We are nowhere and it's now... "Did she really just make a Bright Eyes reference? Oh God, I don't think I can read this" is what you're thinking

I grew up nowhere.

For the 18 formative years of my life, I had no roots. I have no loyalty to Fairfax, Virginia. It's so up and coming, growing faster than the body that shot up awkwardly around my bones at age 13. I'm the first generation that could possibly call it, "my old stomping grounds." But honestly, who would want to? It's nowhere. It's nothing. No major battles were fought here, no historical sites to see. There's no old malt shop that's been open since the 50's, still owned and operated by the same family. There's no creek where we found a dead body that one summer. Just man made lakes where we smoked shitty weed out of apples and tin foil. It's nowhere. It's always going to be nowhere.

I may not be a history buff, but I know that history is what makes things special. I don't even need to know the story behind this old set of drawers that came off of my great grandmother's bureau. All I know is that it's been lived it. It has a story. It tells it's story on a different frequency than is audible to the human ear. And to me, that means something. It comes from somewhere. Some skilled craftman's hands put time and love into it. It's seen things; fights, love making, birth, wedding days, death. It comes from somewhere. Fairfax, Virginia is like the Ikea chest of drawers. It comes in separate, relatively easy to assemble pieces. After you bitch and moan and beg your signifcant other for help in putting the pieces together, you step back and take it all in. Oh. It's just a slab of sleak, clean, pressed-wood product. I guess it looks modern. Yeah, that looks nice I guess.

Let me start over...

I come from a military family, my father was in the army. We settled in white bread suburbia when dad retired because of the great schools, safe neighborhoods, close proximity to Washington, DC , and most importantly; it was smack dab in the middle of the east coast. Essentially between the two places my parents where raised.

Because I grew up nowhere, I have never strongly identified with my "home." When I tell my new Chicago friends now, "I'm going home." I have to correct myself. "Well... I'm going back to Virginia." It's not the same thing.

Okay, just go with me here, no matter how pretentious and "I went to art school" I sound. But I'm an actress at heart. I'm fascinated with the way real people talk, walk, and interact with each other and the world around them. I see myself in the world and how I deal with it, and I see others.

Because I never identified Fairfax as my "home." I grew up romanticizing my parent's home towns. Every summer I'd slip into their world, imagine what it would be like, play pretend and trick the locals into thinking I'm one of them. I've always be one of them.

Whether I'm picking peaches on my aunt's father's farm in South Carolina, or gossiping with the ladies at the hair salon in upstate New York, like a chameleon, I can fit in anywhere. I relish the moments I can be anywhere and pretending I'm someone else. I crave that pride. I have national pride, sure. After all, I am "proud to be an American"-- and what that means to me is a completely different rant-like blog post for a later date. But still. I want to identify myself with a place. I want to say, "I came from x" and I want people to immediately make snap judgements of me.

I want to be the country bumpkin southern belle from Georgia who at 13 drank vodka for the first time on her cousin's back porch after our parents went to bed. "Y'all! I can't feel my legs!"

I want to be that snot-nosed quick-witted New Yorker who is full of a million groaner jokes and sits around on lawn chairs on the driveway telling them in the dead of summer. My mother covering up my ears for the dirty ones my uncles care to share. Walking down the block to watch the firemen respond to the fender bender at Myer's Corners.

I want to be that girl, who knows the pain a fire ant's bite brings to a bare foot running through her grandfather's yard, dodging the fire crackers in the cul de sac on the fourth of July.

The girl that returns to the same salon, to see Dorothy every month. "Remember when ya grandmotha brought you herh? You were this tall. I painted ya nails fah free!" How could I forget?

Playing secret agents with my cousins. That old meat grinder was a walky talky, and the laundry chute a secret passage way. We'd send top secret notes via the clothes line off of the mud room.

My grandmother, whenever I'm back in town, still tries to set me up with the lifegaurd at her pool. Or so-and-so on the Alter Guild's grandson, he's so handsome! "Nannie. I live in Chicago now." "But he has a job! And Insurance! Such a nice boy... You know he takes care of his mother?"

I wish I could have that strong sense of communal identity. Everyone knows everyone. You grew up playing with the kid down the street and you still get brunch with them when you're back in town. You know? Athena's diner. It looks like all the other greasy spoon places on old route 9, but it's the one where they let you take home a free cookie from the bakery. The old lady that runs the place gave them away to every smiling child. She still spoils you. How come they're even still in business?

I don't have that because I grew up nowhere. Our stories are of the "woods"... you know, the park. Feeding Canadian geese stale bread. Trips to Costco where we'd get lost in the aisles. Oh! The pleasure of going to Fair Oaks mall, and not Springfield mall like usual. (They're the one with the Warner Brother's store where you can climb down Bugs Bunny's rabbit hole!) We lived our lives in cars and on highways.

I grew up in Ikea, Virginia. But I was raised somewhere else entirely.

4b

Homemade chili, turning the lights out, being a rat, chopping down trees to find a husband, forgetting my bike's breaks were wet when trying to stop in Cubs fan traffic, photo booths, photo booths, photo booths, Eagle Eye Cherry, Savage Garden, hard cider, iced tea spillage in my purse, and mocking the Irish at 4am. I'd say I had a good night.

