About Me

“When you’re a little kid, you’re a little bit of everything. Artist, scientist, athlete, scholar… Sometimes it seems like growing up is the process of giving those things up. One by one. I guess we all have one thing we regret giving up. One thing we really miss that we gave up because we were too lazy or, we couldn’t stick it out or, because we were afraid.” -The Wonder Years

Sittin’ on the dock of the bay. Or not. (courtesy of the Foleyator.)

1. If I’m wearing pajamas (oh, I went there), they HAVE to match. I’m not talking about matching pajama twinset type things. But if I’m wearing plaid boxers, I cannot wear a striped shirt. And the color of my shirt should “go with” the color of the shorts. I never really thought this was absurd until Colin pointed it out to me. Why should they match? I’m wearing them to bed. Who am I trying to impress?
2. On the topic of OCD, I have a locking compulsion. I have definitely turned around and gone back to my apartment or car to make sure the door(s) were locked. This probably stems from when someone broke into my house when I was a kid.
3. My favorite movie is Empire Records. It has more or less held the coveted “favorite movie” spot since I first saw it about 14 years ago.
4. My second and third toes on each foot are webbed.
5.  Speaking of deformities (ha), I also have scoliosis and wore a backbrace for about two years. I was miserable for the majority of that period of time, but I turned it into a huge joke while I was in school so people wouldn’t laugh at me. And they didn’t. Well, not to my face, at least.
6. In eighth grade, I was voted “Most Likely to Become Famous.” I’m still waiting for that one to pan out…
7. Although I’m pretty much athletically challenged, I will tear anyone up in a swimming pool. My freestyle and backstroke skills are nasty. (See number four for a potential theory as to why)
8. Part of me wants to go back to school and get my master’s in social work.
9. Yet I’ve dreamed of writing a book (started several novels, and finished significantly fewer) since I was…seven? Eight? I’m not ready to give up that possibility.
10. Another part of me wants to take interior design classes.
11. And still another part of me believes I would be happy catering or operating a restaurant.
12. Which leads me to believe that I could have any number of “dream jobs” — maybe I could be a cookbook author who runs a restaurant. That she designed. Who is also a social worker by day? I suppose I’m going to have to make some concessions.
13. Speaking of which, people tend to be surprised to hear that I’m really into cooking. I guess I don’t come across as the domestic type.
14. When I was four, I learned how to read. My mom thought I was simply parroting back stories she had already read me.
15. I have a pretty sharp memory. If I watch a movie once or twice, I can probably recite the script. And I tend to remember minute details with ease. However, I’m HORRIBLE at remembering peoples’ names. I try repeating their names back to them, saying it over in my head…and I always end up saying “hey….there!”
16. My first favorite song was “Big Boned Gal” by K.D. Lang. I guess it was always my destiny to be a little bit country.
17. I have never broken a bone or gotten stitches… but I HAVE been stung by a scorpion, fallen face first down a flight of stairs, had my eardrums rupture at least twice, gotten a second degree burn on my “upper thigh” (read: ass) and have been stung by bees about a bizillion times.
18. My Myers-Briggs test result (INFJ) is almost scarily accurate.
19. I’ll try almost any food at least once. So far, I’ve sampled octopus, alligator, deer, frog, buffalo, antelope and kangaroo. The only things I can think of that I’d definitely pass on are dog, cat, bugs and bull testes.
20. More often than not, I’d rather read a book than go to a party.
21. I have one tattoo. It’s on my foot. It says “imagine.” It was a birthday present. I’m still happy I got it.
22. I definitely have a caffeine addiction. It’s not cool.
23. I saw each installment of the Lord of the Rings trilogy on opening night, with my mom. We’re the coolest.
24. For my 16th birthday, my parents told me I could have a Sweet Sixteen party or a drum set. Obviously, I picked the drum set.
25. If I’m flipping through the channels and Forrest Gump or Mrs. Doubtfire is on, I HAVE to watch it. Same goes for Law and Order marathons of any kind.
26. I hate talking on the phone, to pretty much anyone, for any period of time. There are few exceptions (my family, Colin, etc.), but I dread calling people at work. And don’t even get me started on ordering take-out.
27. I’m horrible at keeping in touch with people. My aversion to conversing on the phone probably has something to do with that.
28. I am a total grammar nazi. People need to learn the difference between ‘your’ and ‘you’re’. Also, they need to learn how to spell.
29. I absolutely hate the cold, and winter, but I kinda love snowboarding. I should do more of that this year.
30. I know all the words to “Dead Wrong.”

