To One It Concerns

When I started this blog, there were very few guidlines for subjects I would not broach. The rule was self-imposed so as not to get caught in a trap of writing exclusively about love, or dating, or lovely dating in New York City. I know lots of fantasticly written, witty blogs about dating in NYC (ya'll should read up about my girl Tinderella) but it's just not my pig, not my farm. 

And then I met someone. And he was my jam. But I didn't want to share him. When you freely share every other aspect of your silly life (remember when I shared my peeing preferences?) with readers and the general public, the things you love become clearer and more sacred than before. Maybe that's weird? I just didn't feel like sharing here, chickens! Besides, relationships end and sometimes you go through rough spells and to open the floodgate to talk about all that here seemed cheap.

And then, through the miracle of boxed wine and a mutual commitment to mornings filled with quiet time and personal space, I made it to a full year with that someone I met. Which is cool because it's been the best goddamn year of my life. And maybe, now, it's okay to share a bit about that person I love because I know they'll love the gesture. And it doesn't matter anymore (or ever, really) what anyone else thinks. What matters most is getting that someone you love to smile and understand that they are, in fact, your jam. So,

To my boy, who had the audacity to ask me to sing back up for him at MY cabaret, you've got balls...I like that about you. I'm genuinely sorry I butchered singing your back up, definitely sorry I lied about watching the youtube video to make sure I knew it the two times you asked...I was pretty focused on myself that night. Thank you for being cool about me taking another boy to your bar to make you jelaous. That was pretty lame of me, but the way you handled it made me like you even more. Which is why I want to say big time thank you for not running when I texted, "When are you going to ask me out?" instead of politely waiting for you to ask me, as a lady should. You impressed me from the beginning with your intellegence and your confidence. You made me feel attractive from the get go, but more importantly, you made me feel smart and funny and that was sexiest of all. 

To my bozo, who once said "every morning feels like dying," who can only open one eye for the first hour after waking. To my idiot who packed a gigantic shelf of books into approximately 37 small, wine/liquor sized boxes. That made moving from DC to New York super easy and wicked fun. To my boz* who derives a borderline-unhealthy, naive happiness from anyone speaking/singing/performing on the subway, most especially for SHOWTIME! You look like a kid in a candy store, it's amazing and scary all at the same time. To my guy who reminds me "Baby, this is a computer" each time I'm within 5 feet of your computer with a drink in hand. I know that's a computer...I'm aware it would be detrimental to spill said drink on/near/around that which you call computer. Thank you. That's pretty annoying, but I know you can get anxious and also, #patience. 

To my man, who read every single blog post I'd ever written before taking me on a date. You kept trying to feed me multiple meals because of this. To my man who edits everything I write, who's seen every performance, heard every cabaret, seen every show. You've been my biggest advocate. To my man who helped me move three out of five times this summer, that was a lot. You're not much of a driver, but who am I to talk? Thank you for driving me to middle of nowhere Pennsylvania and being so patient when everyone in the Applebee's stared at you for being the darkest man in the restaurant. To my man, who in this last difficult month has never once faltered in unwavering support when we needed it most.   

Listen. I don't have any money and not much of a career to speak of (read: yet). I don't own an apartment or a car. I think I have a 401K but I'm not sure, my dad takes care of that. I'm nobody's catch on paper. But I love you and I dig spending time with you. Thank you for digging me, for spending time with me.

xx 

*boz: slang for bozo, a term of endearment conceived on a Q train, inspired by a subway "artist" named Toni Macaroni.  

This will be our year, took a long time to come.

I Spent Two Hours In a Hot Tub, And Now Everything Makes Sense

In 2008, I did a show that changed my life. I got to tap dance whilst singing about lesbians, dressed as Jerry Springer. But more importantly, that show became my impetus to stop people pleasing to the extreme. I decided to be honest. Or, at least try. That summer, with the help of some of the most brilliant friends, Honesty'08 was born. And so was a summer where I was fucking infallible. No, really. Without going into humble brag detail, I did mostly everything and anything I wanted. Like, I had a day job where I watched True Blood from my desk....AND GOT PAID FOR IT. I did a show that I was/still am proud of. I produced and directed a cabaret that I cast all my friends in. I had ridiculous calf definition (thanks bougie desk job gym membership!) Life was good. And it was incredibly honest. I love my ridiculous yearly mantras. I love how people have been contacting me about what 2014's will be, and therefore I've decided to do a lil recap of each mantra since then.

2009: GO GREEN '09 ....This one. This one was riding the coattails of Honesty'08 like a lil biddie. It was not thought through. But I was unsettled by the state of recycling in this country. I think I had read an article while heavily medicated...To this day my three most irrational fears are 1.) I'll die without being remembered 2.) I have a mustache that no one's telling me about and 3.) The earth is destroyed beyond repair. So...I still believe in a more "green" form of existence, but perhaps not as a full year's mantra.

2010: ORIGINAL PROJECTED COLLEGE GRADUATION YEAR '10 Well, when you do two freshman years, you can get prickly about when you "were" supposed to graduate and when you "did." This year had a lot of mantras actually, but this is the one that has stuck with me. Honesty '08, this is the year I started to get a bit lost.

2011:..... Did 2011 even happen?!? I can't remember! There seems to be some thought that, perhaps, the mantra had something to do with love. "Lovin' in 'leven?" Who's to say, really. This was the year I got fired from like, four jobs. Let's just forget it, as a family.

2012: TICK TOCK '12 The Mayans ya'll! Remember that? The world was supposed to END in 2012 and, like sand through the hourglass, so were the days of our lives! 2012! I loved 2012. Even though it was the end of the world, I did a lot of excessive, passionate living. Thanks, bullshit Mayan doomsday for helping me up the stakes.

