when i die play "twinkle twinkle little star"

when i die play "twinkle twinkle little star," it sound juvenile, but i want that song played at my funeral. I have no real faith, i don't believe in a god or a heaven or a hell. at least not the ones that have been preached about and fought in the name of. i like to think that when you die you become a star. i'm still formulating all of these ideas but wouldn't it be nice. you die and you spirit just leaves your body and just becomes something beautiful that will shine on for generations? it's simple and stupid, but it makes me happy. maybe this is what i'll tell my children.

i was gonna continue to write about death, but this has calmed me down and i don't care to upset myself anymore.

afghanistan, death, birthday, and war.

today has been a strange day. i woke up fully aware that my best friend G, was beginning his life as a deployed solider, another friend of mine was celebrating her daughters 5th birthday, I would be attending a viewing for a girl that i worked with, and i was still in some sort of feud with my best friend.

my best friend G had talked of his plans of joining the US Army and going to fight for his country six years ago when we first met. i've never been keen on the idea of war and especially of my friends joining the efforts. and through the years almost everyone of our other friends, his family, and even strangers, i would assume, tried to talk him out of it. but his stubbornness, passion, and loyalty- some of the things that i admire most about him - would always be stronger than any of the words any of us could say against his decision. before he returned back to his base from his pre-deployment leave the hug i gave him was probably the longest and hardest one i ever gave anyone. and i am not a hugger. i actually even hate seeing other people hug each other, it's weird. but i didn't want to let him go. I have faith - i guess that's what you call it even when you don't subscribe to any particular religion- that I will see him again. and until i am able to i have to be patient and hopeful for his entire tour.

today he made a little post on facebook basically telling everyone about his journey thus far. not much detail - at least when it comes to G- but that was enough. it will be those post i'll be looking the most forward to. it doesn't matter how few and far between they are, each one will make me smile and cry like a baby.

after my cryfest for a friend at war, i put on my big girl clothes, dried my eyes, and drove in silence to a funeral home. Autumn and i weren't the best of friends, i refuse to lie and say how deeply she touched my life and all that other shit that people say when someone dies. ( i also refuse to say 'passed away' - it softens a blow that is not supposed to be soft.) but i did work with her for some time at roadhouse. when she first showed up i didn't even like her. i can't remember why, i just didn't. but when i decided to give her a chance i found her to be quite pleasant, funny, and pretty nice. we never really spent time together outside of work, but i did enjoy her company. it was weird being at that funeral home.  me and all the 'roadies' in our formal clothes - something that never happens- all awkwardly standing in the entrance. all of us together. as odd as we all are, we were a family. we had our fights, parties, laughs, and we'd even defend each other when necessary. just misfits that were originally usually forced to be together but all were standing there united for a fallen friend. that in itself was absolutely beautiful. I didn't stay for the funeral, i thought i would be disrespectful to her memory. my grief will never be the same as those who really knew her. I did cry though, but only when i hugged her parents. it's weird how death makes hugging a perfect stranger acceptable. the weirdest part of a funeral is how content the families seem to be... i have more thoughts on death but i'll save that for a different entry.

after i left the viewing i went and celebrated life. i went to a 5th birthday party. i was sitting with kids from age 5 to newborn. and it was weird, i went from a room with a heavy dark just sad feeling to being with people that don't have the mental capacity to understand death. i don't think i even have the mental capacity to understand death. but here they were tired, hungry, fussy, happy, poopy, laughing, and clapping. being passed around among the different mothers and friends just being content with their lives. i almost never want them to grow up and see how disappointing life can actually be.

and through all of the events today i keep going back to one. nothing in the world means more to me than my friends and family. absolutely nothing. no matter how irritating they are, and they are irritating. they are the reason i keep going. always.  it was D's 21'st birthday last friday, and it was the first time that ABCD were together for an extended period of time since A's wedding. i hate that the group has become so much like family we only get together for special occasions. when it used to be that each time we got together became a special occasion. growing up has become synonymous with growing apart. and i hate it.

reasons i'm mad at mother nature.

