Blog Archives

brain purge

From saturday, and today; Monday

Good afternoon (morning).

Some are beginning their work week, some in the middle, and others are in their weekend mode. Weekend mode, for me, used to be a fun “day off” kind of thing. Now, with only one “day off” a week I find it’s just as busy as other days and I must adhere to certain productivity rules I’ve set in place for myself. Thing is, I’m just tired of it. I DO go in autopilot a lot. Work, class, clinic, sleep, eat, laundry, clean, prepare, study. All of these things are equally symptoms and results of the life path I’ve chosen to currently be on. I’ve been on it for almost two years, and before that my days were filled with other time-filling and complaint-driven things. I’ve lost the motivation or goal I had in sight when I set myself in this path. Now I look forward to the 1 or hopeful 2 hours a week when I hit a bag amidst strangers sporting similar boxing gloves. Now I look forward to laying in bed by 11p. I know I’m no longer in my twenties, and the forties will arrive soon, and the plans I set out for this year I still want, and they still harbor my focus–but but… Sometimes everything just becomes a hazy, fuzzy, blurry mess of predetermined time and energy spent.

I do not currently feel overwhelmed, I actually feel underwhelmed. I lack excitement and drive. The people who question this lack-of feeling I don’t care enough about to answer or prove myself to them otherwise. The people who support the goals and plans I have set out help to remind me of where I am and where I am aiming, it’s almost, though, that there isn’t or aren’t person(s) in my immediate reach that understand any piece of me I offer them, and it’s disappointing. Because the day-in-day-out really isn’t “me.” It’s an alternate me, of some kind. Like I’m sleeping and watching myself in a parallel universe. I’m trying to allow new people into my life, a rule I etched in stone for almost a decade now. And it’s weird. It’s weird allowing new to me personalities and attitudes in my space. Whether the space is fb, or a hug, or sitting and having a conversation. I have so much more to offer and I’ve really just kept to myself for a while. My friends back home knew the twenty-something social butterfly loud entertaining version of me. Most people in New York don’t know that I used to sing and dance and perform. I’m neither the socialite nor the homebody, actually. I’m neither the extrovert nor the introvert. I hone in both. I observe, and I pretend sometimes. Pretending doesn’t mean lying. Not always at least. Sometimes it’s just polite or cordial to do so, and I’d like to think I have a certain kind of etiquette . I observe and am honest during other times. I give advice to people that ask for it, and keep it to myself otherwise. I’d like others to do the same. Open forums are different, they apply the social implication that your opinion or advice is pre-okay’d for submission. Age is something, I ran over it a bit earlier but I tend to not take twenty-something’s seriously and that’s a mistake. Not because “I was there before too” but they have different perspectives, and my twenties were different than their twenties. Anyone’s twenties will be different from someone else’s.

And then there’s job stuff.  That can be…stressful.  Where I used to love it there, I now feel under appreciated, overlooked, and I’m often spoken to from a condescending plane.  Which I don’t respond to very well.  I don’t take to bullying or threats.  Who does?  Some people just take it, I suppose.  Out of fear.

I was accused of no longer being “passionate’ about my work.  I’m guessing it doesn’t occur to her that full time work in skin care, AND full time school for massage is passionate about learning.  I’m going to be Dual Licensed for the spa industry.  The body care industry.  Massage THERAPY.  Massage is no joke.  I have to take Anatomy & Physiology, Pathology, Neurology, Myology, Kinesiology, Medical Massage classes…among holistic approaches that include channels/meridians and points on the body for acupressure.  I have to learn how to look at someone’s tongue and see how their organs are effecting their overall health.  I had to become CPR/First Aid certified to be in clinic to work on “real” people, not just classmates.  All of this to say…if i wasn’t passionate I wouldn’t be doing ANY of it.  If I just wanted a job, I’d go get one.  I want to do something that interests me.  She doesn’t know I have books at home about skin that I read and peruse, she seems to only base her statement “you’re no longer passionate” on my lack of daily energy and dancing (did I mention full time work and full time school? this includes classes and clinic hours I’m not at work, classes after work, and classes before work) and perhaps the fact I don’t want to learn laser treatments, yet.  It’s because I believe I have a full plate.  And when you’re an adult you learn to juggle what you have, not keep adding and dropping.  That’s just messy.  If she wants someone to mold into her ideal esthetician, she should take someone fresh out of school that just passed the board exams and start mentoring them.  We’ve been licensed the same amount of years.  She has had more experience than me, and got into the business for different reasons and I respect that.  I am willing to learn more, providing the approach is just that.  Learning.  Not question why I don’t already know something, or be sarcastic or condescending.  Nor do I appreciate her assumption that because I do not EXPRESS my passion the same way she does, that it MUST mean I am not.  That’s extremely close minded.  I’m not a fan of bad formed logic, nor do I take to un-funny fallacies.

