Well, I’m here and dead tired. It took a hell of a lot longer to get here and my poor kitty Indy was not a happy kitty. But he is now, now that he knows he’s living with me. š Adventure, day 1.
Category: Rants
Moving Day
Well, guys, today’s the day I move to California. I have been waiting for this day to come for a LONG time. I’ve got a ton of stuff to do this weekend, so I’ll probably have to take a teeny little break from writing.
See ya soon!
Wake up and say “I’m beautiful!”
I was watching this TV show with my mom called “My Big Foot” or something like that. I don’t remember exactly. WellĀ it was a little documentary on a woman who had an infected foot that spread up her leg making it nearly impossible to wear pants, shoes, or even walk. The disease she had was very similar to elephantitis, called Lymphedema.
Anyhow, as I watched this show, I felt so horrible for the lady and hoped she could find a way to cure her leg so could live her life normally. Then I looked at my own leg, examining it,Ā and for a moment it was like I had never really LOOKED at my leg before.
Then my mom said, “And you complain about cellulite.”
I grimaced, but she was right. Here I was with perfectly normal and healthy legs, a fit and strong body (I wear a size 3), but I was too obsessed with getting rid of the cellulite that was on my butt and thighs. Whereas, this woman on TV was trying to remove the built up fluid in her leg and foot so that she could walk without a cane and maybe indulge in a stiletto shoe. I hope she can find treatment.
I know that for us girls we have a hard time really accepting our bodies and being content. We constantly strive to look like what is advertised as beautiful, in order to be happy with ourselves, in order to attract others. I am quite guilty of always obsessing over the newest imperfection of my body. First it was my nose, then it was my teeth, then my weight, then my butt, and not all in that order. Instead, I should look in the mirror, see that my legs are intact, I have all four limbs, I have all my teeth, I am in shape, I am healthy, and then say, “I’m beautiful!”
My friend Anthony had to smack me in the face a couple of times to get me to wake up and see that I am beautiful. That I shouldn’t compare myself to others, that I shouldn’t waste my time obsessing over my looks. He told me that there was nothing wrong with me, that everyĀ imperfection IĀ saw was a figment of my imagination. Nobody else could see it.
HeĀ was right. There’s no point in wasting our time over body imperfections. They aren’t really imperfections at all, rather they areĀ what makes usĀ unique and interesting. And if there is anyone to tell you otherwise…like fixing the cellulite on your butt…fuck them. And then tell them to lookĀ in the mirror every morning and say, “I amĀ beautiful!”
That’s what I’m doing and surprisingly it’s working.
Already been done…aw, shit.
So my mom and I went to see Julie&Julia, which was a very cute movie that made me very hungry, and then afterwards, my mom gave me the news.
Apparently, I don’t have very original ideas when concerning my blog. I’m moving to California in three days and I was planning on documenting my adventures as I pursue my career as an actor. Because this career is particularly grueling, I thought it would be a good idea, not only for me, but for other actors who might want encouragement, to read about the trials, challenges, and sometimes positive outcomes that a working actor experiences.
Well! It turns out it’s already been done. Not that I thought I’d be the ONLY one writing about the shit actors go through, but not only has this already been DONE, but the girl who had written it is now famous and making a movie out of her blog!! Which makes my plans completely obsolete!
At least, this is what my mom had heard.
So if I continue with my plan on writing about my adventures as an actor, who would care, because somebody else has already beaten me to it. And making a movie!! A MOVIE! Oh, please. I don’t see how it’s going to be any good. Reading about it is much more entertaining than watching it.
In any case, looks like I need a fresher idea.
But…knowing me…I’ll probably just stick with my original plan. Unless anyone else has any better ideas…whoever you are.
And so the sun rises…
Ā
It was my last night at work and I didnāt get home until 6 a.m. For the first time in years, I saw the sun rise. As I drove up the curving mountainous highway, only a few of us other late nighters keeping company on the long road home, I watched the star-studded sky fade into a pale blue. And then, from the east, the pale blue blushed orange and red, the distant mountains hiding the awakening sun.
My eyes ached for sleep, my legs throbbed to rest, and I smelled of milkā¦or rather dried whipped cream. Indeed, it was a long night. And as I spend my last few days living in Arizona, I wonder vaguely who I will become, what will alter me, who will I meet, who will I befriend? And, though the mere thought of existing in a place where life starts all over again is thrilling, I canāt help but feel panicked. Because the people I know today cannot be replaced. And they are amazing human beings.
Itās not every day you look forward to going to work, but when your work includes a ton of fantastic people, it changes your perspective. That is, if you allow yourself to SEE the people and who they are.
Like I said, it was my last day and I ended up closing, which was great cause I needed it! I had a group of friends from work waiting for me at a bar. They came back to see how close I was to being done, and graciously surprised me with whipped cream to the face, which I shared by smearing back on their faces—though some escaped before I could get to them. We met up with some other buddies from work, some of which had already started drinking. Knowing I had a two hour drive to get back up to my parentsā place, I had to make sure I didnāt drink too much.
The boys bought us rounds and we laughed the night away, all work relations faded, all differences gone, acting like weād known each other all our lives when weād only known each other for a short time. Being an observer type, I marveled at how distinctive we were and, yet, very much the same. All searching, all learning, needing, wanting, regretting, forgetting, beginning. Wanting different, but feeling the same.
