just slide. If it doesn't, pull a complete reversal and give him attitude about how I refuse to pay for another ticket when he knows as well as I do that I have a monthly pass, already paid for, sitting at home. Refuse to pay, knowing the next stop is Stamford so if he kicks me off, I'm where I need to be anyway.


Basically the only guaranteed option is 4b, because men are men. Especially men in their 40s who are being flirted with by a girl in her 20s. But alas, it's also the last one I would actually do. I'll play dead, walk unnecessarily essentially playing grown-up hide and seek for 40 minutes, be completely conniving, cry, or throw a tantrum... but probably not flirt. Notice tell the truth and just be upfront about the whole thing is never an option that crosses my mind. I decide to fake sleep while all of this is running through my head, in case that's the option I go with... I want the people sitting near me to believe I'm actually asleep by the time the dude comes around. Finally I start hearing "tickets please" and the sound of the conductor's hole punch. The pressure's on and I can't decide whether to go with option 3 or an option 1, 4a hybrid (fake sleep as long as possible... when it comes to the fake death step switch instead to option 4a). My heart is racing, I'm sweating. Really, this isn't a huge deal, but I get worked up over minimal things. His voice sounds closer. I decide it's too late to go with option 3 and still be convincing that I'm not just trying to get out of paying for my ride so I go with the hybrid and do my best deep sleep impersonation. Time is going so slowly. I'm sure that any second my neighbor will tap me on the shoulder to give the man my ticket. But wait... can it be.... it sounds like his voice is now a row or two ahead of me.... dare I peek? No, too soon. Too risky. Could be my ears being hopeful. Heart rate is fastest at this point. Then I hear the train car door open and close. Could he have collected all other tickets and just went along to the next car? Dare I peek NOW? No, still too soon. I end up waiting a good 2 minutes of silence before daring to open my eyes. Even then, part of me was sure he'd be standing there, glaring at me... suspecting me as a fraud all along. But alas, he was not. The sleep trick worked. Brilliant. Now for my ride home this afternoon....

Teenage years. You hear the good and the bad associations all the time... "it's the best time of your life.... 30 years from now you'll look back and think about how great things were in high school... cherish it now while you're young" as well as "prime suffering years... I know it's hard, it gets better as you get older.... identity crisis, you don't know who you are yet" and etc. and etc. I can only understand the negative side of it really. Jr. high and high school years are the worst. For several reasons. Even just looking back now makes me want to get in a ball and cry. Okay, I'm being dramatic.

First of all, there's this extreme desire to simultaneously want to fit in and to stand out. And you think the only way you will be accepted is if you act a certain way, even if it's entirely not you. I distinctly remember in junior high thinking I would definitely be one of the cool kids if only I swore. I mean, that's a ridiculous thought. (You can tell this was the younger years of junior high because it's swearing versus the whole drinking, partying, sex thing). Yet, I was so sure of it. In my mind it was the only thing holding me back. Maybe I chose to think this to justify to myself why I wasn't one of the popular kids... I could say to myself "self, if you woke up one day and started swearing you would be a cool person" and I'd never have to worry about what if that wasn't the case because I knew swearing is something I wouldn't do. Another silly anecdote here... there was a time in like 1995 when they were going to add an M&M color to the standard mix and you could call in and vote on which you wanted. The "cool girls", who I was on a casual talking basis with, but never included in the elite club, told me to vote repeatedly for blue. I'm talking they would all call each other at night to say how many times they were able to get in blue votes. And when I was asked I sure wasn't going to give a disappointing number. The kind of sad thing is that I really wanted pink. I still remember feeling incredibly guilty because I threw in one solitary vote for pink. When blue won they felt accomplished. I was a secondary accomplice. Perhaps an accomplished feeling accomplice... until I realized that I was secretly hoping pink would win to spite them all.

So those swearing and M&M stories were like the pre-teen and early teen years. Junior high stuff. By high school you're somewhat more comfortable with yourself and have some sense of pride. You may still want to hang with the popular crew but you wouldn't do anything they say just as an attempt to please (like vote for the color M&M THEY decide is best even though you think otherwise.... you might say you did it, but actually doing it? No). By high school I realized that believe it or not, even if I swore I wouldn't fit in with them. But I also started to realize maybe I didn't want to. Sure, on an ego level I would have loved it but it's also fun to join the "cliques are stupid" clique. Whereas early teen years you want nothing more than to fit in and be exactly like everyone else, late teen years the last thing you want is to be cookie-cutter. You want to be known. We're all individuals, but what makes you unique? The torture of high school is finding that out and becoming comfortable with what you find. Plus, I don't know if what I went through in high school was so much worse than the type of things I go through now or if it just felt that way because it's the first time you have to learn to cope with difficult things. (Because let's face it, other than hating the fact that your gym class just switched from scooters to football, you didn't have that many concerns when you were little).

Maybe I'm generalizing... I'm sure plenty of people had horrible child childhoods and loved teenage childhoods. Or both were okay, great, or lousy. But I really think those jr. high/high school years are the worst. At least by college you're pretty settled into yourself and stop caring what other people think so much. All I'm saying is that I highly doubt I will ever wish I could go back to my teenage years... maybe in the sense that I'd like to go back and give it a do-over, knowing what I do now, but even that's unlikely. No thanks, let's just erase age 12-17 all together. Take that back, let's remember it so that we can look back and think "I'm so glad that's over". Never again will I vote blue if I want pink. (Or keep quiet about my love for Megan Corkery on American Idol, now gone for weeks, despite her odd love of acting like a bird and general hatred by 99% of viewers) And to this day, even though I'm plenty old enough to not worry about being yelled at by a parent for swearing, I don't care what people think when they find out I still don't swear. I'm who I am and I'm realizing this has kind of turned into a "be proud of who you are, accept your differences" after-school-special. Ughh

So I hesitated before deciding to share my audition story, mainly because if I get the show and become friends with any other cast people on facebook they could quite easily find this here blog, read, chuckle through the first half, and decide to hate me by the second half. But I decided to share and just avoid making friends. It's more my style. (By the way, if you ARE from one of the shows and just read that, it was sarcastic. I'm a sarcastic person. Now that that's clear...)

So, on Saturday I went to go audition for the 3 shows which make up the summer season at an outdoor theatre group in Danbury. Three shows in this case are defined as Funny Girl, A Chorus Line, and Children of Eden. In researching this theatre it seemed somewhat more legit than your average community theatre. For starters, I found out about the auditions on playbill.com, a fairly legit site. There were also 4 days of auditions, spanning over 21 hours, rather than the usual 1 day, 3 or 4 hours. They requested that you bring a headshot and resume. The director/choreographer of A Chorus Line has done choreography on Broadway (including the well known "Telephone Hour" from Bye Bye Birdie). But it's non-profit and there's no pay. So I couldn't decide in my mind if it was just a kind of suped-up community theatre trying to appear as more than it is, or a pre-professional, step below the big-time, type of place. I arrived at the audition still unsure.

So I get to the audition site which is one of those K-12 private schools, and it looked like a barn. I walk into the barn, grab a sign-in sheet and sit down to fill it out. The usual questions... age, height/weight, voice type, songs prepared for the audition, rehearsal conflicts, sign your life away saying you will not demand pay, desired roles, favorite nursery rhyme... the norm. I decide to say "yes" to auditioning for all 3 shows rather than the 2, 1 or ever-confusing none option. I decide to say "yes" to accepting ensemble for one show and "no" to the other two. (When I told this to someone on Monday she appeared SHOCKED... "but, don't you think you need to work your way up Trisha?".... in my head I replied "I worked my way up. Just not with this group" (I decided upon seeing the barn it was probably more community theatre-esque. If more professional-ish, I could agree with her) and my mind followed it with a "don't judge me as an overly-confident-in-their-own-talent snob". Out loud I made up something more polite about how rehearsals were an hour from work and an hour from home and I knew it would be taxing so I'd rather only make the commitment if I have a role... which I suppose can still sound theatre snobby, but...) Anyways, the fact that I was auditioning for Funny Girl and said no to ensemble was almost a joke. To be quite honest I DETEST the show, found Barbara Streisand ridiculously annoying in the movie, and would not want to suffer through being in the ensemble. (Add in, month later... I'm in the ensemble and actually quite enjoying it. haha. I apologize for the severity of my pre-conceived notions). But I knew that although I would never be able to pull off the comedic characterizations, or the powerful 18 solo songs, or convince the audience I am Jewish, I might as well put down that I'm auditioning for the lead of Fanny Brice. In the 1 in 10,000 chance I actually got it, it would be a great resume role. A Chorus Line I instantly checked "no" to ensemble, because I did not just want to be in the opening number after already doing the show before. No thanks. For desired parts I wrote Val, Kristine and Judy... three of only four I can realistically play. (Here's the breakdown even though I'm sure none of you care all that much. Cassie and Sheila I'm too young to play. Two out of nine parts out. Connie I'm too tall to play unless they can somehow shrink me 10 inches or so. Three out of nine out. I know there are better singers out there to be Diana and Maggie (plus, no matter what you do to me I can not come close to looking Puerto Rican, and no matter how much you train me I can not force myself to be a first soprano with belt). Five out of nine out. Leaves 4: Val, Kristine, Judy and Bebe.... my realistic options) Then for Children of Eden I put down my desired role of Yonah, knowing I had a super small chance of getting that too, but then responded in the affirmative for ensemble... their ensemble is in like 16 numbers, and I love the music, so I would very much so love to do anything in this show.

After looking over my sheet, chuckling again to myself that I put down Fanny Brice, I go to turn it in. Immediately after sitting down again, an older man comes up to me and introduces himself. I immediately recognize the name as the man who will be directing A Chorus Line, who did the broadway choreography and such, but (perhaps stupidly) do not make it known that I know who he is. I smile and say my name. He asks if I will be singing or dancing today. I reply "both". He smiles, says "good" and leaves me be.

First reaction.... Well this is good. The director of A Chorus Line sought me out in a room full of auditioners (auditionees?) to make sure I was auditioning for his show. Definite good start.....

Second reaction.... Singing or dancing? Singing OR dancing? You're never given a choice! You have to do both! Does this mean if you choose to dance at the audition you have to have something prepared? Think back to what it said on playbill.... "Prepare an uptempo and a ballad, be ready to sing just best 16 bars if necessary. If asked, be prepared to dance or read from the script"..... be prepared to dance.... that doesn't say have a dance prepared.... but it also doesn't say be prepared to learn a dance combination..... If you can't tell, I'm getting paranoid. Of course, it never occurs to me to just ask someone what the audition process was. Instead I start running through all of the dances I've done in the past 2 years (that are still somewhat committed to memory), trying to decide what I can do for them... with no music... and without running it beforehand besides envisioning it in my head. All of my choreography, which is freshest in my mind, is too bizarre and doesn't show off anything, and anything older I forgot. I don't really come to a firm decision on what to do when I am called into the audition room. As I'm walking down the hallway to the audition room I decide if it comes down to them just saying "ok, now dance" I will visibly panic, do a double turn, kick once, say I have a flexible back and cringe as they stare at me, expecting more.

So I walk into this tiny tiny room with about 8 people sitting there for casting, and the pianist crammed in the corner. As I walk in some lady gives them my info sheet, resume and "headshot" (prop from A Chorus Line at Wheaton... comes in very useful) and introduces me as "Trisha Carr, who is auditioning for all three shows". The "all three shows" bit causes a kind of gasp on their end. I wouldn't think it that unusual, but apparently it is. Since the lady already introduced me my normal opening audition line is all thrown off and I don't know what to say, especially because they were shuffling through papers, muttering, and not paying the slightest bit of attention to me. So I decide to just make a bad first impression and walk straight over to the pianist to hand over my music. Not knowing if I should do the ballad first or the uptempo, 16 bars or the whole thing, I start to just pull all of the sheet music out as one of the casting people says (reading off my info sheet) "Oh! You've Got Possibilites (song name, not remark about my potential)... good choice". So I guess that means I'm starting with You've Got Possibilities. The one I know I can belt my life away to in real life but have never attempted at an audition because I know my voice always fails me when it comes to power and auditions. I set aside the safe ballad I know I can do well, and go with the risk, all because casting lady says "good choice". Well, I say bad choice. Because after the first note I sang I realized that the nerves were taking over again. I hate it. I don't get nervous for performances... people are there to enjoy. But at auditions their sole purpose is to judge you and critique, and that always gets the better of me. I sound like 2 completely different people at auditions and not. So I struggle. That much is clear. Some notes are okay, but whole picture is NOT. So I end feeling kind of miserable, knowing I've screwed myself over in terms of hoping to get a part in any of the shows, but I don't let it show that I feel this way. I feel more miserable when it is made apparent I will not be singing the other song. Then, Children of Eden man says "will you read me these lines for Yonah?"

First thought: What? He's asking me to read for the part I wanted after I sang like that? He's nuts! Or has pity for me....

Second thought: I don't care, I get to read!

Third thought (upon looking at the script): Panic. First line: "Japeth?". Second line: "No Japeth, it's not right." Do I know how to pronounce Japeth? Just because I've seen the show, I'm Catholic and supposedly "know the Bible" and it's the husband of the character I said I wanted, I'm expected to know how to pronounce it? Well, I can't ASK how to pronounce it! I should know, given it's the part I said I wanted. To not know says I don't care enough to know, I'm unprepared, I'm un-Bibley cultured, I can't read.

Luckily, mid third thought I hear Children of Eden man say to another "Yah-pah-teth" in a funny tone and then chuckle. To me, it's clearly him saying Japeth, and it's just as clearly him mispronouncing it. So I take advantage of the moment and say (in a totally "non-Trisha" way... it was giddy and confident but nervous-- not an oxymoron, think an outspoken, outgoing person asking a question, with no fear of looking stupid, but knowing it's a ridiculous question to ask and they will probably be laughed at).... now I lost track of my original sentence. Right, so I take advantage of the moment and say "Waiiiit, how DO you pronounce it???". Well they loved that. Laughter ensued as they tried to calm the nervous girl by saying "don't listen to him, he's kidding around, the way you know it is right, (for a minute I feared they would stop right there, but they continued...) It's Jay-pith". So I felt better after they thought my question was amusing and I knew how to pronounce it. Worries came up again mid read-through when I realized I could totally be straying from the scene's intentions. It was one of those scenes that could be performed a bunch of different ways.... I went the quiet emotional, contemplative route but halfway through realized it could totally be an angry emotional, stubborn type moment. I hate finding out mid-scene that it can be interpreted differently. And because I only saw the show once I don't remember how it's usually done and there weren't any comments in the script to help me out. So rather than completely change tone mid-scene I kept going with the quiet emotional thing, wishing I had the chance to read it before then and decide if it was the best choice. I always tend to see scenes as quiet emotional first go around.... like that scene from Chorus Line at Wheaton... I was so confused why the director wanted me yelling, because I read it completely differently... then once I did it, I could see it that way too. Anyways... I still don't know if this Children of Eden scene should have been angry.... seeing as I was reading as a female character from the Bible I think probably not, but who knows.

After I do the read through the Chorus Line guy says to me "and you said you would be dancing for us?". Here it is again, panic. Do they expect me to break out in a dance right now? If I say "yes" will they be silent and wait for me to start? So I say (in that same, not me, confident scatterbrained way) "I was under the impression we'd be learning something?" Well, that made off better than the pronounciation comment. They found it downright hilarious. Comments like "That's the best thing I've heard EVER during an audition! Hilarious! This girl's adorable!" came from the 8 with all the power while the pianist played a little jingle as if for me to dance to. They told me yes I'd be learning a combination and continued laughing (with me? at me? at me in a not so bad way?). I said something stupid like "just making sure!" along with an exaggerated "phew!" gesture as I left the room saying thank you. As I left I heard more comments "I LIKE her, she's got spunk, precious, world's best singer". Okay, last one was not said, but the others all were. I thought to myself, hey... if I didn't walk out singing my best at least I made a strong personality impression!

As I'm learning the dance combination some woman comes in, hands me lines and says "they want you to read for Kristine when you go back in". I guess I kind of did portray myself as a Kristine. Or a Judy. Anyways... dance combination, legit original choreography, no changes, even has that ridiculous turn into arabesque into jump turn thing that always terrified me (though now that I've done it I can say it's much less scary than it looks). The evil side of me was very happy that non-dancers would not be able to pull this off (come on, we all have evil thoughts). The punishment for this evil thought was that in my small group of 4 who would be showing the combination to the casting people there was one girl who was CLEARLY the best. I was hoping for the dance part I would at least be able to shine above the others in my small group setting. But no, there was awesome girl. Let's just refer to her as that from now on-- Awesome Girl. Yes, she's a returning character.

So we go in, do the combination a few times, director guy asks if we were all given lines to read or not. Awesome Girl replies in the negative. Well that just won't do, this girl can dance! "Oh no, oh no, you have to read... get her Val's lines". If she wasn't asked to read after singing, why give her Val's lines, one of 3 female characters who has a legit song solo? I'm a horrible person. But at least I know it and am not afraid to admit it. It's one of those things you can think, but shouldn't say outloud. I type it here... essentially the same. Anyways... I read for Kristine. All is wonderful. Then, Funny Girl guy throws me a curve ball. Remember how I said I'd never have to read for Fanny Brice? Well, in a way I was right, but in a very bad way I was wrong. Funny Girl guy must have liked my dancing, or reading of Kristine or something right then and there enough to say to me "Okay, now do me a favor. Read those same lines again but with a thick, New York, Jewish accent".


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"I'm sorry, what?"-- internal thought bubble

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"Okay!"-- external verablization. Now the worst part of this wasn't reading lines in the accent, it was trying to pull off nervous, forgetful Kristine's lines in a Fanny Brice way.... they could not be more opposite. The accent was just the kicker. Of course, I didn't think to practice the accent beforehand, because who on earth would actually think I was right for this role? But I start... "I mean, I used to watch everything on TV that had dancing on it. Especially, oh... what was it? Um..." except, oh god, it's coming up British. I pause. Hold back a nervous chuckle. Pause for a painful 10 seconds or so, come really close to saying "I'm sorry, I can't do it, I'm just really nervous" (which I only later realized was nearly a word for word quote of Kristine), but decided to continue. I'm glad I did, because then things started sounding right. I channeled my inner Streisand and thank goodness, I'm suddenly sounding like a Jew. I'm thanked and Chorus Line guy asks me to come back tomorrow. Callback.

So fastforward 22.5 hours and I'm back, not knowing what to expect. After sitting around for about 15 minutes some woman says "If you're here for callbacks for ACL and want to go over the dance the assistant choreographer is in the other room and will practice with you". So I get up and go. After running it twice I'm pulled to the front of the room by Assistant man for others to watch. Confidence boost. woot. We run it about 87 times. An hour later Chorus Line guy comes in to watch. We're split into groups of 5. Though I try as hard as possible to avoid it, by standing on the opposite side of the room, I'm in the same group as Awesome Girl. Last thing I want. Of course, after my group he pulls Awesome Girl aside. He ends up pulling 2 others aside too from the rest of the group. They're asked to read. Awesome Girl for Cassie. Obviously. I later found out she's played it twice before... and she's 4 years younger than me.... way too young to play it when it's being cast somewhat by age, but it was clear they were eyeing her for exactly that purpose, and rightly so, given the other people there. I mean, she's Awesome Girl. They get pulled into another room to read. We continue practicing. Assistant man gets fed up and says (paraphrase... I did not memorize his speech) "I know not all of you have danced before and that this has to be a process. I'm willing to teach slowly and will happily give corrections, but if I'm giving the same corrections over and over again and seeing no changes it tells me you're not teachable. In all of you here today there are only two of you who I would say "Hired!" on the spot, that's it. So the rest of you pick it up if you want this". As he said the two of you bit he stared me down. Others turned to look at the source of his stare. It was awkward. Obviously Awesome Girl is person number 2. At this point I'm thinking it's much more community theatre than the pre-professional ideal I was hoping for. In a group of about 30 maybe 6 had dance training... actual training. This wouldn't be the dance busting version of A Chorus Line I was hoping for. In a way I got my wish because I wanted to appear as the second best dancer.... not first best because I did not want any chance of being Cassie again, but second best still gives me a good chance at securing one of the 8 other line members. Another hour later Chorus Line guy comes in and watches us again... different groups, but yes, I'm still with Awesome Girl. Whole time director man is beaming at her. I feel sad. He calls a different set of 4 people to read/sing. Not me. We can all leave now.

So my hopest of hopes is that assistant man has some say, or director man did notice me next to the shine and sparkle of Awesome Girl. I'm trying to convince myself that he loved my reading of Kristine so much that he decided then and there that's who I would be and there was no need for me to read/sing again. One can wish. Now I just wait for the phone call. And I'm not very patient. Watch, I'll be cast as Fanny Brice and not get into Chorus Line. I bet that's what happens.


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UPDATE:
So, as I mentioned earlier I got cast in the chorus of Funny Girl. I came very close to declining... but since I did not get in Children of Eden at all (the one show I really, really wanted) I decided to do it. Now I'm taking it as a sign, because I found an audition I want to do in July and low and behold the director of that (I found out later) is also the director of Funny Girl. So he will see me in Funny Girl, fall in love with my star quality and I'll get my desired role at July audition. haha. That's MY plan anyway. Plus, I'm actually enjoying Funny Girl more than Chorus Line right now. I'm a happy little ensembler. As I also just said, I am in Chorus Line. Funnily enough the part I got isn't one of the four I mentioned earlier as my only possibilities. Even more funny is that it's probably the one part I should have thought of for myself after I messed up my vocal audition. I got "Larry", Zach's assistant. The part hadn't even crossed my mind even though I figured it would go to a girl. But once I got the phone call I was like "righttt... that makes sense" since Larry has to be a strong dancer and can be a horrible singer... which is what was heard at my audition. I almost said no to Chorus Line also... because I really, really was hoping to be on the line and it was so disappointing that I wasn't... and I was sad that I wouldn't be singing, essentially at all. And it's going fine so far... we've only been dancing and it's a slow process, but enjoyable. And another note, Awesome Girl isn't in either show. I'm convinced she was offered "Larry" first and turned it down. Who knows.

This here blog's topic is things that irritate me and things that excite me way more than they should. Let's jump right in and start with irritant number one...

People who pee on public toilet seats. To be completely honest, I don't understand the purpose of "hovering". I get you don't want the germs or the stds or who knows what you think you can catch... but in reality there are WAY more germs on sink handles, door knobs, counter tops etc. and about 98% of STDs can't survive once exposed to air... and even if they DID linger around, you would need a break in the skin to be affected. So if the skin on your butt is not bleeding, you are safe to sit on a toilet seat. But what do people do? They hover. Because they're paranoid and grossed out. And we all know hovering leads to splattering, which leads to more hovering. It's freakin annoying. If everyone just sat down then the public restroom world would be a much happier place. There would be no pee on seats and it would be perfection.

Irritant number two is really irritant number two and three. Both relate to how others perceive me. One (two?) is that I am ALWAYS "the approachable one" in public places. You know how you'll be lost and need directions, or want to know the time and you look for a friendly face to ask? Well, the friendly face is always me. I get approached by sooooo many strangers. Which is fine in a way... it's nice to know I'm viewed as approachable. But I am hardly a people person and probably the last person who would enjoy being approached by you. Plus, I always have an inner dialogue going in my head. If you interrupt the inner dialogue you often become the subject of the inner dialogue and it's not always pleasant... if only because I'm then thinking "there's ANOTHER person who approached me!". Second thing (third?) is related... strangers' first impression of me is "hey, approachable girl", and yet in social situations, others' first impression of me is "stuck up snob who is full of herself". If I could get somewhere in between, leaning toward the approachable side I would be happy. I feel like because I'm quiet and don't know how to talk to people I come across as stuck-up. People say I'm judgemental, yet I'm constantly judged and misunderstood. Tis not fair. There are irritants number 2 and 3.

Last irritant is recent. My need to think of funny blogs has entered into my dreams and it's ANNOYING. Something will happen in a dream that's amusing and in my dream state I will think to myself "I have to remember to put that in my blog". I'll give a couple of examples, both of which happened in dreams during the same night. In my dream my work has hired a new employee. She's introducing herself to me and like puckering her lips in an exaggerated fashion before saying her name... so I think "okay, she wants to do like a kiss on the cheek thing". As I lean in she starts slowly saying her name... I realize English is her second language and she has a very difficult to pronounce name and so the pursed lips were really her preparing to over-pronounce her name for me. I made an idiot of myself by leaning in for a kiss. My thought? "Must add to blog". In another dream one of my high school math teachers somehow re-entered my life. He showed up uninvited to some family party of mine and in the end of the dream he told me "although we shared undeniable passion he was 40 years my senior and it would never work" and then he kissed me. (Now this teacher I can promise I never had any sort of crush on). My first thought (mid kiss) was "Oh my god, I have to tell Griff I kissed an old math teacher!" Second thought, blog story! Now if these things happened to me in real life, sure they would make good blog stories, so my dream mind self was right to think "blog!". But they didn't happen in real life, and I'm not going to just make a blog about funny dreams so I'd be very happy if my dream self would stop screaming blog whenever something happens. (Although I will admit that upon waking I did spend a moment laughing that I thought to myself "I HAVE to tell Griff". haha)

Now the little things that make me incredibly happy... every morning and every afternoon when I'm waiting for the train I secretly hope I am standing in the prime location where, once the train stops, the door will be right in front of me. It's a little one-up I get on the others around me. I get excited if the door ends up really close to me and absolutely ecstatic if it lands so that I am right in the exact center of the doors. It's a bit OCD but if that train stops and I'm dead center between the doors I get REALLY excited. It's one of those little things I can be happy about during the day and I know it gets me wayyy more excited than it should.

Next one really doesn't make much sense, even compared to the train door thing. But if I get sent an email that's like a quiz or a fill out about me type of thing I get really happy. I enjoy filling these things out even though I know no one reads them. Maybe it's a narcissism thing, maybe it's the joy of self-discovery (although I don't know how much typing in my favorite color and preference for summer over winter leads to self discovery). Maybe it's just I enjoy that I'm special enough to someone to have them think of me when determining who to send the email to (because you know they wouldn't annoy just anyone with these things). But yes, I enjoy getting tagged in facebook in these things, filling them out, and thinking that maybe just one random person will actually read it.

Another little joy is similar to the train thing in that it's something I encounter every day. I park in a commuter parking lot every morning. It's tiny... there are 4 rows of cars. I regularly park in the 3rd row, sometimes forced to the 4th. If there is a spot in the 2nd row it starts my day off on a really positive note. Even though it means literally only about 4 seconds less of walking (and sometimes actually more depending on how far down the line the empty space is) the fact that I was able to park in the SECOND row versus the third gets me really excited.

In summary it doesn't take much to make me happy.... and I want everyone to sit on public toilet seats.

I've been thinking a lot of random, yet somewhat interconnected thoughts lately. I will try my best to verbalize them and their interconnectedness. Please, try to bear with me on this blog and get through it. I think it might be rewarding in the end. Or maybe not, but I want it to be given an honest effort, because it's different from my normal blogs and I'm testing the waters here. One, I've been thinking about passions... what it means to be passionate about something, what are popular common passions among people (music, fashion...), what I thought my passions were, what they really are, etc. Next, (totally separate thought with no relevance to my passion theme yet), I found myself consciously making an effort to think of an inspiring blog and I thought of how much it slash I have changed since this here blog's onset. Back in 2004 or whenever this was created (oh my gosh, was it really 5+ years ago?) I found the humor in everything and writing a clever, funny blog was effortless. I did it daily at one point. Now, I try to force out funny when in reality all I can really think of and want to talk about is more philosophical in nature. Is this just me grown up? There's nothing wrong with writing a philosophical-esque blog, but I miss the funny side and feel like that's what this blog has been about from the onset... the random, everyday occurrences that I find humor in. It saddened and yet intrigued and contradictorily (so not a word) in some ways excited, me to realize that maybe my way of thinking of things has changed and matured in the past 5 years. Third thought is really the connection of things... In realizing how my thought process or whatever you should call it has changed, (which remember, started with thinking of a blog topic), I thought more in depth about passions and how my passions have changed over the years... and if they have changed, was I ever really passionate about those old things in the first place? I came to the conclusion that there are passions, things of interest, intrigue and inspiration, and, for lack of a better word, affairs.

Oh yes, they are three distinct, entirely separate categories which I can place my "hobbies" into with ease. In going with my new turn to philosophy, let's start with definitions. And because I like listing everything in my life let's do it in a list like fashion.

1. Passions: Passions never leave you; they are intrinsic to who you are and something you can not live without. I believe that most people have one "ultimate passion" that started at an early age and is held throughout life. Other passions can develop over time. If something is your ultimate passion, you know it- absolutely no doubts- you will be 80 years old and still obsessed. You know the lame mantra that is so typically overused and paraphrased by way too many people.... if you can't stop thinking about something, it's the first thing you think about when you wake up and the last thing you think about before you go to bed, then it's your passion? I think if this holds true for a solid length of time, I'm talking years, then it's a passion. Anything less than that solid, currently undefined, length of time and it could be an affair, we'll get to affair in mention #3.
   
   I know my ultimate passion and it's no surprise to people who know me. Since I was 8 years old I have been obsessed with musical theatre. I will see absolutely any production at any level of experience, if only to learn more about my favorite art. I've followed performers, composers, lyricists, directors, choreographers, like a religion. And I KNOW that 60 years from now I will still go through NYC withdrawals in a matter of weeks after visiting Broadway. No questioning, no doubting, this is my ultimate passion.
   
   And in all honesty I think I only have one other passion, and I say I think because it's currently developing. I believe my other passion is choreography. I had absolutely no respect for choreography as an art form in and of itself prior to 3 years ago. If anything, it was something I rolled my eyes at. I won't go into the whole "turn my perspective around" moment again, but in the past three years I have found myself unable to stop creating choreography. When listening to the radio, whether or not I leave the station on or change it depends on if I could see myself choreographing to the particular song on at that moment... if I can, I instantly start thinking about steps. I'm not kidding, choreography guides my radio listening. Throughout the day I think about new moves to the soundtrack of silence from my office. It's something I literally CAN NOT stop thinking about. And this has majorly influenced my viewing of musical theater as well. Suddenly my favorite thing about a show is its unique choreography, or on the other end, I'll end up overly critical of shows that are, in every other way, remarkable, but where the choreography is tired and unoriginal. It's funny to me because I never really saw musical theater as a "prime spot" to feature unique choreography. Musical theater dance, stereotypically, has the sparkle and the jazz and the tricks meant to impress... not innovative choreography and dancing. If that's what you wanted you go and check out any of the many professional modern dance companies. I think I'm getting off track. And I think what I was trying to say here is that I've found beautiful choreography in unlikely places, I'm seeing it everywhere. And to be clear, by beautiful I mean odd, odd inspires me and odd is beautiful. The musical theater dance reference was just an example and a way to bring together my two passions.
   
   Both of my passions I enjoy partaking in myself as well as observing. I don't think you need to be a partaker for it to be a passion, but I do think you need to be a partaker for it to be your ultimate passion. For example, lots of people are passionate about music, but not all of these people are musicians, songwriters, singers, etc. However, for something to be an ultimate passion you must love it so much that to not partake would kill you. You don't have to make it a career, you don't have to do it regularly, you don't have to be good at it (I have a great example I won't disclose here). But you've meddled in it and enjoy every second that you are meddling.
   