I’ve never thought of seriously ending my own life. Because I have a tendency to be morbid, I have wondered, “what would happen if I died right now? What would my funeral be like? Who would cry? Who would show up? Who would even care? Who would give my eulogy?” You know, that sort of thing. I’ve found myself in dark periods, wondering if things would get better and if whatever pain I was feeling would ever subside…but those feelings were, I’m sure, a result of being young, with too much emotion and not enough experience to realize that I would not always hurt this much, that the bad things will pass and better times will always be somewhere down the road.

Though I’m sure this opens a can of worms for many people, I think suicide is, with few exceptions, kind of…well, selfish. Perhaps that’s a harsh sentiment, and perhaps this will make me sound like an ignorant, insufferable Pollyanna, but for most people (especially those of us fortunate enough to live in a first-world country), I think there is always a way to make life worth living. There has to be some attainable goal that beats the alternative of death. Although, this may just be a result of my belief that existing has to be better than not existing, which I think is a result of two events that transpired just a couple of months ago.

In August, a former co-worker of mine died unexpectedly. He was 27 years old, and though it had been almost two years since I had seen him, I remembered him as being full of life. He had a fun spirit; he was always playing jokes on people, making wisecracks and getting everyone in the office to laugh. He had a wife, and it was obvious they adored each other. He had a young nephew and godson, the son of a sister he also clearly loved very much.

In short, it was obvious that he loved living. And in an instant, that was taken from him. And not only from him, but from the people who loved him. Seeing his wife at the wake and hearing her sob will probably haunt me for as long as I’m lucid. I can’t imagine the pain she must experience every day. To think you’re going to grow old and gray with someone you love more than anyone, and then one morning, to wake up to the news that that person will never be coming home…it’s unreal.

A week or so later, I got a phone call. The person on the other end was letting me know that someone I used to know had killed himself the night before.   Twenty four years old, and he had decided that there was no possible way that life could get any better, there was no way to climb out of the hole that circumstances had dug. He left behind friends and family, who were no doubt stunned and hurt, and probably angry, too. That wake was one I chose not to attend, but I can only imagine it was as jam-packed as my co-worker’s, and overflowing with the same emotions.

All I could think after I hung up the phone was, “My co-worker didn’t want to die. And you chose to?” How can that be right? Someone who wanted to live had no choice in the matter, yet someone else could say, “welp, there’s no way my life is going to turn around. There’s nothing I can do to make my life something worth living, so I might as well just end it all now!”

How could anyone in their right mind choose to snuff out any possibility that things will get better? And why would you choose to put the people you love — who love you — through that kind of agony?

I know that no matter what life throws at me, I will always find something worth holding on to, be it a person I love, an activity I enjoy or a future possibility. And that’s another thing. There are too many possibilities for the future — not just the big ones, like travelling and starting a family and maybe having a dream or two come true, but the small ones, like reading a poem or novel that strikes me like no other has before or having one of those unbeatable nights with a great group of friends. There are too many things I haven’t had a chance to experience yet — and too many things I’d like to experience again — before I check out of this place.

So I skipped Day 3 because I was busy hanging out in Baltimore and seeing Hanson. Which is just as well, because I’m not about to broadcast my opinions on drugs and alcohol.

A lot of horrible things have been done in the name of religion: persecution, torture, execution, war, genocide. I find that repulsive, especially since so many religions tout the concept of being kind, loving, forgiving and accepting. Even today, blind hatred seethes from self-proclaimed “Christians” toward Muslims, in spite of the fact that there are several ties between Islam and Catholicism.

But I’ve seen a lot of beautiful things done in the name of religion: tending to the poor and sick. Providing education to girls in Third World countries. Caring for AIDS patients. Feeding the homeless and getting them back on track. Providing shelter to battered women and children. Providing comfort and solace to the sick and dying, as well as their loved ones.

I think if religion is your thing, then good for you. I don’t think it’s something that should be pushed on anyone, and I think it’s repugnant when people spew hate then hide behind the Bible/Torah/Qur’an.

Elsewhere.

Ok, ok. I suppose I should provide a more in-depth response, considering I’m trying to get back on my feet in the writing department.

