One Year Down, More to Go…

I’m burning a Pumpkin Spice candle right now in honor of fall coming. So it’s been a full year since I’ve moved out to California and I’ve had some good experiences and bad. I feel like I’ve lived a whole different life from the start of the year to the end.

For the first part of the year, I had the Terminator and the group of friends that came along with him. Since he and I parted in the summer, that whole life disappeared, along with the friends I thought I was growing close to. And so is life.

For the last few months of the year, I have had numerous theater auditions. One of them I screwed up massively and wanted to punch myself in the face for that. The others, I received amazingly positive and encouraging reactions from the panels of auditors, but still managed to not get booked. And so is life, again. I’ll be covering more of this in a separate blog.

However, the good parts occurred near the end of the year when I finally made some close girlfriends. This was something I’d been wanting all year long, and knowing me, I’m a very impatient person. I always want it now, now, NOW! I’ve had a few exciting I'm the one on the far right.adventures with my girlies and a few not so pleasant ones. Let’s just say I’m really not a fan of clubs where random horny guys grab, pull, and push you everywhere you REALLY don’t want to go. If you don’t know my name, you can’t touch me. Nuff said.

Actually, not nuff said. So I did a stupid thing and went on a date with a guy I met in Santa Monica at a bar who couldn’t control his hands. Because I’m an idiot and always give people the benefit of the doubt, I think to myself, well a date won’t hurt. I was also being an idiot thinking I can control any situation I put myself into. WRONG! Of course I’d been warned about these situations before, but I’m 25. I think I’m invincible, not gonna lie. So this date turns into me being far too drunk, half passed out on the couch, then being lifted onto someone’s (oh yeah, Mr. Santa Monica’s) bed. The nasty occurs with me in that drunken stupor thinking it was a dream, and BAM! after it was over, my instincts kick in. You’re a little late, Instincts, way to be. I get the hell out of there, drunkenly stumbling down the stairs, cutting up the back of my heel on the way down, driving when I REALLY shouldn’t have been, and crying hysterically on the phone to my best friend Anthony. I made it safely home. But in the most stupid and dangerous way. So, needless to say, that’s not gonna happen again…but I’ve been wrong before.

Just gotta throw this in here: people make me sick. It’s called evolution! Let’s evolve into people bettering humanity, not fucking it over. And……nobody listens. Oh well, worth a shot.

My defense system results in me getting very angry. After my one night experience, days passed with me fuming. All I wanted to do was punch things. Guys blatantly staring at me at work, PUNCH! Older men making flirtatious jokes at me, PUNCH! My manager making a sexual comment, PUNCH! My buried memories of other guys making me feel threatened, AIR PUNCH PUNCH! And so is life…

But it shouldn’t be. And yet, nothing will ever change.

IN OTHER NEWS:

I made peace with my infamous ex, Chris Cameron, who was basically my first everything…well, almost.

Also met the producer and manager for Funny Man, Mr. Georgia (names have been removed for privacy reasons). Gonna be flying home this weekend on their private jet to see my parents. Some of you probably think I’m stupid for doing this, but it’s a major whim! And this blog is called Whimming Lessons after all. I’ll cover more on this later after this weekend. We’ll see if I was stupid or not.

Not even a year

So, it’s been a while since I’ve written anything. Many things have occurred since my last post. I have done numerous auditions for film and theater of all kinds. I also did an audition for the character Wonder Woman for Six Flags Magic Mountain. Warner Brothers and DC Comics had to approve of my appearance for Wonder Woman. Amazingly, I got the approval on top of being considered one of the best looking Wonder Women they’ve ever seen. If only they’d do a movie…

Also, I got cast in Roger’s and Hammerstein’s musical Cinderella. My first rehearsal was today and it felt great to be apart of a musical once again. Cinderella marks the first big show I’m apart of in California. Of course, I was in the monologue show called Sex, Relationships, and Sometimes Love, where I played a seductive, sexy rapist who lost interest in her prey, but that lasted only for a little while.

I feel pretty good about my almost first year in California. Although the only thing I realized after being here for nine months is that I haven’t made any close friends. And because of that, I’ve found it very lonely. One of my closest friends came to visit me recently and I noticed just how much I missed having good, close girlfriends. I had such a good time with Marilyn and her fiancé that I couldn’t help but feel sorry for myself. For the nine months of living here, I had failed to make any good friends. In reality, the closest friend I made was the Terminator, the man I had been seeing for, ironically, nine months, but since he decided to “terminate” the relationship, I found myself back at the beginning.

