Figurine it all out

When I was younger I used to have shelves full of ceramic figurines (angels, 'Precious Moments', little animals, etc.) displayed in my bedroom. As I got older, the figurines came down, got wrapped in tissue and stored safely away...but I couldn't bring myself to get rid of them. I told myself they were special, and that someday I could save them for my future children.
The older I get, the more I wonder about why I keep hanging on to these figurines. They are incredibly dated, and it's entirely possible that my hypothetical future children won't even want them. If they aren't something I would display now, why am I still keeping them? I probably should have gotten rid of them years ago. Perhaps, I just had the mindset that my figurines were 'precious' for so long, but I am realizing now that they may or may not be. I don't know of anyone my age that is still hanging on to such things, and I don't want to keep them forever if they are not going to be put to use, however...I have that constant voice in the back of my mind telling me that I don't want to just give them away and regret not having them either. Will I miss them when they're gone? Will my future children wish I had held on them or is it just ridiculous that I am almost 32 years old I can't find myself to get rid of the ceramic figurines of my childhood? I guess the longer you have something, the more difficult it is to just let go of it...
Maybe I'm just a hoarder...

Just Take It!!

I am not a fashionista, but I consider myself a person with general good-taste and style.

I assembled myself an outfit yesterday that I was actually very proud of and felt very confident in. It was a very 'Lauren' outfit. If I were a selfie person, I may have even posted a hashtag OOTD. It was  just a multi-colored striped shift-dress, a denim jacket, some cognac-brown riding boots and flesh-toned fishnet tights. It doesn't sound spectacular, and I didn't exactly spend hours coming up with this ensemble. I try to dress a little nicer (okay, a lot nicer) for church because a) I actually have a job there (that I really like and enjoy, I might add) and b) I don't get to wear nice clothes working in a preschool.

After church, I went to lunch with a friend, and the waitress complimented my outfit, and my first impulse was to tell her that the dress only cost $15 and that the jacket was 10 years old. Of course, I just said "thank you!" But I realized I always do that. When someone pays me a compliment, I usually find some way to down play whatever it is they're complimenting, as if my things are not worth their nice comments "I like your top" "Oh, it's from Target". "Cute shoes" "Thanks, I've had these forever". I'm not the only one who does this, though. I've noticed that many of my other female friends do this as well. It goes beyond just being humble, it is like a weird, learned behavior that we have all picked up from each other where we can't just take a compliment and run with it. We either have to down play whatever is being complimented, tell the complimenter where said item was purchased or give a compliment in return. 

I was so eager to de-value my outfit that I had felt so good in because...why? I'm not supposed to take compliments? I don't deserve them? Because that's a load of crap! So what if that dress was only $15, it was cute AND a bargain! So what if I've had that jacket since college, a good denim jacket never goes out of style! And no one needs to know those details, and since no one really reads my blog...no one is going to!

"I"m a damsel, I'm in distress...I can handle it!"

The Beatles sang "When I was younger, so much younger than today/ I never needed anybody's help in any way/ but now those days have gone and I'm not so self-assured/ Now I find I've changed my mind, I've opened up the doors...Help! I need somebody"

These lyrics do not apply to me. As I get older, I am become more and more independent. If it's out of a sense of self-assurance or sheer necessity, who's to say? But my need for 'somebody' is decreasing while my knack for being my own problem-solver is increasing.

This morning as I was putting away laundry, my problematic closet door came off it's track and the wheel came off. Then the other door came off it's track. If you're good at math, that is 100% of my closet doors not on their track. And I have to admit my first instinct was to lay down on my bedroom floor and cry. Which I did. I cried because my closet was broken. I cried because I couldn't fix it. I cried because I didn't have 'someone' around who could. I cried because I was tired. I cried because in that moment I felt like I wanted someone to help me and I shouldn't want someone to help me because I'm an 'independent woman who don't need no man'. Then I put on my big girl panties and assessed the situation.

It was frustrating. I had to get the wheels back on the first door and get it back on it's track, and in the process, the wheels came off the second door, and then the first door was actually in the way of getting it back on the track. Trying to hold the door up on my own was very tricky, it wasn't heavy, but it was awkward. There was the looming possibility that I would drop it and the mirror would break, cursing me with more bad luck than I need (as if I could tell the difference). I would have loved to have called for back-up. There were definitely some choice words uttered. But I fixed it.

