My Best Worst Audition Ever

Improv is an art form. It relies on the world view of the performer. It is said many times that you must react honestly and respond in the moment to what is happening in your scene. This is why “good improv” is subject to the viewer’s opinion. People sometimes joke that improv is a form of therapy. I always think improvisers need therapy (including myself). I recently had an improv audition that was a true life lesson.

I arrived 30 minutes before my audition, as directed, so that I could meet and warm up with the other actors in my group. Since improv can be (and should, in my opinion) a personal stage experience between two actors, I like to have some degree of familiarity with someone before I perform. There were only 4 of us out of the expected 8 that were on time. The other actors showed up right at the time of the audition and we all filed into the room without even having introduced ourselves. Oh well, let’s roll with it and improvise!

My first scene was goodish. The actress initiated, I supported it, we found a decent game to play and we had fun and vivid characters. Score! The next scene I did was going to be amazing, since I was instructed to initiate the first line of the scene. I always feel a little more comfortable and in control if I am giving the first line.

“Well hello, Martha! You know what the best thing about giving back to the homeless is? You get to feel better about yourself!” I could see myself as a society matron, full of misdirected love. My object work rocked. I spooned out large globs of soup to invisible homeless people going down the cafeteria line. Then, my scene partner stepped out to deliver his support line.

“Oh Barbara, I’m so glad you brought me here.” He had a creepy look in his eye. He slithered over and wrapped his arms around my body and hugged me. He wouldn’t let go. It was a very intense and physical embrace, especially for a stranger who came late and didn’t bother introducing themselves. I slipped into panic mode and I got thrown off in the scene. It became awkwardly fighty. My sincere reaction was for his character to get the fuck off me and stop touching me. I told him to “go fold napkins”. Horrible. Definitely not the textbook improv they were looking for.

We both acted the roles very well and were able to justify any curveballs we threw at each other. After the audition, the guy stalked up to me and asked, “Did you like our scene?”

“Are you still in character?”

“Mayyyyybe.”

“You’re creeping me out!”

“Sorry.” He dropped the act. “Seriously, though. Did you like it?”

Now, I am an honest individual. It is nearly impossible for me to lie or pretend to like something that I don’t. What you see is exactly what you get – for better or worse.

“Well, I didn’t think it was great. I got thrown off because of the physical nature of the scene, but I should’ve accepted that and gotten more physical with you. I am just not comfortable doing that right away with someone who didn’t show up to the warm up to introduce themselves. “

His face fell and, instantly, I felt bad. He nodded and said that was a valid point. He slinked away.

By the time I got downstairs, I had analyzed everything in my life. I was tripped out. Improv acid. Why don’t I let people hug me? Why is the thought of a stranger touching me so repellent? How did I instinctively go against the training that I know and fight against him in the scene? AND, if that was my honest reaction to what was happening in the scene, why do I feel so bad about how I played it? I waited on the street for this guy to come downstairs. I had to talk to him… like a crazyperson.

“Hey! Wait up!”

He turned around and his eyes brightened, “I was just thinking about you!”

We talked for about fifteen minutes. He told me how he felt bad that he wasn’t more of a team player by showing up on time. I admitted I should have dropped what was in my head and heightened his physicality. We agreed that we did the best we could and talked about our personal beliefs about the art of improv. We shook hands and went our separate ways. Strangers touched by each other. He was a very cool guy. Also, he was very cute.

Neither one of us got a callback from the audition.

What I learned from the audition is this: I must be willing to go with the flow. In everything. A hug can feel good. An unexpected hug should feel better. If someone is wrong, I have to let it go. It takes too much energy to fight, even if the fight is natural. I didn’t need the validation of getting a callback to feel good about my talent. I was myself. What’s funny about me is me, not what people may expect of me. I need to graduate myself to the next level of entertainment – write, direct, be, here, NOW. You must have the bad things in life to be able to appreciate the good things. Balance. Believe in myself. Believe in others. Most of all, love everything.

I can’t believe I just blogged about improv. NERD!

…and I can’t believe you just read it. 

