So today is a big day. The supreme court is listening to arguments about whether or not the ban on same sex marriage in California is legal. Tomorrow they will hear arguments about the Defense of Marriage Act (the united states definition of marriage being between one man and one woman), and rule on whether or not it is constituational. I just find it so bizarre that in today’s world, we’re arguing over who should legally be allowed to love and commit to one another.
I mean really, I have a hard enough time committing to a pizza topping, let alone a lifetime with someone. So, if you’re sure you want to love, cherish, honor, and live with someone else through sickness and health, I don’t care who you are, if you are willing to make that kind of sacrificial committment to someone, you should be allowed to do that.
If anything, I think divorce should be illegal. Once you commit to something that sincerely, you shouldn’t be allowed to walk away from it. Why aren’t we arguing for that? Why is no one standing up and saying, “Hey listen, it doesn’t matter who you marry, what matters is that once you’re married, you’re married to them until death do you part. You can’t just terminate the marriage because you feel like it.” It seems like the current system is defending the glorified right for some people to define their relationships, and then tarnish them. Doesn’t it seem like a lack of integrity to fight so hard for a right, and then to let people abuse it?
I’m just saying, if you’re going to have a stance on something, you need to be really firmly rooted in that stance. If you’re going to fight for marriage—regardless of your stance on it—you have to know that it has an antithesis and if you allow that to be, you can’t say that you’re fully committed to your belief. You can have marriage without divorce, but you can not have divorce without marriage. Why aren’t we fighting for no divorce? Why do we care who marries who? At the end of the day, it should be about how many people took that vow to be together, and are staying together, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish. Aren’t those the things that define the institution of marriage, not who you’re actually marrying?
So I’ve promised my friend we’ll play a game this week where he can tell me when to post in my blog, and I’ll reluctantly do it. For the record, I’m losing at this game. He told me to post over 24 hours ago and I’ve been putting it off. The main reason is because I thought this would be super simple—surely there is a lot going on in my life I could write funny things about, but it’s occurring as much harder than I thought. Who would have thought that it would be so difficult to come up with some witty things to say about my mediocre job and average life. Meh…
So whats up with me? I tried to buy a town house the other day. I was totally shocked that I had the balls to do it and actually make an offer, and then I immediately started panicking once my offer was actually accepted. The bad news is it all fell apart anyways because the seller rewrote our entire contract, but the good news is I did it, and did not lose any money on it. I am disappointed though, I really had my heart set on living there. It was a neat little place with everything I wanted out of an apartment. My hope is that no one will be willing to jump through the sellers hoops and he’ll have no choice but to accept my even lower offer in 3 weeks. Take that seller man! Muhahaha.
I’m looking forward to owning my own place. I can’t wait to have something that I’m invested in and that I’m proud of. I feel like the apartments I’ve been living in don’t hold any value for me and none of them feel like home. This is probably why I hate doing my dishes and vacuuming them and all that cleaning stuff that you’re supposed to do when you care about things…. or I guess just in general? It will be really great to have something that I care about and can take care of. If that place doesn’t work out, I hope I find something soon that I love.
So this week I’m challenging myself to write more. Like, a lot more. And like good stuff, not stuff that sucks and I write “like” every other word (doh!).
So last night, someone asked me if I’d ever wrote down exactly what my perfect job would entail, down to the knitty gritty deals—benefits, vacation time, salary, etc. Based on the face I made when he asked me this, it was blatantly obvious that I had not. Since I don’t know for certain what I want to do as a career, he thought it would be a great jumping off point to write all of those things down. My immediate response was “well, my perfect job doesn’t include many of those things. If I could get paid to write all the time, I would just do that.” So with that being said, here is what I want out of my perfect job, as a writer.
Salary: $50k per book up front, plus 15% gross profit from sales of books—hard and soft cover. Royalties on any book that gets turned into a movie or a TV show.
Benefits: Being able to live or work anywhere. Texas, Connecticut, A cafe in Paris, a beach in Tahiti, where ever. Some kind of medical insurance offered (I’d at least stay on that until I got married, and then I’d just go on my Husband’s plan—hopefully he’ll have dental and vision too). A super flexible schedule; the ability to plan your days and nights however you want them to be—however plan in the occasional meeting in LA with my editor or press junket in NYC or national book tour.