The point is, there are instances where I don't need anybody. I can fix a closet door by myself. I can take my car in for it's scheduled maintenance on my own, and when a weird light comes on, I can look it up. I've gotten pretty brave when it comes to killing bugs and spiders. I may not need any one, but it might be nice to have someone around once in a while. It's nice to know I can do these things, but it'd be okay if there was someone else around to do them too.

I'm a damsel. I'm in distress. I can handle it....but I don't always want to...

What's the Big Ideal?

I am Introverted, iNtuitive, Feeling and Perceiving...aka INFP...aka an Idealist.

The perks of being an idealist is that I always see things for how they could be.

The downside of being an idealist is that I always see things for how they could be.

I sometimes can use my sense of idealism to look at a situation and find ways to improve it. I can use my sense of 'could' for good! But too often, my sense of idealism gets in my way. I see things the way they could be, they way I would like them to be, and then when things don't turn out that way, I end up strongly disappointed.

My idealism coupled with my over-active imagination often leaves me wistful. In fact, I think I have lost track of how things are 'supposed' to be, even though I deal with so much reality. However, I am still so caught up with how I feel things 'could' be, I have a hard time accepting the fact that this might be as good as it gets.
My hope has been dashed so many times, and yet it is still so strong. It could get better. I could have it all. I could be fulfilled in my work. I could meet the love of my life. I could become a wife and and a mother. Could.

But could I?

Because realistically, I am working in job in which there is no room for advancement. A job I had 6 years and less education ago.

I have been off and on several online dating sites for the past 2 years and have had 3 total dates. All were first dates. No second dates. Why? Because it's weird dating strangers. These guys were okay, I guess. Nice enough guys, to be sure. But there was nothing there.
Maybe my idealism is getting in the way. Maybe it's my sense of entitlement. But my hope for a guy I actually like is just too high. Then again, I might be hoping and could-ing so long that I'm looking for something that simply does not exist. I could be living a life that is constantly setting myself up for disappointment and loneliness. But I'm used to that by now.

I'd rather settle for disappointment than settle.

Life is a Cabaret

I am currently in a production of Kander and Ebb's musical of Cabaret. I play Fraulein Kost with the added bonus of getting to also dance in the Kit Kat Klub.
As a dancer, I have been itching to sink my character shoes into a show with some serious Fosse-style choreo, so when I heard that a local community theater was going to take on Cabaret, I knew I had to go for it. I thought I would land among the dancers, as I almost always do...so I was surprised to land the sizable supporting role of Fraulein Kost. This musical is unlike anything I have ever done before. My character is seriously reprehensible. She is sexy, though I play her with my signature touch of humor.

Here is a list of things that Fraulein Kost is:
-A prostitute with a long list of sailors as clients
-A dancer in a seedy night club
-A self-serving and manipulative 'witchy-poo with a B'
-A Nazi sympathizer

Here is a list of things that I am:
-A preschool teacher
-A person whose heart bleeds for 'the least of these'
-A caring friend
-AN ACTRESS!!!!

Please do not confuse me with my character. Please do not think that when I am on stage in fishnets I am acting as some alter-ego that is somehow emerging forth. Please do not make comments about getting to know "the real me" after seeing me perform. I hate...HATE these types of comments. I know they're likely teasing, but I got these comments after playing a 'lovely lady' in Les Miserables and I'm getting them now.
The real me is the me I am every day. Off-stage. Cracking jokes, having feelings, not speaking lines memorized from a script someone else wrote.
The me on stage isn't me at all. The movements I make on stage are movements I was directed to make. The words I say are words someone else wrote. The clothes I wear are a costume someone else chose. I'm not even playing the role I initially auditioned for!!!!!!
Lauren is more likely to pick up the knitting, the book (though probably not a broom), than to dance in a real life Cabaret. Fraulein Kost
makes an appearance in the kick line every night!