   
2. Things of interest, intrigue and inspiration: These are the things you enjoy reading about, watching tv/movies about, and are pretty much a constant interest in your life. They just make you feel happy. Mine make me feel kind of nostalgic, or maybe the whole "warm & fuzzy" thing is a better description, but they have that same sense of excitement and warmth as opening a box you found in your attic of old keepsakes, untouched and unseen for years. (Lamest description ever right there) I have a few of these... some will sound random and bizarre until I explain: numbers/logic, food, makeup, movies, scents.
   
   Numbers and logic, logic and numbers. Mentioning it here made me instantly think of a professor at Wheaton who I never knew very well and yet who said to me in a conversation (obviously it was said during a conversation) "so your major is math... is that really something you love?" It was a question full of disbelief and doubt. Not disbelief in the "everyone else in the world is afraid of and detests math, so I can't comprehend how someone could love it" kind of way, but disbelief in the "you seem so passionate and talented in other areas, but yet you chose math. i don't get it" kind of way. I replied with a "yes I love it" not because I love math in and of itself but because it's honestly all I would have wanted to study. I would have much preferred studying math to art or theater or psychology or anything else. There is definitely an innate love of logic and numbers in me. I love when things work out and there's a solution, I love solving puzzles, I try to systematically make sense of random things that are largely nonsensical. And parts of all of that are in math. I don't call it a passion because it's not something I find myself constantly thinking about. But I will always be intrigued by new puzzles; I will always enjoy carrying out everyday calculations (like the ratio of steps to my bus stop to the number of seconds it takes to walk it, graphed out over time- done in elementary school); I will always enjoy mapping things out in an effort to transform random information into concise stories (like the time I tried to create a venn diagram of sorts to determine groups for one of my dances based on individual dancers' strengths), and I will always be a mathy/logic nerd at heart.
   
   Food... I could spend all day watching the food network or reading Gourmet magazine. I'll even read restaurant reviews for random places throughout the country. One of my favorite "unwind" things at Wheaton was to sit in the dining hall (that's not the food interest related bit, no worries), and read the food section of the Boston Globe. It's typically the only part I read. I don't enjoy cooking, just eating, and clearly hearing about food, innovative recipes, etc. I've had one true fine dining experience, (because I still can't justify spending so much money on food), and I still find myself constantly thinking back to it. Food is definitely something that interests, intrigues and inspires me.
   
   There's not much to say about makeup other than that I constantly find myself visiting sephora.com (or spending hours in the store) browsing through new products and dreaming about purchasing it all. I have 16 makeup related websites in my bookmarks, ranging from brand specific like covergirl.com to the more product review, news, makeup swap, message board free-for-all type of sites like makeupalley.com. I got depressed when I got a full time job and had to face the fact that I had to wear natural looking makeup rather than my normal, wear it all, try everything, it always washes off, approach. As a result whenever I'm not in work I go overboard and look ridiculous.
   
   Besides makeup my other constant splurge, make me feel good, impulse type of purchase are dvds. I don't over-analyze movies or get into deep conversations about how so and so film was ground-breaking in its camera technique or use of lighting or anything like that, but I really enjoy all types of movies. I've watched and loved all genres, including foreign films and silent films. It's one of my personal goals to watch all of imdb.com's top 250 movies of all time before I die. I don't do it to be cultured and I'm no movie snob, one of my favorite movies is the horrendous Simply Irresistible and you know I was first in line to see Confessions of a Shopaholic, but I just love movies. They make me content.
   
   Last on the list I believe was scents. This is largely related to beauty, and I guess food too, though not necessarily. I love researching about perfumes and know all about top notes, middle notes and base notes; I love reading about the science and history behind it all and I know that my preferred fragrance family is oriental woody, rather than any of the florals, softer orientals, mossy or dry woods, or citrus, green or water "fresh"s (I also know that there are multiple ways of grouping families of scents, including one by the French perfume committee, which is an actual group). But my love of scents goes beyond perfumes. And no, it's not just enjoying the smell of freshly baked bread either, though I enjoy it as much as anybody. I can say that my favorite article in any magazine is one that pertains to scent. It's a common topic... why we're attracted to certain scents, how scent is related to memory, how smells can effect your mood (arometherapy anyone?)... type of article sound familiar? I even picked up the current $5 issue of Vogue almost entirely because when flipping through it I saw an article with two giant paintings of a nose and a title that read something like "The marketing of scents". The title wasn't actually that lame and it didn't even have anything to do with marketing, more like... scented air in Vegas and custom perfumes or something, and it's bugging me that I can't find the article online... I'll just replace with the real title later when I get home and have the article in front of me.
   
   So yes, if there's something you can't read/hear/see/experience enough of, but it's not something you think about constantly, I'd say it fits in here, to the "things of interest, intrigue and inspiration" category.
   
   
3. Affairs: Affairs are things you try out... fall in love with for a period of time but then slowly fade away. In this category are a lot of the things you might have said you were passionate about when you were younger. Affairs come and go, but you always have a soft spot for them. (I feel like I'm writing the results to the end of a quiz or something... "Your color personality is brown. You are grounded, down to earth and appreciate the small things in life...")
   
   I'd say I've had two affairs. haha... I'm still immature enough to find that phrase slightly amusing in this context. Anyways, they would be art and poetry. There was a period of time where I wanted to be an artist and a period of time (even through college) that I wanted to be a poet or writer.
   
   The art story I find oddly entertaining... I loved art in elementary school and even took private art lessons for several years. I continued to take art in school when it was no longer required and considered it equal in level to my love of singing and dancing. Then came time for high school... the first time in my life I wouldn't be able to take both art and choir. By this time I had stopped the private art lessons and taken up private voice lessons instead... since I was just starting to get involved in actually performing in musical theater. I decided to try out slash apply for the honors level choir and the honors level art class, figuring I'd let fate decide which path I chose if I got into one but not the other (too conceited to think I wouldn't get into either, which of course is what happened. hah). But it was still a turning point. Because I realized I loved singing so much, and was so disappointed to have not made it in the honors choir, that I would skip a year of History and instead take the "normal", elective level choir as well as a Voice class for credit at school in order to make my way in with the choir teacher and improve enough to make it into honors choir next year (which I did). So even though I had the opportunity to (if I really wanted) skip History and take an art class and choir, I chose two singing classes. And since then I haven't picked up a paintbrush or a piece of charcoal. Looking back, I think art was one of those things I did because I was good at it and I enjoyed being good at something and to look at what I created... not something I genuinely loved the process of doing. It's funny though that something that was once so big a part of my time and life and that I did enjoy has faded out. Now I'm confident if I were to pick up a set of pastels again I would have no idea what to do. It definitely doesn't make me feel inspired.
   
   Other one, like I said, is poetry. And this is a big one. I've always loved writing poems and genuinely thought I had a shot at being published in something besides the state papers and school publishings. I knew from about 9th grade I wanted to major in math and for a long time part of me wished I could do creative writing instead, but I wasn't confident in that as a logical career path. At least, I was certain I would do a creative writing minor. As I got older and high school was ending and college was starting I realized I wasn't writing as much.... what used to happen naturally and I'd have to pull out a scrap of paper while on the bus to jot down an idea was now coming in gaps measured in months. I don't know if it has to do with the fact that poetry was a huge outlet for me... I'd often write while crying about something or because I was feeling extremely hurt or scared.... and that by the end of high school I was feeling a lot better about my life so those emotions weren't there as much, but there was definitely a decrease in the writing. Then I took a poetry writing class at Wheaton and what happened? I ended up dropping it three-quarters through the semester. I hated being told when to write or what/how to write and I hated having my poetry critiqued. Things that were meant to inspire made me feel constricted. And I felt like everyone else in the class thought of me as an amateur in comparison because I was a math major amongst the english folk. I dropped the class in a fear that it would make me hate poetry. Ironically, while I do not hate it, I literally never write anymore. I think the last time I wrote a poem was maybe two and a half years ago... and I only wrote it because I thought to myself "hey, you haven't written a poem in awhile, let's sit down and write one". Another "passion" virtually gone.

It's funny to me because based on these definitions I've given here dance and singing aren't even included. I know they're related to musical theater and choreography, but they're really separate. I love dancing, I love singing, but they're not things I constantly think about and they're not things I follow (I will very rarely pay to see a dance performance or a vocalist, and if I do I often sit there thinking "I wish I spent this money to see a musical instead"). In other words, they're things I love to participate in much more than watch. I think why I love musical theater so much is because I get to dance, I get to sing, I get to act (which I also love, but aspects of it terrifies me), and it's always in preparation for a show (and I love performing). With dance there's the technique classes and long preparations for a show whereas for a musical it all happens usually in a matter of weeks, which means less wait time until you're on stage performing. Maybe I should have made a fourth category of things you enjoy but don't obsess over. Isn't it funny that two of my biggest loves fit into this "other" category?

So yeah, I don't know. I was just thinking about a lot of things. Things you may call passions really aren't, and things change over time, with a select few remaining constant. I guess I'll continue pondering... this was a long blog and really poorly written. I can see my senior year expository writing teacher having a heart attack at it's longwindedness. But I had an urge to express my more philosophical thinking, rather than force another attempt at a funny post.

So yesterday I went into New York all by my lonesome to spend the day in the city. I left at 6:15 in the morning, got back at 2:00 the next morning and had plenty of fun all by myself. I frequently do this, simply because I am addicted to the city. If I haven't been there for a month I start to go through withdrawal, three months is pretty much my breaking point and then I will plan a day to go in by myself. So yesterday was my breaking point. My mom calls me "an odd duck" for going there alone, but I really don't mind it.

So I get into the city and start walking immediately to M&M World on Broadway for the Shrek musical lottery. I've wanted to see Shrek since it first came out late this past fall, mainly for its cast. I fell in love with Brian D'Arcy James, who plays Shrek, 3 years ago when I first came across the recording of The Wild Party, and since then I have seen him in everything he's performed in. He is brilliant. Then there's Sutton Foster, who's a big deal in musical theater land, and who I also loved until I saw her the other year in Drowsy Chaperone. Sure she's got talent, but she doesn't thrill me on stage. But she too I thought was worth seeing in this. Then, finally there's Chris Sieber as Lord Farquaad and John Tartaglia as Pinocchio who are both hilarious actors. These 4 together in 1 show made it worth seeing. Plus, the musical had potential because the movies were very funny. Anyways, if you've never done a Broadway lottery normally there are hundreds of people there all vying for about 14-24 tickets, winners are drawn by a lottery system. Well, I was happy to see only 5 other people there trying to get these tickets for both the matinee and evening performances. The lady still went through the process of spinning the tickets around in her lottery machine thing even though it was more than obvious we were all winning. Why, I don't know. Needless to say, I got my front row tickets for $25 for the matinee. Woo-hoo for me. Next on my list of things to do was find myself cheap tickets for an evening performance. I made my way to the theaters for In the Heights, Jersey Boys and Mamma Mia (3 of the most regularly sold out shows on Broadway) to see if I could get standing room tickets (which are only sold if the performance is sold out). None of these performances were being close to sold out, I was informed, so there was no shot of them selling me standing room tickets. I began to wonder if I would notice emptier theaters than normal due to the recession, if these three shows had "no chance" of selling out. Anyways, I then walked my way over to Mary Poppins to ask for a student ticket. Got one no problem, was told I could get as many as I wanted at the student price (even though I KNOW their policy is one ticket per student ID) and again thought about how hard the recession must be hitting broadway sales. (By the way, "my student ID" is actually that of Laura Peters. haha. She had lost hers, got a new one, found the lost one, had 2, and then gave me one so I could continue to see broadway shows at a cheaper rate for the next 2 years). So yes, I had my two show tickets, now what to do....

I decided to go walk around Central Park. In all of my visits to NYC I have NEVER been to Central Park. So even though it was in the teens, degree wise, and the park wouldn't be as "blossom-y" as if I went to visit in the spring or summer, I decided to go explore. I'm very happy I did. I walked around fairly aimlessly and ended up seeing quite a lot along Central Park's south end. I was amazed at how instantly the city noises went unheard once in the park and at how relatively un-people filled it was. Some people think I'm nuts going to the city alone and how it's not safe and blah blah blah... but I always think how there are 180000 people around so I'm not really worried. In Central Park someone could have very easily come up to me and taken my purse or taken me somewhere with no one else knowing. I wonder if it's like that during the warmer times. So I saw the Cop Cot, pond, Wollman rink, empty carousel, baseball fields galore, the snow covered Sheep Meadow, the bandshell and Bethesda Terrace... and I walked through the Children's Zoo quite unintentially on my way back. I spent a good 2.5 hours in the park just walking around. At one point I bought some of those Nuts 4 Nuts things. I felt kind of odd because I think of it as such a tourist treat but I like how they taste so I got them anyway. I walked around a bit to find the perfect bench right in the sun and sit down with my sugary almonds. A squirrel passes by and well, squirrels are my favorite rodent, so I fed him one of my almonds. Big mistake. Sure, he took it and ate it right in front of me, looking cute all the while. However, I was quickly reminded of that "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie" book because that squirrel would not settle for just one almond. He jumped up on the bench and slowly, creepily inched his way closer to me... close enough to the point where if I just extended my hand I could have picked him up. Well, I had a horrendous image of this squirrel jumping on my lap and grabbing the bag of nuts from my hands so I quickly got up and left. So much for my sunny bench. Stupid squirrel. Of course, 3 minutes later I see a baby squirrel and toss him a nut.

On my way leaving the park I passed by this sign that I thought said "DANCERS (next line something in this sexual script, then) Men at work above" and I thought to myself... hmm... dancers, men at work above... there must be like a male strip club in one of the upper levels of this building... that's an odd way of advertising for it... "men at work". Then I re-read and realized it said "DANGER (still didn't catch the sexy script words) Men at work above". Sure enough, there were, quite obviously, 5 or so construction workers one level up on the outside of the building. I think I read it the first way because as I was leaving the park I heard one guy say to another "So they were all topless, I mean, all nice looking women", so I had strip joint on the mind. I wish I had taken a picture of the sign. Or at least deciphered the script writing. Who would write something in a sexual script on a Danger sign anyway?

So after my Central Park initiation with the hungry squirrel and wrong reading of the Danger sign I went to go see Shrek. Like I said, front row. Which for this particular show was unfortunate because the Lord Farquaad guy does the whole show on his knees and I couldn't get the full effect of the costume, but anyways. Talent was good.... Pinnocchio and the woman doing Gingy sounded IDENTICAL to the movie and Chris Sieber stole the show as Lord Farquaad. Hilarious. The songs were catchy (I left the theater with one stuck in my head for the rest of the day) and it had some moments that were particularly funny. All in all though there was something missing. The theater was only 1/4 full. I actually felt bad for the actors because the applause sounded so freaking pathetic after each song. One-third of the 1/4 full theatre was made up of visually impared children. ABC news was there doing some special on it. They gave all of the kids a listening device where some woman was dictating the whole show to them. It was nice, except for the fact that they were all right behind me and asking questions loudly to their parents the whole time about what was happening on the stage. I tried my best not to mind.

The highlight of the show for me was at the curtain call. haha. I'm about to sound like a giddy teenage fan fanatic but I don't care. So they take their bows and then like dance around the stage for 30 seconds or so before the curtain goes down. The entire time Brian D'Arcy James is looking right at me, making faces and dancing towards me. I was cracking up slash dying on the inside, because like I said, I love him. In the next ten minutes as I waited by the stage door I created a whole scene in my head. I imagined telling him how I've seen him in four things and how I think he is brilliant, him asking which 4, me telling him and then him catching me in a lie. See, I would have told him "Well, let's see, now I can say I've seen you in Shrek, and I've also seen The Apple Tree, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, and Wild Party" and then he would have said "Are you sure, Wild Party? I think I recall you saying you never got to see Wild Party". See, in my dream scene scenario he remembered talking to me for 20 minutes after Dirty Rotten Scoundrels (from over a year ago) about how much I loved the Wild Party and so wish I had the chance to see him in it. See, we had actually talked for about 20 minutes at the stage door once, about the Wild Party and Andrew Lippa and he asked if I was an actor, because it was unusual to see someone who spoke so passionately about such a little known show and I looked like I might be a performer, and etc and etc.... It was to the point where at the end of it I actually pictured him asking if I wanted to get a cup of coffee or something. haha. So as I'm envisioning this whole scene of him remembering me and that's why he was dancing towards me at the curtain call I realized it was the matinee performance and he probably wasn't leaving the theater so I probably shouldn't wait at the stage door. I asked the door guard person and he confirmed that Brian D'Arcy James, as well as Sutton Foster, don't leave after the matinee when there is an evening performance. I left smirking on the inside at all of the other people waiting at the door for Sutton Foster's autograph, wondering how long they would wait before they realize she's not coming out. (I felt the same way waiting for Brian D'Arcy James as I did when waiting for Ruthie Henshall.... I knew everyone else there was waiting for someone else (Sutton Foster/Kristin Chenoweth) and I was the only one who knew better). So I didn't get to see Brian D'Arcy James again. Oh well....

Next I got dinner at some cheap Thai place that was really good and cost me $15 for an app, dinner and tip. I was happy. Then I spent some time in Sephora and Virgin Megastore who was having a closing sale.... their idea of a closing sale is everything 10% off.... when full price averages $27.99 per dvd. No thanks. Then I went to Mary Poppins where I was more than pleasantly surprised. I've now seen 4 Disney musicals and Mary Poppins was by far the best. It was obviously better than Little Mermaid, which is the only one I can say probably wasn't worth seeing, but I also think it was better than Beauty and the Beast, which has like a cult following of Disney lovers, and even Lion King, deemed by many the best of broadway. The set was magnificent and I LOVED the choreography and dancing. I was happy to see it wasn't Disney-fied choreography but actually fairly unique. And the woman playing Mary Poppins was in a word, incredible. She's from England so this was her Broadway debut and her voice is superior to most performers I've seen and comparable to only a small handful of others (off the top of my head Audra MacDonald, Patti Lupone, Ruthie Henshall, Julia Murney and Kristin Chenoweth). That's right, she goes above and beyond many modern favorites like the previously mentioned Sutton Foster, as well as others like Idina Menzel and Kelli O'Hara. If she stays in America I think she could be huge, though I'd rather she remains relatively unknown and can stay one of my secret little-known favorites. I could not have been more surprised at how much I enjoyed Mary Poppins. That show and Brian D'Arcy James made my trip worthwhile. And I spent less than $100 for the whole day, train ticket and all. Love it. Can't wait to go back the next time my withdrawal hits an all time low.

I've been thinking about begging for money... not me personally, though a few extra bucks would be nice. No, I mean others I witness begging for money. It's hard for me not to think about it when everyday on my way home from work the same guy (who is clearly employed, considering he's always dressed in different jeans and tops with a construction vest and hat) asks if I can spare $3.75 for his train ride. I don't get it... if you can't afford to take the train everyday, then don't. I don't know how he expects to get $3.75 from people EVERY DAY and count on it to get to and from wherever it is he's going/coming from. And I don't know what it is with me, but I'm always the only one I notice him asking. If I say no every other day, I'm going to say no today too. I'm sorry, but when you beg like this you get no sympathy from me. True, I don't know his story. True, considering I only see him asking me it may be some pathetic way at trying to talk to me (haha... trying to get someone's attention by begging them for money). But still, I don't sympathize with him.

So this made me think about effective methods of begging. In my short 22 years on this here planet I've come across dozens and dozens of beggars. Some are definitely more effective in their technique and are more likely to get mine (and probably others) money... even if it's only some of the change that's loose at the bottom of my purse. (SIDE NOTE: please people, don't get all PC on me here and declare me a horrible person for discussing this the way I'm about to or even for just the topic of the blog. Sometimes it's the overly PC people who get on my nerves more than those who are close-minded and just completely speak their point of view. Obviously, I'm also speaking humorously about this here... and don't get all "it's not something to joke about" on me either. Quick vent. Anyways...)

So like I said, the guy at the train station everyday who is clearly employed and asks for money everyday will not be getting a penny from me. I do not sympathize with him whatsoever. Also, if you're on the side of the road with a sign or a bucket for money 99 times out of 100 I wouldn't give you a penny either. Call me whatever you want, but I can't help but wonder if the money they get goes straight to drugs or alcohol... and there's no way I will help fund that. I would be more than willing to buy them some food, but after one time when I bought a pizza for someone with a "will work for food" sign and had it thrown back in my face, that isn't likely to happen now either. I won't provide money... I will provide food... but now I have a constant fear that it will come across the wrong way or won't be appreciated, so I don't give food either.

So what does work? Let me just say I had one case that was incredibly sneaky (at least to a non-world wise girl like myself) but clever enough that I didn't feel at all apprehensive about giving away a couple of dollars to the guy. I was in Chicago, by myself. I had just gotten a cab from the airport to the train station. The minute the cab pulled up to the train station someone opened the trunk and took out my bags... before I was out of the car. My gut instinct was that it was being stolen but when the cab driver acted as if this was entirely normal and I noticed the person wasn't running off with my luggage I relaxed. When I got out of the cab the person didn't ask IF he could carry my bags for me, he just asked "Will you be traveling with Amtrak or via the local trains, miss?" and I responded and he politely asked me to follow him. I didn't catch on to his scheme at all. I was thinking he was like... hired by the city of Chicago and that Chicago was just a much nicer city than any I had been to before. While he carried my bags he chatted with me very politely. When I got to where I had to be he handed me my bags and... well, to be honest I don't remember if he said something, paused and didn't leave, or held out his hand, but whatever it was it was clear to me he was looking for some type of a tip. Only then did I realize he was probably just some guy living on the streets looking for extra cash. But because he did something for me and was very polite, I didn't mind giving him a dollar. Probably everyone else would have seen through this instantly, but I didn't... and I don't mind.

You're also more likely to get something from me if you offer something in exchange... street performers, people who sell ANYTHING (you could even sell dandelions for $1 and I would buy them for the effort). Don't push it on me, like those people you see in the movies who start washing your car as you pull up to a stop sign. But if you make an effort, I'll spare some change.

If you can somehow manage to afford one really nice outfit, it would probably be a good investment. Only because people are MUCH more willing, I feel, to give to those who are not homeless, not hungry, but just forgot their wallet at home and are looking to get a train ticket so they're not stranded. Think about it, a guy who's dressed nice comes up to you and apologizes right away and says he's embarrassed that he just realized he's short by $2 to get a ticket... you're more likely to believe him and give him the money.... because he's not some "crazy homeless beggar" (I swear, I didn't mean that to be mean... just trying to explain the extreme of what people might think. Here's where the PC warning really comes into play). I was even in this situation once as the beg-ee. Granted, it probably helped that I was a teenager and obviously scared out of my wits but still.... I took the T in Boston for the first time, completely alone. And stupidly, I only brought exactly how much money I needed. Well, I didn't transfer at the right spot and ended up at the end of the line... which line I don't know, but I was way off. I needed $4 to get back to where I was supposed to be. It was nighttime, nearly empty and I was freaking out. My plan was to go up to different groups of people who seemed approachable and ask for the $4, explaining the situation. I only had to ask one person. See what I mean? If you were able to pull off faking this type of situation as a beggar I bet you'd make lots of money. It's not honest, but it's effective.

Speaking of not honest, on this really lame TV show I watch, even though it's awful, contestants had to come up with the best new outfit when only given $15. Some of them went up to people on the street and said they were raising money for a charity and then used the money to help them get a better outfit. If you can pull of this situation as a beggar, it's even more dishonest but even more effective. Or you could always pull children into it somehow. Get them to do the begging for you, pretend you have a kid, etc etc.... children make people want to give money. According to Slumdog Millionaire blind children who sing work best.

There are certain methods of begging that are more effective. Basically, the more dishonest you are or the harder you try to give something back the more likely you are to get others' money. This blog is pretty shameful, but it's what my imagination ran away with, thinking about my Stamford train guy. So I shared.

I'm not going to lie... I cheated in order to find inspiration for this blog. Truth be told, nothing really amusing has happened to me lately. It's rather depressing. So, I decided to google "funny things that happen to everyone" to see if I found something interesting to blog about. (It's so pathetic that I've come down to googling for blog ideas. Where did all my insightful creativity go? Slash what happened to all the interesting things that used to happen to me?)

So in my google quest I found a website entitled "Funny Things You Shouldn't Laugh At But Do Anyway". Somehow it had two titles and was also called "18 Things Everyone Finds Hilarious But Shouldn't". I want to know how they earned a two-title fame. So here was the list.... my comments slash random tangents are interspersed in orange. Of course they're in orange.

1. Ugly babies
Now, maybe I just haven't been around enough babies because I try to avoid them as best I can... but I don't recall ever seeing any ugly babies. I know, I know... "all babies are beautiful". But to me, all babies are terrifying. When they're really young they don't talk, but you can tell in their eyes they are taking everything in and they're working extra hard to absorb everything and gain attention and love... this may be wonderful to most people but the fact that these are little people, observing you unashamedly and unable to talk completely freaks me out. It's like young children (fully capable of speech at this point) who will turn and just look at you... some people enjoy making faces at them to get them to smile, while I just want to coldly stare them down until they're afraid and look away. I hate staring. Back to babies, when they're older they're just crawling, noisy tornadoes. I don't know how to act around babies or children. They're like an odd necessity before you become a real person. It may surprise you to know that I actually want a large family and several children. What can I say, I'm a conundrum. Now that I wrote it, I don't think that word pertains to people.... let's change it to enigma. Anyways, even though I'm not a fan of babies or children, I don't laugh at ugly babies, so there's a positive to offset the negative. Next!

2. People who walk with something heavy in one hand and have to lean really far the other way to balance themselves.
It's funny, but the familiarity I have with this statement is only because it so often pertains to me being the one walking lopsided. I never notice others walking with something heavy in one hand and having to lean really far the other way to balance themselves. And I'm a ridiculously observant slash people-watching kinda person. Am I missing out on something funny here by never being on the spectator side? I'm a bit relieved now to know others laugh at me when I look like this... it's oddly more securing to know it rather than wonder hmmm... are people staring at me and chuckling to themselves?

3. When someone turns around and goes back the same way they were coming.
Okay, here's another one. I do this constantly, but I rarely notice others doing it. Actually, what I do when I realize I'm walking the wrong way is keep walking that way for a bit, stop and pull out a cellphone, pretend to call someone, pause while it's "ringing" and then casually start strolling back in the other direction as if I'm just walking around while on the phone... even though no one is on the other line and it's just a way of turning around without being so obvious (or maybe it's overly obvious, hah). Or I'll do the opposite and make it ridiculously obvious... I'll do like a mime move of "Oh my gosh! I completely forgot something and have to go back!" so that it's more of a sympathy thing than an odd embarassed person turning around. I'm so bizarre.

4. Cops riding anything except police cars: Bikes, Bicycles, Boats, and especially Horses.
Here's the first one I can somewhat agree with. Cops on bicycles or horses do make me laugh. It's like... what's the point? Do horses really make police escapades more efficient? And bicycles ring in as something childish and slow. You've got the shiny car with the twirling red lights you so often abuse to speed by people when there's no emergency. Use it! And I've never seen a cop in a boat but that would be very amusing. Especially if they were behind the steering wheel... or sitting in the crow's nest with a telescope.

5. People who say stupid things but really mean them.
You mean genuinely stupid people who aren't just sarcastic? I don't laugh at them because I am often that person. I don't mind people laughing at me with that stuff though... I've come to terms with my stupidity. Just yesterday I asked someone if a BB gun was like a paintball gun or a cap gun or a real gun. I heard a news story about a father shooting his son in the bum with a BB gun and didn't understand why it was such an issue. I thought it was a child's play thing. Don't worry... I won't buy your child a BB gun, or shoot him in the bum with one.

6. Girls that wear belts that have no function and are not even attached to anything.
Okay, I've done this, we've all done this. Sometimes it's about fashion and not about practicality. No use in laughing about it unless it looks utterly ridiculous. Which sometimes it does.

7. Cats wearing clothing
I laugh at dogs wearing clothing. Any animal wearing clothing is amusing and ridiculous. Let's not limit it to cats.

8. People who animatedly sing in their car.
This I am 110% guilty of. My car time is my vocalization time and I don't care how loud or animated I am. I secretly wish that someone will hear me and think it's a CD I have and not me singing. I'm sure I've been caught, both visually and auditorially. I flatter myself by thinking they're more impressed than amused. I'm sure it's not true. I sound so freakin full of myself. hah

9. Fannypacks.
They're amusing, of course. However, I rather admire people who use them because they don't care that they're amusing and "went out of style" 20 years ago. I see a fannypack on a hip and smile at the person... they're too cool for school.

10. Guys who drive with their shirts off.
This is always amusing in one of two ways... if they're attractive and muscular it's clear they know it and want to show it. And if they're not then they're usually a mix-breed of the trucker/hick variety and frankly... they're feeling the heat from the sun and don't care what hangs out to gain some more comfort.

11. When you tell someone to watch out and they don’t.
This would be amusing if I told people to watch out. But I prefer to say nothing and then laugh when the inevitable happens. One word-- schadenfreude.

12. People who have full protective gear on when they ride a bicycle or rollerblade (kneepads and everything).
This IS funny. It's funny to me to see just a helmet even though I would always wear one and I know it's the law. It just screams "I'm on the lookout for anything bad to happen to my head!". My ultimate favorite though is people who wear helmets with a headlight on it, a la a miner, when walking at night. Or during the day when walkers wear the bright orange, construction worker vest thing with reflectors. I love it. Keeps me young.

13. When you catch someone talking to themselves.
This is also funny, but unfortunately I'm often on the other side of this one too. I'm a compulsive self-talker. The worst is sometimes I'll be singing a song in my head and then one of the words will come out... so it appears like I just sang a random word. This is most likely to occur in my otherwise silent office. I try to play it off my coughing afterward. It doesn't work.

14. Stupid car horns.
Like horns that play a tune when you hit it? That would be awesome! I've never heard one in person, but I'm sure I would be completely envious rather than filled with laughter. I really enjoy obviously nerdy things. Now, if we're not talking tunes... if we're talking like Little Miss Sunshine horn that doesn't stop, that's just annoying. It might get to the point where it's so ridiculous that you laugh at it before remembering it's really just annoying and not all that funny.

15. Clowns and mascots. Not because they are funny, but because they are sad.
I can relate to this one. The people behind the clowns and mascots are making a fool of themselves for attention when they know the truth is that no one enjoys them anyways.

16. When someone turns around to say something to the person they are with and find that they aren’t there anymore.
God, I wish I witnessed these things more often! Why am I always the one doing these awkward things instead of getting to see and laugh at them! I would probably laugh at this. If one of my friends will purposefully do this next time I'm around, I would appreciate it. I want to know if I'd find it funny.

17. Anytime someone runs into something
This is always funny. Probably the only one on the list that makes you violently want to laugh out loud, and the one of the list that it would be least appropriate to do so. I constantly find myself in a situation where minutes afterward I'm still trying to bite my lip to keep a laugh from spilling out. Here's another place where sometimes I can't help it and then I try to cover it up with a cough. Know that I very rarely genuinely cough. It's quite often an attempted cover.

