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Phew. Emily and I have both been slackers as of late with this pet project of ours. It happens.

As they say: "life is what happens when you're busy making other plans," (and no, I don't know who "they" are).

No truer words have ever been spoken.

Ok, I admit it, our last two posts were a bit more serious than some of our other posts, but that's fine. We're real people, and it's only natural that we'd want to write about what is going on in our lives.

My goal here in the next few weeks is to try to blog a little more because I know, come June, my job will keep me incredibly busy.

But you tell us. What do you want to see us talk about? Do you mind the more serious entries? Do you want us to interview you (because would totally do that if we found the right person/people)?

Mean Girls - Mean People

I know that this is supposed to be an upbeat blog, but two instances have occurred in the US this week that make me ashamed to be a human being.

I assume that everyone has been following the story about Constance, the gay teenager whose prom was canceled after she asked to bring her girlfriend as her date. I've been following the story relatively casually, mostly because I was embarrassed for her school board and it was difficult for me to understand how we can live in a country that still finds itself to be so close minded. There is absolutely no reason why this young woman should not be allowed to bring her girlfriend to her own prom.

Today I read this. And I nearly cried.

Are people really this cruel? What gives anyone the right to do something like this? How could the PRINCIPAL, the person whose name ends in "pal" for God's sake, stand there and be OK with this? I feel like we're seeing true EVIL, personified.

After reading that article, I was linked to this article. Now, I cried.

I had heard something about it on the news, but I was at the gym and not really paying attention. Recently there has been such an uprising of girls being bullied so badly that they hurt themselves or, in this case, killed themselves. A few months ago I watched an entire Lifetime movie about it. Girls being harassed because they're different.

It made me think about when I was in middle and high school, and how I was teased. Yes, I know that everyone was teased in high school. Things could have been a whole lot worse for me, I was lucky. But I was still teased. I was just lucky enough to have a few good friends and amazing parents that taught me to be proud of myself.

When I was in middle and high school, I was addicted to AOL and AIM, like most kids my age. That was how I kept in touch with my family, my long distance friends, and that's how Jesse and I managed to fall in love - because we could talk for hours at a time from across the country. Even so, AOL and AIM weren't that good to me. It was the forum for my asshole cousins to torture me, and make me cry. Every night.

My cousins and a friend of mine would gang up on me, say horrible, cruel things to me and basically strive to make me cry every night. I tried avoiding them, but they were relentless. They tried to take my relationship with Jesse and make it something that I should be ashamed of. They called me whore, slut, bitch. They told me that I wasn't worth knowing. They told me that when I wasn't around, Jesse said horrible things about me. They insulted my looks, my clothes, my interests, pretty much anything they could think of. They told me that no one liked me, especially my family.

And I was miserable.

They did the same thing that summer, only at a time when Jesse couldn't be there to support me. He was in Europe for a month, and I was alone waiting for him to come back and save me from my hell.

Later in high school, I was relentlessly teased by a group of guys in my year. I have no idea why they chose me over anyone else, but they did. They would sit several tables behind me in Physics class and throw stuff at me, whisper insults and what not. I made it worse that winter (this was senior year) by doing something really stupid with a guy, and everyone found out about it. So the teasing excellerated. It got to the point that I wouldn't even be in a room and people would be talking shit about me (and let's take a moment to thank NJ Dutcher, who actually stood up in the middle of class - one that I was not in - and yelled at the entire room for talking shit about me. And we weren't even friends.)

Aside from slamming Phil Zwingelberg up against a locker by his throat and threatening to rip his balls off, I cried mostly to myself.

The worst part: my sister, who was still in middle school, heard about it from some random girls at her school. Then my mom found out about it. It was bad.

So when I read this article about a girl killing herself because of the cruelty of her classmates, it made me remember how it felt to be teased. And how damn lucky I was, and am, that I didn't kill myself. That I didn't hurt myself. I thank God every day for blessing me with good parents and good friends to help me get through these things.

I wish that I could walk down to Mississippi and smack that school across the face. I wish I could just go out to South Hadley and punch every person responsible for this girl's death. I am crossing my fingers that they all get what's coming to them. I am disappointed in myself for not my first thought not being for Constance and the family of Phoebe Prince being able to find peace.

So dear readers, just remember that we're all different. And beautiful. We all deserve to be treated equally. And to be loved.

On Being a "Grown-Up"

I turned twenty eight in October.

Now, twenty eight may be an anti-climactic age, but this time in my life... I'm starting to feel like I'm actually a real adult. I'm not sure if I like it, but I've accepted it.