What possess me to audition and perform in roles so opposite from my real life? Well...my real life is boring, and it's fun to take that 'vacation' on stage every night. It's nice to live as someone else. That doesn't make me anything like my character...I'm still just me!

The Gambler

Life is like a slot machine.

You either win big, or lose it all...but if you choose to play it is very unlikely that you are going to end up with the same amount of 'money' you initially started out with. At least this is my approach. Maybe it's too cautious, or too cynical, but it's my take.

The way I see it is like this: You have $5, you can keep your $5 and feel great about having something to your name, it may not be much, but it's more than nothing. You can choose to gamble that $5 by putting it into a slot machine, you may double your money or even win the jackpot! But you could lose it all. You never know. Would I rather have $10 than $5? Yes, of course. That's an easy answer! I want to win the whole freakin' jackpot. BUT! I'd rather have $5 than nothing at all, and since no jackpot is guaranteed, and I don't know the outcome, it is safer to keep my $5 in my pocket than to play the game in the first place.

I gambled a bit with 'Jon' (remember him?) of course, that was a bit one-sided, so maybe that was only about $2.50, but it took a while for me to get my full $5 back anyway. I decided I hated gambling and wasn't going to anymore. Anything less than $5 in my pocket just isn't worth the risk. Recently, I was in a situation where I was forced to play my hand (or rather Mr. Dude, we'll call him "Joe", forced me to play his hand for him...and I know I am mixing my gambling metaphors). I started by putting the money in one dollar at a time, I pulled the lever, and started getting some return on my gamble. Not jackpot level returns, but enough that I felt safe putting in the whole $5. Perhaps I was overly optimistic, could it be that I finally hit a lucky streak? This never happens! Of course it doesn't...because at the next pull of the lever, I lost it all! Just like I always do.

What upsets me the most is that I should know better. I let my guard down, I gambled, I took a risk. I got let down. I'm not surprised. These are the things that happen to me. I'm disappointed for sure, but mostly in myself for letting this happen. I lost my head for a minute, and I'm smarter than that. I know better than to let my self get swept away. I'll eventually get my money back, and this time I'm sewing my pockets shut!

Table for one

With some new found time on my hands I have actually been cooking my own meals lately. Not just reheating leftovers from restaurants, or nuking Lean Cuisines, but real life cooking. Yes, most nights I still just forage around my kitchen for food components that can be put together to comprise something resembling a meal, but that is because the reality is cooking for one is HARD.
Yes, it takes the same amount of energy, makes the same mess, uses the same amount of utensils and takes the same time as cooking for more than just myself, but what comes at the end of cooking for one? Eating alone. And that can take a lot of mental energy!
I have just slaved away cooking this fabulous meal, and I have no one to enjoy it with. No one to shower me with compliments over how delicious it is. No one to make me a back up dinner if it sucks. Just me. And sometimes, I have tons of leftovers.
Yes there are pros to being single. I dictate my own life. No one moves my keys, I get to decide what's for dinner, and I live in a very girly apartment. (There are pink pillows on the sofa and a picture of Pointe shoes on the wall). I can decide where I go and when I go and what goes on the grocery list.
But it's mostly lonely. And no one seems to talk about that. All you hear about is how empowering being single can be. But most of my friends are in relationships.

So this is my call to action, for all people who are married or in relationships, if you have single people in your life. Invite them out with you, call them up, don't forget about us. We're not all out living some fabulous unattached #nostrings life. Mostly we're trying to figure out what to do with our leftovers, or measuring out a single serving of pasta.

This is real life. Most people want to be with other people. Not all of us are lucky enough to be in romantic relationships, but shutting out those who haven't found 'the one' just because you have, isn't fair.

Don't feel sorry for me because I'm single, but acknowledge that I need to be around people, and sometimes I need to cook for someone other than just myself...

And this fajita pasta was really good!

On the outside looking in....

