The The-ater

Earlier this month, in an attempt to soak up as much culture as possible before moving to the coast where the only cultural advantage is being able to make a right on red (give credit where credit is due: @WoodyAllen) I made sure to register for as many performances as possible when I got tickets to Free Night of Theatre. So far there have been three shows I've had tickets to, the first I knew I wouldn't be able to go to so I gave it away, the second I made the mistake of going to an All-You-Can-Drink brunch before and managed to sleep straight through, and the third I gave away in exchange for a catering job. Sigh. But last night I went, I went and experienced a play at a theatre downtown about Mexican Immigrants. I think. Needless to say, it was awful. Well, at least I think it was awful. I have no idea what it was at all really.

So during the show I made a list of all the things that I'd rather be watching than "this". It is as follows:

• An elephant jerking off
• Midgets playing kickball
• My mom playing solitaire
• Morgan Freeman wearing a sweatsuit and taking a nap
• A twelve inning semi-professional softball game
• The kitchen staff at any restaurant singing along to their mp3 players
• A drunk couple making out
• A recitation of German love poems
• A production of 2HenryVI starring Robert Pattinson
• Two episodes of Two and a Half Men

And with that, I bid you a happy weekend. 

A

The Secret Garden Journal (Day Two)

May 22, 95
Daer Journal,
It shore has been a long time sceence I've written to you. I'm writing storys for my birthday so here go's:
The Garage Ghost
A long time ago in Transsalvania a girl who was 13 had a grandpa who was very mean. One day her grandpa was chopping wood in the garage and he chopped he hand off and  then his head and soon he was dead but when he died, noone buried him so he remains in that same garage and he always will.
June 26, 95
Today is the day before my birthday celibrelion I can feel it honest I can I have that that smummery feeling I'm listing to Toni Braxton, Best Freind
Bye,
more tomorrow
Adria <3


Happy Thursday folks! Today has small children, copious beverages and a play about Mexican immigrants on tap for me. It'd be better if I was a playing an immigrant or drinking copious beverages with Mexican children. We can't have it all.

A

The Secret Garden Journal

So I kind of dropped the ball, didn't I? I said I was going to schedule a post and then it never showed up. I could blame technology but that'd be a cheap excuse, because it's not true. Truth is, it's not that great of a story.
Want to hear it anyway? Really? Even after knowing that the buildup won't be worth it? Okay fine. Masochist.
My "new" car decided to fall short of maximum performance on Saturday night as I was driving from Brooklyn through Manhattan and then back to New Jersey (for the aforementioned catering event). I was crawling up the West Side Highway in the Saturday night midnight exodus, and just as I was merging to exit and drop off my passengers boom the car stops running. Battery light goes on and I'm stopped halfway through the right lane and the second-from-the-right lane and cars are honking at me and my right leg starts shaking and I turn the ignition off, put the car in park, and then turn the car on again, and got the fuck out of there. So the story is lessened by the fact that the car turned back on. The story is lessened, my life is strengthened. The car has been in the shop and I've been assured that it's not going to do that again. Probably.
So I've decided that I'm going to do a series of posts that are journal entries from my childhood. For my 7th birthday my parents' got three Secret Garden Journals, one for me, and one for each of my two best friends who were attending my three person sleepover party (incidentally, they are still my two best friends and we still all remember how the two of them had seen "Mrs. Doubfire"–the Blockbuster Video selection of the night–and talked through the first half until I turned it off. Some birthday friends.) So I started writing in it about 10 months later. Here are a selection of entries from the first half:


Oct 8, 1994
Dear Jronol, I am sorry I did not put a entering story. It will start now. My name is Adria I am seaven years old (When I started this. Now I am eaght) I had a hraed writing but I sevived. I LOVE gymnatcis it is so much fun. By
Oct 10, 1994
In school I was so emberessed because I had a dream that Rich in my class loved me I flet so werid looking at him I tHink he likes me.
I have gotten A+'s on every test in school so far this year exsepet for one I got an A on that one. So I gess that means I am a good steudent. bye
Good theingsMay28, 1994
Today Me and caity went to a Boys house and one of them was sort of cute. 
I played with caity all day.
3/19/95
I havn't writen to you in a long time I don't relly have a short story but I don't relly have a long one. my teacher said to do a report on what we are learning about Native Americans and we have to do it all today. BYE, Adria
P.S. help me hurry
P.S. Rachel and I think there might be a goost in our garage. HELP!!!!


Oh that scary goost. Ghost. Ghost. Apologies if this post is a little ADD, there's a Robin Williams comedy show on HBO and I keep wanting to type "meat curtains" or "balls". You'll thank me later.