1. the calendar says spring.. yet you insist on being almost freezing.
2. you give me one day of hope and then yank everything away.
3. i don't know how to dress, and that is pissing me off.
4. my skin cannot handle the fluctuation. i look like Ashy Larry.
5. i want to take spring time walks, because it looks pretty and nice outside but it isn't spring time!
6. i shave my legs for you and you won't even give me the time of day. i don't shave my legs for just anybody.
7. do you really need another reason?!
8. I WANT FLIP FLOPS AND DRESSES!

so what i'm saying now is get your stuff together, i grow tired of your flighty- fickle ways.

moving waaaa

so it's finally happening the family are going their separate ways, actually my parents are saying together and i'm finally leaving the nest.

my fathers company is moving to the eastern shore, they specialize in marina type things and well it makes no sense that a marina type company would be absolutely landlocked. so they are moving to where their clients are, which makes sense and i wish the company all the best.

the whole moving out of my parents home thing is bittersweet, as a child you know that this day was come eventually you move out but you always have a home to go back to. except in this case, my parents are also moving and so when i return "home" to them for the occasional visit, the place i visit won't be my home. and i'm not moving out, i'm being forced out of the nest. i believe humans are probably some of the only creatures that nurture their young for such an extended period of time. some creature lay their eggs and that's it. if they survive they survive. if not, try again the next mating season.

but as i'm going through my room it seems to be a slow process, over my 21 years i've collected a shitload of crap. i desperately need to downsize everything. i know for a fact i will be getting rid of my entire desk and the top bunk of my bed and my large desk chair - that has served as my fan holder since i got my laptop about 11 months ago. other than that i just have stuff. so much stuff.  i started making a "goodwill" pile on my floor, i know i haven't looked at this stuff in years but when i pick it up, and blow off all the dust i just become overwhelmed by the flood of memories.

i know you're supposed to keep everything that sentimental to you- but what happens when everything becomes sentimental to you?  like my Washington DC panoramic puzzle - it's missing a piece or two, but i remember the day i opened the box, and started putting it together on my coffee table. i had about half the edge done when my cat jumped up on the table knocking it off. so i moved the puzzle to my kitchen table and sat there everyday after school and put it together, occasionally my parents would try to assist me but it was over 1000 pieces and they would get bored after a while... when it was finally finished it lived on the table for about a month. someone came over and i put it away and it's lived in my closet ever since.

i just need to grow up and let go of things that really don't matter.

he, she, it... whatever.

i've always joked that my father raised me to be a boy. there is a picture of me when i was little standing on the sink shaving in the mirror with my father. now obviously i'm not actually shaving, but my little face is covered with shaving cream and have some sort of either play razor, or what could very well be a real razor with the cover still on. now i know this type of picture is very common for little boys to have with their fathers... it is less common, and usually unheard of for little girls to also have this type of picture.

i also have a plethora of power tools, several different sets actually, and i'm pretty well versed in how to handle them. when i was a child i would love to help my father in all the little projects he had going on we spent a lot of time together build things, why we needed them or even what these things were i can't recall, when we lived in New York i remember that the two of us would take trips to the dump together, and i would always have to carry groceries in for my mother - who was somehow more fragile than i was. my father didn't get to spend as much time with my brother as he would have liked and he still feels guilty about the divorce.

when i hit my mid teens i resented him for treating me as the son he never got to watch grow up. like i've stated before in my early teens i was definitely in the obese category, and while kids are already entering their awkward stage i was in a worse awkward stage. just a recap - fat, black kid, white parents, little girl sort of raised as a little boy- there was no way i was going to be a normal teenager. my best friend from the age of almost 5 to 10 was a little boy that lived down the street. we played games outside and with trucks, i was just one of the boys. a title i seem to not be able to shake.

i've attempted to feminize myself over the years. since about the 7th grade most people i encounter just assume i'm a lesbian - i had very short hair and was fat, picture a black Chaz Bono- even recently a friend of mine said "you know, i didn't know you were into dudes..." (although i've moved from lesbian to Asexual) but i've slimmed down, my wardrobe now includes dresses and form fitting/flattering clothing, there was even a dark period where i was wearing makeup, but i've since throw that out the window. My best friend D had a pretty significant part in this, but it wasn't solely his doing. one of our other friends that i became close with throughout high school was the other moving force. G was like a straight male coach... just being the blunt male figure in my life, most of his advice to me to basically "nut up or shut up"... whatever it helped.

blah blah blah the point of all this is that the older i get the more i realize that perhaps my father wasn't raising me to be a boy, but instead to be more self sufficient. i don't know everything about power tools and "boy" things but i'm educated enough to find the solution- and stubborns enough to figure out how to do things myself. somehow the men in my life have improved my femininity and masculinity all at the same time...

