Chicago: Day 1.5

Hi. I'm not sure how to start this entry because of the crappy 24 hours I've had. Well, not 24 hour but more like since 5 PM yesterday after I found my flight to be delayed. From there, it was finding the car rental place, being coaxed into spending way more money than necessary I'm sure on insurances and pre-paid gasoline. Guided by my trusty Google maps app, down through the seedy and actually quite "country" parts of Illinois towards my destination. I was told by a nice Sikh convenience store owner to "take care of myself".

I wish I could have had his foresight.

So far the best part of this trip has been collecting all the street passes on my 2DS. What a grown up thing to say, I'm sure. The seedy hotel with people screaming, a bed-bug infested room (I have bites now but could just tell last night. I was so tired I couldn't do a thing about it) was the last straw. This morning I swore on my Bible that I lost my keys somewhere mid-flight only to find Sleepy Christine had safely tucked them away in her bag, in a small little compartment.

Traveling and I are not close friends; we meet once and again, in hopes of kindling something beautiful and inspiring. Most of the time that's the case. Perhaps its the state of mind I've been finding myself in as of late that is causing such a rough go of things.

I do know that I am running myself into the ground, which is partially the cause, and that this conference will help me sort out that whole thing. I don't know what to give up. Hopefully God will make that abundantly clear because I am not completely focused on this trip, for obvious reasons. Upon reading the entry packet for the conference, I am amazed at the beauty this experience offers and am doing my best to focus on such.

Tonight there is a movie showing of Risen. Its about an account of Jesus' early years from the perspective of a dude who was not a Christian. It sounds good but the best part is Tom Felton is in it. I'm all about seeing a new Draco Malfoy picture. And I'm sure he would hate to hear me say that.

The instructions in our beautiful binder that was given to us were clear: this is a spiritual journey and it is best to treat it as such.  I'm going to try to focus on the positives, like my husband also suggested this morning.

I am a live.

I am here.

We actually have money so I won't just be stranded here.

I'm in a new place.

I'm doing something for me.

That doesn't happen that much anymore, really.

God is already stirring something great in my heart and has been for the past few weeks. I have more motivation to complete the tasks I have been too scared of for a while. I'm revisiting my religion and spirituality because I don't want it to be what my parents' have--I want it to be greater.

Here's to a great Storyline conference. I'm looking forward to starting the sessions today.Will write again upon inspiration/break time.

oversaturation.

Justin sent me a link on Facebook last night, but he prefaced it by saying it might make me super excited. What could it be? The WNBA team moving to Dallas is a reality? He got a new job? We won the lottery? I had no idea what this exciting news would be.

I opened the blinking message box; my heart sank. New super arcade and restaurant opening up in Richardson. You. Are. Kidding.

Part of me is excited, but that is the most miniscule part of my being. The majority of me is so so angry. That had been a dream of mine for almost a year now, and I've been silently doing research, planning menus, making lists of beer and alcohol to serve.

What the hell?

So, with this monstrosity opening up in practically my own back yard, the dream I had for my own arcade mean nothing. There's not a place I think it would succeed, except maybe Denton or another college town. My heart hurts over something that I really wanted to pursue but was too scared. First the building in downtown Carrollton, now this? 

This has sent me in a tailspin since last night about what I want to do with my life. Why bother with anything? Everything has already been done and there's nothing new under the sun. Oversaturation, especially in a market like this, will not really let any one person succeed, true, but it will make it harder for others to follow.

What's next? I guess this is the point where I shove all those stupid business ideas and plans in to the toilet and move on. To what, though, I don't know.

the sea of blogs

I've been thinking about my future as a writer a lot lately. The well of inspiration is fleeting lately, where ideas that I have appear and then disappear only to be found on other websites or blogs. Justin found a job for me on one of my favorite film blogs for a writing position, requiring 3-5 (!!) articles a day, 200 words in length. Holy. Cow.