We watched a friend serenade to us—and the bar—which then inspired them to provoke me into singing as well. I complained about not knowing anything with meaningful lyrics, whereas Hakim had been singing some seriously deep stuff. But, later, as I drove up I-17, watching the sunrise, a song I hadnāt thought about in years popped into my head and I couldnāt believe I didnāt think of it before. The first time I sang this song, I was in 6th grade and didnāt fully understand the meaning of what it was I was singing, though I thought maybe someday I would. I do now. So here it is:
A new life.
What I wouldnāt give to have a new life.
One thing I have learned as I go through life,
Nothing is for free along the wayā¦
A new start.
Thatās the thing I need to give me new heart.
Half a chance in life to find a new part,
Just a simple role that I can playā¦
A new hope.
Something to convince me to renew hope.
A new day.
Bright enough to help me find my way.
A new chance.
One that maybe has a touchā¦of romance.
Where can it be? The chance for me?
A new dream.
I have one I know that very few dream.
I would like to see that overdue dream,
Even though it never may come true.
A new love.
Though I know thereās no such thing as true love.
Even so, although I never knew love,
Still I feel this one dream is my due.
A new world.
This one thing I want to ask of you, World.
Once before itās time to say adieu, World,
One sweet chance to prove the cynics wrong.
A new life.
More and more as sure as I go through life,
Just to play the game and to pursue life,
Just to share its pleasures and belong.
Thatās what Iāve been here for all along.
Each days a brandā¦newā¦.life.
-Frank Wildhorn
I believe this song relates to all of us trying to find our little niches in this world. No matter how old or young you are, some of us never stop looking for that specialā¦something.
This is what I see in the people I work with. This is what I see in the strangers that pass by me. This is what I see every day. The search for a new life.
That night, we finished by taking home a troubled friend who had had a little too much to drink. Then Erica and I walked nearly two miles back to our cars. Thank goodness it was cool out.
I know that Iāll never forget the people Iāve worked with. Itās not every day your work buddies become an important part of your life. Iāll remember the days we got along and the days we didnāt. But in the end, we all came togetherā¦with a little drink or two. š
And as I drove the long two hour stretch back home, I passed Sunset Point and laughed. The sun was rising.
Love, stuff, and other things of a whimsical nature.
There isnāt a lot of things that surprise me. Furthermore, I rarely surprise myself. However, I think itās safe to say that Iāve surprised myself a hell of a lot more often in the past few months than I ever have in the past.
Iāve always found myself adamantly studying human behavior and the reasons behind their actions. In the same way, I also study myself and once
in a while, I am astounded by what Iāve done or how Iāve reacted.
Iāve already written a few articles on the changes that have occurred over the semester and the adventures that have been experienced. I have lightly touched on this subject, but I have not really elaborated enough. So Iāll ask: what drives a person to do things outside their nature? Nature being the operative, or rather meaning a personās predictable personality.
Itās easy to agree that people have the ability to do things they normally wouldnāt do, when all reason and logic disappear and pure animalistic instincts take over. Being such a highly evolved species—that is, most of us—are able to control our “wild” instincts. But what is it that wills us to make a conscious decision to let that all go?
I used to be a virgin. I used to want to wait until marriage, to save it for the man I would spend the rest of my life with, your typical romantic ideal. I was a virgin up until I was 22. Not a bad record, I have to say. During that time, I was also in a serious relationship with another virgin, which made it less of a temptation to let loose on our physical desires. However, I had the urge to know whether or not I was sex-worthy to my boyfriend. I would ask once in a while if he ever wanted to make love to me. Ironically, he would get irritated and say “no, not right now.” I think he took me literally, whereas I just wanted the satisfaction of knowing that he would if he wanted to. After the sixth month of our relationship, his mind changed, a full turnaround. Suddenly, he was all for it. And I gave away myself to the one I thought was “true love.” At 22, I was super naĆÆve. That boy was the only boy I had ever been with, even past our eventual terminated relationship.
Until nowā¦
Now the count is two. Two at 24.
After my breakup, I wanted to try and wait again until marriage. I didnāt want to run amok and sleep with any guy that was willing, even though there were times the opportunity was extremely tempting. I wanted to keep the sex thing something special between me and someone else. Something meaningful. Worthwhile. Not just a physical exercise to get my jollies off. I want to do it for love. Is that so surprising?
So, while I was doing my best to revirginize myself, I developed a very close friendship with a boy. He became my best friend. He was amazing in every way, a Godsend, really. He and I were pretty much welded at the hip. He was 22 and also a virgin.
Our friendship was picked on by most people, behind our backs or to our faces. People at work pressured and gossiped. Close friends disapproved and also gossiped. Most didnāt believe we could be “just friends.” It was hard to a point. Emotionally hard. For my best friend had also fallen for me. I, however, couldnāt see him more than just a friend. Perhaps it was because thatās how I started out, looking at him as though he were a brother of mine.
But we were the opposite sex. And there were times where the attraction could become very hard to ignore. There were little moments where we did allow ourselves physical exploration, but it never led to much of anything else. Our code term was “stuff and other things.”
“Iām in the mood for doing stuff,” Iād say.
“And other things?” heād respond. Weād laugh at our little inside joke.
But one fateful night, I gave in. I slept with my best friend. All logical reasoning flew out the door, all consideration for our friendship—gone. Just simple and pure, straightforward and relentless, human instinct. For a night, my reservations on sex vanished. I guess you could say my need was much stronger than I thought. There was no regret, which mildly surprises me. I used to regret it before.
Also, I find it ironic that Iāve only slept with virginsā¦ Kinda makes me feel like Iām a thief of innocence.
