See You Next Tuesday

I have to be upfront about this. This post is going to have a lot of bad words. Not so much an assortment of bad words, but one word in particular will be mentioned. A lot. You may think you don't care, you may think bad words don't shock you at all anymore, but I'm pretty sure this is one of the few English curse words whose sharpness has not been dulled with overuse.
This post also gets extremely personal and disturbing at times.
So, a warning: If you are easily offended, stop reading now.

I'll wait......

Ok, are all the wimps gone now? Good, this post should be read amongst friends.

Man, I've really built up the suspense, haven't I? You're dying to know what word I would actually warn about. I'm just going to say it once, get it out of the way, and then we can move on to my reason for bringing it to your attention.

CUNT.

Yep, you read that right. This post is all about the cunt. Or, more specifically, my response to the book Cunt: A Declaration of Independence by Inga Muscio.
This book is many things; it has many messages. It starts off with a backround of the word cunt, how it was originally a word used for female priestesses, women who were holy and connected with the spirit world. It was a word of reverence. A word of power. And I guess it still is, but in a very different way. Inga is adamant about reclaiming the word, much like African Americans have reclaimed 'nigger'. (Yes, I thought about using the phrase 'n-word' instead, but I figured, I've already used cunt, being P.C. is pretty much out the window at this point.)
She talks about sexual abuse, she talks about women's relationships with their cunts, she talks about alternative natural "accessories" for the cunt, she talks about sex workers, and basically everything else you could imagine about that lovely area. If you're wondering whether or not you should read it, I will say that on the flight from CA to NY I pretty much did not put it down except to sip water and munch on sunflower seeds. If nothing else, whether you agree with what she says or not, it will make you think about the cunt in a very different way than perhaps you once did.

Now, I did not agree with everything she said. I'm not trading in my tampons for a sea sponge (not making that up) and I will continue to see movies and read books by men. However, I found myself affected and at times even moved to tears by the stories and epithets she wrote.

Truth be told, women's issues have always been very important to me. In acting school, we were assigned a project, or Poetry Project as it was called, where everyone had to create a 5 minute one person piece using at least 3 different published works. It could be from a script, yes, but it could also be from a book, newspaper, even a cereal box, as long as the actor performing it did not write it. Those were the only parameters. I could have made it about any subject I wanted. And I chose to make mine about... menstruation.
Why? I'm not really sure. I don't know why I wanted to talk about my cunt for 5 minutes. Perhaps it's been at the forefront of my mind since middle school, where I was the only girl I knew who had not yet gotten her first period. Who knows?
Thankfully, it ended up being pretty funny, even with the ending of me dropping my red skirt to show nude colored panties stained with stage blood and talking about 'the great river'.

And yes, the whole realizing your "womanifesto" thing appealed to me. I do believe that women have tremendous power within us, simply because our bodies produce life, which is a pretty miraculous thing. I'm not saying it isn't a pain in the ass having a cunt sometimes, but on the whole, I very much enjoy being a woman and revel in my femininity.

But what really got to me in the book were the stories of sexual abuse. Stories of men exerting their power over women in this way make me furious. The fact that, at age 24, not having been sexually assaulted makes me very very lucky. In America, 1 in 4 women will be sexually abused at some point in their lives and 1 in 3 will at least have to fend off an attack. And these numbers are probably conservative, as they are based off of mostly reported cases. I shudder to think about the statistics in other countries.

I read a book last summer called Desert Flower by Waris Dirie. It's an autobiographical tale about a woman born into a Somali tribe of goatherders who runs away, manages to get to England, is discovered and becomes a supermodel. But that wasn't what affected me. She became a fighter for women's rights because of what happened to her as a child, and what happens still to many women around the world: Female circumsicion, or as it is politically and correctly called, female genital mutilation.
As an 8 year old girl, she was woken up in the middle of the night, dragged to a spot in the desert, had her clitoris and labia sliced off with a rusty razor blade, and was sewn up so only a hole as small around as a matchstick remained.

When I read this, and read that this is a common occurrence in many African countries and their ensuing communities in Europe, an emotion that I must label as rage swelled inside of me. There is no religious base for this. It is nothing other than men controlling every single aspect of women's lives, at the most personal level. Of men treating women as property.
Few issues affect me more.