Today: "Come on let's get creepy and do it with a mask on"

So this is a small script for something I'm sharing tonight at an artist exchange/potluck. Literally, you're not missing much by me reading it aloud, however-- if you want to full on experience for free [I know it's hard to see me perform for free these days. RARE TREAT.] you should come over to Kait and Kirsten's this eve.

Why is it that no one can pull off not sounding sleepy when being awoken by a phone call? Do you know what I mean? That thing where you're in a zombie-like half-sleep state that automatically answers that early morning call and you do one of these (demonstrate here). As if that deep inhale and quick whipping motion of the phone are supposed to mask the fact that you were absolutely not prepared to take this call at all. And then the person on the other line just starts jabbering away at you like you're paying attention. You miss about 40% of the first sentence because you're mind is busy saying to you "Why the hell did you just answer this phone you big dumb ape?" So while you're busy yelling at yourself in your mind, the other person catches on and always has to ask "Did I wake you up?" Without thinking, or once again consulting your zombiebody, you quickly retort with a deadpan "No." Well anyway, that was my morning. If it wasn't for my boss calling me at 7:25am to tell me she would be a few minutes late to work, I never would have showed. Thank God for my creepy subconscious phone answering capabilities.

As you can imagine, when I got into work this morning I was still highly intoxicated. My head was in a vice and every day tasks took me about 10 minutes extra time at least. Weird things kept happening and I felt like the universe was punishing me for my bad choices the night before. The by far WEIRDEST happenstance came when it was time for me to take out the trash. I will start this story off by saying that only reason I volunteered to do the trash run was so I could have an excuse to wear sunglasses (Yeah. I know how to play the hangover game). So everything was normal as I tottled along the alley yanking the heavy garbage can full of carrot shavings and straw wrappers behind me. Let me add that me and this particular alley have some history... Listen, you would volunteer to do trash runs all day if you worked in Lincoln Park with sucky yuppie customers too. Anything to get out of the store. So one time I was back there I woke up a homeless man from his slumber and it was super awkward. He followed me back to the store and stole an orange and 2 free samples on my watch. All my coworkers call him my boyfriend now. It's a thing we have. Moral of the story, I never really quite know what I might find in this alley. Today it happened to be my assassin. You heard right. As I neared the dumpster I took a quick glance down the other end of the alley (where my boyfriend lived) and standing there, about 50 feet away, was some seriously stoic Men in Black dude staring at me. It startled me so much that I struggled real hard to keep my composure while flinging soggy trash bags about. His crisp black suit and fixed stare were piercing me as if to say "Yes... I thought I might find you here, Carol Olsen" I was sure he was going to pull out a pistol and start questioning me like, "WHERE'S THE MONEY?" For a moment my life was a movie and I thought, "How am I going to tell Rick I can't get the 20 grand until Friday?" Maybe if I wasn't so hungover, and was feeling a bit more frisky at 10in the morning, I would have called out to him. "Hey.... Rick.... I don't know nothing bout Johnny ratting you out.... I swear" Ahhhh. Another day.

Oh hay

Oh hay blog. Don't forget about me. Imma be carressing you soon.

Love,
Me

I get it. YOU'RE FUNNY.

So breaking into the comedy community is really easy... If you're an asshole.

I'm feeling super discouraged lately because of all these auditions I've been going to at Second City. I haven't taken classes there since two summers ago and I feel completely out of that loop. So I've been trying to get myself in there for the time being while I can only afford classes at iO.

I am so thrilled to be studying at iO, by the way. Glad I took that leap. To be honest, signing up for those classes was such a whim. But I realized I see more shows there than any other theatre in town. So why not study from the best? DUH. Next on the once-I-get-a-job-and-can-afford-more-classes list is the Annoyance. I guess I just really vibed with Susan Messing and her teachings and I want more.

Which brings me to my point. She's all about making bold and specific choices on stage and sticking to them to let the comedy rise. After studying under her at iO, I walk into these auditions at Second City and everyone around me makes me feel so uncomfortable to improvise because I get this overwhelming feeling that they don't care who they yell over for a cheap laugh. That does NOT make me want to play with you. Hate to say. Maybe these past couple of experiences have been isolated incidents. I don't know. It doesn't make me feel good. I feel like I just fade into some sort of white washed picket fenced background when I'm over there.

I feel like I know my comedy style pretty well, I just need to know how to control it. I'm such an anxious person already and if you put me into a high stress slash extremely uncomfortable situation, I find that being "myself" is the last thing I want to be. So naturally I protect myself from being hurt or embarrassed or insulted by just going flat. I'm in an audition with a bunch of chuckleheads who want to be THE FUNNIEST PERSON IN THE ROOM and I just give up and retreat. I'd rather protect my process than try and match their boink-fest (to quote Susan) energy.

This is absolutely not to say that the teachers over there encourage their students to be a bunch of self involved obnoxious jerks. I know for a fact they don't. But something really goes out the window with young comedians my age when you're put in front of writers. Honesty and integrity. I want to play with honest people who just want to have fun.

