They say never make more than 2 major life changes at once if you can avoid it. Well, I've never been one to listen to "them"
In September 2006 my world had flipped upside down. I was in a new apartment. My marriage was dissolving, and my household (and disposable income) was about to go from 2 adults down to 1. I was completely lost and unsure of the future. I got the call from Disney saying they were opening a new show, a partnership with Cameron Mackintosh, and they'd like me to come onboard to work on it. My pay would be cut by about 20%. I'd be leaving a good, sure, secure thing to go work in one of the most volatile of industries. My parents, my friends, even my therapist cautioned me against it.
I went against the odds and took the leap. I needed something for me. I needed more art in my life. I needed less strenuous hours. I needed people who didn't know me as married Joy, boring dresser Joy, cautious living Joy, or anything other than the Joy I was inside. I'm happy to say it's up there on the list of good things I've done for myself in these 34 years.
A month later I went to see the show I'd started working on. In the 2nd act, Mary sings a song "Anything Can Happen If You Let It". It became my anthem, and I lived by the idea that anything can happen if we'd just get out of our own way. I made some glorious, wonderful mistakes along the way, but I've also lived the life I wanted by trying my hardest to stay out of my own way and simply riding the wave.
More than 6 roller coaster years later I'm about to say au revoir to this chapter. I'm moving on to something new, again in season of life where a lot is up in the air -- no risk, no reward, right?? But I leave taking comfort that no matter where I am, there's always a chimney sweep upstairs watching out for me.
Coincidentally on the same week of my departure, it's been announced that Mary's final flight at the beautiful New Amsterdam Theatre where she and I have made our home since Fall 2006 will be in a few short weeks. The Universe is tricksy like that. I will miss her terribly. And by miss "her" I mean miss all the ridiculously amazing people I've met because of her.
"With every job when it's complete, there is a sense of bittersweet, that moment when you know the task is done. Though in your heart you'd like to stay to help things on their way, you've always known [you] must do it alone." -Mary Poppins
Thanks, Mary. You're the best gift I've ever given myself. Thank you for forcing the winds to change direction every time... right on time.
I'd like to start by thanking you for the month that allowed me to celebrate 34 years on the planet, the month that gave us the opportunity to elect leaders who choose to stand on the right side of history, the month that started with Madonna's technical difficulties in St. Louis, the month where I got to close Magic Kingdom at 3am complete with an eagle soaring over Main Street (ok, maybe not an eagle, but it was still awesome. Right, Fabricio??) after running a great race that morning in the bitter Florida cold (who knew the swamps could be so frigid??), the month that gave us super sexy moustaches everywhere you look in recognition of Movember, the month that Downton Abbey and the dowager countess entered my life, and the month that actually produced a good Twilight film.
But mostly I'd like to thank you for being over.
You're also the month that gave me disappointment at work, stressful family worries, a Hurricane in my fair city, a physical therapy appointment that told me no running for a couple of months due to a bum knee, a cold that would not go away, incredibly dry skin and chapped lips, a leaky bathroom (again), and some agita in my love life. You haven't been the kindest to me, and for that I choose to take the lessons learned but slam the door as I leave you behind.
Thank you, oh month of thankfulness (which I was graciously reminded of every day via all forms of social media), for piling it all into 30 days tough days. Thanks for showing me just how amazing the people in my life are -- from the tips on where to get Reese's Trees and silly (yet "worried") pictures I received from the Midwest, to the Honey Boo Boo Buzzfeed articles, the offering of a good old-fashioned Hamlisch if needed, and the unexpected words of wisdom in the mailroom. And thanks for the loss of appetite that led to weight loss having me down a pants size, but conversely the same above the waist thus creating that wonderful stressy carb baby I hate so passionately.
December will be my comeback, and I'll look back at you and laugh (or at least sigh in relief that you're over). One of my dearest recommended a book (A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller) for me to read. I plowed through in the midst of your lack of love. Oddly enough, it sorta mimicked my month as I read it. The parts I want to share are a marriage of "thank you" and "screw you," November 2012.
"Once you live a good story, you get a taste for a kind of meaning in life, and you can't go back to being normal; you can't go back to meaningless scenes stitched together by the forgettable thread of wasted time."
And this one...
"You didn't think joy could change a person, did you? Joy is what you feel when the conflict is over. But it's conflict that changes a person."