Though, thankfully, barbarity such as that is not legally tolerated in this country, we are still, in my opinion, far away from true equality between the sexes. I'm not saying I hate men, and that all men treat and think of women in the same way. This is not at all true. But even in a city as liberal as NYC, misogyny is everywhere. Language has incredible power, and what may masquerade as innocent guy banter actually perpetuates the objectifying of women, which can have devastating results. The change has to come from the people it affects: women.

This book, if nothing else, made me more determined to love myself and my cunt, and to treat both with reverence and respect. If you are reading this, and you are a woman, think about the last time you paid a visit to your cunt. Do you know what it looks like? Feels like? Let's face it ladies, if we aren't willing to get to know ourselves, how can we expect someone else to?
It can be a place of joy and power, if only you let it.

In the words of Inga, "You gots a goldmine between yo' legs." So get digging.

West Coast Summer-ization

I've been trying to think of how to sum up this trip. How to concisely put into words what this trip has been like, what it has meant for me, and what I took away from it.
First, I tried out the paradigm that this trip was all about traveling to the west to spend time with boy and meet his family and to have a wonderful and relaxing 4th and explore the city he grew up in..... Wait a second, this is sounding very 2006. Try again.
Then I tried out the paradigm that this trip was all about my professional prospects, to learn about the twists and turns of life in the not-so-angelic City of Angels and make connections and see if I should consider moving here... Wait a second, this is sounding very 2009. Start from scratch.
Then I tried the paradigm that... um.... ouch. My head hurts now.

The truth is I'm not sure what label could cover this whole trip and give me something solid to take home and examine at my leisure. I'm looking for a mental touristy tchotchke that I can put up on the shelves of my mind and, tacky though it may be, let it bring back memories and lessons learned with just a glance.

Wait, I'm sort of jumping in too deep too early here (that's what she said), aren't I?

Ok, so boy has been wanting to make it home and see his family for quite some time. A few months ago, he invited me along. I, of course not wanting to be rude, and not being stupid enough to turn down a trip, accepted his offer to travel to the lovely San Fransisco and explore the city through the eyes of a local.
At the same time, I had been wanting to make a trip out to the west coast myself, to see some friends from back east, but also to finally meet with and hopefully make a good impression on a woman we'll call DZ.

Now, let me explain this whole DZ situation. My mom's best friend Suzanne has a friend who works in the entertainment business. A very good friend who happens to be very powerful in the world of making movies. I have been hearing about this woman, I think, for about 10 years at this point. It started out as a family joke when I was still in high school. "Oh Rachel, we know you love theatre, but when you're ready to be a big star we'll call DZ." As I grew more serious about choosing acting as a career, it was brought up more and more, until it became a matter of me becoming ready in my talent, professionalism, and personal health.
Let's face it, being an actor is hard. If you haven't picked up on at least that from my blog, I think maybe you should try a little harder at reading comprehension. And most successful people, actors or not, got to where they are in life with some mixture of hard work, talent... and opportunity. Someone to give them a break, to trust them, and help smooth the way just enough for them to seize their moment and make that extra stride.
That's what DZ has been rumored to be able to do for me.

I figured the approaching San Fran trip was as definite of a sign as I was going to get. I decided to spend some time with Boy & Co, then hop down south for a meeting and some good times with friends, then back to my beloved NYC just in time for some massive heat wave or power outage or other fun disaster.

Now, while I have just been cast in a very cool project, I still feel like my career is gathering speed a little too slowly. I have felt a dearth of opportunities in the last few months, not to mention the fact that it took me a long time to get my head on straight and I feel as if there are some burned bridges in NY. I have been considering a move to the West Coast for a couple years, but never quite as seriously as now.
Not to mention the fact that boy has been feeling a little stuck himself, and has been having his own debate about whether or not he has worn out his NY welcome.
Both of us wanted this trip to spend time together and grow closer, but also to give some clarity and help figure out some 'heavy shit'. That's Cali talk, right?

So, without going into too much detail (trust me, it would take a lot of scrolling for you to read it all, forget about me writing it), San Fran was wonderful. About as close to a perfect trip as I've ever had. I was made to feel instantly welcome in his house, I met (and liked) his old college/BBYO buddies, and ate enough good food to give even my iron stomach a longing to take it easy. I went all over the SF area, from hiking at the beach to wine tasting at Napa, and not to toot my own horn, but I gave boy an awesome birthday and somehow managed to bring along the perfect gift. I rule.

