My 2011

The last five hours of 2011 have begun, leaving us all reflecting on the past year and wondering what the new year will bring. Most of us have probably exclaimed, "I can't believe it's already been a year!" in the past 24 hours as we remember exactly what we were doing last New Years Eve. I, for one, had just met a new guy while singing karaoke with friends on Christmas night, and distinctly remember him telling me not to kiss anyone else when the clock struck midnight. Considering I spent the evening with a bunch of my girlfriends from Cheeseburger in Paradise, his wish came true. He didn't even have that honor til almost a month later.

Outward Bound (Ricky's in red; I'm next to him)

Christmas karaoke man and I dated for a few months, even though I got in a Facebook relationship with someone else during the first few weeks of the year. Ricky and I have publicly been in an "open relationship" on Facebook for almost a year now, our "anniversary" being January 12th- the day we returned from our crazy Outward Bound dog sledding trip in Ely, Minnesota. I still smile every time I see his name next to the heart on my Facebook page, knowing we don't even have each other's phone numbers (but I love him!). By St. Patricks Day, the thrill of my rendition of Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas is You" had worn off, so my real-life Christmas karaoke sweetheart and I parted ways.

One month later, I was sitting in front of a new date at Mahi Mahs Restaurant, overlooking the boardwalk and Atlantic Ocean. He was not happy in Virginia Beach, dreaming of the day he would move to San Diego. I said to him something along these lines: "Think about where you were a year ago. You probably only remember a couple specific days...the rest is a blur. In one year from now, you'll be in San Diego and hardly remember these bad days at work or the cold weather you hate so much. And in a year from now, I'll be sitting in front of someone new, remembering you as that guy I went out with a few times in the spring of 2011." I was so right (even though I said that in jest). We went out more than a few times, but only stayed together until the 4th of July. Holidays in 2011 were not good to me, starting with St. Patrick's Day. Keep reading for confirmation.

One month after the July 4th break up, I moved to New York City- land of dreams, no exes, and delicious cuisine. As you could probably tell by posts in November, I started seeing an Irish guy here in The City. Thanksgiving was the last time I saw him. Should've seen that one coming... 

Though I can create a ridiculous 2011 timeline based on holiday break ups, I can also map it out by extraordinary experiences. Like I mentioned above, my year started with a seven day winter camping/dog sledding excursion. I was in below zero conditions for 144 hours straight with twelve strangers, wrestling with my intentions for the rest of the year. Should I stay in Virginia or move to NYC? While shivering "inside" a little tarp-tent-thing that I had tied to two trees, using the trunk of a tree I sawed down by hand as a weight to hold the tarp to the ground (no, seriously), I decided to give Miss Virginia one final go.

Two weeks later, I won Miss Greater Hampton Roads, and returned to Miss Virginia in June. I've talked about that incredible week in Roanoke plenty on this blog, so I won't beat a dead horse, but that was obviously a huge highlight of 2011. I gained 29 new friends, was honored with the Quality of Life award, placed 3rd runner up, and cheered on a close friend of mine as she had the Miss Virginia sash placed across her shoulder.

The rest of the summer was a blur of unbelievably fun trips, including auditioning for American Idol in Pittsburgh, flying to New York City for a Broadway audition, and attending the funnest wedding I've ever been to with my college a cappella sisters in Fredericksburg. Wedged in there was Jim and Lindsay's engagement, Oliver Beach Week, and a Phi Mu/Miss Virginia reunion weekend in D.C.

As we know, I moved to New York in August, finally deciding to chase my dream to sing for a living. These past 4 1/2 months have been quite the ride. I've made amazing new friends, rekindled relationships with old friends, had four different jobs, and moved into three different apartments. I've laughed, cried, almost given up, and pushed through. I've learned about a strength within me that I didn't know existed. Pretty much nothing has gone right since I moved here, but I will not stop trying until I know I've given 100%.