The writing market seems so intense and intimidating to me. Like with all things, I've thought that maybe I should invest in my own blog. Not necessarily like this one but more focused on fashion or film or religion. Or all of it?

This blog is great but I don't really want to monetize my own personal problems. I mean, maybe, but that's just really weird.

hello, harvard

I gave it the good college try. Well, more of the please-just-let-me-pass-algebra try. Its not that this culture is new to me or that I detest it; the detesting goes to the people that make up the bulk of this establishment (pun sort of intended). That's right--THE GYM.

Believe it or not, I used to be thinner. Well, when I was a kid and played sports I was not thin exactly because, you know, being a kid, a Polish-homeschooled-TV loving kid. Despite those things I was freakin' active and my dad would tell you that I had fun jumping on the carpet while watching The Lion King on VHS. Puberty is a vicious bitch and caused my body to go berzerk. Well, so did thinking I had to be a certain size, depression, being made fun of by everyone in my family about it but my mom. You know.

Let's see, I'm guessing it was 6 years ago now that I entered a contest at the Galleria to guess how many whistles there were in a jar. Whoever won would be given a free month at a boot camp held at the mall. Guess who won? I liked it so much I invited my friend Emily to do it, and for awhile it was just us two in the boot camp. After awhile, I lost 30 pounds, started dating for the first time in my life (yes, at 22), and had confidence that I never had before. I finally pursued acting again because people told me I was pretty and I finally believed it.

After a rough period in my life, I gained it back and then some. Like, a lot. I will give you my stats now, just to cut through any BS:

Weight: 235ish
Dress size: 18/20
Goal weight: 170
"Ideal weight": 130-150

So, this doesn't include my measurements for one reason and that is because some mystical nymph stole my measuring tape. Or I lost it. Same diff.

I am going to the gym for me. Not to lose all the weight of my person, not to show off for lunkheads or prove some skinny bitches that they have nothing on me, because frankly they don't. My ass is still better than yours and always will be no matter how much you're on that stairmaster, honey.

I'm going so I don't have to be on high blood pressure medication anymore.
I'm going so I can be strong when lifting babies at the daycare on Sunday mornings.
I'm going so I can fit into my own clothes again.
I'm going so I can love myself.

Yes, part of me is proving my dad wrong; I can love myself at 235 even if he can't. I can see myself as beautiful and talented and, yes, an actress because I am.

Moreover I am proving myself wrong. There have been many times that I've given up. People may think I obsess over people like Melissa McCarthy or Tess Holliday to tell myself its ok to be "what I am" as opposed to what I should be, aka fat or lazy. That's not true. Those women are my heroes, they have encouraged me to take care of my life and my self because I have dreams and I am not going to die saying I never gave it the "college try".

This will probably feel like Harvard. My knees are bad from working at the deli for so long and now working at a desk job, and yeah probably extra weight. My arms are just weak because I play video games, duh. I get tired easily because I work full time, go to school full time, and wife/daughter/friend full time too. Its a lot.

This is the first time in my life someone like me has been famous. They're probably more beautiful or whatever but they have such joy about them and love life and people. They are not wonderful because of or despite their size--they just are. That's what I want to be and I am fighting to get back there.

Thanks, Tess, for posting pics of yourself with your personal trainer at the gym. You have no idea how much they have motivated me to get back in to shape.

Hello, Harvard. Time to get an A.

father.

Compliments are as rare as precious gems, often shoved between passive aggressive comments regarding bulge and the future. When they do come, they are cherished and savored as one would savor a mirage in a desert. It exists, but barely and most of it lies within your own imagination.

There has never been a time that the words you are beautiful or you are precious, worthy, loved have left my father's lips; never on a special occasion, Girl Scout dance, and definitely not at my wedding. The praise he gives to everyone else, my sister, his so-called friends, or the potentially former drug addict he has informally adopted as favorite amongst the three he already has. I do not even know if he considers my brother his child, though I know genetically he is not.