Oughhh. I've got the willies.

Remind me next time to write about how all girls are born hating all other girls and that the rest of our lives we spend trying to suss out which girl can we call a friend in hopes to protect us from the other girls who don't know why but hate us for just being girls and being in their personal space. Chill out! Heaven forbid we have a conversation about common interests. I'm not trying to hit on your mediocre and douchey guy friends. Go fly a kite... FOR REAL.

2011

People ask me all the time if having a birthday on New Years Eve sucks or not. I'm here to tell you today that it most definitely does not. I don't think I've met someone who didn't feel like partying on my birthday, so for that reason it's nice.

Who I feel really bad for are all those people born on the 1st of January. Who wants to go out drinking on national hangover day? Your birthday is completely steamrolled by the celebration of my birthday. So suck on that. (I actually have a friend, Johnny, who was born on the 1st. He just hosts a hungover pizza party every year at his place. I say that's pretty cool)

So here we are. A new year. The year of the rabbit. That's me! That means this year is going to be my year. I can feel it. As we toasted our champagne before the party last night, my roommates and I each went around and summed up our 2010 experience for each other. All I could really remember of 2010 was that I

1.) Broke my foot
2.) Graduated from college
3.) Moved to Chicago

Of course those are the most nuttiest of shells... But truly, the year kind of just flew right past me. If feels like it was last week that I hung that temporary handicap placard on my rearview mirror and hobbled across campus to Audition Technique at 8 in the God damn morning.

It's not to say that 2010 flew past me and was a complete wash. I definitely think the last half of the year, the moving to Chicago part, was an eye opening experience. I figured out how to be an adult and start my career and even put a few building blocks in place. I know I have more structural work to get done, but I laid a pretty good framework thus far. I am proud of myself.

Aw... Interjection time: We are currently cat sitting for our downstairs neighbor while she's out of town. I am, for the most part, allergic to cats so I like to keep them out of my room and off of my furniture as much as possible. As I was typing this out I heard a soft meow and looked back at my bedroom door and two little white paws were sticking out of the bottom. DAWWWWWWW! I'm such a sucker for that shit. I hate cats but those two little paws clawing at the ground makes my heart melt.

There are 2 of these cats, brothers I think, and they are that black and white spotted breed that happens to look like Hitler. Do you know what I'm talking about? This website actually calls them Kitlers. Haha. Get it? Ah, hilariously racistly cute.  Anyway, one of them has a thicker black spot under his nose so I call him Groucho and the other one is skinnier and has a smaller black spot so I call him Hitler. He's also the meaner of the two. A real asshole of a cat. I hope he commits suicide when he realizes Ms Kitty and her army of allies have him surrounded in Becky's room.

Want to hear a hilarious story about my hellacious experience with Delta Airlines? Of course you do! I'll try to keep it short.

So I had unfortunately scheduled my flight out of New York after Christmas for the day after that huge snowstorm hit. My mom's house got around 14 inches. NYC got a little over 20. It was insane. Not only this, but I booked with what I have experienced to be the worst airline possible.

First of all:  In the morning when I found out that my flight had been cancelled, thanks to Delta.com, I tried to reschedule online-- This turned out to be impossible because the only options to choose from were that day and the next, both of which had no flights listed. So it says at the bottom if I'm experiencing trouble to just call them. I called and got this message: "Due to extreme weather conditions we cannot take your call right now. Please rebook with Delta.com" NO. NO. I cannot rebook with your dumb website because there are no options! Give me a human to talk to please! I mean the phone didn't even ring for Christ's sake. It went straight to this message. So around this time I called my Dad to complain. He told me all I could really do was keep calling until someone answered. But get THIS. My Dad calls me back and he says he had an agent on the phone I could talk to. So he patched me in and she rescheduled my flight for Thursday... I was supposed to leave on Monday but understood that everything was backed up because of this blizzard. But here's the kicker. I asked my Dad how he even got the phone to ring. He told me he used my step mother's Delta Sky Mile's number with some other phone number service they offer. So basically unless you are a Sky Mile's member... DON'T mess with Delta. I'd still be in New York right now calling their damn phone line that doesn't ring like all the regular Joe Schmoes.