So, if that’s the case, I’ve always been good with beginnings. I think the one thing to learn from this is to make good friends first before anything else, otherwise you end up alone.

2010: The Sequel! And…what should be my new Resolution?

Of course, I’m referring to the 80s film 2010 which precedes 2001: A Space Odyssey. Neither of these films actually foretold the future of the Millennium very well. We have not built a base on the Moon and have not found the answer to the beginning of intelligence on Earth.

However, once 2010 hits, a simple revelation will be made…sort of. Of course, I’m referring to myself. What else are blogs for but to write personal accounts, heavy opinions on topics that reside within my own brain, untouched and stubborn to the outside thoughts of others, but mildly interested and appreciative of those thoughts.

2010 is coming and so a whole new year will unfold. It was only a year ago when I was making my slow-crawling ascent from the depths of despair which I had somehow allowed myself to tumble down into. My New Year’s Resolution then was to go “whimming,” to start a whole new look at life, to find happiness when happiness seemed so foreign and far, to embark on adventures, to laugh and play, to DATE like no other had dated before! Allowing myself to be open in case lightning struck me hard, waking me from a dreamlike reality I had been escaping to.

I found it: the path to Happy Ville. I found the ability to not need too much, to use logic rather than emotion ( in simpler terms, I have found a way to become more Vulcan), to be more confident in my beliefs about life, to not be knocked down, and so on.

At the beginning of 2009, I was barely surviving my own destruction, deciding on writing being the only way out. I made the bestest (YES, bestEST) of friends I could ever think of having and had the pleasure of creating memories I will never forget.

In 2009, I discovered the life of dating many different types of guys, while finally slowing down with The Terminator, whom I also refer to as my manfriend.

In 2009, I finally found a home: California. I never thought I would feel so comfortable here as fast as I did. I still revel in the fact that people here actually pronounce my name correctly right off the bat, rather than always screwing it up as they did in Arizona. I always think that’s a sign I belong…

However, not everything is all peaches and cream. My grandfather, Papa, is dying, mentally and physically. Once the smartest man I knew, is now the weakest man I know. I thought it would frighten me that he couldn’t remember me or mom, but it hasn’t. I had come to accept this, along with the rest of my family. He may not last another year, and even if he did physically, he will have no memory left. He brought me up as a child, but he will not witness me become a wife, a mother, a successful person…It is weird to think about.

Nonetheless, I actually did conquer my previous New Year’s resolution. I found the motivation to keep up a consistent blog, I finally graduated college, I got the hell out of Arizona and didn’t get stuck in a place I never wanted to be, I found a drama-free living situation with roommates who are kind yet distant, I am interning in two places at once, both being apart of the entertainment industry, I have already done three different Red Carpet events, met Patrick Kilpatrick, and have developed friendships with wonderfully interesting and fun people.

Most importantly, I found where I belong. I found my Happy Place. I guess finding happiness is easier than losing weight…? At least it is for me—I like food too much.

Next New Year’s Res.? I am FINALLY READY to find Love!…Although, considering this is much harder to achieve than even losing weight, I might change it to Being Able To Quit BJ’s. Or maybe they shall both be my New Year’s Res.? What do you think? Which one should be my Resolution? Love or Quitting BJ’s? You tell me.

I hope all of you had your wishes come true this year. And even if they didn’t, or you feel disappointed in some part of your life, just remember, tomorrow is another day! (thank you, scarlet o’hara).

Sex, Love, and Success!