I’d have an office, not at my home, where I can work without distractions. I’d also have an office at my home, so that I can write when the whim strikes.
So at some point my books will be turned into movies, and I’ll need to be on sets and consult on production. And eventually other people who want to follow the same path I did will enlist my services and I’ll start my own little consulting firm in which some corporate entity will buy me out within 2 years for no less than 3 million. Before the buy out though, I’d travel to the various places my clients would be, and meet frequently with their editors in New York and LA. Travel and work would only be on the week days though, the weekends are reserved for me.
So those are the things I can think of that I want out of this career as a writer, and I’m sure it’s not a complete list. I’ll add as I think of things. For now though, I think I’ll look into writing some pieces for magazines. That may be a good start to this illustrious career as a writer that I aspire to have will have.
“She wanted something else, something different, something more. Passion and romance, perhaps, or maybe quiet conversations in candlelit rooms, or perhaps something as simple as not being second.”—Nicholas Sparks (The Notebook)
Ever notice how everyone always makes it seem like moving is the most arduous and excruciating thing known to man? Do you feel that way? I should feel this way considering I’ve moved 3 times in the past 2 years, and am now working on my 4th move. This time, I’m doing it right though. Here are the awesome things about moving:
-you get to pack all the stuff that you want to keep, and toss all the stuff you don’t want anymore.
-meaning…you get to buy new stuff that you like!!!
-while you’re in flux you can eat pizza and drink wine for every meal.
-you get to redecorate your space however you want it
-you get a killer workout from lifting boxes up and down stairs and into and out of cars. Oh hey buns (and arms) of steel….!
-you can throw an awesome party for your friends at both your new and old apartment!
How can moving NOT be the most awesome thing ever, right?! This weekend I’m throwing a party at my old apartment called “Box’n’Wine” where everyone is going to bring a guest, their favorite bottle of wine, and we’re going to pack some boxes. Best.idea.ever. (I’m not biased at all)
There is going to be a follow up party too, “Box’n’Wine II” where we’ll unpack the boxes with more wine. I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to move! Feel free to take this idea and turn it viral….moving parties, it’s gonna be a thing!
Dream Weaver I Believe You Can Get Me Through the Night
So I dream a lot at night. I do, really. I don’t usually remember all the details about the dreams themselves, but I know they happen and I tend to remember certain things about them. But for some reason (you’ll know why in a second) the dream I had last night stuck with me.
So I used to take guitar lessons. Well lessons is probably too loose a term—I used to hold the guitar and pretend I knew chords and could strum amazing sounding music (much better). And this may or may not have all been part of a bigger plan to become the next Taylor Swift so that John Mayer would notice me, put me on his next album, have his way with me, and break me heart—I’m ok with the heart break people, every artist needs a good muse.
So that plan was an epic fail.
By epic, I mean I successfully completed playing ‘Jingle Bells’ once and you could sort of tell when I was plucking out the notes to ‘Mary had a little lamb.’ However, according to my dream last night, I had the wrong approach all along. Apparently all I needed to do was Google his cell phone number and send him a text message and he would show up (wish I had thought of that a lot sooner).
So he walks in the door of this restaurant I used to work for (why we were meeting there is a detail I let escape my mind) and since I obviously know who he is and he obviously has no idea who I am I say to him, “John? I’m Anne.” Yea I know, I didn’t even use my real name in the dream, I’m still trying to figure out what that tells me about myself. Another important detail that I should fill you in on is that the John that showed up was not the John I would have chosen if I had the choice. The John that showed up was scraggly haired, almost strung out John (now that I’ve successfully convinced you this dream is really about me being a prostitute, let’s continue). If I had any control of my dreams, I would have had the Room For Squares John show up. You know, boyish good looks, short hair, witty but in a way that he doesn’t really know it yet.
Anyways, so I say “John? I’m Anne.” Then he puts his arm around me and escorts me to a table where we sit for like 3 minutes before we decide to go back to my place and watch a movie. So we get to my place (which all of the sudden has stairs) and John meets my dog (not sure if it was my actual dog or just some random dog my mind replaced my actual dog with in my dream, but whatever, it’s all semantics anyways). We pick out a movie, get blankets out of the closet, and we snuggle on the couch. At some point my roommate comes home with her boyfriend and they meet John. Oh and at some point during our movie snuggling session we made out. But that’s all that happened.