My 2011 has not been easy, but it's been eye-opening and rewarding. It has challenged me at every turn- physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. I had some really beautiful moments laughing with friends, dating great guys, spending time with family, performing in shows with outstanding and supportive casts/crews, and getting to know myself better. I've been shown unconditional love by unexpected people, taught lessons by unknowing teachers, and had homes and hearts opened to me by near strangers. I've been at my best, been at my worst, and can sit here happy to be me. Maybe a part of me wants 2012 to bring more successes than 2011 offered, but then again, maybe I couldn't ask for more success than sitting on a couch that doesn't belong to me, my suitcase across the room next to the futon I'll be sleeping on to bring in the new year, typing that I'm happy to be me. Cheers to 2012 <3

Post-Christmas Exhaustion

So much for my new apartment. The roommates are nice and the location could be worse, but the neighbors' loud music combined with the lack of ventilation in my room just isn't cutting it. Tomorrow, I'll be re-packing all of my bags and moving into my stepmom's friend's apartment in Manhattan. Although a temporary set up, sleeping on her futon will at least prevent me from ripping my hair out in the middle of the night from loud techno bass. On top of it, I doubt I"ll feel as stuffy in a room that gets a little healthy sunlight. New York...so glamorous.

Thank goodness for Rayna and Kelly. They're letting me sleep at their apartment tonight before I make the move tomorrow. I'm absolutely exhausted from the long ride home today, so I think I'd truly lose it if I were kept awake by neighbors tonight. Because I had to get up early this morning, my last night in Virginia Beach was not nearly as exciting as Monday and Tuesday nights, but I don't think I could have stayed up later than 11p.m. anyways. I didn't sleep much earlier in the week due to social hours that were essentially unorganized high school reunions. The few days following Christmas were a blur as I somehow found time to see New Year's Eve with Stephanie, have brunch with Lauren (same Lauren whose room I originally subleased in NYC), get a haircut, visit Polly (my old pageant director), grab sushi with Wes (Polly's grandson/close friend of mine), reunite with one of my best friends, Jessica, attend an engagement party, make an appearance at a going away party, and hang out at C.P. Shuckers, Chicks, and Lynnhaven Pub (three of my favorite local spots). Whew.

Wes and I entertained ourselves at lunch by sending creepy pictures to one of his friends...this is my go-to creepy face. Pretty, right?

Unfortunately, the madness won't slow down until after New Years, but might as well have as much fun as possible while I'm alive and well! This is officially the shortest blog post in the world, but I'm unable to sit up any longer...

War Movies

I don't like when people die. Of course, unless you're a homicidal psychopath, you probably agree with me. But I'm not just stating the obvious in terms of death in real life. I don't like when people die in movies, particularly in violent fashions. If a dinosaur eats someone or aliens blow up the planet, I'm not too concerned. But war movies or anything that depicts a true historical event are not my cup of tea.

My mom, Sherwin, Sherwin's son Scott, and I decided to go see a heart-warming Christmas Day movie yesterday: War Horse. The first sign that this movie wouldn't be a feel-gooder was the word "war" in the title. But it's a horse movie...it can't be that depressing! Sign number two was the movie poster (note the melancholy colors). At least the horse's ears are happily perked! Sign number 3: one of the previews was for the re-release of Titantic in 3D. I cried just from the brief clip of the old couple laying in bed, waiting to die as the ship sank. There was no hope for my poor little emotions by the time War Horse began.

As the credits rolled, my mom and I simultaneously looked at each other with the expression reading, "That was so not worth the stress." Yes, the ending was technically "happy," but the emotional roller coaster leading to that final scene was too much to handle. Watching all of the soldiers die in no man's land, all of the people getting torn away from this horse that has come to be their only hope in life, and even the horse himself watching his best horse friend die, nuzzling him in the street...just give me a Xanax already.

I don't think that people who like gory war movies are terrible, sick individuals. I'm personally just going to request omission from now on. Men may argue, "But you make me see chick flicks." My argument? Chick flicks don't emotionally scar you, raise your heart rate (except maybe during a hot and heavy kissing scene, but I'm not going to apologize for that), or make you cry. Sure, some of you boys may have secretly shed a tear during The Notebook, but I'm pretty sure you can accept the difference between war movie crying and chick flick crying. One= hope, happiness, love. One= dispair, pain, and loss. I full support your enjoyment of the manly action, but if you want to watch a non-girly movie with me, please make it one that is unrealistic for the sake of my fragile feelings.