RENT!

in December i was cast as Joanne in a local production of RENT. for those of you who don't understand that first sentence... it's a pretty big deal. not only is this my first legit lead in a musical, it's also my first "romantic" lead. this has been difficult for me for a few reasons...

i was told several times, several years ago that i was "not the leading lady type." as i've said in previous blogs, weight has always been an issue for me, in that i've always had a little too much of it. and this played a huge part in my "character actress" diagnosis. the second part of that diagnosis is my face. it has no age. on a pretty regular basis i am told i look 15, and on the same regular basis i am told i look like i'm in my late 20's early 30's. other than being extremely round my face has no distinguishing features, meaning that i'm plain in almost every way. after my AMDA days i thought i was cursed to be an ensemble member forever. so when i heard the local community college was doing RENT i just had to audition, i wanted to be a part of this. i was still debating on a song to sing 5 minutes before my audition -it was between "Animal" by Neon Trees and "Firework" by Katy Perry, i went with "Animal" which just happened to be a pretty good decision. i felt pretty confident about my original audition but i figured there was no way i'd get past a call back. when the callback list went up and i saw my competition i had a nervous breakdown. not only was i competing against my friends, but these friends of mine are all consistently stronger singers. and i figured that this for sure had to be a mistake. up until the day of the callback i kept re-reading the e-mail because i didn't believe i'd been picked. i wanted to bow out of the running, i didn't want to disappoint myself any further and almost didn't go to the callback. my callback was a disaster - i syked myself out, messed up a couple of harmonies, got out of key with the music, and then when i wanted to give up i just turned it into a comedy bit- i was certain that i was no longer in the running. and why shouldn't i be, the callback was awful. so of course after all of this i was more than shocked to see the final cast list. my name was on it... next to Joanne's name. after the initial bout of excitement came the fear... what if rehearsals came and I wasn't good enough? what if the director saw that he made a mistake? what if  my understudy pushed me down the stairs #"Showgirls"? what if i couldn't do this?

after all the self doubt... which i'm really good at by the way came the fact that i HATE really singing in front of people. I am one of those people that is constantly singing, to the point where sometimes i'm unaware of it and get either strange looks or complements in public places because i was singing along to whatever was on the radio. but when it comes to performing i get to a level of anxiety that well, i need a pill or whatever they give to elephants to calm the down enough to transport them. i go through these weird phases, the flop sweat, the nervous peeing, the nausea, the nervous gas - which subsequently leads to the nervous poops. and with all these nerves i start playing the what if game (more self doubt)... what if i fall down on stage? what if i forget my blocking? what if i fall off the stage? what if i forget the words? what if i vomit on myself in front of the audience? when it comes to singing i'm no J-Hud or Celine, but i'm decent i guess. but i never had any confidence in high school (see a pattern here) and didn't really find my voice until college. whenever i would audition for something singing wise the nerves would get the best of me and i would fall flat... or sharp and blow every audition. and even now after singing my songs in front of the entire cast several times i still get nervous every single time i have to go on. if i was an ensemble member i just wouldn't care. i know my stuff but if you mess up usually it's not a big deal

my other qualm is that this is a "romantic" lead. meaning there just happens to be kissing scenes... several, and with a girl. now my issue isn't with having to kiss a girl. it's having to kiss anyone... ever. at 21 i can count all the people i've kissed on a couple of fingers. again, i was...and still am pretty awkward and have never been in any sort of relationship with anyone. and those couple of kisses have been just as awkward probably for both parties. and now not only am i not experienced in this sort of thing i have to do this in front of strangers, my cast mates, my friends, and my parents. this is the epitome of uncomfortable.

this probably has to do with the body issues, and the fact that i've never thought of myself as an attractive person and this is just messing with what have been my ideas of myself. i start to think, no one is attracted to me in my actual life, why would anyone believe otherwise when I'm on stage. it's kind of like when you watch any show and there is the fat slob husband and bombshell wife. that doesn't happen, that wouldn't happen, why do producers and directors think we're stupid enough to believe that it happens. it's just one of those weird things that has always bothered me about myself, and probably shouldn't.

The show goes up in 8 days. we have an amazing set and a wonderful cast. at the end of the day after i sift through all the nerves, and self doubt i'm really excited to put up this show. it's pushing me outside of my comfort zone, which i need. 3 years ago at AMDA i would have never imagined myself as a lead in any musical ever. this is still a crazy dream for me. maybe there is more to me than meets the eye.

if you're in the area get your tickets! March 9-13. support local arts and artists!