2013: RISKY '13 This last year has certainly been a risky thing. My favorite blonde-secret-time friend Mike and I were the only two who actively referred to Risky'13, so perhaps it didn't quite catch on as we had hoped. But it did live up to its name. I took a LOT of risks. Not like, scary times active things (although I did watch my brothers jump out of a plane and by sibling default I feel like I did it too) but risky things nonetheless. The riskiest thing I did? I fell in love with my goddamn self.

Last night in a hot tub at 4am, a few dear friends and I figured out all the things over ONE Mike's Hard Lemonade and questionable eggnog. We discussed our plans and hopes for the next year and expressed how much we mean to one another. There was no talk of grandiose New Year's resolutions that will go unfulfilled. There was no guilt or remorse for the past year. Just fantastic conversation. Today, I can't stop thinking about what made last night with them so lovely. And what made this last year so beautifully brilliant? I think, all of a sudden, I have an undying sense of self-belief. I think I have found people who also have undying self-belief. And it's pretty fucking wonderful. So, my biddie readers, whether you care or not, I urge you to take what you loved from last year into the next, leave what you don't. Let it go, do the next thing. Work towards and keep that undying self-belief. And then, in 2014, lock it up.

Joy. Pure, unedited family joy...or something like that.

How weird is this shit? This is my family. Merry Christmas sweet biddies.

How to Be a Diva: Lessons from a Three-year Old

These last few days I had the awesome pleasure of a lil mini vacation in Charlotte, North Carolina with my faux sister Wes and her beautiful, kind, hysterical, smart children. Willow-cat is six months and perhaps the chillest baby ever. She rarely cries, she smiles on command, and she understands the serious importance of accessorizing. Her future is bright. Chase-times is brilliant, sensitive and kind, and filled to the brim with imagination. Chase is also three, and therefore feeling all the things. Now fortunately, I find the hysterics of a three-year old little guy not only ASTOUNDINGLY FUNNY but also, informative. Three year olds get it. They play a saucy game that rivals the genius behind Sorkin dialogue. They do what they want. They are the purest divas and divos I have ever met. Let me teach you. Nay, let Chase teach you. He knows. HOW TO BE A DIVA(O): Lessons from a Three-year Old

1.) Just say "No." -This seems to be the crux of how to live the diva(o) luxury life. For example, if someone asks you to do something you really REALLY find unnecessary that is putting a cramp in your style, just calmly look into their eyes and say, "No." It's quick. It's to the point. You're not being mean, per se. You're just simply stating that what they've asked you to do or adhere to is not in your agenda for the day. Here is a successful scenario.

WES: Chase, please get in your seat. CHASE: No. WES: The car is moving, please get in your seat. CHASE: (perhaps with a bit more insistence, and eye contact) No.

See? Brilliant. No explanation. No attitude. Just straight forward luxury with insistence and intention. Boom.

2.) Don't ever wear pants. -Yeah. This one I should've though of myself YEARS ago. Pants are so stupid. Why is not okay yet to just hang out like, everywhere in your underwear?? I don't get it either, Chase! Life is comfy sans pants! I truthfully think I do my best work without pants on! And yeah, it's fall and getting colder but a true diva or divo need not wear something so constricting. Social standards will say that pants are necessary. But what if society is wrong? These are the things that Chase has brought to my attention. MAYBE we are only thinking straight at three years of age, whilst pant-less. Let's all stop wearing pants, my friends.

3.) The Turn-Around Technique -This, my biddies, I saw in action a few times and it is the epitome of brilliance. A true diva or divo need not apologize for their behaviour when it reaches a certain unfavorable melt-down state, but the best of them know how to "turn it around" in their favor so as to keep their loyal subjects. Picture this. A COSTCO in suburban North Carolina. A small divo who has reached the level of "over it." A toy that was indeed promised to him but then must be taken away due to a saucy tantrum moment. A three-year old in hysterics, legs and arms flailing all around, tears galore to the point of snot running down front of face. Loud (yet impeccably supported) screaming, "I WANT MY TOY! WHERE DID THEY TAKE MY TOY! YOU ARE BEING SO MEAN TO ME!!" Now here's the brilliance right here. After the melt-down, the trick is to turn it around so fast that perhaps, the regular humans that take care of your basic needs think they imagined the whole thing. Example:

WES: Are you feeling better now that you've calmed down, Chase? CHASE: (accompanied by a hug and smile) I love you Mom. Best family ever.

...WHAT? THAT IS GENIUS! Not only did you deflect from your questionable melt-down, BUT you've complimented your caretakers about the work they do for you, and their "family." It's simple, it's direct, it's deflecting in the purest form. Bravo, little one.

4.) The Single Tear -Every once in a while even the most legitimate of divas and divos feel remorse and regret. It's natural. They are humans too, allbeit the more advanced and entitled form. And truthfully, sometimes they do the wrong thing. Not often because they usually do what they want (refer back to "Just Say No" above, please), but when it happens it is important to show the correct amount of guilt and remorse. Did you throw something? Did you kick a ball in the house? Did you break a glass bowl from the dining room? Did you tell the babysitter you were trying to give away your younger sister? Okay, fine. We all make mistakes. But the trick is to give your loyal subjects ONE SOLITARY tear of remorse. No more, no less. Mostly because giving more would exert serious energy and you need to stay hydrated. But also because, a three year old diva(o) really understand that less is, in fact, more. Leave them wanting more biddies. Works. Every. Time.

Even after all these lessons were made so clear and apparent to me, there is still so much more to learn. And so many tricks of the trade that I fear can only be learned through close observation and study. I'll have to do with this direction for now. These, and the ladybug Chase gave me the day I left, accompanied by, "Good luck in DC Bligh. I love you." I'll say it again. Fucking brilliant.