I’ll go to lunch as soon as I finish this spreadsheet.

I’ll start going to yoga regularly as soon as I have more free time.

We’ll have friends over as soon as the apartment is completely finished.

I’ll take a vacation as soon as work dies down.

I’ll stop putzing around on Facebook as soon as it hits the top of the hour.

I’ll do dishes as soon as I get home from rehearsal.

I’ll go to the doctor/dentist as soon as I feel any pain.

I’ll start eating healthier as soon as I finish the cartons of ice cream in the freezer.

I’ll go to the pool with friends as soon as my acne clears up.

I’ll write that book as soon as I feel more inspired.

I’ll start saving up as soon as I pay off my car and credit card.

I’ll go to sleep as soon as I watch one more episode.

I’ll stop hitting snooze on my alarm as soon as I’m fully caught up on sleep.

I’ll figure out what I want to be when I grow up as soon as this next show closes.

I’ll start living my best life as soon as I have my shit together.

The problem with as soon as is that the second I say “I’ll do x as soon as y,” I’m giving myself permission to continue bad habits; bad habits in thought, action, or inaction.  It’s a procrastination technique deployed to trick myself into thinking that the self-imposed delay is justified.  And when I notice I’m habitually procrastinating, it’s either because I find the task at hand unpleasant – like doing dishes – OR because I am scared of undertaking the task itself – like figuring out what I am actually doing with my life.

With as soon as, essentially I’m saying:  I’ll start living my best life as soon as I have my shit together…but my shit isn’t together right now so it’s OK to keep putting off doing the dishes. And there will always be a reason to delay anything – so I skip lunch, clutter piles up in the apartment, friendships become neglected, creativity and skills go unused, fitness declines, and days of unfocused living speed by.

I’ve noticed an uptick in as soon as this summer, so I am challenging myself to woman up and dig into the reasoning behind the as soon as when those three words pop into my brainspace.

If it’s because I find a necessary task unpleasant – then don’t I want the task to be completed sooner rather than later and be done with it?

If it’s because I’m scared – GOOD!  Shaking things up is scary. The risk of failure is scary. But what is scarier is the idea that days of unfocused living are given the space to create years of a life lacking intention – the thought of coasting by and letting life happen vs. *making* life happen.

So I’ll start living my best life as soon as I have my shit together…but my shit will never be 100% together, so I may as well start living my best life now.

If you need me tonight, I’ll be doing laundry and dishes as soon as my partner and I enjoy a healthy, home-cooked dinner … or maybe this evening we’ll do some dishes first!

Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love…

One of my dearest friends challenged me to do the Love Your [Person] Challenge on The Book of Face and because I freaking love her, I’m going to play*. But instead of doing a 7 day posting thinger-majigger…I’m going to post one picture here and say 7 gross, vomit-rainbow inducing things about my friends, love in general, and my Onesie.
1) To MegaLee – you guys are a freaking admirable couple and the love you have and devotion you show to one another constantly inspires me; and that BIG Love you have for one another spills over into the love you share with your friends. I have been lucky to have you both as an example of love over a bunch of years – and now specifically as an example of married love. You’re wonderful and I love you guys. So. Very. Much.
2) I want you to have a life of a million lovers. Yes. You. All of you. Anyone reading this.  This write-up is love-ly despite the horribly click-baity title. But this is what I want for myself and what I want for all of my friends – lives steeped in love. And whenever we – you and I – encounter, “I would like you to leave our time together feeling loved and free and full of your most vibrant and luscious hue of you-ness.” Because *that* is real love. 
3) And when it comes to romantic love, I want you all to experience what it is like to be with someone who “makes your cells dance” – you deserve nothing less: “You ruin your life by choosing the wrong person. What is it with our need to fast-track relationships? Why are we so enamored with the idea of first becoming somebody’s rather than somebodies? Trust me when I say that a love bred out of convenience, a love that blossoms from the need to sleep beside someone, a love that caters to our need for attention rather than passion, is a love that will not inspire you at 6am when you roll over and embrace it. Strive to discover foundational love, the kind of relationship that motivates you to be a better man or woman, the kind of intimacy that is rare rather than right there. “But I don’t want to be alone,” we often exclaim. Be alone. Eat alone, take yourself on dates, sleep alone. In the midst of this you will learn about yourself. You will grow, you will figure out what inspires you, you will curate your own dreams, your own beliefs, your own stunning clarity, and when you do meet the person who makes your cells dance, you will be sure of it, because you are sure of yourself. Wait for it. Please, I urge you to wait for it, to fight for it, to make an effort for it if you have already found it, because it is the most beautiful thing your heart will experience.” — Bianca Sparacino 
5) Self love is important, too. Because…
6)  And to my Onesie:  I don’t mind that we’re often the people caught schmoopsing. I don’t mind that the world narrows when you’re around. In fact, I quite like it. You make my every cell dance. And I am so lucky to have you in my life as my partner and my teammate and my Love. Thank you for being with me. Thank you for showing me what Real Love looks like.  I love you. The most much.

