Greg

It's been 17 days since I unexpectedly lost the love of my life.  It's been one week since I saw him for the last time... laying peacefully in a beautiful silver-gray casket, looking the same as he did when he used to lie next to me at night. A week since I last got to run my hand through his hair and tell him goodbye, making sure to send tears with him.  A week since my first time speaking at a funeral.

This was my eulogy.

My name is Erica, and I was Greg's.

I  haven’t been to many funerals, and I’ve never spoken at one before.
I’ve been lucky enough that up until now, the most tragic loss I’ve suffered was 4 months ago when my cat died suddenly and unexpectedly while I was here in Michigan, moving Greg in. I remember he held me as I lay in a heap on his empty apartment floor just after receiving the news. And here I had thought- this is the worst loss I could experience.  No.  This--- of all the people in all the world, there is no greater loss for me than Greg Reuter.

I met Greg almost 4 years ago. It was clear right away that he was going to play a very special role in my life.  We were immediately drawn to each other, and over the years we formed a bond unlike anything I’ve ever shared with another person.

Greg easily and quickly became my mentor, my best friend, and eventually the love of my life. More so than all of that, he was my rock, Keeping me grounded in a world that is often too overwhelming for me.

For years, Greg was my everything.  We spoke every single day and there was absolutely nothing I couldn’t tell him. I’ve lost count of the amount of times and different ways that Greg has been there for me. I worked hard to do the same for him.

I am so blessed to have shared the love with Greg that I did. I was truly enamored with him, and got to see sides of him no one else did. But through our many ups and downs one thing was always certain- my heart was his, and I loved him so much. No one has ever made me feel more beautiful or cherished than Greg. He loved me in the unconditional way I had always hoped for.
He was so gentle and comforting when life called for it- he had this light touch, I called it his super touch, that he would rub my back with when I was upset and instantly, everything would be better. THAT is what Greg did- he made Everything BETTER.

Perhaps one of the biggest impacts Greg made on my life, was through his belief in me. It’s a tough business we’re in, and I was star struck by Greg from the start. 8 Broadway Shows?!  It was astounding.
  Here was this man with so much success and experience, what business did I have associating myself with him?  And yet- for whatever reason, Greg became laser-focus fixated on my ability, and obsessed with bringing out the best in me. Over and over he expressed his belief in me- he was so fervent in his expression.  He wasn’t the first person to tell me that he thought I could succeed---
But he was the first person to FINALLY make me BELIEVE IT.

With Greg by my side, cheering me on, I finally (after 4 years of struggling) started to find success.  Every accomplishment I’ve had these past 4 years has been because of Greg Reuter. And he was there for every single one of them, to hold me tight and say “I told you so.”
Aside from my parents, I’ve never had anyone express such pride for me. No one on Earth has ever made me feel as valuable as Greg did.
He dedicated his last few years to helping me succeed, he was the biggest champion for me, and I simply would not be where I am or who I am today without him.

For every success there were of course dozens of failures.  And through each one, Greg was there to pick me back up. I called him on at LEAST a monthly basis to cry about wanting to quit. The last time I did so was 2 weeks ago.
And for the thousandth time he repeated his mantra: “I will not let you give up. I know you’ve got what it takes. We are going to make this happen for you. I BELIEVE IN YOU.” No one has ever said those 4 words more or made me believe them like he did.

And now, I HAVE to go on and do it for him.  I honestly don’t know how to do it without him, but I cannot give up until I prove him right. And I KNOW he is going to still be there every step of the way. If I know Greg, and the way he always wanted to be by my side, I have to believe that he has found his way to be here now. His influence on me will continue, and he will be in every note of every song that I sing and in everything I do, now and forever. I will continue spending my life working to make him proud.

He was the light of my life, and my world is darker without him. But I am so grateful to have shared part of my life with him, his love is one of the greatest blessings I’ve ever received. I am better for it, and I will cherish what we had forever.

I promise you babe… I will keep going for you.  Everything from here on out is for you. Thank you for touching my life, for showing me real love, for believing in me and for making me better. I love you and miss you forever. 

Little Wooden Box

                                  Little Wooden Box
                                           by Erica Lustig

When I would lay with you at night, I’d count all of your parts

and I’d tell you how I loved each one with all my soul and heart.

How I loved your little perfect nose, tiny, pink and wet.

How I loved your long long whiskers and that face I can’t forget.

How I loved your kitten toes, some were pink and some were black.

