Archive | January, 2012

A Beautiful Reunion.

23 Jan

In almost exactly two months I may very well get to return, once more, to Cortona, Tuscany. This had been the plan almost a year ago, but due to expenses and the fact that he’s currently trying to put two kids through college, my dad nixed this idea at the end of last summer. I’ve been bugging him though, as of late, about where we’re going. Spending last spring break in Disneyland made me realize just how much I miss vacationing with my family, which is still a somewhat strange concept to me. My family hasn’t vacationed much since, well, our last trip to Italy back during mine and Anthony’s junior year of high school. To be fair, we were sort of at that age of rebellion and angst and not listening to rules and basically being annoying teenagers who constantly fought with our parent, so extravagant vacationing stopped pretty swiftly around that time (also due to college, expenses, free time, etc.), but Disneyland gave me a new perspective. Since I’ve grown up, my father and I have garnered a pretty great relationship, and my brother and I barely fight as much as we did back in the day. I think our Disneyland trip was a really great experience for us as a family (except for when we were trying to sleep, since we shared a room and we’re a family of snorers, so someone was always grumpy and sleepless). We all get along a whole lot better now, and I really do chalk that up to the fact that Anthony and I are no longer angsty, ridiculous high schoolers.

So I’ve been eager to see if we were going to go somewhere together again. I’ve been heavily impressing on the fact that I’ve been aching to go somewhere out of the USA, and I guess my dad took the hint. Last time we were on the phone I brought up spring break and he asked me where I wanted to go. My response was, “Well, somewhere warm would be nice. Oh! And with a beach!” He then swiftly responded with, “Well, I don’t think there’s a beach in Italy, so I guess I better plan for something else…” I then flipped out upon hearing this. Of course, this trip’s not set in stone, but it sounds like it’s very much going to happen so long as nothing leading up to the break falls through.

It will have been five years since I was last in Cortona, but I can still remember it so vividly. The steep hills. The language. The cathedral. The sunflowers. The food. The wine. The sunsets. The quaint shops. The everything.

It would be an understatement to say that I am excited.

I am excited to return to Italy as a woman, no longer the naive child that I was when I first ventured there. I am excited to be able to explore the city all on my own, no longer in need of my father’s watchful gaze. I am excited to go back to the restaurants we dined at. I am excited to see if the nice British chap still works at Cafe 500, where my brother and I bought hot cocoa from every day of our stay. I am excited to drink good wine. I am excited to actually have money of my own to spend, no longer depending on my father to fund me. I am excited to be totally girly in Italy, unlike my last visit when I was still incredibly tom boyish. I am excited to wear dresses. I am excited to stay in the exact same villa we stayed in before. I am excited to stand on the balcony, at night, taking in the quiet nightlife of the village. I am excited to hike up the hills beyond the town. I am excited to photograph anything and everything I see. I am excited to go out drinking with my brother, just like he promised we would if we ever returned. I am excited to see if I can catch the eye of a cute Italian boy. I am excited to sit in Cafe 500 and just read and write. I am excited to start reteaching myself basic Italian over the course of the next two months and use it as much as possible in Cortona. I am excited to interact with the people. I am excited to see the sunflowers once more.

Yes. I am so very excited.

But most of all, I am excited to re-experience Italy. Last time I went I was sixteen, and while I was wowed and dazzled by the foreigness and culture, I didn’t really retain any of it. I was in Italy, but it never really hit me. I walked around with my dad, poked around some shops, spent a day or two taking hundreds of photographs, but thinking back on my experience I realize I spent a lot of time cooped up in my room reading. I also was at the computer center every other day catching up on facebook and myspace, when I could have been doing something far more marvelous with my time. I was a baby then; I hadn’t matured. I had a very weak perception on life, and I didn’t fully appreciate the great gift that was given to me: the gift of culture.