18. The plural of "salami"
Okay... I did not know the plural of salami so I proceeded to look it up. I got three variations. One place said "salami" was both singular and plural. I agree with this. It's what sounds correct. Another site said "salami" was the plural form of "salame" while the last said "salami" was singular and "salamis" was plural. I don't know what to believe. But I don't find any amusing.

Hello again all. So I take the train in to work everyday. Primary reason? Originally it was to save money because gas was nearly $5/gallon and it's 36 miles from home to work. Theoretically it also saved time, but I don't know how much this is really true. With traffic the commute can take an hour and a half... picking this or a 35 minute train ride isn't really that hard of a decision. But then take into account driving to the train station, waiting for the train, waiting at the Stamford train station for the shuttle, taking the shuttle to the office, etc. etc. and it adds up. It's pretty much an hour and 25 minute trip from door to door. So with gas cheaper now why do I still take the train? Simply, it is my "me time". I get to rest my eyes, let my mind wander into scaringly random yet completely enjoyable chains of thought and read. I've literally read more books in the past 8 months than I have throughout my entire life... averaging about one a week. Lately I've gotten into rereading books I had to read in high school. My theory is that anything that is ever assigned is never enjoyable. I could be asked to read Harry Potter for a class and because it's something I have to do, I will with near certainty hate the book. So let's give these classics a try again, with a new outlook. I read Pride & Prejudice and absolutely loved it. Other Jane Austen books are now on my wish list. It's so humorous to me because I clearly remember it being one of the books I hated reading the most in 9th grade. Currently I'm reading A Tale of Two Cities which I remember enjoying in jr. high. While I'm reading these on the train I constantly wonder if others think I'm a highschool/college student reading these for a class, one of those nerdy book people who reads the classics and non-fiction instead of chick-lit or thriller novels, or an intellectual whose taste in books is attractive in a slightly intimidating, yet intriguing way. I hope to come across as the latter but feel like 7 times out of 10 I'm perceived as one of the first two. Anyways, this is a divergent from what I really want to get to here. I always do this. Come here with a topic in mind, mean to offer up a small introduction to it and get on a complete side track... wait until you see how little this whole reading thing has to do with my main topic, and the mentioning of why I take the train has literally nothing to do with it at all. All I had to say as an introduction is that I take the train. For someone who doesn't talk much, my mind certainly is always in overload and apparently it comes out when I freewrite like this. Anyways...

So I'm on the train coming home last night and I'm reading A Tale of Two Cities. I'm at the beginning where what's his face is acquitted and I'm fairly into it but I'm also observing things going on around the train while reading. I love people watching and the train is one of the primary people watching hot spots. First a guy sitting across from me drops his magazines, Men's Fitness, and hidden inbetween, Maxim. I pick them up for him and wonder if he's embarassed in his magazine choice and that a girl around his age picked them up for him. I mean, he DID have the Maxim with a barely-qualifies-as-a-bikini model on the cover hidden behind a Men's Fitness so as to conceal what he was actually reading. He soon loses my interest and I'm back to reading. Then, I'm overhearing a conversation between 3 older 20 somethings... probably 5 or so years older than me. Before long I was pretending to read my book and really concentrating my full attention on their conversation. They were talking about TGIF. I found myself totally absorbed by nostalgia and felt like I was a part of their reminiscing even though I was just an eavesdropper pretending to read a book.

First of all, the mere mention of all of these shows made me remember how much television I watched growing up. TGIF and SNICK were my obsessions. As they mentioned the various lineups I realized how many "seasons" of TGIF I went through as a child. The shows I remember watching were Full House, Family Matters, Step by Step, Perfect Strangers, Hangin with Mr. Cooper, Dinosaurs, Boy Meets World, and later on- Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Naturally when I got home I looked up when all of these shows aired on TGIF to see when my prime watching years were. I was SHOCKED to find out Perfect Strangers aired in 1990 and 1991 meaning I was 3 and 4 years old when I watched this. The sheer fact that I remember this show from so young an age amazes me. Eventually the good shows were replaced with the bad... it all started with Sabrina... Clueless came in there and Teen Angel and probably 3 or 4 other shows that lasted less than 10 episodes. Basically I stopped watching when Family Matters and Step by Step left and that's what these 20 somethings said too. I realized, through my internet research, that my TGIF watching lasted exactly as long my SNICK watching. Both expired in early 1997 for whatever reason... when I was 10. (This was the same time my parents got a divorce and now I can't help but wonder if there was some subconcious connection. I really think it was the change over to lame shows that did it though.) For SNICK I remember the Clarissa, Roundhouse, Ren & Stimpy and Are You Afraid of the Dark lineup the best... which also scares me considering I was around 5 and 6 then. And yes, I watched Alex Mack and All That and Kenan & Kel when they came around. But then there was Kablam and Shelby Woo and Allen Strange and SNICK and the big orange couch lost all appeal for me. Now my favorite TGIF shows are on Nick at Nite which really scares me since that was always the station for the "old tv shows" growing up.

Shoot, I'm on a tangent again.

Forget it, I'll give in to all of the tangents, and now confess what the topic here was supposed to be. My intention was to discuss what it is that's so connecting about reminiscing and why nostalgia is so enjoyable. Way back in the day nostalgia was viewed as a medical condition and a sign of depression. Now I think it is primarily comforting to people rather than painful and we all must confess that at times we get nostalgic and fantasize about going back to certain times. Certainly, we all enjoy reminiscing and thinking about things that happened years ago. I can't tell you how many times my cousins and I have tried to list out all of the episodes of Are You Afraid of the Dark that we remembered, how many times my friends and I discuss tamagachi's and pogs, the age we got our first CD player or that time Mrs. Moger fell into the pond. I still bring up Vlinks to everyone I meet, unable to accept the fact that it really was just an Orange, CT fad. (Essentially $80 walkie-talkies disguised as a cellphone with a 4 digit number that worked within a range of 3 blocks and became so popular they were banned from my elementary school... ). We feel connected to the past and to each other in remembering these stories. It's why I felt connected to these 3 20somethings even though I wasn't partaking in their conversation at all. Guarantee you're smiling right now remembering skip-its, slip and slides and crimping your hair. I've gone so far as to repurchase Polly Pockets I owned as a child, favorite Golden books that probably got sold for a nickel at a tag sale back in 1993, the complete collection of Barbie trading cards I used to reorganize constantly growing up, and everyone knows I own all the seasons of Are You Afraid of the Dark and Doug on dvd. I don't need all this stuff, but I feel like I do. Is it only childhood things that you reminisce on? Does it stem from wanting to reconnect to your carefree days of youth? (Lamest sentence ever right there) I have no idea why reminiscing is so enjoyable and nostalgia so comforting. But I certainly enjoy looking back.

As an end note I'd like to say that I think my tangents are often much more enjoyable than my main topics. I should stop thinking of main topics and just write whatever. Eh, over it.

Today I am living history. I'm not going to lie-- a friend said that to me. Though I would enjoy taking credit for "living history" I can't, simply because she will read this and yell at me. But living history I am. When I was younger I wondered a lot, about a lot of things. There were two "history-esque" things I always thought about:

1. We spent so much time in school learning about history and wars and yet I remember thinking that absolutely nothing "exciting" was going to happen in my lifetime. I naively thought then that everyone in the world was a pacifist and perfectly moral... after all, what we were learning about in school happened years ago, and certainly everyone learned from these wars and knew better now. There was no way a war would ever happen again. In my childish mind I secretly wished for something to happen so I could be a part of history.
2. I wondered if I would see an African-American president or a Female president in my lifetime. I wondered which would happen first, whether or not I saw either. I hoped to see both.

Well... naive wish number one came true seven years ago on September 11th. My immediate thought was guilt... for ever wishing for something bad to happen so I could "live in history books". Now, both wishes came true. I am living in history by voting the first African-American President into office. Funny how in my elementary school mind I couldn't live the stuff history books taught us without a war. I seemed to forget all about the civil rights movement, women's rights, and the most current battle-- LGBQTA rights. I couldn't comprehend that both wishes could come true at once. Now that they have, it's an incredible feeling.

When 9/11 first happened, I knew I was living in history then too. But to me, who knew nothing about the U.S. and world affairs, thought the attack was sudden and out of nowhere. A burst of hostility. And it was a tragic event. To be living through something positive, that I know has been only a dream for hundreds of years, is so rewarding. I heard people say that Barack Obama's race shouldn't matter at all in the election, so there's no reason to celebrate his win just because he is Black. I can somewhat agree with the first half but I have to strongly disagree with the second... first, the first half...

Only 19% of people polled said that race was a consideration in who they chose to vote for in this election. Is that 19% people who voted for Obama because he is black or 19% who voted for McCain because he isn't? I bet not too many people would admit that they didn't vote for Obama because of his skin color, but I would be retreating back to my childhood naivety if I said no one discriminated in that way anymore. 98% of African-American voters cast their ballot for Barack... do you really think that the percentage would have been that high if he were a white democrat? Me? I've been waiting 22 years to vote a black president into office. I'd be lying if I said no part of me voted for him because he is black. In fact, even though I think he is better suited for the presidency than John McCain, I can't honestly say that I would have chosen Obama over McCain if McCain were black and Obama white. Does that make me a bad American? The way I see it, African-Americans have been fighting long and hard in this country. If a candidate can make it so far as to gain their party's nomination, they have to have the ability to make a good President. So, so long as I don't hate the person running, I would probably choose a non-white candidate over a white one or a female over a male... at least for this first go around. 81% of voters said race wasn't a factor. But I bet it really was... at least to some extent.

On to the second... the fact that a black man won NEEDS to be celebrated. I know we live in a time where it shouldn't be an issue at all, it shouldn't be surprising, it shouldn't matter. But right now, today, it does. To see Jesse Jackson crying, explains it all. To the 106 year old daughter of a slave who cast her vote for Obama, it matters. It says so much about how our country has grown, and gives hope to the future. In several weeks time America will have an African-American President. That is something to celebrate.

So guess who has a real job in the real world making real money and paying very real bills? That's right, me. I was lucky enough to graduate with a full time position and unlucky enough to have to start 2 days after graduation. So what's this real world like, you ask? My mother said to me the other day (and I'm providing nearly an exact quotation) "Trishaaaa, I feel so bad for you. I feel like all of your dreams are over! You've always looked forward to college, got there and loved it, and now it's done. All of your friends at Wheaton aren't here. You loved dance, but dance is no more. All you have left now is work... for the rest of your life... same thing, every day. I feel so bad for you! Do you feel bad for you!?!?"


.........


Gee thanks, Mom. Nothing about marriage, or raising a family, or a producer seeing me walk down the streets of Milford and shouting "I have to put her on Broadway!", or the possibility of graduate school, or a career change, or... I don't know.... traveling! I myself prefer to keep a positive outlook. I have things to look forward to in life still! I'm only 22! If I didn't have things to look forward to I'd have a pretty miserable 60+ years ahead of me. Thanks for helping me keep my chin up Mom :-) So optimistic.

So how do I think my life is going? It's pretty good. I actually feel like an adult for the first time in my life and I don't think it has anything to do with the real job or living on my own. It's like it sprung up out of nowhere. All throughout college I would look at pre-teens and younger teenagers and feel like I could relate more to them than I could relate to "legit for real" adult-adults. In my mind I would think, "I remember what it was like to walk around giggling and worrying so much about how I looked to boys and trying so hard to fit in and all that silly adolescent stuff". But now when I see them all I can think is "Teenagers are so bizarre with all this stuff they do, worry about and obsess over. I can't understand it". Suddenly I feel more like a parent to them than an "older kid" reminiscing about youth. I always wondered if I would ever really feel like an adult and now that's it here, I know it's here. It's bizarre.

But like I said, I really don't feel like that has anything to do with all of the "out of college now" changes. So what about those changes... well, the big one is the job, the topic with which I started out this blog. I'm doing market research which in a non-pretentious nutshell is writing surveys and analyzing the data that comes back. I decided to apply for market research jobs about halfway through senior year when I realized I had no idea what I wanted to do. I've always taken surveys online to earn a little (very little) extra money and suddenly came upon the realization that someone must actually write these things and look at the results. Being a huge math nerd, I always wished I could see the data after taking a survey and play around with the numbers and their implications. One trip to google and I found out these people are called market research analysts. So I said "okay!" and applied for a bunch of these positions that had relatively little to do with math but I thought might be fun because "well, hey! I like surveys!". And when none of the actuary, statistician, logistics, transportation planning (aka more "mathy") job applications worked out I said to myself "okay Trisha. let's go for the survey thing because, quite frankly, it's your only offer and you need to work." Hooray for my logical thinking.

Now I'm at a job where me, the girl with social anxiety, answers the phones and at least once a week (professionally, so as not to taint our company's reputation) has to tell off solicitors. I do real market research stuff too, I swear I'm not just a "phone girl" secretary. It's just so amusing that I have to answer phones when perhaps my biggest phobia is Telephonophobia (real word). Let's just say I'm getting over that one quickly. I have to! I can't sit there in front of the phone for 19 minutes, tapping my foot and twisting my hair, getting up the nerve to call a client. I can't just let the phone aimlessly ring when I know that if I don't answer it by the third ring someone else will and then I'll be "that Trisha, shirking her duties". In my first five months here I've gone through some pretty, after-the-fact, hilariously awkward mishaps due to my lack of social competency. I'd share some here but I'm paranoid that someone I work with is as crazy as me and will google me, find my blog, read this, be horrified and either a) fire me, though that would be a huge overreaction to any of my stories, and now that I think of it, would never actually happen because my stories are ridiculous and embarrassing but don't actually involve me doing anything wrong... b) heinously judge me for my social oddities.... c) create awkward tension in the office because they know my stories, but I don't know they know and they don't want me to know they searched me and secretly read my blog.... d) both b & c. God, they have me talking in survey language. Except that's really not how it's done at all... I just thought it would be humorous if I said that. Eh, not so much.

My biggest hassle with this whole answering the phone thing is I can't even pronounce our company's name correctly. I say "Ah-sew-see-its" instead of "Ah-sew-she-its" because Associates is such a freakin hard word to pronounce. I created a pronounciation cheat-sheet post-it note that I keep hidden on my desk near the phone. Not really, that's a lie. But it would be funny if I did. I'm lying a lot today in a vain attempt to keep things funny.

The last paragraph has been removed for reasons of paranoia. So this is the blog's new ending.

So it's almost my graduation. THE graduation... cap and gown, entering the real world, you're done with school forever graduation. Well, unless of course graduate school is an option but I'm omitting the possibility of this minor flaw in my statement. As I sit down in my dorm room and think about the last 4 years as well as the remaining 71 years of my life (since I promised myself when I was 8 that I would live to be 92) I can't help but freak-out... smile too, cry a bit... actually I'm mostly excited about what's to come for me so I guess freak-out was a poor first word choice. Sorry about that. But at the same time, it is so sad. I realize I'm speaking the thoughts of every college graduate and there's absolutely no shock value to what I am saying but I don't care. I finally found a home at Wheaton and I couldn't be happier.

I look back at my post on Monday, June 28, 2004... the week of my high school graduation and smile. I hated high school... I don't miss it, never will and that's sad. I'm so happy now though to say that I had a great college experience... everyone needs a time and place in their life where they truly feel like they belong and for me it has been the past four years at Wheaton. It's especially important during the earlier years in one's life, no? Like, if you don't have a positive experience associated with a particular place and the people there before age 25 what a waste of childhood. You can have friends, boyfriends, family.... but to have a home away from home where you're comfortable being yourself and enjoy your experiences there.... I mean, that's important. I'm not being funny. I'm sorry. I think my years in college diminished my comedic thoughts. Not really actually.... that's a lie.... but what do you expect other than reflection when I'm two weeks from the end and the beginning of it all?

I actually started this hoping that some random funny thoughts would come pouring out of me, as usually happens when I start a blog topicless.... I'm a bit disappointed in myself. Oh well. Maybe if I just keep typing something will come to me.... though I do have a meeting in ten minutes and ten minutes isn't very much time to allow the creative process to take over. Speaking of creativity, I had my palm read this weekend. It was amusing. The guy, totally decked out in way too much hippie gear, looked at my palm and was like "WOAH! You're a writer. Right?" and I was like "uhhh...." Well that's a lie actually, I said yes to avoid a situation where he would ask me another question.... we know me with social interactions. Anyways, he's all like "I'm seeing major creativity in you... great imagination, great imagination". So at this point I'm tempted to tell him I'm a math major to see what he says, but I don't. Once again Trisha stifles her thoughts. Then he tells me I'm compassionate and I want to laugh out loud. I'm the most non-outwardly compassionate person I know... people tell me I'm stand-offish. But I keep my serious expression on and nod as he continues talking. He says I'm compassionate to the point where I'll let people walk all over me b/c I have a strong desire to please people... and I was like, okay, well that last bit is true... if that's how he defines compassionate I guess I am. Then he said to me "you're the type of person who when she says "how are you doing today?" you really are genuinely interested in their response" and I was back to wanting to laugh. I hate social conventions like asking people how they are b/c we all know no one really cares and is just being polite. He finished by saying I have a strong sense of relationships and I am mature beyond my years in terms of knowing what love actually is... b/c of my respect for marriage and innate understanding of true love I will have a very successful marriage. Now I realize he probably says this to every girl, but I almost started crying. Then again, I had about 3 liters of wine in me at this point, but.... yeah, my first palm reading experience was an enlightening one. And now it's time for my "meeting" aka math picnic. Look what I accomplished in the last ten minutes!!! A slightly more amusing tale than my original reflection on graduation! I'm a proud woman.

I like taking quizzes online. It's a good way to procrastinate... finding out what type of coffee I am (cafe latte), which zodiac sign I should be (Virgo), which Britney Spears I am (the sexpot)... you know the type. There are a thousand and ten websites that offer these silly quizzes. Yes, I admit it, they're silly and their results hardly qualify as profound representations of my personality or character. But I can't help it... they're fun! And addicting. My favorite quiz site actually offers "Ph-D Certified" quizzes which range in topic from "The 5 Factor IPIP Personality Test" (not sure what IPIP actually is, but it sounds impressive... apparently I'm unusually conscientious) to "How Sinful Are You?" (I will go to Hell because I'm overly guilty of envy), to "What Breed of Dog Are You at Work?" (Border Collie). Who knows how legit these Ph-D Certified tests really are, or what that even means. At this website that I love I've taken 161 quizzes.... what a waste of my life. But as I look at the list of all my results I can't help but think that what's displayed on my laptop screen actually IS a more than decent representation of who I really am. If you look past the sexpot and border collie type of results you will see a whole lot about me that most people don't know.... cumulatively, these results really do describe me. It's all rather amusing and kind of fascinating at the same time... after all, these are silly quizzes!!!

Anyways, my goal with this post wasn't just to list my various quiz results... which up until now is pretty much all I've been doing. My real purpose in this blog is to tell you about a particular quiz I took where I learned something about myself, but not from the results.

So we all know how facebook has added these ridiculous applications, many of which I admittedly have subscribed to. Well, one of them is called PersonalityDNA. Essentially your everyday, run of the mill, can find it on any of the other one thousand and nine websites, personality quizzes. It is however, slightly more impressive as it does not involve multiple choice but rather more innovative answering techniques which (may) provide more accurate results. Also, if friends take the quiz too you can then each take it for each other and see how well you really know your friend. It's quite enjoyable. Anyways, I subscribed to the application and took the quiz and it ruled me as a "faithful director"... the words themselves don't particularly fit me, at least I don't think so, but their description fit me to a tee (T?/tea?... never quite got the expression). So, after I first took the quiz I kind of forgot about it. Then, around a month or two later I decided to retake it and see if I got the same results. It is a long quiz, and like I said, it doesn't have a straight forward way of answering so I figured I'd probably get something new. But there it was again... faithful director! I was mildly impressed. What really struck me though was one question in particular....

It was a question where the result required a sliding scale. The question was "I often avoid unnecessary social interaction" and I had to put the little cursor thing where I thought it belonged on the scale from "agree" to "disagree". I never really know how to answer these types of social questions anymore because I'm very different now from how I was and I'm very different depending on who I am with. Although I am quite outgoing with my friends now, even a bit of an attention craver, I still get extremely anxious in a lot of social situations. So, without really thinking about it too much I just slid the cursor closer to "agree" saying that I often do avoid unnecessary social interaction. Then I paused. It didn't seem right. And here's what I realized... a lot of the time I welcome unnecessary social interaction... I'm often even the one to initiate it. I like going out places or being with friends. Here's the thing... it's the necessary social interactions that I try to avoid. Those are the ones I hate... picking up the phone to call and make an appointment, going into the post office to mail a package, answering a question when I'm called on in class. These things are necessities and they're the ones I hate. Isn't it strange how this simple quiz question which is basically meant to test how extroverted/introverted you are doesn't even scratch the surface of what it's meant to be asking? No wonder why I have a hard time answering the "social questions".... it's not as simple as whether or not I'm introverted or extroverted. I always thought of myself as introverted, but by the description I gave of myself I'm really an extroverted individual at heart with certain social anxieties. I'm rambling... I'm well aware. Like that IPIP quiz said, I'm quite conscientious. But this one quiz question made me realize a lot of things about myself and get me thinking.... and that's worth blogging about. Anyways, visit emode.com to find out what city matches your style, who you were in a past life, or even learn more about your subconscious self.

So... I'm out in Illinois, and I thought to myself.... I miss blogging. And the truth is, most of the time I don't miss it. Most of the time I keep myself busy enough to forget the part of me that ever found blogging "fun". But Illinois is no Connecticut or Massachusetts. Illinois begs people to blog, and I'll tell you why.

In New England there are a thousand temptations to keep one from accessing the computer other than to do work or check facebook. There, people lead busy lives where 20 minutes of downtime is 19 minutes too many. Personally, I could find a million ways to waste my time when I'm in zipcode 06477 or 02766. There are friends living only a lower campus away from you, 817 dvds to watch, 818 parties to attend, 7 nights a week to break into the dance studio and NYC is my next door neighbor with all of its excitement shooting up and down 7th Ave. Then you get to 61820.... Champaign, IL.... where there's corn.

I won't lie, it's better than I imagined. The small town I'm in (though it's actually a city and just feels like a small town) is rather cute. There's Green Street one block down from my apartment which has restaurants and shops and cute brick roads... the small part of this huge campus that I've seen is gorgeous and totally puts the Dimple to shame... there's the threat of a tornado appearing on any given day (and we all know it's my life long dream to see a tornado in person)... it's 800x less humid than CT in the summer... on the surface it's a pretty decent place. But if you leave my little 1/2 mile radius you get your stereotypical Midwest miles upon miles of corn and farmland. But I don't really care about that because I have no reason to wander further than a 1/2 mile from my apartment. Here's the real downer about being out here...

I have too much free time to know what to do with myself. The only thing worse than a lot of free time is its associated "slow pace" mentality. There's no rush, no excitement. Everyone out here seems to be the easy going, relaxed, "slow down and smell the roses" type. I need to be constantly on the go to not be bored... I need to feel like I have 80 things to get done when I know I only have time for 30 of them. My life on the third floor of an apartment complex on Bash Court is a far, far cry from the world I'm comfortable in. I have read 5 books in the past 2 weeks I've been out here... and I'm not a reader. I've taken to taking naps in the afternoon because I don't know what else to do with myself. At the rate I'm going with choreographing every day to keep myself busy I'll have 7 dances done by the end of the summer. My roommates are also in the math REU so it's nice living with other math nerds... we've decorated our living room walls with over 60 drawings we've done that use the 4 color theorem. It's great fun, but something I shouldn't have so much time to be doing. There's only so many afternoons I can spend on the quad, reading... so many nights I can spend coloring with four crayons. I know... I should cherish the down time that summer provides... my last summer before I hit the real world.... and I know it sounds contradictory, but downtime is no good unless you have something to do with it, friends to share it with. And I've never been lonelier out here.

My roommates are great. We bond over coloring and baking cookies (or eating cookies that just one of them baked). Every week we go to a different restaurant together and I'm inducting them into the world of I Love Lucy. But I need my boy... I need my Wheaton friends... I need my family... I need something TO DO with my summer.

I'm supposed to be doing math. Math research. Evolutionary Game Theory and Social Networks. ... and I do... do it. But we meet for 2 hours a day and then have reading to do... it's not very time consuming. We're starting to work on some individual research now, but it's still incredibly relaxed, "take your time" kinda "slow down and let it span out over the entire 8 weeks" sort of thing. I guess I have learned a lot... both about evolutionary game theory and the fact that I don't enjoy math research and don't want to do it again. But overall I'm less than loving my time out here. Everyone in my group is naturally brilliant and I feel like the ugly duckling.... or the equivalent of that like when dealing with geniuses and the one town idiot.

It will all be fine in the end... I'll write my research paper in TeX and be proud of my work and happy I went through the experience. 10 years from now I'll look back on that summer I lived in Champaign and think of what a great little town it was. I'll remember what fun it was to live with two girls as enthusiastic about math as me and laugh at how lame we were with our dozens of 4 color theorem drawings. But right now all I care about is the money I'm getting to do this. And right now the only theorem I've developed is this: the higher the first digit of a town's zip code, the more boring of a place it is to live. And right now I can't wait to go out to San Jose so I can see Rachel and then head home... and we know that's saying a lot if in San Jose I have to present at a conference. Oh life.

I took myself a half year vacation from blogging simply because, well.... i wasn't inspired. blog topics used to just come to me.... I'd be eating ramen or shampooing my hair and some random thought would pop into my head and i'd just think to myself "wow, that would make a great blog"; and thus a new blog post was born. but lately, i've had no such luck. it got to the point where i was sitting around during boring lectures in music class, thinking of possible blog ideas... and anything that needs to be thought about isn't genuine. thus my blog would be filled with insincere, unnatural, careless words. which i don't stand for. but today my friends, for the first time in nearly 6 months, i found myself once again thinking "wow, that would make a great blog". and this is where our story begins.

I subscribe to like 7 magazines... not by choice, i really only enjoy 1 of them, but the rest were mad cheap and i thought i'd try them out. anyways, i was reading a rather interesting article in Glamour earlier today and I learned that i have a serious problem. Glamour informed me that i am somnorexic. i fit every key characterestic found on the "somnorexia checklist". Basically, I sleep less than 7 hours a night during the week and then crash and sleep for 10+ hours on the weekends. Who knew this had a name? I mean this was a 5 hr. per weekday, 14 hr. per weekendnight sleeper here reading this... I was concerned! Apparently it's a legit and "very serious sleep disorder" that is a "detriment to your health and wreaks havoc in people's lives". Anyways... so I decide to look up more about this so called somnorexia and see if it's as legit as Glamour claims. What did I discover? Not only that somnorexia is an actual medical term commonly used, but I also learned that I have about 17 different "conditions"... and that's only of the conditions I found at one website. And I also learned that they over-categorize and name everything nowadays.... guarantee you have at least 10 problems you weren't aware of.

Before today I thought I just had some social anxiety and depression, but during the day I acquired 14 new clinical conditions. Yes, tonight i'm going to go to sleep knowing that besides being depressed and social anxiety-like, i'm also somnorexic, atelophobic, atychiphobic, mildly cainophobic as well as mildy enosiophobic, half doxophobic, glossiphobic, kakorrhaphiophobic, hydrophobic, katagelophobic, slighty scopophobic, sometimes i think telephonophobic, highly tomophobic and lastly topophobic. Just call me your deranged-with-16-conditions friend. I'm not going to go into detail about what each of those things mean but I can assure you that I am every one of those to some degree... look them up if you're that curious. Some of you may say after all that that I should add hypochondriac to the list...

So I have many problems. This is new to me. I know I have weaknesses and fears and such but they all have names?!?!?! I've determined that they go a bit overboard nowadays in terms of categorizing "conditions" and declaring people "somnorexic" or something of that nature. I mean, some of the things out there are ridiculous. You won't believe some of what I found. If you get angry, even over little things, more than 3 times a week you've got some condition with some long-medical sounding name. If you're often bored it's something else, if you're often indecisive you should "talk to your doctor because this is a serious condition which often needs medicinal help". Perfectionism is a personality disorder, risk taking is viewed as a PSYCHOLOGICAL disorder, workahaulism is viewed to be as bad by some professionals as alcoholism. I mean... this stuff is really out there. What ever happened to just like, depressed, bipolar, anorexic or bulemic? It's like every personality trait out there that isn't "ideal" is given a label and tagged as a medical problem. What seems even sillier is all the phobias that are out there with names. But what's really sad to me is that because they have names, that means people out there do have these things... and extreme versions of them. I mean just imagine....

If you're bibliophobic you're afraid of books, papyrophobic you're afraid of paper. I mean, books and paper are pretty common things in this world. Can you imagine legitimately being terrified of paper? How would you survive anything? Really!!! Think about it; paper's everywhere! There are also those who are graphophobic and terrified of writing and handwriting. That's gotta be pretty difficult too. I really feel bad though for those optophobic folks or people with euphobia. If you're optophobic you're afraid of opening your eyes... what a horrible thing to pick being scared of. Do they walk around with their eyes closed all day? What can they imagine would be there if they open them? What is the saddest one to me though is euphobia... being afraid of getting good news. Doesn't that sound contradictory? It's like... I'm walking around at work today and I'm absolutely terrified that someone may be the bearer of good news. What is there to look forward to in life? Then there's the really abstract phobias like the fear of opinions (allodoxaphobia), fear of ideas (ideophobia), fear of memories (mnemophobia), and fear of thinking (phronemophobia). I don't think I even understand these... how are you afraid of opinions or thinking? Don't we automatically as intelligent homo-sapiens have opinions and thoughts? I'm not even going to touch those four because the more I think about them the more confused I get...

There's of course the generic phobophobia, a fear of phobias themselves. I think the cruelest one though is sesquipedalophobia, the fear of long words. Who on earth would decide to name a phobia of long words something with 2 letters short of 20 letters? That's just mean. By the way, just to let you know.... if you have an intense fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth you have arachibutyrophobia and they claim that a spoonful of peanutbutter twice a day will help cure the problem. On the other hand, if you're a huge math nerd like me... or maybe an art geek too, you may be asymmetriphobic, that's right, having a fear of asymmetrical things. I mean those isoceles triangles are pretty terrifying... I just wish they were all equilateral. And I'd be careful because although your recluse, elderly next-door neighbor was once a teenager, he may be ephebiphobic and have an erratic fear of teenagers. They say that some people are apparently cacophobic and have a fear of ugliness though I'd just call that a tweaked version of being stuck-up where they want to give their conceitedness a more positive name so they say they have some condition.... stuck-up-ness reminds me of middleschool and middleschool reminds me of warheads, that's right the hard candy. If you never got into the Warhead candy craze in middleschool and seemed irrationally terrified by the thought of eating one, don't worry... you probably are just acerophobic and have a fear of sourness. If you ever meet someone who seems to prefer the right side of their body and avoids looking at or touching the left side of anyone elses body please be sensitive to this seemingly irrational behavior, they're just levophobic and have a fear of things to the left side of the body. Although someone with asymmetriphobia wouldn't understand this because the body is symmetrical after all....