Yesterday I walked a mile and a half barefoot.
Not to prove some grand point about how some people don't have shoes, but because I did something very very stupid. Again.
I locked myself out of house while taking out my trash, and when I couldn't creak into my own house...I walked over to my parents' house to see if I could break in there to get my spare key.
Because I can't lock myself out when my parents are in town and can come bring me my spare key. Of course not. Life is never that easy for me. My parents are in Hawaii. So after a series of phone calls trying to either track down a way to get into my own apartment or finding someone with a spare key to my parents' locked-up house so I could get in and and get my own key....I finally (two hours later, and depending on several people for help, which I hate doing) was able to get back into my house. Still shoeless, tired, hungry and completely done with how utterly stupid and idiotic I have been.

Again I ask...does this stuff actually happen to other people, or have I been singled out for some sick experiment...like a Job situation or something....

Human Again

Ugh...I human-ed today. I try so hard not to do that in front of other people.

But I human-ed, and I human-ed BIG TIME, and I human-ed in front of a large group of people.

Since 2012, I have been blessed to serve as a presiding minister for the congregation I grew up in. This is a role I take very seriously. I still wonder why my pastor chose me for this, because I mess up. A lot. Like I am one of the most human humans to ever human. I am a frazzled, flustered mess of a human like 90% of the time. The other 10%, I'm probably sleeping.

Although worship is not about me, I do not want to detract from the worship experience of others by being under-prepared, or by seeming like I'm not taking the role with respect and reverence. I make sure to dress professionally, skip the sloppy bun and actually do my hair and put make up on my face.  In short, I don't want to look like a mess. I cannot portray the humanity within.

But something happened. My mic went out, it threw me off (which it shouldn't have, I've been on stage enough times to know that the 'show' must go on). I human-ed up the benediction, and instead of just stumbling along through the human-ness that was happening, I gave it an extra dose of human by calling attention to the humanity and the way that I felt about my cute outfit, good hair day, and the fact that I actually looked decent in make-up went out the window and I just wanted to crawl in a hole.

Why do I have to human? Why can't I just get it right? Maybe one of these days...

Join the Family Business

My dad is a retired elementary teacher.
My mom is a retired elementary teacher.
My grandmother taught elementary school for a bit.
My sister has an elementary teaching credential.
I fought becoming a teacher for so long, but it's hard to fight something that has been surrounding you your entire life. You could say it's in my blood. And yes, I teach elementary school.

But teaching is just what I do, it's not what I am. What I am is a performer. With education so deeply rooted in my genetics, this performance tendency must be a fluke, right? Maybe not quite.

I grew up not only as the daughter of two teachers, but also as the daughter of a musician. My father's love for music is something very valuable that he has passed on to me. He taught me and showed me how to appreciate music, and the importance of challenging myself.

Teaching was just something my father did, but what my father is is a musician. During his teaching career, he brought his guitar into his classroom. He made time to be in a band. He 'jammed' with buddies. And for the past 20 years, he has been a constant fixture in our church's praise band as both a guitar player and drummer.

Dad and I singing at church camp-1993ish

When my dad retired from teaching, he had plans for his music. He was going to perform. He spent money on equipment, he put together a demo CD, he took voice lessons. He started getting gigs at retirement centers and such. But now, he is playing at farmer's markets, private parties and in downtown Visalia!

So yes, teaching is what I do...but what I am is a feather duster, a cloth merchant, a prostitute, a naval nurse, a scientist, a wardrobe consultant, and whatever else I want to be!

One step forward, two steps back...and a few to the side.

You know when you walk into a room, and you can't remember why? So you retrace your steps and hope that something along your journey back in time will jog your memory.

Walking into a room with an intended purpose is forward motion, but once you've entered that room your purpose is unable to be fulfilled, and you're forced to move backwards yet again. That is how I feel right now.

This whole year teaching third grade has been like walking into a room and completely forgetting what I actually needed. But instead of retracting my steps, I just kept searching fruitlessly with no memory what I was actually looking for. I had no purpose for teaching third grade. Then life forced me to retrace my steps...

I will be walking into a new room in the Fall, and I pray that I know exactly why from the second I walk in.

I feel put through the ringer. I have been made to feel unsupported, unwanted, ignored and insignificant. Those are not feelings that come from forward motion, those are HUGE steps backwards.