On Dasher, On Dancer...

Santa should be landing on the roof any minute. I hope he eats all of the leftover cookies my mom made for Christmas Eve dinner tonight...Lord knows I don't need that temptation lying around.

Remember how I ended my last post by saying that my pillow was a little too inviting? I wasn't lying. I slept until noon today! That can't be healthy. Perhaps it's the fact that I haven't slept soundly since moving into my new New York apartment, then my first night in Virginia Beach was spent cuddling with Stephanie (not complaining- I love sleepovers). Whatever the reason, I rolled out of bed long after a responsible adult ever should and immediately headed into the Christmas Eve madness, scrambling to finish my gift list. Between my late arousal and procrastination-induced shopping excursion, I guess being a responsible adult was just not the theme of today.

My family went to Lindsay's family's house for dinner, where I got to see an old acquaintance from high school. Her family happens to be really close to Lindsay's, so they celebrate Christmas Eve together every year. I really enjoyed catching up and relating to the general struggles of most 23-year-olds. I'm glad I'm not the only one who still has no idea what she's doing with her life.

I guess Rudolph had the night off in this picture...

Lindsay's family also has the tradition of playing a game after holiday dinners, usually orchestrated by her grandfather. This year's was a team crossword puzzle challenge. In the end, our two teams of seven both got all of the answers correct, although the other team will argue that they technically won. You see, there was no clue for "20 down"; it was somehow forgotten. Thus, we both guessed the answer. All we knew was that it was a three letter word ending with "Y," so my team wrote "joy." That was a solid guess for an easy Christmas crossword, if you ask me. Our opponents came up with "ivy." Really? Ivy? Guess who was right...ivy. As impressive as that "brilliant" guess was, Lindsay's grandfather still resorted to the tiebreaker: Name all of Santa's reindeer in order that he calls them. I thought this was the easiest tiebreaker in the world, but apparently my knowledge of Santa's reindeer is not shared by the general population. I quickly spouted out Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, and Rudolph. Everyone looked at me like I'd just named every historic mayor of Rome. I don't know about you people, but I find it terribly inconsiderate that most people can't name the nine reindeer that we expect to fly through blizzards to bring us presents every year.

Speaking of presents, I still have to wrap mine in the morning. Nothing like waiting til the last minute. I'm also doing a "Santa Shuffle" in the morning, my mom's made-up holiday run. "It's better than a Turkey Trot because there's no fee, no crowds, and you get to pick your own course!" she said. There better be a medal.

Christmas Eve Eve

Cuddled up in my own bed watching Modern Family after a bath in our jacuzzi tub, I don't want to be anywhere else. The drive to Virginia took way too long yesterday-10 hours-since we drove through D.C. to drop people off, but the company was excellent. Rayna, a Miss Virginia girl who goes to law school at Columbia (take that, pageant critics), offered to give me a lift home for Christmas. Naturally, I jumped on the chance to not pay for a bus or split the cost of a rental car with my brother. She, her two friends from law school, and I chatted and played road trip games the whole way down. Of course I ended up with the driving shift that took us straight through a storm, leaving me with white knuckles and a headache from trying to see the road, but we survived. Let me just say that I hate, HATE, giant 18-wheelers that spray water from their tires and trap me in the middle of their blurry orange and yellow lights while going 75mph. I swear I went five full minutes without breathing at one point.

Stephanie and me at her apartment

Despite my exhaustion from a long day of travel (how does sitting still in a car for 10 hours always make you so tired?), I immediately changed clothes upon arrival at my dad's house and rushed over to Stephanie's Christmas party. She and her roommates invited a bunch of Longwood (her college) grads who live in Virginia Beach over for some holiday fun, and fun it was. We migrated to Crocs, a local bar, where I did a lot of dancing and people watching...kind of at the same time. Being around beach people is drastically different than the social scene in New York. First off, I forgot how tan and thin every girl in Virginia Beach is. I guess when you live near the water, you have to be swimsuit ready at all times...woops. Count me out of that category. Then there are the Virginia Beach guys, all wearing some sort of surf brand shirt and rocking the same shaggy haircuts they've had since middle school. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, rather pointing out the stark difference in style from New York businessmen, young professionals, and hipsters. The crowd was really fun, as most crowds in Virginia Beach are since everyone interacts and knows at least a quarter of the people in any given bar. At the end of the night, Steph and I walked back to her apartment and chowed down on all of the leftover dip before going to bed. So much for my calorie count yesterday.