I’m pretty sure I don’t want to be in New Jersey for the rest of my life; I know that much. It’s too expensive, too crowded, too cold. There is too much traffic and it’s teeming with idiots, be it the “Jersey Shore” types or the morons who don’t know how to navigate a grocery store. There is a serious shortage of “nice” days in  a given year. I feel as though the majority of the year is too cold and too gray, and another substantial portion is wet and humid and uncomfortable. Winter tends to barge in waaay too early for my liking, and lingers long after it should have said farewell. Its proximity to New York, beaches and the mountains is nice, but honestly, I find myself growing more and more disenchanted with New York City every time I go there. While I still love strolling through the Village on Sunday afternoons, getting there is a royal pain. Penn Station is a royal pain. People on the trains are inconsiderate pricks, blasting staticky music through Smart phones when they aren’t yammering into them at full volume. Tourists are always. in. the. way.

By 2020, I would like to have seen more of this country — this world, really — and hopefully will have made a decision as to where my niche should be. I’d like to see much more of Europe; France and Spain and Italy (obviously), but also, maybe Greece and the Scandinavian countries (I know — for someone who hates the cold so much, you’d think I’d avoid this region. But apparently people who live there are rated as being incredibly happy, so they must be doing something right. Plus, I need to see the Northern Lights.) I can’t say where I hope I’ll be, physically, because I still haven’t seen enough. I need to satisfy this desire to see and experience before I can say, “okay, this is where I need to be.” Although, I’d be more than happy to “settle down” on a yacht in the French Riviera. With wine.  

How did I get that yacht? Well, I’d like to be published. Technically, I suppose, I am published, considering a substantial part of my job involves writing news articles, but I’d love to publish a book. Or collection of short stories. Or write a movie or tv script! Clearly, I’m not terribly picky about how I go about accomplishing this, but deep down, I think I’d really love to see my face on the inside of a book jacket. I know that unless I’m the next J.K. Rowling, I’m probably not going to have a yacht off the coast of Nice, but a girl can have lofty aspirations, right? Besides, I’d settle for a cozy cottage. With wine.

I’m open to any number of possibilities. Maybe I will have my yacht. Maybe I’ll live a nomadic life, bouncing from city to town to village. Maybe I’ll be like my parents: have a house in the ‘burbs, complete with kids and dogs and chaos and love. More than anything, though, I hope I have solid footing and a sense of content.

Maybe this is terribly cliché of me, something reserved for Grey’s Anatomy or Nicholas Sparks characters, but I remember the exact date I met my boyfriend. It was February 20, 2009, aka Bearded Pub Night, aka Rob Carducci’s birthday extravaganza, complete with microbrews and bottles of sex panther and – wait for it – finding love. Baaaaaawvomit. I had seen Colin around on a few occasions prior to this night, and on pretty much every occasion, I thought, for lack of a better non-word, whoa. I also happened to know that he thought I wasn’t so bad looking, m’self. Nice!

Anyway, I had just spent the past couple of weeks busting my butt at the newspaper. We had put together an enormous special issue and that day, it was finally finished. I was ready to unwind. I was ready for beers, especially since Shannon’s fabulous mom was our designated driver. I was ready…to take a deep breath, walk up to that tall, handsome guy with the mussy hair and wide, startling green eyes behind Buddy Holly-esque glasses and give him my best line.

Which happened to be “So, are you responsible for the hair metal?” as he stood by the juke box, which was playing Motley Crue or Whitesnake or some other band I am mildly ashamed to admit to having on my iPod. In case you weren’t aware, I am the epitome of suave.

Surprisingly, he did not furrow his brow, walk away without a word and make fun of me with his friends, nor did he laugh in my face. He actually responded to my question, with an incredibly serious expression on his face, which I still think is pretty hilarious. We proceeded to spend the majority of the night talking about music, books, writing, our lives in general.

I gave him my number (duh) and for the next week, we proceeded to play the question game via text message (how 21^st century of us). As if our matching answers to the first question he asked wasn’t obvious enough (favorite book? Slaughterhouse Five. I swooned a little), our mutual appreciation for Calvinball sealed the deal: I was totally crushing, Teen Girl Squad style.

We’re still going strong – stronger, actually. I am in the midst of the first long-term, adult relationship of my life. Falling in love with Colin made sense, which was alien to me, considering I couldn’t seem to fall in love with anyone before I met him. Obviously, I have cared very much for people I have dated – some of them were and are wonderful, and I wish them so much happiness. And I have experienced puppy love, which teenagers experience with such fervor. But I had never been in love with a single soul. Not like this. And not for lack of desire. I wouldn’t have minded falling in love, but it just never happened, no matter how kind or loving the other party was. With Colin, I never had to try. It just happened, and there was no stopping it.