How I loved your gorgeous yellow eyes, which always loved me back.

How I loved your big fat belly, warm and coated with soft fur.

How I loved your silly meow and loved it best when you would purr.

How I loved to hold your tiny paws and scratch behind your ears,

How you only got more handsome and more regal through the years.

How I loved your broken tail, slightly crooked at it’s end

How I loved to wrap my arms around my best furry friend.

I would kiss each part before I told you how I loved you so

you would curl up in my arms at night and stay there til I woke.

Now all of those parts I used to love and point out with such joy

have been turned into a pile of ashes, all I loved destroyed.

That heart which used to beat so strong, now it doesn’t exist.

Each tiny perfect part of you I’ll never again kiss.

And the tears I cried into your fur, they’re mixed up in the ash,

Along with 10 full years of love that went by in a flash.

If I could have you back again I’d reset all the clocks

but instead I have to hold you in a little wooden box.

This box holds a collection of the most amazing parts

And along with every bit of you, a dear piece of my heart.

R.I.P Onyx

2003-2014

Onyx

           After a freak and unfortunate series of unexpected events at the vet while I was away, my cat has been dead for 2 weeks as of yesterday. People keep asking me how I'm doing. "Hanging in there" I say- because there really is no proper response to such a question. How am I doing? How would anyone be doing when their world has been shaken in this way? When the small, loving, innocent creature that became so much a part of my life that I cannot remember a day without him was here gazing up at me with his beautiful, vibrant, adoring and alive eyes one day and then a few days later, no longer existed in the world? There is nothing else to do but "hang in there"... I hang around waiting for a day when my apartment won't feel so empty and lonely. Some moments I feel as though I'm physically being hung... Like invisible hands or rope are wrapped around my neck and everything is closing in and it's hard to breath. These moments come from nowhere. And I'm stuck hanging in that moment, waiting for the wave to pass. I can imagine how ridiculous I might sound to some. I myself may have rolled my eyes at such prolonged sorrow before having gone through it myself. He was a cat after all. But that "just a cat"- oh he was my whole life. Some days I took it completely for-granted and for each of those days I have shed hundreds of tears and probably will continue to for a long while. That cat- he was simultaneously best friend, son, therapist, dependent, brother, baby and  love of my life.  
           I never knew what it was like to have a cat before Onyx. Growing up I had always wanted one but my father greatly disliked cats. "You can have a cat when you don't live in my house" he would say when I would beg to take home one of my neighbors kittens. So, that's  precisely what I did. The very first place I got on my own, my first order of business was to go out and get myself that kitten I'd always wanted. But at that time it wasn't just "oh I want a pet". I was in dire need of companionship. Onyx came into my life at one of the lowest and most desperate points I have suffered thus far. I had an incredibly hard first year and a half of college. With the pain, depression and hardship I faced during that time, I fell into a deep and dark place in my mind. That dark place lead me to behaviors that I do not talk about to this day but that will always stay with me. Those behaviors lead to the inevitable loss of the dearest and only friends that I had at that time (justified loss, I was at fault). It also cost me my home at the University as I became a liability for them and suddenly I was faced with a choice- quit school or move out into an apartment by myself and stick through it in spite of all I was going through. Somehow in that moment of choice I was granted the strength to choose to stay- and away I went into my very first (and only) apartment by myself. The biggest problem with this was- I was terribly codependent at that point in my life. Like, couldn't go to the snack machine without a buddy codependent. How would I ever handle living on my own? It was unfathomable. And thus, a companion was required. Straight to the local ASPCA I marched, and home with me came the tiniest, squirreliest little tuxedo kitten. I had wanted a girl and thought I had one all picked out but because of a mix-up I wound up with this little boy- what would become one of the happiest mistakes of my life.        