Today was not very exciting, but I liked it that way. I hung out with my mom around the house in the morning, went to Barnes & Noble to finish the third book in The Hunger Games trilogy (BEST BOOKS EVER...go read them right now), and ate chili for dinner with Jim, Lindsay, Mom, and Sherwin. No complaints. Except when crazy drivers kept ruining my life in the Barnes & Noble parking lot. The amount of times I sat with my blinker on, ready to take the space of someone leaving, only to have an obnoxious person sweep in and steal it, was infuriating. Eventually I found a spot in a little side lot, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise as it saved me from minor humiliation due to trying to park my dad's giant school bus of a vehicle. I decided that getting in the lines was not entirely necessary.

My pillow is becoming a little too inviting, so it's time to say au revoir to yet another Christmas Eve eve. Sending all my good wishes to the elves as they scramble to finish last minute presents!

Rayna (not the same Rayna I drove home with) and I in front of the famous Rockefeller Christmas tree. I had to take advantage of the traditional New York Christmas scene before heading to Virginia!

Expectations

People surprise you a lot less when you don't have expectations. Expectations of what strangers will be like in accordance with their clothing. Expectations of how your sibling will react to a question. Expectations of what your friends are willing to do for you. We're conditioned to expect certain behavior, responses, and opinions based on prior experience. But what if we didn't predict anything about another person? I like to think we'd all just get along.

My press on tat, circa 2010

I'm not simply talking about stereotyping, though that may be interwoven in some circumstances. For example, I recently met someone with 28 tattoos, including a full sleeve down his right arm. Most people I interact with don't have many or any tattoos, and the general consensus (not blanketing everyone) from my upper-middle class, preppy social community is that excessive tattoos suggest recklessness and an unprofessional attitude (at least in the 9-5 world). I don't think I've ever thought one way or another about tattoos, but I will admit that I was a bit surprised to find that my heavily tatted friend is a very successful project manager at a software company who graduated in the top 10 of his high school class before heading to one of the most well-known universities in the country. If he were tat-free and wearing khakis, something tells me I would not have been surprised at all. Even for someone like me, who prides herself on avoiding stereotyping, culture and upbringing influence our expectations. Like I said, I never gave much thought to how I feel about tattoos, but my twinge of surprise reveals my conditioned beliefs about someone who has 28 of them. [See that tiny butterfly on my right hip in the picture above? Yeah...that's the only tattoo I've ever had.]

Jim, 14 & me, 12

As previously noted, however, not all of our expectations arise from stereotypes. This may be the case for encounters with strangers, but what about expectations of people we already know? My brother and I had a very long conversation two nights ago that addressed this very subject. He and I are closer than many siblings and spend a lot of time together, but have momentary relapses of arguing in a way that should no longer be an issue now that we're young adults, free of teenage hormones and angst. Don't get me wrong, we don't yell and fight; we just get under each other's skin without even trying. Deciding to sit down and get to the bottom of our differences was a bit nerve-wracking...maybe there's no solution? Maybe we just don't naturally get along? I'm so glad we decided to figure it out, though, because the solution ended up being really simple (once we finally got there..): We need to stop expecting negative behavior and malintentions (<--that's not actually a word) from each other. We are not the same, selfish kids who wanted to kill each other in high school.

I came to the conclusion that I grew up feeling like he was "perfect" in everyone else's eyes, so when I'd try and tell someone that he was mean to me (which he most definitely was at times), they'd brush it off like I must have been hallucinating. Thus, I've spent the past 10 years not trusting that anything he said or did was sincere...he's just the smooth-talking golden child. He came to the conclusion that he began avoiding me while growing up since I'd get super defensive and angry if he tried to confront me about something...anything (I'm not denying it. I was a typical female teenager). Thus, he's spent the past 10 years walking on eggshells. Monday night, we came to the realization that we were still projecting the teenage versions of each other onto the now mature twenty-something versions of each other. People change...even your siblings. In order to develop a healthy adult relationship, we have to stop placing value on outdated expectations.