I am changed by these conflicts you've slammed together into 4 long weeks. But maybe I needed a little change in my life... this time on the inside.
Today's that day. Ya know... that one I used to hate. The one that used to cause panic attacks. The one that I deemed a year ago today to be a celebration rather than a downer. Yeah, that one.
November 6, 2006, changed my life forever. It's the first act break in my story. And November 6, 2011, was the second act break. We'll just call this a Shakespearean type of play with multiple arcs and scenes... the kind that seems to go on forever but each new section only makes the ones before it make sense.
A lot has happened in the section we're sitting in right now. A lot I haven't known how to share outside of my private journal. A lot that seemed vulnerable and scary, yet amazing and perfect. A year ago I embraced the Joy I met 5 years prior. And I'm proud to say that she and I (with the help of some pretty awesome outside forces) have created one heck of a surprisingly healthy 3rd act so far.
November 6th is also Election Day this year. I was out at 6am to be #7 in line to vote. I love this day. It's so emotionally charged, and it never fails to take me back to elections past and where I was, who I voted for, why I voted that way, etc. It's like a big day of nostalgia.
My voter card this morning
1996 Clinton victory speech in Little Rock... I was about 100 feet from this stage. One of the best nights of my life.
To celebrate this new relationship I've learned to develop with myself, I'll be heading down to Florida this weekend to run a race. Don't expect too much out of the race because I've screwed my knee up. It'll definitely be a walk/run, but I'll have a kickin' run mix and will be crossing the finish line with amazing friends. Then I plan on spending a few days in the Florida sun, grazing my way through the Food & Wine Festival, wearing a birthday button (which is just next week, people), and getting teary over the Wishes Fireworks show that never fails to remind me that all my wishes will come true. Dramatic? Oh, absolutely. Am I ok with that? More than you know.
I heard about this last week, but only today did I get the chance to watch a video of Psy's "Gangnam Style." Let me tell you, gentle readers, this is right up my alley. Even Fitocracy has you earning points for dancing Gangham Style (any of you into Fitocracy?? I've been thinking of giving it a go).
By the end of this crazy week (ya know how September is always nutty at work? multiply that times 8, and you'll know why I haven't been around much), I plan to know Psy's dance along with the best of 'em. The best of 'em being Britney Spears and The Today Show hosts of course.
The original video
Britney learns it
"Dress Fancy, Dance Cheesy"
Today Show
I've been wanting these sunglasses for awhile anyway... now I have a real reason to get them!
Rust proof paint is invented. Oregon is organized by Congress. Gustave Whitehead takes the first powered flight. Social Security goes into effect. The last US public execution takes place in Kentucky. Not one, but three blackouts occur in the Northeast. And Pakistan gains independence from Britain.
Oh yeah... and the cutest law-abiding Astorian I know was born. In fact, on my calendar (which was clearly hi-jacked) it reads "My Birthday, Fool."
Yes, indeed. The boyfriend turns 35 today, and while he's not a big birthday kinda fella, I'm certainly glad this Leo was squeezed into the world -- much like Alana's older sister Chick-a-Dee will squeeze her new best friiiiieeeeend out hopefully on next week's episode of "Here Comes Honey Boo Boo" (if you haven't watched this, you must... it's a glorious trainwreck).
Birthday Boy, you make me smile. You make me laugh. You push my buttons. You keep me in check. You're incredibly good to me and even better for me. And I can't wait to use your birthday presents I got you... (do I know how to think things through or what, gentle readers??)
These guys were also born on August 14th (the most famous gambler/gunfighter/dentist and our favorite Christian who went on vacation with us)
(I only put the pic including me to show the muddy mess this birthday boy created... totally worth it and amazing day)
Although I'm partial to their chicken nuggets, it is a truth that Chick-Fil-A makes one delicious sandwich. It's also true that there are loads of privately-owned companies with bigoted CEOs. However, I fear the point of this debate is being missed through arguments found near the likes of Facebook. In a time when over 1,100 basic human rights are being denied to more than 9 million Americans (those are just the ones who are out), the rest of us in the majority have a responsibility to our friends, coworkers, and family members to stand with the minority.