I am deformed... and I am ugly

so, this has not been the best of years for me. it started good and instantly went steadily down hill. but while all this was happening i hit my stints of depression, and had my crying fits, somewhere in the back of my mind i thought... it can't get worse. There's no way it can get worse.. but somehow, it always gets worse. my year thus far, starting with January 1st. my best friend A got married, i was the maid of honor in their wedding, i got to see almost all of my closest friends including G who was home for the holiday.
on the 3rd i got fired from the job that i held for 3.5 years.
i got burnt while holding a friends baby.. no the baby didn't burn me
my father had a stroke
my windshield wipers on my car broke
my phone wouldn't turn on
i got a ticket
my house flooded
had my identity stolen
throw in a bit of rejection
had a melt down at the gyno
and the thing that just ruined my streak was that somehow i gained 27 pounds in 2 weeks (with a show coming up.) I not making any of this up. i didn't even believe the weight thing myself but i saw the numbers... and i did the math.

i think the thing that really aggravates me is that through all these problems i somehow started to look and feel better about myself. sure i felt (feel) like a loser; no job, having to drop out of school (again) because i had no job, but at the end of the day i was the lightest i had ever been in my adult life and that made me feel better about myself. and yes i know it's shallow to base yourself on your appearance, but other than my every supportive friends and family, it was the only thing i had. now i've never been a beautiful person, i rate at best around average but this was the best i've looked in years. and i'm angry. this may be a diary entry from a mad black woman.

the weight has accumulated in the worst possible places - my stomach, legs, and face- (it did go to my boobs as well, and i'm perfectly fine with that.)

i feel like a monster. my body keeps betraying me, and before while it was a private issue, it has now gone very public... my body might as well have called TMZ.

so now i go out in public, feeling like i've entered my 4th trimester, with my distended stomach, puffy face, and swollen legs. i am limited to wearing sweat pants and shirts that i once deemed too big but now the only things that fit and that don't highlight my obvious transformation into a beast.

as pessimistic as i am i am still hopelessly hoping that it can't get worse.

god?

i recently got into a discussion on twitter about god. it's strange when you tell someone you do not believe in a god. it's like... what i assume coming out of the closet feels like. you get blank stares, and people instantly pass a judgement against you. it doesn't matter how long you've known the person you profess your beliefs, or rather, non beliefs to, in that second that they know your a "non believer" you become a heathen, a savage, a poor soul. it's like you no longer walk fully upright, drag knuckles, and eat raw flesh.

I consider myself to be pretty "tolerant" (i don't really like this word because it always sounds negative) I'm a black no religion having girl, raised by white pentecostal parents. my best friends consist of a christian, a gay ex-catholic, and whatever B is. I won't sit here and say that i don't see colors and i don't label people, because that would be a lie. and anyone who says they don't is a liar, what is will say is that i don't care. i don't care about religion, or sexual orientation, or gender, or race. i don't care if you're a vegan... i don't understand it but that doesn't affect my life. My parents love jesus, i don't understand it, but i love them regardless.

at the end of the day the only thing that matters is that you're a good person, and a good friend. and everything else fuck it.

what the heck was that?!

Yesterday I had my first gyno appointment. that's one hell of an opening...(that's what she said). and while i expected to be nervous, what really happened just seemed to be... there is no word to describe it. I'm just gonna call it a cluster fuck. but here goes the story.

I was sitting in the waiting room, just me and an elderly gentleman, it was a good 10 minutes past my appointment time so my anxiety level was just steadily climbing out of control. I was thinking about bolting from the office when the door opened and a woman mispronounced my name, i corrected her in my head and picked up my purse and followed her into the room. when i walked in the room at the doctors office, a Beatles themed room, the first thing i saw was the blue footies on the stirrups. Panic. I sat uncomfortably in the chair while we had the preliminary interview. she asked me all sorts of questions of my history, and sexual history and reason for visiting. it's weird divulging this type of information to a complete stranger, one you're supposed to instantly trust. this goes against everything you've ever been taught about modesty and such. but i explained to her that while no i was not sexually active, and had not been, i wanted to get checked out just to make sure. after that I informed my nurse practitioner that I had never done any of this before, which prompted her to change tactics, and explain everything that was going to happen in the visit.