Well, this time is going to be different. I’m going to walk the entire city, by myself. I’m going to go in all the shops (not a difficult task, seeing as it’s a small town). I’m going to not touch a computer (yes! you heard me!) the entire time I am there. I’m going to still read, but instead of reading in my tiny room, I will read in/on/by cafes, restaurants, street corners, fields, fountains, so I can take in the atmosphere will I indulge in a good book. I’m going to take so many pictures and eat so much food and have so many adventures. I’m most excited for the adventures, I think.

But most of all, if we go, I am going to have an incredible time.

Now I just have to hold my breath and pray that it will, at last, come true.

What I Long For.

22 Jan

(I wrote this a while back and just refound it, and thought it might be worth sharing.)

1) Learn the little things about me. What’s my favorite kind of music to fall asleep to? How do I like my tea? Do I even like tea? What movies can I recite with eyes closed? What was the first swear word I ever spoke aloud? What’s my opinion on hangovers? How do I fancy my pancakes? What’s my favorite kind of weather? What book do I indulge in every summer? Why do I collect masks? When did I start wearing glasses? Was I ever a vegetarian? Do I want a tattoo? What song makes me get up and dance? What did I name my boobs? Can I play an instrument? What kind of shampoo do I use? How do I respond to rain?

2) Learn the important things about me. Do I look more like my mom or my dad? Why did I decide to double major? What’s the significance of my Jay action figure? Why am I so self conscious about my appearance? Why am I so passionate about Muppets? What makes me laugh? What makes me cry? When did I start drinking? Why have I only ever been in one real relationship? Where do I like to be kissed? What is my greatest desire? What is my darkest fear? What terrifies me about being in love? Where did the three rings I always wear come from? What’s the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me? Do I like sex? Why do I like being called a geek? What’s the box hidden on the top shelf of my closet? What food makes everything all better?

3) Let’s just be friends. We don’t have to be cuddling or playing footsie or doing the tongue dance every second of our day. Just be with me for the sake of being with me. Do your homework while I watch the newest episode of Justified. Read a book while I play my gameboy. Nap while I make dinner. Write a story while I write a screenplay. Clean your room while I exercise. Cram for a test while I alphabetize my DVDs. Complete a crossword while I try to cut my cat’s nails. Do your dishes while download music. Check your facebook while I’m sorting through old clothes. As long as I’m with you, no matter what it is we’re doing, I’ll be happy.

4) Let’s just be romantic. Kiss me in public. Catch my gaze from across a crowded room. Carry me when I’m tired. Make me laugh till I cry. Make me blush. Buy me presents; simple yet meaningful. Make me soup when I’m sick. Let me pay for dinner every now and again. Write me love notes and leave them in places I’ll find later. Hold my hand when we’re together and never let it go. Text me when I cross your mind. Kiss my wrists. Kiss my forehead. Kiss the crook of my neck. Kiss my shoulders. Defend me. Speak candidly. Say lovely words. Snuggle with me. Make love with me. Dance and be silly. Hold me when I’m down. Call me out when I’m being anything less than I am. Tease me. Invigorate me. Intoxicate me. Show me the kind of world I’ve only read about in books.

5) Let me have my space. Every once in awhile, I’m going to turn you down. I have a life, and you do too. I need to get things done. Homework. Learning lines. Catching up on TV. Work. Feeding my cat. Making my bed. Doing laundry. Going to class. Hanging out with my girl friends. Hanging out with my guy friends. Going to improv. Writing slam poetry. Learning to cook. Studying for tests. Napping. Straightening my hair. Talking to my dad on the phone. Exercising. Going to rehearsal. I want you there for all that I do, but every now and then I just need a little space. Not much, but enough.

6) Let me share my space. Spend an entire day with me. Drive all night with me to the beach just so we can watch the sunrise. Accompany me shopping. Introduce me to your friends. Take me to that action movie you’ve been dying to see that I think looks dumb, but that you know I’ll see for you. Ask me to spend the night, but not always for sex. Don’t hesitate in responding to my texts. Go to midnight movie premieres with me. Let me bring you lunch when you’re too busy. Go to the gym with me. Stay up all night just talking. Find it cute when I come up with silly nicknames for you. Tell me your secrets. Be disgustingly cute with me in front of all our friends. Let’s build pillow forts.

