And tonight I have done perhaps the best thing I've ever, and possibly will ever, do for myself socially: I deactivated facebook. I shut it down, and took myself off the social grid. And you know what? I love it so much. I am certain no one reads this blog, which is empowering because I can say things like "meat curtains" and not catch crap for it. Your mom has saggy meat curtains. This knowledge is also empowering (knowing that no one reads this, not that your mom's meat curtains could blot out the light on a sunny afternoon) because I have come to know, for the first time in my life, what it is like to be an adult. To care for myself and to put myself above others. I'm not going to lie: I like myself more than I like anyone else. This isn't egomania; it's healthy. Learning to say no to a social "obligation" because I'd rather go home and listen to NPR whilst I relax in bed with a good book has heeded. I saved my pennies and worked my ass off to travel to California to stay with my cousin and get closer to her. Saying no to a few Jimmy John's subs and instead packing a lunch like a big girl was totally worth it. I learned how to save and budget my money for the things I really wanted this summer.
I did do something I didn't want to do this summer: I said goodbye to my Grandpap. I visited him at the VA home a week before he died, and I helped feed the dying man who used to bring me chocolates and watermelons, and scrape me with his prickly chin stubble when he'd kiss me on the cheek. Saying goodbye was hard, and it still doesn't feel final because I haven't seen his ashes. In my head it went like this: the old geezer escaped from the VA home, and is on the loose in a ranch in Mexico living out the rest of his days as a steer wrangler because he's actually really strong and has been fooling us this whole time with this "I'm old and decrepit" act. That's the guy I knew. He wasn't a rancher, but if he said so, he fucking was. I just feel like he's out there still being a total Italian badass, and we'll meet again.
Getting to spend time with my cousin in California was excellent. Carmen, who is just shy of two years older than me, is much like me. We have the same eyes (a family trait), and we have the same foul mouth (another family trait). She's beautiful, smart, and savvy, so she knew the cool things to do in L.A., and knew what things we could skip. I had never been west before (never further than Mississippi), so every mountain fascinated me. And the mountains of Cali were very unlike the mountains I'd seen in upstate New York; these mountains had palm trees and houses on top of them! And they were everywhere. My ears constantly popped as we drove along the highway because, coming from flat land, my body was in constant pressure freak-out mode. We went hiking twice, going once to Griffith Park, and once to a park I remember only for its reputation for having on its outskirts one of the Kardashian houses. I LOVE HIKING. I love walking in general, but getting to do it up mountains and then take time to admire the view (and consider what a badass I am for making it all the way up) has converted me: I am a mountain girl. I want mountains. My good friend Jason, an Oscar-winning actor in L.A.* (*not yet), joined us for the first hike, then dinner, and then he came back to the apartment with us to watch the opening ceremonies of the 2012 Summer Olympics. As a side note: I am obsessed with the Olympics. This was the first time in my life I've not had a TV on which to watch the Olympics, so after having access to watch the games at Carmen's, coming home to my TV-less studio was kind of a drag. Watching the games on mute with closed captions at coffee shops surrounded by strangers is not ideal when you want to hear the hotness of Oscar Pistorius' voice. End side note. We also spent a lot of time on the beaches of Cali. First we went to Venice Beach, which was like a west coast version of the shithole known as Daytona Beach x5. It was a big romp of tourist crap traps, including the $18 boho patchwork bag I bought (which started to de-thread the moment I touched it.) There was some sort of festival going on along the boardwalk that day, so it was, as the west coast folks are still saying, "cray". We walked Venice to Santa Monica, which was really just Venice without the party. We didn't go in the water at Venice, but we laid out with Carmen's friends, including Natalie, whom I loved, and watched a swarm of 30+ preteens swoon and wet their pants over the assumed cutest (and shortest) boy at the bash: Jacob. There was nothing remarkable about Jacob, but all of the girls were losing their shit over him, and all of the boys clung to his arms like he was the candy striping on a wall, and one lick would arm them with his super powers of pubescent hotness. Or, his parents happened to have loads of money and paid people to love him, Truman Show-style. It was weird. We laughed about the ridiculousness of it, and got sunburned ass cheeks. Wait, no, I got sunburned ass cheeks. Just me. As it turns out, one