And I felt confident about it. There was just this sort of underlying reassurance that this was supposed to happen. At least, that’s how I remember it. I don’t think I’m looking at it through those rose-colored glasses of hindsight, because I remember that butterflies-in-my-stomach feeling that held court for months (months!), and being nervous, wondering whether or not he actually liked me during our first date.

Anyway. Turns out he did. And when that comfort I’ve experienced is paired with the excitation that comes with a wild crush, it sparks a state of being that words can’t do justice. Those initial feelings have grown into something I can only hope everyone experiences in their lifetime. I can only describe it as an oxymoron. It’s a thrilling but soothing, comfortable but terrifying, exciting, warm, beautiful mess of emotions and thoughts. It shouldn’t make any sense, but it does. Trite as it may sound, he is the love of my life.

I’m thinking of my past dating experiences. All the letdowns and missed chances and poor timing, the ones who fizzled out or turned out to be batshit crazy or selfish or weak or too much or not enough. The ones I ran from, the ones who walked away. The anxiety and tears and questions poured into journals, the faces (well, one face) crafted into an angel food cake and consequently bludgeoned with kitchen utensils. The bad boyfriend bonfires at Erika’s house and long drives with my mom where I vented, why can’t we just get it right or why can’t we be on the same page or why would someone do that to another person? And I think, if I had only known what was in store for me, I never would have wasted my energy being upset. I don’t regret it (mostly) because I learned what I don’t want. I learned what I can or shouldn’t put up with, learned from their mistakes and mine. Every dead end and “wrong” choice led me here. I can’t imagine anything better than that.

I feel as though I have had writer’s block, in a sense, since I was about 19. If this (and at least one other) essentially abandoned blog isn’t indicative of that, the last decent piece of fiction I wrote was a one-act play for a playwrighting class at Ramapo. I have concocted several excuses for this lapse in what was once perhaps the biggest, most important part of my life. Being a literature major meant devoting all of my “creative” energy to writing paper after paper after paper… Working at a newspaper means devoting all of my “creative” energy to writing article after article after article… Working at a newspaper has completely changed my perception of how to write (concise and devoid of emotion and flowery language, rather than flourishing and vibrant and colorful) and rendered me unimaginative, gray and blah.

I need to write again. I need to clear all the rust out of my brain. Since I can’t go back to being a sixteen-year-old, emotional, moody introvert with virtually no responsibilities or Facebook account to distract me, I think my best option is to go back to the good ol’ “sentence prompt” mechanism, combined with a schedule of sorts. I remember those sentence prompts from as far back as first grade, and the idea of schedules and due dates go back to around the same era. But my lovely roommate is taking part in a 30-day challenge, and I figure, if I can keep up with this for a month, perhaps it will spark something in me and get me back on track. Perhaps I can be the focused, pen-wielding hermit once again…is it ok for me to get my hopes up this soon?

30 day challenge.

Day 01 - Your current relationship, if single discuss how single life is.

Day 02 - Where you’d like to be in 10 years.

Day 03 - Your views on drugs and alcohol.

Day 04 - Your views on religion.

Day 05 - A time you thought about ending your own life.

Day 06 -  A photo of yourself and write 30 interesting facts about yourself.

Day 07 - Your zodiac sign and if you think it fits your personality.

Day 08 - A moment you felt the most satisfied with your life.

Day 09 - How you hope your future will be like.

Day 10 – Someone who came into your life unexpected and made an impact

Day 11 - Put your iPod on shuffle and write 10 songs that pop up.

Day 12 - Bullet your whole day.

Day 13 - Somewhere you’d like to move or visit.

Day 14 – A photo of a cherished memory

Day 15 - 5 people in your life right now who mean the most.

Day 16 - Your views on mainstream music.

Day 17 - Your highs and lows of this past year.

Day 18 – something that makes you laugh

Day 19 - Disrespecting your parents.

Day 20 - How important you think education is.

Day 21 - One of your favorite shows.

Day 22 – Something you want to do before you die

Day 23 - Give pictures of 5 guys who are famous who you find attractive.

Day 24 – Somewhere you would like to travel

Day 25 – A photo you took

Day 26 - What kind of person attracts you.

Day 27 - A problem that you have had.

Day 28 - Something that you miss.

Day 29 - Goals for the next 30 days.

Day 30 - Your highs and lows of this month