I have also taken some sideways steps. Not off-the-path steps, just lateral motion. The type of lateral motion that makes a first-year intern think it's okay to audition for a musical. And that it's okay to accept the offer to be a part of a very small and extremely versatile ensemble featured in nearly every number. And that it's okay to take on the added responsibility of dance captain. And that it's okay to offer to help hunt for costumes and sew some too. Even though she is still working on TPAs and needs to pass the RICA. So a little bit off-the-path. (But our show is going to be awesome!!)

#thestruggleisreal

It has been over two years since my last post, and I wish I could say that so much has changed...but not really.

I have a new job...but I still feel 'stuck'
I have a new address...but I still don't have a 'home'

I still whine about the same things, I still run away to Disneyland, and I still live too far away from Broadway shows.

So why am I writing now? Well, if my life were a sitcom, today's episode would be called 'A Hardware's Night' or 'Hardware Times Come Again No More' or some other cutesy play on words that would accompany the events that led to the minor freak out I had at the hardware store today.

I am a girl. I am single girl. I am a single girl that sheds like a golden retriever. My hair gets everywhere, and all of the sudden my shedding has caused my bathroom sink to drain v e r y  s l o w l y...

There was a product that my dad used to use in my bathroom sink when I lived at home, since this product unclogged the sink I shared with my equally shedding sister, I figured it was strong enough to fix my clog as well! But this industrial strength hair-dissolver, sink-unclogger stuff isn't something a person can just buy at Target, I had to go to a hardware store.

I feel I'm decently equipped when it comes to minor household fixes. Just yesterday, I helped my dad with a light fixture at my parents' house, but walking into that hardware store made me feel like a stupid little girl.

I didn't know where to look, what to look for, who to ask or what to ask for. I just felt so helpless and idiotic. Part of me was angry because I'm a feminist and I should know these things just as well as any man, but part of me was upset because I'm single and I don't have a husband to take care of this stuff for me.

This has been the identity crisis I've been struggling with for years...I need to know this stuff, but I don't want to need to know this stuff. Any of it. Unclogging sinks, fixing lights, getting my oil changed or my tires rotated...I don't want to be helpless, I just want to be helped out!

When Will I Be Loved?

The other day I made one of my frequent, off-hand comments about being single. There was probably an eHarmony commercial on or something. I hate those commercials, mostly because I seriously doubt that guys my age are signing up for internet dating...and even if they were, I'm fairly plain looking, and I can hardly justify paying monthly dues for what I can experience for free in real life. I don't need to spend money to be looked over, even if I had the money to spend. Anyway, my mother chided me about being so cynical. She mentioned that I may meet "someone" at my friend's wedding in March, a comment which caused me to scoff. Psh, as if anyone would want to "meet" me. It's been the same thing at every friend's wedding I've been to for the last 5 years. Each one is becoming exceedingly more and more like Noah's Ark...everyone is already two by two, and I'm like the last lone unicorn. 

And why wouldn't I scoff? Why should I be anything but cynical regarding the topic of dating? I don't have any positive experiences to link to the idea of romantic love. As Linda Ronstadt sings "I've been made blue, I've been lied to, when will I be loved?" For the most part, my 'relationships' have been more about rejection and loneliness. My last actual relationship was eight years ago. EIGHT. And I'm expected to remain optimistic about this matter? How can I? 

Generally speaking, I am a fairly positive and optimistic person; but generally speaking, I have had positive experiences in most areas of my life: school, work, friends, etc. This is one area of my life where the bad experiences are far more vast than the one positive experience.

Maybe I sound like I've given up, and maybe I have given up. It's just too exhausting to remain idealistic about it...

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Okay, in my last post I was all "going to Thailand...brb". And I've been back for four months. I fail at being interesting enough for a blog.
Every time I start to talk about my trip, I get very overwhelmed. I experienced so many different, life-changing things while in Thailand...some good, some notsomuch good.
I rode an elephant
I released floating lanterns (very Tangled)
I hugged orphans
I prayed for tribespeople with various ailments (such as polio)
I painted a bathroom
I danced a traditional Thai dance on stage with my fellow travelers
I stuck my feet in an aquarium and had little fishies nibble my dead skin off
I snorkeled
I took a prayer walk through a street lined with brothels
I hiked in the Himalayas
I ate A LOT of rice (SO. MUCH. RICE.)
I went to Burma
I laughed
I cried
I bled
I worshiped God in a new language
I experienced rain in a way I never had before
I showered in the dark with a gecko
I conquered the language barrier by just smiling at people and pointing a lot (I can also count to 10, and say "hello" and "thank you")
I taught English at a Thai school
...and I did it all without getting Malaria, Encephalitis, or Typhoid!