Nonetheless, how can I explain myself? What was it that drove me to give in after all those months of being able to thwart off physical passion? How did I turn from a person who so believed strongly in waiting, to becoming who I am now? It cannot be explained off by simply saying “I changed my mind.” Thereās more to it. Was it love that I felt for my best friend? Did I finally see past the idea that he was “just a friend?” Or was it loneliness? Iād have to say no on that one. There were a few other guys I could have been with out of loneliness, but chose not to. Was it simply out of passion? Again, Iād have to say no. I would have taken it out on guys a lot sooner, if that was the case.
Then it was love. It had to have been. I had already known how deeply I felt for him, that I wanted nothing but his happiness. I wanted nothing but for him to know what love was like. Robin Williams in Bicentennial Man states it perfectly:
Ā
“That you can lose yourself, everything, all boundaries, all time—the two bodies can become so mixed up that you donāt know whoās who or whatās what. And just when the sweet confusion is so intense you think youāre gonna DIE, you kind of doā¦leaving you alone in your separate body.
Ā
But the one you love is still there.
Ā
Thatās a miracle. You can go to heaven and come back alive. You can go back anytime you want with the one you love.”
Ā
Was it really so wrong of us to do? I donāt think so.
So, even though I promised myself to wait—even though I believe making love is special and shouldnāt be wasted—even though I wasnāt in a romantic relationship with him—even though there are those who may think Iām a horrible person for giving in and sleeping with my best friend, accusing me of knowing better and putting all responsibilities on my shoulders—even though I did something outside of my own personal nature—I know that I am happy. Maybe because I knew he was happy. After all, showing love is giving love.
Andā¦
ā¦stuff and other things.
Got nothing? Whim and be a singer!
I had finished a concert up in the Prescott area, my daddy conducting the way, and the concert consisted of Lerner & Lowe collections. I sang Gigiās “Say A Prayer,” and My Fair Ladyās “Show Me,” “The Rain In Spain,” and “Wouldnāt It Be Loverly.” These songs are very easy for my voice type; I could roll out of bed and sing them.
Singing has been a huge part of my familyās lifestyle. I was born a singer, my genes a combination of my motherās coluratura and my fatherās powerful tenor (very much like Pavarottiās). I already knew being a performer was something I couldnāt really avoid. I sing for my father every summer and, once in a while, do community musicals. Singing will always be apart of my life in some way or form.
With that said, this particular summer, I had come to an interesting revelation. More like I was lectured by another fellow opera singer named Isola Jones.
“What are you going to do in California?” she asked me.
“To start my career,” I responded. “Be an actor and also try to get an internship with IGN as a writer.”
Isola stared up at me with a dark look, then finally said, “You need to be singing.” The tone of her voice was not humorous.
Later that evening, after the concert was over and done with, and all of us performers sat around a table, drinking wine and beer, eating prime rib and filet mignon, singing songs like O Danny Boy and laughing the minutes away, Isola took me aside. I was, at the time, distracted by some cute boy who kept looking in my direction. He wasnāt a part of our group, rather he sat at a different table with his small group of friends. All four of them kept glancing at our table—a table full of performers who donāt mind causing a lot of attention.
As I was about to approach the table with the cute boy, Isola took my arm and pulled me away. I remember feeling a flash of disappointment as I knew I would miss my chance exchanging flirtatious conversation—a conversation I knew would really lead me absolutely nowhere, but I was addicted to the feeling it gave my stomach, a sort of excited, butterfly effect.
Then Isola, red wine in hand, looked me straight in the eye, her exotic appearance always striking and, if I didnāt know her any better, very intimidating. She said, “Darling, youāre a fabulous singer. You need to be singing.”
“I know,” I said. “I wasnāt planning on stopping—” She cut me off with a wave of her elegant finger.
“No, no,” she said, her voice smooth and luxurious. “You are at that perfect age where this can work for you. Youāre young, youāre fabulous, you have the drive that most people struggle with. You have no ties, no relationships, no children, nothing—this is the time for you!”
“Sheās right!” Michael Tully chimed in. Apparently, more people were listening in on this topic of choice. Michael was a friend of the family and a baritone. He originally wanted to be a performer, make it his career, but he chose a different path. Michael fell in love, got married, and realized that in order to have a healthy marriage, he needed to focus on his family rather than his career.
Isola offered to teach me coloratura repertoire until I ship off to California. She said it would at least give me another choice to choose from, another path to add to my many different paths. It dawned on me that Isola Jones, famous Metropolitan opera singer, who had sung all over the world, had so much faith in my ability to sing that kind of music, I decided to take her up on the offer. Call it a whim.
Opera was definitely a field I never thought myself capable of. It was also a field I didnāt want to even try to venture into, considering my dad had already been there and done that. I wanted to conquer a different area of performance.
But now, as I sit at my desk, scribbling my thoughts onto this virtual paper, and after practicing a few good hours of The Doll Aria, Iāve come to realize, ONE, I do have a coluratura voice, TWO, I can beat the shit out of this aria, and THREE, I have nothing to hold me back, to tie me down, to stress me out, to worry about, to compromise, to give up, let go, miss out. The world is my playground and I have nothing to lose. I can choose everything and nothing. Nothing can stop me because nothing is exactly what I own.
If you are an actor, singer, dancer, musician, composer, artist, this is the life we choose; that is, if we plan on being successful. And by successful, I simply mean the ability to pay your bills without needing a second job.