7) Let me tell you about my past. Why I went to an all girl’s high school. What growing up with a twin was like. Who my first kiss was. All the best friends I’ve ever had. The moment I first considered theatre. The age I suddenly became interested in boys. The age I was, for a short while, interested in girls. When I grew into that awkward teenage state and when I grew out of it. How old I was when I finally got my ears pierced. That time I had surgery. The invisible friend I created when I was seven. How I once thought about being a magician for a living. The times adults have betrayed my trust. Why my dad and I used to fight every day. How I long to return to my childhood ways. What losing my mother was like.

8) Let me tell you about my future. Why I want to move to New York. How many kids I want to have someday. The age I’d like to marry. The detailed list of what I’m looking for in a life partner. How I do really want to own a horse. How I’m afraid of aging. How death terrifies me. My dream house. My hopes and aspirations. The Bucket List I’ve already started. How I’d like to travel more. How I’d like to find true love.

9) Let me tell you anything and everything there is to know about me.

10) Let me find out anything and everything there is to know about you.

If you do all this for me, I swear, I will do all of this for you in tenfold.

I am an insecure drinker.

21 Jan

Let me rephrase that.

I’m not insecure when I actually drink. On the contrary, when I’m drinking I feel like I can conquer anything. I want to wrestle bears and make out with the first face I see and slap friends and laugh loudly. I become convinced I’m a great dancer, everyone in the world is my friend, and that I am a hilarious human being. I can talk to the people I’m too shy to talk with whilst sober and I can say things that have been weighing me down without any regret. When I am drunk the world is my oyster (which is ironic because I’m pretty sure I couldn’t spell “oyster” for shit when inebriated). I’m not an annoying drunk, just a fun, flirty, free-wheeling one, and when I drink, my insecurities are the last thing on my mind.

It’s the morning after when I tend to become insecure.

Ever have a morning where you wake up and you honestly can’t remember half the things you did and said the previous night? Well, I have, and while that level of drunk is fun while you’re at it, it’s a terrible feeling when sobriety takes hold.

I’ve been saying for the past three years that I am always at my most vulnerable the morning after a night of drinking. It’s bad enough when you can remember any of the poor decisions you made, whether it was you thinking that telling a boy “You’re so goddamn tall” repeatedly was flirting or having a bunch of friends hoist you up onto a roof. But when you can’t remember anything? My god, the churning feeling in the pit of your stomach is the worst. Not knowing what you said to who or what you did or if you were kissed or if you blurted something out that you really shouldn’t have.

It’s amusing how I can come to this conclusion a million and one times, and yet still not say no to a friend when asked to go out for drinks with them.

I’m hoping this will change somewhere down the road, sooner rather than later, because I’m sure one day it’s going to end up actually doing some major damage.

Just because you’ve read Melville that doesn’t make you Jesus

18 Jan
Today in my Intro to Literary Theory class, my teacher gave us an hour long speech about how English majors are so much better than everybody else. How we’re so much smarter and open minded and have this better, grander outlook on life. Then everyone in the class chimed in, talking about how they so agree and wouldn’t dream of being any other major.

I have never rolled my eyes so many times in my life.

Yes, we read a lot, which (usually) makes us pretty open minded to things.

Yes, we are pretty well versed.

Yes, we know how to carry on a discussion.

Yes, we know our shit when it comes to literature.

But you know what? I’ve known quite a few English majors that I would definitely not classify as the best people on earth. In fact, I’ve known English majors that are just plain rotten people and are not open minded in the slightest. I have known English majors that are closed off to the ways of the world, and even though they’ve read books that express certain subjects they refuse to see eye-to-eye with them. And I know of theatre majors, math majors, history majors, communication majors, art majors, science majors, political science majors, Spanish majors, psychology majors that are absolutely fabulous people who are ridiculously open minded, incredibly intelligent, extremely well spoken, and just the sweetest people on this planet.