I didn't know how to be with a cat in the beginning as this was my first experience. I'd be lying if I said i remembered much of the start. It was over 10 years ago and I wasn't in my right mind. But I remember little things. He was active. He would play with and try to eat people's hair. He slept in bed with me. He was adorable. Soon we settled into life together and he made my pain of being alone and having to make all new friends that much more bearable. No matter what I went through, I always had that love to come home to, and it was always enough to keep me going. That was just the first time he saved my life. Throughout the following 10 years, whenever great pain struck my heart and I found myself on the ground in a heap, sobbing, he was there. Countless number of times I sobbed into his fur. Eventually it became his one pet peeve- he was rarely violent except for when he heard loud crying. One time I sat in my bed crying over a boy.... loudly... And he hopped up, walked over to me slowly, and bit my face. As if to say- "enough already." I punished him big time, I was so angry. And hurt. But hey, he took my mind off that boy for a minute!
 In spite of that though, he still let me cry a lot. He was always there, he had no choice. But whenever I was down I could hold him in my arms and he would purr and nuzzle me. We would sit in silence and love each other and his love would seep in and plug up the holes in my heart. He had a magic for that that no one else does. So many men came in and out of my life but I would hold him through each broken heart and say "you're the only boy that matters, the only one that will never leave me".   
And then, he did. Not by his choice I know. Everything dies. But just as I was off saying goodbye to one more love and expecting to come home to my most important boy who I knew would carry me through it... Everything changed forever. 

         So now I sit here, the most massive hole I think I've ever felt in my heart- and no fur to cry into. No inquisitive little boy hopping up to keep me company. Nothing to hold in my arms as I fall asleep at night. (The song I sang for him in my solo show- "why won't you cuddle", was actually a huge lie. He cuddled me every single night I spent with him for the last few years.)  I hit the last few steps of the stairwell outside my door and pause, waiting to hear his expectant meow. He always knew my footsteps on the stairs and would start the greetings long before I walked in. But it is silent. I turn the key and open the door waiting to see that funny face so thrilled to see me, and it isn't there. I sit on the couch and can't help glancing over at his favorite spots- nothing. I replay the last time I saw him in my mind- sitting on the edge of the orange couch, just watching me leave again. I had been gone from him so long (I imagine 4 weeks feels like an eternity for a cat.) and here I was, in and out again, another suitcase in hand. Thank God the first thing I did when I got home that night was hold him. But I can't remember if I actually went over and kissed him goodbye before walking out. I know I said "see you in a few days". I couldn't WAIT to get back and FINALLY spend some real time with him again. It was only 4 days, I could've never imagined that I wouldn't get to. But we don't get a say in these things. He is not on that spot on the couch anymore. He is not in my bed with me as he always would be when I was here. He doesn't follow me into the bathroom to lick the condensation off of the shower. Doesn't beg to drink from the kitchen sink. I look and I look but he is nowhere to be found. And I am left feeling empty, and broken.... A piece of me gone forever. 

        That boy, that gift that kept on giving... Brought so much joy and love into my life. Helped me through so many rough spots. Loved me unconditionally in the way that only a pet can. He gave me a reason to be happy and excited to get home every day, alone or not. Because I was never alone so long as he was there. I miss him in a way I can't really put into words, a way that shakes me to my core. I don't know when it will stop hurting. I'm secretly fearful of him fading away into distant memory. But for now it is fresh and I think about him every day, wherever he may be. I will continue to honor his memory and keep hanging in there, because I have no choice. But my life is forever changed without that sweet little boy. Last week I said my final goodbye and sobbed into his fur one last time, and those tears will make it into the urn I collect next week that holds what is left of him. And with those remains and those tears, will also be the piece of my heart that he has held since the first day I held him.

Rest in Peace my sweet boy, I love and miss you forever.