Now that I'm back, I wish I could say that my life is 100% different than it was before I left, but I've slipped back into old routines. Yes, the experience changed my life, but as I am currently working two jobs, serving as a worship leader and pursuing my teaching credential, I hardly have time to do laundry and take care of myself...I feel guilty that I'm not leading a whole new life, and I hate that 'busy' is my excuse...I hope that once I've got my credential, a stable teaching job (with benefits and an actual living wage) and the time and resources to do so, I'll be able to go back. I want my life to reflect the opportunities I've been given, instead of complaining about the amount of work I have to do.

I'm Leaving On A Jet Plane

Going to Thailand

Be back in three weeks

Peace out, America...adventure calls!

Picture Day

So I started this little project as a way to document adventure...but it really has turned into a sounding board for all the embarrassing, awkward, and slightly pathetic things that happen to me. These are my stories (dundun). Here is a pathetic little gem to make you chuckle, I have to laugh at it too...
Every few years our church puts out a new photo directory, pictures of the families, contact information, etc. As I was signing up to have my picture taken for our directory I had the following conversation with one of the older women who were manning the sign up table
Woman: "Are you going to be taking your photo all by yourself?"
Me: "Yes"
Woman: "Do you have a pet, like a dog or a kitty or something you want to have in the photo with you?"
Me: "Nope, it's just me"
Woman: "Well, it won't always be, dear."

Really?

Seriously?

"You're no grander than the rest of us"

Yes I have been ignoring this little blog of mine, I have been very neglectful these past few months, and I tell you why: I have been miserable. No, not quite...but I have been busy, happy, crazed, tired and caught an illness which has been dubbed the 'theatre bug'. I have spent the last four months of my life steeped in a community production of Les Miserables. I have been living, breathing, and sleeping the music and the story; I put blood, sweat and tears into this show, and last night we took our final bows as a cast. Theatre can be so bittersweet. Throughout the course of the show, I play a factory worker, a serving wench in a seedy tavern, a beggar, and a revolutionary student's wife/girlfriend/whatever...but the part that I will be most remembered for is my portrayal of a 'Lovely Lady'. 

When Fantine is fired from her position at the factory, she no longer has a way of supporting herself, or her daughter. So she sells her necklace, her hair, (in the book she goes so far as to sell her teeth), until finally she has nothing else to sell but herself. That's where I come in. We, as lovely ladies, try to convince Fantine to become as base as we are. Perhaps we'll feel better about ourselves if we can convince this beautiful woman to join us, after all, we used to be beautiful too. My advice to Fantine: "Make money in your sleep, that's right dearie, show 'em what you've got" (By the way, by first time singing into a microphone on stage...yikes!)

As fun as it was to be back on a stage, in a show I absolutely love, I have gotten a lot of flack for this role. People from my church telling me I was enjoying myself "a bit too much up there", people teasing "now we see the real you". A co-worker telling me flat-out that she wasn't going to support the show because of that scene. My sister saying that it is inappropriate for us to be up there like that. 

I went from being excited about this opportunity to be a part of such an incredible cast, to being ashamed and not wanting to perform. 

The story of Les Mis is a story of sacrifice, grace, and redemption, and I believe that our show delivered the message of the Gospel. I feel that Fantine's sacrifice to sell herself for her own daughter's sake, for the chance that Cosette might lead a better life, is parallel to Christ making the sacrifice on the Cross. He took our sin upon himself, so that we might be free from sin, he essentially sold himself so we could have eternal life. I think that as gritty and uncomfortable as our "lovely" little scene was, it was crucial in telling this story. I also stretched my acting (ACTING!!) abilities much further than I ever thought I could, and I feel honored and blessed to have gotten to share the stage (and that scene) with some of the most Godly, faithful women I have had the pleasure to meet. 