A few of these fears reminded me of some scary movies. And I'm not talking about like, phasmophobia, the fear of ghosts or anything like that. I'm talking like... paraskavedekatriaphobia, or the intense fear of Friday the 13th, which consequently also wins the award for being the longest titled phobia. Also, because of a certain movie I can say that for like a 2 week period I once legitametly had a case of eisoptrophobia, a fear of mirrors or of seeing oneself in a mirror and I still am scared by mirrors though I wouldn't go so far as to call it a phobia. I don't need another phobia anyways.... 16's enough.

Bottom line, there's a phobia for everyone. If you're afraid of candles, even when unlit, I'm sure there's a name for that condition. I mean if there's such a thing as pteronophobia, the fear of being tickled by feathers and Francophobia, the fear of French culture, I'm SURE there's a name for being afraid of candles or headphones, or tinfoil or anything you can imagine. So don't be ashamed to admit the clinical conditions you have. Nothing's more ridiculous than being patroiophobic.

I know... it's a shock. A new blog. As I sit here wondering what the best way is to waste the next 45 minutes or so before dinner I contemplated many options. Read a magazine? Finish my book? Homework? Game online? Download more music? Facebook? Myspace? And then I thought to myself... hmmm it's definitely been awhile since I blogged. And that was that. The decision was made. I commited the next 45 minutes of my life to blogging and thus this post began. The spark of creation.

Now, since I was in this contemplative mood I thought I'd contemplate some more... what to write about? I could just fill you in on the last few months of my life... which I'll probably summarize in a latter paragraph though there are no promises... actually I probably won't summarize it... it would be too long of a summary to be considered a summary... more like an... ehhh, I'm stuck, I don't what it would be more like... just a too long summary. Or I could explain my thoughts on some random occurance that happened to me... but then I'd have to think of one good enough to share. I could talk about things that annoy me, like colored contacts for instance... I'm always up for complaining. I could of course make up a story too, which, if I did, would certainly start with "Once upon a time in a land far, far away..." and then gradually become less cliche. I could... ehhh that's enough. Summarizing this last paragraph, my options for topics were abundant and yet I could not reach a conclusion. So, as I always seem to be doing nowadays, I decided just to start writing and see what came out... and then I crossed a bridge I didn't know I crossed until I crossed. And that may sound confusing but it's quoted (more or less) from a much better writer than me and so I will leave it in because he's famous, I'm not, so it must be good, and I like to plagarize people who write good... errr, well... I've quoted the same writer dude twice already. Anyways... what was I saying? Oh yeah, the bridge bit. So, translation of the confusing bridge metaphor... it hit me what I should write about when I started writing and I didn't realize it hit me until umm... after it hit me? Okay, maybe that wasn't less confusing. I give up. I'm a math major I don't need to write good... err, well.

And, again, as always is the case, I don't get started on my actual topic until I've already written 5.5 hundred sentences. No use wasting more words on that though, let's get to the topic of choice. Wasting time. I'm not going to get all philosophical here, becuase if you remember, it is my goal to graduate Wheaton without ever having to take a philosophy course, but why do we consider little activities we do as a waste of time? You may "waste time" by going online... but face it, you WANT to be online during that time. If not, you'd be doing something else. We should never waste time... but always be doing something we want to be doing... even if it's just sitting down relaxing, or doing work so you don't have to stress about it later (weaker example I know, but I had to throw it in there so as to avoid anomalies... idk what that word even means... I don't think it makes sense here but that's okay). Wait... this isn't even where I wanted to go with this. Scratch this paragraph.

What I really wanted to talk about was how much people really DO waste their time by going on facebook and myspace... the two hotspots for college students. Now remember, any dissing I do here is totally fair because I am 100% one of these people who spends too much time on myspace and facebook.... I'm admitting my faults. Now that that's over I can continue. If you think about it, both programs are absolutely absurd. If you're one of the select few remaining people left who know not about myspace and facebook I shall write up a brief summary of them for you. They're these programs where you type all this silly information about you like your favorite movies, books, interests, etc. etc. and of course, pictures. If you don't include pictures you basically broke the first rule of facebook etiquette and are condemned to having a question mark as your picture. Rules you say? Oh there are definite, unspoken rules. Let's stay with the pictures for a moment. You can't include any pictures of you with your friends because it's impossible for new people to know which one is you... it's especially unacceptable if your friends are hotter than you. This is misleading. Staying with the hotness factor, you should only put in pictures that make you look at least 8 times more attractive than you really are... you will be more popular online. It is also a cardinal rule to change your photo rather frequently so as to avoid boredom and to encourage your friends to check out your profile to see if you made any other changes. Perhaps the largest rule though is that if someone leaves you a comment, you need to comment back or else they will hold a grudge against you until you do. It is perfectly acceptable to have 379 friends at your school even if you've never met them all... the number is what's important. And by the way, "poking" is soooooo 2004. I could go on and on with these rules here, but it's better to learn them through experience.

How many hours do we waste on these sites? Editing them, looking up our friends, commenting, hating "friends" for not commenting to us, checking out new groups to join, who likes the same music as you... the list is endless of what we come up with to waste our time on these sites. I mean it's virtually an online yearbook, complete with "signatures" which accurately measure how popular we are in comparison to our classmates. It's funny how much time we spend on these two sites... and almost everyone agrees. Yet, here we are, addicted to myspace and facebook. Always wanting to add more friends, post more comments, change your "about me" section, and check out how "popular" your friends are. I have no clever way to end this so this is going to be THE MOST abrupt ending I've ever had yet. I know you're waiting for a conclusion to tie it all together, but frankly my 45 minutes are up and I'm done writing.

So... I'm sitting here at 2:25 a.m. on a late Sunday night slash early Monday morning. Why, you ask? Do not worry. Of course, I will tell you. I'm not the type of person to type a "why" question and then not give you the answer. That is, unless, of course, I'm being rhetorical, which by the way is a difficult word for me to spell... especially, when it is, what...now 2:29 in the late night slash early morning (and did you think that was too many commas because I think so). Now where was I before I began that long run-on sentence? Ah yes... the answer to why I am sitting here at this late hour. Well... here it is my friends. I'm having some trouble sleeping and instead of waiting it out in bed, trying to convince myself that I'll fall asleep within the next 5 minutes, I decided to get up and blog. Why now? I have no idea. I don't even have a topic in mind. I am topic-less. I have nothing. A dry well. An empty present. Now I'm just talking silly and it is clear that I am very tired. At least dry well is an expression... or did I make that up too? But empty present?... definitely haven't heard that one before. I'm going to incorporate that into my daily speech... although I'm not sure how it should be used. Okay, forget that idea.

I'm going to try my best to stop rambling now and actually say something. What could I talk about? What are you interested in? What do you all want to hear about? I've been super sick for the past week... ehh, you don't want to hear about that. (See look... I'm reading your minds! I have that supernatural ability... bet you never knew that) Hmm... maybe that will interest you... other things I bet you don't know about me. Random things. Yes, I know I tend to be random anyways, but this topic could be fun. Let me explore and see where it leads me.....

Hmm... I bet none of you know that when I was younger I used to go into the woods and sweep (not rake... sweep) all the leaves away at this certain spot... and I'd carve at this dead tree with a plastic knife, determined to make it all the way through to the other side. I wanted to make it like my little secret spot in the woods. I'd go there all the time and sweep the leaves away... and I always hoped that when I came back the leaves would still be cleared and the wind wouldn't have moved them around. Okay, so I was naive... but I bet none of you knew I did that! Sorry... that one was kind of boring. But I like this whole child memory thing... I'm gunna roll with that.

I used to make cakes just to have a food fight. I'd put towels on the floor to avoid making a mess of the house. Don't know if my parents ever knew about that actually... probably not, or they would have been mad about my wasting food. What else.... I've only been in a hospital twice and they were both when I was a baby. One time was when I was just a few months... I had a super high fever or something and they had to give me a shot. Right, so that was a boring reason to be in a hospital. And the other time was because I ran into a radiator. That's right... picture little baby Trisha running and then going straight into a radiator and splitting her head open. I had to get stitches on my forehead and that's the only scar I have. I have fun imagining this one... I just can't imagine running into a radiator hard enough to do that to myself.

Okay, this whole blog thing isn't turning out nearly as fun and exciting and interesting as I was hoping. So far all I got is sweeping, cake, and a radiator. And now I'm thinking about psychology. I warned you I was random.... though this isn't as random as you may think, considering what I just said. My psychology thinking has to do with early memories and why we remember what we do. Isn't it funny when you think back? Picture your earliest memories. Are they really random things that seem to have no significance whatsoever? Because mine definitely are. I mean, I have just a few really early memories... I'm talking from like before age 5 because from 5 on I can remember quite a bit. The earliest I can remember anything is from preschool and I have 3 memories from then. I swear... they are THE most random things ever for me to remember. One is of me lying down on a piece of paper being traced at preschool... like for me to color "myself" in later. I just have this clear image of staring up at the wall, trying to lie still. Does this fit the criteria to be considered random? Yes. Here's another. I remember seeing a girl in my preschool class at Chilis. I didn't know her name and we didn't even wave to each other, nevermind say anything. Yet, I remember which restaurant it was and I can see her face in my mind... she was holding her mom's hand. And the last preschool memory I have is from when I was at a friend's house. Her mom was talking to my mom. And this will sound crazy but I swear, I remember this sooo well. My friend's mom was saying how she was worried because they only have one bathroom in the house and what would they do if any two people in the family are sick at the same time? I don't remember what they were talking about before that statement or after it but I remember the statement itself very well. I was playing with my friend's dollhouse on a turn-table at the time when it was said. Ummm.... question mark!!!! How random are those memories? I don't remember feeling extra emotional in any way at those times... happy, confused, or anything. And yet, I remember them so well. Why on earth are those the only memories I have from before kindergarten? Please tell me your early memories are just as random and I'll feel a bit more comforted.

Wow... my blog kinda went from nowhere, to somewhere boring, to somewhere that's about as thought-provoking as I can get at 3:09 in the morning. And this conclusion is going somewhere great too. And I have the strange feeling that if I go to try to fall asleep again now I won't be able to... even though I can barely remember the last word I typed I'm so tired and even though I kinda already forgot what I'm talking about in this sentence. And the fact that I just actually typed talking as tlkaing first and then fixed it I think kinda proves something that I'm trying to prove here... though I'm not sure what it is. Ummm... I'm tired. yeah. I think I'm gunna try that sleep thing again. Hope it works out.

I don't know how many of you ever check out my full profile in here... but it's just about my favorite part of the whole blogger website. Not all the boring, usual questions that ask me to list my "favorite movies" and "interests"... but the part down at the bottom that says "random question". This is the part I love and I think it should be at the top in bold and italics and bright colors to make it super stand out because it is that brilliant. If you know me at all, you know I am a fan of random questions... the more random the better... for I am a rather random person once one gets to know me. In case thou never checkeths my full profile, I hath decided to includeth my favoritest "random questions" here for your reading pleasure- umm... ith. AND furthermore, since this is my blog, I decided to type them here in bold and italics and bright colors to make them super stand out because they are that brilliant.

Random question 1: You have to dig a hole to China. Where do you start? Random answer 1: Preferably China... then I won't have a long way to go.

Random question 2: If mud is dirt plus water, what is clay? Random answer 2: If mud is dirt plus water, clay is clearly dirt plus water plus gray food coloring.

Random question 3: If you were a wrestler, what would be your finishing move? Random answer 3: It's a tough choice but I'd have to say the standing moonsault and just to show off I'd add in a stinger splash!

Random question 4: Whoops! Your tongue is now a magnet. Whatever will you use for silverware? Random answer 4: Uhh, plastic... duh!!!

Random question 5: The hair from your last haircut ... what would it say about your new style? Random answer 5: I could go the cheesy route and have it say something like "ahh you betrayed me" or I could have it tell the truth and say "you look pretty darn hot" ; )

Random question 6: All of the phone numbers have fallen out of your address book. Whose number do you look for first and why? Random answer 6: Who actually has address books anymore when cellphones hold like 600 numbers? But I'll play the game... Petey P's Pizza because I never know when I'll be hungry.

Random question 7: The first time you had your shoes taken off - how surprised were you to see that you still had toes? Random answer 7: I don't know about the first time, but it happened to me last night and boy was it a shocker!

Random question 8: Which is easier to make a model airplane out of and why: a banana peel or a wet sock? Random answer 8: I actually contemplated this for a good 7 seconds or so before answering and I think I came up with a rather correct response... it would depend what the sock were wet from... if it were wet from water I'd opt for the banana peel because you could at least knot and tie it's different sections... but the sock could be wet with starch and glue which would be easier to work with once it dried off a bit.

Random question 9: What was the stage name of your favorite actress before she was born? Random answer 9: Kiapheone McCormac.

Random question 10: What kind of tape is best for creating a sculpture? Random answer 10: Double sided tape is a miracle rolled on a ring.

Random question 11: You've written a hit musical! How will you avoid having fame go to your head? Random answer 11: The writers never get any credit compared to the stars so it won't be a problem.

Random question 12: If you were a pirate, how would you avoid laughing when saying "poop deck"? Random answer 12: If I were a pirate I suppose "poop deck" wouldn't be very funny... I mean, do you EVER see a pirate burst out in giggles?

Random question 13: What spells can you cast with magic markers? Random answer 13: A spell that will completely ruin your white walls and beige carpet.

Random question 14: Which is more important to you and why: flexibility or expandability? Random answer 14: Don't those words mean the same thing more or less... in my non-english major mind at least? I'd have to say expandability is more important because it's a longer word and longer words sound more important and impressive. Then again, is expandability even a word???

Random question 15: Why does the color blue mean raspberry-flavored? Random answer 15: Everything else was taken... yellow= lemon. Orange= well. orange. Purple= grape. Red= strawberry, watermelon, cherry. Green= apple. Blue= raspberry. Let me tell you something, green only equals apple because there were already three reds handed out... a fourth one would be too insane. When people decided that raspberries were loved enough to make into a flavor they couldn't give raspberry to red when they had denied apple that privilege... so they put yet another red fruit with the last color of the rainbow (because indigo never really counted). Hence, blue because raspberry.

I stopped at 15 random questions mostly for your sake... I hope now though you will occasionally check out my full profile and read the best part of the blog. It is updated more frequently than my actual blog... mostly because random questions intrigue me!

Nothing funny about this post... just sharing some fun times I've had with you. That is, I'm sharing with you some fun times I've had... not that it's YOU I've had the fun times with... got it? good. Continuing...

So... I've said about eight times before in my blog that I absolutely love NYC. (side note: aren't you proud that I didn't actually reread my fourty slash fifty past posts to see exactly how many times I said I love New York??? For me, that's a big accomplishment because I often do crazy things like that for "fun". For example, in my second or third to last blog I actually went to shoprite.com to check how many hotdogs are sold in a package when the real number wasn't at all needed for my story. I tend to over-research things in a highly nerdy fashion. And although I fully admit I am a math nerd who has calculated things one should never calculate for fun, I have never once tried to calculate the volume of my school... haha K+K. Okay, that whole side note thing got more out of hand than I had hoped....) As I was saying, I've said how much I love NY a bazillion times in my blogs... and this is another blog that kind of follows in that general nature.

So, a couple of weeks ago this friend of mine randomly asked me if I wanted to go into NY the next day to see a show. Of course, I never turn down an offer to go into the city... although I did at first but that's besides the point because I ended up going. Approximately 18 or so hours after that phone call I was on the train. We waited in the Rent lottery... and lost, as always is our luck with show lotteries even though the rent lottery had about twenty zillion less people than the Wicked one ever did. So, instead of getting $20 front row seats we got $40 mezzanine seats... all works out. Get this straight here... two weeks ago I went to see Rent and a mere eleven days later I'm back in the city seeing two more shows.... in one word, a-mazing.

Fastforward 11 days from when I saw Rent and subtract a good six hours and that's exactly when I was sitting in another theater in NY watching The Producers. Add those six hours back and I'm seeing Wicked. I could have died during that 11 day break and those 11 days would still have been the best 11 days of my life... not really, but I just love NY and musicals... as if it wasn't known. Three broadway shows in under two weeks... how many more ways shall I state it? I'll stop there for your sake. So yeah, none of the shows were completely new to me... I've seen Rent and Wicked before and I've read The Producers script. Needless to say, they were all good. In The Producers there were a good five or so moments of improv which were hysterical and the show is hysterical on its own, so that was just a hysterical time... hysterical... had to say it once more. And in Wicked I actually got Ben Vereen's autograph before his five bodyguards pushed him away... if you don't know him then shame on you because I absolutely love him.... sigh. I now have two Wicked playbills, one signed by Idina and one by Benny V. ... what more could I want? Maybe six more Wicked playbills from future performances I haven't yet gone to, but besides that really...

As of right now, I have no future trips to NYC planned... but I'm ready to pencil one or two more in before I'm off to school again... I just love it. Sorry this wasn't the slightest bit funny... but I had to share my extreme joy and love of the city.

I'm a cowgirl

Hmm... once again, I have little to say but I felt like writing... so I'm just gonna start this here post with whatever comes to mind and see what happens. I may end up just completely deleting this if it's no good... but if that happens you wouldn't be reading this now so..... riiiiiiiighttttttt..... don't know where I was going with that sentence exactly.... so I'll just awkwardly end it now, in the uncomfortable state it's in.

Summer's here. At least for people like me... in college that is. Not people like me as in people who begin writing blogs with nothing to say or something like that. Anyways, for all you highschoolers out there... you have to suffer another month or so... unless you're one of those private school "a la" Lauralton people who get out in May. Right.... like I was saying, it's summer. If you're a college student all summer means is you're back to curfews, you need to get a job, and you're forced to live hundreds of miles away from your "real home" where you now reside for 9 months of the year.... yes, you leave your friends and go back to "friends" you haven't talked to in a year other than a few "hi, how are you"s and "that's cool... sooo.... talk to you later?"s on AIM. Sigh. You know it to be true... this is why you are sighing with me. Just to clarify however, not all old highschool friends become "friends".... just most of them ;) I wanted to make sure I made that clear before I got a few phone calls slash angry IMs from my CT "ahem" friends.

For you current highschoolers slash seniors graduating this year, let me share with you some solid advice from a freshman year college survivor. First, about this whole "summer" business... you will come to learn that when you are away at school, you wish to be home. No school work, no classes to contemplate skipping, no realizing you can't buy those cheetos you've been desperately craving because you spent your last 75 cents on laundry.... when at school, you wish for home. But, there's a big but. When you're home, you desperately wish for school.... no cleaning your room unless you feel like it, only needing to walk across the hall to see your friends instead of having to drive across town, no cleaning your room unless you feel like it, and virtually no rules. Although it may seem like a lose-lose situation, it's so much better than high school. And your "home" becomes better than your home.... if you understand what I'm saying. And if you don't.... you're obviously still a highschooler... spend a year away at college and you'll know what I'm talking about.

Okay, that wasn't really "advice" there was it? It was more so what to expect. Here's some more "what to expect"ers. First.... bathroom related. You WILL have a shower stall that you call your own and even if the others are empty and yours is taken you will wait for yours to be free, rather than use another shower.... or at least seriously contemplate waiting. You will soon realize that it's not unusual to see four feet in the shower stall next to you. If you have co-ed bathrooms like my school, you will get over this much faster than you think... basically once a guy walks by in a towel. Again, on the same "if" as the previous sentence, you will forget that bathrooms in public places are not co-ed and you will go into the guys bathroom if the girl's is taken... and you will be awkwardly caught at least once. Haha... remind me to tell you a funny story about that in a future blog. And finally, you will have to get over the fact that everyone poops and it's not worth sitting in the stall waiting until everyone else in the bathroom leaves.

Now, on to the laundry related... yes, this is deserving of a category all it's own. You will, at least once, wear jeans for 13 days in a row without washing them, before realizing it's almost been two weeks... so then you check how much clean underwear you have left to decide if you should throw the jeans in the dirty wash and actually do laundry this weekend. You will most definitely celebrate whenever you find a quarter. You will have a pile of dirty clothes, a pile of once-used but not quite dirty clothes, and a pile of clothes used more than once but that you could use a couple more times without smelling too bad.

And the food??? Your breakfast will often consist of a Coke on the way to class. You will be grateful that the dining hall labels the food. Whenever you have a couple of spare dollars you check to see if anyone's willing to drive you to a Taco Bell or a Subway. By the end of the year you will probably have Domino's phone number memorized. Two meals a day is pretty much standard.

Classes... it won't phase you if a student walks into a class drunk, even if it's a 9:30 a.m. class. You will not know the names of well over half the people in your classes. Ten page papers used to sound impossible, now they're a godsend. You don't do homework you study. You can write in your textbook and not put a cover on it without getting yelled at. You will think $90 for a book is a fair price and will celebrate when you bring it back at the end of the semester, barely used, and get $6.50 in return. You will set your alarm in the morning for 8:52 to get to your 9:00 class, suddenly only 8 minutes are needed to get ready instead of an hour and a half like in high school. P.S.... about that 9:00 class there, you will realize that any class before 12:30 often gets slept through slash skipped due to sleep.

And the one everyone loves.... the social life... maybe that's an inadequate title here... let's just call it "fun". More often than not you will show up to a house party only to leave 15 minutes later because the keg has already been emptied, or it's so crowded you can't even see the front door. Related to that, parties are EXACTLY like they appear in the movies even though you thought they didn't really happen like that. Going to the library will be a social event. You will walk to check your mailbox two or three times a day for fun, and if you get a package then forget it, it's a time to celebrate!!! You will probably even pre-game on nights when the only place you go is to a free movie on campus. You will rediscover afternoon naps, and yes, an afternoon with a nap is considered a fun afternoon.

That's about all the "what to expect"ers I have for you. You may not experience all of the above. But I can promise you that one of your friends you make at college will experience the ones you don't. They're unavoidable. If you're already a returnee from college, please let me know if I have left something important out, or if (though very unlikely) you can not relate to my above situations. If this is the case I will add and delete items as I see fit. But really, I'm just kidding... I'm not going to change anything. And again, even if I did, you as the reader wouldn't know I did unless I told you which I'm not going to.... and I'm not sure how to end this sentence again sooooo it's ending.

Okay, I realize it's been more than awhile since my last post. But a lot has been going on and I haven't had the time to think up any creative-yet-somewhat-true stories to share with you all. Forgive me, for I have returned.

First of all I just have to celebrate that I got a sweet suite in Keefe next year with some of my favorite Wheaton girls: Amy (my oh so cool future roomie), Sarah, Genna, Esther and Meg!!! Forever Young is our winning theme... don't ask what it means, it's just too complicated for my fingers' liking to type out for you all. Basically, we got a suite because we said we're going to act like kids and fingerpaint and stuff... sort of, not entirely our plan, but true enough for the case of this blog. If I can get a spot in one of the oh-so-competitive-to-get-into suites on campus just by saying I'm going to fingerpaint for the Wheaton community, then I must be Mel Gibson's son.... which I'm clearly not.... so there's more to it than fingerpainting. Now that I mention it though, I wonder where he lives off campus.... hmm....

Speaking of wondering, I've been wondering a lot lately. More crazy, stupid questions to collect in Trisha's not yet existent book entitled "Random Things You Unconciously Have Wondered All Your Life But Never Thought of Asking Until Now". I must give credit where it's due. Not all of the questions I will tell you about have been thought of or even researched by me. But they have all indeed struck my curiousity in ways that are inexplicable slash unexplainable... whichever you think sounds smarter. Nonetheless, I will be inserting in-text citations in the proper MLA format when necessary.... that is, I will give credit to the people who thought up the questions, but there's no way I'm actually going to cite where I got the answers... not like those random websites care anyways, the only people I'll hear from who "care" are those who thought up these questions and then yell at me that I stole their idea and published it in my blog. Moving on...

Though probably the weakest of all my thought provoking questions, it is the one that struck me first and opened my mind to the world of random questioning. While in the bathroom of the lovely Meadows East 3rd dormitory, I went to grab my toothbrush and proceeded to brush my teeth. I noticed that, yet again, my toothbrush holder was slightly ajar, exposing about four millimeters of my blue (or is it red?) toothbrush. This got me wondering, why don't they make toothbrush holders the right size to actually hold a toothbrush? You may think I'm crazy if you have not had this experience. Perhaps you have only used a toothbrush holder while vacationing, at which time you may have also used a TRAVEL-SIZED toothbrush, which works out quite nicely. But in the big boy world of toothbrushes, these toothbrush holders don't cut it. They're too small. It should be a one size fits all kinda thing, not a one size fits most!!! This has been a thorn in my thumb, or whatever that crazy expression is, for this whole year. Yes, it's kind of like the timeless "why do they sell hotdogs in packages of 8 and hotdog buns in packages of 12" question... but I bet you haven't heard the toothbrush holder one before! Just as a side note, when I went to shoprite.com to verify the correct number of hotdogs vs. buns that are sold in a package, I noticed that supermarket industry hotdog sellers got tired of this age-old question and started packaging both hotdogs AND their buns in packages of 8! Learn something new every day.... oh yes, and the credit here all goes to me (Carr, "Toothbrush").

Next question was raised, and researched by Miss Amy Lizbeth Breckenridge. Where do hamsters come from? I mean, you never see a hamster crossing the road, or running around in the woods. What's up with that? Where do they live? The answer to this one my friends is actually kind of cool... at least I think so.... in a nerdy kind of way. Hamsters were first "discovered" in 1839 in the Syrian desert in the Middle East.... so that's like Asia or Africa or something. For awhile they were thought to be extinct, but in 1930 a scientist in Syria found a girl hamster and her 11 babies. Only four of the little hams lived!!! Every hamster today is descended from those four brothers and sisters.... try not to think of it as incest, it's much more pleasant that way. They were smuggled into England in 1932 in the pocket of an unnamed zoologist and brought to the United States in 1938. Someone thought these little, furry mice like things from Asia/Africa would make good pets and they started breeding them alot more. Hamsters are "once again" extinct in the wild... none have actually been seen in Syria since two were captured by a rodent control officer in the 1980’s. Word is that if you spot one in Syria and report it they'll give you some award... not money I don't think.... more like an honorary plaque or something. Tell me honestly that that isn't cool and I'd bet $10 you were lying. That's a fun little history/biology/zoology question there I think!!!! (Breckenridge, "Hamsters").

Okay here's another one... why is it that the hair on your head can grow to be very long but the rest of the hair on your body "knows" when to stop growing at a certain length? Brian thought up this mind boggling phenomenon and I looked up the answer to this question... the answer of which goes way over my non-biology orienented brain. But I'll give a shot at explaining it with as few biolographic terms as possible. Okay, so your body hair has these hair follicle things and they're programmed to stop growing every couple of months or so versus head hair follicles which are programmed to grow for years at a time. Then there's something about growth phases, and rest phases, and hair falling out. It all boils down to, your body knows. Basically, that's the only law of biology I'll ever need to know. Your body knows what it's doing. Case closed. Still an interesting question. If you're a biology person I recommend looking up the real answer... it's probably really interesting if you understand it. (Gonsalves, "Hair").

Okay, next question, courtesy of Kurt Adametz. With heart transplant surgery, during that amount of time when you're heartless (when they removed your actual heart and have not yet fully sewn in your new-from-another-person's-chest heart) are you technically dead? That is, if you're heartless, your heart obviously can't be beating, and a beating heart is what makes you alive (in my non-biology world at least), so do you kind of die and come back to life? It may sound silly, but I bet you're intrigued. I had some people assure me that there was no way around "temporarily dying"... that "of course" that's what happened during a heart transplant, and "how could I think otherwise?". But these people were making fun of me and just testing me to see how gullible I was. Here's some relief... you don't die. During surgery, a heart-lung machine takes over the functions of the heart and lungs, freeing the heart from its normal function so that it can be removed. The use of the machine allows the surgeon to carefully stop the heart while the vital organs continue to receive blood and oxygen. Simple answer I suppose. I'm glad to know that if I ever need a heart transplant I won't have to go through a temporary death. (Adametz, "Heart").

This last question I have not yet been able to find a direct answer to. So if you can help me out, please do. I was just wondering, how many chickens die naturally nowadays... I mean, so many seem to be killed for food... how many out there actually die a natural death? What I really want to know is what percentage of all chickens that are born actually end up dying naturally. Like I said, no direct answer. Whenever I typed "chickens amount killed food die naturally" into google I only got about 8 million animal rights sites. I now know however that animal activists are angered about animals used for not only food, but also dairy, animal testing, clothing, pet shops and entertainment. I kind of already knew this, but I didn't know it was these significant six that showed up everywhere... it was like a list of the ten commandments or something.... 1,2,3,4,5,6, bim bam boom... a paragraph dedicated to the exact same reasons why animal activists are angry on every site. It's like the official rules to being an activist or something. I'm sorry, it's not something to joke around about. I'm kind of ashamed, looking back. Not enough to erase it all, but ashamed nonetheless. More pertinent to my actual question however is that 9 billion chickens are killed each year in the U.S. for food. And the most I've been able to gather from any one website is that that number is by far "the majority of chickens born each year". 20 million are killed each day in the U.S. When thinking up this question, I didn't want to find all these gruesome details that make me feel guilty about not being a vegetarian.... I wanted to know how many die naturally... which can be a beautiful thing.... natural death. Certainly better than the destiny 9 billion American chickens fulfill each year. Before answering the question I would have thought billions still die naturally... now, after visiting all these awful sites, I swear to you I wouldn't be shocked if the number last year was seven. This one, again... all me. (Carr, "Vegetarianism").

Some fun questions, huh? Get you thinking??? Good! I'm glad!!! I'm glad to have inspired you all to find out what makes hair mousse so puffy, why the sky actually is blue, and why the gas tank is on the left side of some cars and the right side of others. I'm also glad to have taught you a thing or two. My real question now is, once it's published will you go out and buy "Random Things You Unconciously Have Wondered All Your Life But Never Thought of Asking Until Now"?

I have some very sad news. I forgot to celebrate my one year anniversary of blogging on January 29th. I was going to write a very special post, commemorating this past year... but instead I was probably out with my dance friends having fun. So tragic.

So yes, I have now been blogging for over a year and I have a mere 44 posts, this being number 46. Wait, that doesn't make sense... erase that.... this being number 45. That's better. Sigh. What has become of my life during this past year? I graduated high school and have now completed my first semester at Wheaton, but what does it all mean.... what is the significance? I should take a philosophy class... I'm good at asking random, thought-provoking yet utterly pointless questions that I don't really care about answering. Actually, it's my goal to graduate Wheaton without ever having to take any philosophy class... I'd rather avoid the controversial topic of "the nature of reality" if I can help it.

The classes I actually am taking this semester are pretty cool. My prof for Calc II is Napoleon Dynamite and my Macro prof wears size 15 shoes. In French we're currently learning the alphabet and in my poetry writing class we're learning to "hear the words that live in silence". My psych class I have nothing fun to say about except that it's really cool and interesting and I actually have friends in that class. I should have a pretty easy semester... I don't have to write one paper in any of my classes and I'll only have 2 finals. Woot woot!

I've honestly spent more time on dance than I have on work lately. I had to come back to Wheaton two weeks early for the dance company. Each day was 8 hours of dancing and we learned like 4 new pieces and cleaned everything else up. Let me say that again because I don't think you fully comprehended what I just said. Each day was 8 hours of dancing... do you realize what that really means?!?!?! It was exhausting. Lately, we've been running our entire show like everyday which is just as tiring as preseason was. In one week we start onstage rehearsals and a week after that we have our performances and we're done for the year! Woot woot times two this time!