Fuck Coldplay

First of all, I have no business even having Coldplay on my ipod. I was feeling glum on the E train and thought I would listen to some marketable sadness. I made sure to skip that fucking ‘Fix You’ song because I know that is my kryptonite. Instead, I listened to some newer bullshit. I cried anyway.

Lametown.

I went home and downloaded Flo Rida.

Valentine’s Day

A complete list of activities I was involved with on Valentine’s Day -

1. I bought new pants. Plain, black, work pants.

2. I took myself to see “he’s just not that into you”. 600 single ladies had the same idea.

3. I treated myself to a fountain Diet Pepsi at KFC. I resisted buying a biscuit.

4. A homeless lady told me I was handsome.

5. Masturbated in a warm bath.

6. Sleep.

Facebook’s “25 Things About Me”

Overnight, everyone in the universe posted “25 Things About Me” on their Facebook pages. It’s out of control. I tried to resist the OCD-like temptation of doing the list, but with several hours at a desk at work, I caved in. I wanted to post them here too.

25 THINGS ABOUT ME

1. There are 14 puppets looking at me right now.

2. I named one of the puppets Phyllis.

3. My boss is talking about yoga from behind a cubicle. I keep saying “oh yeah”, “really”, “thats cool”…

4. I am joining the Greenpoint YMCA this Sunday in effort to start one of my New Year’s Resolutions… on February 1st. January is so cliche. I want to look like Brad Pitt in ‘Fight Club’.

5. My neck hurts.

6. I have to poop, but I’m afraid the Afternoon Pee Bandit may have already been in there and I don’t want to wipe up the pee on the toilet seat.

7. I firmly believe that ‘Yo Gabba Gabba’ is the best show on television.

8. I wonder how this exercise is different than just doing status message updates.

9. When my baby brother was brought home from the hospital, I bit him on the arm. My mom asked me, “Why did you do that?” I answered, “Because I wanted to see if he was real”.

10. I’m dying to go to Coachella this year, but I live far away. The Killers AND Amy Winehouse at the same show? I would die.

11. About five years ago, I made a hand written will in one of my journals. I wanted to make sure my Patsy Cline CD and Jake Gyllenhaal magnet collection fell into the right hands.

12. Most of my job experience is in special education, but I sit at a computer all day and answer phones and stare out the window and wish there was something else somewhere else.

13. Twizzlers make me fart.

14. I pooped my pants on the soccer field when I was 10. Even though my dad kept yelling, “GET YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME, MARX” from the sidelines, I couldn’t help but constantly think of the turd in my shorts. At halftime, I tried to go to the restroom to clean up, but they were locked. Instead, I found a nice, pink house in the nearby cul-de-sac and asked the old lady if I could use her facilities. I left my poopy underwear in her wicker trash can.

15. I was a phone sex operator for three days. It was insane.

16. I’m planning a surprise party for my birthday.

17. I cannot live without Tabasco sauce.

18. The most rewarding experience I’ve ever had was volunteering at Re-Creation Summer Camp for 15 years. It’s a camp for adults with developmental disabilities. The unconditional love from the friends I’ve made there have made me so happy and I hope I have done the same in return.

19. The second most painful experience in my life was when the director of the summer camp tried to fire me for, literally, no reason. If there was a reason, it was mean-spirited and ill-communicated. I’m still trying to figure out the art of forgiveness on that one.

20. I think 25 things is a lot of things. I hate myself for caving in and making this list.

21. I was a candy raver in the deserts of California.

22. I am in love with my beard.

23. I believe in things like “there is good in everyone”, “love at first sight”, and “everything happens for a reason”.

24. Crazy people make me crazy.

25. My blog can always be found at www.marxthespot.wordpress.com

My New Favorite Song… for now

Hugs

Billions of people are gathered in Washington D.C. today to witness the inauguration of our new President, Mr. Barack Obama. Everyone in my office is next door watching it in a huge auditorium. Youtube will be my source at my leisure. I am stealing these moments of solitude to reflect on myself.

I am completely aware that statement makes me sound like a homosexual.