These three words may be the most complicated words in the human emotional dictionary. Each of us has our own personal definition or way of life for each of these words, and which is the right way and which is the wrong. I of course have my own uncommon perspective on what these words mean, and I will admit that I know my perspective will change as I get older and older.
Let me start with the word SUCCESS. Definitely a loaded word, but so are the words LOVE and SEX. Success has a multitude of “deep” meanings. Success is “trying not to please everybody” (Bill Cosby), is “going for your goal steadily and aiming for it unswervingly” (Cecil B. DeMille), is “to be able to spend your life in your own way” (Christopher Morley), is “finding your lifework in the work that you love” (David McCullough), is “the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm” (Sir Winston Churchill), and it “usually comes to those who are too busy to be looking for it” (Henry David Thoreau). The list of meanings goes on and on, but the real, straight-up definition of success is defined as “a degree or measure of succeeding; favorable or desired outcome; the attainment of wealth, favor, or eminence” (Merriam-Webster Dictionary).
As we all grow into the people we are being shaped to be, we are all faced with the fear of failing in whatever it is we are striving towards. Some of us are more fearful than others, have expectations that seem impossible to fulfill, and we are always standing on the edge of what-ifs and how-comes. Some of us have dreams that are never achieved and we feel we have failed in life because of it. I tell you that is not so. Things change and alter around us for a reason and it is how we react to those changes that determines our success. It is our fear of failing that will cause us to fail. The ability to overcome your fear will bring you success. That is what SUCCESS means to me. To live life without fear getting in the way.
Now it’s ironic that fear is the leading cause in failing in another area of life: the ability to LOVE. If you fear love, you fail love. Another loaded word. Here’s what the world thinks of love: “’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all” (Alfred Lord Tennyson); “To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides” (David Viscott); “One’s first love is always perfect until one meets one’s second love” (Elizabeth Aston); “All love that has not friendship for its base is like a mansion built on sand” (Ella Wheeler Wilcox); “There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness” (Friedrich Nietzsche); and finally, “There is no remedy for love but to love more” (Henry David Thoreau).
In my current situation, I have had only one great love. But even then, as I look on it now, I don’t know if I was really in love or not. I have found that I don’t know what real love is or how it feels. I can’t seem to recognize it. So I go out and test my reactions to certain people by dating them. Some of them excite my physical side, others are intellectually fun to talk to, and some of them are the infamous arrogant bastards playing off as good guys. Can’t fool me! I can smell a sneaky asshole from miles away.
Finding out what love means for each and everyone of us takes a lifetime. So, if I could tell you what love means to me right now, I know that years down the road it will change again. So I can only tell you that, after careful observation of the chemical reactions in my body and mind that is closely related to what I consider “love,” this feeling of obsession and desire is very hard to find when masked by bitterness. After a messy breakup, bitterness takes its place, as much as some of us deny it, and won’t fade until desperation for love comes again. And when I say “desperation,” I’m talking really, really, really desperate. People can go a long time without falling in love again, feeling invincible to the potential heartbreak love brings. But even with all the bitterness I’m working on disintegrating from my heart, I know now that love is a decision, a “choice you make to want the best for the other person.” I heard that from somewhere, but I don’t remember where. I think I finally understand what it means.
Which leads me to the last complicated word: SEX. Love is most commonly related to the action of sex, or sometimes referred to as “making love.” Sex is also seen as “the act of love” even if the two people aren’t really IN LOVE—whatever that means—but it is a moment where people share a moment of tenderness.
This is how sex is seen by much wiser people than me: “I know nothing about sex because I was always married (Zsa Zsa Gabor); “In America, sex is an obsession. In other parts of the world, it’s a fact” (Marlene Dietrich); “A man can sleep around, no questions asked, but if a woman makes nineteen or twenty mistakes, she’s a tramp” (Joan Rivers); “Women need a reason to have sex. Men just need a place” (Billy Crystal); “One thing I’ve learned in all these years is not to make love when you really don’t feel it; there’s probably nothing worse you can do to yourself than that” (Norman Mailer).
I was once a girl who wanted to wait until marriage so that sex was the gift I would give to my husband. I was very adamant about it, but then lost my V-card to a boy I thought I was madly in love—same old song and dance—after seven months into the relationship of both being virgins. I was 21 years old. After the relationship ended, I made myself promise that I wouldn’t have sex again until I was “in love”…again. Instead, I had a night with someone I cared very deeply about. My best friend. And it was also seven months in. Not that there’s a pattern, but I thought it interesting to mention. Then I moved to California and a week into it I had been asked out by The Terminator. By the second date, I gave into my desire for sex with him. Totally out of character for me! Because it wasn’t out of love that I had sex with him, but rather it was a moment of random passion. I realized then that my perspective on sex really had been completely altered. I’d overheard that after the end of your first serious relationship, the whole idea of love and sex changes. And so it did. Which surprises me and then…makes perfect sense.
There isn’t a sense of regret for any of it. Sex is still something I hold very special, but only for the one I choose it to be special with. The Terminator may have been a one time thing, because I still want to wait until I’m in love before doing it again. And falling in love for me is rare and numbered. So maybe, when the day finally comes where the feelings of obsession and happiness combine, where I can finally say “I am madly in love with you!” and it is returned, I will be successful in something everyone wants. Love plus sex. A success in of itself.
So there you have it. Some wise words explaining wise words from someone who’s learning to be…

These three words may be the most complicated words in the human emotional dictionary. Each of us has our own personal definition or way of life for each of these words, and which is the right way and which is the wrong. I of course have my own uncommon perspective on what these words mean, and I will admit that I know my perspective will change as I get older and older.