Secondly: Once I got tot he airport, for some stupid reason I got super excited to see on my self check-in screen that they would check my bag for free. Flying with other airlines they charge $25 for each bag. That's $50 round trip. So I only ever pack a carry on because I'm poor. No... Not because I'm poor, but because I don't want to spend my money on something so silly. These airlines suck enough money out of us already. So anyway, yeah, got excited. so I clicked the button and rejoiced that I wouldn't have to lug my bag around while making my connection in Detroit. Let me say this though, my pessimism unfortunately didn't get the best of me. As I punched the screen I thought to myself, "What if I make it there and my bag doesn't?" Wouldn't you guess that's EXACTLY what happened? That's right. After a long day of sitting on tarmacs, burning jet fuel because we're overweight restrictions, getting a splitting headache from the lack of food I ate the entire day, I get to Midway and everyone from my flight picks up their shit at baggage claim and I stand there like a sad sack of buffoon waiting... waiting... waiting. I almost cried when the lady behind the baggage service desk told me I could wait for an hour and a half if I wanted. To give her some credit, she was really pleasant and helpful. I was the one being the crab apple.  So yeah, I decided to have them deliver it to me because all I wanted to do was get home and eat and sleep. I had this plan to stop at 7-11 on the walk from the train and get a couple of taquitos so I could eat as I walked so I didn't lose anytime on my schedule to pass the hell out. So the guy calls me hours later, tells me he's going to deliver my bag. This was at 9:20pm. I was out at Susan's. When I came home after midnight, my bag still wasn't there. I decided that because my head was still throbbing from the original headache that I would worry about this in the morning. Well, wouldn't you know it? Morning came (My birthday) and my bag was there... SOAKED. I mean SOPPING WET. Everything. Wet and smelly from sitting in a bag all night. Not only that but there's disgusting black skid marks all over my purple duffel, it looks completely ruined to tell you the truth. Not something that throwing it in a washing machine could fix.

Oh. And what about the taquitos? Well, I bought four, shoved three in my mouth and dropped the last one in a puddle. WAY TO GO CAROL!

So for those reasons I will never give Delta my money again.

Okay. Complaining is done. Time to start 2011 off right... by continuing this day long binge of food and mimosas.


Peace and love my babies,
Carol

New mantra

Big girls don't cry... They eat Christmas cookies.

Welcome to Birthday month: Nicole, Jesus, and Me!

As I write to you, the cat's tail is whipping my exposed plumber's crack.  She must think it's funny.

I think I woke up in the twilight zone today. I just feel all ass backwards and upside down.  Maybe it's because today's the first day I haven't been called into work. Oh joy of joys... Shit. Need a new job.
It literally blew my night when I got that e-mail.

I hope you know that yesterday I started a journey back to Chicago at 10am and did not step foot inside my own apartment until 7:30pm.

Step 1: Mom drove me to the Poughkeepsie Amtrak station (.5 hours)
Step 2: Got on Amtrak to New York City (1.5 hours)
Step 3: Got into Penn Station, had to then navigate myself to the corner of 33rd and 7th Ave (.5 hours)
Step 3: Got in a van that I thought was going to LaGuardia
Step 4: Ended up at Grand Central station (20 minutes)
Step 5: Got on bus to LaGuardia (.5 hours)
Step 6: Got my ticket, went through ridiculous New York security lines, and waited for a delayed plane (1.5 hours)
Step 7: Sat on plane for an additional 30 minutes waiting... (30 minutes...)
Step 8: Flew to Chicago (2 hours), landed in O'Hare... waited some more (.5 hours)
Step 9: Got on the blue line (.5 hours)
Step 10: Got off the blue line and on the Belmont bus (.5 hours)
Step 11: Noticed it was snowing... Walked down the block to Art of Pizza and picked up 2 slices and an iced tea (15 minutes)
Step 12: Opened the doors to my apartment where BECKY was preparing a dinner for meeeeeeeeeeeeee! And NICOLE and RYAN were there to listen about my journey and give me wine and p-funks. (now 7:30 pm)

Ah, and Steps 13-20 are just eating, laughing, hanging out, and watching the rough cut of a movie we filmed this summer.  I have to admit, until now I have never missed Richmond more. Watching my friends sweat bullets, drink 40's, ride bikes, and break things made me want to go back to RVA and just hanggg OUT. This summer was good. Speaking of summer, WHERE DID YOU GO? There's snow on the ground and more falling today.

Just realized I have no clever way to end this. SOMEONE HIRE ME. Goodbye.

Thanksgivvy

Hey Blog,

Happy Thanksgiving.
My Pop pop died yesterday morning. I spent all day yesterday grieving, sleeping, crying, sleeping some more, and putting up a Christmas tree.  I am feeling less crazy today. My mom was fortunate enough to be with him when he took his last breath. She told him his parents were waiting for him, and that made me feel better.
The funeral is not until Saturday, so I am spending Thanksgiving here in Chicago surrounded by good friends and food. I am honored because my grandmother asked me to read a passage during the service. My brother and I will both be doing that. It almost reminds me of my grandfather's birthday back in 2001.  We surprised him at church. My brother and I processed in holding the torches and he was completely blown away.  Yeah, I was a big churchy kid growing up. Served on the altar as an acolyte and loved it.

Anyway, the service will be special.  It will be in New York in the church my parents were married in and I was baptized in.  It's church my grandmother still serves on the altar guild for.  All of my family will be there and I am excited to be "home". 

I am very content.  Sitting here on the futon, Christmas tree lit up, sipping a glass of wine with Kait and Ryan, Hawks on in the background (side note, I just mistyped the last word as Bachround. Is that when Bach is playing music in the background? Maybe. Was that a terrible attempt at a joke? Most definitely).  Just made a peach and berry pie I am freezing until tomorrow.  Kait just put on some Coheed-- Haha, feeling nostalgic.  Nicole and Eric are on the way home with Ian's special this month, Thanksgiving pizza!!!  That's turkey, gravy, stuffing, and I think mashed potatoes.  On a pizza.  Can't wait.