I’m am not a huggy person. Touchy-feelyness makes me squirm. Last Thursday, my friend Sandra was at the bus stop. It was the last day I would be riding that bus at that time, so I thought I would say my goodbyes. At the end of our conversation, I said, “Well it was nice riding the bus with you. I might not see you again.”

“Oh, we’ll see each other someday”, she pointed up to the sky, wiped her runny nose, and gave me a big hug.

She released her loving grip and dashed to the front of the bus line, cutting in front of a few people. I put my headphones back in my ears and turned on whatever. My intention was to try to think of something that wasn’t going to make me cry. The beautiful moment Sandra had given me was overwhelming. I didn’t cry, but my eyes were wet during the rest of my commute.

So, I’ve been thinking. I’m going to start hugging. I’m going to let people hug me and I am going to go out on a limb and actually hug other people – not everyone everyone. I mean, I’m not going to hug strangers or people I don’t like or that kid in the subway who tried to spit on my leg.

Along with Obama’s Presidential Inauguration, I hereby declare my own Huggidential Inauguration.

I, Jeffrey Roma Marx, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute hugs…

If you stare at these hugging bears for awhile, it gets pretty creepy.

The Other Side of Normal

“My name is Sandra. Don’t call me Sandy. It sounds like candy and I’m not allowed to have candy.”

This week, my morning bus commute has brought a new friend into my life. Her name is Sandra and her work schedule recently changed from afternoon hours to morning hours. She lives a block away from my apartment and we meet at the same bus stop every morning. She wears a lot of pink and has very long salt and pepper hair that is usually wrapped up in a bun or ponytail. Her brown eyes sparkle with a youthful innocence and she flashes a warm smile to everyone who happens to walk past.

On Monday, she walked right up to me and started waving. I had never seen her before, but I was familiar with her instant friendliness. I took my headphones out of my ears to hear what she had to say. She told me the bus was 4 minutes late. I was surprised that anyone bothered to keep a watch on the transit schedule, but Sandra had a printed copy of their online timetable. We chatted about how cold the weather was and that she hoped there would be enough seats on the bus because she hurt her leg at workshop last week. Someone named Curtis told her to rest and that her leg would heal very quickly. As soon as the bus turned the corner, she stopped talking to me and zoomed to the front of the line. Once seated, she started talking to other people. Some ignored her. Others smiled and nodded while she talked. Some shot her dirty looks and scooted in the other direction.

Once Tuesday morning came along, so did Sandra. She was already at the bus stop when I walked up. She was in the middle of talking to an older Latino guy who wasn’t paying much attention to her. The bus came almost immediately and we all piled on, Sandra leading the pack. I didn’t say anything to her on the bus. She was busy looking through pages that had been torn out of magazines and saved in a giant manilla envelope. Once she inspected the contents and put everything in the order she wanted them in, she closed the envelope, kissed it gently, and hugged it close to her chest. As I walked down the aisle to exit the bus, Sandra poked me in the leg with her finger. She laughed and I told her to have a good day. On my way out the door, I heard her yell, “I ALWAYS HAVE A GOOD DAY!”

I was running late this morning. I had forgotten that I would most likely see Sandra. I was jamming out to Rihanna, tapping my feet to the beat to stay warm, when Sandra appeared right in front of me. She was carrying two very big jugs of Apple Cider.

“Wow, you must be thirsty!”
“It’s not for me!”
“Who is is for?”
“We are having a Thanksgiving party at my workshop today.”
“But it’s not until next week! Why so early?”
“Because we’re really excited to be thankful!”

You know when The Grinch’s heart gets so big that it doesn’t fit in his little, green chest anymore? I sort of felt like that. A tiny tear formed in my eye, but didn’t go anywhere. The frosty, bitter wind dried it out. Sandra and I kept chatting.

“What are you thankful for?”
“I’m getting an award tonight!”
“What kind of an award?”
“I’m getting a certificate for attendance and for punctuality!”
“That’s great! I don’t think I would be able to get those.”
“Yes you can! You only have to try harder!”

I love Sandra. I hope she is on my bus every day. Forever.