Let me start with the word SUCCESS. Definitely a loaded word, but so are the words LOVE and SEX. Success has a multitude of “deep” meanings. Success is “trying not to please everybody” (Bill Cosby), is “going for your goal steadily and aiming for it unswervingly” (Cecil B. DeMille), is “to be able to spend your life in your own way” (Christopher Morley), is “finding your lifework in the work that you love” (David McCullough), is “the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm” (Sir Winston Churchill), and it “usually comes to those who are too busy to be looking for it” (Henry David Thoreau). The list of meanings goes on and on, but the real, straight-up definition of success is defined as “a degree or measure of succeeding; favorable or desired outcome; the attainment of wealth, favor, or eminence” (Merriam-Webster Dictionary).

As we all grow into the people we are being shaped to be, we are all faced with the fear of failing in whatever it is we are striving towards. Some of us are more fearful than others, have expectations that seem impossible to fulfill, and we are always standing on the edge of what-ifs and how-comes. Some of us have dreams that are never achieved and we feel we have failed in life because of it. I tell you that is not so. Things change and alter around us for a reason and it is how we react to those changes that determines our success. It is our fear of failing that will cause us to fail. The ability to overcome your fear will bring you success. That is what SUCCESS means to me. To live life without fear getting in the way.

Now it’s ironic that fear is the leading cause in failing in another area of life: the ability to LOVE. If you fear love, you fail love. Another loaded word. Here’s what the world thinks of love: “’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all” (Alfred Lord Tennyson); “To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides” (David Viscott); “One’s first love is always perfect until one meets one’s second love” (ElizabethAston); “All love that has not friendship for its base is like a mansion built on sand” (Ella Wheeler Wilcox); “There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness” (Friedrich Nietzsche); and finally, “There is no remedy for love but to love more” (Henry David Thoreau).

In my current situation, I have had only one great love. But even then, as I look on it now, I don’t know if I was really in love or not. I have found that I don’t know what real love is or how it feels. I can’t seem to recognize it. So I go out and test my reactions to certain people by dating them. Some of them excite my physical side, others are intellectually fun to talk to, and some of them are the infamous arrogant bastards playing off as good guys. Can’t fool me! I can smell a sneaky asshole from miles away.

Finding out what love means for each and everyone of us takes a lifetime. So, if I could tell you what love means to me right now, I know that years down the road it will change again. So I can only tell you that, after careful observation of the chemical reactions in my body and mind that is closely related to what I consider “love,” this feeling of obsession and desire is very hard to find when masked by bitterness. After a messy breakup, bitterness takes its place, as much as some of us deny it, and won’t fade until desperation for love comes again. And when I say “desperation,” I’m talking really, really, really desperate. People can go a long time without falling in love again, feeling invincible to the potential heartbreak love brings. But even with all the bitterness I’m working on disintegrating from my heart, I know now that love is a decision, a “choice you make to want the best for the other person.” I heard that from somewhere, but I don’t remember where. I think I finally understand what it means.

Which leads me to the last complicated word: SEX. Love is most commonly related to the action of sex, or sometimes referred to as “making love.” Sex is also seen as “the act of love” even if the two people aren’t really IN LOVE—whatever that means—but it is a moment where people share a moment of tenderness.

This is how sex is seen by much wiser people than me: “I know nothing about sex because I was always married (Zsa Zsa Gabor); “In America, sex is an obsession. In other parts of the world, it’s a fact” (Marlene Dietrich); “A man can sleep around, no questions asked, but if a woman makes nineteen or twenty mistakes, she’s a tramp” (Joan Rivers); “Women need a reason to have sex. Men just need a place” (Billy Crystal); “One thing I’ve learned in all these years is not to make love when you really don’t feel it; there’s probably nothing worse you can do to yourself than that” (Norman Mailer).