This isn’t me discrediting being an English major. I love being an English major, just as much as I love being a Theatre major and a Photography minor. It’s funny, because while this is the first time I’ve experienced this in an English class, this is the exact same thing I’ve noticed in quite a lot of my Theatre classes. The teachers have a tendency to always go on about how no other major can compare and how we have such a better grasp on life and, well, it’s just bull shit. Everyone has a major that fits them, and just because it’s one thing or another doesn’t make them a better/worse person. It’s the character of a person that matters, not what they happen to like studying.

The only way your major could possibly make you automatically better than everyone else is if you happened to major in cheeseburgers.

Or time travel.

Or Muppets.

Or cuddling.

Or magic.

Then maybe I’d nod and say, “Okay, yeah, you obviously know what’s up and I will submit that you are a million times better than everyone else.” But only then.

My Inability to Speak

17 Jan

There came a point
where I lost my voice.

It’s become a more and more
common occurrence.
Sometimes the words get stuck inside my throat
like peanut butter.
It happens at random intervals of my day.
At rehearsals when giving notes,
saying “hello” to people I pass on my way to class,
requesting my roommate takes out the trash,
lavishing my crushes with never-ending compliments,
I try all these things
and then
poof
my voice has run off.

I don’t know when it was I lost my voice.
I used to have this
burning flame inside that drove me to speak my mind
in every way,
but it went away
some time ago.
I open my mouth
prepared to preach
but nothing comes out.

When I was a child I was verbal, talkative, chatty, unstoppable.
I’d say anything and everything on my mind,
but now I find I’m constantly second guessing myself,
retracting my words,
withdrawing into a shelter of shyness
that I do not approve of.

I don’t know what I’m afraid of.
I don’t know why I do this.
I don’t know where it went.

A dick of a whale.

16 Jan

Today I started reading Moby Dick. Why? Because I was assigned it for a class. You would think that it’d just be, y’know, ten or so chapters. No. We were assigned forty-two chapters to read over this weekend. Let me repeat myself:

Forty. Two. Chapters.

And I have been sitting on my butt reading this book almost non-stop all day. Yes, I took a little TV/lunch break, I did some dishes, I went on facebook, but other than that my day has pretty much revolved around this damn whale, who – mind you – hasn’t even shown up in this book so far. And you know what?

I still have sixteen more chapters left to go.

I have only made it through twenty-six chapters. I mean, seriously? Seriously??? Who assigns forty-two chapters of Moby Dick for the first weekend of the term? I haven’t even touched my Spanish composition or my paper analyzing the Earl of Surrey’s Assyrian King poem because of this fucking book. And what sucks the most is I actually like this book, but the fact that I’m being forced to read so much of it in such a short amount of time is making me slowly hate it more and more. This is not Looking for Alaska, which I was assigned to read the whole of over the course of this weekend. Alaska is a quick, easy read that I had no problem being assigned. No. This is not a young adult fiction book, meant for high schoolers. This is Moby Dick. The language drags and Melville takes every goddamn opportunity to embellish and rant about things that are not essential to the story. I… just… UGH.

I need a drink.

I am drinking Midori that I stole off my roommate.

15 Jan

Not a lot, just enough to get me pleasantly buzzed. I am at a mature enough age that I realize I have work tomorrow and getting shit faced tonight would benefit no one.

Today has been an odd day. It has been filled with an odd combination of things, such as: Moby Dick, Pâté, fantasies of the sexual nature (more than usual, that is), awkward lulls, blood oranges, board games, apple pie for breakfast, new nicknames, an abundance of vaginas, and blushing.

(So much blushing.)

This is pretty much the culmination of my day. I’m hoping tomorrow night might hold drunk debauchery, but I guess we’ll have to wait and see.