I miss working as a job coach or a camp counselor for people with developmental disabilities. There’s something about my special friends that always made my day. I cherish my experiences with them. I think about them often while I am at my desk answering phones for rich people. The friends that I have made through my life, who work in workshops and are worried about magazine clippings, possess something that those on the other side of “normal” struggle to have – unconditional love.

Who are the normal ones. Who has the disability.

Obama Nailed it!!!

Barack Obama made me cry. My face is still wet and there is snot on my sleeve. I am a strong person, sometimes to the extent of bitchyness, rudeness, and excessive punishment of those who I feel have wronged me. I have big issues surrounding the idea of ‘what is fair?‘ If a stranger cuts in front of me in line at the grocery store, my first reaction is to stab him in the face. For the last 8 years, “president” W. has been cutting the line in front of America. There is a tidal wave of emotions that come from within me when challenged in regards to fairness. I’ve got daddy issues. Sue me.

Tonight, the future President Obama put some things in perspective for me. He is a genuinely amazing individual and someone who wants to do some real good in this nation. He says things that I say, but in a mild, warm, and calm tone. He wants change and he knows how to go about actually changing something. You know how on MySpace there is a section to write down who your hero is? Well, I never really had one. I always put down some sort of joke (Laugh and laugh and fall apart). There is a spirit and an energy from Obama that makes me think he might be able to become the answer for the question “Who is your hero?”

I feel proud to have donated 60 bucks to his campaign. I’d like to say “it’s all I could afford”, but the truth is, I couldn’t even afford that! The 30 minute ad that aired tonight on several TV stations was well worth all the money that was raised for his campaign. You have to use the system to beat the system. Tonight, Barack Obama sealed the deal. He didn’t waste time slandering McCain. He spoke to me. He spoke to us. He just turned all my negativity about this election into a beacon of positivity. I am going to try very hard to keep this feeling of brightness and live it every day. I’m guessing I won’t be able to do that on a consistant basis. Barack Obama makes me want to be a better person.

This is the part were I usually would say something hilarious and undercutting, something that would end a brilliantly funny blog entry – but I don’t have anything funny to say. I just want next Tuesday to come and go and for America to start on a healthy track to healing and togetherness. I feel a lot of love in my heart at this exact moment.

GObama!

Fallingdown

Maybe this “Age 31″ thing isn’t working out so well. Maybe I should try on a different size, a new, spring color. Some sort of make over is overdue. I’m over it. I have done nothing this week except watch reality TV and pretend to be happy. Ugh. I want to go back to when I wasn’t so krazy.

My landlord cursed at me in Hebrew. I laughed at him. Old Lady Sausage Fingers came back to work after a week long vacation and promptly ate a bowl of oatmeal, mozzerella, an apple and crackers. I knew her menu without even looking at it. The city inspector fucked up some paperwork and now I have to make a new appointment so they can come and inspect the apartment again. Meanwhile, the contractors had to apply for some permit they didn’t have in the first place. So no work is being done on our apartment. I have come to a writers block on the play I’m working on and I feel sad because my creative output is zero – no shows, no rehearsals, nofinishedwritingnoboyfriendsnogentlemancallersnofriendsnohome…

I hope all this New York City-cock-and-balls-bullshit is worth it some day.

“You wanna hang out this weekend?”
“Sure, what are you doing?”
“Not sure yet, I’m waiting to hear back from someone cooler than you.”
“Cooler than me?”
“Well, someone who may further my wants and needs more than you.”
“Um…”
“No offense.”
“OK.”
“You should hang out with those other friends of yours.”
“Yeah. Hey Other Friends, what are you doing this weekend?”
“Hanging out with our hot boyfriends.”
“Oh cool.”
“We’d invite you out, but we don’t want to.”
“I understand. Have fun.”
“I mean, you’re cool.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s just a couples thing.”
“Isn’t James hanging out with you guys tonight?”
“James is hot.”
“Right, of course. I forgot.”
“Maybe you should make plans with your real friends?”
“They’re either busy or crazy or live in California.”
“Or you’ve emotionally alienated yourself.”
“OK, Mr. Therapy.”
“I’m serious.”
“I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know.”