An Actor's Life: A Tale of Madness

An actors life: A Tale of Madness

I want to share the story of my morning. Today is an audition day, one which I'm partaking in mostly out of guilt, which is what a lot of them are for me. When I haven't auditioned in a while I start to panic- what am I doing with my life? I'm pushing 30... I've been in NYC for 7 years now doing this starving artist "thing". Other girls my age have husbands and real jobs with real salaries, some have multiple children. Most seem to have stability. Me? I moonlight as a karaoke hostess on weekends and struggle to keep my cat alive. The only thing that's certain in my life is my unhealthy addiction to carbs and Starbucks, which I shouldn't be wasting what little money I have on. But I am an "actress", or so my unemployment form says... This is what i came to this crazy city to do so I will force myself to go to auditions even when they are for things I KNOW aren't really casting or may not be that right for me, just so I can pat myself on the back later and say "hey good for you, you're doing what you set out to!" and then have an excuse to eat my celebratory Quiznos.
This morning started out much like the others.... I set my alarm for 7:38and off it went. I woke up with a start- "Who? What? Why? When did I get a cat? This can't be right!... Oh yea." It's been ages since I woke up before 9am so it took a minute to get focused but then I was up, putting my sneakers on (I sleep in the next days outfit when I know I have to sign up early. Don't judge, you do it too.) and brushing my teeth. With a yogurt in hand I trek bravely out into Times Square. Side note: I made the brilliant yet sometimes huge pain in the ass move to 8th ave and 43rd street a year ago. Living on the border of Times Square, above a porn shop and next to a strip club no less, has as many downs as you can imagine. But the one major perk is that on audition days, I need to stumble no more than 10 minutes to get to any audition. That makes it all worth it, if you can get past the fact that everyone thinks I'm a stripper when I exit my apartment and there's an occasional police shooting outside my door. But I digress. Here I am, hoofin it to the Actors Equity building. Past the crazies camping out outside of broadway shows hoping for rush tickets, past the people cleaning Times Square, past the Jamaican guys yelling at me about taking a bus tour. I stride into the equity building, card in hand, at 8:05- Just about an hour before "sign up", because this one is expected to get crazy. Once I hit the 16th floor and walk in, I'm greeted by the nice guy that works at Equity (you know the one), asking me if I'm here to dance. Clearly,  he's never met me. No sir I say, I'm here for Encores... And then it dawns on me that something is very not right here. I had expected to see a line snaking through the place all the way to the elevator. I had seen no such line. "Oh that's not here today.... I think... Yea it's at Pearl". Of course it is. Because we as actors have one of the easiest, no brainer jobs in existence. I barely had to take an academic to get a college degree in theatre. There are very few things expected of us simple minded creatures.... We just have to know what we're going to audition for, what we're bringing to sing, what to wear, what time to show up and WHERE TO GO. That's it. And yet as usual, that's just a little too much for poor little ol' me. It was just a matter of checking my schedule because I wrote it down but c'mon, that would've been too easy and make for a far less exciting story.
So now, your brainless heroine must frantically rush from one studio to another. Off I go back into the throngs of people in Times Square, and I'm on a mad dash to Pearl Studios, 11 blocks away. It's now 8:15, which is when I wanted to be happily settled in line. I get myself back to 8th avenue which, in the 30s, doubles as the pits of hell. Weaving in and out of people headed to work/taking pictures of buildings/looking for their next crack fix... I try and get my breath moving like that of a runner (considering I don't run unless something is chasing me, this is an impossible task). I imagine the line at Pearl getting impossibly long and I curse myself for making this mistake. Around 40th street I glance to my left and notice another young woman. Must be an actress. She's clutching an iced coffee, walking very briskly, and she's double bagging it. (Carrying two tote bags, not grocery shopping.) Yes, no doubt you are an actress and you are headed to the same place as me. I rev my engine, and we start to race. She picks up pace and is walking impossibly fast and I imagine her getting into line and some omnipotent being cutting me off right after and saying "audition closed." I quicken my pace. We are bobbing and weaving through the crowd, neck and neck with each other. My shoe comes untied. "Fuck it" I think. I can't miss this. I frantically stumble-power-walk down 8th avenue with this woman right on my heels, sheer determination powering me forward. At 36th street, just before our destination has been reached, she turns left. Clearly, not on her way to the audition. Clearly just a normal 30 something, on her way to work where she probably has unlimited breakfast options and pictures of an attractive husband taped up in her cubicle waiting for her. I shake my head. I just walked (ran) 5 blocks with my SHOE UNTIED. This is when I come to the realization- I AM BECOMING ONE OF THOSE CRAZY ACTORS. The ones that I'm usually sitting back making fun of... The girls that carry a headshot and a curling iron with them everywhere they go. Who eyeball you up and down when you enter a holding room and are hesitant to tell you where the end of the line is. These creatures that I have marveled at for years... I have just exhibited some of their manic behavior! This business is turning me slightly psychotic! I mean... I'm racing strangers in the streets with my shoes untied!! But as quickly as I come to this realization I also identify what's behind it. It's because as each day passes I feel a little more desperate. Desperate to get a job. To prove myself. To be reminded that I've got whatever it takes to make it in this business (minus dance skills, oops my bad.) It's because with every audition you show up to and find hundreds of people at who are just as eager as you, it starts to feel a little bit impossible that you will succeed over all hundreds of them. Because most of the time, you don't. And it is that hunger, that drive that breeds the desperation which turns us crazy. But I do not want to be crazy. I did a stint with that back in college and it just wasn't fun, I'm not interested. I want to keep my cool. I want to go back to remembering that there is room for everyone somewhere, some time. We can't all win simultaneously but I have had my winning moments before and God willing there will be more in the future when the timing is right. No drag races necessary. I arrive at my audition to find a small and sensible line. I take my place at the end of it, and begin to write this blog. Because I want to remind myself of that time I went a little bit batshit, and how unnecessary it was. Even if the girl in the street HAD been on her way to this audition, there was plenty of room for everyone. We would've sat next to each other and probably started up a conversation. And as it turns out, from the one person behind the table in said audition pretty much ignoring me, I was able to deduce that they definitely weren't really "looking" today. But hey- at least I showed up. Did what I was supposed to do. And that Quiznos was delicious. 