While she was explaining everything, the breast exam, the outer pelvic exam, the inner exam etc. i started to feel myself losing it. out of no where i could feel myself fighting tears and i started shaking. I broke down in the office, crying uncontrollably, neither Nurse Dawn nor I knew what the heck was happening. from this response she naturally assumed that i had been sexually assaulted, or raped, or molested and wanted to talk to me about it. when i told her that no none of those things happened, she jumped to the fact that maybe i was just uncomfortable learning about myself, which was also not the case. i just told her that this was new and it freaked me out a little. so after giving me a box of tissues, changing subjects, she stood up, pulled out a gown and a paper sheet gave me my instructions and left the room.

Now i won't give you the details of the exam because A. you don't actually want to know, and B. I don't want to relive it. but the gist is that the entire exam i cried, I was uncomfortable, but she wasn't hurting me, i just cried. she asked me if i wanted someone in there to hold my hand through the inner pelvic exam and i absolutely refused. why on Earth would i want anyone else in there. i didn't even want her in there. she kept narrating the entire time, something i didn't really want, or need, just do it and get away from me! and then lets never make eye contact again. everything checks out okay. which is good.

i put my clothes on, got my papers and left. i went instantly to my rehearsal where i broke down again in the arms of my best friend D, and spent the rest of the day exhausted: emotional, physically, and vocally. after my rehearsal i went home got a hot bath, and cried. hysterically for a really long time.

during my day i had a lot of time to think about my panic attack and then mental lapse and what actually caused it. the talk started with D and then i was in my head all day about it. but we came to the conclusion that my body issues are just so out of control the idea of being exposed in that matter was just more than my silly little mind could tolerate.

my doctors appointment was also to discuss my diabetes care and management. i was diagnosed with diabetes at age 10. and since then i have only taken care of it sporadically. and not even that much. i just always figured that if i ignored it long enough it'll go away. well, 11 years later it's still here, and it's still out of control. my doctors and nurses have been trying to get me to attend a diabetic counseling session at the hospital to try and teach me more about myself and all that junk, and I've been pretty resistant to it. but now
that i don't have a job, and I'm not going to school and I'm really just looking for things to do i might just go.

i do really want to know what happens if you sneeze with the duck lips in?

this might be good news.

so, i've been wearing the same size bra for a couple of years now. prior to finding my "proper" size i was wearing a very wrong size. it seems, as i've learned from many talk shows and internet articles that most women wear the wrong bra size. anyway back to the story, in high school i was wearing a band size too small and a cup size too big. and it would seem that i was ALWAYS getting poked, cut, and attacked by the underwire in these wrong bras. finally when i decided that maybe this bra size wasn't for me and i got my stuff together it was magic! not only did my bras last longer than 3 months, but my back didn't hurt and my chest was supported. magic i say! but now, after a couple years of wearing the bras that fit something went wrong. i've been starting to get that band cut again, (and only the ladys will understand what that means.) but for the people who don't know what that is it's when the band -the part that goes around the middle with the hooks- leaves an impression and when you remove it, it feels like you've been cut. it sucks.. and kind of hurts. okay so usually that would mean something is getting larger. but, but, but, i haven't actually grown, i've actually shrunk everywhere so the only logical explanation is that my actual breasts (ew, i hate that word i'm just gonna say it,) boobs are getting bigger. and all i have to say is... it's about damn time!

valentines day.

as i sit here alone in my living room watching jurassic park i can't help but think about all the other lonely valentines days i've had in the past. I understand that I'm only 21, and i'm really overthinking all of this but they've all been spent exactly the same way, reflecting on myself, searching for my own flaws. these flaws i've rationalized are obviously the reasons why i'm still alone and probably always will be. the older i get the more i believe that there is fundamentally something unloveable about me.

this is just a stupid sad girl post.
and i understand this. it's just that.
I never thought i was anything special, but i was hoping that maybe you did.

but there it is. I hate valentines day.

black history

growing up in a predominately white area -i was the only black kid in my class until the 8th grade- the subject of slavery really didn't come up. basically when teachers talk about slavery they say something along the lines of this