Juggling a family and a performance life is one of the most difficult things to do. When the singer is off in some other country, city, or state for months on end, it is very hard on the other. This lifestyle, if continues the same way, has a high risk of divorce. My father was married for ten years to another singer, but he was the one getting hired. He was the one gone all the time, making a success out of the stage. By the tenth year and after three kids, they divorced. She couldnāt take it. Her jealousy and loneliness got the best of her, made her miserable.
But Iām not stupid enough to think that there arenāt some marriages and relationships that do survive. I know theyāre there. I havenāt met one yet, but when I do, Iād really like to interview them and see how they make it work.
So this is the path Iāve chosen. The mostly lonely but hella exciting way! Look out, World, thereās nothing holding me back!
“It was the best of times; it was the worst of times”
Itās funny when you consider how these two things can occur at the same time. For instance, when I look back at the past few months, I can honestly say these were the best months of my life. Yet, they were also the worst months.
I went through an agonizing breakup, the kind you wished to create a self-induced amnesia because the memories were too unbearable to face. Because of this terminated relationship of two years, my mental state also seemed to deteriorate. My sanity was being held by a thin string over a cavern of despair. I forced myself to hide away the memories and try to rebuild new ones, but found I could only hide for so long before I was wallowing in emotional turmoil again.
Of course, I have an explanation for all this. I am too stubborn to admit that I was severely emotional without a really good excuse. Am I alone? I donāt think soā¦
I blame the birth control! The Depo-Provera, that evil shot that helped me stay un-pregnant (thank the stars), but took away all rationality and boosted my hormones to an unstable level. It was like my identity split in two; the logical side of me was watching from far away, screaming at the top of my lungs to get the attention of the crazy side of me, to say wake up and breathe! After a few weeks of enduring the breakup, the Depo was exiting my system. I didnāt have a period at the time, so with no more birth control, my system was attempting to regulate itself. I already knew I had severe PMS, more like PMDD, so imagine having a period come and go several times a month without any warning, making me go through PMDD more than a human brain can take. On top of that, I was dealing with the average emotional despair of a breakup. Only it wasnāt so average for me.
Considering I had to deal with being around the X and his new girlfriend more than I liked, I was failing miserably on the healing end of life. Which pissed the more logical side of me off because I hated looking like a pathetic loser.
I took upon heavy drinking as a way to ignore my loser pain. I thought that maybe if I burned away a certain amount of brain cells, I could burn away the history. Except that one night, while in a drunken stupor and home alone, my depressed subconscious decided to take all the pain I was running from and throw it right back in my face—like taking a butcher knife to my leg and arm. Unfortunately, I cried myself to sleep on the floor during the process and my crime was caught later by my roommates. This resulted in an ambulance trip to the hospital, even though the gashes werenāt deep enough to be considered fatal. I was humiliated and even more depressed because of my humiliation.
When my parents came to see me, I was horrified. I knew exactly what I looked like: sickly pale, unresponsive, cut up, laying in a cold, white hospital room, dying on the inside. I looked just like my dadās little sister. She had killed herself.
So if that thought wasnāt enough to scare me out of my depression, I donāt know what could have. I went through weekly counseling and monthly psychiatry. I was put on Zoloft for the time being and waited until my period was finally able to regulate itself, my hormones leveling out, and my PMDD becoming more discernable.
I can laugh about it now, but Iāll never forgive the ambulance and hospital bills. Iām now on Prozac for only the week before my period, which counteracts the super bad moods. I made a list of all the reasons for my depression, if only to give myself some sort of reasonable excuse:
- First breakup with first love (you know how they always say the first one is the hardest, well I believe whoever said that)
- Birth control screwing up system
- PMDD
- Having to be around X and girlfriend without sufficient healing time
- Already genetically infected (the Rowader women have issues)
Despite all of this!!!!ā¦it was the BEST six months of my life (so far). During my depression, I developed a friendship with probably one of the most amazing persons in my life, Mat Solace. He was the light in my darkness. Along with him, my friendships with Rachel and Anthony became stronger because they watched me for three years go up and down on the happiness/sadness scale. Somehow, all four of us became connected at the hip. We embarked on exciting adventures and trips that wouldnāt have happened if I had never let go of my boyfriend. And I am ALL ABOUT adventures!
People say that there is always something good one can take away from a breakup. For me, it is the friendships and adventures. Those memories have replaced the bad ones. I promised myself, after the breakup, that I wouldnāt look for a rebound to repel the loneliness. But I guess you can say that I did find a rebound, and they were Rachel, Anthony, and Mat. Best rebounds ever! Best memories everā¦ Best times everā¦
Movin’ up, Movin’ over!
Iāve been finding a lot of things funny as of late. Maybe itās because Iāve been sitting up in my parentsā house, which resides in the middle of a mountain valley in a quiet little town called Cherry—if you could really call it a “town”—mostly alone and my friends hours away. Itās a peaceful place, my parentsā home, but leaves a lot to random, secluded thoughts.
Which is great! ā¦for a writer like myself. Of course, itās getting the motivation bug to really get things kicking into gearā¦
Like I said: been thinking a lot of funny things lately. Not “funny” as in humorous, or laugh-out-loudish, but more like “funny” as in cocking oneās head to the side in curious pondering, or rather “interesting.” Iāve had about a billion different ideas and epiphanies clogging my brain recently and I havenāt been able to figure out which thought to jot down first.
So this time Iād decided to just sit and let my fingers have at itā¦the keyboard, that isā¦for some reason I feel the need to justify my previous statement. Probably something to do with the fact that my brain tends to wander in the gutter, a trait I picked up from Mat and Anthony.