Then, I hopped of the plane at LAX with my dreams and my- NO NO NO I WILL NOT QUOTE MILEY CYRUS, DAMN IT!

ahem... I spent most of my time in LA hanging out with Peter from high school, who was nice enough to let me crash in his absent roomie's empty bed, and basically trying to keep my mind off of the imminent meeting that could or could not determine my future. You know, I just try not to sweat the small stuff.
Again, not to go into too much detail, but the meeting went very well. I even got some clarification afterward through the mother-daughter grapevine that DZ liked me, understood that I needed a little help, and was willing to give it. As added bonuses, I saw friends from every education facility I've attended since middle school, and I spend most of Tuesday wandering around the streets of LA with some random guy named Dre, and escaped unscathed.

This trip has been amazing. I accomplished pretty much everything I set out to do, and then some. It was fun, romantic, exhausting, hilarious, and exciting.

The only question that remains is: Where do I go from here?

From what I can gather, boy seems pretty set on being done with NY. He wants to head back west, and I don't blame him.
I have to admit, moving west would probably be the best option for me too. I've always said I will go where the work is, and there is certainly more work for an unknown film/tv actor in LA than NYC. And, though this is not my deciding factor, I am in a relationship, a pretty damn good one, and would like to see where it goes.

But NYC is more than a city, it's my city. It's my home. It's my life. It's witnessed me at my worst, and at my best. It's given me love, strength, attitude, and the beginnings of a sense of fashion.
And as far as it is from Miami (read: family) LA would be exponentially further. Time zones be fuckin my shit up.

I'm not making any immediate decisions. But I am feeling it's time for a change. Time to grow. Time to stop waiting for my life to begin.

And like generations of pioneers before me, the West may be the key.

With a Stick

I feel weird.

I feel really weird.

I feel really weird right now.

And I don't think I should.

I just got back from a fundraiser for a new webseries that I (hopefully) will be a part of. A good old fashioned roof party, with cheap drink specials, a DJ, and of course, bitchy landlords that call security and totally try to kill your party buzz. I wasn't drinking, but I was feeling pretty good.

And I think that's where the trouble started.

Before I went to the party, I tried on a dress that has not fit me in 3 years. Many girls who have weight loss goals will tell you: When you try on an item that you have kept around hoping it will fit again one day, and then one day it fastens just like it used to... One of the best feelings in the world. It makes you feel powerful that you have reached a goal. It makes you feel sexy that you look better. It's an immense feeling of satisfaction, and more importantly, hope.

And once the clothes look good, you have to make sure everything else is up to par. So, I let my hair go wild, carefully applied my makeup, unbuttoned one button more than absolutely necessary, and slipped on vintage shoes that never fail to get comments. (They are two different colors. It makes sense when you see them. Really.)

Needless to say, I was feeling very good by the time I walked out the door.

When I got to the party, I didn't think I would be able to convince boy to come all the way out to the alien Brooklyn, but boy did I try. And it actually worked!

But before he arrived, there had been a group of guys staring at me. Not talking. Not even trying to be subtle. Just staring. It made me very uncomfortable, but I was with friends, so I didn't let it bother me.

Fast forward a bit, he came, spent some time, then left so as not to be brain-dead for the dreaded brunch shift... and that's when the trouble started.

I'm not saying this to toot my own horn. I'm certainly not bragging, as this is nothing to be proud of. But for the rest of the night, one by one, I was very clearly hit on by about 5 different guys.

In a way, it was fascinating. Everyone had a different technique, from the blatant "Are you interested?" to the oh-so-subtle "Can I have a glass of water?" and everything in between. At one point in the night, I got a little fed up and decided to fuck with this one guy and told him that I used to be an actress, but it wasn't going so well so I became high class "escort".

Oh yeah. Escort. A high-class (read:expensive) lady of the eve, if you will.

He totally bought it too, but I was silly to think that might dissuade him. He asked for my number so he could 'make an appointment' the next time he was in NY. Thinking quickly, I told him he needed to give me a number where I could reach him. Tricky, huh? Hey, a girl needs to cover her ass in this business...

Anyway, back to reality.

I know I'm a friendly person. And I know this can be translated to flirting under certain social circumstances, but jeez, give a girl a break. I have to imagine that it wasn't all out of my control, but I honestly don't know what was so different about my vibe last night that everyone took it as an open season call.

Or do I?