They're here now. So I'm going to stuff my face tonight and then fast for the rest of the day tomorrow.
Quickly just wanted to say
Eric just asked me to type a paragraph about him... Not happening.
I forgot to mention last night my roommates gave me daises and we went out for Mexican.  Queso, Salsa, Chimichangas, and Margaritas!  It was delicious and the perfect remedy to a terrible no good very bad day.
I told the ladies for my birthday I wanted to get mani pedis at this place that also massages you. Nicole then said "Where?" and I said, "This place on Southport" she then replied, "No... Where do they massage you?"

Okay, Blog... Anyway. It's freaking cold here. And it's supposed to snow tomorrow.  I hope so.
I'll talk to you after I come back from New York.
Love you like a half sister.

Sick and stupid

First of all, this post is over two weeks old when I wrote it. I guess I never posted it... So here it is, whoever wants to waste a good 10 minutes of their time, I promise by the end of this you'll be saying, "Dang, she stupid."

Okay, so I'm sick and stupid and here's why:

Woke up this morning coughing up little bits of lung and called my step mom for help.  She told me I could call this service provided by my temporary insurance policy that allows me to talk to a doctor, tell him my symptoms, and have a prescription be phoned into the pharmacy.  I said, "What is this Europe?" Seriously, if that's not wave of the future, I don't know what is.  So awesome.  So anyway, my doctor was a real delight, great and easy to talk to.  He prescribed me some antibiotics for a sinus infection.  Great. So my step mom reminds me to print off my new drug card to bring into the pharmacy to pick up the prescription.  Great.  Oh wait... Shit.  I've gone super long without replacing the black ink in my printer (Even so far as a few weeks ago I printed my resume off in a very dark navy blue. Say something! Ink ain't cheap!)  I quickly resigned myself to the fact that I was a total dummy for putting off buying ink for this long and now I'm going to have to pay.  So I put on all my gear; coat, hat, scarf, I get all bundled up and head out down the street to the Office Depot.  The worst part about this experience, let me just say, the Office Depot is conveniently situated right next to the pahrmacy I have to go to... Not like I can just pick my prescription up though after I buy the ink-- I still have to go home and print off the drug card, remember? My stupid ass... I literally hate myself for not getting to this printer sooner, typical me.  So two trips, here we go...

So I'm crossing the parking lot, fighting to breathe in the harsh 45 degree air, and literally as the two sliding doors open on me I stop and think "Son of a... Did I even CHECK to see the specific TYPE of ink I need?"  No. The short answer is no. I most certainly did not.

So I'm sick and stupid.  I bought what I thought I needed and thank GOD, I got the right one.  The sales clerk had a nice laugh at my expense, though.

So I got home, loaded up the printer, printed the drug card, and headed BACK OUT to the Jewel to get this medicine.  Of course, OF COURSE the pharmacist then tells me I printed the wrong card.  So then he tells me I have to pay full price, print the right card and bring it back for reimbursement.

Which I never did.

Sick and stupid, sick and stupid.

Carol and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week

It's been a rough a week. I'm struggling to find the humor, couldn't find it, so Susan and I saw the free show at iO last night. A human slip and slide brought me to tears. That was great. I can't wait to get through today and go to class tomorrow.

I'm trying to stay strong for my brother who was basically just raped in court yesterday. I feel like America has an easier time pointing the finger at the "neglectful father" which angers me so much I could punch a candyless pinata! My brother is the best father I can think of. I'm not exaggerating. I honestly figured, when I first heard he would be having a child, he'd have no clue how to take care of a little girl. But he's been taking care of me, his little sis, now for almost 23 years, for my whole life. He's had a lot of practice and so I have to give him some credit. I love my brother and couldn't be more proud of the maturity he's displaying while going through this.

Another big weight on my mind is my grandfather. He's currently in the hospital with pneumonia. The doctor says while he was being fed in the nursing home, he must have aspirated some food that caused the infection. The antibiotics seem to be working now, but the bad news is he still can't feed himself properly so they're considering a feeding tube. That's great and all, but if he has the feeding tube, he won't be allowed to go back to the nursing home. My mom says she thinks this is the end. I don't want to believe it.

It's extremely tough for me to see the strongest man in my life go through this. I don't know anyone tougher, wiser, and funnier than my Poppie. I was so touched to hear that when they brought him in and put the oxygen mask on him he looked up at my grandmother and asked if he was dying. She looked down at him and said, "You're not going anywhere without me!" That's true love. I only hope when I am urinating myself and can't even bring a spoon to my mouth, the love of my life will still be by my side.

My only fear is that by the time I get to my grandparents house for Christmas, it'll be too late. I have to see my Poppie again, I miss him too much. I've decided on getting a Whip-poor-will tattoo (My mom's going to kill me if she's reading this). My grandparent's lake house in the Adirondacks was named after the bird, and I go back to that special place in my mind when I think about them.

So, needless to say, a lot of SHIT is going on. More than I even mentioned-- but a girl can only complain so much in one blog post, right?