I’m fairly confident that this whole dream sequence is proof that dreams are not even controlled by our own minds. I mean com’on, I have John Mayer in my house, on my couch, and all I want to do is snuggle? Either in my dreams I have amazing will power, or this was just entirely unrealistic.
So I guess it’s about time I should explain to everyone why I am here in Texas and not back where I belong in the preppy capital of the world going to grad school and taking the “right track.” I decided I don’t want to be a social worker for seriously shallow reasons which I’m not admitting here, but just know they’re shallow. Ok fine, I want to be able to live the life I’ve become accustom to living, and being a social worker won’t allow me to do that.
What am I doing now? Good question. I’m aimlessly searching for jobs, hoping that someone somewhere will realize my potential and decide to capitalize on it. Hopefully this happens quickly because eventually I will run out of money and that will probably mean I’ll have to venture back up to the blustery north and go crawling back to Mom and Dad.
To sum my life up: I’ve turned down grad school, I’m unemployed, and I’ve seemingly permanently relocated to Texas.
First and foremost I would like to apologize to my fans for not updating this earlier. I’ve been very busy with moving and ending my job and going to visit my family, and this blogged just slipped away from me. It is no excuse though and I aspire to never let it happen again… I sincerely hope you can forgive me.
I do have some interesting life updates to inform you all of though. Since going home (home as in back to the place where I grew up) I have had a revelation on what I want to be when I grow up. I know, I probably say this every other week, but I think this one really has merit.
I want to be Regis Philbin. Yep, that’s right I want to be the precocious old man who graces the morning TV waves 4 days and week (he takes Mondays off now) and is set to retire after like 80 years in the fall. To clarify, I want to be the younger, more attractive, female version of him. I probably didn’t come to this realization sooner because I a) work in the mornings usually, so would have never turned on his show and b) currently don’t have a TV. But last week when I was at home laying on the couch, groggy eyed and feeling useless, I heard him tell a story about him at the gym. This story sounded almost exactly like stories I tell—usually self-deprecating and embarrassingly immodest. That’s when I realized, I not only would be great at that job, but I would love doing it. Heck, I tell stories like that all the time now for a smaller audience (mainly my dog), so why not get paid to do it?
I did a little recon work on Regis and I found out that we are actually pretty similar—despite our anatomical differences. Turns out, we share a middle name (he has two, almost as weird as having two first names), Francis—well mine is the female version but then again so are my parts. Regis has one brother who is younger than him who never wanted Regis to mention him in the media—I have one younger brother who I would purposefully never mention to the media for fear that everyone would like him more. Regis is Irish—I pretend to be Irish every 17th of March. Regis has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame—I aspire to have a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. I mean really, the similarities are uncanny minus the obvious difference (age, gender, and wrinkles—in case you had any questions).
This career seems completely and utterly doable for me. I mean, The Oprah Show in origin was a morning talk show that had essentially no audience and its not like I’m asking to BE Oprah or have her fame, status, power, or money, I just want to be Regis. Maybe host a game show or two at some point. So I’m going to need all of your support, and it probably wouldn’t hurt if you could become famous so I can interview you and post it on youtube…. everyone’s got to start somewhere, right?
When I was younger I had this plan for my life: I would go to college, meet the man of my dreams by 22, marry him by 25, and then have my first child by 27. It always seemed so realistic. There are plenty of men at college, surely you can find one there, and then spend a few years making sure it’s what you want and by the time you’re 25 you’ll know and everything will be fairytales and rainbows. Not that I’m too far off that path now but this fantasy life I always assumed I’d live seems much more unattainable now than ever. In 4 months, I’ll be 23, in graduate school, and most likely single. Step 2 of master plan debunked—unless of course I’ve already met my Prince Charming, in which case I’m going to be really pissed when I know who it is, because I’m having this existential breakdown essentially because of them, so for their sake, I hope I haven’t met them. So I’m starting to realize that nothing goes according to plan and that I am getting old really fast and that I am not ok with either of these things.
