What's my age again?

I'm pretty sure I might have regressed sometime this weekend - first, seeing American Idiot, while fabulous (review to come), brought me SO squarely back to high school it was just silly. Up to and including pretty much crying like a little girl hearing "Good Riddance" at the end after curtain call. Left the show convinced I mighttttt have been sixteen again. I have spent the majority of today watching The O.C., which some of you might remember as a show that aired when we were in high school. I was such a baby when I was watching this show! Aaaaand then I just watched videos of Downbeat.

21 going on how old, Siobhan? Oh goodness.

So to recap: I work ALL the time and THINK about work 80% of the time - making me about 45. I compensate by either a) staying in and going to bed insanely early and cooking - 50ish or b) going out on weeknights - 21 or c) watching tv in my pajamas all day, specifically, THE OC - 14. Oh or d) listening to Disney music (to try to pick an audition piece, but...) - 6.

So my actual age I think is roughly a hundred going on twelve. I think this is a great development.

Why are girls so stupid?

As a forerunner to this post, I openly disclose that the kind of behavior I am describing is behavior to which I am not immune. I don't mean to be a traitor to my sex, and I'm not trying to pretend I've NEVER done some of these things that I'm so peeved by.

That disclaimer now standing, I think I want to move to an island where there are only boys. And not for the reasons you might think, despite what I may have said in the past about NYU being a boyless wasteland. Though that part of a desert island where there are only boys would be fun too. But seriously! Some of you may have watched True Blood - less of you probably read the novels, but that's a possibility as well. Anyway, main character Sookie Stackhouse is a telepath, and she likes being around vampires because they are quiet. I'm beginning to feel the same way about being around boys.

Obviously no, I cannot read minds (though my reading of these books/watching True Blood and listening to Sookie whine about it still has yet to convince me that it wouldn't be useful). But by comparison, boys are so QUIET emotionally. Drama? Boys don't care. They hit each other when they're mad at each other instead of going about all kinds of duplicitous, passive aggressive, steeped in denial bullshit, make stupid jokes that only they laugh at but don't care about it, and generally speaking, put everything on the table. Passive aggressive? It's a language they don't speak, and so they don't try. Few boys I know willfully enter into an arrangement that is destructive to all parties involved and try and justify it to themselves and write it off. They are, other faults notwithstanding, generally extremely loyal to their friends and understand the boundaries of not fucking each other over for very limited personal gain. Generally far fewer boys I know allow themselves to be walked all over over and over again. They don't pretend that they have their shit together only to make the same mistakes in rapid succession. They may be the cause of a lot of drama, but they seem to, blissfully, know to stay the hell out of it when it comes and not to drag a bunch of people into it with them.

Okay. So who am I kidding. Expect the sequel the next time some boy does something dumb to me, to be entitled, "why are boys so stupid"? But for now, I'm seriously considering that island full of men. [Okay. Maybe I'm considering it for fun too.]

So many shades of grey (gray?)

Firstly, I'm a self-professed grammar nazi with, I'm just going to go ahead and say, a pretty impressive vocabulary. But um. I still don't know which of those spellings of... that word that starts with g... is the one that actually means the color/is a noun. I think it's grey? (Yesssss I just looked it up and I was right.) Thaaaaat's embarrassing.

Secondly, I just got really bored and re-read most of this blog and found two interesting things: 1) Happy 9 months, apartment. I really do have the oddest memory for esoteric and oddly specific things. 2) I pointed out in the post where I interviewed with Bronx House that it'd take me about 6 months, minimum, to find an acting job that I liked better and jump ship. Well, it wasn't for an acting job - yet - but I did, in fact, put in notice at Bronx House this week. By the time I leave in August, it will have been, you guessed it, almost precisely six months.