The End Of The World

So today was supposed to be the end of the world. And there are some people that are maybe a little bit disappointed that the end didn't actually happen. And many more that are laughing at the "crazies" who we're preparing for this day. Obviously we are all still here, so the so called "end" seems to not have come. But hear me out.... I'm daring to say that the world HAS come to an end. That is- the world, as we've known it, is coming to an end. It didn't all happen today, its been a gradual ending, and in fact it's not completely finished, but I believe that the world as we've known it is ending. This year we have taken strides regarding equality, particularly that concerning gay rights and marriage. There is more acceptance and freedom to love now than there has ever been in my lifetime. Last week we witnessed a God-awful tragedy but as a result there has been talk about gun control and better care for the mentally ill.  We saw people banding together through national disasters this year, supporting and lifting each other in times of need. And did I mention gay marriage? This is huge. The most religious nuts who have spent this year warning everyone of impending doom- they are the ones who's world is ending today. Because I see us continuing to move up up up in the right direction, and it is a direction most of them are against and don't want to see happen. But If that is what the end of the world means- then let the world end. Let us say goodbye to the world as it was and welcome the new world- a world where love trumps hatred, where slowly but surely the message of Peace continues to flourish, where we truly listen to and help each other. Where we can hopefully one day see an end to bullying and perhaps avoid tragedies like the one in Newtown.  I whole heartedly acknowledge the end of the world and say goodbye to the way things have been, and welcome a new, better and more positive world. 

Sending love and peace to everyone this holiday season. Don't forgot to spread love to those around you. 

On bullying...

So I've got a shocking fact for you that you will find completely hard if not impossible to believe (I know I do)....... it has been ten years since I graduated high school. TEN YEARS!  Which of course means that a few weeks ago, I was summoned to the almighty ten year high school reunion.  Now I had always envisioned that I would go to my reunion, it never crossed my mind that I would miss it. I mean 10 years ago when I imagined going to the reunion I thought "It'll be GREAT!  I'll finally have gained some weight and grown boobs, i'll be married to some hot rich guy, I'll be a broadway star- everyone will envy me!"  And now 10 years later, while I've thankfully put on at least a few pounds and sprouted some boobage, I find myself completely lacking in the hot rich man department and so far I'm only an Off-Broadway "star". But screw it, I went anyway. For a second I thought about Romy and Michelle-ing it and telling everyone I have a Tony Award but then remembered how the lying in that movie went for them and reminded myself that I don't have a fierce 3 person dance number to break into if I get caught, so I just stuck with the truth.  And you know what? I still had so much to be proud of.  This was the first time I've ever been in a high school setting and felt completely comfortable.  And even with a stress fractured foot and recovering from a stomach virus I caught that morning- I still looked and felt pretty awesome. So all in all, I'm glad I went.  All of the nostalgia of touring my high school and seeing old familiar faces caused me to go home and get all sappy with my yearbooks. I actually enjoyed high school for the most part, it's where I discovered my flair for the dramatic and got super into the whole Thespian thing, which allowed me to embrace my totally weird self and be proud of who I was blah blah blah.  But it was dipping into my middle school yearbooks that made me recall a completely different and obviously repressed part of my life. We hear stories of bullying all of the time now, and I'm glad it's being brought to the forefront and that there are now campaigns against it. Because I had tucked my memories of being bullied soooo far away not even Jack Bauer could access them. That doesn't mean they're not there though, and I found some nasty reminders of it, which brought me back to this blog today.

I was picked on in middle school.  Shocker, right? I feel like 90% of people were picked on in middle school. The other 10% were the a-holes doing the bullying, and hopefully most of them are fat and bald now with nothing to show for themselves. That's just how I always envisioned it would be. I was a very skinny and gangly kid with huge frizzy hair and a mouth full of braces.  Don't believe me? 