About the only good thing about preseason was that I became alot closer with my dance co. girls. We hung out quite a bit and now we'll spend the occasional weekend going out together. We've had some fun times!!! I'm glad that now I have two strong groups of friends up here... my original Young 1sters and the younger half of my dance co. girls. I don't feel like going through the whole friend introduction like I did with my Young 1st friends, so from now on just recognize these names as being my dance co. friends (along with their brief intros): Rachel (my fellow math nerd and supercool Texan friend), Stephanie (Young 3rder who I LOVE), Lauren (uppercampus dweller who's really funny), Amy (a friendly girl who lives in a basement and has pooping issues), Susan (a gebbie goddess who is super sweet), and Kurt (the guy who's not in the dance company but should be). Got it? Good! Moving on then....

I moved rooms too, now I'm in Meadows East... a much larger, noisier, non-wellness dorm on campus. It'll take some getting used to, but it isn't half bad. And I still (illegally) have my key to get into Young so I can go back and visit my friends there whenever I want. My new roommate is a sophomore from Florida. She seems cool but is barely ever in the room so I haven't really gotten to know her. I swear that the only times she is in the room is when she's dropping off more new dvds she just bought.... I swear that this girl is a living Blockbuster store.

Tonight's the superbowl. I won't be watching. I will be sitting in my room, doing my hw, secretly hoping that the Eagles win. Did I just say that, living in New England?!?!?!? I think I did!!! :0

Saturday was my annual dance party. Always changing in its style, but always fun. When we were younger, this party consisted of swinging on hammocks while squirting people with water, riding down the stairs in sleeping bags, singing Big Spender 800 times during the night, wearing cups and other kitchen paper products as clothing, and calling male strippers. Now we are much more mature. Events have changed to playing telephone, trying to levitate people in chairs, writing in lipstick on windows, talking to turkeys, butt cherades, and playing truth or dare with ghosts (much to Catie's freaked-out-ness). They may not sound more mature... but the party in itself is much more mature than it was. The only constant thing that hasn't changed over the years is the writing game and my brother's brownies that he never fails to fail at making. One thing's for sure, it's always fun no matter how old we get.

This year was a good group of people. Almost everyone who normally comes was there, plus some new people who I love.... no one real young this year which probably accounts for why the party was so much more mature in its nature... as I proved in the previous paragraph. The movie this year was Identity, which I didn't like but could enjoy watching. You know the type I'm talking about. Identity is your typical horror movie... ten people get stranded together at this run-down hotel and they start getting killed off one by one. They should have just called it Your Typical Horror Movie. Okay, that was a bad joke... now I have to try to save myself throughout the rest of this blog... (I hate when I do that to myself!!!) There was a weird psychological twist though which was partially cool and partially ruined the movie for me. There were some valuable lessons hidden in the movie too. For instance, never worry about a convicted murderer... he's too obvious to be the killer. Also, when trying to figure out who the murderer is, always be suspicious of a little kid... especially if his mother and father both were killed... what better reason to kill someone than if they make you eat your vegetables? The best one though, which I will always carry with me, is this... whores don't get second chances. So don't become a whore... you won't get a second chance.

Jaime, Steph Smith, and I stayed up the whole night. An accomplishment that all sleepover-goers aim for. I am proud to say though that I am the champion. Not only was I up the whole night, but I stayed awake that entire day... until 1:00 that next morning. A straight 39 hours beat everyone's "I was awake from 7 that night until noon the next day". Ha! That's childish now compared to my feat of awakedness!!! Anyone care to challenge me next year? I dare you!!!

I'm obsessed with the musical Wicked. In fact, it goes beyond mere obsession. I'd say I'm mildly addicted to it. For the past however many months I've listened to the cd on average 2.5 times a day, downloaded as many video clips as I could find, read the complete script, continuosly checked the Wicked forums and fan sites, and put favorite quotes in my profile. I had not, however, ever seen the show. Until yesterday. The day my life became complete...

I introduced Miss Kimberly Dolberg to the amazing musical that is Wicked several months ago. Since that day, she has only grown as obsessed with it as I am. For her 18th birthday she happened to recieve 2 tickets to see the performance during Idina Menzel's last week. Idina Menzel IS Wicked; she makes the show... I told her I would happily accompany her if she needed someone to go with. OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG!!!!!!!!!!!! I was quite excited.

The show itself was UNBELIEVABLE! I thought that knowing the entire script by heart would be a disadvantage for me and I wouldn't be able to appreciate alot of the "surprise" aspects of the show... including the jokes. I couldn't have been more wrong. How I read the script in my mind at home was sooooo different from how the actors portrayed the characters. It was exciting to watch and absolutely hilarious! The special effects were different from how I imagined them to be and the performers switched up how they sang alot of the songs too which kept me on the edge of my seat... something I didn't expect! I was so emotional that it was just.... well, disgusting. I've always thought those people who go to like a John Mayer concert or something and cry just from seeing him were ridiculous. But.... there I was.... in the Gershwin theater.... crying for no reason the minute the curtain opened. I was finally seeing what I had been obsessing over for so many months. It was unreal.

Let me make one thing clear before I go any further. When I say crying, I mean crying. I can't explain it. It was the most amazing feeling! I literally thought for a minute that during intermission some usher or somebody would come over to see if I was okay. I kept trying to control the tears throughout the whole show. Now that we understand the real meaning of "crying" I may continue.

All of the actors' performances were flawless. Idina literally sounds better live than on the cd which absolutely blew me away. That never happens with a performer. She was unbelievable! Jennifer Laura Thompson who plays Glinda was hilarious! I never saw Kristin Chenoweth (she originated the part) play the role, but I could tell just from listening to her portrayal on the CD that Jennifer made the role her own. She was totally different from how I expected Glinda to be and it worked beautifully! I could not stop laughing whenever she was onstage. Joey McIntyre was in it and he was way better than I expected. This was one case where bringing a pop singer into a musical to try to increase its ticket sales didn't ruin the show. He was actually really good and fit right into that broadway stage! It was really just unbelievable. I'd give anything to go back and see it again.

After hearing Idina and Jennifer prance around to "I like chocolate, I like cheese" we ran to the stagedoor to get autographs. Well... I didn't HEAR them prance around, but they were singing/laughing and kinda jumping around after the curtain call. Wickedly funny! Pun intended. While waiting for Idina to take all of her green makeup off, Kim and I stood around, sandwiched between 800 other fans. Some group of girls in front of us were beyond fans. They acted like they knew her. One of them had seen the show 11 times. Do you realize that's over $1000? Anyways, some little girl had a gift she had wrapped to give Idina and these girls were like "Oh, don't worry! She'll take your gift. She loves little kids. And Joby will open it for her... she always does!" Apparently Joby is Idina's personal assistant who handles threatening gifts from children that may be bombs in disguise. But these girls were rattling off all little things they knew about Idina, like her personal assistant's first name. I swear, I wouldn't have been surprised if they said that Idina uses their apartment to hide away from the fans and that they've had several sleepover bonding sessions complete with home movies and doritos. Ever since then I've felt very competitive about this "who know's Idina better" kinda thing. We wanted to be like... "oh yeah? What kind of toothpaste does she use? Don't know that one do ya? Huh? Huh?!?! HUH?!?!? .... It's Crest, so there!". And later on, when on the train, we saw someone else with a Wicked program and I swear I wanted to be like, "hmm... I notice you don't have any autographs. Well, I happen to have Joey Mac's, Jennifer's, and one of the twenty-out-of-800-one's that Idina actually signed! Jealous now, aren't ya?" I really am too big of a fan. Something is wrong.

I said to Kim that if they ever make a movie of it I will be in trouble. I think I would literally watch it every day. That's not healthy. Simply put, Wicked was insane. I have never been so totally absorbed in something for 3 hours before in my life. And... I've never cried that much out of sheer excitement before. And... I think last night was the first time my competitive side came out. And... I can't wait till I can go again! Woot woot for Wicked!!!!

The topic of this here post is work. Not the study/take notes/do problems 1-32 kind of work that all college students can associate with. But my good old $7/hr. job in the admissions office. Two hours of work, 3 times a week is enough to make me go crazy. I know that's only 6 hours, but it's still 6 hours at a computer, typing in people's SAT scores over and over and over again. Then, I end up integrating "verbal" and "math" into my conversations for the next 2 days, at which point I go to work again and repeat the process. Trust me, it's enough to make me mad. My only "fun" at work is when I happen to find someone from Amity, which gets me way more excited than it should, or someone with an amazingly weird name that I can laugh at. So far Beauregard Goodnite wins. No joke. Real name. In order to retain my sanity, I listen to other people's conversations from the other room and routinely check my email every 15 minutes. Nothing too exciting. The most shocking thing I've seen is some lady who still uses a typewriter instead of a computer. I can't stand that clicking sound any more! Why use a typewriter??? I just don't understand. Stuck in the old-fashioned ways. So, as I said... nothing too exciting. Yesterday though I heard a story that got me thinking.....

So, some other student walks into the back room who had just given a tour. He starts rambling on about some kid in the tour who complained that he was "aesthetically allergic" to the dorm rooms. I'm sorry... but that is a physical incapability. You can't be aesthetically allergic to something unless you're.... ehh, couldn't think of anyone good enough..... so, nobody. But this got me thinking..... you know, what if this kid was a first? Then Wheaton should grab him! Sure, he'd have a hard time living on campus, but think of it..... Wheaton has the first human to ever be aesthetically allergic to something!!! That's insane! We could experiment on him and stuff, and see how it's possible. I mean, just imagine.....

First day of the semester, he walks into his new room and immediately starts sneezing. Let's just call him Beauregard. So, Beauregard starts sneezing. His roommate gives him a weird look. "Allergic to dust?", he asks. "No. I'm aesthetically allergic to the room", Beauregard replies. The roommate says "Oh! You're that kid! I'm so honored to be your roommate. You're the first of your kind you know.... we could party together and then I could be known as the "aesthetically allergic" kid's cool friend". Beauregard sneezes in response....

I mean, it's a perfect start. Too bad we won't be taking him. I heard the tour guide say something about the no admittance rule for aesthetically allergic people. It could have been really beautiful. It's a shame...

So you can imagine how bored I must have been at work to dream up this scene in my head. The moral of the story, don't work for data entry in an admissions office...... and....... don't name your kid Beauregard Goodnite....... and........ don't say your aesthetically allergic to something unless you mean it, because then everyone will make fun of you behind your back, and since it is, after all, a physical incapability, just don't say it at all. People will think you're weird.

I have a new obsession... if you want to call it that. When I was back in CT I watched all 5 Star Wars movies with Brian. I had never seen them before and Brian wants me to see the 6th one with him in May so we rented them all. No, my new obsession isn't Star Wars... I'm going to keep you in suspense for awhile about what it really is. At this point only Brian knows my new obsession... well there's really two. I mention both of them in here, but you'll probably only catch one of them. I flat out state it later. Three gold coins to anyone who figures it out. Back to what I was saying though, I did enjoy the movies and I'll admit I got pretty into them. I had fun watching with Brian. I liked C3PO the most... mainly because he waddled like a penguin. Yoda was fun too. I kept telling Brian that I thought he sounded exactly like Fozzy from the muppets and then laughed when I found out it was the same guy who did their voices. Brian and I "argued" for a bit over Natalie Portman and which character she played... I eventually realized he was right... but I didn't let him know that of course! ;) Plus, now I want to have a cat and name it Palpy, and only Brian and I will know why! I love sharing secrets but not explaining what they mean online... so much fun! =) Here's another secret you won't understand... I want to hibernate! Since I'm in the sharing secret mood I'll let you in on one of my obsessions. I didn't fall in love with Luke Starkiller in the movie, but I did fall in love with the music. Whenever it was playing in the background I HAD to sing along, complete with composer-like arm movements... with the words being "da da da, dun dun dun, dun dun dun". I still have the songs stuck in my head. Ever since that I've been obsessed with movie music. Like, I saw Finding Neverland the other day (amazing movie by the way) and got sooo into the music. Then, when we were watching The Matrix in my FYS it was the music that impressed me, more so than the movie. Yea for movie soundtracks!!! This is the shortest blog I've written in a loooooong time... probably because I just blogged yesterday. This WAS going to be the topic of yesterday's blog before the blog decided to take control and head itself in another direction. Can you belive it? Two blogs in a row!!! I'm so proud.

So my blogs have been diminishing in number.... as my faithful readers constantly remind me. If you notice, I've started the last 3 blogs or so with a very similar opening sentence to the one I just wrote. The topic is always how long it's been since my last blog. Do me a favor and let's just get over it. I'm at college and I have more to do than just sit at my laptop and type out little stories for you to read. Although I guarantee that if I fully "broke up" with blogger.com my addiction would force me to return in a month or two. I already tried giving up altogether and permanently stopping.... didn't work.

I just came back from Turkey Day break... a good 6 days off (thatwasonlysuppossedtobe5BUT... Iskippedaclassandleftadayearly) **stage note** read part in parentheses very quickly, as if one word, only pausing after the drawn out "BUT". I guess it would have been better if this came before the line I'm talking about. **fine**. Yup, one day short of a week in the town that I called home for fifteen years down in good old CT (note: that's C.T., pronounced "see tea", not "connecticut".... just because that's how I said it in my mind while I was typing and it's more amusing than just saying connecticut). Okay, I'll stop with the authors side-note-scribbles now, I promise. This time I really enjoyed being back home and wanted to stay longer.... versus October break where I was happy to come back to Wheaton. I wonder which one will win in the longrun as the "better" place to be. I could draw a comparison for you.... a rather, nontraditional one that is.....

Why nontraditional? I've got friends in CT, friends at Wheaton. A bed in CT, a bed at Wheaton. Poptarts for dinner in CT, poptarts for dinner at Wheaton. The traditional stuff is there wherever I am. It's the nontraditional stuff that's more fun to analyze rather than just saying Brian and Missy are in CT but freedom and dance are at Wheaton. Much more fun. So here's the real list....

1)At Wheaton I'm after quarters. I scrounge around like every other Wheatie.... waiting for my sixth sense to kick in whenever I'm within 20 feet of a loose quarter. It's like a radar system that every college kid who has to pay for laundry and vending machine munchies is equipped with. Much too lazy to walk to the bank and ask for a roll of quarters, we bargain to give friends a dollar bill for merely one of their precious quarters. We're careful to check they're not handing us any Canadian coins which the machines dutifully spit back at us. (How do the machines know the difference anyway?) Cheap kids we thought were our friends who try to jip us with their "counterfeit" money. Face it... at college, quarters are gold. You're lost without them. Or at least you're a hungry kid who has smelly clothes. It gets just about as crazy on campus when the change machine is broken as it did the day that Kerry lost to Bush. Now in CT do you think I would ever hand someone a dollar bill and only ask for a quarter back? Wouldn't happen. I live in Orange remember, where you need at least $600 to spend when you go to the mall or else you'd become the "poor kid" who only left with three bags of Abercrombie clothes instead of four. At college quarters are gold. In Orange, gold isn't even gold..... unless it's diamonds. ..... I confused myself.... nevermind.

2) At Wheaton my only "chore" is to do laundry. At home, pretty much my only chore is laundry too. The same chore can be so different depending on the location. I already mentioned the quarter situation. Conversely to what you may be thinking, the fact that I have to pay for laundry at Wheaton makes the task of getting it done at school easier. You see, if I'm doing laundry at school, then that means I've raked up enough quarters to actually get it done.... which is an accomplishment in itself. At this point, I'm so happy that I've managed to find $2.25 in quarters, that doing the laundry itself is a sort of perverted reward. Whereas at home the only reward is that I stop getting yelled at about it. Plus, at school I have to do it for myself so I don't start rewearing dirty clothes and become known as the smelly kid on campus. At home I have enough random clothes that I could probably get away with not doing my laundry for a good few months before running out of clean ones became an issue. The only reason I "have to" do it at home is because my mom tells me so. What kind of incentive is that?

3) While the outside weather only differs by a few degrees, the inside temperature of my home at Wheaton and my home in CT differ by a good... oh I'd say.... 70 degrees. A bit exagerrated? Yes. A lot exagerrated? No. My dorm room is directly above the boiler room. It's a constant 80something degrees in here. Tanktops and shorts are the norm, as well as four fans which haven't been shut off since the day of arrival. In CT my mom prefers not only to not turn on the heat, but also open all the windows to let in the cool 20 degree air. It requires layering to survive. You think I'm kidding....

4) homework in Wheaton, cable in CT

Well... this was a short list of the many comparisons I could make. I guess it comes down to whether I prefer quarters or dollars, laundry or laundry, heat or cold, and homework or cable. Hmm... somehow CT seems to have the benefit when I look at it like that. So I'll say I prefer heat and Wheaton's laundry to even it out. There's no place like home....

Now that the secret's out I can add a revision to my last post. If you haven't read it yet, read it now.... I'll wait....















Now that you've read it, I would like to add that I got my bellybutton pierced in St. Marks Place, along with Amy's nose. Thank you.

This past weekend I went to NYC to visit my good friend Miss Amy Gonsalves (and her roommate, who is also my good friend but not good enough to mention outside of the parentheses, Miss Meghan MacAlpine). Please note, (and take this very seriously), I'm just kidding about Meghan, I love her dearly! Anyways, to begin my story I'm going to tell a side story so be prepared for some non-NYC related discussion. Well... it's related in a sense but it gets further and further away from the topic of NYC as it progresses. I'll just tell you one more thing and then I'll begin my story. I want to live in New York City. Now I will begin my story.

In order to go to an area which you are not in already you naturally need some way of getting there. This was my problem. The only option available to me was a rather time consuming one. I had to take a shuttle from school to the T station which brought me to South Station in Boston which had a five hour bus that went to Chinatown in NY. But, since no other options existed, it's the one I went with. I think I made the right choice. I was a little nervous because the first time I went on the T I got terribly lost. This time I not only had to know what I was doing on the T, but I had to navigate myself from the T track where I was let off to South Station (harder than it sounds) to the bus terminal in another building, to the right bus. I eventually ended up in NYC so I can say that I'm proud of myself. I only wish I could say that I did it all on my own. Let me take you back to the beginning of my journey...

On the shuttle from Wheaton I noticed some guy talking on the phone in a language I didn't recognize. I began trying to guess what language he was speaking in, (Russian?, Creole?, Algerian?) when my thoughts were interrupted by someone with a British accent asking me if I was a senior. I turned around to find out that the British accent guy is the foreign language phone guy! My initial thought, ignorant as it was, was don't British people speak english?!?! Anyways, I tell him no, that in fact I'm a freshman and he replied "wow! you don't look like it". I still don't know what to think about that. I look 18. So... I find out he's Greek but was born in London and lived there just long enough to develop an accent. Answers my question. I find that he too is going to South Station and without him I guarantee I would have gotten lost. We get to talking on the shuttle....

Then we're talking about differences between Greece and America while waiting for the train.... then we're talking about politics and our families on the train.... he offers to pay for my train ticket, I say "no, no".... you know, the usual friendly get-to-know-you conversation. I don't know if you know this or not, but I'm not one who's big on small talk. Haha... big on small talk. Pun intended.... well, if that's a pun that is.... I'm really not sure. Anyways, I'm also not the type of person who easily becomes friends with a guy. I always find it awkward trying to talk to them as a friend because I'm always wondering if they're thinking anything sexual. Too much info. So, where I'm going with all this, and I swear I'm going somewhere, is that I was actually enjoying talking to this guy. Which got me thinking.... three years ago I would have killed to be in this situation.... trapped on a train for 45 minutes with a nice looking guy who has an accent, and is very smart and easy to talk to. So I was amazed that I wasn't attracted to this Greek God in that sort of way. All I could think about was my Brian.... and I loved how that made me feel! I'm beginning to miss him more and more and I constantly feel like I'm falling in love all over again. I've been all bubbly and happy like an idiot lately, just from thinking about him. That gorgeous greek guy made me realize even more how much I love being with Brian. Go figure!

That's the end of my sort of related side story. Now begins the fun of NYC. Once I arrived in good old Chinatown I realized something. 1) That I never want to sit on a bus again. 2) That I never want to be in that part of Chinatown again. It was scary. I got nasty glances from three Ghetto Chinese men who I later found out also "ran into" Amy and Kim. Then, there was some homeless guy who asked me if I knew of a safe place he could stay. After the fourth time I said no he began to instead ask where I was staying. I managed to play it safe while being polite.... I told him I was going to be uptown. "But where?" he'd ask. This process continued for quite awhile and my answers changed from uptown to upper West Side (even though I would be on the east side), to with a friend, to with a friend at my dad's apartment, to with a friend at my dad- who is a cop-'s apartment. He dropped it at about that time and I was relieved to finally find Amy a few minutes later.

I really liked Amy's dorm, but other than hitting my head on Meghan's desk, the rest of the night was pretty much uneventful, considering I arrived around midnight. After waking up to a tie-dyed pillow being thrown at my head the next morning, we decided to make french toast. What came next? We ate breakfast. I shouted that I was freezing about 85 times and then we went to Times Square to try and get tickets to a show that night. We wasted time and a good $5 or so in Starbucks where we each got drinks that we decided... well, I decided.... matched our personalities. Me- White Chocolate Mocha, Amy- some Pumpkin Pie spiced latte thing which was actually pretty good and Kim- apple cider plain with none of the flavor junk they normally add in. We then proceeded to the theater where Chicago is playing. We asked the guy if there were standing room tickets left. He said simply "yes". So what did we say...."YES!" He then added "Okay, at $100 each that will be $300". A moment of panic.... then laughter as we realize he must be kidding. Or was he?..... he was. $20 later we had our tickets for that night's performance. Woohoo!

We then hopped on a subway to St. Mark's place, stopping to see a Michael Jackson impersonater along the way. That wasn't the only time we got sidetracked, however. Once we got off the subway it took us a good 15 minutes to actually find St. Mark's place. We were all over Noho, Greenwich Village, and saw most of NYU before we finally found St. Mark's Place thanks to an NYU map attatched to the side of a building. Once we were headed in the right direction I got overly excited by a sidewalk "alternate route because of construction" thing which led us to where we wanted to be. We walked around there alot and Amy went to get her nose pierced. Super cute! I can't remember if it happened now or not, but for the sake of my story it will.... when getting on the subway to go back to her dorm, we somehow ended up in either the Bronx or Brooklyn... we were confused about which one and then we figured it out but now I forget. Wait........ it was Queens. I remember now.

That night we went to Planet Hollywood and had the best set of burger, fries, and a smoothie I've had in a long time. Then we went on to Chicago! Wayne Brady was suppossed to be in it, but he had an understudy that night... much to the disappointment of Amy (and me, but I don't count as much). Amy started to feel quite a bit better though when she saw one of the male performers who had an 8 pack, (or 10... if that's possible) and the most gorgeously muscular body I've ever seen in person. We had fun in our standing room seats because we were able to dance around and move to the music without annoying anyone but the other people who only paid $20 for their ticket. I was amazed by the actor playing Mary Sunshine who had the most gorgeous soprano voice I've ever heard and yet was a guy. Roxie was hysterical and Velma was the best performer. It was a lot of fun!!!! Well worth the twenty bucks.... with or without Wayne Brady.

The next day Amy, Meghan, Chris and I made cookie-dough pancakes/half-baked pancakes/cookiecakes/pancookiedoughcakes/pancakes with bits of M&M cookie dough dropped in. They were surprisingly pretty good! Amy and I spent much of the morning trying to remember old Spice Girl songs... I don't remember how it came up exactly but now I have "I moonwalk the foxtrot... and polka the salsa" stuck in my head. Overall, it was a fun weekend! And now that I'm back at Wheaton I realize how much I want to be going to school in a city. At the same time, if I were there I'd want a campus. There's no solution!

Okay, I'm going to start off by saying that when I finished my last entry with "I'll be back in a month"... I didn't intend it to be literal. But regardless of my intentions, an entire 36 days has passed since I last sat at my laptop and blogged. That's an entire 5.583 with a repeating decimal days longer than an average month. Then again, since 2004 is a leap year, it's only 5.5 days longer than an average month. Can you not tell why I am going to be a math major? You've got a nerdish quality too... don't deny it. Anyways... my sincere apologies to people who obsessively read my blogs as if it were the daily horoscopes found in the newspaper, or the sports section, or political campaign updates, or whatever other article you personally find pleasure in reading daily. I bet you're still thinking about your nerdish quality aren't you? I'll give you a hint... If you're checking whether or not my calculations were correct, you're a math nerd too.

I've realized a few things during my month off, a few... thoughts of wisdom if you'd like. First, my blogs have been lessening in humor quality. I've pondered over possible explanations before realizing well... that I had to ponder some more. To tell you the truth, I think I've been so busy procrastinating that it's too much for me to try and be funny. Even right now, as we speak... well, as I type.... I should be studying for a french test tomorrow. This is a classic example of my case. The majority of my time each day is spent deciding whether I should be working or doing activities which always seem to be more important... such as aimlessly surfing the web or walking across campus to check my mailbox for the 3rd time that day. I've come to a decision and I'm going to make a promise to you today. I'm going to step it up. Bring back some of that good old Trisha blog humor that recently seems to be found only in past entries. It's just like classic TV re-runs or old-school pop music. Why can't what's out today be as good as what was offered in the golden past? Why is nostalgia more comforting than the present? I'm going to change the rules right here, right now. Starting today, new blogs will be as funny as the old... instant classics every time!

Okay, I was getting out of hand with that theme so I decided to stop there. It just needed to end. Enough said. Instead, I'm going to tell you a story about how cool I am. I love these stories! Nothing's better than talking about the awesome dorkiness of me! ...Well, I'll admit that that's a lie what I said right there, I just got carried away and I'm too lazy to go back and erase it. Okay, this particular story started on a dark and stormy night. No... It's not the story of the Lee Lund ghost again, but bravo to you if you picked up on that... I've just realized that your nerdish quality is reading my blogs too much. Congratulations! ;) Back to my story... did I even start it yet? The setting: I'm in my dorm room, all alone (don't forget I said it was a dark and stormy night) and I'm staring, wide-eyed at what was in my hands. Unable to move, I could feel my heartrate increasing as I read the latest copy of the Wheaton Wire, completely enthralled in this week's issue. In this particular week's paper, they decided to share Wheaton College's ghost stories. Dun dun dunnnnnn!!!! I know what you're thinking.... and yes, it was probably printed at this time because Halloween is in a mere 3 days. You're smart enough to be a Wheatie, I can tell! Every college has their ghost stories, but not every college has true ghost stories! And Wheaton's are true. You know how I know? Because they wouldn't print it and let the whole school read it if it weren't true, silly! Wow... my own fake stupidity is even starting to get on my nerves. Anyways, one of the stories was about the ghost of Mary Armstrong who haunts the library. She worked in Wheaton's library from 1924-1929. Why did she leave in 1929 after only five years of work you ask? The answer isn't pretty. She committed suicide that year. Her spirit is said to be seen passing through the library hallways. Lights turn on and off and empty elevators descend to the stacks after hours. A favorite hobby of alums is to make a field trip out of it and spend the night in the library looking for her ghost. Of everyone who has stayed the night in the old library, the only common sign of "Aunt Mary's" spirit that they all have found is that the book entitled "Between Life and Death" had seemingly been pushed off the stacks as each party walked by.

Got it? So that's where the ghost story ends, now here comes the coolness of me part! This story made me curious. So naturally I headed over to the library. I contemplated sitting by the elevator near the stacks until closing time, 2:00 a.m., but decided that that would be way beyond even my normal level of procrastination. Instead, I looked up where "Between Life and Death" was located in the library. I went down to find it in the stacks, which are always empty and I'll admit pretty creepy. It's one of those places you just randomly start running out of because you start to freak yourself out. You know the sort, I'm sure. Anyways, so I find this book. I sat there for awhile and flipped through the pages. I don't know what I expected to happen, but I still sat there flipping those pages. I put the book back on the shelf and looked over both my shoulders before turning to leave. I'll admit, those little hairs on the back on my neck were raised. Then, I stopped dead in my tracks and slowly turned back around.... No, the book didn't fall off the shelf- calm down! But I thought to myself, imagine how creeped out I would have been if when I went down to find the book in the stacks, I found it lying on the floor. I'm not into the whole ghost thing (can't you tell), but that would have seriously freaked me out a bit. So, why not let someone else experience it? I went back to the shelf, took the book, and left it face up on the floor. Aren't I so clever? I bet I creeped someone out to the extreme! Hahaha, I'm the biggest dork on the Wheaton campus! Who would do that besides me? Why would anyone do that? I sure don't know the answer. But hey, I'm just keeping the ghost story alive! There were other ghost stories in the Wire that were just as intriguing, but I wasn't prepared to go steal the key to the basement of Emerson which has been locked for 60 years just to find out what had killed the old janitor and his dog. And you're crazy if you thought I'd spend the night in the closet where Eve Everett was strangled to death by her boyfriend. The scratch marks are still on the walls! Forget about going to the graveyard that's across from campus on Halloween night. I'm just going to head over to the coffee shop where the old president choked on a croissant 30 years back and let his spirit scare me for the night!

So I made that last one up, whatcha gonna do? It's better than if I had said he was killed by the giant snapping turtle that lives in the pond, isn't it? Have a great Halloween. Stay clear of librarians who may seem a little on the depressed side, asking them when a book is due may put them over the edge. Don't follow around any janitor that has a dog, or boyfriends who have a habit of strangling people. And why not? Avoid presidents with croissants as well. Just avoid croissants. Stick to candy.

Okay, so some people have been yelling at me because I haven't blogged in awhile. Sorry that I actually have a life. Really, there's not all that much to talk about though. All's going good here in the Wheaton bubble. The dance company people are cool... we go to dinner as a company every night after rehearsal. We're already done with two entire dance pieces, one of which is 7 whole minutes long. Our first performance is already coming up on October 23rd... mark those calanders!!! I had to get 2 new types of dance shoes and I ordered them through discountdance. Well, 6 days and $100 later they came in and neither of them were at all what I expected. So... I'm forcing Kim to bring me to a dance supplies store this weekend. She's coming up to visit... it's not like I'm making her drive me all the way from CT, that would be crazinity.

Speaking of crazinity, my life has been a little hectic up here and I don't even know why. I'm constantly on the go. That's such a weird expression. Anyways... between dance, work, classes and such I have very little "free time". It's strange too because my classes are so much easier and I have so much less work than last year. It creeps me out. Why is college easier than high school? I tend to think it's because 3/4 of my classes are basically repeats of what I've already taken in h.s. : calculus (by the way I love my new prof), writing about poetry (basically a review of freedman's mod. poetry), and french (which is approximately the level of my freshman year class in h.s). Maybe that's why I'm having an easy semester, I don't know... But this is like my typical Tuesday, which isn't so different from the rest of my other days really. I get up at 8:00, get ready and go get breakfast. I have work in the admissions office from 9-11 and then class from 11-12:30. Half hour break which I spend in my dorm, simply breathing. Class from 1-2. Lunch immediately after class and then back to the dorm to do a little bit of hw after obsessively checking my wheaton email to see if I have a package that day. Dance from 4-6ish and then dinner right afterwards with all of the dance girls. Shower. Run off to some meeting or group assignment thing or something. At this point, it's 9:30 and I'm exhausted and I do a little bit of work and then go hang out with the people down the hall for a bit. It's a little too crazy of a daily schedule for me.