I must digress.  Standing on that soap box doesn’t do anything but give me a headache.

My schedule needs to include an allowance of time to study.  That is difficult.

My schedule does not allow me to much time to adhere to the ideals of “me time.”  I like kickboxing, and try to do it twice a week.  Most of the time that’s once a week.  Other moments of this “me time” is hanging out with my inversion table, seeing a chiropractor, and showering, you know at least a few times during the week.  Relationships? nope. Drinking and/or being social with friends? Nope.  Video chatting with my loved ones? Nope.  Brunches for catching up with friends I see once or twice a year? huh-uh, nope.  NO time.  I make food for myself, is that considered “me time?”  Sometimes I go see shows on Broadway.  It’s excellent.  An excellent way to spend my “me time.” And I will keep doing it, regardless of who deems the way I spend my time  as”poor” or dare I say “without passion.”

I’d like to bake some cookies.

I was given an adorable tiara/crown cookie cutter a few years ago from my mother and have never once used it.  Sugar cookies, I think would be appropriate.  This, however, would take some time.

I like my piano.  I have forgotten most of the songs I used to be able to play on it, I can hear it in my mind and have to remind my hands how to do it.

I’d like to go back to Hidden Gems Archery.  I found a piece of me that I didn’t know existed when I had that bow and arrow in my hand and my mind hushed while my eyes focused at the target.  I’ve wanted to learn archery for over a decade, I found a place and it’s just barely in my reach–while I have limited time to dedicate to it.

I want to learn sign language, and calligraphy.  I’ve wanted to learn sign for over twenty years.  I found a place, I bought the material and this summer I’ll have time to dedicate to it.  Calligraphy, I’ve wanted to learn since I was being taught cursive in elementary school.  Part of the reason I love pens is feeling them in my hand, and watching how my hand re-grips and changes the way my handwriting appears.  I often wondered how it would feel to write with a quill, dipping into ink.  Oddly those quills look like arrow tips…

Seems I like to do things with my hands.  Things that connect me and my mind to my hands.  Facials, waxing, massage, sign language, calligraphy, archery, playing my piano.  I may even venture to saying I’m passionate about it, all of it.

The year is just beginning.  Remember in the year review blog I said to watch, this is me telling you It’s Beginning…

Hedwig got me wet, a story of falling for a woman

I work saturdays.

Winning the lottery that one time to see Hedwig starring Neil Patrick Harris was extremely rare.  People don’t just go around winning lotteries and prizes very often.  And it’s never you, you know?  Well, it was never me.  Well–it’s rarely me.  I won a TV once when I was 19.  I won my in-class spelling bee in elementary school a few times.  And in 8th grade my Odyssey of the Mind Team won for regionals, losing State by a couple points due to a misquote.  Man, that changed my look on quotes FOREVER.  But, that was all before adulthood.  As far as being the winner of random selection, it’s not me.  It’s never me.

It never was me.

Then I won the lottery to see Hedwig and the Angry Inch and my attitude slightly changed.

My housemate, on the other hand, is all too familiar with winning the lottery.  She won the lottery twice in one week while her mom was visiting, her mom won once, so at that point she’d seen it three times.  Then, I won and we went together.  Then she bought a ticket for closing weekend.  So she’d seen it five times (I believe) at this point.  This point meaning, this last saturday 8/23rd when I was at work, I got a text from her

“I won AGAIN!!” showtime was at 8p.  We’d be seeing Andrew, the guy who had taken over the title of Hedwig upon NPH’s departure. We agreed to meet near the Starbucks on the corner of 42nd/6th Avenue.  It was 7:15p.

by 7:30p we were in line and heading in, we were directed to our seats but decided best to use the facilities first.

Row three was where we needed to go to get to our seats–then all…the…way…forward…to the Second Row. Center.

Who the hell am I living with?? How did win the Lottery AGAIN.  How did we score THESE tickets???

The only other time I’d ever been this close to a stage, on the audience side of it, was when I went to see John Mayer at the Santa Barbara Bowl in 2002.  I waited in line for 5 hours that time.  General admission, heh.

And here we were.  maybe 3 feet from the stage.

8pm: Hedwig was being lowered to the stage via some wire contraption.  I recognized the costume from the previous time I’d gone.  I wasn’t necessarily expecting a difference, but I don’t know what fits and what doesn’t.  I don’t know…anything.  I’d done musical theatre for ten years, and it was as though I’d never been to a performance more than once before.