Behold, Exhibit A. 

I share this with you only because I'm confident enough with myself now that I no longer mind if you laugh at me. I'd laugh at me too. I mean, it was pretty rough. Along with the boyish good looks and finger-in-an-electric-socket hair, I also had a rockin' sense of style:

(also some of the only proof that I was once a brunette.)

So yes, did I "deserve" to get picked on?  I'd say I made pretty good bully meat. But still, this really doesn't serve as a great excuse. The truth is, there is no excuse for bullying. Because to put it scientifically: It is just douchey. I was mostly picked on for being thin, which I've always been. I was accused of eating disorders from age 11 up, even when I didn't know or understand what they were. But I assure you loyal readers, I consumed more McDonalds cheeseburgers in high school than Snooki consumed alcohol on the Jersey Shore.  I am eating disorder free, unless you count an obsession with carbohydrates as an eating disorder. If that's the case, call me Calista Flockhart. (Ah see, here I go bullying! Which defeats my point! I take it back Calista, you are beautiful and far more successful than I will probably ever be.) 

I digress. (What's new?) Whilst reading the signatures in my middle school yearbook, there were a few here and there that referenced my weight (or lack there of.) People lovingly nicknaming me "Skinny Bones", "Bones", etc. A couple people telling me to please eat something, or "Eat a burger". (I STILL get that and it annoys me more than anything but I'll save that for another blog.) But then I rolled across one gem which brought memories of emotional torture rolling back to me: My bus bully, Mitch Sklawer.

Like I said, I repressed most of the bad memories of middle school. Hell, I seem to have repressed most of the good ones too, or maybe I'm just that old and can't remember. It WAS 15 years ago. But there was this one obnoxious 9th grader on my bus when I was a wee 7th grader and newbie to Palmetto Middle School. His name was Mitch Sklawer, and for lack of a better word (which he doesn't deserve): He was a dick.

I can't remember specifics, nor do I want to. But I remember dreading taking the bus every day. Trying to stay out of his way and be invisible so as not to get picked on. And worst of all, never standing up for myself. How I wish I could go back in time, frizzy hair and all, and tell him off. But we can't know our own strengths when we're in that awkward phase of our lives. And even the kids that talk back get continuously tortured. That's how bullies work. This is the message Mitch left me in my 7th grade yearbook:

It may not look like much, but I can still hear his dickish voice saying such things to me. I used to always sit and fantasize that one day, I would have my revenge. My retribution. That yes maybe I was awkward, but it wouldn't always be that way... and one day I'd "show him".  15 years later, I don't really care anymore. However I DID decide to facebook stalk Mr. Sklawer, to see where he's at now, and I was very pleased to find that 15 years later, he is still as unattractive as ever.  

So, I suppose this blog is my retribution. I will happily say Thank you Mitch, I DID keep up with the small clothes, and I do indeed look better. Much better. And you sir, do not. And I'm willing to put money on it that you're probably still a dick.  So all in all, I win.

I found another one of my "bullies" in the yearbook, a girl who constantly made me feel like crap about myself, and was reminded that she totally looked like a warthog. I'll refrain from sharing names because she may one day come across this, and completely outing one bully is enough for one blog (Lucky you Mitch.) But my mother reminded me that in high school, this warthog of a girl said to me "You know why I didn't like you in middle school? Because you had frizzy hair." I SO wish that I could go back to that moment and respond "Well, I can fix my hair, but you can't fix your face. So, you lose."  Facebook shows that she is still warthoggy, just a more mature warthoggy. That's the most ironic part about bullies- they're usually ugly and awkward too. They are just ugly and awkward with big mouths who decide to beat everyone else to it by being the first to start being mean, so that no one will call them out on their lesser points. I like to think they get theirs when they get older. I mean, it can't be easy growing up looking like a warthog. I know I sound bitter, and I think I deserve to be just a little bit, because it seriously sucks to get picked on, and sucks worse when you think of great quippy responses 12 years later.

To all the kids currently going through it out there, being bullied- just remember this. Your "Mitch Sklawers" will also grow up to be ugly.  If not physically, most people don't ever get the ugly out of their hearts. And there is nothing worse in this world than an ugly heart.  So hold on and know that "This too shall pass" (which was my quote underneath my picture in the 8th grade yearbook when I was graduating middle school. I was a wise one at 13.)  And to the bullies- think twice before you pick on the skinny kid. Or the fat kid. Or the frizzy hair or busted teeth or stutterers... there's a good chance they will grow up to be cooler/hotter/more successful than you.  We all have to go through an awkward phase, and it sucks to peak in middle or high school. No one has it easy when they're young, no sense in making it even harder for those who are still waiting to come out of their shells. Nicer kids are always, ALWAYS the cooler kids. Period.