 More childhood jronol entries tomorrow.

A

Help me down...I'm on a high horse

I apologize if I hurt anyone's feelings here, but this is sensitive stuff.

It's only 3pm (EST) when I'm writing this and I've already had a very full day. Especially for a Sunday. The catering company that I sometimes work for had an event at 7:15 this morning and I was working it. It just so happens that this event was in the town that I grew up in (and where my parents still live-hence, where I've been staying a few nights a week for the past month). At first I thought, "No, no no. I cannot cater an event in my hometown. I refuse to serve canapes to people who might know me." Then I heard that it was a 3 year old's birthday party and I checked my bank balance and changed my mind. I can't possibly know the parents of a 3 year old, or their friends. Smooth sailing, not embarrassing, and totally fine. Besides, serving people I know isn't that bad, I'm supporting a creative lifestyle and screw them if they think less of me for it. Except that's not how this town works.

Background? Yes. I grew up in a New York City suburb, about twenty minutes northwest of the city (Yes, in New Jersey–but I try to avoid that fact. I have no "Jersey Pride" whatsoever. Whoops.), and I've grown to hate it. That's the sensitive stuff. I have a lot of friends (almost all of my high school friends, in fact) who still really love the place and don't feel the disconnect that I do, but that just doesn't change my mind. I can't deal with the people anymore, not one bit. The snobby, materialistic, self-involved, bubble that is this town makes me nauseated.  Don't get me wrong, I was very lucky to grow up in a place like this and I know that. I went to one of the best public schools out there and had a very enjoyable childhood (save for standard bullying and the entire period of middle school where no more than three people were ever actually friends with me), but I can't believe I grew up here. For awhile I thought that it had gotten worse since I left, but now I realize that I've just changed and can't handle these people women anymore. At the party today I think maybe three women smiled at me, at all, and there were over 40 adults there, more women than men. THREE. The men aren't much better, but at least they don't look suicidal all the time. No one eats anything and all they do is complain. I've catered a lot of parties, and of course people are assholes, but most people are slightly enjoyable at some point. Either because they get drunk, or they're funny, or they SMILE at you, or god forbid, they actually engage you in conversation and are nice. Yes, it happens. Did it happen today? No.

Can I tell you a secret? The three year old's aunt went to high school with me. I was only slightly wrong about thinking that a three year old's birthday party wouldn't involve people I knew, because I'm in denial about how old I am. It is completely acceptable for someone in their late twenties to procreate, and therefore, someone who was a few years older than me in high school could very well have children by now. Stupid. So the Aunt. She's awful. I don't care if she somehow found and read this, because she deserves to know how horrid she is. She's crass, loud, rude, and an entitled, little bitch. I'm pretty sure her best friend in high school is the girl who walked through the halls calling me a slut my freshman year. First of all, I was wearing khakis from the Gap, second of all, "slut" implies sexual activity. Regardless, this auntie caused me to suffer my second panic attack of the week (third if you count what happened last night–more on that later) when I saw her. I had a movie-moment flashback and I had to about face with my tray of coffee cake and head to the kitchen, and I totally started to cry on my way back. It was simply too much to handle before 10 am, on five hours of sleep and as an adult. I would rather never have children than have to raise them here. The only reason that I turned out a partially acceptable human being is because my parents refused to be a part of these shenanigans. Growing up I hated that. I hated that my dad would never buy a new car, I hated that my Mom didn't wear Seven jeans like all the other Moms, I hated that I wasn't allowed to bring good snacks to school (I had to bring organic ones), and I hated that I always felt like my parents didn't want to be a part of the "community" here. Guess what, THANK GOD FOR ALL OF THAT. If my parents weren't neo-hippies driving a Chrysler Town and Country and composting in the backyard I'd be scowling at caterers on Sunday mornings instead of inadvertently pursuing something I actually care about. I'm not saying that I'm better than them, but they're most certainly not better than me, and they think they are. Believe me, they think they are. I hate this place.

This post is already too long, so if you want to find out what happened to me last night that caused a semi-panic attack you'll have to come back tomorrow. I'll write it now and schedule the post, so I promise it'll happen. Happy Sunday. I'm out of there and in the safety of the neo-hippie's home.

A

Photo Friday

I'm supposed to be making a lasagna right now. Well, sort of. My friends and I started a tradition of girls' night last year and took the summer off and are reconvening tonight and I said I'd make an entree. I was feeling extra-powerful in the kitchen since I have access to my parents' kitchen and all its accoutrements (real pots and pans and non-stick spray and an oven you don't need a match to light) but now I'm doing this:

And do you know what "this" is? It's called organizing my room. Listening to The Black Keys and finding accessories in this disaster of a bedroom. I'm even going to upload more pictures, because I want you to see the hurricane of STUFF that I have to decide what to do with.