He looked great. She?  Hair, make up, clothes.  Everything was great.  Even the bandaid we could see on the actors knee, no doubt from working his way into the role and on to the stage in three days time.  Her jokes are similar.  I get it, it’s a script, but some of it is delivered differently. Some of the lines are improvised each night, I believe, because there’s always someone different, there’s always something different.  We were introduced to the The Booth, and the people in it were instructed to watch for The Ghost.  I flashed -back to when I was up there, and wondered if they would say anything or play along, and what Hedwig’s response would be.  But I didn’t want to rush to it, I wanted to enjoy EVERY SINGLE SECOND in being thisclosetothestage.

What I also was able to notice was the facial expressions on everyone else on the stage this night.  I was able to see the 2 band members that previously were blocked out of my view (partial view, that balcony/booth seat).  I was able to see the door that was opened and closed whenever “Tommy Gnosis” was referenced.  I could see the car better, the drum set.  I saw that the straws in her drinks were not the fun-bendy straws.  I was so close.  I could see the laces on her shoes.  The cuff in her pants, the black tie was actually leather looking this close.  Her jacket and collared shirt.  Fingerless gloves.  Was she also in a hoodie? How may layers did she have on?  No, not Hedwig–I was staring at Yitzhak.  Hedwig’s “husband, friday through thursday” I could see her  sideburns, and the whispy straggler hair that dangled in front of her face.  She moves like a guy.  Had I never known the actor was a girl, and the character was a girl, I would say it was a guy.  Good lookin’ guy, no doubt.  Pale skin.  Those eyebrows.  Thick and dark.  The kind that when lifted look like, well–a drawbridge.  When she spoke earlier her accent was heavy.  I’d watch her most of the performance, actually.  I’d be watching Hedwig, then glance over and see what Yitzhak was doing.  Staring at Hedwig, and achey stare.  Not just giving the attention to Hedwig, but longing for Hedwig’s attention as well.

I am fascinated.

I am so close I can see the blue-glittered sweat trickling down Hedwigs face.  The thick coat of foundation and pink rouge angling her face.  Her accent is fun, her one-liners are funny, her relationship with the audience is great.  We are all on board.  She kicks and climbs and sings and dances.  She’s a bit more careful on the stage.  Literally.  Maybe not used to the heels? Who am I to judge, I certainly could’ve broken an ankle or a leg had I attempted to jump off a car in five inch heels, so believe me–I’m rootin’ for her.  I’m engaged.  I also cannot stop glancing over to watch Yitzhak…sitting.  Sometimes sitting, sometimes standing and singing, rocking out.  Twisting and jumping, always on the watch for Hedwig and her movements.  Her mic cable under constant Yitzhak-supervision.  It’s choreographed, but not.  The tambourine hitting hands and legs, hard.  I wonder if there are bruises on her leg, on Yitzhak’s legs.  I’m watching this guy, and know it’s a girl, and can’t stop staring.  Hedwig & the Angry Inch Belasco TheatreI stare as he (she..) slowly grabs one of Hedwig’s wigs and caresses the hair and smells it, it’s hilarious.  He’s so committed (she)…Never once trying to steal any looks, just–on tour with Hedwig, whom he loves.  She loves.

My head is a mess and I’m laughing and I’m enjoying the show.  And Hedwig is standing front and center talking and I glance over at Yitzhak…and all of a sudden–I’m wet.

Water has been dumped on me? No, spat on me.  Hedwig, drank her water and like a fountain, steamed a solid amount from her mouth all over me.  Everyone laughs.  I’m brought back to Hedwig, also laughing.  I glance up and Hedwig is staring right at me and I open my mouth with laughter and wipe at my face and chest smearing all this saliva covered water over my arms and clothes.  She says something about it being a “rock and roll gesture” then she corrected herself and said it was a “Heavy Metal gesture” and followed with “do you want to see a punk rock gesture” to which I shook my head No..(knowing what was happening next) and Hedwig went for more water–a LOT more water…then instead of spitting it all over me let it dribble out of her mouth all over her.  hahahah  Then she explains “It’s the direction of aggression that defines it.”