Update: Poppie is back in the nursing home, isn't on any sort of IV fluids or feeding tube because of their policies about that. They are continuing to give him his pills and feed him but if he chokes on anything, that's it. He's DNR, do not resusitate. He's asked for that.

Note to self:

Never take Tylenol PM in the AM...  Especially when you have work at 9.


Duh.

Did I mention...?

On my commute home from work a few weeks ago the train was packed.  I'm assuming that all of the Northbound Brown Line trains were running late because by the time I got up to the platform it was overflowing with people-- not normal.

Anyway, I was forced to stand and hold a pole for balance but was so wedged in by others that I didn't really have a good grip.   Did I also mention I had no cash to get on the train that day so I was forced to run down to 7-11 and buy a $1.99 Gatorade to get cash back to put on my CTA card in order to avoid the $3.00 ATM fee?

So there I am, wedged in and gripping my purse, a pole, and a sealed full bottle of Gatorade on a train that was running late.  I guess because of the lateness, the conductor saw the need to speed down the tracks in order to make up for lost time.  Then... it happened.  The conductor slammed the breaks as he was approaching a stop and my 20 ounces of delicious Fierce Grapey goodness goes FLYING and hits the wall of the train, ricocheting off and hitting the head of a seated female passenger then continues to fall onto her PREGNANT belly.

Oh
My
Dear
Lord

I have never been more mortified in my life.  Forget the fact that I lost my footing and fell into the man standing next to me-- sure that would have been enough to make me blush but instead I had to flipping injure this poor and unsuspecting pregnant woman's unborn child.

Fast forward 10 years from now... I'm probably the reason that kid won't understand math.

My big dumb face, deal with it

First post of Halloween month!  Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, it feels good.
Speaking of which...

I've been thinking about this for a while now.  Sometimes I just want to smile.  I just want to walk down the street or ride my bike or sit on the train and smile.  I follow my instincts and I do smile for a few seconds and then something always stops me.  It's that fear that other people are going to look at me like I'm crazy.

My question is... Why the hell do I care so much?  I mean really.  Why can't I be that girl that's smiling in a sea of miserably jaded Chicagoans?  I mean, think about it.  I have a lot to smile about.  I'm alive-- for one. I'm walking and talking and thinking and feeling.  And god dammit... I am loved.  I have every reason to smile.

I guess what's been holding me back is the thought that others are going to suddenly turn on me like, "What's that bitch so happy about?  How dare she be happy about anything."  So I stop myself every time.

This is a formal apology to the world-  Sorry I look a dope who can't stop smiling while listening to my ipod and riding home from a really rewarding and challenging night of class.  I can't help it.  I want to be happy.

Truly, what I wish would happen every time is that maybe one person will catch me out of the corner of their eye and smile too.  Because, after all, isn't mood infectious?  It is.  I can honestly say I have had some pretty shitty days when the lady in the mail room has had one too and decides to take it out on me.  If I have learned anything about people, it's that you can really make any stranger's day, for better or worse, with the mood you project to the world.

I'm not saying you're not allowed to feel down and depressed some days... We ALL have those days, that's fine.  But what I'm getting at is if I am in a good mood for being alive, and I want to smile for my 30 minute train ride downtown, God Dammit, I'm gunna!  And if someone is having a terrible morning-- like maybe their cat just puked in their favorite pair of shoes after they missed their morning alarm clock only to wake up to a note left by their significant other detailing the reasons why they're leaving them for the last time... well I can only hope my dumb smiling face brings them the tiniest piece of joy.  You know, like maybe there's hope in humanity-- maybe not every stranger has something out for you too.

After all, tomorrow is another day.  (Name that quote and win a cookie)

Pet peeves

I think my biggest pet peeve is when you're sitting next to someone, and ONLY their arm hair touches your arm hair.  It gives me the heeby-jeebies.  ICK.

Likes and dislikes

I like...  hot sauce.

I dislike... people who refrigerate hot sauce.

I like... blond eyelashes.

I dislike... gingers.

I like... a lot of things.

I dislike... girls with handcuff accessories.

I'm going home for the weekend.  See ya, Chi!

A couple of fools

Hung-OVER. I'm over it. Literally, this sucks. Remind me to never, ever, EVER order another $5 Pomegranate Long Island Iced Tea from Joey's. It may sound like a good idea, but it tastes like Jungle Juice- not the canned kind, but the kind you consumed copious amounts of freshman year at upperclassmen parties. Remember the hangover you got from that sugary mess? Yeah, I guess the lesson learned is to always remember that terrible feeling and pull yourself up by the bootstraps and JUST SAY NO to a $5 drink from hell. Just because it's $5 doesn't make it worth it.

So now that I’m done with that- what I will rant about next may be a little offensive (I was personally offended when approached about it last night) so be forewarned. The story begins around 11pm last night. Mr. Landon Nagle was in town and a bunch of us got together at the "old stomping ground" (if you could call it that, Joey's Brickhouse) (see note above). After we challenged Gerber to an Iced Tea chugging contest (I can only imagine how HE must feel today, haha) we decided to pay our tabs and continue drinking for much less at Marie and Sater's. First of all, I’d like to give a shout out my roommates who BOLTED out the door without me. One of them goes by the title of Miss Shrimp and the other is Becky. Jerks. Thankfully, Gerber was kind enough to wait for me to finish and we headed out onto the street. As he was unlocking his bike, this kid, all dressed in white, jumps up off a bench outside the bar and yells at me (I have decided to continue this as a dialogue below for your entertainment)


Kid: HEY, I’M NOT FROM AROUND HERE I ALMOST JUST GOT ARRESTED AND I NEED TO KNOW WHERE DIVERSITY IS.