16 to 31: Crybaby

From the suggestions – “A song that moved you in a major way, and the situation that surrounded it.” – I have decided to do mini entries on 3 songs. Thank you, Ben for the delightful suggestion!

1. “Winter” by Tori Amos – I was a sophmore at a Catholic high school. This song was introduced to me by a hot senior in the drama club. He was the lead in the school play and he told me how much the song meant to him. He said, “It’s sort of a father/son song if you twist the words to fit your needs.” This senior dude was my first crush and I identified with his daddy issues. We chatted backstage during rehearsals about life and Algebra. I wouldn’t be surprised if he grew up to be gay too.

2. “Heart of Gold” by Force & Styles – Upon first listen, you wouldn’t peg this for a song to cry about. It’s 100 beats per minute! This song was introduced to me early on in my raver days . The soaring vocals and beautiful lyrics spoke to my college heart in a goony, yet undeniably truthful way. If I listen to this song and think about the happy memories hard and long enough, I would cry. PLUR!

3. “Fix You” by motherfucking Coldplay – Ugh. I hate myself for being emotionally effected by this song. The summer I fell in love with one of my best friends coincided with the release of this album. I had stolen the CD from the Starbucks that I temporarily worked at in California and listened to it constantly with my friend. After a month of kissing, laughing, and sharing our deepest secrets, I had to return to New York. I hugged him goodbye and drove to the airport. I was sad, but was able to hold back the tears until this song came on the radio. My eyes clouded with wetness and I had to pull over. I sat in the parking lot of a Taco Bell sobbing over the feeling of knowing I loved him way than he liked me. Fuck you, Coldplay.

23 to 31: Apologies

Walking down Myrtle Street on my way home in Brooklyn, it is not uncommon to be stopped by three or four people for various reasons. Kids selling candy bars, church moms spreading the word of Christ, Chinese guys handing out menus for cheap Chinese food, and my least favorite – homeless people asking for money.

I had just got off work where I had been subjected to a full day of OLS (Old Lady Syndrome) from the nasty hag with whom I share workspace. After doing some grocery shopping, I made a call to my friend, Cody, to complain about my ass-clown landlord, Mr. Perl. Some smelly dude got too close to my face and asked me for change. I ignored him and kept walking. A few blocks later, an average looking lady in an above average hat stopped me, pointed over her shoulder, and said, “Excuse me…”

An angry beast within my soul reached out and yelled, “I’M ON THE PHONE, ARE YOU SERIOUS?” I walked away and continued my phone call, leaving her standing by a bus stop. It wasn’t long before I realized that she was just asking for directions. I am sure of it. I had seen her eyes right after I yelled at her and they were full of sadness, hurt and frustration. She was just about to ask a nice looking stranger for directions and I became an angry, white, fat, ugly faggot, barking in the face of a black lady who may or may not have been asking for change or directions. I caught myself contributing to my own stereotype and cementing that thought to a lost 40-something black lady in Brooklyn.

I was depressed the rest of the night, wishing that I could go back to the scene of the crime and apologize. Even watching all the hotties on ‘Prison Break’ didn’t help get my mind off of it. I cried in my room, full of holes and peeled paint. Not a bunch of tears, just enough to know that I had done something really wrong and I felt terrible. I couldn’t shake the look in her eyes, they were burned in my heart. I downloaded some new shit on iTunes and felt a little better.

Excuse me, average looking lady in an above average hat. I hope you found which way you were trying to go. Everyone gets lost sometimes and I am sorry that I didn’t help you find your way. Sorry for immediately judging you and immediately being annoyed at the sound of your voice. There is no excuse to act that way, even if I was having a bad day. Again, I apologize and if you ever need help of any sort in the future, please do not hesitate to ask. Have a good day!

I think I am supposed to feel better, but I don’t.

Right On Target!

When I discovered that Target was sold out of my favorite flavor of Crystal Light (Raspberry Ice), I cried. Literally. I thought perhaps it was a ghost pain from ex-friend-crush-person, but after peeling back the layers of my tears in the soft drink aisle and examining deeper, I am not convinced that was the sole reason. I really had my hopes set on enjoying that particular beverage!