I was once a girl who wanted to wait until marriage so that sex was the gift I would give to my husband. I was very adamant about it, but then lost my V-card to a boy I thought I was madly in love—same old song and dance—after seven months into the relationship of both being virgins. I was 21 years old. After the relationship ended, I made myself promise that I wouldn’t have sex again until I was “in love”…again. Instead, I had a night with someone I cared very deeply about. My best friend. And it was also seven months in. Not that there’s a pattern, but I thought it interesting to mention. Then I moved to California and a week into it I had been asked out by The Terminator. By the second date, I gave into my desire for sex with him. Totally out of character for me! Because it wasn’t out of love that I had sex with him, but rather it was a moment of random passion. I realized then that my perspective on sex really had been completely altered. I’d overheard that after the end of your first serious relationship, the whole idea of love and sex changes. And so it did. Which surprises me and then…makes perfect sense.

There isn’t a sense of regret for any of it. Sex is still something I hold very special, but only for the one I choose it to be special with. The Terminator may have been a one time thing, because I still want to wait until I’m in love before doing it again. And falling in love for me is rare and numbered. So maybe, when the day finally comes where the feelings of obsession and happiness combine, where I can finally say “I am madly in love with you!” and it is returned, I will be successful in something everyone wants. Love plus sex. A success in of itself.

So there you have it. Some wise words explaining wise words from someone who’s learning to be…

*all these quotes were taken from http://www.quotationspage.com/

Boys and Girls can’t just be friends…

Unless the boy is gay of course.

I’ve been very stubborn to admit this statement can be true. I mean, come on! I grew up with boys, felt more comfortable with them, and many times considered myself to be one of them. In fact, many of my closest friends were boys. There were a few years here and there where I actually asked my best “guy friend” if he would be my maid of honor (whenever the day would come I would actually get married). We had a good laugh about it. How it would be unheard of. And how I’d better find a husband who wouldn’t mind my bestest friend in the whole world to be another (straight) guy.

I believed I could pull it off having a sans-sexual-tension best friend relationship with the opposite sex. Of course, I always think I can pull anything off, be above and beyond the norm. I was a very stubborn thinker during my teens and to my early twenties. Now that I am nearing my mid-twenties and have attempted to continue this way of thinking, I’ve realized I made a mistake.

Years ago, I saw the film When Harry Met Sally, which is supposed to be a story about two opposite sexes trying to ignore the ultimate sexual attraction they have for one another. They indulge in relationships with other people and keep their best friend relationship. As the movie continues, their friendship gets more complicated (of course!) and lots of random fighting start to sour everything up. Ultimately something needs to change in their friendship, but I’m not going to say what it was in case you haven’t seen the movie. Don’t wanna spoil the ending. 🙂

It’s funny, these platonic relationships. Because someone always seems to be more attracted to the other and has to learn how to control their feelings in case of ruining the comfortable friendship they have (now when I say friendship, I’m talking about really close friendships; best friend status). In most cases, I’ve found that it’s always the guy who starts to feel the sexual tension for his best “female” friend. Usually, for the girl, it never occurs to her unless someone else says something like, “Hey, you guys look cute together…” and only then does the sex idea pop up into her head. Otherwise, usually the girl is completely clueless about her best friend’s attraction to her. Usually.

Where am I going with this? Well, what happens when those two friends start to explore their sexual attraction for one another, all the while trying to stay “just friends?”

Crap happens. The deeper, romantic and complicated feelings start to come out and if the relationship isn’t defined appropriately, the friendship becomes more troublesome and messy than it should be. Everything you once thought was clear becomes cloudy and confusing. And your best friend becomes the source of your problems, instead of the problem solver. There’s no getting away from it, and there’s no sense in denying it.

So what do you do? Seeing as I really don’t have the answer, I’m gonna have to admit that I don’t know. But what I can tell you is to do this: Take a deep breath, count to ten, and wait for the answer to come. You’ll only see it on a clear day.

Love, stuff, and other things of a whimsical nature.

There isn’t a lot of things that surprise me. Furthermore, I rarely surprise myself. However, I think it’s safe to say that I’ve surprised myself a hell of a lot more often in the past few months than I ever have in the past.

I’ve always found myself adamantly studying human behavior and the reasons behind their actions. In the same way, I also study myself and once

...your best friend?
...your best friend?

in a while, I am astounded by what I’ve done or how I’ve reacted.

I’ve 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 I’ll ask: what drives a person to do things outside their nature? Nature being the operative, or rather meaning a person’s predictable personality.