Compliments about my appearance stopped when puberty hit. There were no more how cute/special/sweet are you. Instead, more passive aggressive fights. More ignoring. More prodding to stop being so fat, so weird, so ugly. Me growing up was not something my dad had ever considered.

Now I feel as though he believes I abandoned him for pursuing my own life. I no longer am at his beck and call, because my husband is my family now. The incessant calling to check on Mom daily for over six months, the nagging on sorting through their possessions as well as my forgotten ones, the disgust at my physical appearance. This is not melodrama, this is my life.

I do not feel attached like I once did. My view of God has changed because it is too closely related to my earthly father that belief in a celestial one becomes difficult. I voted for Obama and believe in gay marriage and I'm pretty sure my father knows but denies. He is in denial about life.

When I was a child, my family went furniture shopping. Mom and I went to the restroom, while Dad, my brother and sister were out looking at things. I told my mom, at age three, that my dad did not love me as much as Tracy. My mom looked at me, shocked, and this is probably why I still remember this. I could feel a trembling in my tummy and from the look upon her face to the he loves you, too, he just doesn't get to see her much, this was when I realized he did not love me as much as my sister and never would.

No matter how much he said he was proud of me after winning basketball championships four years in a row, nor when my drawings were accepted into an art show. He acts excited when he sees my commercials on TV or I tell him about my plans, but I don't know if I can trust that he really cares. This is the man who, upon my telling him I said yes to marrying my then boyfriend, he had to stop and tell me that Tim Curry had a heart attack.

Tim fucking Curry.

Ever since then, I realized my earlier suspicions were true. My mom loved me most, and while my dad might I certainly could not tell you if I believe it or not. He says I love you after we have conversations on the phone but sometimes seems embarrassed by it. Its not my choice that I don't have Mom to talk to anymore.

I miss her.


Though he comments often on how my sister should have went into modeling and how gorgeous, lovely, and wonderful she was, and how she could have been somebody, I realize I am already that somebody. His approval is the last thing I need because I never even had it. I am somebody; I am a model, I am an actress, I am a writer, I am a wife, I am a daughter and a damn good one at that.

I do not need the approval of a man who calls himself my dad but who acts as a cowardly lion.

#SNL40

I promised myself I would never start a blog by titling it with a hashtag, but since the world is referring to the SNL 40th Anniversary show that way, I may as well join the bandwagon this once. Every blog and news outlet has been sharing their opinions on the telecast, ranging everywhere from 'Why was there so much Kanye?' to 'Melissa McCarthy killed as Matt Foley'.

All the sentiments made are valid, of course, but I think we as a society put too much stock into what we think others think about the things we like. Like #SNL40. Yeah, there were weak parts and those have always existed in the confines of the layout of SNL. Skits will go too long, people will break, or the only laugh will be from the dude in the back who thinks its hilarious to watch the skit bomb.

Philosophical views aside, I really, really enjoyed SNL 40. Watching those brilliant comedians is always inspirational to me. I still want to be like them, you know? Lighting up the room, thousands of miles away, for millions of people.

Gives you goosebumps, doesn't it?

I was so glad to see my favorites back. My husband even knows that I've had a crush on Steve Martin since I saw the Muppet Movie the first time. He's incredible charming and quick witted, as was Dan Akroyd, Billy Crystal, Jon Lovitz, and the gang. Wayne's World always brings back fond memories of sneaking out in the middle of the night to pop in the VHS tape of the movie. Man, that was one of my favorite SNL movies.

I thought there were a few things lacking, though, personally. No Stuart Smiley giving sage advice to those who need to know that, gosh darn it, people like them. No Church Lady, which was okay given the whole Wayne's World thing. But no PAT? No Wild and Crazy Guys? What is the world coming to? It doesn't mean anything in the long run except, dang, I really liked those characters. Also, don't even get me started on Taylor Swift sucking the life out of the Californians. I literally shuttered.