 

Ten years later. Suck it Sklawer.

Me at my 10 year high school reunion with old drama class friends Kate and Sam.

The Hunger(y for love) Games

Well, it appears as though over a year ago I tried to start a "30 day blogging challenge" and I got about 3 blogs in before said "challenge" sunk my blog. I guess being told what I had to write about intimidated me in much the same way it did when I took my SAT's 100 years ago.  So I just stopped writing.  And now, over a year later... what is it that brings my back to my good old trusty blog? Why it's that pesky old twenty-something angst... that annoying life ingredient that sends most of us out to find ways creative to vent/cope. Some people indulge in drugs, some in drunken karaoke nights... tonight, I choose to blog.
You know what's an overdone topic of complaint in this world? Girls in their late twenties struggling to find love in a massive city filled with obstacles at every turn. Know what I am? .... That. (well, early twenties if you're a casting director reading this. "Can play high school.")  The last thing the internet world needs is another blog whining about how hard it is to find love. And to that point I say- fuck you this is my blog and I need to write this to get it out, damnit.
It's funny... we go through these spurts in life. When I had the boyfriend, I wanted the career to pick up. When I lost the boyfriend, I desperately wanted the boyfriend back. When I finally let go of the idea that I would ever get back with the boyfriend (and in retrospect, thank GOD that never happened), the career started to pick up. Now that the career seems to be moving in the right direction- I'm lonely. What the? Why are we so damned needy and never quite 100% satisfied?? And is it possible to have both? Well in my desperation for both, I have made some pretty stupid decisions in the last year in the men department. I'll go into more detail of that in my memoirs in a few years but let's just say, I've made decisions that I'm not all that proud of. I've surprised even myself, and I find myself worse for wear now when all is said and done.  Do I regret my bad choices? No. I try to have no regrets and I chock it up to life experience. Am I done making my bad decisions? No, not until I find something better to take said bad decisions place.  But damn, it's tough out there.  In a moment of hormonal late-twenties panic a few weeks ago, I joined an online dating site on a whim. Now I KNOW what you're thinking... Erica, haven't we been through this already? Don't you already have an entire blog entry about the very harrowing subject of online dating?  And to you I say... fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice... what the hell am I doing?  Yes! It's true. I already KNEW what a mess I was subscribing to when I clicked "Join".  And yet... that is how desperate I am feeling right now.  So once again I have thrown myself to the barracudas disguised in cheesy usernames, blurry pictures and trying-too-hard self summaries. And already a few weeks later, I'm regretting it. I feel more hopeless than ever as I sift through message after message and feel like the most shallow person on Earth judging people solely on their pictures. Last week I threw myself into dating much like a gladiator throwing himself into a lion's den. So far, all I've gotten out of it is a couple of free coffee's and dinner. One lawyer/mathematician I went out with pummeled me so hard with question after question, cutting off my answers mid-way through with a new inquiry- that I wasn't sure if I was on a date or on the witness stand. I started looking for an out when he pointed at my hair and said "so what's the deal with that, is that real?" (regarding my color.)  Ah, be-still my heart. And he's just one of many winners. I'm trying to practice all of these "give people a chance" principles I'm learning in my latest self-help book. But damn, some of these guys make it real hard.  I'm already ready to be done with the online dating because it feels like an annoying chore, but I may stay on it SOLELY for entertainment purposes and maybe because it will get me blogging again.
I wish I wasn't this lonely. I wish I could kick that stupid feeling and just continue to go around kicking ass as a single gal all day every day.  And most of the time when I'm busy, it's all good, I'm totally okay. But it's moments when I'm alone, usually at night, that I start to get all Meg Ryan on myself.  It really would be nice to find the proper companion.  And I want to find him, I really do- as jaded and "independent woman" as I try to be.  So I'm going to keep searching dangit. Maybe not for long on the interwebs because I really don't see that working out... but by continuing to do what I love with my life in hopes that it will also put me on that path where I will run smack dab into him when the timing is right. (I just hope he's better looking than Tom Hanks.)
Stay tuned for more interesting "dating" stories....