I've been younger than my peers for a long time, and it always made me feel like a kid trying her hand at being an adult. In grad school almost all of my classmates were older than me, and I still felt stuck in that college mode of having a good time and looking out for number one (it's a symptom of my generation... we're all narcissists). The thing is, even though I was having a good time, I worked hard. I am proud to say that I earned my MFA (a terminal degree in my field) before I was 25 years old, moved in to a position that was created for me and then transitioned in to what was, at the time, my dream job. I was barely a year or two older than people who, in some senses, worked for me. My first intern, in fact, was actually four months OLDER than me!

 Denny Chimes at University of Alabama, 

where I earned my MFA.

Then, last May, I was let go from that job, and I was heart broken. It was the sort of job that left me working nearly 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. When I wasn't actually at work, I could get phone calls or be THINKING about work. At the end of my time with that company I was looking for a new job, and I wanted nothing more than to leave, but my deep love for the people and the organization kept me tied there far longer than I needed to be. Though every once in a while memories tug at my heart strings, I have no ill feelings and still think about that company and wish them well

It's been an interesting (almost) year, to say the least. Since being let go I was able to, for the first time in nearly five years, relax. I actually took a vacation in Atlantic City with my family and got to see some friends in New York. I spent time really thinking about what I wanted to do with my life and if I really wanted to stay in the low-paying long-hours world of non-profit arts organizations (the answer - an unequivocal yes).

I applied for jobs across the DC/Baltimore metropolitan area and in New Jersey, Texas, New York, Pennsylvania, and beyond and ended up working in my own backyard in a position that is giving me some of the best hands-on experience I could ever ask for as an young arts administrator. I will leave this job (years from now) with a whole new knowledge base that I never had before.

So, I've been at my current job for more than six months, and though I'm still learning, I'm really enjoying it.
I've also learned that at the end of the day, it's ok to just walk away.

You know what else makes me feel like a grown-up?

I have roots.

I've been a Girl Scout Leader for the last three  years, but have really invested my heart and soul in to it this year.

I've joined the Young Professionals Network of Howard County - part of the local Chamber of Commerce. I also applied to be part of their "steering team" and after an interview process, I just found out that I got the position.

I attended my ten year high school reunion back in November, and I'm trying to reconnect with old friends as best I can. I finally got to have dinner with a bunch of people I hadn't seen in YEARS and it was awesome. 

I've made time for a social life and have a great group of friends that seem to find me really funny (who knew?).

I've developed a love for baking (how domestic of me!)

And, the craziest thing? I made an offer on a townhouse. I could actually be buying a home in the next month or so... just waiting on word from the bank to find out if they'll approve the sale and Keith and I could be moving in as little as 30 days from when everything is final.

 This could be my new house!

Almost 11 months after being let go from what I thought was my dream job, and I have found myself in a place in life that I never expected.

And you know what? It feels pretty good.

What, exactly, is "crazy?"

Before I start writing the rest of the post, I have to let you know a fact about me: I am NOT crazy.

I like to consider myself someone who thinks/writes/acts with my stream of consciousness. If something comes to my mind, I say it or write it. That leads a lot of people to find me funny (not narcissistic, just a fact) because, as they tell me I'm quite quick witted. I think I just have an overactive imagination.


Now here's the thing:

Some of the thoughts that occur in my head I have to seriously consider this question "if I say this out loud, will people actually think I'm insane?"

Whenever I'm in an elevator alone, I may do something weird like sing to myself or dance, and then I automatically think "gosh, what if someone were watching me right now... what would they think of me?"

Sometimes I'll be driving my car and think about what would happen if I suddenly turned my wheel sharply and hit another car or a tree. Some people may also think those thoughts, but that's where they stop. Me? Then I think about hitting that tree, rolling my car over, rolling in to a ditch, and breaking my leg. It's always breaking my leg for some reason.

When I was younger, I used to have this regular thought whenever I would use the restroom that a snake or other lizard type animal would come out of the toilet and bite my rear end.

Last night, in fact, I was crawling in to bed, and I thought about what would happen if I stepped on a mouse. Granted, I thought about that because we recently had a mouse sighting in my apartment.

Seriously. Who thinks about this stuff?

Oh, yeah. I guess it's me.

My boyfriend has learned to live with it and love me regardless...in fact, he occasionally finds it endearing. He reminds me, however, that every once in a while I need to think about things in my head before I say them so that I don't come off as a crazy person.