Again, Iām allowing myself to get sidetracked, which is something Iām working onā¦
My first main and most prominent annoying thought is the simple fact about change. I keep looking back into the past and finding the whole thing fascinating! To sum things up bluntly, I have finished my college years and have now moved on to the next stage of my lifeā¦my career. Ugh.
It took about five years before graduation, but within those five years, an enormous amount of history went down. I look back on my high school years and remember only small changes, insignificant incidents that rarely occurred. But my college years! Phewā¦Each year by itself is a full story all on its own.
I am not entirely certain if many others feel the same way about this, but I do know that a small sum of those Iāve spoken with agree that the typical four college years can amount to a lot of huge changes and major incidents.
Itās fascinating, actually. I look back at my high school years fondly, but remember that not much really happened at all. However, when I will look back at my college years, I am overwhelmed with the amount of changes and occurrences I experienced.
To start off with, my first semester (2005) in college had me living in a studio all by myself and was unsuccessful in making any real friends. To put it plainly, nothing happened. The next two semesters (05-06) had me living with three boys, two of which I had been friends with in high school. This was also the year that I met Steve, my first experience in actually attracting a male human being. I call him my situation, but I also learned a lot from him—physically and emotionally—and I suppose you could say it prepped me for the big whopper of a relationship I was to trip and fall into soon after.
Next couple of years (06-08), I experienced Chris, my first boyfriend and serious relationship ever (we were known as the Chris & Chris duo for a few years).Ā On top of that, I finally made a close girl friend, Rachel, moved in withĀ her and another girl, Marilyn, whom I would live with for the next three years, and joined an adorable little boy group named the LOL Krew. When Iād met the group of boys, they reminded me so much of my high school days. At first, they were annoying, but I later grew to love them dearly. Throughout this year, I enjoyed close friendships and a fun little adventure to Virginia to meet my boyfriendās family. I also lost my virginity, found out what it was like to really be in love with someone, and then experienced my first-ever “breakup and get back together” sitch.
Finally, this last year (08-09), I went back to being single after a rough two and a half years of pretending to be a girlfriend, and started saying “yes” to any man who asked me out. Which, shockingly, happened a lot. I began to feel as special as my mom was when she was my age. She dated hordes of men, and never committed to anyone unless she was engaged to him. I donāt know how she did it, but I admire her nonetheless. She happened to land her dream-man at the age of 25. Of course, Iām only a year away from 25 now and I already know I have a lot more road to cover before I settle down. Thatās for sure!
Also, in just a few months, I underwent the “getting drunk and fooling around” experience, the “getting high” experience, the “depression and cutting with knives” experience, the “riding in an ambulance for the first time” experience, the counseling, the psychiatry, the Zoloft, the “sleeping with my best friend” experience, etc., etc., etc. And not all in that order, either. I suppose you could say Iāve well-rounded myself without quite endangering my life.
And that ends my college years. It was a hell of a time.
Looking back at it now, I already know the last year, despite it having the most drama, was the best year of them all. For that was the year I made the closest of friends, closer than I could have imagined. And it was also filled with the most adventures: a midnight trip to San Diego, Las Vegas birthday, Malibu vacation and Disneyland, creating a band called NāXanna D for a night, karaoking every Tuesday night—which also inspired those who never thought they would sing in front of an audience to actually join in—shooting up zombies till dawn, and always many nights of drinking and fun. There was never a day wasted in the year of 2009.
But now, as I have already moved out of my apartment with the girls Iāve lived with for over two years, Iām back to where I started. I sit at my desk in the room I had when I was 18, but this time I am preparing for a bigger moveā¦to California where I will begin my career as an actor and a writer (hopefully with IGN!!!). This is the biggest move I have ever made (mind you, I moved straight to Manhattan after I graduated high school—came back later) because this is the move where all my connections and ties to Arizona will actually be severed. I have already acquired a new California phone number, letting go of the number Iāve had since I was 15, and I am closing out my bank account Iāve had since I was 13. I am also taking with me every belonging Iāve ever owned that has been stored in my parentsā house for years.
These things may not seem so fundamental to the average mover, but when youāve been waiting your whole life for a big change, but the opportunity was never there, or something had always been holding you back, things like changing phone numbers and bank accounts are big deals. Iām gonna have to memorize a new account number and I liked that number!
Itās a great feeling to be able to have the freedom to move on and move away, especially when there had been so many disappointing memories in the place I had been living in. So Iām moving on up and moving over to start a whole ānother chapter in my life, to fill in the blanks, and cover up the damages; where the people will be new and see you the same; where there isnāt a good or bad connection with anyone, but you know it has the chance to be good. And you will never let go of the good ones you left behind.
The Malibu Whim
Itās mid June and my friends, Anthony and Mat, and I decided to take a trip out to Malibu beach to see Anthonyās girlfriend and my best friend Rachel. We rented a spot at Malibu RV Park to pitch up a tent—it was the cheapest way to stay there for four days. We had our concerns, but after pitching up a four bedroom tent on top of a small mountain with a birdās eye view of the Pacific ocean, hearing the waves crashing against the distant shores, camping wasnāt such a bad idea.
The beach was about walking distance and there were cute little seafood restaurants lining the shore.
After wrestling with the four bedroom tent, which took all four of us and a giant rock to hammer the stakes into the ground, we were able to take a quick dip into the ocean before having dinner at a super fancy Mediterranean restaurant across from the beach.