Code Red Schmoops Alert

7) You are Love and you are Loved. We should all keep this truth with us through our daily journeys; life is easier to navigate when we let this fact rise to the surface of our interactions – with ourselves and others. And if you are ever in doubt, give me a holler and I’ll be happy to remind you.
* I have heard people talk about this challenge being one that initially began to remind people of the sanctity of marriage and that marriage should be between a man and a woman under a Christian faith. After some googling returned nothing notable, I decided to participate. But clearly, I am all for love being expressed between all people of all faiths and all sexual and gender identities. Go forth and love, kittens. In all the ways you can.

Hello 2016

Dear 2016:

You have a lot to live up to.

2015 was ushered in with a heart full of hope, but very much still on the mend after the roughest year I hope to ever experience. What I had no way of knowing was that my heart needed to be so deeply torn in 2014 in order to build up the smooth, strong, new strands of muscle capable of withstanding the amount of overwhelming love 2015 would bring. Without that tear down and build up, it may have burst or collapsed when flooded with so much good or repelled the notion that such grand, luminous, REAL love was possible.

I will forever be grateful to 2015; it was a year of boldness and it was the year that I came home to my own bones. I said “yes” often – and often to things that scared me or that seemed impossible; and in return, 2015 taught me that everything is possible.

In 2015, I found myself traveling confidently alone in daily adventures and across the country.


Hello, Pacific Ocean!

For the first time, I performed a piece of my own writing and did so for a sold out crowd.


A Brief Dating History

I also “bust the bust out of boob jail” and twirled tassels for 900+ people over the run of The Last Burlesque in a triumph over my history with body battles.


The Last Burlesque: Ryan Maxwell Photography

I saw many dear friends marry and was honored to stand up with not just one, but two couples of my favorite humans as they vowed to journey this life together.

I sent homeless animals to forever homes and helped care for them while they waited to find their families.


I put myself back into the dating pool and created community around the horrors and atrocities that accompany that dive. I became fully transparent publicly and personally regarding my sexuality and interest in both men and women. I performed one show under the most difficult of circumstances and came through it not unscathed, but knowing that I can handle myself on stage while under personal emotional pressure.

I made good art with really good people.

And in 2015, I fell in love.

I fell deeper in love with my brilliant, beautiful friends for their huge hearts, kind souls, and open minds.  I fell more in love with theatre – with the art of storytelling; with the community in DC; with my artistic teams and casts; and with incredible characters that I so luckily was entrusted to portray. I fell back in love with *my* life – not the thought of what my life could be some day, but with the life I am leading.

And – as if 2015 wanted to solidify its rank as a landmark year – this fall I fell madly in love with the most phenomenal woman who makes my every cell dance. My world is brighter and more joyful than it has ever been in large part due to her presence. And I could not be happier.


So, 2016, I am entering your year feeling incredibly whole-hearted and excited for all you may have in store.

Welcome. Let’s be friends.

Mile-markers and “FUCK YES.”

Last night while sitting around a table sipping celebratory drinks after closing one of the most challenging and successful productions I’ve ever had the honor of being a part of, a friend said casually to another “Well it’s August 16th now.”

I don’t know what this was in response to, but for a second my heart seized up.

August 16th.

A year ago to the day, the final big shoe dropped during what had already been the hardest year of my life.

I leaned over to my dear friend – one of my favorite humans – and said something regarding the date’s significance.  Being the super smartypants he is, he asked something along the lines of: *Are you happier now than you were the day before that happened?*

Without hesitation I replied emphatically: “FUCK YES.”