Our poor little show received many attacks from a strong enemy, but our story was stronger, and people who may not have heard this message any other way, heard it from a SOLD-OUT theatre. 

Aren't we just the loveliest?

Dream on

I had a dream last night that I think would make a really cute Lifetime Original Movie (at least I would watch it). I dreamt that I was visiting my sister, but she lived in, like, Manhattan or something. Anyway, her apartment had a living room with a huge bay window and a window seat, and I would sit and read, or watch a movie, or sing and dance around and just generally be myself. My sister wasn't home, she was probably at work. (Who invites someone to visit if they're just going to be at work the whole time? Rude. But not the point). In her neighborhood there was this guy, who would walk past her apartment every day on his way to work, and on his way home. After a few days, he started leaving little messages (like...'hey', 'how are you?', 'I saw you singing and dancing like a crazy person the other day and it made me laugh', etc.), and we would communicate through these little notes. My sister didn't approve of me talking to a stranger, but then again, she was never home. On the day I was supposed to leave, he left a note actually asking me out for coffee, but I couldn't go because I had to get to the airport. And that's the end...

What does it mean?

This is actually one of my more normal dreams. I would love to go to a dream analyst sometime and find out what my dreams mean. They are usually pretty complex and bizarre...

I heard the people sing

I feel as though I failed all five (I flatter myself) of you who might actually be reading this. I know you have all been sitting, waiting anxiously to hear what I thought about the movie adaptation of Les Miserables. Well, wait no longer because I am here to let you know what I thought!

Contrary to what most theatre-fan type people are saying, I actually liked it. I mean, it definitely had it's faults, but . For one, Russell Crowe wasn't a the best choice for Javert. When the announcement was made that he would be playing this iconic part, I had my doubts. I was hoping to be pleasantly surprised, but my doubts unfortunately were confirmed. His singing was...okay, and okay just isn't good enough when everyone else is great, and in some cases incredible. I felt as though his mediocre singing made him a less than effective villain.
Hugh Jackman was a wonderful Jean Valjean, Anne Hathaway's Fantine was emotional and raw, Amanda Seyfried pulled her own as Cosette, and Eddie Redmayne didn't make me hate Marius, like, hardly at all. Samantha Barks was just as wonderful as Eponine on the big screen as she was in the 25th anniversary concert. However, I am still having a hard time with the placement of everyone's favorite song of unrequited love: On My Own. I just feel that without the scenes that surround the song in it's original context, Eponine's character was not portrayed in quite the same way. The film makes her seem less lovelorn, and more masochistic. Instead of dying because of her loyalty and devotion to Marius, she dies from a self-inflicted wound stemming from an ill-fated attempt to get Marius's attention. Tragic.
And then there's Aaron. Enjolras. My favorite. He was wonderful, of course. Perfect, really. He led those hipster school boys to, well, to their deaths...but his heart was in the right place, and when he dangled out that window, he dangled for freedom!
Les Mis is just such a touching story, told through beautiful music (which, if you haven't heard, was sung live on camera. By the actors. Which is apparently a big deal even though theatre actors do this for eight shows a week.)
By the end of the movie I was in tears, and judging by the amount of sniffling in the theatre, I wasn't the only one. But, in order to add a little light heartedness to what can be a pretty weighty and heavy story, I give you a bit of humor:

Family secrets

My dad's side of the family does this thing when it comes to gift giving. They have this bad habit (that wasn't passed down to me, thank goodness) of revealing what they've gotten you before you have the chance to open the box. From the subtleness of my aunt writing 'I hope it fits' in the card and tucking in the receipt, to the absolute blatantness of my grandma saying, 'Oh, you already have a scarf. I hope you like the one I got you, too.'
It has become an inside joke around the holidays, and it has gotten to point where we don't open the card until after we open the gift. This year, it has reached an all-time apex of ridiculousness. After my dad when up to visit family and bring back gifts, he showed me that my grandmother wrapped my gift in CLEAR cellophane.

I don't know who I blame more: grandma, for not even trying to keep the mystery alive; or dad, for showing me instead of just putting my gift behind the tree...