Maybe we need to reconsider the saying "I love when people surprise me." If people don't surprise us, it means that we're finally getting a grasp on two crucial concepts: 1.) You can't make assumptions about people based on appearance, second hand stories, or anything else, for that matter. You just have to talk to them. 2.) People are constantly developing, so you can never know someone too well. Your expectations of them are not reliable. (I almost put an "always" before reliable, but if something is not always reliable, then it's simply not reliable at all.)

Day Dates

Living in a room with no windows makes you really tired. All. The. Time. The room looks no different if it's noon or three in the morning. I'm honestly not sure how long I'll last here. As much as I appreciate the price and size of the room, the bass player below me and constant lack of sunlight put me in a less than joyous mood. I spend more time reading in Barnes & Noble these days than in my own room...thank goodness for a month to month lease.

In an attempt to avoid insanity brought upon by the thumping bass, I said "yes" to anyone who asked to hang out with me this weekend. The two who won the first come, first serve weekend fillers (not that people were lining up) happened to be a guy named Jude, who I met way back in September, and one of Lauren's friends, Dave. Jude was the victim of my desperate search around a ridiculously fratty bar for flip cup teammates during my first month in the City. I haven't talked to him since then, but when he texted me a few days ago, I figured what could be the harm in getting together? So what if it's been three months and I had no memory of what he looked like/if he had chainsaw murderer-type qualities. Lucky for me, he doesn't seem to be out of his mind.

We started off the afternoon with coffee from a cool little cafe in the East Village and continued on to a hole-in-the-wall chocolate store that has, quite possibly, the most delicious bite-size chocolates in the world. We drank our coffee (well, chai tea for me, of course) and shared the chocolates on a bench next to some basketball courts in an artsy part of the neighborhood...such a New York moment. From there, he took me to The New Museum in Soho..or maybe the Lower East Side. I can never keep track of where I am. The museum is really modern and switches exhibits every few months, so you never know what will be on display. Currently, the place has a super trippy theme of sense-alteration. With a room full of 10 foot tall mushrooms, something called The Giant Psycho Tank, and a glass tube slide that runs through three or four stories, we were more than sufficiently entertained. As evening approached, we walked to a neat cocktail bar and had a couple of original concoctions, my personal favorite being some pumpkin-cranberry flavored rum drink, and cheese (yes!). Having discussed our mutual love for tiny dive bars, he then led me to a great one in his neighborhood. They even served Busch heavy in a can...such a classy establishment. We were eventually a bit cramped when an ugly Christmas attire bar crawl crowd poured in, so we retreated to the rooftop of his building that overlooks all of midtown. Breathtaking. The night rounded out with me convincing him to play guitar for me- acoustic guitar music has to be one of my favorite things in the world.

Listen up, boys: that is how to do a first date. None of this "let's go grab dinner and a drink" business. Day dates are the best. Major points for Jude's planning skills.

Castle of Homelessness

Today, Lauren's friend Dave, who helped me move to my new apartment last week, and I explored our new neighborhoods. He just got back from an around the world trip for his company, so he's only been in his apartment since last Sunday. My neighborhood didn't have much to offer in terms of excitement other than a castle that we discovered is now a homeless shelter. Homeless people living in a castle...oh, the irony. His neighborhood in Williamsburg, Brooklyn held much more promise, but I was exhausted after my big day yesterday and called it an early evening.

That leaves me sitting here going absolutely mad from the terribly obnoxious bass music blasting downstairs. I actually almost feel nauseous from the pounding. I can't very well go down and tell him to SHUT UP, so I'm stuck just thinking about all of the things I want to do to his stupid instrument. It's 9:45 at night, for goodness sake! I just pray he quiets down by 11 so that I can go to bed. It seems that I can't just catch a break in New York. Is a decent place to live and a job that pays enough to survive too much to ask? Every other day I feel like throwing in the towel, but my pride and determination keep me from doing so. This neighbor is making it really tempting, though.