In other, still Wheaton related, news... two of my roommates are already moving out this weekend. Caitrin and Lisa are heading to another dorm. It's only a matter of time before I get kicked out of the lounge. I wrote the most heartfelt email of my life to the student life lady, begging to be allowed to stay somewhere in Young. Oh man, oh man, I hope it works! This next thing is completely random but I have to share anyways. Wheaton is infested with animals. I have never seen more squirrels, rabbits, bats (yes, I said bats), cats or dogs anywhere before! You can't walk from lower campus to upper without running into, that's literally running into, like 30 squirrels and several rabbits. Wheaton college is being taken over by them, I swear. My own dorm room already has been invaded by a stray dog that decided to walk into our room and almost a skunk too... that's a funny story that I don't feel like sharing. Notice how I don't share the funny stuff?

Kimberly is getting two tickets to see Wicked for her birthday and I am her guest of honor. I am so beyond excited! I'm even going to get to see Idina Menzel in it, because they extended her contract an extra week, so now it includes the date we're going to see the show. For those of you non-wicked fanatics, Idina Menzel is the lead in the show and beyond amazing and if I didn't get to see her in it before she left, my life would not have been complete.

The only reason I had a chance to write this is because my classes and work was cancelled today, for inexplainable reasons that I don't really care about. But, I have to get ready for dance now, so I'll be back in like a month to write. If you're lucky!!! ;)

Nothing funny about this blog... just sharing a new story on my adventures at Wheaton. The theme of this lil blog is about my Wheaton Dance Company audition. First, I'll give you the pre-audition info... maybe you'll be as creeped out as I was. Well... creeped out isn't the right phrase, but I don't want to spend time actually figuring out what it is I'm trying to say, so for lack of better phrases that are currently circulating in my head... creeped out works just fine.

So... I went to talk to the director of the dance company a few days before the audition. A woman by the name of Cheryl Mrozowski. I walked into her office as she was cleaning it, but she gladly invited me in. She asked the usual questions... how long I've been dancing, what styles I do etc. I even prepared for the "what specific techniques have you learned?" question by going online (specifically google with 'dance techniques choreographer' typed into the search engine) and refreshing my memory just minutes before I left for her office. It's a good thing too because the question was asked and I could easily roll Cecchetti, Humphrey-Weidman, Horton etc. off my tongue as if I actually knew those were the techniques I've studied in the past. Anyways, then she told me that last year there were only like 6 girls in the company and she didn't take anyone new in last year because everyone who auditioned wasn't up to par with what level she wanted the company to be at. (hopefully not visible) Nervousness took over me. She made it sound as if I had no chance of getting in. Then she asked if I had sent in a dance video with my application. When I said no she told me "well, that's a good thing because the ones I received weren't very good at all" while smiling as if to say I still had a slight chance. Finally she asked the dreaded question.... Do I consider myself an advanced dancer? You see, there is really no way to correctly answer that question. You may be advanced where you come from, but then take a class at Broadway Dance Center and make a fool of yourself. There are always people better than you and people worse than you. And if you say yes then they'll think you're overly confident and cocky, but if you say no then they'll think you're awful. My response? "Well... I would say I'm a good dancer, yes". Was that a safe response? I still am not sure...

Basically, I walked out of her office feeling like this was going to be incredibly competitive and I'd be at this audition with those freakish people who can do 6 turns and switch leaps as easily as they can rattle off the alphabet. I thought I had no chance. Skipping ahead a few days, my nervousness all the while increasing, and the audition day arrives. The biggest thing on my mind at this point is whether or not I'll have to wear shoes at the audition. I know it sounds like a crazy thought, considering most people are nervous about other aspects... but I'm used to the barefoot ways of Lee Lund. I don't like dancing in shoes. Anyways, so I arrive in the dance studio and there are like 30 girls there or something like that. I pick out my number and sit down to stretch while doing my favorite thing at an audition, observing others. It was hard to tell at this point if the other girls would be good dancers or not. It's hard to tell just by appearance, although some looked more like dancers than others, and believe it or not, very few people were stretching, so I couldn't tell if they were overly flexible or anything. So, we start the warmup, barefoot might I add, and it was pretty straight forward. Then, after putting on shoes (grrrr) we do a really simple, basic across the floor thing consisting of kicks, pas de bourrees, and turns. I was relieved after this exercise. A lot of the people auditioning had no technique whatsoever. I felt like I actually had a chance. Next, we did a significantly more difficult, upbeat and stylistic across the floor thing and finally a lyrical type of jazz combination. The girls who were in the company last year were all really good dancers, very strong. But most of the people auditioning weren't up to their level. Three hours later, the audition was over and I felt really good. Not only did I feel like I actually had a shot at getting in, but I thoroughly enjoyed the audition. It felt more like a normal dance class to me than an audition and it felt soooo good to dance again. The postings would go up that night about the first cut.

Cutting to the chase here, I made it past the first cut. The next step in the audition process was a ballet class. The class was taught in a different style from what I'm used to and the petit allegro had steps in it that I've literally never seen before. Luckily, the director was talking to the dance captain while only occasionally glancing up when I had to do the petit allegro. It was scary because I wasn't used to the particular style of ballet and we had to do alot of the class only 2 people at a time, meaning that if the other person didn't know what was going on then you had no one to help you out. But in general, the class wasn't as intense as Debi's ballet. I missed that intensity. I was actually hoping for some plea releves, but I didn't even get so much as a "hold that arabesque for another 8". Disappointing. I was still sore the next day however. I couldn't tell after the ballet class if I was going to get in or not. There were only 12 people at the ballet class, including the girls who were in the company last year, and everyone seemed to be on a similar level. Cutting to the second chase, I got in. Woohoo! I was so excited. There are only 8 girls in the company, and I think I'm the only new person, and then there are four understudies. We have rehearsals 5 days a week for 2 hours each day. I can't wait until it all begins. I am soooooo happy about it! I was going to start this blog by saying "Nothing funny about this blog... just sharing my excitement" but then I realized that it would be a spoiler. So I changed it to create a sense of anticipation. I hope you appreciate my careful editing. I can't think of a clever way to end this, and again, I don't feel like racking my brain, so this is how it's ending.

Okay, so I've been up at school for a little over a week now... actually, it's closer to a little under a week and a half if you want to be accurate here... and I'm finally starting to adjust. You may laugh at that finally because I've only been here for 10 days and that's hardly an amount of time that would call for a "finally".... but believe me, it felt like a finally to me! Everyone actually is saying that it feels like we've been here for a month. But then it's like... it's only been 10 days!!!! It just doesn't seem possible. My sense of time is all distorted. I've been incredibly busy during the time I've been here, and almost never in my dorm... so now that I have a moment to actually breathe (even though it's past midnight and I have classes tomorrow) I finally have an opportunity to blog. I hope you're pleased.

The turning point for me was the day I broke down. You see, I was crying everyday since I got here because I wasn't happy. But I'd only cry at night, so it was well hidden from others. Well, one day I couldn't postpone it until the 10 p.m. or later hours and I didn't know what to do with myself. I didn't want to be in my room with my three roommates. Not that I don't like them, but I don't particularly enjoy crying in front of people... especially because people means more than one person. So... I aimlessly went wandering down the hall, not knowing exactly where I was headed. I knew that I had to talk to someone, but I didn't really know or trust anyone yet. Well... this girl Stephanie was in her room by herself with her door wide open. At this point, she seemed nice from what I've seen of her.... so, cutting to the chase here.... I invited myself in. After like 2 seconds, well.... maybe 11, she realized something was wrong. I started crying again and I talked to her for a good amount of time, telling her what was on my mind and stuff I've gone through. She was really nice and helpful. I can't tell you how much better I felt afterwards. It comforted me just knowing that someone else on campus knew about my past and how I was feeling about adjusting to college. She started inviting me places, whenever she was going out... which I still feel kind of weird about... like it's just a sympathy thing or something. But, regardless of that... like I said, talking to her made me feel a whole lot better and more confident again. And now I have a good group of friends! Finally!!!!!

So... I have to tell you about my friends now. They're six of us that hang out together and we're all on the same floor of the same dorm, Young 1st. I'll start with Stephanie since I've already introduced you to her. Stephanie is from Wisconsin... very outgoing, funny, sassy, and down to earth. She is just a lot of fun to be around and has the funniest laugh (and pinkie fingers) ever. I'm very relaxed and happy when around Stephanie. Next there's Genevieve, or Genna. She's from D.C. and she has so much energy! She has a really cool, sophisticated, unique fashion sense that no one else can pull off. Genna is very much so into politics and she's very interesting to talk to. She's very fun and can always make you smile just because of her energy and personality. Hmm... this is starting to feel like I'm writing personal ads for them or something. Anyways... continuing.... Sarah is from Maine and she is very relaxed and down to earth. She's very real and I don't know why but to me she gives off a sort of earthy vibe. She's in my french class and is cool to hang out with. She's very nice, just like the rest of them! I'll go with Liz next... might as well stay in the same gender for now... it's funny because Liz is the one I knew the least three days ago, but now she's one of the one's I know the most. She is very fun, and I'd say probably the closest in personality to my "typical friends" from back home. We got a caricature done together today at the bbq outside my dorm. She's very friendly and genuine. Last, but certainly not least, is Reid. Reid is amazing. He is probably the single most genuinely friendly, sincere gentleman that exists in the world. We all sort of have an obsession with Reid. He just makes you smile. He is hilarious as well, without even trying. Everything he says cracks us up... even if it's not funny... just his facial expressions and tone are hilarious. Reid is just great. I'm very happy with the group of friend's I've made here so far.

Already, I've gone into both Providence and Boston, written my first paper, been called about three job offerings, been hit on by a drunk senior, spent an entire 10 hours straight in the library, and gone out every night only to get in well past 1:00... well, every night! I'm already feeling like a college student! Providence and Boston were sooooo much fun, although I must say that nothing compares to NYC. In Providence we went to dinner and a movie for an entire $5 total. A-mazing! We ate at Fire and Ice which is this really cool stirfry place. It's set up like a buffet with all sorts of vegetables, fruits, pastas, sauces and meats and you pick out what you want, bring it to this HUGE center of the room, circular grill thing and they cook it for you right there. It has an amazing atmosphere too. I loved it! Then, the six of us went to see Wicker Park which was really good. It was hysterical... the entire audience got soooo into this movie. We were majorly LLOLing, booing, clapping... the works. It was just so good. The filmography in and of itself was amazing, so it was one of those movies where even if you didn't like the story line, you could appreciate the artistic aspect of it. The chronology was really confusing, but we sorted it out in a chat after the movie. We walked to the Cheesecake Factory for dessert but there was like an hour wait. So instead we went into this classy, elegant, mucho expensive restaurant. It was closed. But, the guy let us in anyways. Oh, the perks of being a college female. The desserts were unbelievable! Here we were in our jeans and t-shirts, laughing obnoxiously loud, in this highclass "fine dining" type of restaurant where the desserts were $10 each for things so tiny that you could finish the entire thing in under 20 seconds, which Genna and Liz actually pulled off.... literally.... having a great time. We even got the waiter to take a picture of us, as if we weren't already annoying him enough. College students.... geez!

Today we went into Boston, even though we all have papers due tomorrow that are sitting in our rooms, quite unfinished. It was my first real trip into Boston. It is very clean and very visually pleasing. It actually felt more like a New Haven to me though than a New York, based on size and offerings and such. We walked up and down Newbury Street, going into the occasional store, but only actually buying anything at CVS. We needed to stock our rooms with food to escape the "food" of Chase dining hall which became boring all too quickly. We got dinner at this Vietnamese place. This was my first encounter with Vietnamese food. I now know that I love summer rolls. I don't even know what they are, but they were soooooo good. I didn't think I would like them because I hate eggrolls, but these were yummy. I got some chicken noodle soup thing which was also good, except it had onions in it and it was sometimes hard to decipher the noodles from the strands of onion. Luckily, I only gagged once and was mostly able to avoid the onion. I must say however, that the most enjoyable part of the trip... if you can say enjoyable... was driving up there and driving back. Boston is really only a 40 minute drive from campus. However, with Reid driving and Stephanie giving him directions while stroking his hair and teasing him, it took us roughly an hour and a half to get up there. We got a little lost. We kind of drove by our exit once. Oh well, no problem... there's an alternate route that would be shorter than turning around. The only problem is that we drove by that exit too. Reid had a little trouble concentrating on his driving. Needless to say, we got there eventually... and in one piece. There were a few times I didn't think we were going to make it. First of all, we drove the entire way up there with the gas on E, so we were certain that we would lose gas in the middle of the highway and get crushed from behind by some unassuming, speeding vehicle. Also, Reid's car doesn't have working signals. This doesn't make it easy when driving in a city, especially when that city is Boston. There were a few times though that we had to clutch the seats or the side door or whatever we could grab onto so that we didn't go flying all around the car. I swear to you, Reid made one U-Turn very, very quickly and the tires on one side of the car came off of the ground. I thought we were done for. To this moment, I am shocked that the car did not flip over. It's not that Reid's a reckless driver. He was more frightened than any of us were. It's just that his car is old, and stick shift, with uncertain acceleration and brakes... sometimes they hardly worked, and sometimes they worked way too well. It was an adventure, and we laughed in the face of death. I spent a good 110% of my time in that car either laughing or screaming, or both simultaneously. I like my Young 1sters!

P.S. Don't worry Kimberly, they're not as amusing as you and I'm not as weird with them.

Well... I'm here. Up at Wheaton... and well, it's definitely going to take some getting used to. After my first day I was ready to call up my mom and tell her to bring me home... I kid you not. It just wasn't at all what I was hoping my first day would be like. I was going into it pretty confident, but those high spirits basically ended around the first hour after my family left and I tried interacting with people. Believe it or not, I was being the outgoing and friendly one who always said "Hi. I'm Trisha." ... (response)... "where are you from?"....(more response that slowly turns itself into a polite, but forced conversation). So, I guess technically I met a lot of people. However, almost everyone seemed very stand-offish or shy. Not that shy is bad, it's just hard when you're trying to meet people. I thought I was suppossed to be the shy one. I got very discouraged when by the end of the day there already seemed to be cliques. I mean, these people have known each other for what... 6 or 7 hours at this point, yet they're all hugging and laughing like they've been best friends for years. Everyone was walking around with a group of people. Not Trisha. I got upset and cried for a bit outside of my dorm. I mean... I know people are just trying to get to know one another, but at the moment I felt like... they've gotten to know who they want to know and they don't want to know anyone else and that includes me. Very wrong, I know... (well, I hope anyways).... but it was just cause of the events and emotionness of the day. I didn't get off to a great start. Especially because the first few people I talked to ended up being really mean and judgmental. Oh well, they can't all be that way here, right? I mean, I'm sure it wasn't something Wheaton was considering in the admissions process. Speaking of which, my first day was also very intimidating. Some important administration lady decided to list off some of my class's accomplishments during her opening speech thing. Oh my god. I can only imagine how intimidated I would have felt if I ever did get into like Brown or Amherst. In my freshman class there is everything from published writers in global magazines and newspapers, founders of important "community service" type programs in foreign countries, #1 winners in all sorts of national intelligence-required type of awards, multilingual people (and by multilingual I mean 11 languages), all sorts of singers and instrument player people with like multiple cds and resumes that include carnegie hall... and I don't know what else. I prolly could have given better examples because I remember thinking that I wouldn't be surprised if she said one of the Wheaton freshman discovered a cure for AIDS. It was beyond intimidating, and really cool at the same time. I got extra frustrated by the end of the night when we were forced to squeeze 800 sweaty people into a chapel to hear Wheaton's traditions and urban legend ghost story things. And that's not even the problem. We were stuck in there for one and a half hours and we couldn't hear a thing. The upperclassmen were screaming and chanting and banging pots and pans the entire time. So I had to sit in a lake of people's sweat for over an hour only to leave with pulsing ear drums and not having heard one single tradition or story. Then, we had to form a circle around the entire circumphrence of the lake with a lit candle. The candles went out like 800 times, and I got splashed (meaning more than just a little wet) by some guys who thought it would be fun to strip down and swim in the scummy lake. Almost, but not quite, the perfect ending to my first day. I decided, even though I was already upset at this point, to go to the Loft Night and make another attempt to meet some people. Well, as I make my way over there, I pass by a billion little groups of friends that were just formed. When I actually made it to the Loft, there was virtually no one there. Sooo... my last attempt of the day was also a failure and I decided I'd have to take the long walk of shame back across campus to my dorm.... all alone. Off to a rough start... and after day 2 it's no better for me. Sigh. It'll happen.

Hi there! I just came back from my "week" aka 3/4 days in NYC. So much fun! I'm apologizing in advance, because this will be one of the longest blogs I've had in a while. They seem to keep getting longer and longer, but this one will be especially bad. Go ahead, I'll give you a minute to scroll down and see just how long this blog is...

Now that you've got that out of your system, I'll tell you about my trip. First though, I have to mention my night before we left. I stayed at Kimberly's house because our train was leaving relatively early the next morning. Now, normally a night at Kimberly's house is a blog in and of itself, but I don't have the patience to divide the last four days into four separate entries, so that's why you're getting this one ridiculously too long blog. Maybe I would save space if I stopped preparing you for how long this will be. Be more efficient, Trisha! So... we were looking up baby names online because I wanted to prove to her that the name Claudia means "stupid person" or something like that. It actually means "lame"... but that's an unnecessary piece of trivial information. Interestingly enough, like half of the names that exist in this crazy world either have something to do with being noble, beautiful, or a meadow. Well, not being a meadow, but the names would have some connotation with the word. Kinda strange. Never name your kid Cecilia (or Claudia). While at this baby names site we found some pretty funny names which we decided to adopt as our own. I am Pooky... which believe it or not was on this website, and it said it means "cute, little person" which just cracked me up beyond belief. Kim is Beauregard, because she found it amusing to say this name over and over again. And we decided Amy would be Thor. Don't ask why we included her in this and subjected her to this embarrassing nickname. I don't know. If your name is Pooky, Beauregard, or Thor I apologize for lowering your self-esteem. I guess that goes for all you Claudias and Cecilias as well. So, then we decided to make nicknames for the nicknames. They are now Pookster, Beauregizzle, and T. Ho (or my favorite, T. to the Hor). Kim decided that as a group we could be the Pancake Batter Trio, or PBT... and she woke me up in the middle of the night to share this idea with me. Speaking of the middle of the night, it was no ordinary night at Kim's house. All of a sudden, while I was sleeping, I felt a pillow being pulled out from under my head. I hear Kim murmur, "I'll give it back in a minute. Gidget just told me to check the style number." ... Yeah, Kim talked to me in her sleep. The funniest part though is that I was so tired that I thought she was being completely normal. I was like, 'Oh, okay. She's just checking the style number. I'll get it back in a minute'. Needless to say, after checking it over for a few seconds she gave it back and I fell asleep again.

The first day in NYC was fun. We went to the Met (art museum, not opera house) with my cousin Stephen. We stayed in his apartment in Kew Gardens for the time we were down there. There was some cool stuff there... I mean at the Met, not my cousin's apartment... although he did have a lot of cool scripts and jazz. Anyways, I decided that I am going to paint a single black line on a blank canvas and sell it for 5 million dollars. A lot of the modern art section was stuff like that. One thing was actually a bunch of ribbons covered in tar. Another was a huge chunk of cardboard with cotton sticking out of it. They had a lot of cool stuff there though. We went to the wax museum that day too, which was also fun. These things looked more real the closer you got to them and they looked identical to the celebrities they were made to look like. It creeped me out to the extreme. It is my new goal in life to be made out of wax. It would be so cool! Then I could finally "see" what I look like. I mean, I can look in a mirror, but I always wonder how other people see me, in 3D and all. If I had a wax me, it would be like having a twin. An inanimate twin, but a twin nonetheless. It took a few hours after we left the wax museum to stop thinking that all the unusually still people on the street were made of wax. After that we went shopping. We walked into a Coach store, and I felt incredibly ridiculous. I was trying to hide my $12 Bongo bag from view, because I could see the employees eyeing it with disdain. I contemplated telling my mom that I bought a $70 wallet from there but I never did. It killed me to see the people shopping there though. "Oh, no I don't need any help. Just checking out what's new this season. How long will the plum line be in stock? Oh, I think I'll just take these three $600 bags for today." ... and then there was me. Sooooooo, I went into Gap, where I'm a little more at home. I got a few things there. And oh my god, I have a new favorite store. Sephora. I love it to death! I must have said at least 817 times, much to Kim's annoyance, that if I lived in NYC I would never buy makeup and instead just go in there everyday. They have like 500 kinds of perfumes, thousands of eyeshadows, lipsticks, blushes and everything else, and it's all out for you to sample. I kid you not... I walked out of there with 5 different lipglosses on, 2 eyeshadows, mascara, cream blush, powder, and perfume. I was in heaven! I had a field day in that store. My lips burned for a good two hours afterwards, but it was worth it. Right after shopping, on our way back to the subway, a group of 4 guys were like "ooo, she's gorgeous! And she's not from NY. Oh, let me give you a free tour of the city baby". I told you, no matter where I go outside of Orange or how long I'm away, I get hit on at least once. They knew I wasn't from NY because I had my backpack on still. I wasn't going to waste time getting on the subway and going all the way to my cousin's apartment to drop it off, so I sported it for the day. Speaking of the subway, I am proud to say that I now know my way around the whole NYC subway system pretty well. I feel accomplished. It was funny, there was a Subway (as in the sub shop) in one of the subway stations and I said to Kim before we saw it, "I smell Subway", and she laughed at me until we walked by the Subway store/restaurant/whatever. She thought I meant that I smelled the NYC subway. Isn't that hilarious? Funny humor. Sigh. Her metro card like never worked for her. Each time she had to run it through the thing like twice before it would let her go through. Ha ha. I mean.... that was most unfortunate.

Day two. We went to wait in the lotto line for Wicked tickets twice this day. Wicked is only the coolest, most amazing show ever to be on Broadway, and I've never seen it. I've read the book and I have the soundtrack memorized... I only sing it every second of the day. Well, the show is so popular that they're like sold out until forever. But they save the front row seats for each performance and do a lottery for them. You write down your name and some dude picks 20ish names out of a hat, (well, not a hat, one of those spinny raffle things). If your name is called you get two front row tickets for that day's performance at only $25 each. Sweet deal. Well, we were highly angered because the first time that we did the lottery that day the people who were in front of us in line won and they didn't know anything about the show, and the people behind us when we were standing in the crowd waiting for the names to be called also won. But not us. We deserved it more than anyone! No one is more obsessed with Wicked than me! The Wicked lottery Part II was just as unsuccessful. I was angered by all of the little kids walking out of the show and the teenage boys who could care less. I was like "GIVE ME YOUR TICKET IF YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE THE SHOW OR ARE TOO YOUNG TO APPRECIATE IT!!!" Anyways... calming down now... we went to take a dance class at Broadway Dance Center. We made a complete circle when we left Wicked's theater and accidentally ended up, wouldn't you know it... back at Wicked's theater. After that fifteen minutes of going in the wrong direction, we started to actually head towards BDC. We took an intermediate lyrical class. It was a little more than a little difficult. I could tell it would be this way though when the teacher was showing us a combination and said, "now do four turns. Or five". You see, I often hear that at Lee Lund too, but there it's a joke. Here it was real. I was clueless throughout the majority of the 90 minute class. Needless to say, we chickened out of our second class, an intermediate advanced theater class. If we couldn't handle intermediate we weren't gonna risk the next level up. We bought matching shirts and called it a day. A kind of depressing day... no Wicked tickets after two tries, and an intense reality check at BDC... so we went home early that night. On the one hand it was like, we're in NYC and should be out exploring and having fun. But on the other hand it was like, we're in NYC and we were shot down all day, our feet and legs are killing so badly that we're limping, and we have headaches from the heat. Our depression, feet, legs and heads won the battle, and slaughtered the fun-seeking explorers.

Third day, last full day in the city. This was basically our shopping day. We went into Chinatown. Well, sort of. We never really got to the main part of Chinatown but we ran into some stores run by Chinese people. It was really sketchy. At every store there would be some little employee outside whispering in a low voice, "Louis Vuitton. Louis Vuitton". And when I say whispering, I mean you could have mistaken it as the wind playing tricks on your ears. Kim wanted a bag. So we go into one of the stores, following the hushed sounds of Chinese people murming expensive designers' names. It's like a little strip mall inside, except it's little stands instead of whole stores. We walk all the way to the back. No Louis Vuitton. We're about to turn around as a guy sitting on an upside down garbage can whispers "Louis Vuitton" and motions for us to come. We follow. Turning his back to the crowd, he pulls out a piece of paper with pictures of different bags. Kim makes her selection by pointing. He says "They're coming now. On their way". We wait for a stressful ten minutes, pretending to look at other things inside. Then, a guy walks in through the back door carrying a black plastic bag. He drops it at the garbage can guy's feet and keeps walking. HOW SKETCHY IS THAT?!?!? It felt like a drug deal. Then our "dealer" guy pulls a tan zipper bag out of the black plastic one and hands it to Kim. She pays her $25 and he says before we leave, "If anyone ask, I sold you a picture". After tackling Chinatown, we went to Macy's. Macy's is 11 floors of $280 cotton tank tops and oldschool wooden escalators. Not my kind of place. I found an Old Navy, another place, like the Gap, where I'm more at home, and got a few things there. That night we went to see Little Shop of Horrors. It was a lot of fun! First of all, we were laughing when we went to get tickets earlier that morning. There was a mother and a daughter from Canada who were in front of us in the ticket line. They had to pay $100 each for their tickets. Kim and I got front row center seats for only $50 each, half price. We saw them at the show that night and they had front row seats way off on the side. Why did we get better seats, for a better price, if they bought their tickets before us? Because they're from Canada or because we're two teenage girls? Anyways, before the show started some usher lady walks by and screams, "There are no cameras or cellphones allowed in the thee-a-tah!" I started laughing hysterically. I am not exaggerating how she pronounced theater at all here. It was (very clearly), thee - a - tah. There was a little boy sitting next to me in the thee-a-tah and his father said to him, "If you get a date with this girl I'll be very impressed" while laughing and winking in my direction. Creepy or cute? A little of both? I agree. I told Kim that my dream, other than being made of wax, has always been to play one of the three black girls in Little Shop of Horrors, and it's so disappointing to me that I'll never be able to. Their parts are so much fun! If only I were black.... During the show, the orchestra played an extra beat at the end of one of the songs. At least I thought it was an extra beat. It sounded a little odd to me, like it didn't belong there at all. Well, I guess my ears didn't decieve me because Joey Fatone mouthed to the girl playing Audrey, "what was that?" and he had to restrain from laughing. For clarification, Joey Fatone was playing the lead in the show. He wasn't like randomly sitting in the audience or something. It was cool sitting in the front row, but there were certain disadvantages. It was hard to see certain things, and I saw too much of other things. I wish I could have seen Audrey being swallowed by the plant, but from where I was sitting she just kind of disappeared. I also wanted to see a picture of the nasty teeth they put up because of the big reaction it got from the audience, but it was blocked from my view. And I wish I didn't have to see all the actors spitting as they sang, or see up the girls skirts throughout half the show. But I'm glad I was in the front row at the end. The plant grew and it's vine things came out, over the edge of the stage and into the front row. I was groped by the plant! It was alot of fun. The plant was out into the entire orchestra section, singing away and swooping down near the audience scaring people. After the show, Kim and I decided to wait by the stage door and get autographs. I swear to you, I am not making this next part up. Some loud, obnoxious guy was talking away to his daughter behind me near the stage door. When one of the three black girls came out he said to her, "You ver fantastique in da show. Vonderful!". This guy had no accent whatsoever in real life, but he randomly chose to talk to this actress in a sort of french/german accent. Why? I have no idea. At least now I know that some people are weirder than me. We got the entire cast's autographs. When Joey Fatone came out someone screamed, "Joey! You're my favorite Backstreet Boy!". It was one of the actors in the show who screamed it... but it was still funny. As we were walking back to the subway we saw a guy on a street corner covered in a suit made of little swirly light-up things. A guy near him sort of whispered to Kim and I, "Check it out. It's a light man." I found this hilarious. Maybe it was just because it was like midnight and I was tired, but it was really funny. A light man... did he just say a light man?

Something really pleased me during my little four day period in the city, and here it is... I'm approachable. As a matter of fact, I'm very approachable. I was approached over six times by random people. I'm not including the light man guy or the one who wanted to give me a tour around NY or the psycho father who wanted to hook me up with his five year old son. I'm talking about times when I was approached, out of a large crowd of people to choose from, and asked a question. They chose me to ask! Me! I thought that I seem to be stuck up, and snobby, or at least clueless half the time, but no! I'm approachable! I was approached by... you ready?... two guys in suits, one of whom reminded me of my old guidance counselor, a lesbian obsessed with Gap, an old guy with a hearing aid who had trouble understanding me, a family of four, a black shirtless guy with a tatoo across his chiseled chest, and a random lady who I can't really categorize. You can't get much more diverse than that! I was asked either for directions, or why on earth there were so many people standing outside near the Wicked theater, or other quirky questions! I was proud. You see, this either means 1. That I am actually an approachable person, 2. I actually look like I know what's going on, or 3. That I appear to be a real New Yorker who knows where things are around the city. All of those are very admirable things in my book. And if you remember from one of my last blogs, yet another one of my dreams is to appear to be a "real New Yorker" when I'm in the city, so if #3 is true then one of my goals is complete! I've perfected the leaning against the subway rail thing while reading technique that I discussed before. Plus, I now have the New Yorker's sixth sense of knowing when to cross the street. They all start to cross seconds before the light changes to the walk signal. They seem to sense that it will change right before it actually does. And then there are the tourists, who wonder how they knew that the walk signal was going to come up. Yeah, I'm proud to say I'm not one of those curious tourists any more. I also know to stand on the right side of the elevator and go along for the ride, or run up the left side, but never the opposite. Oh yeah... I've got it down. My only problem is that I still can't walk in the city. I swear that NYC wanted me to break my ankle. I must have tripped on the sidewalk like 10 times and almost killed myself. I think I was luckier than Kim though. Kim got attacked by a low flying pigeon. That dirty thing actually touched her head! Meaning that the pigeon touched Kim's head, not that Kim touched the pigeon's head. Sorry, Kim. That was cruel, but I couldn't resist. P.S. Kim's not a dirty thing.

On the day we came back from NYC we went to Catie's dance party. It was fun. I thought I would be exhausted from the week, but I must say I had a decent amount of energy. I actually lost my voice because of Catie's party. Too much screaming. My throat is really sore right now and I can hardly talk. At first we just kinda hung around and we watched a movie. Then we ate cake. This was no ordinary cake. You see, this cake had a picture of teen company on it. I saved myself. A little piece of cake with my picture on it is sitting in my kitchen right now, uneaten. I also saved the word "butt" because I wanted to. Don't ask why that word was on the cake. It's a secret. We had fun with the cake though. You're also not allowed to ask how we had fun with it... I'm too nice to tell. =). However, it was after this that the real fun began. We brought out the games. First we played Blurt, as Catie described it, like Trivial Persuit, and as I added, but you don't have to be smart to play. Someone reads a description on a card and the first person to blurt out what they're describing gets to move forward on the board. An example would be "Something sharp used for cutting" and whoever shouted out "knife" first would win the round. Somehow, Kim is insane at the game and we all thought she memorized the cards. It ended up being everyone against Kim and she still won. Here are some of my favorites...the CAPITALS are what was blurted....

