Thanksgiving: A Review

Gobble Gobble.

Just look at that turkey, with his wonky eyes. Heh, what a stupid turkey.

Thanksgiving is an excellent holiday that only gets better and better. I give mine 4 stars, two thumbs up, and an A+. Here's why.

1. Spending Thanksgiving Day with my favorite people in the world. 

I piled into the car with my mom, who took a day off from cooking for other people, my brother, who now has long locks and a generally surly attitude to match, and the Boyfriend, who dressed up all nice and pretty but who was afraid that his brown Converse with a hole in them would make a bad impression. I assured him no one would notice, and considering we were lucky my brother was even wearing clean clothes, he would look perfectly fine.

Once there, the conversation and wine flowed. We were a total of sixteen for dinner: Grandma, Grandpa, Cousins, Aunts, Uncles, Dogs. Food was excellent. My 9-year-old cousin created an elaborate "Deal or No Deal" game and marched around yelling "Attention Please! We need complete silence!" Adorably obnoxious, mostly adorable because he's not my kid. Drunken debauchery ensued when we decided to play Cahoots after dessert, a sort of mind-reading game that involves Hungarian Gypsy Magic. I'm pretty sure I baffled the Boyfriend with my Hungarian Gypsy Mind Reading. At least the little kids were impressed.

2. Reconnecting. 

Saw a friend who I have not seen in FOREVER, or at least it feels that way. We ate lunch, sat on her bed, giggled, did astrology charts, and acted as though we had a combined age of 11. So great.

3. Dinner with the Boyfriend's family. 

Now it was my turn to dress up all pretty and behave myself. The night quickly progressed from steak and potatoes and candlelight to sitting on the couch watching Youtube videos of kitties and hamsters and pandas with the Boyfriend's mom. Then he told me why my face is pretty. (Insert contented sigh.)

4. Played Ultimate Frisbee. 

It was cold, I played poorly, but I did 2 and a half hours of cardio and my whole body hurts in the best possible way.

5. Dogs.

As Charles Schultz once said (and I know this because EVERY Chicken Soup for the Soul book has this quote in it) "Happiness is a warm puppy." Actually, happiness is a warm, scruffy little mutt curled up under the covers keeping your feet warm.

I'm taking the 7:51 train in and then it's back to the grind. But Thanksgiving, you treated me well. See you next year.

Wanna Fight?

Today's thought:

I could so kick another girl's ass.

I've never had a desire to fight anyone, really. But the other day, I was standing on the always-oppressive morning NYU bus with my roommate Alex when we oddly got on the topic of fighting. I think it started out with men fighting, as in "I don't find it attractive when a guy wants to beat someone up, especially if they're slurring their words and doused in Keystone." And then I surprised myself when I said something along the lines of, "Oh yeah, I could totally win a fight. No question."

Now I wonder: why was I so sure?

Well first of all, I'm scrappy. I haven't played sports in a while but when I do, I will get in your face. I don't care if you're a six-foot man. I'm coming at you full-force and I'm not afraid of your massive body weight. I am taking you DOWN. I'm 140 pounds of muscle, baby. (But yet, I'm girly enough to balk at the fact that I just put my weight on the Internet. Eek!)

Secondly, I'm clumsy. I often find bruises from run-ins I don't remember, and not ALWAYS because I was drunk when I got them (if ever a sentence made me sound like an alcoholic, that one was it.) When you're always tripping over yourself and walking into various inanimate objects on a daily basis, you stop screaming the F-word every time and learn to control yourself. And suddenly, a tolerance to pain is formed. Amazing!

Third reason: Rage. Ok, so I'm not a foaming-at-the-mouth screamer, and VERY few things make me really angry, but the few times in my life that I've felt PISSED, I've felt very, very pissed. There is RAGE inside me, I tell you, RAGE! I'm serious!

So there you have it. This is not my e-version of standing in a Karate-stance and waving my hand like "Oh yeah, come here and just TRY to kick my ass!" But it is a warning: I may be sweet, but I'm DEADLY.*

*This theory is completely untested.

That's all.