Damn you time. Why are you constantly ticking away? Every moment seems more fleeting than the last and I’m just left wondering, when is my life truly going to begin? Recently I’ve been casually dating someone who is 36 and they had this same epiphany—I’m getting old, I can’t mess around anymore—and I realized that no matter how old (or young) I am, I’m also always going to feel the same way. I think we as a society have this preconceived notion of love and marriage. We are born into this world where we’re told that men and women are supposed to cohabitate and raise children and be happy together. We see it on TV and in the movies all the time; love just seems so abundant and easy, right? Wrong. In the real world, relationships are hard.
No two people meet and then 10 minutes later decide to get married because they’re so madly in love they can’t stand it anymore and even if there was a couple like this, it wouldn’t be without incident. No one will ever see eye to eye with you on everything, so you’re going to have to compromise. You might have to concede a little of what you believe for the person you love to make them happy, and they will have to do the same for you at some point. The balance is making sure you don’t give more of yourself up for the person you love than they do for you. If the scales tip not in your favor, maybe you’ve given too much of yourself and it’s time to rethink the relationship.
I think that’s what happened in this recent relationship. We very rarely saw eye to eye on any social or political topic and that put a strain on where the relationship could ultimately end up. See, to my partner, seeing things through the conservative and catholic view point was the only way to look at something. I disagreed and fought back with rational arguments that challenged the line of thinking. Although there were times I’m sure I pushed too hard, the truth is I just wanted my partner to understand that there was another side to the story that (whether he agreed with or not) was not being represented by his vantage point. I don’t think he ever understood that, and merely saw me as someone who was challenging his beliefs in an effort to change him—far from the truth as far as I’m concerned. However, lesson learned, there is a limit to being the devil’s advocate.
So how do we even weed out potential mates in this vast sea of political and religious differences that we live in? Can a Catholic marry a Jew? Can a Tea-Partier fall for a bleeding-heart liberal? My argument is, why not? You can hold yourself to your personal beliefs but not hold the world to them. The difference is how you hold your partner to them. If you’re someone that does not budge on your beliefs, you will need to find a partner who is either willing to view things from your vantage point, or sees them the way you do. I don’t think that just because you don’t interpret the world around you as the same, doesn’t make you incompatible, it just makes you different. Is different so bad? It can be good, eye-opening even. Difference of opinion and thought is what sparks debates and conversations that need to happen. Different is good for everyone. The problem with difference is when you in a relationship cross the line that causes those differences to be out casted.
It’s so easy to be single. You don’t have to care about anyone else’s feelings, or worry about what someone else might think if you act in a certain way. I think this is why once we’ve been out of the habit of sharing our life with others, we tend to forget how to behave. We’ve learned to be self reliant, so that must mean whatever we’re doing is working and must be right. This is (what I am coining) the Single Man’s Fallacy.
Although I’ve significantly digressed from where I started, my point is that no matter how old we are, we all want the security of knowing someone will love us and things will work out in the end. The problem is once we veer off track and venture onto that perpetual path of singleness, we tend to forget that we’re not the only one that matters. Love isn’t like it is in the movies, it’s not perfect. It can be messy and at times painful and confusing but we can’t stop ourselves from trying new things or getting into different relationships just because we think that they won’t work out; sometimes, it’s in these different scenarios that you find what you really need.
The French Revolution and it's Impact on its Colony in the Americas
I promised a friend I would write about the above mentioned topic, but for anyone that knows me you’ll know that I am far from a history buff. This is where I turn to my trusted friend Google to help guide me… or as Ben (the hot leader man from PSO) would say “ask the oracle.”
I have to admit, even after a few minutes of research I still wasn’t finding the answers I needed to fully invest myself in this topic. So instead, you, the lucky reader, will get to enjoy my opinion on a similar but entirely different topic.
Although no two revolutions are identical, the basic principle of them is the same. This was made clear to me upon reading an A.J. Jacobs article this morning when I came across an idea of his that I was quite fond of. He said, and I’m paraphrasing here, there are 3 kinds of people in this world: those that fight for things to stay the same, those who fight for things to change, and those that don’t fight at all. Jacobs claims that he’d fall under the group that doesn’t fight, calling it the “neutral party,” or those that are apathetic to the current social climate. Initially, I assumed that I would be under this group as well. I don’t protest, I don’t like confrontation, and I certainly don’t have any beliefs I would die for. But after pondering the thought of going through life being complacent, I was really unsatisfied with myself.