But thirdly, what I've really been thinking about of course refers to my oh-so-original and creative title. As children, we all learn certain fundamentals of right and wrong - it's how we construct a society. It's how we, presumably, grow up not to be criminals, reprobates, and ne'er-do-wells. Or at the very least, how we learn enough to be nice to other people for our own gain if nothing else. We are taught that it is not okay to hit your classmate in the face with a shovel or bite him when he makes fun of you, to throw rocks at the street to try and scare drivers, or to lie to your teachers about whether or not you did your homework. Not, of course, that I, perfect angel that I was growing up, would have done any of these things.

As we get older we learn that these absolutes hold, but there are instances in which, for example, one lies to spare someone else's feelings. That good people do bad things, and bad people do good things, and good and bad things happen to all different kinds of people. We introduce, out of necessity, a certain degree of moral relativism to our lives. And you start to realize there are concepts that once seemed either inextricably linked or mutually exclusive that in truth are neither of those things. Dignity and pride, for example. Not, as one might suspect, mutually inclusive. Not, in fact, terribly related at all.

See also, "the things I'll never say" and "thing things I never got to say." Everything I always should've said, it turns out, is that way because it's precisely everything I never wanted to say. Or knew how to say.

It's very frustrating, I guess, to continually come face to face with the realization that growing older doesn't always imply growing wiser.

Good morning, America, how are you? Don't you know me? I'm your native son.

Happy 4th of July!

I have just returned from a truly delightful sojourn in the town of Putnam Valley, New York, where I spent the day (and this morning) at the home of my roommate, sunning myself by/in her pool, drinking and eating to excess and enjoying the small town life that I so rarely experience (even at home).

It is now Independence Day, which I have thus far celebrated by more sunning myself by Kelly's pool this morning, eating more, and taking the train back to Harlem where I have baked on my porch until the 95 degree heat eventually beat my will to be tan. That having been said, I am sporting some pretty severe tan lines and I'm pretty happy about it.

I've always loved the 4th of July. For one, I've always (unpatriotically) referred to it as the nation's way of celebrating my birthday - I think I mentioned this to both Marines I met this Fleet Week, and neither was particularly amused. Sorry guys, I love America as much as... okay, maybe not the next person, but as much as a lot of people. Just a liiiiittle joke, promise!

I also always associate 4th of July with the very fond memories of the giant parties we used to have in Toronto (for years, actually, I missed Canada more on the 4th more than any other day of the year), and in the last 10 or so years, with the tacky but amazing little Naglee Park Association parade in my neighborhood, eating my dad's ribs in the backyard, and perhaps a little "Little Giants" baseball.

This is my second 4th in New York City and truthfully... 4th of July here sort of sucks. I'm not, as you can see by the aforementioned joke about the 4th/my birthday, the most patriotic ra-ra American you've ever met. See also the comment about how 4th of July used to make me miss living in Canada. Nonetheless, however, there's something about the family time and the summer thing and the tacky but totally acceptable demonstrations of Americana that I love. And frankly, you just don't see it much in super-metropolitan NYC. Now yes, there are fireworks - and though the hood is very far from where the fireworks are taking place, I'm going to be able to see most all of them from my 16th floor balcony. Which is awesome. But ordering my barbecue to be delivered to me is NOT the same as eating it in the backyard where my dad has been smoking ribs all day using my grandpa's recipe, and something still feels slightly wrong about the fireworks without my dogs going ballistic in the background.

Don't get me wrong - I'll still be celebrating. I will still be eating bbq. And I'm still wearing red white and blue. It'll just be as I think somewhat longingly of California (where of course, ironically, the same minority of the population is American born as in NYC) and Toronto (in um, you know, Canada). All things considered though - delightful mini-vacation, fireworks, BIRTHDAY IN TWO DAYS HOLY CRAP EXCITED, and home in just twenty short days. I love July.

Happy 4th :)

"Sorry, we don't sell sex toys here."