Passage of time is odd. Some life mile-markers are predictable while some sneak up on you or just plain ol’ smack you in the face.  August 16th, 2014 was an unexpected smacker of a mile-marker. And while I am soooooooo far down the road past that sucker and the dark clouds now – there are still rare moments when I mentally road-trip back to the feelings and difficulties of that point in my life and let the clouds back in. So it was nice to have August 16th, 2015 slowly creep up unnoticed until mentioned in a bar with friends while riding a high after closing an amazing show.

These past 12 months have contained both some of the most trying and some of the most gloriously happy moments I have ever known. I have challenged myself and have been challenged by others. I’ve had ridiculously difficult conversations with people I love and with myself. I have become more honest and transparent. I have said “FUCK YES.” to things that scare me (in the good way) and have pushed my own boundaries. I have sought out amazing new friendships and have deepened the love in existing ones. I have re-focused. I have re-discovered.

Essentially, I have come home to my own bones – as a human; as a woman; as an artist.

*Are you happier now than you were the day before…?*

Again, I say: “FUCK YES.”

And that feels damn good. And that feels right.


No more journeys … just adventures.


This year has been a lot about vulnerability. Being blatantly honest. Making bold choices. Having ballsy conversations. Baring myself to people in my life and the world without shame or hesitation. “Doing the damn thing.”

So it is only fitting that a few months ago I said “YES!” to taking on a theatrical role that literally means stripping down in front of an audience; dancing in my underwear; and twirling tassels while looking theatre-goers in the eyeballs and talking to them.

Charlotte aka “Cheeky Charlie” is an atmospheric character. Her storyline in this iteration of The Last Burlesque is very simple. But while she doesn’t ask me to delve deeply in an emotional way, she – in all her simplicity and sexuality – is a gift and a treasure. Charlotte approaches the world with enthusiasm and is shameless in her love of her body and life; she wants to spread the love.

Shit goes down? Life isn’t what you expect? A tassel flies off? “Oops! Don’t worry about it, Sweetheart! Just stick it back on and keep going! And don’t forget to smile, everyone! SMILE!”

Cheeky Charlie is only serious about not being serious. (photo credit: Ryan Maxwell Photography)

Cheeky Charlie is only serious about not being serious. (photo credit: Ryan Maxwell Photography)

As someone with a past with disordered eating and body image issues, this small role is even more monumental. I have never before talked about this struggle in an open or public way, but from age 13 – 24, I battled intensely and often silently with my body.

I warred with myself violently in my teenage years because I sought a physicalization of an idea of “perfection” that is utterly unattainable. As an adult-ish in my early twenties, the issue was not as intense but still quietly lingered and re-surfaced from time to time.  I (thank goodness) finally came to a form of bodily acceptance in my mid-twenties. Though the newly found “I’m beautiful the way I am” mindset excused a different kind of damaging behavior – eating crap, drinking too much booze, and settling into physical stagnancy which often left me feeling sluggish and sick.

In the last year, I’ve changed emotional and physical habits. It would be disingenuous to not admit that a lot of the habit-shifts came out of a painful break-up from a relationship that had also become stagnant and unhealthy.  But that split gave me the opportunity to assess the way I was living and in the habit-shift, I have become the healthiest I have ever been.  And not through anything bonkers. Through better choices. Through listening to my physical self in a way that has led to feeding both my body and soul in the manner that they apparently need.  It would also be disingenuous to not admit that after spending a chunk of my later 20’s feeling under-valued in many ways, the gift of playing a character who values herself as all-around beautiful has not been lost on me.

Charlotte has come along at the perfect time. I am finally comfortable in my skin. I am mature enough to embrace the stretch marks and cellulite alongside gentle muscle tone. I dictate my own value – and it is no longer reduced to my appearance. Granted my body can do incredible, beautiful things. Also HILARIOUS things that the audience gets a kick out of.  It’s slightly reductive to say this … but it’s pretty cool.

I am so grateful for art. For the way that the right shows happen to come around at the right times and challenge parts of me that need stretching and pushing and illumination.  I am grateful for my beautiful cast and production team who are supportive and adventurous and body-positive. And I am so grateful to my dear friend the playwright along with the director and casting team who unknowingly gave me this opportunity to put to bed some old ghosts and grow some new love.

The smoldering cast of THE LAST BURLESQUE - minus one beloved cast member (photo credit: Ryan Maxwell Photography)

The smoldering cast of THE LAST BURLESQUE – minus one beloved cast member (photo credit: Ryan Maxwell Photography)

… Not to say I wasn’t flipping my shit before going on in front of an audience for opening night.

Before heading onstage for the tassel twirling scene with a real crowd for the first time, I was so nervous that my actor-brain was working overtime and lines were flying out of my head.

Panicked, I looked at my scene partner backstage during the last lines of the scene before ours and said:  “I say ‘Because of self-consciousness… then YOU say ‘eyes up here, ladies!’ then I say what!?!? WHAT!!?? OH MY GOD. WHAT DO I SAY!!”

And as the previous scene ended, he said: “It’ll be alright.”  And urged me on stage.

And he was right.

The lines came. The robes came off. The tassels twirled.

Years of build up. 17 years of concern over what I look like. Out the door.

I did the damn thing.


And the audience cheered.

And even if they hadn’t, a part of myself cheered.

#TheLastBurlesque #NakedSummer #trustyourheartandtrustyourstory #iwillboldygo


This is a post altered and expanded from what started as a comment on a Facebook thread related to the below video of author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (full disclosure – I am unfamiliar with her writing but am now crushing hardcore and about to embark on an Amazon Prime quest for her work). I did not want to lose my thoughts on this topic, or keep them buried in a thread; sometimes this is how posts are born…

“Likeability.”  This 5 minute video is lovely, but you can skip to around 3:14 for Adichie’s thoughts on “likeability.”

The idea of “likeability” is a bit of a hot button with me… I’d like to see more pleasant kindness and compassion in life in general – and people who are pleasantly kind and compassionate are typically very “likeable.” But – for me – living with the filter of “likeability” is no way to live. Constantly not sharing ideas, opinions, or stories that are essential to your being because you are scared of someone not liking you if you did is – to me – stupid. I’ve tried at many points of my life. And it always sucked. And I lost a bit of myself every time I consciously filtered. It sat in my soul uncomfortably. Plus – I don’t want to be liked based on the filtered version of myself. I deserve more than that. We all do. If I am liked, I want it to be for who I *really* am at my core. Which means being truthful. And in being truthful, you don’t have to be unpleasant or unkind to people – because tact and compassion are still things to use. In fact I think sharing your truth is actually much kinder than a “likeable” facade – even if it is a little rougher going at times. I’d rather people let me see them for who they truly are and get hurt or offended right off the bat than be lulled into a sense of secure, “likeableness” with someone who is not being honest in our interactions because they don’t want me to dislike them. Plus repressed selves always seep their truths out in other ways – often very passive aggressive, more damaging ways than if folks were just owning their gnarly edges from the start.

I don’t have time for that.

If I want to know you, I want to *know* you in your own skin, owning your personhood for the unique, fascinating individual universe you are – the “likeable” and “unlikeable.” And I’ll let you see my universe, too.

Extending this to artistic endeavors – specifically with the written word which Adichie is addressing – you can’t be worried about who you may offend or who may not like you because of the story you have to share. The filter of “likeability” doesn’t allow people to be authentic and true to creation because that filter demands that you reign in and judge honest, visceral reactions – particularly to hard or ugly stuff. But the hard and ugly stuff is so important to honestly put out there, too, or else people are left to struggle through being human on their own without knowing that others have thought, felt, questioned, and struggled in the same way.

Filtering by “likeability” is isolating – not just to an individual but to culture as a whole.

This is something I am keenly aware of in the space of this blog because no story I share is just *mine*; all stories involve other people (directly or indirectly), some of whom may be offended by what I choose to write. For the more personal posts involving others – even seemingly peripherally – I let myself word-vomit a completely unfiltered draft and hold nothing back. Then I will edit with kindness and compassion in mind while keeping the integrity of my truth intact.  Sometimes that results in posting something that may still make others upset or uncomfortable; I am positive there are those who have read a post or two and gone “NOPE! Don’t like that chick,” or “She’s too much,” or “What a weirdo.”  And I’ve grown OK with that. Because my intent is never to harm or hurt another person; my intent is to share bits of my life in order to connect with others and – through sharing – understand this world of humans a little bit better than I previously did.

I have more things to say. There are more stories that want out. And I don’t want to be “liked” by everyone … I want to be honest. I want to be truthful. I want to be understood.  And – ultimately – I want to be cared for by those who want to know me for who I actually am, unfiltered. And on my body is a written reminder: “Trust your heart, and trust your story.”

Trust you heart, and trust your story

Trust you heart, and trust your story


This evening, I came home and furiously cleaned my apartment. I vacuumed. I wet-Swiffered. I did loads of laundry…and put it all away. I tackled a heap of dishes. I sorted mail and bills and put things in my very adult, hot-pink accordion file folder.

I wanted to start my thirties fresh and feeling as unencumbered and “together” as possible.

But in my cleaning I came across The Birthday Banner; this had become a thing with me and the ex.  The first birthday we celebrated together was his – I purchased the banner and secretly brought it on a weekend away to hang in the room when he was getting ready for dinner.  And it went up most birthdays from then on.

I debated.

Then I said: “FUCK IT – some years you have to hang your own birthday banner.”

And as I hung this silly collection of foiled-over, cardboard letters while dancing to atrociously wonderful pop music, it struck me that these are precious times. I am not beholden to anyone. I get to write my own story – no real co-authors or ghostwriters. And while my twenties were spent mainly lost, my thirties are starting at a place of exploration.  I’m no longer floundering; I’m just seeking.

I am on a grand adventure.

As the clock struck 12:00 midnight, I stood alone* in my tiny, candlelit apartment with Hozier’s “SOMEONE NEW” blasting from a Spotify playlist, popped open a bottle of pink bubbles, said a prayer, and danced.



Cheers, loves.

(*obviously Fabian was looking on very confusedly from a distance)

Stories of Singledom: Pierre

I have the best, worst dating stories. I may share some of the harmless, more amusing ones about relative strangers from time to time. Names will be changed to protect the innocent and not-so-innocent alike.  And I will employ gifs to illustrate as much as possible. Enjoy.

The other night I went out with a colleague whose last day at work is fast approaching so we were going to celebrate. We met up with another colleague and random friends of her friends and went to reggae night at a joint I have never been to before. I HAD SO MUCH FUN. The music was amazing – I was in my zone and just grooving.


And there were SOOOOOO MANY HANDSOME MEN THERE. Soooo many. Like. A distracting amount. At 10pm on a Wednesday night. WHO KNEW THIS WAS A THING?!?!  I certainly did not. Which is why I was wearing a dress befitting a toddler and my rhinestone cowgirl boots from Limited Too – I do not kid you and I don’t know why they fit me, but they do.
Anyway – handsome men.

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shemar moore gif criminal minds wife

I was in my neo-hippie-dance-zone and thinking I looked like a baby, so was not trying to do that whole flirting thing…but a fancy French man who we’ll call Pierre approached me.  Now when I say French, I mean that he just moved to the States and this city somewhat recently.  He chatted me up on the dance floor and after 20 minutes or so, asked if he could buy me a drink. Which apparently meant champagne.

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Honestly, Pierre’s personality was such that half the time we were talking and dancing, I felt like I was hanging out with this guy…

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… which – while slightly confusing because he was  obviously interested – put me off my guard in a good way.  I was relaxed and just existing and enjoying chatting with a new person without stressing about him hitting on me; plus I love meeting new people and Pierre leads a fascinating life while being very relatable.

My colleague and her friends eventually headed out for the night but I was having a blast and music was still going strong, so I decided to stay behind.  Pierre and I broke it down on the dance floor for a bit longer.

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Towards the end of the night when I said I was going to leave, Pierre kissed me.

lady and the tramp

This is where I should say that I am typically unfazed by kissing. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice, but I have had to kiss so many people in my life because of theatre that kissing isn’t often a big deal – and when it is a big deal, that’s when I know I’m in trouble. For example, in the recent past I was hanging out with three of my friends after a show; when my scene partner for the current show said something about my lips, the other two jumped in with their comments BECAUSE I HAD KISSED ALL THREE OF THEM IN SHOWS AT SOME POINT… which I had completely forgotten. My unfazed-ness also means that in adult scavenger hunts with my non-theatre friends, I’ve always been the one to check the “kiss a stranger”/”kiss a bartender” box off my team’s list. Because if I don’t care – then why not?

2010 Scavenger Hunt: Complete Stranger

2010 Scavenger Hunt: Complete Stranger; All The Points.

So … getting back to Pierre, he kissed me and I was all unfazed and like “OK! Nice to meet you! It’s 1:30am so I have to go home and feed my cat now! But you have my number if you want to see me again!” (this is not verbatim but is pretty close…God help me).

And then Pierre said he was going to kiss me “in ze French way”….