I always am able to cheer myself up at The Worst Target In The Universe by going to their men’s department and finding a shirt that surprisingly fits me. This time, I thought I found great pajamas! Dr. Pepper t-shirt with flannel Dr. Pepper drawstring pants. I wasn’t sure if they would fit me by looking at them, so I took them to the ladies department where the only functional dressing room was located. I asked the fat, black lady behind the counter for a room. She told me, without looking up from her issue of Ebony Magazine, that I wasn’t allowed to use the dressing room on account that it was the women’s dressing room.

“Where’s the men’s room?”
“Upstairs.”
“They sent me down here because that one wasn’t working.”
“Well, they were wrong.”
“If that one is broken and I am can’t use this one, how do I try these on?”
“You can’t.”
“That is the silliest thing I have ever heard.”
“I’ll be here all night.”

Just then, an Angel of the Lord was sent from above and shielded this dumb, lazy bitch against my daggers of faggy wit. She just about got punched. Not missing the fact that this would indeed hilarious after the fact, I couldn’t help but be overcome with rage. I was about to spit in her face, but then something amazing caught my eye – a body pillow! They had all different designs of covers too! I put my hateful energy into deciding what color to purchase.

Two motherly Jewish women and their 17 children swarmed the body pillows. I heard one of them say something in Yiddish (or something) which I am confidant translated into “Body Pillows for everyone!” The kids went aggressively insane, grabbing at all of the body pillows. One of them got a ketchup stain on a pillow, maybe it was blood, I couldn’t be sure. I reached over there obnoxious little heads and grabbed a pillow. All I needed was the cover of my dreams! Well, the moms already had the market cornered on that one, having taken the last of the design I wanted. Motherfucking bitches. It’s the seventh night of Hanukkah for christsakes, shouldn’t you be somewhere NOT AT TARGET!!??!?!?!?? And why do I have the same taste in body pillow covers as you do!!??!!??!?!?! Fuck!

After dusting myself off and convincing myself that second best is actually best (I’m familiar with this concept all too well), I decided what I really needed was a new DVD player and a bag of Cheddar Baked Lays. Pink DVD players were on sale for 40 bucks. Sold! Cheddar Baked Lays we on sale for 2 bucks. Sold! I felt the happiness wash over me. I opened the bag of chips and ate a few handfuls of lower fat, crunchy goodness. Two minutes later, while I was letting myself get lost in the shampoo department, a security guard approached me. I was too engrossed in selecting which type of Head & Shoulders I wished to buy that I couldn’t be bothered to look up at him.

“Did you pay for that?”
“Not yet.”
“You know, that’s stealing.”
“No it’s not. I’ll pay for it.”
“You have to pay for it before you eat it.”
“I don’t have to. See, I’m eating it.”
“Oh, you’re a comedian.”
“I’ll be here all night.”

I went home with my fake boyfriend, ate my chips, slipped into my new pajamas that ended up fitting perfectly, and unpacked my cute, little, pink DVD player and curled up on the couch. Everything was perfect except that I was drinking stupid lemonade instead of raspberry ice Crystal Light.

Mary Lynn Rajskub

Yesterday I woke up with a new OCD tick. Usually, the ones I get from time to time always fade away. I am thankful that my weirdest one to date filtered out of my system months ago. I hadn’t any noteworthy ticks the past few months until yesterday. I gave it a day to see if it would just leave my brain, but today I woke up and it was still there.

Everytime I open or close a door or shut my laptop closed, my brain says, “Mary Lynn Rajskub”. She just pops in my head from nowhere! Now, here are some initial weird things about this new tick. One, I don’t say it when I open my laptop, only when I close it, but I say it when I open or close a door. Seems inconsistent. Also, she was in a dream I had during The Master Cleanse last month. Also, I think I always mispronounce her name in my brain. I don’t think I have ever heard it said out loud. Now, I am on a quest to hear her name mentioned somewhere on youtube – a clip of ‘24′, a puff piece on Entertainment Tonight, or maybe a behind the scene’s interview on the set of ‘Human Giant’.

Anyway, I hope this disappears soon. It’s at least better than when I was talking to my poops.