I know it's a huge cliche that how other people will see you depends on how you see yourself, but I've never seen such a marked difference. Since I lost weight, I've definitely been feeling better about my body and want to show it off more (always in a classy way of course). And last night I was feeling exceptionally hot and, more importantly, confident as hell. Whether I wanted it to or not, it shined out of me.

And damn if it isn't the one non verbal thing men actually pick up on.

Scoff though you may, I'm not used to being hit on that much. Every girl has a certain screen or some other way they deal with the occasional overly flirtacious guy, but I felt like I had to be on guard and defend myself all night with witty repartee and not-so-gentle ribbing.

Or maybe just beat them off with a stick.

Mastering the Cleanse, Part 2

Well ladies and germs, believe it or not, (I certainly don't) guess what...

I DID IT!!!!!!

Yes, you heard right, I did it! I am now at the tail end of my 7th day on the Master Cleanse (for info check out previous blog), sipping my last mug of senna tea, completely ready for that amazing taste of apple juice at tomorrow morning's first light.

Yes, I do still have the 3 day ease-out process to get through before resuming somewhat regular eating habits. During the cleanse, your body goes into starvation mode, and metabolism drops way way down. So, to not overdo it on your system/tummy, it's necessary to slowly reintroduce easy-to-digest foods. The first day is apple or orange juice combined with water, second day is vegetable broth and rice crackers, third day is cooked veggies and fruit, and most recommend probiotic yogurt to replace all the bacteria that has been flushed out of your system.

But enough about what I'm going to eat. Lord knows I've thought about that enough in the last few days. Let's have an overview of my reactions.

I left you, good and kind people of the interwebs, on Day 4. Day 5 was very similar to Day 4, maybe a slight increase in energy, but still going strong, cravings not driving me crazy, so on, blah blah. I thought it was going to be an easy slide home.

Hah. So I thought.

Come Day 6, and for some reason I wake up on the wrong side of the bed. Yes, I did wake up late, but I was alerted to the fact that I wasn't needed at work for an extra hour, which usually makes me perk up.

Not this time.

From the minute I got to work, it was apparent to me that not only was everyone I served incredibly stupid, with almost no sense of social courtesy and a complete lack of reading comprehension skills, but also was there for the sole purpose of pissing me off as much as humanely possible.

The longer the day wore on, the more easily irritated I was with everyone, customers and staff alike. Now, I'm usually a chipper little chipmunk (there are fairy wings on the walls after all), but by noon the entire staff knew to just make a wide berth around me. And then the oddest thing happened: I started crying. Actually. Fucking. Crying.

And you want to know why? Because I saw another waitress, who happens to be incredibly short and petite, wearing the cutest little white short shorts, and thought to myself "It doesn't matter, I'm never going to look like THAT."

Yeah, don't worry, I don't know what I was thinking either. I don't want to look like anyone else. I want to look like ME, just a healthy, fit version of me. But for some reason, I was fed up with everything and it was just the mental straw that broke me.

I left early from work and put on a big smile to spend the evening at a comedy show with the boy and his sweet-as-sugar mom, but then had to have yet another cry before bed. This wasn't even about something specific, just the things that I always have to worry about. We all have them... right? Right? Yeah, you know you do.

Fortunately, once I got it out, I was able to enjoy the rest of my night in, and woke up this morning with one triumphant thought: THE LAST DAY

And for some odd reason, this turned out to be one of those "best day EVAR!!!"s.

I went to meet a friend for lunch, and of course, took a sip of my evil concoction every time I felt like reaching out and snatching a bite of his perfectly-cooked bacon. One of the waitresses stopped to ask me about it, and ended up being inspired to try it herself. Then, a walk around the Union Square Market, where I, on a whim, bought potted rosemary, dill, and basil, which are now resting in soil in my backyard. Time will tell if they actually survive (I had to plant them with a spoon because I didn't have a shovel), but at least I can cross 'plant my own fresh herbs' off my bucket list. Then, while walking around the market, I discovered a loophole in the Cleanse. Pure, organic, grade-B maple.... CANDY.

I jumped 3 feet straight up in the air as soon as I made the connection in my brain. If I'm allowed to drink maple syrup, then OF COURSE I'm allowed to have one little piece of pure maple candy! The joy I felt at putting the first solid food in my mouth in 7 days, and knowing it wasn't even cheating is... is... I can't describe it. I'll tear up again.