"African Americans (even though they weren't Americans... but white people still say African Americans when referring to black people just to cover their bases) were brought to this country *muffled* mostly against their will *muffled* they were kept as *whisper* slaves *whisper* and then Abe Lincoln came and about 250 years later and the African Americans were no longer slaves... and now African Americans are equals... the end"
okay, so that wasn't the actual talk, but that was the gist. the teachers touched on the regions that black people came from, the horrid conditions of how they traveled, the spirituals, the underground railroad, north vs. south. etc. but usually when you bring up the idea of slavery, white America (most of them) becomes embarrassed. as if in the 1800's it was they themselves who oppressed other people. i've always found this comical, probably because people tend to want to apologize to me... I'm Haitian... your people, your great-great-great-great-great granddaddy did nothing to me... his french cousin on the other hand... well we got issues.

but as i type this out i realized i really don't know that much about black history, most of what i have retained has been acquired from television, plays, or fictitious novels- that i read with a grain of salt. when i was younger history didn't interest me, and black history just made me sad. and today i still cannot even begin to fathom that type of hatred. I've been called the "N" word - usually never to my face-, been scoffed at, been followed around stores so many times . and it took a while to understand why i let myself feel hurt every time that happened. and it occurred to me once... it's not my problem... it's theirs. These people who believe it was okay to treat other people in this manner means that they did not have even slightly educated parents, even worse their parents were raised by somehow even less educated parents. and all the way back through history. and it's okay to feel sorry for them.

I want to learn more about my history the older i get. i want to learn about my Haitian past, and my American past. i want to properly understand the struggle, so i can properly appreciate the efforts put forth. it's weird the older I get.. the more i want to learn. who would of thought that?

Sorry if this was scattered thoughts and such...

Happy Black History Month!!!

below i've posted links about slavery... don't judge me for using Wikipedia.
when the full video hits youtube i'll post it here to... it's an excellent interview on Craig Ferguson

Wiki's Slavery in the United States page
this is a preview of Dr. Cornell West on Craig Ferguson >

i have a problem.

i have lots of unfinshed entrys... and cannot finish a single one.

this one is finished though, yay progress.

the year of change.

As this is my first blog post here (i wrote this one first, and then published it second), or anywhere rather, i feel as if i should give some sort of introduction. I've been meaning to start one of these for a while now, and now that i am unemployed, and in some sort of funk i figured why not now?

so here it goes, I'm your typical black kid from a middle class white family. I was adopted at a very young age from Haiti and have lived in the united states for 19 years. I've lived in a small town for my entire life, with one exception, when i attended an acting conservatory for a year in New York City.  Throughout my whole life I've struggled with my weight, finding acceptance, depression, and a fear of never finding love.

I don't really know why i felt so desperate to join the world of narcissists and start writing about myself publicly. i do find journaling therapeutic, and i think my friends are growing tired of hearing me bitch.

in the last year i decided it was time to change. it all revolved around my 21st birthday. In the winter of eighth grade i cut off all of my hair and went "natural", at first i hated it but i grew to love it and embrace the style that i went on to keep for 8 years. right before my birthday I decided that i needed a change, i wanted to look great in my new license picture so in a rather rash decision I went from my short natural curly hair, to relaxed. (during the year i dabbled with long braids, and while i liked the style, and having hair longer than my chin bone the $200 and the 10-12 hours it took to put in and the indescribable pain it was really not a style that i could keep for years.)

After the hair fiasco I got my first tattoo; a cute symbol four music notes minus the stems (so yes, dots) ascending upwards with a fermata centered over them. ... almost instantly i regretted it. it not that it was an awful tattoo or that I'll ever hate music or my friends it was just that i finally committed to something and that scared me.  The four notes on my hip were carefully picked, the first letter of my friends initials, including mine are A, B, C, and D. these three people are the best friends I've ever had the honor of having. I was recently Maid of Honor in A's wedding, D and I just finished designing his first album cover (it's phenomenal - the cover, and the music of course.) and B has been one of my best friends and confidant since we first became friends 8 years ago in the eighth grade.

the most recent change was that i lost my job shortly after the wedding. I went into work, clocked in as usual had a brief two minute conversation with my manager, clocked out, and left the building. i kept my composure, stayed very stoic not letting anyone know that this could have bothered me. I got in my car, called D and told him what happened. he was busy that night, my parents were at work, A was still at the job i had just been fired from, and B was with her girlfriend. I don't have a boyfriend so i drove home and sat in my car and cried uncontrollably for 4 hours (no i did not spend 4 hours crying in front of my house). the last 3 years of my life were spent at that job and being let go was a blow i never even saw coming. 3 weeks later and I'm still upset about not having a job, but I'm not crying which is always a good sign.