I honestly couldn't care less whether you fill your body with chicken made from mutant animals, burgers made with pink slime, or french fries that never decompose. I also don't care how much extra money you're able to spend on super-organic-all-natural quinoa or how broke you are that you have to buy the 75-cent slice on the corner to not starve. And I truthfully don't need to put our political views into our diets... they're already everywhere else, and if we want to discuss the issues, let's go.
I also firmly believe that Dan Cathy, President of Chick-Fil-A, has every right under the sun to be as big a bigot as he wants. In that same light, though, I have to try to put myself in my friends' places. If the President of another restaurant chain spent company funds supporting the KKK or other absurdly archaic and offensive groups like Focus on the Family, I might choose to stop my patronage there as well. You might, too. Or we might not. We have the right to do either.
But the bottom line is this: until Chick-Fil-A stops using its funds to support groups that work to make sure a group of minorities remain 2nd-class citizens and are proud of it, I'll have to go without those delicious waffle fries when I go to Arkansas or hit the airport in Orlando. It's not a difficult sacrifice to make. I can't consider myself a Straight Ally in this fight by running to the basement and irresponsibly ignoring things that are hurtful to those I love.
If you disagree, I'm not looking to de-friend you, start a cyber-war, or even publicly show my disappointment when you "like" inflammatory pictures/articles/pages. Just like you have the right to openly support bigotry, I have the right to shake my head in shame because I realize that you think this is over chicken and nothing more. Know that each time you support this company, you're putting another dollar into the pockets of those keeping your friends, your coworkers, your children, your congregants, your cousins, and your neighbors down.
When planning an adventure-date to that far-away Island of Staten, we did not count on all of the education we would receive before the night was over. Here's our story:
After work Friday, the boy and I met up downtown to catch the 6:15 Staten Island Ferry to make our dinner reservation -- him wearing a gold chain and wife-beater A-shirt, me sporting a bump-it and perpetually pouty mouth (ok, not really but we did threaten these to each other). My native New Yorker found himself at the Statue of Liberty Ferry dock because "just walking toward water" made sense when he arrived at the Whitehall Station. Lucky for him, he's super cute with a great smile, so the 6:30 ferry was totally fine. We boarded the ferry and went straight for the snack bar to grab a can of beer so he could fit in with the locals, while I fittingly matched the tourists by photographing the water, Ms. Liberty, and our developing new skyline.
We arrived on the landfill.... er, island and found our way to Enoteca Maria. We had learned of this restaurant from the Cooking Channel and decided we needed to check it out for ourselves.
Fully expecting to be amongst the "Joeys" and "Ginas" of Staten Island complete with SI accent, we were slightly disappointed that the restaurant had only a couple of men in gold chains and women in pink leopard print. We sat at the bar where the owner/sommelier provided an impressive wine list. He added a lot of flourish as he swirled the "Grandpa Chacha" wine we ordered ironically at which point we caught each other's eye in appreciation of what was suddenly turning out to be exactly why we made the venture.
Teresa was our chef for the evening, and the menu was extensive and glorious. From the imported mozzarella appetizer, to my entree of rolled beef and green beans and his entree of rabbit, the food was lovely. Our well-chosen vantage point allowed us to watch everything Teresa did as well as take stock of everything the owner engaged in.
Throughout the evening we watched our sommelier do odd things like balance wine corks and pennies on a scale. He even filled his hands with water from the sink at the bar once and proceeded to run his wet hands through his hair. Russell and I looked at each other silently noting the growing peculiarities of our wine-loving "friend." For each bottle of wine he opened and every glass he poured, he seemed to check it out for himself by taking a swig thus creating a more, how can I say it diplomatically... "loose" demeanor. I kid you not, gentle readers, the next part actually happened.
We had pulled up the Yelp reviews to read some of the negative ones (as we are wont to do), and as we were reading our favorite, it came to life, playing out before our eyes:
"The problem: The sommelier (inferred that he is the owner) is a complete jackhole. He seemed personally offended that we didn't order wine, gave us a hard time over it, and asked several times how our water was. He was visibly inebriated on a Paula Abdul kind of level, ate at the counter, and was blasting really questionable music selections. At one point singing along to Smells Like Teen Spirit turned up so loud it was making my silverware vibrate. Which let me tell you, I think $25 a plate for pasta, I think impromptu drunken Nirvana karaoke." -Brady B., 2/26/2012
I wouldn't call him a "Jackhole" (thought don't think for a second this isn't my new favorite slang), but he was definitely eccentric... or, well, tipsy. However, he - almost as if he knew we were reading this particular review - made fun of my prosecco order and ate his stuffed mussels at the bar directly in front of us. Shortly thereafter Nirvana came over the sound system, and this dude turned it up, sang along, and even gave an air drum/air guitar performance. It was awesome. Awesome good?? I'm not sure. But awesome nonetheless.