Look! I'm drowning in clothes. And books. I also feel the need to show you all the bottom half of my outfit, because it's embarrassing.

No, I didn't go to Brown. Yes, there's more clothing on my bed. Yes I'm wearing cut-off sweatpants with cashmere socks and a head wrap. And I'm going to head to the kitchen in a minute to attempt to make something that goes along with the "Red, White and Blue" theme of tonight's soiree. Can we take an official vote on whether or not my life has reached enough of a point of "pathetic" for me to be okay with moving 3,000 miles?

I haven't actually organized anything yet. I've just posed for you and drank a cup of coffee. If this post doesn't get me a Pulitzer I don't know what. Maybe it'll get me an agent? Or an episode of "What Not To Wear"?

Oh, I had such high hopes for this post to be the end of my spell of lameness. No one even acknowledged my pathetic joke of a spider poem satire. I guess I'll steer clear of satirizing children's rhymes from now on.

A

PS: If anyone has favorite spots in any of the following states please let me know, I'm looking for good road trip diners, views, photo spots, whatever. The states are: Delaware (haha), Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee (southwest corner/Memphis), Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas (panhandle), New Mexico, southwest Colorado, Arizona. Route subject to change. Life subject to change. 

A Little Story

The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout
down came the rain and washed the spider out
out came the sun and dried up all the rain
then the itsy bitsy spider went up the spout again


and then he got rained away
and then he climbed back up
because that pesky little spider just won't give up.
Is he dumb or persistent?


Will he stay or should he find something else to climb?
Will he become disheartened and just go back to school?
Become a teacher?
Sign up for a 401k and get a Passat wagon?
Pop out a few kids and send them to private school?


Encourage them to get up that spout because he never could?
Fund "spout climbing" classes?
Get 'em spout agents and publicize the whole thing?

A Spattering of Uselessness

Oh hey, October! Where the hell did you come from? Wasn't it July five minutes ago? I blinked and missed labor day weekend. I need some help here, I don't seem to understand how this happened so quickly. I wake up saying "rabbit rabbit" every morning, or so it seems.

The sun will come out tomorrow. Or so says Weather.com. ba...ba....ba...bum. sigh.

Sometimes I think I've checked out of my own life.

The Social Network is over-advertised. I wanted to see it and now I want to boycott because it's pissing me off.

My stand-up show last night went pretty well. I had some seriously supportive friends come out, which was great! The audience needed a few hits of cocaine speed red bull by the time I went on, but I got a few good, hearty chuckles on my Staten Island joke and the story about the homeless lady who grabbed my right boob. (True story. It was pretty traumatic at the time, but gosh darn it is it funny now.)

I'm listening to the Nat King Cole Pandora station. At 12:30 am. On a Friday. When I'm moving in three weeks. Please tell me that this choice isn't regrettable. That's what you are. Just, regrettable, in every way. And forever more, that's how you'll stay (Yes. Shoot me).

I was thinking recently about some TV shows that I'd like to re-watch. Namely Undressed. It was soft-softcore porn for the sneaky, horny pre-teen. I used to watch it every chance I got, mostly while sneaking Tofutti tofu ice cream out of the freezer and pretending I was getting away with something. Also, Are You Afraid of the Dark? I can't even tell you how many times I used to ask my parents if I could put out a fire with sand. Just as a side note, do you remember how on Guts (probably Global Guts too), Mo would always be like, "...and remember, don't try this at home!"? I built an Agro Crag in my driveway. I was probably 7 years old and I collected the biggest rocks I could find and made a pile of them and attempted to climb them. I just went on ebay, by the way, to see if anyone was selling a "piece of the crag". They're not. I'd so buy that. They do have Legends of the Hidden Temple tee shirts though. Green Monkeys anyone?

I'll just have you all know that I had to turn off Pandora due to the fact that I started to feel like an old lady. I put my iTunes on shuffle and Gone, by Nsync came up. I'm listening to it now, for real. Now I feel like the girl I once was, two Princess Leia/Emo buns atop my head, sparkly cherry tee shirt (sluttier than the one pictured), cheap eyeliner, and Puma sneakers. I feel dirty just thinking about it. I will say this...that Nsync concert at Giants Stadium circa 2001 was awesome. God, that wasn't in the 90s? I'm embarrassed. I ate a knish at that concert. I ate a potato knish at an Nsync concert.

If Justin Timberlake can overcome those days so can I.

Goodnight. If you've made it this far you deserve a knish.

A