We are all laughing.  She walks away.  I am drenched and all of a sudden he is a couple feet from me.  He ran to the center of the stage with towels cleaning up the water.  He…She…she’s fast and intentional and on her hands and knees, parallel to the audience with her head  to House right (stage left for some of you…).  I am then transitioned into slow motion, because she is looking directly at me.  I am frozen.  I know that my mouth is open and I’m leaning forward, slightly smiling with excitement to his proximity–hers.  She reaches out with a white washcloth towel towards me and for a moment I wish I stood up and leaned towards her to let her wipe me off, but I otherwise reach out.  I’m unable to tell you if the towel was handed to me with both of our arms extended, or if I reached out and was actually able to catch it as it was gently tossed to me.  All I know is within this slow motion, his eye contact has remained.  A look of somewhat worry and apologetic.  Apologizing for Hedwig’s actions may not be uncommon…I imagine–I imagine this because I’ve not only moved to slow motion, I have transported myself to a place of dissecting every facial expression he makes. .. I have received a towel and he..SHE has turned the other way to head back to her seat Stage right.  But before she leaves, he glances back at me again and time froze for me, again:  I saw A close-mouthed smile and kind eyes peer at me. drawbridge eyebrows tilt towards one another and every scenario of every romantic movie is flashing across my mind.  That–and the feelings of being twelve with a crush.  The kind of crush where you come up with every thought or line The Guy was thinking or would say…  They follow:

hi OR

hello OR

hello beautiful OR

You’re pretty OR

You’re welcome OR

I like you OR

It was nice to see you, too OR

How are you? OR

good OR…

And he was gone.

She was gone.  Back to her corner.  And I didn’t move for a moment.  I have no idea what Hedwig was saying.  I have no idea if anyone else around me saw Our Moment, but I have this towel, and I got that look..which now–of course–means I am in Love.

I’m twelve and in love and I never want to leave the theatre and I want him to come back and I want to do the whole thing over again and again and again and again and again.

I, eventually, come back to the present and use the towel for it’s purpose, drying my face and chest and arms.  My shirt still soaked, my smile still on–glued on my face.

At some point there’s a sing-a-long, and I participate.  There’s more jokes, there’s a story told on-a-serious-note, then there’s the beginning of the next song.  Only Hedwig is upset.  Too upset, at this moment to sing.  And she walks away from us telling Yitzhak she needs a minute.  Yitzhak looks worried about Hedwig, but also willing to take this moment to sing himself.  herself. He stands there and I’m still in love, and he opens his mouth and he sounds–like a girl.

duh.  I knew this.  I knew it was coming.  I KNOW that’s a girl! I know the actor is a girl, I know the character is a girl dressing on purpose like a boy.  I’ve heard the sound of her voice a few times now. ..

5.199516It’s great.  It’s intense and it builds.  It’s called The Long Grift

Look what you’ve done
You gigolo
You know that I loved you, hon
And I didn’t want to know
That your cool
Seductive serenade
Was a tool
Of your trade
You gigolo

Of all the riches you’ve surveyed
And all that you can lift
I’m just another dollar that you made
In you long, long grift

Look what you’ve done
You gigolo
Another hustle has been run
And now you ought to know
That this fool
Can no longer be swayed
By the tools
Of your trade
You gigolo

I’m just another john you’ve gypped
Another sucker stiffed
A walk-on role in the script
To your long, long grift
The love that had me in your grip
Was just a long, long grift


Stories. Songs. Big Crazy ending.  And it’s a sing-a-long again.  LIFT UP YOUR HANDS.  And it’s an anthem.  Hedwig has removed her wig and ceremoniously given it to Yitzhak.  She leaves the stage with joy, like freedom is something she’d never tasted.  It’s all very important and moving (ish).  And she comes back…


lena-hall-gets-her-moment-in-the-spotlight-92420But…but where’s is*my* Yitzhak.  I no longer feel twelve with a crush, I’m just normal now.   She’s normal, and I’m normal. Amazing voice, this girl.  Miss Lena Hall.  Of whom I do not have a crush on as herself, or as the girly-version of Yitzhak, but of her boyish character.  Odd, no?  No?  It’s not??  hmmm..

We all stood up and applauded.  I yelled Happy Birthday to Andrew, I don’t believe he heard me.  I yelled and as we were filing out my housemate asked one of the guitar players, Justin, for a pick.  How does she know these people??  This guy was on stage the whole time.  They bowed, they left the stage.  Houselights came up and the band and crew came out to clean up.  She saw him and called to him, he answered and brought her a pick.  I’m her fan.  She also spoke to Matt (I think was his name)  Said something about another good show.  this guy has blue hair and is smiling and briefly chatting with my housemate from the stage.  Next I’m ready for her to get us backstage.

But that, may be another story….




My Crush


le sigh









The actor who plays my crush…





Yah.  Goodnight, Neverland.

%d bloggers like this: