Throwback Thursday: You Matter

Lives matter.

Your life. My life. That man at the crosswalk. That woman who just held the door open for you. Your first grade teacher. Your BFF from 7th grade who broke your heart when he moved away. The girls you played Light As A Feather, Stiff As A Board with at birthday sleepovers. The musically talented, shy kid who nailed his surprise lines in the show. The dude who made the most affecting piece of high school art you’ve ever seen. The football player with a winning smile who could always make *you* smile. The boy from 11th grade who gave you butterflies and once made out with you for hours. The giggly girls with whom you sneaked underage booze and talked all night. The guy with the tattoos, piercings, and jeep up on shocks who went overseas. The kid you met in line while getting your college ID who brought you soup when you were sick and then got way too cool (he was *really* cool). The artsy ladies with whom you formed a secret society. The mischief-makers who found ways into off-limits theatre spaces to give your class lasting memories. Your first real boss who stressed you out way too much. Your best friends through the years who have given you love and laughter and doses of real-talk and are always there no matter what. The heartbreakers. The nice lady who chatted you up on the patio of the bar this summer and offered a hug just when you were about to crack. The chick in the car in front of you this morning who was driving 10mph in a 30mph zone and driving *you* bonkers. Your Mom. Your Dad. Your siblings. Your cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents. The guy who always lets you interrupt his walks so you can pet his dog when you see them out and about. The person you just hit it off with at that thing the other day – you think you’re going to be good friends. The hundreds of people you haven’t seen since elementary school, middle school, high school graduation, college graduation, moving away from home, leaving a job, ending a show, ending a relationship, closing a chapter of your life…

The number of people who weave in and out of each others’ stories and histories is uncountable, and each moment and each life matters. And I am grateful for everyone who is a part of my story as I am honored to be a part of yours…no matter how small or large or in between, how pleasant or lesson-teaching. You matter; thank you for being.

Live beautifully and love big.

ADULTUESDAY

Mark it down, folks. The morning of January 27th, 2015. I have earned an Adult Trophy.

I…

  1. Did not hit snooze when the alarm went off at 7am – got right out of bed instead.
  2. Promptly got ready for work.
  3. Am wearing matching socks.
  4. Started my car from my apartment FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER so that it was warm and snow was melting off of it when I was ready to leave.
  5. Arrived at the office by 9:15am…
  6. …having already talked to one of my best friends about life business…
  7. …with coffee in hand because I made some BEFORE leaving my apartment.
  8. Have seen and talked to many of the execs and CEO of my organization because apparently people arrive before 10:30am and do things and make the world happen.
  9. Remembered to water my (maybe) dying office bamboo plant to keep it from (maybe) dying.
  10. Need a 10th…I need a 10th…OOOOHHH…and now I’ve written a blog post!

Just saying.

10 points to Gryffindor!!! Ok. Fine. Hufflepuff. I'm definitely more of a Hufflepuff.

INFINITY points to Gryffindor!!!  Ok. Fine. INFINITY points to Hufflepuff. I’m definitely more of a Hufflepuff. (Minerva is just gonna keep throwin’ them 10s forever)

But the fact that I need to pat myself on the back for this shizz should probably make me question the trophy at all… #fauxdulthood

Darwinism is Dead: Or Why I Would Not Survive The Zombie Apocalypse

I’m going to go ahead and make a bold statement:

Darwinism is dead.

How do I know this?  Because I am still alive after almost 30 years. I am walking, talking, breathing proof that natural selection is a fading, historical relic in the modern, 1st World.

I do dumb things all the time to prove that natural selection is not really a factor in my sphere of operation; if it was, I should have been picked off long before now. Case in point, this recent situation (which I posted to Facebook):

No. Words.

No. Words.

Clearly this was a joke. But shortly after sharing, I noticed a friend’s call for people to submit themselves as characters in something he’s writing by describing the role they would play in a Zombie Apocalypse. And I was watching an episode of The Bachelor that involved a zombie themed paintball adventure. * So I thought about it for a second; reflected upon the evening’s events and a history of behaviors/choices that one could label as anything from ridiculous to unnecessarily dangerous; and one thought popped into my mind: I would be DEAD.

I mean – I’ve seen The Walking Dead. And – while it’s not the Zombie Apocalypse – I’ve read THE ROAD. I am confident that I would not survive beyond the first month. Possibly not past the first week if I hadn’t gone grocery shopping and if there were issues with the water in my apartment. Because HELL TO THE NAAAAWWW would I be walking out of The Apartments of Eternal Christmas to go in search of things at the bodega around the corner. I would be a hunker-and-wait-to-be-rescued type. Which would most like evolve into a hunker-and-wait-for-death type.  AND on the off-chance that a well-meaning survivor were to find me, what skills could I provide to a group?

  • Defense?  Nope. Weaponry terrifies me.
  • Hunting? Nope. Again, weaponry terrifies me. And I’m a vegetarian for reasons relating to the killing aspect of consuming meat.
  • Growing food, then?  Nope. I have a black thumb. While I’m anti-killing things, I kill cacti and succulents on the regular.
  • Practical survival skills? Nope. I have no knowledge of how to wire electricity, dig for wells, build a shelter, start broken-down cars, track things in the wild, sanitize water, or tie intricate knots.

Also – my body’s natural response to scary situations?  To pass out.  Normal confrontations of life, I’m cool with. I can get through those. But if I become overwhelmed by even the thought of being in an escalated confrontational situation – emotionally or physically – my body is like: “Hey cupcake! Imma make this real easy for you. We’re just going to stop working and we’re going to avoid this mess altogether! And if things get really bad, we won’t even know because we won’t be conscious! Are you near soft ground? Nope? OH WELL! HERE WE GO!!!”

No fight. No flight. Just lay down and play dead.

The few things I’d have going for me?  I take direction well; I am typically a quick learner; I work well with animals and children and have a driver’s license (#specialskills); and I am told that I tend to provide a positive element to a group dynamic. Plus I’ve seen The Walking Dead and have read THE ROAD. All suuuuuuuuuper useful in a Zombie Apocalypse.

Read as:  I would probably be the first to be eaten by the group when it got to that point or eventually be used as zombie bait.

Fabian, on the other hand, would be just fine, I’m sure.

And these, my friends, are some of the deep thoughts that occasionally plague my mind. You’re welcome. #fauxdulthood

* A long time ago, I was in an acting class with one of the contestants on this season and have watched the first two episodes. #thesearemyconfessions