A huge animal... JAGUAR!... Did you just say Jenna?
The time from noon to midnight.... MORNING!
A body part that's the inside of the.... BRAIN!.... hand.
A dried plum... PRUNE... (silence, so Trisha blurts out...).... RAISIN!
A closed hand... PALM.... I MEAN FIST!
A member of people in the Arctic region... ALASKA... NEMO.... ESKIMO!!!
An instrument with a circular.... BANJO!... actually, that's right!
A green substance... CHLOROPHYL!... how'd she get that? wasn't it flubber?
CATERPILLAR!
A king's son.... (silence)..... the moon?
AHHHHH!!!! CARLY, MOVE!!!!!!!!!! (.... screaming ....)

okay, so that last one wasn't a blurt, but it was still funny. And when I like punched Kim while screaming that I said the answer before she did. After Blurt we played Truth or Dare Jenga. Warning: This game should have a PG-13 rating. Over 2/3 of these truth or dares were kinda dirty. Maybe it's just me and my not-so-innocent, corrupted mind... but I definitely think some were inappropriate for the thirteen and under category. For example... some dares... swap an article of clothing with someone else in the room, blow in someone's ear, pretend you're riding (what they don't say), blow a raspberry on someone's stomach, remove an article of clothing.... and some truths.... what's your favorite battery operated toy, what's the most fun thing you've done in a car, what's the craziest thing you've done at a party... I mean, granted these all could have innocent responses, but that's not the first thing someone thinks of when they read these questions. It would have been fun to play it with the older half of the people there, but we were a little restrained with everyone. It was still fun though. We got some funny answers and some good laughs. I got really sad saying goodbye to everyone. Very emotional. Oh my god, I'm going away to school in a week. That's scary. It's crept up out of nowhere. Well, I gotta go for now. I've been typing for so long that I'm surprised it's not a week later and I'm up at Wheaton already!

Bonjour. I came back from NYC yesterday. I went down there for my Rockette audition, which I'll discuss later. First, however, I would like to share the details of the other highlights of my trip. I stayed in my cousin's apartment while I was down there, which is in Queens. I got a little freaked out when he showed me a newspaper article a few months back. No, it wasn't some random article that had nothing to do with anything and just had some strange effect on me, causing me to panic. It showed a picture outside of his apartment building and talked about a girl who was murdered there a few years back. Yeah, she lived in the apartment next to him. And yeah, I walked right on the spot where she was raped and killed. This actually caused me to have a nightmare the night I stayed over. I dreamt that some guy broke in and threw me out the window, bringing me crashing to my death... even though there was no window in my room, and my cousin's apartment is barely one story up. Anyways, after this horrific type of first impression I have of his apartment, you can see how surprised I was when I found his neighborhood to be really cute. All of the houses in the area are different, so it's fun to walk around and look at them. It's easy to get lost though, and not just because I'm less than decent with directions. There's an 82nd Street, 82nd Avenue, 82nd Road, and about every other 82nd with a street-like surname you can imagine. So you can't just remember that something is on 78th or whatever... you have to remember if it's a street, road, drive, boulevard, circle, place, avenue, lane, hill... just a little confusing. The neighborhood is really suburban, but it's like under a 5 minute walk to the subway to get into Manhattan. Not too bad....

Speaking of the subway, I have to tell you my funny little story. I enjoy people-watching, while the "true New Yorkers" avoid making eye contact and such. Anyways, some guy walks onto the subway and starts screaming something in a preacher-like voice. I can't hear what he's saying because he's on the other side of the train cart thing and the subway is rather loud. But I'm watching him. He's talking away in a loud voice, and no one is paying attention to him as he's up in their faces. He's going all out with hand gestures and extreme facial expressions. He's in all black and I'm thinking, "this guy is like preaching or something. What is he doing?" So here I am, the only one on the subway paying any sort of attention to this guy because I'm intrigued. I'm convinced by his mannerisms that he's preaching to us to turn to the Lord or something. Then he starts walking in my direction. It's at this point that I can hear him. He was begging for money. Not quite praising the Lord as I thought... After walking the length of our train, he walked into the next cart and kept right on preaching. I felt kinda dumb.

I was sitting on the subway for this particular ride, (I'll discuss the standing trips later). Some French lady was sitting next to me with her husband. At least, I think she was talking French. You would think that after 6+ years of taking French I could at least recognize the language when I hear it, nevermind understand some of it. Anyways, this lady had really bad B.O. ...I'm talking really bad. I tried to think of something else, but it was pretty unbearable. Then, I began to think that it was some exotic French perfume that just smelled bad to me. I knew it wasn't likely, but I tried to convince myself. That mental thing is supposed to work. Well, it didn't for me. She still smelled bad.

Some things I noticed during my cherished subway time... True New Yorkers. You can pick em out of a crowd. Being the perceptive person that I am, I noticed what they do on the subway. Their little quirky habits and such. Basically, the more you are dependent on the hand rail things, the less New Yorkerly you are likely to be. I managed to perfect the "wrap your arm around the pole instead of gripping it as if your life depended on it" technique. But in order to fully convince others, I still have to perfect the "reading a newspaper while wrapping your arm around the subway rail" method. If I get really good, I may be able to just lean up against the door, and not hold onto anything except my newspaper and coffee (because my bag will be between my feet... another "New York" habit I noticed). Once I get these down and I start to recognize beggars as such (instead of as preachers) from the moment they walk on the subway, then maybe I will at least appear as a "true New Yorker".

I bet you're thinking that my trip consisted only of subway rides... the real reason why I went down to NY. Well, for you're information, I actually saw a show while I was there. After standing in the lotto line for Wicked tickets, and not winning, I decided to see Beauty and the Beast. I enjoyed it. It was funny and cute. I especially liked the special effects, costumes, scenery and such. My one complaint is with Christy Carlson Romano as Belle. She was bad. I mean really awful. Acting wise she was fine, but she was singing out of key, her voice was cracking, she'd be singing all low and powerful and then all of a sudden switch into this annoying airy, really light, upper voice which sounded like a completely different voice altogether... neither of which were in any way good. A little disappointing. That's one of my biggest pet peeves. And it's probably just because I'm such a theater fanatic. But I hate when they put big name people into lead roles on Broadway who aren't known as theater performers. She's only one case. Then there's Joey from N Sync in Little Shop, Paige Davis in Chicago, Puff Daddy (P. Diddy.... whatever) in some play, and supposedly Mandy Moore will be in Wicked soon, to name only a few. It really bothers me. They don't deserve those parts. Errr... I'm getting angered so I'm going to switch topics.

How's about me talking about the audition. (This is the real reason for my going into the city... in case you couldn't figure that out). So, what made me want to audition in the first place you ask? Well... last summer I was supposed to go audition for the Rockettes with Shondra, the choreographer for the musicals that I normally do in the summer. She said I should go with her so I thought, why not? Well, it just so happens you have to be 18 to audition. I was a year too young. Lately, I've kind of been doubting whether or not I should have tried to go into some kind of performing career, just cause I love it so much. So, I decided to audition for the Rockettes and just take it as a kind of sign. On the off chance that I made it, I'd consider switching my major and transferring to some more performing type of college. And if not, I'd continue as planned. I'm big into these "I'll take this as a sign" kind of things. Anyways, the audition was for a touring group as a Rockette, and if I got the job, I'd have to take off my first semester at school. Enough background junky info, let's get to the actual tryouts.

I walk into Radio City, my hair all up and slicked back, my makeup all done up, my favorite leotard on with my shiny tan tights (and no shorts which felt soooooo awkward), ready to go. I wasn't nervous. I wasn't in any way expecting to get it, and I wasn't even sure if I really wanted to. Anyways, I go into the sign-in room. There are about 200 other dancers there. I kid you not, they all knew each other!!! They're all hugging each other and chatting away in their "we're too cool for you newcomer" way. I'm taking in everything I can while looking around the room. I sneak a peek at a few of their resumes... most had like 20 other professional shows listed from across the country and they all had the professional headshots and resumes that cost like $5OO to get done, making me feel like the most insignificant piece of dirt to walk into the audition. Sure, I had my "headshot", aka school photo that I blew up myself at kinkos, and my resume printed off of my own personal computer that has nothing more than my classes at Lee Lund and a few community theater shows. But how could that compare? I also looked at their luggage. That's right... they didn't have dance bags or whatever... they had luggage. These girls flew in from Arizona, Florida, Michigan... and everywhere else, just for this audition. I'm like, yeah... I came all the way from Connecticut, so there! The casting directors knew like half of the girls in the room by name. They're like "Oh, Lindsey- I'm so glad you came to audition!....Sarah, great to see you here!.... Erin, goooooood luckkkkk!!!". And then there's me. All alone. I didn't know any girls auditioning, or have any personal relationship with the casting dudes. What were my chances?

Believe it or not though, although a little intimidated, I was still not nervous. Once I actually went in to audition I was fine. Even a little confident. Maybe having a little fun too! They taught us a "jazz" combination that was 5 eights long. That's pretty short for peoples unaware of the dance jargon. I say "jazz" because a non-dancer could have walked into the audition and done it pretty decently. It wasn't really dancing, just more like precise, sharp hand and arm movements with a few right steps here and there and maybe some left ones too. Really basic. At this point I'm relieved that I at least know I won't make a fool of myself, because it's a combination I'm fully capable of. After they taught it to us, we did it in three large groups... like 6 times each group, just to get it in our bodies and make sure we knew it. Then they made us do it three people at a time. I was in one of the last groups. I didn't mess up! I kept my smile going! I did fine. There were people who were better than me, but certainly people who were worse and forgot the steps or refused to smile or just down right didn't look good. I felt confident. Then they call the names. "These people can stay, the rest of you can go home". I wait.... and wait..... no Trisha Carr. I didn't even make it past the first cut. Oh well, whatcha gonna do? I wasn't what they were lookin for. I was actually surprised that they didn't make their initial cut based on looks alone. I mean, you look at the Rockettes, and they're ALL tall, thin, pretty... you know. Not trying to be mean or anything, but in any performing type of thing, dance especially, these things DO count... it's a known fact. The majority of the girls at the audition fit this criteria, but there were a couple of women there who were slightly larger, on the less attractive side, or were like 40-something years old. I know I sound harsh... but I know that that is how the dance business can go. Oh man, I'm sounding mean. I need to shut up now.

On a different note, I felt like I was in A Chorus Line. All the girls auditioning with their different outfits that try to make them stand out, the range of different attitudes, the "posing" while waiting on the side for their turn to audition (in this case, the favorite seemed to be a hands-on-your-hips-with-one-foot-propped-up,-chest-out-and-the-cheesiest-smile-you-can-force pose), plus the not-so-subtle flashy smiles and extra cheery thank you's to the casting guys. Right... so, naturally I began to take upon my Chorus Line character from this past year at Lee Lund. I couldn't help it. I felt like I was acting. I became my character that I've been playing all year long. It was great fun. I enjoyed myself. I'm a little annoyed that I didn't even make it past the first cut when I danced well. Not to sound cocky or anything. I didn't even get to tap or do my kickline... and I've been doing beyond splits every day in preparation... go figure. I think I got cut right away due to a combination of things. One, a lot of these girls were "in" with the Rockette casting people and basically didn't even have to be at the audition in order to make it past the first cut. Two, I was like the only one there without a professional resume and I've had virtually no experience and I'm really young. And three, cause I lied about my weight. They have no way of knowing that... but I have to convince myself that I was cut for some reason other than my dancing. Not for the sake of my pride, for the sake of my sanity. If that makes sense. Which it probably doesn't considering it doesn't even make sense to me. Well, I'm going to go to every audition that the Rockettes have until I graduate college. My goal won't necessarily be to make it, but just to get past that first cut. Then I'll be happy. I'll be at those auditions so much that those casting people will know ME by name too! So there!

On a completely different, random note.... read this. Okay, so this link has been in my profile for a few days or a week or something, but it's taking up too much space, so I'm putting it here. Just click it! You know you're curious... http://connect.tickle.com/test.html?id=fg_jRUvlxXjEjol8&uid=FNrdipPi4yMhW7EK

And after I tell you to read the next blog too because I just posted it yesterday, and unless you're a freak like Kim who checks my blog every 20 minutes or so to see if I've posted anything new, you wouldn't know that I just posted yesterday, then I'll be outta here. And I guess I just covered that mission so... keep readin! (p.s. Kim's not really a freak)

Okay. You deserve an explanation here. I wrote this on Friday night, but my computer is messed up and wouldn't post it. So... just pretend you're reading this as if it's Friday because I don't feel like switching all the "today"s to "Friday night"s and so forth. Make believe...

So, what's new and interesting in the life of Trisha? Very little is ever new, or for that matter, interesting in the life of Trisha, I just pretend it is and then write about it. A few days ago I went over Kim's house to help her paint her room. We thought it would be funny if I wore my stomp costume to paint. Kim didn't think I would go through with it. But, hey.... I'm Trisha, of course I would. So I wore my stomp costume to her house. For the non Lee Lunders and people who weren't at the concert, my stomp costume looks like a mix between an orange janitor's suit and a convict's outfit. It's just like the one Gwen Stefani wears in her most recent video, as Kim so aptly pointed out when it came on TV that day. Anyways... I wore the costume and Kim was supposed to provide the painter hats but she claims Home Depot didn't have any. I admitted to her stepmother that I was a complete painting novice, but after tackling Kim's room I'd consider myself a pro. Kim and I actually talked about starting our own business. You know you'd want to hire us! So what if I walked into the wall a couple of times. True story... but please don't ask. Of course, Kim and I both ended up with paint on ourselves- In a kind of "indian war paint/black gunk that keeps the sun out of football players' eyes" sorta way. Kim had yellow paint all over her hands and I called her Mr. Butter. The actual name of the paint color was Lazy Daisy, but I thought Mr. Butter or A Fan of a Banana would be a more fun name. Plus, we both "decorated" my stomp costume, which I was too lazy to even take the taps off the back of. It was fun. Kim's sister's friend must have thought I was kind of weird though... and the pizza guy, even though I was too afraid to open the door when he came. I mean, I looked like an escaped convict with some random yellow shapes painted on her. For once, Kim and I opted to order food instead of baking our own. I think it was better that way. Although, not quite as satisfying.

After the room was done and we had a nice little chat, we walked to Shop Rite to get really random stuff... tortilla chips, a chocolate bar, and a tabloid magazine. On the way, we ran into the $5 clearance rack outside of Bob's. We bought matching outfits, because we're just that cool. We wore them to dance the other day. Some people were skeptical and some just outright didn't believe us (but didn't admit to it), but others actually thought it was a total coincidence. Like... not only was it not planned, but we both just happened to buy the same outfit without knowing it and wear it on the same day. I was amused.

I just got back from the fireman's carnival. I haven't been to that thing since my parent's were together. I'm talking like 3rd grade or something. But, believe it or not, I actually felt like going out tonight. I called a group of people and Kim, Amy, and Allison ended up coming. It was actually really funny... I was trying to get more people to go with so I told Kim to call the 41st person whose number is saved in her phone and invite them. Okay, so I don't know if it was actually the 41st person, but I picked some random number in that general area. The person ended up being Erin Degnan. We never got around to calling her, but it was really funny because we ran into her there. Talk about coincidence. Or maybe it's just what is bound to happen in a suburban area with only so many people and only so many events going on. Before we left for the carnival, we downloaded a million old school theme songs... most from Nickolodeon. We listened to Hey Dude, Clarissa Explains it All, Blossom, and about 40 others. I was determined to find the song Stick Stickly sang... but it was find-less. You know... "write to me! Stick Stickly! P.O Box 163! New York City, New York state! 101...08!" I loved that popsicle stick.

Right... well anyways... we rode like 6 rides or something. It was fun scaring Allison that the ferris wheel was going to fall apart, watching Kim on the pirate ship thing, and convincing Amy to go on the Twister whatchamacallit. Kim like fell or something when she got off of the sizzler. For a minute I thought she got really dizzy when she was getting off and lost her balance. Then I thought her glasses flew off during the ride and she was searching for them on the ground. But she just fell... and was lying entirely on the ground when I saw her there. I lost my tickets for the rides. Well, not really. I just thought I did. I got off of the Twister and I say to Allison, "oh no! my tickets are gone!" So we go back up and look all in the seats of the ride for them, and then the guy tells us that we can go look on the grass and he'll wait for us to finish before he starts the ride up again so we don't get smacked by it. Then, I pull Allison aside and whispered that I was wrong. They were in my other pocket. We ran away before the guy in charge of the ride knew what happened.

Speaking of getting smacked by rides... we looked on the back of the tickets they gave us. It said something like, "with the purchase of this ticket, you are agreeing that we are not responsible for any accidents or injuries that may occur while on or observing a ride." The part that got us was the observing thing. Are the rides that dangerous that someone watching could get hurt? After reading that, I was a little paranoid that one of the carts from the ferris wheel would come crashing down on my head when I was walking or something. Basically, this little printed death notice on the back of the tickets told us that they don't care what happens to you. The guys working there were a little nuts. One guy was staring straight up at the sky the entire time like there was actually something to see besides blackness. I mean, there weren't even stars and the moon wasn't out. Although, there was a rather high flying balloon that at times looked like the moon, but that's besides the point. Then, another guy was really mean to me and Allison... on the pirate ship ride there were like 2 spots left (right in the middle) and we asked if we could wait for the next ride so we could sit in the back. He could have just politely said no... or even better, I'm sorry...but no. Instead he told us, in a rude, aggravated tone, "listen girls, either you get on now or you go to the back of the line. I have a lot of people here who want to ride... they all aren't complaining." ... I didn't like that man. I didn't like that man at all.

I got fried oreos. Woohoo! I was excited. I was waiting in line for fried dough, after circling the carnival twice looking for a fried oreo stand, when I finally saw it out of the corner of my eye. Ask Amy, Kim, or Allison... I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw it. It was the sole purpose of me going the carnival. Almost anyways. And then, after all the rides and jazz, I got a hot, hand dipped caramel apple. It was soooo good and I don't even like caramel. Honest. But something in me said "Trisha... you want a caramel apple". And when something inside me tells me something, well.... I have to listen. Amy parked a mile away so it took awhile to walk back to the car which was all the way down in my old kindergarten's parking lot. Oh well, walking's good for ya... especially after fried oreos and a caramel apple. Speaking of walking, which is exercise, which is like dance because it's also exercise... I'm going to NYC Sunday night to audition for the CAA Rockettes!!!! Wish me much luck! Not that I'm expecting to get in or even really want to, considering I'd have to take my first semester off of school... but regardless of all that, wish me luck. I have my cheesy headshot, done by the fine professionals at kinko's, my pitiful resume, sort of tan tap shoes... with black spots and stuff stuck on them, and my beyond splits ready to go! Speaking of going, I have to. Go that is. I have caramel bits stuck in my hair.

Well, well, well. How ya doin? Don't really answer that... I don't have the time. The main topic of this lil blog is going to be how spending time with Kim makes me realize what an idiot I am. But, before we get there... I have to let you in on my roomate situation. Way back when, when I first dreamt of going to college at the age of two, I began dreaming of the ideal roomate. First of all, notice that I said roomate, not roomateS. Ever since I was a toddler I knew I wanted only one person to share my dorm with. If you only have one roomate you are basically forced to become all buddy-buddy with them... well, or hate them. But having more than one roomate would mean that this isn't a guarantee. It could be the others who become really close and you're the ugly duckling who gets left out. Okay, wrong fairy tale or nursery rhyme or whatever that story is...maybe it would be more like Cinderella and the stepsisters... except the other "stepsisters" are not necessarily evil. Anyways, because I'm just a little on the shy side, ahem, I could see that very easily happening with me. Besides only wanting one roomate, I kind of wanted one from far away. Like Arizona or some other messed up state that seems half way across the world. I don't know why I've wanted that. I'm just so used to New Englanders. Someone more foreign would be fun. If you can consider Arizona foreign.

So, if you can't guess what my roomate situation actually is.... well, then..... you're not very perceptive ;) I have three roomates. Count 'em...1...2...3! There aren't even any quads in the dorm we were assigned to. That means we're going to be in a triple sized room, being forced to live like sardines... college female sardines! On the bright side, they all seemed nice over the phone. Ashley is from Massachusetts, Caitrin (yes, Caitrin, not Caitlin- I like her name) is from Rhode Island, and Lisa is from Maine. So much for diversity. I'm just kidding. They all seem really cool, no psychos (except me), and it may be fun having four roomates. I hope we all become really close. My worst fear is it'll get cliquey or something. The bad thing though is even if we all do become good friends, we will be kicked out of our quad eventually. Once the juniors go abroad they said they're switching us to different rooms. Freshman in triples have the option of staying in their room, but the quad-girls definitely have to split up. That may not be good. Well, we'll see what happens come August 28th.

Now, onto how Kim makes me realize my insanity. I know I'm nuts, with little common sense... but it is never more evident than when I'm hanging out with Kim. She came over yesterday and we decided to go to Olive Garden. We had to make a brief trip to two banks beforehand though. Why two you ask? Be patient; I'll explain. The lady in front of us at the first ATM took out all of the money, leaving Kim nothing and forcing us to go to another bank where she had to pay the extra buck seventy-five. After waiting 45 minutes for a table, talking about Tanya Tomato and Bene Breadstick, and eating our dinner, we got 4 chocolate mint things from our waiter. I got all excited that we got two each. Kim, however, reminded me that she didn't like chocolate so I got to have all 4 to myself! I thought to myself, 'oh man-this is crazy! I get all four!'. On the wrappers it said "grazie" in fancy print. Not knowing italian and not being able to read fancy print very well, I thought it said "crazie"...like crazy, just spelled funny. So, I started to laugh. Kim insisted that I told her what I was laughing about- you see, she enjoys laughing at my stupid thoughts. I told her that I thought it said "crazie" on the wrapper then I realized it said "grazie". (It is imperative to know that I pronounced it as "gray-zee", thinking it was some brand name or something). Kim kind of stares at me and says, "yeah, Trisha. Or maybe it says 'grazie'. You know, like italian for thank you?". I could not stop laughing at my stupidity. I bet you can't either. Go on and admit it. I can take it. I'm capable of laughing at myself once every ten years or so.

This whole grazie thing reminded Kim of a story which I don't really want to share. I'll just get to the best part of it. Just read this next word and think about whatever immediately comes to mind... you ready?.....POLISH. Okay. Did you think of the nationality or of the beauty product? Did you ever realize that both words are spelled the same way? I never did. I mean- I knew it, but I never made the connection. It blows my mind.

So, that whole chocolate italian thing was stupid comment #1. There's more. She came back to my house and we watched the movie Camp. It's about this musical theatre camp and it was kind of cool. But, that's besides the point. I'm talking about my Jessica Simpsoness here. One of the guys in the movie had OCD and in his mind he would count up the number of letters in every word people said. He gave some examples during the movie when he was explaining his problem to his friend. Of course, I had to try to figure out if the numbers he was saying were right. Well, I kind of misunderstood his problem. I gave each letter a number, like A=1, B=2, C=3 etc. and started adding all the numbers together that were associated with what he was saying. After like 10 minutes of math, I finally realized that the number I was getting wasn't what he said in the movie and that I made a mistake. It wasn't A=1, B=2... I don't even know where I got that from. Like I said before, it was just that he would count up the number of letters in every word people said. So like, "I am stupid" would be 1, 2, 6. "No one is dumber" would be 2, 3, 2, 6. You get it right? Well, that wasn't even my stupid mistake #2. That was just necessary to explain my next dumb comment. I asked Kim what the number would be for two-hundreth. She said, "like two, zero, zero, t, h?" And I said, "You mean, tooth?". I know you probably can't even figure out where on earth I got that from. Neither did Kim and she was laughing at me so hard! Let me try to explain my thinking... even though I admit it's messed up. When she said "Two" I pictured the word "too" in my head instead of the number 2. Then, when she said "zero, zero" I just pictured two O's as in the letters, probably just because I was already thinking in letters from the word "too". And then she said "t, h". So I thought of tooth. Kim informed me that even with my thinking it didn't make sense because then it would be tooooth... which she said with a long, drawn out "ooo" sound, making me feel even more like an idiot. I realize you're probably dumber now after reading that whole explanation. But it's a true story. And, if it eases your mind any more, two-hundreth would be 11 if done correctly. In case you cared.

I wish my lack of common sense ended there. But it didn't and it doesn't. I was having a discussion about horoscopes with Kim and Brian. I'm a cancer and Brian's a leo. I told him that he was a lion and I was a tiger. Take a minute to think about it. I know you can figure it out. He said to me, "you're not a tiger. You're a crab". I instantly realized my mistake. I was thinking of the chinese horoscope... 1986, year of the tiger. I corrected myself and said that I'm a crab because I have a hard exterior and soft, mushy insides... or something like that. Kim told me she doesn't think I have a hard exterior. I insisted that crabs do have hard exteriors. She gave me that 'what are you an idiot?' stare again and said, "I'm not arguing that crabs don't have hard exteriors. I'm saying you don't." As if my previous comments weren't stupid enough, I had to say that there is such a thing as soft-shelled crabs. ....more stares from Kim.... "that's just how they cook them Trisha. They still have hard shells when their alive". I really do know all this stuff. The words just came out of my mouth the wrong way, I swear. I'm a tiger based on the chinese horoscope, but because of my July 14th birthday I'm a cancer, which is a crab, all of which have hard shells. See! Proved my point. Whew... glad I didn't make another mistake there!

Okay, so that last one really wasn't a common sense thing... because I really did know my stuff. It was more of a "don't think before I speak" thing.... which is basically an oxymoron when it comes to me- I only repeat everything I'm about to say like 12 times in my head before I actually say it. Anyways, this last one is an example of a pure lack of common sense. And wouldn't you know it? My lack of common sense for once proved to be helpful and efficient! Due to a little bit of luck. We made a pineapple upside down cake. You see, Kim and I like to make things that end in "cake". So far we've done pancakes, angel food cakes, and pineapple upside down cakes. We've decided that crab cakes are next... even though neither of us like crabs. I'm getting off topic again. I made two errors while baking this time. First, when melting the butter and brown sugar to a syrup consistency on the stove, I decided to use a plastic spoon. I should have opted for the wooden. The spoon melted. Not only did it ruin the spoon, but it got bits of plastic in the batter stuff. Oops. Just so you're aware, that's not the example of helpful, efficient common sense. That one's coming up right now. I may be a terrible cook, but I can separate egg yolks from whites pretty darn well. I separated the three eggs, putting the yolks in a bowl and the eggwhites in a plastic cup because they weren't needed until later. Well, when it came time to use the eggwhites, I realized that we had to mix them before adding them into the rest of the batter.  I didn't really feel like getting out a whole other bowl, so I used the electric mixer in the plastic cup. Kim was certain that the cup would crack and I would get eggwhites all over me, but no! It worked! Woo-hoo for lack of common sense!

The last little thing I'm going to put in here is pure randomness. It too proves my insanity, but in a different way. Amy's away message said "Shower then work. Yippee!". So, being the sarcastic person that I am, I decided to IM her saying something like, "shower and work doesn't sound like my idea of a good time, but hey...whatever floats your boat". However, it all seemed too trite to me. I didn't like 'float your boat' or other common alternatives like 'tickles your pickle'... so I decided to make up my own. I asked Kim for assistance. Once we got started and discovered rhymezone.com there was no stopping us. Here are some of our favorites... miraculously, if you use your imagination-well, I'm not going there...

whatever swells your magic spell
whatever tans your broth of a man
whatever zips your chips
whatever buries your cherries
whatever shakes your snake
whatever shook your gobbledygook
whatever's fishin your economic and social council commission
whatever embraces your interplanetary spaces
whatever resumes your microphone booms
whatever grapples your pineapples
whatever moans your eau de cologne
whatever unclamps your incandescent lamp
whatever wipes your pipes
whatever clots your granny knots
whatever pats your naked mole rat's cowboy hat
whatever plugs your slugs
whatever shaves your tidal wave's concaves
whatever squats in your philadelphia pepper pots
whatever's rumpling your dumpling
whatever chills your phone bills
whatever toots your vertical flute
whatever will grease your royal canadian mounted police
whatever shocks your metamorphic rocks
whatever shames your baptismal name
whatever misconstrues your belgian beef stews
whatever harrasses your relative molecular masses
whatever bestows your toes on van gogh's sloppy joes and throws crows at a golf pro's strip show with an electric glow from head to toe!!!!!!!

Between these 27 expressions and LLOL, Kim and I are going to start some major trends. Come on.... you know you wanna say "whatever shames your baptismal name". Admit it!

I'm giving my new roomates my screename. If they read this, they're going to think I'm even crazier than I really am. I swear, I'm pretty normal. It's Kim's fault. To most people, I appear the exact opposite of how I seem based on this blog. Maybe it's some sort of identity crisis. Disregard that. Anways...in reality, I'm just a little shy, a little fun if you get to know me, a little sensitive, maybe a little scatter-brained on the inside...but mostly normal. Ask anyone who doesn't really know me too well. They'll assure you of that :) !

Yesterday was my birthday. Well, actually it's after midnight which means the little heading thing above this entry is going to say I wrote this on the 16th, so erase that. Two days ago was my birthday. Woo-hoo! 18! Because we all know that I care about being "an adult" just that much. After all, 18 is the magical age. The transformation from infancy to maturity happens overnight, of course, on that most extraordinary of all birthdays. Look at me now- free to go into adult book stores, buy lotto tickets, vote, and most importantly- sign my own name on important stuff, instead of my parents... and we all know I'll take advantage of each of my new opportunities, available to me ever since my inauguration into adulthood… please, don’t forget to note the sarcasm there. On the other, more negative side, I'm now forced to grow up and face the world- do my own laundry, among other things, with the complete responsibility and wisdom that is characteristic of all adults. I mean, two days ago I was just a kid. But now I'm an adult. Amazing how that works, huh?
 
So...I don't know why exactly, but every year I cry on my birthday. Not happy cry... sad cry. I think it’s partially because- well- how to word this…Okay, I’ll give this way a shot. Bear with me here. Everybody feels like their birthday should be different. More special. But for me anyways, it feels just like any other day… if not, more sad than normal… so I cry. It could also be because as I get older I’m moving farther away from childhood. Go figure. That makes sense. LLOL (that’s literal laugh out loud). But you know what I mean… no more innocence, no more carefree lack of responsibility, no more playing stupid games with little friends, no more crying when your parents tell you to finish your vegetables… it’s a depressing thought. Eh, who knows why I cry every year. I could come up with a million possible reasons why, and I’m probably wrong on each and every one of them.
 