thing Carmen and I do not share is our tanning genes. Over the course of my five days in California, Carmen got 5 shades darker, making her an African American (she had to change this on her drivers license). I, on the other hand, burned like an asshole after some Mexicali goodness. Our second beach adventure was less crowded and truly serene. We headed up Topanga Canyon into Malibu, and the beach was gorgeous. Far more secluded than Venice Monica, the beach had small gatherings of families and couples. My favorite family was the Russian family that set up camp a few feet away from us. I was lullabied to my happy place with the beauty of their language as I thought of how awesome it was to be 3,000 miles away from the East Coast. The water of the Pacific is cold. Really cold. Even in summer, it was easily 60F degrees. I loved it. I brought back a lovely flat, gray rock, which now sits on my nightstand to remind me daily of how awesome it was to be there, and how much more I need to travel. After leaving Malibu, we found this AMAZING vintage shop called "Hidden Treasures" where I bought some patches and skeleton keys. I tried on old 60s vests and 50s bags. Everything was eclectic and interesting, and unlike anything I'd seen in vintage shops here on the east coast. It was just truly neat. We traveled into WeHo later that evening to catch a show with the Upright Citizens Brigade, and the showtime we chose HAPPENED to be free. Great. We arrived 45 minutes early, and didn't get in. I knew after looking at the length of the line that it wasn't going to happen. As a sketch and improv entertainer, I was overly eager to see a show with UCB, and begged the people at the counter to let me see the show. I offered them money for a FREE show, explaining to them that I had traveled all the way from the sunshine state to see a show with them. No such luck. Go suck a nut, UCB. A big, hair one. Nonetheless, the trip as a whole was really amazing. We got to snipe a picture of the inside courtyard of the Celebrity Scientology Center (for any of these batshit crazy folks who stumble upon my blog, aliens probed your mom's meat curtains), talk to hipsters on the sidewalk, eat amazing food, laugh ourselves to tears, watch a little vampire porn aka True Blood (not my thing, but I do have sexy new ideas about the future), eat apple cake, see the sights, get my picture taken with Clint Eastwood ('s hand in front of Grauman's Chinese Theatre...), talk about life, travel, and the future. It was just all around brilliant. Carmen cooked for us most of the week, and her vegetarian chili persuaded me to finally get a crock pot... oh so good. She's an excellent cook and a KILLER HOSTESS. I really can't thank her enough. Spending time with her taught me a lot about who I am and who I want to be. Amazing people have that affect. They inspire me to say "well, fuck, I want to travel more." And so I do. I finally put up the world map on my wall, and pinned that sucker like a cream cheese recipe on pinterest. Another valuable thing I learned from this trip: American Airlines is the only asset needed by the government to get criminals to talk. No one, threatened with a 6-hour delayed flight without food and adequate legroom as punishment, would refuse to talk. NO ONE!
Two weeks ago, I returned to reality. Meaning my east coast existence of school/work/work/Humor Mill/work/work. This is my life right now. This is what I'm living through at the moment, and like Atreyu in the Swamps of Sadness, I'm up to my neck in all of the above. Not that I'm sad, because I'm in fact quite happy. I just wonder if my horse is going to make it out alive. I have one guaranteed year left in the God-forsaken UCF theatre program. I'm eager to be done, and just get on with my life already. I have these huge dreams, see, and this "program" is killing my buzz. "I'm a peacock! You gotta let me fly!" Thank you, Marky Mark, for the big picture. I know I'm doing well, and I'm going to be done soon with school and will be able to get on with life and dig my fingers into what really matters. It's just a matter of being diligent and being patient in the meantime.
So, I've cut out a bunch of garbage in my life, including but not limited to: unsexy and unsatisfying emotional relationships, wasted time on the web (with the exceptions being pictures of cute baby animals and Natalie Dee... for this time is not wasted, but treasured), time wasted on people who say "we should totally hang out!" but never get around to actually doing it, excess stuff, split ends, and a few slices of moldy cheese that were waiting for me in the fridge when I got back. I'm finally an adult woman at 25. And I really like it. I choose from here on out only the healthiest of unhealthy relationships, and only the best, most clever jokes in the book. In fact, I'm going to be writing the book and righting the wrongs. This is my life, and it's a custom job. I get things tailor-made. My way. Watch the hell out, world. I'm coming for you!
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