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And he licked my face around my mouth. Brad The Bad Kisser style. 100%.  And I was shocked and appalled and started laughing so hard because IT WAS SO WEIRD. If I had myself together more, maybe I would have been somewhat tactful or kinder. But I literally laughed “BAHAHAHAHA!”-style *into his mouth* and backed up. Because WHAT?!

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I think he was insulted. Understandably. And I did feel slightly bad. But also it was 1:30am and I was too tired to try to mask my feelings on the matter. AND SERIOUSLY. WHO TOLD YOU THAT WAS OK, SIR?!?!

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I recovered and reiterated that I was going home to feed my cat (not kidding); he said he was leaving, too, and suggested we share a cab. I said OK. Because while I’m awkward, I’m not a monster and I did enjoy his company for the bulk of the night.  And it’s just sharing a cab.   As we were getting in the cab, Pierre said he had a “surprise” he wanted to show me and that it was on the route back to where my car was parked.  Now a red flag presents because I am no dummy and I know that often when a man tells you he has a “surprise” to show you in the wee hours of the morning, it relates back to one thing…
I cut that short right quick and told Pierre that under no circumstances was I doing anything but going right to my car and to my home by myself. He assured me that he was *not* trying to take me back to his place and that the detour would only take 3 minutes. So, ever the optimist, I said (like the dummy I am not) “OK – then show me the surprise.”
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He gives the address to the cab driver and it is absolutely on the way to my car – that checks out.  Now I figure it’s going to be a statue or fountain – something very specific to the city, something that he likes or relates to and wants to show me. Which – cool, right? I mean I’ve lived here for 11 years, so I bet I’ve seen it before – but I’m game.  HOWEVER I ask the driver if when we get to the location he can wait so I can hop right back in the cab and zip to my car post-3-minute-surprise. The cab driver says “Yes,” as we pull up to an apartment building. To Pierre’s apartment building.
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“DUDE. PIERRE. No. Absolutely not. I told you I was not going to your place.”  And he gives me a song and dance about wanting to show me his “rooftop deck”. So I give him a song and dance about how at close to 2am on a Thursday morning, I don’t need to see a relative stranger’s “rooftop deck”.  Also I’m not that stupid and there is a good chance that he is substituting the words “rooftop deck” for
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 He kept trying to get me to let the driver leave saying that it would be too expensive to have the cab wait and that I should Uber after I see the “rooftop deck”. And I was not having it.
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As we parted ways, something was mumbled about inviting me to a French dinner but that he wasn’t going to contact me because American girls always play him, so I’d need to reach out for the invitation…
I hopped back in the cab. The driver was shaking his head and said “He was being very pushy.”  And I agreed.  Which is sad because it was a fun night otherwise. But Pierre got shady. He took me to his apartment building and tried to get me in an isolated spot when I told him I wasn’t going for that. Not cool, yo. Add to that the mouth-licking….?  So I think I’m good on the French dinner front. I’ve got me some morning star farms chick’n nuggets and frozen pasta meals at home.  Plus I’m not really into foie gras so much.
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I picked up my car, drove home, called my biffle to recap the night, then went to bed at 4am on a Thursday morning. Like the 21 year old I’m apparently aspiring to be.  This is fauxdulthood at its finest.
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(special shout-out to my lady CGriff for being an editor on this post and an encourager on the share-your-weird-stories front)

“Let’s Be Brave & Search Alone Together!”: Q’s 30 – 35

My friend, Tia, has started a tumblr (inspired by a production being put on by a local theatre company) encouraging folks to go on an Identity Scavenger Hunt.  And in her rallying cry of “let’s be brave and search alone-together” (which I love love love love) – I’m all in.  And I encourage you to play along as well! Over the next 30 days or so, Tia will be posting a question or two a day from the famous Proust Questionnaire on the tumblr.  I’ll be doing my best to keep up and answer the questions here; my approach will be to not think too much about any one answer and to go from the gut.  You can answer the questions on the Identity Scavenger Hunt tumblr, on your own blog, in your journal, in your head, or feel free to e-mail answers directly to the lovely Tia at – she may want to use some of your answers in different ways in the future!

30. What do you most value in your friends?

Honesty. I value most the friends who I know will be honest and real with me no matter the circumstances. Kind. Always kind. But honest.

31. Who are your favorite writers?

Neil Gaiman; Harper Lee; Lewis Carroll; Shakespeare

32. Who is your favorite hero of fiction?

Atticus Finch. I need a re-read. Also Leslie Knope and Liz Lemon…for obvious reasons. They aren’t traditional “hero” types, but they are relatively regular, imperfect women who work against odds to do things they are passionate about while trying to balance personal relationships. And they are fairly successful.