 This birthday wasn’t all bad… I did cry… but it wasn’t all bad. I slept in late… until like 2:00. I was lazy and watched TV for a bit. Then I got my lunch of shrimp cocktail… the only seafood I really like and wouldn’t you know it, I love the stuff… and my favorite cake ever- a chocolate raspberry thing from Julia’s bakery. So sinfully delicious. Then, I went shopping for a bit. Not clothes shopping…but college shopping. Which for some reason gets me very excited. You should have seen me showing off my new bedding to Brian. I love it to the extreme! No one should get that excited over new college stuff. Anyways... then I went out to Friendly's with Brian, Amy, Kim, Meghan, and Chris. It was fun. I got stared at by some random guy outside who thought my dancing to the random music they play in Friendly's was funny or something. Then broccoli was thrown in my lap "by accident", after I got a real fairy from Kim, a huge card from Amy as payback for like 7 years ago, and...most importantly, my gray shirt back that Amy borrowed around this time last year. Kim suddenly wasn't feeling well, and her getting up to go to the bathroom somehow made the waiter people come sing Happy Birthday to me. A miracle, isn't it?! Yes, all this happened against my wishes and despite Meghan's efforts to be quiet about it. She would only whisper happy birthday to me when she came in because she knew I didn't want to be sung to. You see... I had this incident a few years back that has scarred me for life. Well, life up until now at least. I went out to dinner on my birthday and my mom had the waiter people sing to me and I started to cry because I was so embarrassed. Ever since, I have refused to go out on my birthday for that very reason. Although the waiter's singing to me was Kim's fault, or rather, Kim's sickness' fault, she was also the one who made it bearable for me. She started like dancing in her seat throughout the song, to keep me laughing. I'll admit- it was funny. I shouldn't have been surprised by that though. Kim will dance at any chance she can get... even if it's to Happy Birthday in the middle of a restaurant.
 
So, we stood out in the parking lot for a bit. We decided to go back to my house to watch Who's Line Is It Anyway which was starting in ten minutes. I rush off to my house to get home in time. Apparently, I was the only one. No one else showed up. Shows how much they really care about me and my birthday! The least they could have done was make up a decent excuse. But Kim insists they were almost arrested and kicked out of the country. Oh, no wait. That was the excuse I used for not talking to her all last week. Oops. My mistake..

I started work this week. My first real job and it's not even a real job. Most teenagers will work at a store or a restaurant as their first job... with regular part time hours and minimum wage. Me however, well... I'll be lucky if I work more than 8 days this summer. Plus, a "day" of work is really only 3 hours. I'm a substitute aide at an elementary school in Darien. And let me tell you... it is the best summer job that ever exsisted. I work in the summer school with special ed preschool kids. Some of them are a handful because they're really low functioning. But most of them are a lot of fun and absolutely adorable. The best part though is I have like zero hours compared to all my friends who work, I don't need to do nearly as much as them, and I make way more money. I get $27 an hour! No joke! And this is basically what I have to do... sit near the kids while the teacher works with them- just to make sure they pay attention and don't like run away or something, and then play with them during their free time. Tell me that isn't incredible! The pay is great, the kids are fun, the hours are amazing...not to mention they force me to get out of bed before noon, or 6:00 p.m. for that matter. Yeah, yeah, it's true- One day that I wasn't working this week I overslept a little. I normally sleep in really late but 6 o'clock is my new record. So, I like to sleep through the day and stay up until 5 in the morning... nothing's wrong with that. Anyways, don't tell anyone... but word on the street is that as a substitute I make even more money than the regular aide's. Ha ha ha... I make more money than you do...na na na na nah nah!!!

Also, this week I went back to dance. I went to ballet on Tuesday. It was really weird being there. The entire week before, I just thought about how much I wanted to be back at dance, take class, and see everyone again. While I enjoyed it once the day arrived, I felt out of place. I was actually nervous walking into the room- like my heart was pounding. Don't ask me why... I just felt like, 'Okay. I graduated. I shouldn't be here. They're looking at everyone else for auditions in the fall. They're done with me here. What am I doing?'. It probably didn't help that my mom (and practically Linda too) told me that the only seniors who would be going back for classes over the summer are the ones continuing in dance. I don't know. It was just awkward for me. I didn't know where to stand in line and I didn't even feel comfortable looking Debi in the eye. Of course, she approached me to say something to me... just like she used to. But, it still wasn't right. Maybe I'm just sad that "my time" at Lee Lund is over. Does that sound like the most logical reasoning to you? Or, do you think I'm just neurotic?

So, I went to NYC again yesterday. Let me just tell you... I love that good old place! I love the whole rushed feeling of the city, all the different types of people, the smoggy air and the never ending noise! Everytime I go down there it makes me wish I were going to college in the city, and majoring in performing arts.... even though when I went to visit NYU I hated that there was no campus. So, I'm difficult to please. But really, I love the feeling I get when I'm down there. For some reason, it also makes me feel very independent and grown-up. Explain that one for me...

The reason I went to NYC, as if I need a reason, was to see my cousin Stephen in an off-broadway show. It was funny when we walked into the theater. There was this little like, pre-show waiting room thing with couches, icicle lights and stuff. We were the only one's there except for this little, old lady sitting in one of the chairs. Before I was able to adjust to the ambiance of the room, the composer/ lyricist/ librettist/ co-producer/ pianist/ lawyer/ gay rights activist walked in and offered us wine. He then proceeded to hand out programs and warned us that he was running short on them and therefore, he wanted us to hand them back after the show so he could recycle them for tomorrow's performance. Meanwhile, the little, old lady is happily sipping her two cups of wine in her chair. The composer/ lyricist/ librettist/ co-producer/ pianist/ lawyer/ gay rights activist began explaining the concept of the show. All I really got from his talk was that it's suppossed to be confusing and that we have to allow ourselves to be confused in order to appreciate the performance. Umm....okay. I turn around and the little, old lady is gone. Guess she just stopped in for some free wine.

Before the show started, someone else walked in. He proudly told us he plays the best friend of the older brother on Malcolm in the Middle, some guy on a ranch. He seemed disappointed when we said we didn't watch the show. But if you watch the show and know this guy...well, then... I met him! So there. Six more people showed up and then the show began.

I don't exactly know how to describe the show to you. The composer/ lyricist/ librettist/ co-producer/ pianist/ lawyer/ gay rights activist was right. It was the most confusing thing I ever saw in my life. This is basically what I got from it... prepare yourself. Six tie-dyed monks/ghosts with masks walk onstage doing some type of interpretive dance and then a priest walks through them sweeping the floor. That's scene one. There's also a black guy with a lisp who is portrayed like God, but he's against organized religion. They use the words "dreams", "fear", "reality", "religion", "love", "truth" and "vision" like ten thousand times each throughout the show, and I'm still not sure why. There's a scene where they're dancing under a fuchsia light...which consisted of marching in place and a sort of swaying move that reminded me of Britney Spears' "Crazy" video, the part in the chair. We later learn that that sweeping priest is gay but also the father of the character my cousin plays. And the next thing I know, my cousin's trying to kill himself, but doesn't. But a girl who isn't suicidal ends up dying at the end. I'm sorry. I know I'm confusing. But trust me, if you saw this show, you wouldn't be any less confused. It's one of those things that I can picture really eclectic and cultured people going to see and have deep conversations about for hours afterwards. But for everyone else it's just an hour and a half of incomprehension with a few good songs mixed in. Stephen, if you're reading this... I love you.

Wow...this was only the saddest, most exhausting week of my life. For you clueless people out there, this past week I had all of my onstage dance rehearsals and then the recitals and concerts. Let me tell you what this basically entails. Ahem (sorry, just clearing my throat), this means sleeping on average about 4.5 hours a night, eating zero regular meals but tons of random snacks stolen from other companies dressing rooms while they're onstage, driving back and forth between Amity and Jonathan Law six hundred times, dancing anywhere from 3 to 14 hours a day... and dealing with little kids during the remaining hours each day. Despite all these cruel conditions, it's my favorite time of the year. Which is why it was so depressing for me. (I know I'm making perfect sense here, right?) I'm sure all the Lee Lunders know what I'm talking about. For the rest of you, just deal with the confusion.

Mixed into this crazy week of rehearsals was graduation. Which honestly, I could care less about. It was actually kind of funny. At graduation, a decent amount of people came up to me and said something like, "are you so excited?!" or "can you believe we're graduating?". My response never varied. It was simply, "oh, I could care less... I want this over and done with so I can go back to my dance rehearsal". This got a few shocked looks, many smiles that seemed to say 'I don't know how to respond to that so I'm just going to smile and maybe she won't interpret it the wrong way', and even a few "I love you, Trisha!"s. Those pointless graduation rehearsals kept getting in the way of my precious time onstage at Law! But whatever, I'm a graduate. Woo-hoo class of 2004. yawn.

So, this whole week I couldn't control my tears. In the shower, crying... driving in my car, crying... trying to sleep at night, crying. I felt so bad before the show on Sunday. Junior Company went to give me their gift and I literally took it and ran. Otherwise, I would have been crying out of control! I just love them all too much! I felt really bad about it afterwards. And by the time my final bow came that night, I was hysterical. I just don't know what I'm going to do without the studio next year! It's the only place I'm happy. The only pieces I didn't have to hold back crying during were Flashdance (need I say why?...no, =) I won't go there), Tina's and Katharine's. For everything else... it was hard to control myself. Especially during Chorus Line- oh boy, oh girl, I was crying like a little kid on the day their dog died or something. Talking to Debi afterwards was the worst for me though. She avoided me the entire week because she was afraid she'd get too emotional. So when she actually talked to me after the show it was pretty bad. I must have hugged her for a straight 817 seconds, give or take a few. I can't do this! I really should have just failed all my classes in school so that I could stay back another year, not graduate, and keep dancing!

Crazy week. It's left me exhasted (in every sense), sore, physically sick, depressed... but man oh man, I loved it.

It's been awhile since my last blog. Much has happened, but there's very little to talk about. POPS was hot. I had fun performing with Jenna, as always. Oh my god, I fell in love at POPS too. I literally almost fainted when I heard Evan sing and watched him perform. You see, I have this "thing" for tenors... more like an obsession really. So, as you can probably guess, Evan is a tenor, and his voice like made me melt. Just ask Jenna... she'll tell you. Or Brian. hehehe...I gave him a hard time about it. My one complaint about POPS though, or the only complaint I'm willing to mention here ;), is that it was way too long. Anything beyond two hours and I'm tempted to leave. Anything beyond three hours and I'm asleep in my chair. Unless it was three hours of a tenor singing to me...

So, I've come to a realization with only two remaining days of school. Most of my fellow seniors are at the point now where they're happy about graduating but sad that all these years are behind them. Me, I'm not like my fellow seniors. The day I graduate is the day my life begins. I couldn't be happier. I will never look back on these years at school and get that...remember the good old days...type of feeling. I won't miss any of it. As a matter of fact, the only thing I will miss at all from these past 17 years of my life is dance and the people there. I've realized this too. I've been suffering with this all year, and now the end is under two weeks away. Just today, during my day long studyhall at school, I was writing my end of the year cards for people at dance and I started to cry. It's no biggie for me to be crying about dance ending, happens almost every day. But it was in school, so it was kinda bad. Wow, I'm really not being funny today at all. And I have nothing to say. What's wrong with me? Okay guys, sorry for the bad post. Hopefully I didn't lose too much of my audience because of this.

I'm sure you're all wondering why I haven't posted in awhile...especially because I've had a lot of free time and prom was on Friday. Really, there's no good reason though. I mean...it's my same old, boring life. Thursday I didn't go to school because it was the senior picnic. This seemed like the most popular option for the seniors. Basically, I slept in really late and didn't do much all day. I went to get my nails done for prom. It took them 2 hours to give me a manicure and pedicure. Granted it was all luxurious and spa like...but we could rush it up a bit, no? The guy who gave me my pedicure was kind of freaking me out man. I made the mistake of wearing a skirt there. He was not only massaging my feet, but he was also going ALL THE WAY up and down my legs. I think he was enjoying himself a little too much. Totally uncalled for. It's a good thing I shaved that day though. Then he came over and gave me a back massage while my nails were drying. Hmmm...nice, but a little freaky for me considering it was like a 20 year old guy who had just rubbed too much of my legs. Guess I'm one of those people who needs their personal space.

Prom on Friday. What to say? Well, it wasn't the night of my life. I had fun while I was dancing, but honestly, the rest of the time I was miserable. I tried to keep it together, but I lost it at the after party. After hiding out in Kim's room crying by myself for a couple of hours, I decided to join everyone else. But, it was no use...I'm just a wreck. So much for my senior prom being an unforgettable and amazing experience. I was too busy trying not to start crying at the Omni and then trying to stop myself afterwards. Oh well...it's over. It was fun getting dressed up and actually dancing. Plus, I already had my fairytale prom night a couple of years ago that I can keep as a great memory.

This was the most social weekend of my life. That's kind of sad actually. Prom and party on Friday, then on Saturday Kimmy D. came over to hang out. We talked for hours about nothing. I'm not saying that in a bad way...it was a good conversation, just nothing I'm going to mention here. In the morning, she spent like 2 hours trying to wake me up. Her methods included putting ice cubes in my shirt, cheeze-its in my mouth, 3 ringing phones next to my ear, pulling me off of the bed...among other things. The one that actually worked was when she basically wrung a wet towel dry over my face. After I gave in and got out of bed, basically so I didn't go deaf or get pnemonia, we decided to make pancakes. Not classic circle pancakes...not even Mickey Mouse pancakes. Oh no. We spelled our names, or actually our initials, with the pancake batter. And we made the world's largest pancake. Good times, good times. I charred a towel by putting it in the microwave for too long. Good thing it didn't catch on fire. Don't ask why it was in the microwave in the first place. We're not going there.

Right...so anyways. On with my "social" weekend. On Sunday I went to Brian and Amy's memorial day picnic and on Monday I went to another memorial day picnic/my cousins' b-day party. Then on Monday night I slept over Jenna's. If anyone has ever seen the movie Soul Survivors and actually understands it then I need to talk to you now. I'm amazed by you. It was THE single most confusing thing I ever saw in my life. Literally. Watch it. It makes no sense whatsoever. It creeped me out too. Messed up movie. We got our POPS act together...sorta....and our costumes all figured out. Tuesday was another emotional day at the dr's for me...sigh. I live one messed up life. I'm glad to be able to share the bits and pieces of the more amusing parts of my life with you...even though this blog wasn't funny at all. Sorry to disappoint. I'll try to make something funny happen to me soon. Or better yet, if you want to have a guest appearance in my blog, you do something funny around me and then I'll write about it. I'll be on the lookout for that one.

On Sunday Amy, Meghan and I went down to NYC to see Ambere in Fame. It was a graduation gift from Lee, which was really nice. For you oblivious people, Lee is my dance teacher and Ambere is her daughter. Now that that's clear, I can start to explain my fun filled day.

We went to Subway to get subs for the train. I asked for a six inch, but the guy made me a footlong. We decided to tell Brian that he was so infatuated with me that he couldn't concentrate on his work. I never actually told him. When we were buying tickets for the train at the little machine thing, we were laughing because it gave Amy her change back literally in change . $16.50 in coins. The train ride itself was nothing amazing...at least to write about. We talked.....yeah.

Less than two minutes after we got off at Grand Central, some group of guys were hitting on Amy. Next thing you know, we're stopped by three 20something year old guys who were flirting with us....I mean, they were trying to sell us some spa day thing. As we walk away one of them says to me, "I'll see you in ten years". (He was 27 and asked how old I was). At this point, the three of us decided to make a bet. We wanted to see if we could walk one avenue on our way to the theater without being hit on. Yeah....it didn't happen. We were laughing hysterically. There were literally like 16 different groups of guys who hit on us. We began to think about it logically. Between the three of us, we had a guy's personal preference. Meghan was thinking of our different hair colors that would attract them. Amy however, went right into the typical guy's mind. Amy's got the butt, I've got the legs, Meghan's got the boobs. Blatently put. It was fun trying to catch all the guy's glances at our different...spots.

Enough about the 20 minute walk in the city, let's talk about the show. Ambere was amazing! It was so weird to see her up on stage, well....not on stage but like a professional, off-broadway stage with all these other amazing people. It was hysterical throughout the entire show. She kept interacting with the three of us in the audience because she knew where we were. It was sooooo funny, the things she would do. It was such an "Ambere show" too...she put her style into everything. There were a few surprises in the show that made me laugh hysterically, but I can't say them here and give them away. If you're a Lee Lunder, you have to go see the show....you'll get it. We all decided which characters we want to play. Amy wants to be Carmen: sexy and sassy, dripping with attitude (and a drug addict). I want to be Serena: shy, insecure, a bit of a scatterbrain. And Meghan wants to be Iris: a haughty but amazing ballet dancer. Amy like fell in love with the guy who played Tyrone. And I fell in love with Nick/Rick's voice. (I'm not sure which one is his real name and which one was the name of the character in the show). I wanted him to sign my program and write "I'm a tenor. Love, Nick/Rick". Instead I got your basic autograph. I'm not complaining.

After the show Ambere brought us backstage and all. We got to see the dressing room, call board, the stage, the props tables and all that fun jazz. It was really cool. It made me want to change my major and go into musical theater. It was really funny though....we ran into Ryan! We thought it was some random thing when we saw him walking down the streets of NYC, but he was giving Ambere his headshot because he's auditioning for Fame next week. It would have been really weird if it was some random coincidence.

We all went to a cast party afterwards. I went to an off-broadway cast party!!! It was really cool. It was in some Moroccan bar that had a comfy, chic atmosphere. It was weird seeing everyone in the show there. It made them seem like normal people, and kind of took the glamour and awe away a bit. Still cool though. We talked with Ambere for a good hour and a half or so about a bunch of random things. It was fun. She treated us alot like friends rather than our dance teacher, and now I think of her that way. She invited us to stay over and take class with her the next day, but we couldn't. After telling her that she's our idol one last time, we bid our fair wells and got a taxi for Grand Central.

Our cab driver was nuts!!! Oh my god! He watched us saying goodbye to Ambere and hugging her and stuff and he starts saying out the cab window, "Goodbye! I love you! See you soon!". When we got in the cab, he starts singing like crazy to the radio, all happy go lucky. Kinda funny. Then, all of a sudden, he starts swearing at some bus in front of him. He told us if we looked up road rage in the dictionary, we'd find a picture of him. Hmm...do I want this guy as my cab driver? He was insane.

We made a mad dash around the streets near Grand Central looking for food 15 minutes before our train left. We found a Wendy's and a McDonalds right next door to each other. I got Wendy's then we went over to McDonalds where Amy and Meghan got their food. I went upstairs to get straws and napkins while they were waiting for their food. The security guard upstairs gave me the strangest look. I couldn't figure out why at first. Then I figured it was probably because I was carrying my Wendy's bag and drink.

We managed to make the 11:17 train, and we got back around 1:00. It was a fun little day. Don't you think so?

As I slide further down that famous senior slide, I have more and more time to comtemplate life's greater questions. You're probably thinking that I have been thinking about things such as, "What is the purpose of life", "Why is there so much hate in the world"....you know the sort. Well you're wrong. I have been pondering much BIGGER things. The real significant stuff in life. Like, why is abbreviation such a long word? I'm sorry, but that doesn't make much sense at all. Also, did Adam and Eve have bellybuttons? Biologically, they shouldn't have...but that's kind of freaky isn't it? Can you imagine seeing someone without a bellybutton? It'd be kind of weird, no? Well....actually, knowing me and how clueless I am half the time, I'd probably just stare at them and think...hmmm....something's not quite right but I can't put my finger on it. Here's another weird thing I started to think about when I was finishing my sweetened milk from the Frosted Flakes this morning. Who was the first person to look at a cow and say, "I think I'll squeeze these dangly things here and drink what comes out"? Although they are really idiotic questions, try to think about them. They'll blow your mind.

Not all of my questions are as strange as those. I've been thinking...why do I always have the most energy the less I sleep and the more hours I can squeeze in, the more exhausted I am? Let me paint the scene for you. It's Thursday night, 11:00....big poetry paper due the next day....haven't started. Five hours later, (that's 4:00), I finish and go to bed. At 6:00 I wake up to shower and go to school. That was the first day all year I didn't fall asleep in Chambers...or be tempted to in other classes. Full of energy! Sunday night is a repeat of Thursday, except this time it is a Duffy paper and I don't go to bed until 4:45. Monday, again, wide awake all day. Then Wednesday rolls around. I sleep 9 hours that night. Thursday, I'm falling asleep in every class, and I even came home to take a nap and ended up sleeping too long and missing the beginning of dance. Also, these two papers that I wrote are two of the best compositions of my life. Moral of the story...don't sleep. It all works out in the end.

Here comes the big question that has been bothering me. Why do adults think every teenager is a common criminal? I don't know if it's just because the workers at Barnes and Noble are all stuck up but....wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. But this annoyed me. I was in Barnes and Noble the other day to buy a book of poetry for school. I proceed to the cash register and pull out my wallet. I try to pay with a $50. The cashier lady looks at me suspiciously and says "I may be able to break this for you...Let's see". Okay, so I'm thinking that she may not have enough money in the cash register to give me change. Well, she takes my $50 and holds it up to the window, to make sure that little strip thing is in there to prove that it's real money. At this point, I gave her the benefit of the doubt, assuming she was just being careful and that she would do this with anyone. Then, she opens up the cash register, and it was stashed with $20's, $10's, $5's, $1's....all the way down to pennies. I'm talking, I never saw a more full cash register. Now, if she knew that she had the change to give me, why did she say "I may be able to break this for you?", and then check if it's real money? My answer....she thinks I'm a good-for-nothing teenage criminal. I only have one thing to say. If I were the type to use counterfeit money do you really think, as a teenage theif, I would spend it on a book of poetry? Use some common sense Barnes and Noble lady! I'd watch out if I were you. Next time I just may pay with a Canadian penny. Better believe it!

Hi there. I don't have anything to talk about but I felt like blogging. Well, actually....I have a lot of topics in mind, just nothing very good...in other words, I don't really have much to say. Just watch, this will probably be the longest blog I've written in a month. Guarantee it.

I'm convinced. They're out to get me. It's a conspiracy. They've made me paranoid....paranoid I tell ya. Stupid spiders. They're everywhere. I'm really starting to think that they all ganged up together in this big spider cult and they're trying to attack me. It all began last week when I noticed a spider on the outside of my car window as I was about to get in. I brushed it away with my keys...not thinking much of it at the time. But it kept happening. In the strangest of places. One small spider on the window seems innocent enough...but I swear that today was their independence day. They were prepared for war. I encountered 12 spiders today. Count em.....one-two....twelve! First I feel one crawling across my foot while driving. I almost crashed. Literally. It scared me half to death! Thank god I was approaching a stoplight where I could squash the little jerk. While daydreaming to the background of Mr. Freedman's monotone voice in poetry class, I spied another crawling towards me. Coincidence? Maybe at this point...but the story goes on my friends. The next one chose to attack again while I was driving in my car. This time, on the steering wheel. Another near accident. I blew him away...don't exactly know where he is right now. Yet another was on my windsheild that I whisked off with my wipers. (Think this is a sign I need to clean out my car?) Anyways, as I walked in the door when I got home I actually stepped on one...barefoot I might add. Complete accident. Grossed me out to the extreme. And even while sitting here at the computer, all of a sudden one came down from the ceiling on it's little string...inches from my face! INCHES!!! I think they've had enough of the bitter taste of defeat for the day. Hopefully, I won't encounter any more spiders for awhile. Ok, so maybe I miscounted a little bit...there weren't 12...but there were far too many for one day. They've really made me paranoid! I keep brushing myself off, thinking I felt one crawling on me...or looking around the room for one to come charging at me. Those things are fast man. Maybe I was just psychologically damaged from the Bugs Life 3D thing at disney.

See, that one topic all ready took up alot of space. This one's short though. I promise. I just want to say that I finally read the Da Vinci Code and it is a-mazing! I'm not much of a book person and even I finished it in under a week. Let me tell you though, I am Christian...very much so....and this book made me question my faith big time. And it's fiction! How messed up is that? It's based on real research and junk but it's still a ficticious story. Yet, it convinced me. Unexplainable. Somehow it made me feel alot better though when I learned that the author was Christian...restored my faith a bit. I'm sure you all are relieved that my spirituality is revived. No need to panic.

I've realized that in one or two of my blogs I've explained my....annoyance...with little kids. Today, though...I have to give them some credit. I had an epiphany- on the most unlikely of days too. I had to teach my 8-12 year old theater class that I demonstrate for. Twenty-two little girls under my watch for an hour and a half on a Wednesday afternoon. Honestly, I thought I would lose it tonight. I wasn't looking forward to it. And while they weren't angels, not even normal really, I must say....something. I don't know how to finish that sentence. So...I'll just move on. I really do love those kids. I feel like their big sister. They come in every week, rushing over to hug me and tell me stories. It can get annoying at times, depending on my mood, but then I realize that it's just that they like me...look up to me even. I love how every week they ask me if I'm coming back next year then look upset when I say no, as if they expected my answer to change. I must admit...they're not all bad. I'm going to miss them. That's a scary thought, coming from me. I don't know what it is about this group this year. But...I like em. Even though they are aggravating little girls.

This last thing I have to put in here, if only for my own amusement. In math class today we wrote jokes on the board and I'd like to share. If you're not a math freak like me you probably won't find them in the slightest way funny, and you may not get them all. Nonetheless, I can't help putting them in here. Go ahead, think I'm weird. I already know it. Anyways, here's the top ten list...
1) Let's take a class trip to the forest and find some lns and maybe even some square roots!
2) Help! I'm injured! Take me to l'Hospital!
3) Why was the math book sad? It had alot of problems.
4) Mr. Williams went to the beach and now he's a tan-gent.
5) Let's go eat some pi.
6) I saw the sin...it opened up my eyes, I saw the sin.
7) I aced the test...it was a sinh(x).
8) Ooo girl! I wish I was tangent to those curves!
9) Did you hear the one about the statisticion? Probably...
10) Sorry I didn't do my homework Mr. Geary. But I could only get arbitrarily close to my textbook...I couldn't actually reach it.

Hahahahaha....now wasn't that the highlight of your day!

Woah...blog makeover here. I don't know if it looks different to you as a reader, but they revamped the whole editing/posting thing. Threw me off guard. Anyways...

Anyone know what today is?!?! Ok....umm....yes, it's Tuesday. You're right there. How bout the date? Yup, correct again. It's May 11,2004. I bet you had to look at the top of the blog to figure that one out. Don't deny it. Anyways, here's where I'm going with this.... Two years ago, to the day, my Brian asked me out! Isn't that crazy? It really is. I still remember when he asked me to prom online, and I barely knew him. I remember, almost word for word, the perfect fairytale story I told to all my friends for weeks after the prom. I remember so many little moments...and big moments, conversations, and dates. But still, it doesn't feel like it has been two years. And yet, I feel like I've known him my whole life. He really has become my best friend and I can't imagine myself without him. Sometimes, I really think we're meant for each other...I mean that in a very literal way too. Like we're specifically meant to help the other person tackle their emotions and things life throws at them. He has done so much for me emotionally and mentally, in a good way...then again, not always ;), that I can really say I wouldn't be the same person I am today without him. Literally. I wouldn't be. I'm not going to lie. It's been a rollercoaster ride, many ups and downs...and loops, but it's worth it. He's worth it. It's still amazing though that it has been two years. I can't get over it. All of the memories are still so clear and fresh in my mind...please excuse me for a moment while I reminisce.....



































I'm back. That was nice. I think that with all we've been through, we can get through anything else together. I love him. I really do. You have no idea how much. This is no normal teenage love. I know probably everyone says that, but I really mean it. Sometimes, I feel like I'm falling in love with him all over again. Not that I ever "fell out", but it's that rush of excitement and that heavy, and yet amazingly light, feeling in your chest you get when you first fall in love. I still write his name down with little hearts all around it in my notebooks at school. I still walk around on random days, smiling like an idiot just from thinking about him. I still cry those happy tears at night, when I think of how lucky I am to have him. After these past two years...there's still so many stills!!! If that made sense. One thing's for sure, I love that boy, I do. He's my pengin, my one and only, my baby :).

Let me tell you about two things I haven't had much luck with lately. I've been getting injured...if you can call it injured....because of dance and foil. Dance and foil have been very annoying lately. Now, I'm sure you can understand why I would be getting injured at dance, but foil might take a bit more imagination on your part. Well, the dance injuries are nothing major. But, for some reason, in the past week alone, I've hurt myself alot. I burned my foot on the tile floor at school while practicing my tap dance with Jenna. I thought you can only get rug burns from the floor...who knew that you could get burnt from tile? I certainly didn't know this. Let me tell you, it hurts. That's just a minor thing though. I can handle a little tile burn. I've been struggling with a pulled muscle in my leg for like three weeks now though. That hasn't been fun. I have no idea how it started, why it hasn't gotten better, or why it's so bad exactly. It's at the point now where I can't even sit with my leg out in front of me without being in pain, nevermind stretching it. Believe it or not, even crossing my legs while I'm sitting in a chair is painful. Not a good sign. Hopefully things will heal soon. You wanna hear about a funny little dance story? I was bored in Tina's class. We were just sitting there, you know? So, I said to Stephanie that we should push ourselves backwards and slide offstage into the wings. Then I demonstrated my idea. I shouldn't have. I pushed myself with quite a bit of power. Next thing I know, I crash into the door to the stereo...making quite a bit of noise and causing quite a bit of pain. Of course, everyone turns to me with looks like "What on earth did you just do?". Laughter ensues. It was parent observation day too. Hahaha. No Kate, I didn't have a leg spasm like you told Courtney. Where did you get that from?If you heard a loud crash would you instantly think...LEG SPASM!!! I know I wouldn't.

Foil. I hate it. It turns up in the weirdest places. It tries to lure you in with it's pretty shiny silver appearance....it's a tricky one, that foil. In the past two weeks I have gotten 3 foil cuts. Like paper cuts...but with foil which is a whole lot more painful. I swear, I'm going to have a scar on my left thumb for the rest of my life. Twice, it happened while I was opening jello. The stupid foil tops cut my fingers! All I wanted was a refreshing after school snack and I ended up bleeding and jumping around the house in pain. I don't trust jello anymore. I don't know if I'll ever eat it again. The other time I got cut was actually from a pack of gum. Not the individually wrapped sticks of gum, but the kind where you pop out the little square pieces. Would you believe that I cut myself on that? I didn't think it was possible. You probably didn't either. Trust me...it is.

I learned alot these past two weeks. There are more ways to get burnt than just from fire, the sun, and the rug. Tile can be added to that list. Also, I now know that foil can be rather dangerous. Keep it away from kids. Don't let them eat jello unsupervised. I mean, I always thought it was kind of funny looking, especially green jello, but I never thought it could be a dangerous weapon. Next time I want to hurt someone, I'm definitely bringing jello along. Pleasant, tasty snack? I think not!

It was a dark and stormy night....ok, it was really a sunny afternoon- but I bet you know where this is going. This is the story of the Lee Lund ghost. dun dun dunnnnn!!!! Ok, enough with the spooky junk...it's actually a funny story. So, I'm at dance Thursday afternoon. I'm demonstrating for junior company and Debi is deep in thought trying to think of some type of staging that will work with her piece. Meanwhile, we're all silent so she can think clearly. Then, the metal sign outside began to swing and make a squeeking noise. It sounded like a mix between nails on a chalkboard and a rusty swing on a playground. It was a really creepy sound because it was silent in the room otherwise and the noise just didn't stop. The whole class it kept squeekin. It re