It’s easy to agree that people have the ability to do things they normally wouldn’t 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 naïve. That boy was the only boy I had ever been with, even past our eventual terminated relationship.

Until now…

Now the count is two. Two at 24.

After my breakup, I wanted to try and wait again until marriage. I didn’t 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 didn’t 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, couldn’t see him more than just a friend. Perhaps it was because that’s 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.”

“I’m in the mood for doing stuff,” I’d say.

“And other things?” he’d respond. We’d 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 I’ve only slept with virgins… Kinda makes me feel like I’m 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.” There’s 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? I’d 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, I’d 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:

 

“That you can lose yourself, everything, all boundaries, all time—the two bodies can become so mixed up that you don’t know who’s who or what’s what. And just when the sweet confusion is so intense you think you’re gonna DIE, you kind of do…leaving you alone in your separate body.

 

But the one you love is still there.

 

That’s a miracle. You can go to heaven and come back alive. You can go back anytime you want with the one you love.”

 

Was it really so wrong of us to do? I don’t think so.

So, even though I promised myself to wait—even though I believe making love is special and shouldn’t be wasted—even though I wasn’t in a romantic relationship with him—even though there are those who may think I’m 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.

And…

…stuff and other things.

“It was the best of times; it was the worst of times”

It’s 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 don’t think so…

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 didn’t 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 wasn’t 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 weren’t 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 dad’s little sister. She had killed herself.

So if that thought wasn’t enough to scare me out of my depression, I don’t 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 I’ll never forgive the ambulance and hospital bills. I’m 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!!!!…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 wouldn’t 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 wouldn’t 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 ever… Best times ever…

Movin’ up, Movin’ over!

I’ve been finding a lot of things funny as of late. Maybe it’s because I’ve been sitting up in my parents’ 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. It’s a peaceful place, my parents’ home, but leaves a lot to random, secluded thoughts.

Which is great! …for a writer like myself. Of course, it’s getting the motivation bug to really get things kicking into gear…

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 one’s head to the side in curious pondering, or rather “interesting.” I’ve had about a billion different ideas and epiphanies clogging my brain recently and I haven’t been able to figure out which thought to jot down first.

So this time I’d decided to just sit and let my fingers have at it…the keyboard, that is…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, I’m allowing myself to get sidetracked, which is something I’m working on…

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 life…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! Phew…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 I’ve spoken with agree that the typical four college years can amount to a lot of huge changes and major incidents.

It’s 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). On top of that, I finally made a close girl friend, Rachel, moved in with 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 I’d 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 boyfriend’s 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 don’t know how she did it, but I admire her nonetheless. She happened to land her dream-man at the age of 25. Of course, I’m only a year away from 25 now and I already know I have a lot more road to cover before I settle down. That’s 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 I’ve 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 N’Xanna 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 I’ve lived with for over two years, I’m 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 move…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 I’ve had since I was 15, and I am closing out my bank account I’ve had since I was 13. I am also taking with me every belonging I’ve ever owned that has been stored in my parents’ house for years.

These things may not seem so fundamental to the average mover, but when you’ve 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. I’m gonna have to memorize a new account number and I liked that number!

It’s 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 I’m moving on up and moving over to start a whole ‘nother 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 isn’t 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.

Xanna D Says: “Wake Up! And Whim With Me.”