Quick note on beach: the waves were incredibly strong where we were. I got body slammed a few times while Mat, Anthony and I attempted to body surf.
At the restaurant, Mat and I already started on a few drinks—rum and coke, Tanqueray and tonic—while waiting for the rest of our party to arrive. Rachel had invited two of her friends from the music camp she was attending at Pepperdine University. By the time we sat down, I was already very tipsy. The bartender was surely not frugal on the liquor. But I decided to have a refreshing mojito to be my second drink. By the time I had that one half way down, I was drunk. I couldnāt really tell if Mat was feeling anything, but I think I remember him telling me he thought the drinks were really strong.
In any case, I ordered what I thought to be a delicious lobster and linguini dish. I scarfed it down without a second thought. At this time, I could tell that I was getting fairly emotional. I had this horrible feeling that Rachel, my very closest friend, was annoyed with me. Earlier the evening, she had turned and scolded me about how we were all āin a very nice restaurant.ā I have a big mouth and there are many times where I will let it fly on subjects no average human being would dare share with others.
Unaware of our newest guests, I was on the topic of how my period finally started regulating after years and years of having surprises. I was excited to share that with everyone. Thus, Rachel turning to me and saying, āWeāre at a nice restaurantā¦ā
For some reason, that struck a wrong cord with me and my body literally went numb—a tell-tale sensation that I was gonna start crying at some point or another.
Well, after drinking up my third Tanqueray and tonic, totaling just three drinks all night, I ended up in the bathroom in tears, blubbering about something along the lines of how my best friend is ashamed of me and how āI shouldnāt even speak at allā because people find me obnoxious. Rachel, of course, is comforting me all the while.
Thankfully, this lasted a total of ten minutes, if not less, and I was back to my bubbly self, ready for more.
Rachel had to return to her dorm while me and the boys returned to our tent. Mat pulled out Parcheesi and Anthony pulled out Bud Light. I hate Bud Light, but I was drunk enough to not care. So all three of us played Drunk Parcheesi that we were never able to finish.
It was six in the morning and I suddenly woke up in a cold sweat. I had only had four drinks total the night before, but I was all too aware of my stomachās existence. One thing to know about me is that I never throw up. I have thrown up a total of four times, once when I was three, once when four, once last year and once more this year. So when I dragged myself out of the tent to rush to the bathroom, you should already assume Iām not very good at this.
I sat on the bathroomās cold floor for about thirty minutes with nothing happening. The wave of nausea began to subside so I pulled myself up to rinse my face. As soon as I moved to the sink, I felt it come. I missed the toilet by an inch, red liquid spilling out of me. The flavor in my mouth was that of sweet seafood, probably the worst taste I have ever experienced. I rushed to the sink to rinse my mouth out, and then came another wave. This time chunks of lobster and linguini, undigested, came hurtling out of me. I couldnāt see it at the time, but there was no mistaking the feeling of it. I did it once more into a different sink before the vomit-frenzy subsided.
Quite frankly the most awful vomiting experience of my life, even though it was only the fifth time. I was quite surprised by myself as well; I never get sick after only four drinks. Then, to top it off, about an half an hour before 8am, our tent neighbors woke upā¦along with their kids. For about the next few hours straight, none of us could sleep through the high-pitch screaming and whining their young toddler decided to torture us with. That toddler also decided to run around our tent, yelling out āBall!ā as though āballā was the only word it knew how to say. I nearly committed murder that morning.
After the neighbors left and after a few more hours of recuperation, I was ready to begin again, starting at the beach. But the experience has now ruined my love of lobster, unfortunately.
Mat, Anthony, and I spent all day at the beach. We jumped waves, fought against huge pieces of kelp, and we made Anthony into a sandman. Needless to say, the day was quite perfect, sans morning. We had dinner at Dukeās, a Hawaiian restaurant directly off the shore of the ocean.
That evening, we decided to take it easy and get some rest before the next day where we would be spending at Disneyland. We fell peacefully asleep to the crashing of the waves below usā¦
ā¦until rudely awakened by a radio and loud and drunk kids laughing which lasted until 2am. Againā¦murder.
So when morning came around and it was time to get ready for Disneyland, you can imagine how tired we all were. But the big whopper was when Mat said, āGreat. Iām surrounded by ants.ā
āYouāre kidding, right?ā I said. I hate antsā¦passionately.
āNope. Not at all,ā Mat responded, not quite happy either. He didnāt have an air mattress, so the only thing he had under him was a sleeping bagā¦which the ants surrounded like a mote. Mat carefully observed the ants and was thankful to find they stayed off of him. āThey seem to have an interest in one of my socks, though,ā he said, āandā¦my shortsā¦and my bathing suitā¦ā
āWell, at least theyāre distracted,ā I commented, as I searched around my own bedding area. No ants, phew.
As Mat began to eliminate the ants with the bottom of a water bottle—which, in my opinion, is a very inefficient way to kill ants considering the elevated bottom of a water bottle—Rachel and I made our way to the bathrooms to get ready for the morning.
All of us were ready in a little over a half hour, hopped in the car, and started the hour long drive to Disneyland. We were originally planning to get there when it opened, but we didnāt make it in time. That was okay, though, we still managed to beat the massive crowd that would have surely been there if we hadnāt arrived when we did.
The four of us skipped for joy into Disneylandās gates, as if we were ten years old again, and quickly decided which ride we should head towards first. Making a note that the Matterhorn didnāt have a fast pass—which is STUPID, I might add—we decided to ride that one first.