Eventually the place was hoppin'. People who looked like they stepped out of "The Sopranos" began filling the joint. There were WonderBra cleavage and waxed chests everywhere we looked. After our plate of Teresa's amazing cookies, we paid the bill (cash only if you decide to go) and reluctantly headed out to catch the 25-minute ferry back to civilization.
Here's where the story turns from awesome to one of the best dates of my freakin' life. On the way to the ferry terminal we were almost tempted to pop into the local bar full of Top 40 hits and every can of beer imaginable. We forged on (with me getting my hip poked over and over by his attempts at figuring out the implausibilities of The Astoria Penetrator) and arrived at Slip 6 where we had about 15 minutes to people-watch -- a span of 15 minutes my awkward-loving self wouldn't have minded lasting longer.
What seemed to be every 20-something Staten Islander had come out to head into the big bad city on the 10pm ferry to go clubbing, drinking, whoring, and/or partying. The outfits on these party animals were amazing. I so wish I had pictures to show all of you, but we were already staring at everyone as though they were zoo creatures, and I don't think the camera would've been welcomed. Our two favorite groups included wanna-be frat boys complete with a fanny pack, wing tips being clicked together incessantly in a Dorothy fashion, a girl who was NOT happy to be there, and a salmon-colored dress worn by a girl who I'm 97.3% sure was wearing a butt lifter. For those of you unfamiliar with a butt lifter as my sometimes-simple boyfriend was, see below:
My degree of confidence in her undergarment of choice was due to Salmon Dress Girl's salmon dress being so incredibly tight I could see the thong and butt lifter through the material. We're dealing with super class, ladies and gentlemen.
The other group of derelicts we loved to hate (or hated to love) included a handful of young pretty girls in dresses that were sure to get the attention they were looking for, complete with taped-up boobies, five-inch stilettos they were definitely not making it far in without changing into flip flops, and plunging v-neck ballet-type costumes. The ring-leader of this group, however, was a young lady with a beautiful face, pronounced clavicles, and a cute little tank top that showed off her arms (which she unfortunately covered up with what I'm gonna assume was a Members Only jacket non-ironically). The problem with Clavicle Girl was her lower half. Before I continue, please note that I have never considered myself a supermodel and I'm sure I've left the house in pseudo-situations of attire-regret. But just follow me here...
Clavicle Girl had a pear shape. She had a white girl booty. I know this because she had on a white spandex skirt topped off with horizontal piping. Underneath the skirt was a black string thong bikini. She had also awkwardly tucked in her cute tank top and bunched it up at the waistline, so as not to cover up her pear shape. Her super tight, super short mini skirt was not hiding her trouble areas thus creating an incredibly obvious cottage cheese look. (Stay with me, gentle readers... I'm not being cruel for cruel's sake.)
We got on our 10pm ferry, sat outside for approximately 8 minutes, and got up because we HAD to go see what the party animals were up to. We find Clavicle Girl's group near the exit (already changing into flip flops...do I know my non-heel-wearers or what?!) taking pictures of each other (complete with pouty mouths...not to be confused with potty mouths). Right about the time I had decided to hate Clavicle Girl's friends for letting her walk out of the house in the outfit of the lower half of her body, Clavicle Girl found a new friend. An older gentleman was sitting across ogling her and making it known to her and all of us that he loved the dimply booty showing through the skin-tight garment (I'll spare you his quotes). She adored every second of it. I was shocked. I'm not often shocked. Staten Island Clavicle Girl was in heaven, and her friends were jealous! Maybe I should add this to my wardrobe too...
When we departed the ferry, we shared the R train uptown with Salmon Dress Girl and Crew. We made bets about which stop they would exit and how many times they would shout, "Woooo!!" I won the station exit bet, Russell won the number of woos. So I guess we were even.
Seriously great date night. We've both laughed about it for the past 3 days. And now I've happily shared it with you. Doubtful that you did as much as myself, but I hope you enjoyed my recap.