"Breaking Up"

I saw a live performance of ‘30 Rock‘ last night at Upright Citizen’s Brigade. It was done to heighten awareness of the Writer’s Strike and as a benefit for out of work people. Tina Fey was awesome and clearly told everyone in the audience not to blog about the content of the show as it hasn’t aired yet. I will not be blogging about ‘30 Rock‘. I will not mention how the show was hilariously awesome.

Here are some other things that I am not going to do….

I am not going to forget my umbrella at home. I am not going to drink juice or soda. I am not going to smile at the fake-nice Asian man who comes into my office to look at his stupid paintings. I am not going to call my racist grandma on her birthday. I am not going to eat at Chipotle anymore. I am not going cry at my desk.

You know what’s weird? Breaking up with someone you aren’t even dating. I have broken up with waiters. They were mean to me once and now when I go back to that restaurant, I ask for a different server if I am sat in their section. I have broken up with The Deli Guy over how he made a crappy sandwich several times. Two weeks ago, I broke up with a TV show (Heroes). But, unfortunately, today, I had to break up with a friend. Let’s just chalk up all the boring details under ‘UNREQUITED LOVE’.

The whole saga organically unfolded over Gchat today. I had planned on talking to him in person about this tomorrow night, right before I was to run away to New Orleans. Anyway, he read the letter I had prepared so I didn’t leave out anything important I wanted to say. I sent it as a google attachment. He understood and said words like “respect” and “amazing” and “brave” and “inspire“. I said words like “tricky” and “instincts” and “universe” and “oatmeal“. I started crying like an idiot while I tried to answer the phone. We typed back and forth while I dripped tears on envelopes that needed to be sent out to rich, important people with last names like ‘Devereaux’ and ‘Williamshire’. He went home early from work because he was sick and I blocked him from my gchat… indefinitely.

I stared out my window at the statue of a giant pencil. The wind and rain was ugly and I felt cold inside. Even though I was immensely sad, I had a tiny light inside of me that seemed to say that I had done the right thing. I needed it to be my decision to end our communication to move on, move forward, to love myself. I left my desk during one particularly rough hour to go outside. It’s really hard to cry silently when all you want to do is sob out loud. I found a private little area under some wet trees whose leaves were changing – brown, orange, fire. After a few moments of feeling like a moron, I came back inside and dried my swollen eyes. My boss asked me if I was getting a cold and I started crying again. She immediately tried to give me chocolate and coffee. I refused the chocolate, but drank the coffee, feeling like an emotional leper at a fancy desk.

It’s been an hour since my coffee band-aid and I am much calmer. A huge weight has been lifted off my heart and with every breath I am more and more confident I have done the right thing. Tonight, I plan on buying a digital camera, the new, live Daft Punk CD – with booklet and encore audio, and a puppy. That will make me feel better, less insane. A tiny, hopeful light has been added on my path to happiness, and even though I feel foggy and grounded in this decision, I can’t help but miss my friend already.

I think I violated Tina Fey’s rules. The friend I talk about, is um… Alec Baldwin. This was the story line for the upcoming episode of ‘30 Rock‘. Sorry, Tina.

Pink Eye or Gay Stigmata?

My left eye has been leaky off and on for about a month and a half. It’s not itchy or scratchy, just consistently wet. No discharge, no color, just plain old tears. Sometimes, when I wake up in the morning, my eye is crusted over and I can’t see. Since, I rarely remember my dreams, I assume I am crying in them. Whether it’s daddy issues, unrequited love or realizing your DVR didn’t record the entire episode of ‘The Amazing Race’ because a fucking football game went into overtime, my eye has become a physical representation of pain. Like, when statues of Jesus start bleeding!*

* Not saying I am a Jesus figure, just comparing apples to fat oranges.**

** Actually, I take that back. In the last two days, three different people in three different parts of my life made the comment that I appear to be losing weight. They would be right! I have lost 27 pounds since October 1st, more than half of my goal of 50 pounds by New Year’s Day. Thanks to those three people! You win The Best People Of Jeff’s Week So Far Award!

I am not a fat orange.