My second job (and hopefully soon-to-be ONLY job, but that's a topic for a different post) is at a dance studio where they teach beginner ballet, hip-hop, salsa, bellydancing, and pole dance. Pole dance is actually the main thing taught at SHOCKra, and as such, we also offer parties - it's really popular for bachelorette parties in particular.

You can find the phone number of the studio by googling "shockra studio" which will bring up our website. You ALSO can find the phone number of the studio by googling "sex toys." Which we do not sell. So about once a shift, I field phone calls and find myself actually using the phrase, "no, we don't sell sex toys here."

Naturally, you get some weirdos. But seriously?!? What the hell kind of grown-ass adult gets a kick out of tormenting a stranger over the phone.

Example one - last Monday:

Siobhan: Shockra Studio

Weirdo: Hi um... do you sell dildos?

Siobhan: No, did you find us on google for sex toys?

Weirdo: Yeah. So can you sell me a dildo? I really want one for my boyfriend.

Siobhan: Sorry, we don't sell them here.

...Weirdo and Siobhan awkwardly converse about sex toys while Siobhan tries very hard to be professional rather than totally freaked out.

Weirdo: So what do you do then?

Siobhan: We're a dance studio... [Explains offerings]

Weirdo: So if I took a pole dancing class, would that turn on my boyfriend? Like would it be the same effect as if I just waved my penis in his face? (No. Really. That happened.)

Siobhan: [stammering] You should probably talk to him about that. If you have any more questions about dance class, I can answer those questions for you.

Weirdo and Siobhan discuss dance class for a hot second before...

Weirdo (henceforward upgraded to FREAKSHOW): Listen thanks for being so good about this conversation um can I ask you one more question?

Siobhan: Sure.

Freakshow: What's your bra size?

Siobhan: [stammering again] I fail to see how that's relevant to this conversation. If you have any more questions about dance I will answer them, otherwise I'm hanging up.

Freakshow: Okay okay sorry. Um... do you have kids?

Siobhan: No. I have work to do, if you want to know anything else you can visit our website.

Freakshow: Okay okay um... are you a MILF?

...And then I hung up the phone, which evidently I should have done like 10 minutes earlier. But really? REALLY? This all happened before 11 in the morning. Seriously what the fuck?

Example two - today:

Siobhan: Shockra Studio

Crazy: Do you sell dildos?

Siobhan: No, did you find us on google?

Crazy: Yeah.

Siobhan: Yeah... we come up but we don't actually sell sex toys, we're a dance studio.

Crazy: Look I really want a - [interrupted at this point while someone else screeches, LITERALLY screeches, incomprehensibly into the phone.]

Crazy: Look I really want a sex toy I don't care what it costs.

Siobhan: I'm sorry we don't sell those here, we're a dance studio.

I'm going to spare you the rest of the conversation, but suffice it to say it involved pole dancing, the revelation that this woman WEIGHS 300 POUNDS, wants to please her man (having already discussed having a girlfriend beforehand?), do we teach pole dancing topless, will you GET OFF during class, could she get a job as a stripper after taking a 6 week pole series, etc. etc. etc.

HOW SAD IS YOUR LIFE? I have a job to do, and it does not involve being a pawn in your weird little game. Kill yourselves, freakshows. Do. Not. Want!

Reasons I know my brain may actually BE melting:

Further thoughts on my life as of late in a minute, but for now -

Everytime there is a temperature swing of more than 15 degrees, my allergies go totally haywire and can't take it. I have come to accept this as fact, even though it annoys the living shit out of me. So this morning, dressing to go to the gym (where I haven't been in over a week... whoops), I sneezed, pulling something out of the laundry basket in my closet.

The laundry basket is situated flush against the wall, near the door-frame (oh heyyy, walk-in). Upon sneezing, my forehead made very strong, very rapid contact with the door-frame. I'm pretty sure that in about an hour, I'll be sporting an adorable goose-egg bruise on my head.

My life is a shambles.

Oh right, and Happy Canada Day!