Me: You mean Diversey?

Kid: Yeah, where is Diversity?

Me: You mean Diversey?

Kid: Look, I’m from the South-

Me: Me too, we’re from Virginia.

Kid: Oh okay! We’re from Louisiana and my friend here [refers to a sloppy kid behind him also clad in all white slumped on the bench] really needs to get to bed and we almost just got arrested. We need to get to Diversity.

Me: You mean Diversey?

Kid: Yeah, Diversity.


[This is where Gerber interjects thus sending us on a wild ride of hilarity]


Gerber: [Pointing in a million directions at once] Diversey is North of here, no South, no wait, it’s definitely East because…. [blah blah blah blah]

Me: [Arguing with Gerber at this point] No, I definitely no it’s that way [Also pointing in a million directions at once] because I pass the Diversey stop on the brown line every day.

Gerber: No, no, it’s definitely- wait, where are you trying to get to anyway?

Kid: Okay, so just a little bit ago we were down at the red line stop and I swiped my card to get in [to spare you the entire story, basically this kid tried to use his card twice to get him and his friend in the station, dumbasses should have just bought another fare card] So now we can’t go back because this asshole cop said that if we go back there he’d arrest us. We just need to get to Loyolla… or DePaul.

Gerber: Ohhh, you need to get to DePaul? I can tell you how to get there- wait, which campus?

Kid: You guys are from the south, do you know the difference between a black person and a N*gger? [I know what you’re thinking and YEAH, HE JUST SAID THAT!]

Me and Gerber: Uhhhhhhhhh………… WHAT?

Kid: You guys know the difference, right?

Me: No. What the hell are you talking about? Let’s just go [I start walking away]

Gerber: [Trying to engage this piece of shit kid in a conversation to teach him a lesson] No, wait. I think you got the wrong impression here. We’re not going to relate to you just because we’re also white and we’re from the south. We aren’t racist.

Kid: All I’m saying is that that asshole cop wouldn’t let us into the train station because we were white. He was a real N*gger, you know what I mean?



This shit continues for like another 5 minutes and all I want to do is literally sprint away from these two ignorant children and just go hang out with my friends and have fun and just ignore the fact that people like this actually exist. But Gerber insists on teaching these kids a lesson so I reluctantly stick around. I guess you could call me a coward for wanting to leave- but for some reason it seemed like a battle I knew I could go on trying to fight valiantly but end up losing in the end. I have learned from experience that trying to fight ignorance is one of the toughest battles you can ever choose. It’s exhausting. Can I also, one again, touch on the fact that not only were they dressed in all white- angels? Hardly. But they were asking me how to get to a made up street named Diversity? Alanis Morisette would call that ironic.

More importantly though, I’d like to note that I am so very thankful to be the person I am. I am so grateful for all the training I have received from VCU and TCP that has taught me to be open and accepting. I love that I am an artist and I see the world and all of the people in it and appreciate life. I am so lucky to have the friends that I have, such beautiful people who want to better the sad ignorance.

I wish, more than anything, those kids could get lost in the wrong neighborhood and get the shit beaten out of them for being such low-lifes. But, no. My amazing friend took the time to tell them how to get to where they were going because in the end, we're all human. I was so proud, and I will continue to be proud of him and any one of my friends who would have done the same thing. I only wish I could possess the same amount of patience for such fools. I love my friends.


PS today is September 11th.  Such blind hate that those two children possess is the same that has taken the lives of thousands on this day 9 years ago.  I am an American and I am grateful for all the freedoms this country has given to me by just being born here.  Although I understand those two kids are entitiled to their opinions, I hope that someday everyone is of the same mindset that we should be holding one another up and not tearing our fellow neighbor down for differences in religion, beliefs, or skin tone.

Moving to Chicago -- A Recap

For those of you that will read this, I hope you appreciate the title of this blog.  If you know anything about me at all, you would know that I am one of, if not the biggest, complainer on the planet.  I've learned to embrace this (negative) attribute by channelling my daily adventures and misadventures into a blog.  Oh yeah and it's a Mates of State reference.  Duh.  But you'd only get that part if you were cool enough.  (That reminds me: go download some MoS now.  I suggest the new album, "Re-Arrange Us")