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term “whimming,” which I will assume that you are because I am the only person that I know who has made up this particular term, I will explain to you what it means and how I was inspired to create it. Whimming means “to go on a whim.” Now, the technical definition according to Encarta Dictionary, whim means “a passing impulse—a sudden thought, idea, or desire, especially one based on impulse rather than reason or necessity.”  I also looked up the word on dictionary.com and came up with the definition “an odd or capricious notion or desire; a sudden or freakish fancy: a sudden whim to take a midnight walk.” Apparently, whim originates from the word “whim-wham” and the definition for that one tickles my humor in a whole new way. But this isn’t about whim-whamming, but about whimming and its glorious adventures. 
The word whim is a noun, but I changed it to a verb so that I could use it more frequently. It was mid-January, before the busy spring semester was let loose, and I had found myself in a rut. It was one of those ruts where you found yourself bored, stuck, lonely, and depressed because you were bored and stuck and lonely. I had been broken up with my boyfriend of two and a half years for almost three months and still seemed to be suffering from its effects; whereas, he was able to move on and find another mate/partner/what-have-you. Of course, it was New Years Eve when I had heard the glorious news that he had found a “new love” at the beginning of December. Suffice it to say, I was dealing with it not so smoothly. The week after New Years, I had racked up four dates with four different guys, dark-haired, light-haired, tall, not so tall, skinny and meaty—I suppose you could have called it my New Years resolution…if I had one—and continued to date openly throughout the month, enjoying every bit of it (I want to clarify “dating” as “not sleeping around” for the sake of…clarity). This was not, however, a whim. I came upon “the whimming” idea when watching the movie Chaos Theory with one of the four guys, drinking margaritas and eating chips and salsa. The movie was generally humorous, Ryan Reynolds leading the way, and then the film came to the part where Reynolds’ character decided to do things he had never done before. 
Hmmm…I thought. Now keep in mind that I am a naturally very adventurous person, originating from my upbringing in the theater world, but I still held myself back from doing a lot of things I normally wouldn’t even consider doing. When the movie ended, I was struck—as if by lightning, if you will allow me to be dramatic—and I had found the way to drag myself out of the rut I had unwittingly thrown myself into. I was to go whimming!
My first whim of January was to meet a stranger (who happened to end up being guy number five) at a bar that was hosting open-mic. I had never seen an open-mic performance before and this particular bar happened to be all the way in Glendale. So I invited a couple of friends to join me on this brief road trip at 11pm on a Tuesday. None of us knew exactly where we were going or what to expect, but it didn’t matter. This was a whim, and whatever happened was gonna happen. We met at the restaurant/bar, somewhere in the middle of a pitch-black neighborhood, parked and made our way. My nerves started to twist inside my gut, knowing that we were going to meet someone I had briefly met through the internet (mind you, I do not date online), and knowing that I may be pushed to sing for open-mic (something I was definitely not prepared to do). There were hardly any people; it almost seemed awkwardly abandoned, but those who were there greeted us with friendly smiles and hellos. That’s new, I thought. Not too often do total strangers even speak to you as though it were a small country town. Then Guy Number Five—tall, dark, skinny, with incredibly intense eyes—greeted us when we reached the inside. I felt my nerves calm when I noticed how sociable and friendly he was, offering to buy all three of us drinks, only two of us accepting a couple margaritas. The night went smoothly and interestingly; I watched musicians play their guitars, sing their hearts out and was even stunned by Guy Number Five’s unique musical performance.
And then it was my turn. Granted, I am a singer, but I like to practice and prepare before going up in front of an audience consisting of bar folk to sing something that’s not even close to open-mic style music. My singing style leans more towards Broadway or classical—definitely not appropriate for open-mic. And I didn’t have a guitar, which would mean a-capella, which would, in turn, make it oh-so-empty and lonely up there! But, Guy Number Five insisted and an encouraging “hoot” from my friends and the MC got me to bravely sit on the isolated stool alone on the stage and grasp the mic firmly—very firmly. I sang “Someone To Watch Over Me”, the only non-musical, slightly jazzy song I could think of, and the bar went quiet—probably because I didn’t have an instrument to accompany me. Nonetheless, I was delighted by the cheering response once I had finished the song. I slipped off that lonely stool and blended back into the crowd. 
We returned home that evening, a rush of adrenaline searing through my body, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much fun I had had; a simple night-out turned into a new experience that was both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. I was hooked and promised myself that I would continue my whimming adventures. Whimming can range from going out with people you wouldn’t normally hang out with, to accepting an invitation when you’d normally say no, to doing something you would usually be afraid to do. They can be big whims or small whims. But the point is to go beyond yourself and your invisible box—you never know who you might meet or what you may learn. I am continuing my whimming adventures every day and usually by myself now. Sometimes nothing happens and other times they do. Occasionally I’ll drag a friend with me, if they’re willing to whim. And, of course, I always make sure that what I am doing is safe. So start whimming, because you never know what you may find.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term “whimming,” which I will assume that you are because I am the only person that I know who has made up this particular term, I will explain to you what it means and how I was inspired to create it. Whimming means “to go on a whim.” Now, the technical definition according to Encarta Dictionary, whim means “a passing impulse—a sudden thought, idea, or desire, especially one based on impulse rather than reason or necessity.”  I also looked up the word on dictionary.com and came up with the definition “an odd or capricious notion or desire; a sudden or freakish fancy: a sudden whim to take a midnight walk.” Apparently, whim originates from the word “whim-wham” and the definition for that one tickles my humor in a whole new way. But this isn’t about whim-whamming, but about whimming and its glorious adventures. 