But true to my word, I only got one small piece, and nibbled it bit by bit for 10 minutes until it all dissolved to mapley goodness on my tongue.

And, to top off this lovely, lightened, hopeful day, I got chatted up by none other than a male model on the subway ride home who asked for my number.

Admit it, ladies, things like that put a swing in your step, eh?

To conclude this off the wall experiment: I accomplished a goal that I previously thought was next to impossible. I have purged out a lot of my physical as well as emotional toxins. I now feel in control of my food urges. I have lost a total of 8 lbs. I feel happy, and hopeful that I can keep my body in a healthy routine.

And I've never been so excited to eat veggies in my life.

Whether I've made a believer out of you or not, the bottom line is: If you're in good health, a week without food won't kill you. And I always advocate shaking up your routine, whatever it is. I just want to continue to learn and grow as a person.

Doesn't everyone?

Mastering the Cleanse, Part 1

I know what you're going to say. No, really, I do. You're going to tell me it's ridiculous. You're going to tell me it's unhealthy. You're going to tell me I'm crazy for attempting it.

And you may be right on any of those points. Definitely at least one...

But despite your rampant naysaying and protests, I am still determined to see this through.

I am talking, of course, about the famous, but more importantly infamous, MASTER CLEANSE. (Cue dramatic music)

Now, for those of you who have never heard of this highly controversial process, I'll give a quick overview:

The Master Cleanse, also known as the Lemonade Diet, was created by Stanley Burroughs in the 1940s, and was reintroduced/promoted by Peter Glickman in the 1990's as a way to thoroughly detoxify your body and give it a break from the taxing process of digestion.

It's basically a liquid diet that consists of fresh lemon juice, grade B maple syrup, and cayenne pepper (all organic, of course) mixed with filtered water, supplemented by either a laxative tea or salt water flush to, ahem, help expel waste without solid matter to push things along. It is usually followed for 10 days, but some have taken it to as many as 40 days.

Supposedly, the lemon juice provides your body with vitamins, as well as helping to clean out mucus and other things too gross to mention that lurk inside your intestines. The cayenne pepper also helps wave bye-bye to mucus, as well as being a highly detoxifying agent. The water is to keep you hydrated, and the maple syrup? Well, your body needs some calories to run on, and without it, the concoction would probably be close to undrinkable.

It has been glorified as a miracle detoxification process, and damned as a starvation-themed weight-loss trick, and everything in between. Research is unreliable at best, and even though some people swear by it, studies show that some people are out of their fuckin minds, not in relation to this cleanse.

So, why do it?

I don't know if I've stressed this enough in previous blogs or conversations, but I LOVE food. I have never been one of those people that views food as necessary fuel that my body needs to function throughout the day. I view food as one of the most pleasurable things I'm expected to do every day. I think about food, I look forward to meals, and when I'm bored, you can probably find me reading through recipes online or watching the best food porn ever, Iron Chef.

Being able to eat not only to survive, but to enjoy ourselves, is a privilege that should not be taken lightly. We are the only species on the planet that has, as a regular rule, been able to use taste to determine not what is edible, but what is delicious.

Pretty damn lucky, I think.

But this has a downside. I tend to indulge my taste buds way too much. I eat what I feel like eating, not what I necessarily should be eating. We are all guilty of this from time to time, but I seem to have a hard time controlling it.

I want to change my relationship to food. I want to change my habits when it comes to food. And changing habits, not to mention any relationships, takes work.

So, I committed myself to this seemingly fanatical process for a week. I would have set an original goal of the normal 10 days, but when you work as a waitress 8 days in a row, a spoonful of sugar, maple or otherwise, won't get you too far.

If nothing else, I figured it would definitely A: break whatever eating habits I've accumulated over the last 23 years, and B: flush out some of the bad and start with a clean slate.

This is my status report so far: I am finishing Day 4. I tried this once before about 3 years ago, and broke on Day 3, so already I beat my old record.

The first 2 days were definitely the worst in terms of cravings. My brain was used to reaching for whatever was available, and without that crutch, it became obsessed with sustenance. Every bit of food that I saw, smelled, or even thought about drove me up the wall with wanting. I'll be frank, it's a good thing the boy was around to distract me in moments of weakness. Plus, kisses always help as a positive reinforcement tool.