What does that say about me? Do I just accept what is handed to me, and pretend that I don’t have the power to right the wrongs I see? Essentially, the conclusion I came to was, most days, yes. Disappointed in myself again, I began to examine past relationships I’ve had and could start to see patterns emerging. Based on this assertion that I just accept what is handed to me, I could start to see that I accept things for what they are. In relationships, instead of thinking “I could do better” I think, “well, it could be worse.” This has probably never been so clear to me as it is in this moment. My current relationship is a disaster. Excuse me, Disaster, with a capital D. My “boyfriend”, who’s not even my boyfriend he just thinks he is, is so extremely possessive that he can’t not be touching me for more than a minute. He sleeps practically on top of my face, and gets his hair all over my pillows. It’s a mess, and I’m miserable. But sometimes, he’s the cutest thing ever, like when I’m listening to music and having an impromptu dance party and he joins in, or when we fall asleep together on the couch and I wake up to him licking my face.What I’m trying to say is that I let the small good things, out weigh the big bad things, presumably because I don’t think I have the power to change my situation. Well, not anymore Jack. Tonight, you’re sleeping on the floor—where dogs belong!
Although I might not know much about the French Revolution and how it affected whatever colony(ies) it had in America, I know that tonight marks the start of my own personal revolution. I want to be a doer. I want to fight for the change I want to see in the world, even if that small change is just not having to cuddle with a dog 24/7. Maybe it’ll be hard and painful to fight the adorableness that is my puppy, but if I don’t stand up to him what else am I going to let slide in my life? The next thing you know I could be voting for Sarah Palin because she tells me quitters prosper more than those who see things through… and how tragic would that be?!
So today was my first day as a vegetarian, and I survived. It’s funny how we define ourselves based on the types of foods we eat (or don’t eat) but it really hit hard today when mentioning to a co-worker my plan to be a veghead for 3 months—he cringed. Granted, I’m in Texas where you can get any kind of over sized portion of meat on a stick, but still I thought cringing was an unnatural response. As a society are we adverse to vegetables? I mean when I think “vegetarian” the first thing that comes to mind are green vegetables and even I tense up a little bit. The thought of eating only vegetables for months on end is deplorable, who would do that to themselves, right? Well, come to find out vegetarianism is much more than just vegetables. In my first day I consumed some trail mix, an egg salad sandwich, a cup of fruit, some tortilla chips, guacamole, a salad, a handful of mini cadburry eggs, and some lemon sorbet. Not an over all healthy day BUT I maintained my vegetarian status without compromising my tastebud’s satisfaction. In fact, I have this strange feeling that I might actually gain weight by going veg. It’s almost an excuse to eat anything that doesn’t contain meat—which is A LOT of things—especially cheese. Gotta get your protein somehow, ya know?
Overall I did gain a new perspective today. Another co-worker and I went out to lunch and i quickly realized most things on a lunch menu (even the salads) had a form of meat on them. I thought that the place we went to was yuppie enough that most things would be vegetarian or vegan friendly, but apparently not. I was able to find something though—the egg salad sandwich—and didn’t feel too weird that I wasn’t ordering meat. I think my biggest qualm with this minor life change is going to be the lack of options when dining out. I have suspicions that there will be a lot of salads and greenery on menus that don’t have meat on them, but entrées will be a challenge. Just something I’ll have to bring up to all the Chef’s I know in town…
Well, I’m off to dream of all the meaty deliciousness I can no longer enjoy. Can someone eat some sushi tomorrow and tell me what it tastes like? I’m afraid I’ll forget…
Often times my friends have told me I should write a blog, and have speculated that I indeed have a secret blog. I finally decided that I was going to start one, just to test the waters, but I decided not to tell anyone. So if you’re reading this, whoever you are, you are now a part of an inside joke with people you don’t know. If you ever meet these people that you don’t know, you’ll have something to bond over. It’s like instant friendship. So, basically, my blog is bringing people together from all walks of life. You’re welcome world.