The word whim is a noun, but I changed it to a verb so that I could use it more frequently. It was mid-January, before the busy spring semester was let loose, and I had found myself in a rut. It was one of those ruts where you found yourself bored, stuck, lonely, and depressed because you were bored and stuck and lonely. I had been broken up with my boyfriend of two and a half years for almost three months and still seemed to be suffering from its effects; whereas, he was able to move on and find another mate/partner/what-have-you. Of course, it was New Years Eve when I had heard the glorious news that he had found a “new love” at the beginning of December. Suffice it to say, I was dealing with it not so smoothly. The week after New Years, I had racked up four dates with four different guys, dark-haired, light-haired, tall, not so tall, skinny and meaty—I suppose you could have called it my New Years resolution…if I had one—and continued to date openly throughout the month, enjoying every bit of it (I want to clarify “dating” as “not sleeping around” for the sake of…clarity). This was not, however, a whim. I came upon “the whimming” idea when watching the movie Chaos Theory with one of the four guys, drinking margaritas and eating chips and salsa. The movie was generally humorous, Ryan Reynolds leading the way, and then the film came to the part where Reynolds’ character decided to do things he had never done before. 

Hmmm…I thought. Now keep in mind that I am a naturally very adventurous person, originating from my upbringing in the theater world, but I still held myself back from doing a lot of things I normally wouldn’t even consider doing. When the movie ended, I was struck—as if by lightning, if you will allow me to be dramatic—and I had found the way to drag myself out of the rut I had unwittingly thrown myself into. I was to go whimming!

My first whim of January was to meet a stranger (who happened to end up being guy number five) at a bar that was hosting open-mic. I had never seen an open-mic performance before and this particular bar happened to be all the way in Glendale. So I invited a couple of friends to join me on this brief road trip at 11pm on a Tuesday. None of us knew exactly where we were going or what to expect, but it didn’t matter. This was a whim, and whatever happened was gonna happen. We met at the restaurant/bar, somewhere in the middle of a pitch-black neighborhood, parked and made our way. My nerves started to twist inside my gut, knowing that we were going to meet someone I had briefly met through the internet (mind you, I do not date online), and knowing that I may be pushed to sing for open-mic (something I was definitely not prepared to do). There were hardly any people; it almost seemed awkwardly abandoned, but those who were there greeted us with friendly smiles and hellos. That’s new, I thought. Not too often do total strangers even speak to you as though it were a small country town. Then Guy Number Five—tall, dark, skinny, with incredibly intense eyes—greeted us when we reached the inside. I felt my nerves calm when I noticed how sociable and friendly he was, offering to buy all three of us drinks, only two of us accepting a couple margaritas. The night went smoothly and interestingly; I watched musicians play their guitars, sing their hearts out and was even stunned by Guy Number Five’s unique musical performance.

A-capellaly singing
A-capellaly singing

 

And then it was my turn. Granted, I am a singer, but I like to practice and prepare before going up in front of an audience consisting of bar folk to sing something that’s not even close to open-mic style music. My singing style leans more towards Broadway or classical—definitely not appropriate for open-mic. And I didn’t have a guitar, which would mean a-capella, which would, in turn, make it oh-so-empty and lonely up there! But, Guy Number Five insisted and an encouraging “hoot” from my friends and the MC got me to bravely sit on the isolated stool alone on the stage and grasp the mic firmly—very firmly. I sang “Someone To Watch Over Me”, the only non-musical, slightly jazzy song I could think of, and the bar went quiet—probably because I didn’t have an instrument to accompany me. Nonetheless, I was delighted by the cheering response once I had finished the song. I slipped off that lonely stool and blended back into the crowd. 

We returned home that evening, a rush of adrenaline searing through my body, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much fun I had had; a simple night-out turned into a new experience that was both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. I was hooked and promised myself that I would continue my whimming adventures. Whimming can range from going out with people you wouldn’t normally hang out with, to accepting an invitation when you’d normally say no, to doing something you would usually be afraid to do. They can be big whims or small whims. But the point is to go beyond yourself and your invisible box—you never know who you might meet or what you may learn. I am continuing my whimming adventures every day and usually by myself now. Sometimes nothing happens and other times they do. Occasionally I’ll drag a friend with me, if they’re willing to whim. And, of course, I always make sure that what I am doing is safe. So start whimming, because you never know what you may find.