However, we had a slight detour that was needed in order to get Rachel coffee and something to eat. Inside Disneyās little market, we saw two places: an empty coffee shop with plain fruit and a small assortment of Danishes, and directly across, a restaurant with a full breakfast spread. Rachel considered the full spread until looking at the massive line that had formedā¦of course, there was no way.
So we quickly dashed into the empty coffee shop, grabbed Rachel and I a small coffee, and she, a bite to eat, and then we rushed over to the Matterhorn which, thankfully, the line had not gotten too long.
Our first ride started the day off to a good start. We seemed to have plenty of time for all the best rides. We climbed Tarzanās tree—with me miserably failing the Tarzan rope—ventured into Indiana Jonesā Temple of the Forbidden Eye (or whatever you call it), blasted into Space Mountain and had a rough ride to Endor on Star Tours, got shrunk by Dr. Szalinskiā¦again, checked out some mansion we were debating on rentingā¦until we found out it was HAUNTED!!!—and floated down the river of the Caribbean and saw a very real looking Johnny Depp. Depp was actually really disturbing in the sense that he was so life-like, we could have sworn that he was a real actor.
For dinner, we were lucky enough to get riverside seating inside the Blue Bayou restaurant for Anthonyās birthday. Unfortunately we had an asshole of a server. I, myself, work for a restaurant, I can vouch that this guy was, in fact, a dick. It is a good thing the four of us are such good sportsā¦
Oh yeah, and did I forget to tell you, we were all in Star Wars?
All in all, the whole day was probably one of the best days we had had altogether. Even Anthony kept getting āHappy Birthdayā wishes by complete strangers everywhere we walked. Too bad that didnāt get us at the front of the lineā¦
As soon as we got back to our tent in Malibu, we all passed out in exhaustion. And for the first night that week, it was a silent night—sans annoying drunk people and crazy babies.
The next day, Rachel, Anthony, Mat and I had lunch—forget breakfast—at a Seafood Bar with the most deliciously amazing fish I have ever had! And then it was time to say our goodbyes to Rachel. It wasnāt easy leaving Rachel behind in Malibu, especially for Anthony. But we had to get back to Arizona and she had to go back to her music camp.
I have had a lot of amazing adventures with my friends and family, but I have to admit that this trip will be one of the best that I will always remember. I am so glad that, before we all move away from each other, we had the opportunity to make the best memories possibleā¦together.
Itās mid June and my friends, Anthony and Mat, and I decided to take a trip out to Malibu beach to see Anthonyās girlfriend and my best friend Rachel. We rented a spot at Malibu RV Park to pitch up a tent—it was the cheapest way to stay there for four days. We had our concerns, but after pitching up a four bedroom tent on top of a small mountain with a birdās eye view of the Pacific ocean, hearing the waves crashing against the distant shores, camping wasnāt such a bad idea.
The beach was about walking distance and there were cute little seafood restaurants lining the shore.
After wrestling with the four bedroom tent, which took all four of us and a giant rock to hammer the stakes into the ground, we were able to take a quick dip into the ocean before having dinner at a super fancy Mediterranean restaurant across from the beach.
Quick note on beach: the waves were incredibly strong where we were. I got body slammed a few times while Mat, Anthony and I attempted to body surf.
At the restaurant, Mat and I already started on a few drinks—rum and coke, Tanqueray and tonic—while waiting for the rest of our party to arrive. Rachel had invited two of her friends from the music camp she was attending at Pepperdine University. By the time we sat down, I was already very tipsy. The bartender was surely not frugal on the liquor. But I decided to have a refreshing mojito to be my second drink. By the time I had that one half way down, I was drunk. I couldnāt really tell if Mat was feeling anything, but I think I remember him telling me he thought the drinks were really strong.
In any case, I ordered what I thought to be a delicious lobster and linguini dish.
I scarfed it down without a second thought. At this time, I could tell that I was getting fairly emotional. I had this horrible feeling that Rachel, my very closest friend, was annoyed with me. Earlier the evening, she had turned and scolded me about how we were all āin a very nice restaurant.ā I have a big mouth and there are many times where I will let it fly on subjects no average human being would dare share with others.
Unaware of our newest guests, I was on the topic of how my period finally started regulating after years and years of having surprises. I was excited to share that with everyone. Thus, Rachel turning to me and saying, āWeāre at a nice restaurantā¦ā
For some reason, that struck a wrong cord with me and my body literally went numb—a tell-tale sensation that I was gonna start crying at some point or another.
Well, after drinking up my third Tanqueray and tonic, totaling just three drinks all night, I ended up in the bathroom in tears, blubbering about something along the lines of how my best friend is ashamed of me and how āI shouldnāt even speak at allā because people find me obnoxious. Rachel, of course, is comforting me all the while.
Thankfully, this lasted a total of ten minutes, if not less, and I was back to my bubbly self, ready for more.
Rachel had to return to her dorm while me and the boys returned to our tent. Mat pulled out Parcheesi and Anthony pulled out Bud Light. I hate Bud Light, but I was drunk enough to not care. So all three of us played Drunk Parcheesi that we were never able to finish.
It was six in the morning and I suddenly woke up in a cold sweat. I had only had four drinks total the night before, but I was all too aware of my stomachās existence. One thing to know about me is that I never throw up. I have thrown up a total of four times, once when I was three, once when four, once last year and once more this year. So when I dragged myself out of the tent to rush to the bathroom, you should already assume Iām not very good at this.