This year will probably be about finding a new job, and equally as important finding me. (douche baggy... I know). douche bag aside, this year, I'm doing me.

Christina, the Domestic Dud

Now that I've finally taken the initiative and started a blog i had no clue what to write about. there i was, so much to say and when i finally give myself the opportunity to do it i draw quite possibly the largest blank ever. so here it goes, my first er. second blog entry.

I'm one of those people who hasn't really found out what they are good at. I mean it. I'm 21 years old, I hate school- I'm pretty decent at it however, I'm not highly skilled in any one profession. for the last year and a half I worked in a restaurant; i spent a majority of my time there seating guests and waiting tables - I thought i was good at that, but my employer, and a few of the people I waited on begged to differ. after three years in the same place i was fired. (pity party over.) back to what i was saying before, I'm not exceptionally or even decently good at anything. The most obvious thing is I cannot cook. I'm one of those people who cannot make toast, no matter how i try, either it's not toasted and thus slightly lukewarm bread, or it's burnt to a crisp and a starving child in Africa would turn it down. I'm not exaggerating, I'm my 21 years on this earth, I'm still unable to master the skill of toasting bread.

With knowing about my own culinary pitfalls, you would think someone like me would live off of carryout, and dining in at local establishments where it was less likely that i would die from consuming my own concoctions. as it turns out, these establishments want some sort of recompense for their services, and back to that no job thing, i have no way of settling up my bill these days.

The other day i decided to attempt to make my own chicken salad, an easy task for most human beings, but I am typically not like most human beings. I have a aversion to both raw chicken and mayonnaise, both items make me gag uncontrollably. When i cut open the package of the raw chicken it was all i could do to not vomit from the look of the slimy pale breasts. I poured the extra virgin olive oil in the pan and looked up "how to cook chicken" on yahoo while i waited for it to heat up. i discovered, while interneting, that using a fork in a chicken breast was not a good idea... and using my hands, was an option that was completely off the table. I had no way to move the chicken from the container to the pan. I found a giant set of metal tongs, probably for the use of grilling and that was my solution. after cooking my chicken which was a feat in itself, came the hardest part... dealing with mayonnaise.

when i was a child i used mayo on everything! and i mean everything. french fries, burgers, sandwiches... okay i guess just those three things... and i don't really know when my hatred of the substance started.

so i put the chicken in the mini blender thing, (which I'm sure has a name, but i know nothing about kitchen things so i will continue to call it the mini blender thing) and i chop the hell out of this, this part i understand, except i chop my chicken to finely and eventually adding mayo (yuck) will make it into a paste and not desirable dish.  so here comes the hard part, i put my chicken in the bowl and i open the dreaded jar, this is when the gagging started. i stuck a spoon in the horrid thing and the noise nearly knocked me on my ass. eventually with a lot of cringing, and nearly crying i made my chicken salad.

Tonight after watching the movie "Mystery Men" i got a pretty insane craving for egg salad. the only problem is that i watched the movie around 1am, and in my area, most places are closed, and any egg salad that was pre-made had been put together HOURS before hand and were most certainly not for human consumption. so i decided i was going to make my own egg salad. I went to the store and bought a dozen eggs. on the way home it dawns on me... I don' know how to make egg salad, I know it involves eggs, and (yuck) mayonnaise, and some sort of red spice but other than that I was clueless... so I'm once again searching yahoo for a recipe on how to make egg salad.

step 1: chop boiled eggs... within 4 seconds of reading this it hits me that I don't know how to boil an egg, so back to trusty yahoo, and i have to type in the humiliating sentence "how to boil an egg?" evidently in the 21 years I've been on this planet I've never had to boil an egg. now i know what you're thinking, she must be some sort of princess, or an idiot - really I'm neither. when i was young i was pretty spoiled, but as I've grown up less and less things have been handed over to me and I've had to start doing more things for myself. I'm just no good with domestic activity.  but back to the eggs.

i got a pot of water rapidly boiling, and i drop in an egg... the first egg i throw into the pot cracks, and now i have this egg leaking and coagulating into my pot of water. the next few eggs i use the same trusty grilling tongs and gently place the eggs into the water. this method seems to work... i let the eggs boil and boil and boil. 15 minutes, and a thousand checks later i have six hard boiled eggs. I do the same awful mayo gig, cringing and mixing, and almost crying and 30 minutes later i have my egg salad.

now, to figure out this toast business.