33. Who are your heroes in real life?

Amy Poehler; Tina Fey; Jane Goodall; my friends and family who I watch soldier on during/after tragedies; men and women who use their lives to better the lives of others; people who stick up for what is right while knowing it could or will bring them harm.

I want to be best friends with them.

I want to be best friends with them.

34. What are your favorite names?

For humans: Isaiah, Isabella (Ella), Mason, Lucy, Atticus (sense a theme there?)… and depending on how the GoT series goes, if I ever choose to have/adopt kids and end up with a daughter I may opt for Khaleesi. Or I may just name a dog or cat (or elephant) Khaleesi.  What I’m saying is that Khaleesi will be used at some point.

For animals: anything with a title or office – Officer Fuzznugget, Mr. Brown, Sir Dudley, Fabian Raven Ittameh Bittameh Kittameh The Duchess of Things, etc.  I love a ridiculous name for a pet.

35. What is it that you most dislike?

True heartbreak. I’ve only been heartbroken a few times in my life (and not always in a romance-related way) – feeling shattered and internally-cracked because something huge has shifted, often without warning or without choice in the matter, and now you are left to mourn the loss of what will never be regained; when you start questioning the truth of everything because something has died – be it a person, pet, friendship, relationship, opportunity, etc. and that sickening feeling of being broken and not knowing how to get up in the morning let alone how to rebuild.  That is what I most dislike.

“Let’s Be Brave & Search Alone Together!”: Q’s 19 – 29

My friend, Tia, has started a tumblr (inspired by a production being put on by a local theatre company) encouraging folks to go on an Identity Scavenger Hunt.  And in her rallying cry of “let’s be brave and search alone-together” (which I love love love love) – I’m all in.  And I encourage you to play along as well! Over the next 30 days or so, Tia will be posting a question or two a day from the famous Proust Questionnaire on the tumblr.  I’ll be doing my best to keep up and answer the questions here; my approach will be to not think too much about any one answer and to go from the gut.  You can answer the questions on the Identity Scavenger Hunt tumblr, on your own blog, in your journal, in your head, or feel free to e-mail answers directly to the lovely Tia at – she may want to use some of your answers in different ways in the future!

I missed a few days again… so here’s another catch-up!

19. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

I would be less fearful of shaking things up and more bold. This is something I am actively working on.

20. If you could change one thing about your family, what would it be?

I’m answering this one privately because I promised not to write on the blog about family.

21. What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Being an independent woman who can take care of herself.

22. If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?

Ok – I first read this as “what would you like to be” … but “what do you think it would be” is much different. I think I would come back as loose rainbow glitter:  colorful, shiny, makes people smile, but is also kind of annoying because it gets into everything and is easily scattered.

23. What is your most treasured possession?

Actual thing:  Fabian. I think she counts, right? (also – surprise, surprise. lol)

A more thoughtful answer: my soul.

This furry, claw-happy, bitey buttface is my most treasured possession; I can't imagine life without her.

This furry, claw-happy, bitey buttface is my most treasured possession; I can’t imagine life without her.

24. What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

Feeling completely worthless – like you have nothing to contribute to the world or to help better the existence of others or even yourself. That is the worst, most hellish place to be. And, unfortunately, I think everyone gets to experience that at least once in a lifetime.

25. Where would you like to live?

Ideally, I would live on a farm sanctuary where we would take in animals who have no where to go from dogs and cats to  goats and elephants.  It would also be a hippie artist commune of sorts – there would be a barn for performance and other structures to be used for other forms of artistic work. The main farmhouse would be accommodations for artists in residence and soul seekers. We would grow as much of our own food as possible and do yoga and make music and theatre and take care of the resident creatures and each other. We would also engage in therapeutic artistic and animal experiences – people could come from all over to stay for varying lengths of time for therapy or could have weekly appointments. We would do retreats. The farm would be within a short distance to both a major city with a theatre/performance industry and a beach/ocean.

26. What is your favorite occupation? 

The one that I want: actor/theatre artist.

The one I admire most: conservationist on an animal reserve.

27. What is your most marked characteristic? 

That I have a big heart. I think. I hope.

28. What is the quality you most like in a man?

Genuine, truthful kindness.

29. What is the quality you most like in a woman?

Genuine, truthful kindness.