I sat on the bathroomās cold floor for about thirty minutes with nothing happening. The wave of nausea began to subside so I pulled myself up to rinse my face. As soon as I moved to the sink, I felt it come. I missed the toilet by an inch, red liquid spilling out of me. The flavor in my mouth was that of sweet seafood, probably the worst taste I have ever experienced. I rushed to the sink to rinse my mouth out, and then came another wave. This time chunks of lobster and linguini, undigested, came hurtling out of me. I couldnāt see it at the time, but there was no mistaking the feeling of it. I did it once more into a different sink before the vomit-frenzy subsided.
Quite frankly the most awful vomiting experience of my life, even though it was only the fifth time. I was quite surprised by myself as well; I never get sick after only four drinks. Then, to top it off, about an half an hour before 8am, our tent neighbors woke upā¦along with their kids. For about the next few hours straight, none of us could sleep through the high-pitch screaming and whining their young toddler decided to torture us with. That toddler also decided to run around our tent, yelling out āBall!ā as though āballā was the only word it knew how to say. I nearly committed murder that morning.
After the neighbors left and after a few more hours of recuperation, I was ready to begin again, starting at the beach. But the experience has now ruined my love of lobster, unfortunately.
Mat, Anthony, and I spent all day at the beach. We jumped waves, fought against huge pieces of kelp, and we made Anthony into a sandman. Needless to say, the day was quite perfect, sans morning.
We had dinner at Dukeās, a Hawaiian restaurant directly off the shore of the ocean.
That evening, we decided to take it easy and get some rest before the next day where we would be spending at Disneyland. We fell peacefully asleep to the crashing of the waves below usā¦
ā¦until rudely awakened by a radio and loud and drunk kids laughing which lasted until 2am. Againā¦murder.
So when morning came around and it was time to get ready for Disneyland, you can imagine how tired we all were. But the big whopper was when Mat said, āGreat. Iām surrounded by ants.ā
āYouāre kidding, right?ā I said. I hate antsā¦passionately.
āNope. Not at all,ā Mat responded, not quite happy either. He didnāt have an air mattress, so the only thing he had under him was a sleeping bagā¦which the ants surrounded like a mote. Mat carefully observed the ants and was thankful to find they stayed off of him. āThey seem to have an interest in one of my socks, though,ā he said, āandā¦my shortsā¦and my bathing suitā¦ā
āWell, at least theyāre distracted,ā I commented, as I searched around my own bedding area. No ants, phew.
As Mat began to eliminate the ants with the bottom of a water bottle—which, in my opinion, is a very inefficient way to kill ants considering the elevated bottom of a water bottle—Rachel and I made our way to the bathrooms to get ready for the morning.
All of us were ready in a little over a half hour, hopped in the car, and started the hour long drive to Disneyland. We were originally planning to get there when it opened, but we didnāt make it in time. That was okay, though, we still managed to beat the massive crowd that would have surely been there if we hadnāt arrived when we did.
The four of us skipped for joy into Disneylandās gates, as if we were ten years old again, and quickly decided which ride we should head towards first. Making a note that the Matterhorn didnāt have a fast pass—which is STUPID, I might add—we decided to ride that one first.
However, we had a slight detour that was needed in order to get Rachel coffee and something to eat. Inside Disneyās little market, we saw two places: an empty coffee shop with plain fruit and a small assortment of Danishes, and directly across, a restaurant with a full breakfast spread. Rachel considered the full spread until looking at the massive line that had formedā¦of course, there was no way.
So we quickly dashed into the empty coffee shop, grabbed Rachel and I two small coffees, and she, a bite to eat, and then we rushed over to the Matterhorn which, thankfully, the line had not gotten too long.
Our first ride started the day off to a good start. We seemed to have plenty of time for all the best rides. We climbed Tarzanās tree—with me miserably failing the Tarzan rope—ventured into Indiana Jonesā Temple of the Forbidden Eye (or whatever you call it), blasted into Space Mountain and had a rough ride to Endor on Star Tours, got shrunk by Dr. Szalinskiā¦again, checked out some mansion we were debating on rentingā¦until we found out it was HAUNTED!!!—and floated down the river of the Caribbean and saw a very real looking Johnny Depp. Depp was actually really disturbing in the sense that he was so life-like, we could have sworn that he was a real actor.
For dinner, we were lucky enough to get riverside seating inside the Blue Bayou restaurant for Anthonyās birthday. Unfortunately we had an asshole of a server. I, myself, work for a restaurant, I can vouch that this guy was, in fact, a dick. It is a good thing the four of us are such good sportsā¦
Oh yeah, and did I forget to tell you, we were all in Star Wars?
All in all, the whole day was probably one of the best days we had had altogether. Even Anthony kept getting āHappy Birthdayā wishes by complete strangers everywhere we walked. Too bad that didnāt get us at the front of the lineā¦
As soon as we got back to our tent in Malibu, we all passed out in exhaustion. And for the first night that week, it was a silent night—sans annoying drunk people and crazy babies.
The next day, Rachel, Anthony, Mat and I had lunch—forget breakfast—at a Seafood Bar with the most deliciously amazing fish I have ever had! And then it was time to say our goodbyes to Rachel. It wasnāt easy leaving Rachel behind in Malibu, especially for Anthony. But we had to get back to Arizona and she had to go back to her music camp.
I have had a lot of amazing adventures with my friends and family, but I have to admit that this trip will be one of the best that I will always remember. I am so glad that, before we all move away from each other, we had the opportunity to make the best memories possibleā¦together.
Xanna's Journal 