By Day 3, the cravings had incredibly subsided. I was expecting severe headaches, backaches, and many other symptoms that people have reported, all thought to be due to the detoxification process. I had none. A little dizziness in the morning before I had my first serving, but other than that, nothing.

Today I worked in my restaurant for the first time since starting the Cleanse. Not nearly as bad as I thought I would be. It's interesting and almost disturbing how easily my body has adjusted to not expecting food. But the amazing difference I noticed was not the existence of cravings, but what I was craving.

I work in a place that has fresh baked goods made every day. Scones, cookies, cakes, you name it, it's fresh out of the oven in front of me. And usually, I can't help but take a bite (or 5...) of something sweet and delicious. But over the course of my shift, I was giving barely a glance to the warm chocolate-butterscotch-chip cookies, and found myself salivating over the... beet salad.

This is the biggest signal I have seen so far that my body is getting back in balance. The fact that it's craving what it's actual nutritional needs are rather than the forbidden taste simply because of the fact that it's bad is a new, welcome sensation to me.

Side note: Another new sensation is an extremely heightened sense of smell. Sort of feeling like a Superhero? Never a bad thing.

So, I don't know if I'm a full believer yet, but I do know I'm tempted to go the full 10 days despite my workload. I will blog again about my results at the end, but till then, I remain faithfully yours, the Detox Overlord.

It's Opposite Decade

So I'm going to start this off by giving you a scenario, a very real scenario that repeated itself way too often throughout my childhood, and I want to know if this ever happened to anyone else.

Imagine you're sitting in your classroom, most likely elementary school. Let's say 4th grade. Life has not yet beaten you down. You inevitably have an "-ey" added to the end of your name. You still think D.A.R.E. is cool.
Ok, maybe not the last part. but you get it.
Basically, are at your desk ready for a full day of school. Or so you think...
After a normal morning of pledging allegiance and roll call, your teacher suddenly announces it's time for the big test.
Your heart stops dead in your chest. Your blood turns to ice. You suddenly have to pee really really bad. Your mind is devoid of every rational thought save one:
"WHAT TEST?????"

If you were anything like me as a child, items like tests and homework projects were always sneaking up on you, mostly because you spent most of class daydreaming, or reading, or doing some other way more important activity. This is all understandable, comprehensible, not a bit reprehensible, all defensible, whatever.
But for some reason I always seemed to bet the only one. In the entire class, I was the ONLY one who had not studied for the test, or brought in my field trip form on the last day, or written that paper that was assigned right before the bell rang, etc.

I always thought that maybe it's because I was on a different plane than everyone else. My parents and teacher used to call it Racheland. Once I was gone, man, was I gone. It usually took someone calling not only my first name, but my first and last together a number of times before I finally acknowledged them with a groggy "huh?".

I've gone through most of my adult life thinking that somehow, everyone was paying attention when all the life lessons on how to be a functioning adult were given out, except me. Or that the life how-to memo landed on everyone's desk, but because I was on a water break, they skipped giving me one. Whatever stupid metaphor I could come up with here, the result is the same:
I feel everyone knows how life goes except me.

However, I am starting to think that maybe it's not that I didn't get the memo, it's just that I was scheduled to receive it at some other time. It's not my life that is out of whack, just my schedule.

1st case in point: during the first two weeks of school, most of my time would be spent reading all the short stories and full novels (seldom poems) in my literature textbook for that year. Yeah, I was that kid. Not because I was obsessive, but because I loved reading, and couldn't wait to see what other stories were lying in wait for me. Plus, I would have all the required reading done for basically the whole year, and due to my ridiculously good memory (it has faded somewhat since then, but apparently when I was a kid my memory scores were off the charts) I would retain it for the whole year, and never worry about reading homework.

2nd case in point: I was absolutely, I'm sure, the last girl in my grade to be kissed, to grow boobs, basically every puberty milestone you can think of. I even had braces till the week before senior prom because I had to wait until high school to lose all my baby teeth. I was 15 when I had my first kiss. Summer before sophmore year. At camp. For a Jewish girl, where else?

These are two opposing examples that prove the same thing: I was way off the schedule that dominated the norm. And that was all before college.

To speak more currently but less specifically, I feel I have gone through much more emotionally than many other members of my age bracket. I have had more life experience, and I know it shows. Most people don't think I'm 23. Unless they catch me watching a Disney movie.
I feel like I got my midlife crisis over with in my early 20s.
On the other hand, I have never done my own taxes. I didn't even know what equity really was until like, a month ago. Not the most mature thing, I know.