Why Jeopardy Soothes the Soul

Today at 7 P.M., the glorious cultural phenomenon that is Jeopardy was on TV, just like it so reliably is every weekday on ABC. It always comes on right before Wheel of Fortune, which I think of as Jeopardy's semi-retarded, state-school attending cousin who wears Hawaiian shirts. And just like a steaming hot mug of soup on a blustery winter day, the always classy Alex Trebek and the good ol' Jeopardy theme song soothe my soul. Ahhh, trivia.

But why is this so? Am I jealous of the contestants and their vast knowledge? Sure, they can immediately figure out that KMQT is KUMQUAT without vowels ("What is KUMQUAT!???" Good. For. You.), but sometimes, I can too. And whenever I scream out the answer a little too loudly in my roommate's ear just to find I was wrong, I can shrink back in my seat and think "Whatever, at least I don't wear 2-inch-thick glasses and arrange my insect collection on a Friday night." No, it's not jealousy that lures me to Mr. Trebek and his glittering blue boxes. Jeopardy gives me a chance to get on my high horse. When I'm right, I feel like a super genius. When I'm wrong, I just get a chance to look down my nose at the Nerd Brigade. Ha ha ha.

And that is why, on any given weeknight, regardless of what kind of day I've had, I'm happy to settle down in front of our postage-stamp-sized television and judge people. And that is truly Mmm Mmm good.

On The Day When I Don't Leave My Bed

It's Friday.

This semester, that means sitting in a bed (sometimes my bed, sometimes the boyfriend's bed) and reading story submissions for my employer, Chicken Soup for the Soul. Sometimes I do really fun things like "tag" manuscripts, which means inserting little symbols like [T] and [I] into 200-page Word documents. I'm telling you, the life I lead is almost too exciting.

I've probably had like ten bowls of cereal this morning and I have only left my bed to pour said cereal into bowls along with skim milk. But still, Fridays leave a lot of time for thought and contemplation.

Tonight I'm performing in a show called King David, written by Alan Menken and Tim Rice, as a part of the on-stage choir that stands (yes, stands for the whole show) in the dark behind the orchestra. Let me translate: We sing, no one can hear us, and we don't even get to wear costumes.

But here's the thing -- as much as KD is currently making me miserable (and will cease to do so after tonight's closing performance, hooray!) it has reaffirmed something for me. I watch the people doing the roles that I covet and I'm reminded of the fierce desire I have to "make it." I know it's a cliche, and I'm well aware that every Idina Menzel-obsessed fourteen-year-old in Minnesota also wants to "make it" on Broadway, but I REALLY REALLY want to make it. No, really. I'm pretty sure if you put me in a Silence of the Lambs-esque dirt pit and told me I could originate a role on Broadway if I escaped, I would claw my way out somehow.

Ambitious, I know. But while I stand in the dark in my J. Crew sweater dress tonight, wishing I was wearing false eyelashes and that someone could actually hear me sing in the audience, I'll just be happy that there's something in this world that makes me feel that way.

I'm Feeling Good About This One

Well, here it is. A blog. An empty text box and a world of possibilities.

Welcome to my personal page, something that will hopefully be filled with articles and stories I've written, occasional thoughts on things that strike me as interesting, and anything else I think is worth posting for the entire world to see. I'm going to be honest here -- I'm a little bit terror-stricken at the idea that I'm throwing myself out into the Internet. I'd like to pretend I'm thinking very hard about what interesting things to say, but what I'm really doing right now is making this awkward face where my sad, straight little eyebrows go up in the middle and make me look very forlorn. It's not my best look, I'm glad you can't see it.

About Me: I go to school in New York City. I sing, I act, I write. When I was four, I talked so loudly my parents had my ears tested to make sure my hearing was okay. Turns out I'm just a loud talker. I'm an eternal optimist and realist -- and yes, I believe the two can coexist. I want to be a professional singer and actress, I want to write multiple novels, I want to see more of the world, and I never want to stop learning about people. 

I can also crack my nose. For real, no nails and teeth necessary. Now will you read my blog?