Anyway, what's up with me?  So glad that I asked.  I just moved to Chicago, IL at the beginning of August.  Graduated in May from school with a theatre degree in my hand and hopes and dreams shoved into my pockets like soggy wet oatmeal you wanted to save after that Holiday Inn cost you $50 a night and the least they could do was let you steal stuff from the continental breakfast that forced you to wake up between the ungodly hours of 8 and 9 am.  So yeah, a degree and soggy-wet-pockets full of dreams.  Oh and four amazingly talented and caring roommates, and a ton of fellow alumni.  And I'm sure I know what you're thinking- it's exactly what every local that I have met thus far has been asking me, "Why Chi-cAAHHHHRRR-go?"  (Every mid-westner talks like that, trust me.)  First of all, stop asking me that.  Secondly, 'cause I wanted to!  I'll answer this question one last god damned time:  I'm here for the atmosphere, a taste of a big city away from home and school, iO, Second City, The Annoyance, The Playground, Comedy Sportz, Chicago style hot dogs complete with celery salt and a pickle, Lake Michigan and when it freezes over in the winter, Culture, Festivals, cheap and clean and convenient public transportation to wherever it is you want to go, night life, friends, DANK pizza (Sup, Giordanos? Oh and if you haven't tried Ian's special this month which happens to be Crab Rangoon pizza, GET ON IT!), and Oprah.  Okay the last one was supposed to make you laugh.  But all the rest is true.

And so far I've been able to experience most of that, and I'm sure there is more to see and do along the way.  Yeah yeah yeah, don't remind how cold this winter will be.  I'm sure you'll regret reminding me once you check back to this blog to read how much I can actually complain about it.  Good news is, you can stop reading at any time.  However, I strongly suggest that you continue- just in case you are personally mentioned somewhere in the body of text and I happen to make fun of you.  In fact, why don't you save yourself some time and do a quick search of the page for your name.  Go ahead, scan for it.  It might be there.  And after it it might say "I secretly hate the shit out of you."

Okay.  For those of you brave enough to push on:  I'll bring you up to speed without getting too wordy (and then later we'll get into the good stuff- the real, oh-my-God-Carol's-day-to-day-life-really-is-a-living-hell.)  Basically I got here and was like, okay- now that we've moved in all of our stuff, ate good stuffed pizza (again: sup, Giordanos?), and drank a ton of Miller Lite and Jameson which then helped us christen the house with a rousing game of strip Apples to Apples (yeah, it can be done)  WHAT NOW?  Well, being the hungry-actress I am (HA), I self-submitted myself to a lot of film opportunities.  One of which was participating in the 48-hour film fest, which was a positive experience.  Met cool people and got a chance to act like myself in front of a camera.  Didn't win any awards, who cares?  And the other was what I thought would be fun- got to be an extra in a new Ron Howard film, The Dilemma.  Unfortunately, the experience WOULD have been a good one if I wasn't stuck listening to another one of the extras talk for 9 hours as we waited to film about how when he was on the set for Transformers 3 they had gourmet chefs and got to eat the same food as Shia.  GUESS WHAT? I DON'T CARE.  I think his name was Derek, once again though- who really cares?  Not this girl.

So after those situations played out, I was still like "Okay, get a real job now?"  Because unlike Derek, the successful manager at a Walmart, slash print model, slash extra actor, I possessed what half this country doesn't have- Ha ha, I forgot I had a degree.  So where did I go?  Thanks to a good friend, Susan (I secretly hate the shit out of you) Glynn, I went to an open house at a Temp Agency.  Although I may have taken like 2 hours on the computer literacy exams, I passed and was assigned a job that a monkey could do in just a few days!  What was this monkey-brained job you ask?  I literally sat on a street corner for 12 hours a day counting people crossing the street and entering coffee shops.  Yeah.  Imagine all of the stuff I could complain about THAT!  (My poor roommate Becky had to hear most of it)  I'll spare you all, but I will say this:  Complaining can ACTUALLY get you somewhere.  Seriously, after sleeping off my delirium from the first day, I whined to my supervisor (Who will hereafter be called Howie due to his striking resemblance to Howie Mandel) who then moved my position to a much shadier and less busy street corner.  Ha.  I win.  Anyway, I left that job with $393 dollars in my pocket.  Not the soggy one, the empty one.

Since then, I was fortunate enough to meet up with an old friend, Sasha, that has crucially hooked me up with a job in her office.  All I do is sit on a Mac all day (fancy schmancy right?) and manually log video interviews.  I'm sure I'll start complaining about that sooner or later.  My first day was Thursday and I was completely out of it.  I had to ask the guy sitting next to me where the ON button was on the computer.  Question:  because I am a young and hip 20 something, should I be more Mac literate?  I honestly felt like the hugest buffoon walking in there like "DUUUR, I'm from Virginia!  Help me!" 

Well, it's probably time to put my pants back on and head to class at iO.  The cool September breeze has swept back into the streets and thus No-Pants-Summer has officially ended.  Thanks to my roommate Nicoke for introducing the concept to me.  (I call her Nicoke only because I use T9 to type text messages and it won't let me spell NicoLe correctly)  Hope all of that wasn't too much to handle.  Trust me, these blogs will slowly gain momentum as crazier things keep happening to me that I feel like complaining about.  Not that they haven't yet- What about that time when Ryan and I saw what we thought was a homeless man building a lamp-bomb on the red line?  Or when I accidentally text messaged an old friend that I wanted to warm him during the winter?  Or when that women wiped her butt in front of us outside of the Jewel Osco?  Or Or Or Or...