So maybe while watching the show, I researched into taking improv classes again. I know, I know. I can't help but be inspired by these geniuses to try to at least feel like one. Maybe I'm good, maybe I'm terrible. All I have to do is try to find out.

Thank you, everyone who has been on Saturday Night Live. You help us experience a grand catharsis, laugh at ourselves, and laugh at the ridiculous world we live in. Without you, the world of comedy would be much smaller.

The Blogger's Dilemma

"Honesty is the best policy" is what people who are trying to get something out of you say. Its what teachers, moms, pastors, anybody with good moral fiber will tell you, whether you are a child or grown ass adult. I believe it, too, because honesty opens the doors for communication like nothing else will.

I hate to confess, though, that I never feel like I can ever be truly honest. There have been many things in my life lately that I am embarrassed by or ashamed of that I do not feel I can tell anyone. I am pretty open with my hopes and dreams but receive very little encouragement from my nuclear family. My father will give me advice all day long but will not listen when I really need to ask him something or confront him about something serious.

Another thing people say is "be yourself". Well, what if I don't happen to like that person? Shit, I know others think I am annoying when I am truly myself. Yes, I'm weird, a little goofy, and a very special little snowflake. Despite all that, I am still a loyal friend, good listener, and like to be silly with people as though I have known them awhile.

This is the most real I have been in a blog entry in a while, so please bear with me.

I am at a crossroads in my life, career, and health. If I don't make the proper health changes, my life and career are in jeopardy. If I don't start focusing on the career I want, time will pass through my hands like grains of sand and I will never feel accomplished. If I don't take my life seriously, I know I will have failed. If I don't enjoy my life, I will actually have failed.

Writing a blog gives me a place to release. I don't need people reading it or commenting on it in reality to justify my thoughts. This is something I have started to struggle with as I have become more reliant on my cell phone for entertainment, composure, and, for whatever God forsaken reason, self worth. It feels like the days of MySpace when how liked you are is based on how many friends you actually have.

Twitter and Instagram are still kind of new to me, even though I've had accounts for awhile. I'm trying to build a presence there and post things...especially when they are silly. That's when I'm at my best, I think. It shouldn't matter to me if my sister likes a picture of me or not or whether my Twitter friends are really real people that would love to collaborate with me. Those things would be great, but shouldn't doing it enough fulfill that desire? Its a hollow desire to feel needed or heard at best. Most of the time I do not feel either.

Honesty is my new policy. I am being honest with myself in my own insecurities and struggles. My father is always in denial. Maybe its about the druggie who is living in my bedroom that swears the cops "planted" heroin on him and how its not good for my mom or brother to be subjected to his infinite stupidity. Perhaps its about my mom's health, and how the massive amounts of yellow turmeric that are soaked into her jeans and the carpet are actually helping her brain and God can heal her one day if we just do one more thing different, eat one more pill, or go to one more fucking seminar.

There's a lot of anger but for as much I have to be angry about, I have much more to be happy about. My nuclear family kind of sucks now or maybe it always did and I was too naive to notice. Maybe I was never the nice girl that my parents told me I was, that I had always been a callous, social awkward and anxiety ridden twerp because of my being force fed Rush Limbaugh's propaganda and arrogance while completing math facts. Sidebar.

Life is not as miserable as it seems to be. J is the best thing that has ever happened to me. That might make you roll your eyes, and fine if you do. Our relationship is not perfect but it is the best out of anyone I know. We love each other, finish each others thoughts, dye of hysterical laughter almost every night. That is perfection to me and I am so glad I have it.

This has turned into a rant that I didn't intend for it to be. I should come back to this when I'm a little more level headed, less emotional, and WAY less tired. Homework is eating my lunch right now, mainly because I have very little energy to complete it. Even in the tiniest chunks it drains me.

If I'm being honest, I'm okay with that.

Goodnight, journal.