And one odd example always stuck in my mind. When I first got to college, I was immediately wrapped up in the throes of my first truly serious relationship. (Moment of nostalgia for first love. Ok, done.) All my friends were dying to know how it was. And I had no problem sharing, and ending each romantic epithet with "You'll find it too someday!"
Fast forward a couple of years, and I was going through my first real heartbreak, the one where you learn that if you care enough, you can actually feel your heart physically hurting. And those same friends who I had giddily shared stories with were all entering their first big relationships.
And, of course, all dying to tell me how right I was.
For some reason, ever since then, with this same group of friends, my love life schedule has always been completely opposite to theirs. When I'm breaking up, they're getting hitched. When I'm getting hitched, they're breaking up. A short while ago, I got a new boy in my life, and I recently learned 2 of those friends broke up with their significant others of more than a couple years. These events happened basically weeks away from each other.

Spooooooky.

Strange as it may seem, taking this scheduling theory seriously is actually quite comforting to me. It doesn't mean that I'm never going to learn how life works, it just means that I'm gonna do it on my own time. True, I am writing a blog at 3 in the morning the night before an early day of work, but hey, I did get boobs eventually. Who knows how I'll grow up next!

So if you share this feeling with me at all, don't despair. Although you may not be ready for the test today, you'll know the material when it really counts.

The Vader Within

Dr. Jekyll, Lord Vader, and Pink Floyd. Three seemingly unrelated subjects (besides pure awesomeness and being veritable legends in their own right), and yet, all associated with one running theme: The Dark Side.

Much of Eastern culture and philosophy is based on the principle of balance between extremes. Yin and Yang. Sun and moon. Feminine and masculine.
Dark and light.

I am a big believer in balance. I know, I know, I'm an artist and artists are supposed to live life to the extreme, big emotions, constantly pushing limits, blah dee blah. Does that make an interesting life? Yes, of course. Does it make a happy life? Eh. It's tiring after a while to be constantly going from one extreme to another. Unless you're Robin Williams. And even he needed surgery eventually.

Just like everyone else, I have a dark and light side. My light side is probably the one that people know me by. I can't help it, I naturally have a pretty sunny and outgoing personality. Almost every time I've heard someone describe me, inevitably the word 'bubbly' is one of the first out of their mouths. And that's fine. There are worse things to be than happy.
But every once in a while, unexpectedly, the dark side pops out and... I have to admit that I like it.

For those of you who are scoffing, who don't believe that I have a dark and twisted side, I'll just give you these few examples:
One of my favorite hobbies is researching serial killers.
When I first saw Requiem for A Dream I made myself watch it once a month for a year.
My most recent role was a girl who fantasized about gutting her boyfriend while masturbating. (The director said she knew I was perfect for it right away)
I've always wondered how I would stand up to torture. Very specific torture.

I used to be freaked out and scared by my dark side. At first because I didn't understand it, and then because I let it get out of balance until I couldn't see anything else. I now treasure my dark side; it provides the balance I need for how I am 90% of the time.

Now, for those of you who don't know, I have a certain special boy in my life right now. He's pretty awesome, whatever, but the reason I bring him up is that he has seen part of my dark side and not only accepts it, but understands it. Like, isn't scared by it.
At least, he wasn't until a couple nights ago.

I admit, I let it go too far. When you get two actors together, and then let the fantasy world take over, it can get intense. That's as much as I'll say about what happened, but suffice to say it shook us both up.

However, I got over it a little quicker than he did.

My dark side is my friend. I understand it, and I understand how to handle it. I have learned that it is a part of me, that it is something I should embrace and not be scared of.
But that is not the case for everyone.

Some people never address their dark side. My mother is the sanest person I have ever known. I know somewhere, she must have a dark side, and I've always wondered what I would find there if I ever asked, and if she ever felt comfortable enough to tell me. But part of me suspects that she doesn't even know what her dark side entails. And I guess that must be true for many many people.

I have learned to deal with my dark side in a way that does not harm myself or others. I think it one of the more interesting things about me. The reason I'm so OK with it is that I know my dark side does not define me. It is only part of who I am as a person.
And who I am as a whole is a pretty awesome gal.

Explore your dark side. It does not define you. But it may give you insight. Just a thought.