My Brain Isn’t Built for Math – Literally.

I’ve always had a problem distinguishing left from right.  I mean, I know the difference, but not in the sense that if you say, “Go left” I would automatically turn to my left.

I typically have to take a decent amount of time to process it, run mental tests, and then make sure I’m about to actually turn to the left.  

In other words, that knowledge is not innate.  It’s a constant struggle to remember. 

I’ve always just assumed this was some sort of weird quirk, one that I should just add to the pile of other countless quirks I possess.  But after doing some late night Googling, I discovered something that was not only amazing, but most definitely would have been beneficial to know when I was growing up.

Seems legit.

Because I have an English degree and I like to write and do all sorts of other creative things, I typically joke that I’m just plain bad at math.  In the sense that because I excel at these other things, there’s just no room in my brain for math, hence my inability to do even the simplest problems.  (I mean, I literally have issues with basic subtraction.  No seriously.  And carrying numbers over?  Forget it.)

I have to write even the most elementary math problems on paper, or better yet, use a calculator.  You see, I can’t visualize numbers.  It’s as if my mind’s eye is blind to them.  Put it this way, if you were to say, “What’s 100 minus 37?” and asked me to mentally tell you, I couldn’t—at least not in a reasonable amount of time. 

When I go to think about it, the numbers sort of just fade out from the mental picture.  It’s kind of like mathematical Whack-a-Mole in there.  The numbers just fade in and out until I just finally grab a sheet of paper and write them down so I can plainly see them.  

Additionally, I’ve always had a harder time reading analog clocks.  I remember this issue clearly in about Kindergarten when we were learning to tell time.  I couldn’t freaking do it.  And many times to this day, I transpose the time (mix up the big and little hands), or have to count by 5’s to know what time it is if it’s not on the 12, 3, 6, or 9.  Thank goodness for digital.

So what do knowing my right from my left and not being able to do math have to do with each other?

It’s a learning disability called Dyscalculia or Math Blindness.  It’s basically Dyslexia, but with numbers.    

Well, not just numbers, also sense of direction and time, and a bunch of other things that I’ve always had issue with, but just thought it was because I was just kind of, well, uncoordinated or bad at.  

For example, in high school I was a cheerleader.  I always hated learning new cheers and moreover I hated learning the choreography for the yearly dance number.  I had a hard time following the moves.  More often than not, if the instructor would do a move with her right arm, there my left arm would go, flailing about, sticking out like a sore thumb.  It used to drive me crazy---and when I’m trying to learn a new workout routine, it STILL drives me crazy.  My brain just can’t pick it up as fast as other people. 

Another trait of Dyscalculia is not being able to put names with faces.  This is why I typically fail to introduce people to each other, because I fear I won’t recall their names properly.  Dyscalculics will typically call people the wrong name, but will remember the first letter of the name (for instance, referring to a guy named Bob as “Bill”), which I find myself doing quite often.

Wanna know a secret?  I’ve been on an improv team for over a year, and I STILL have a hard time remembering the Toms and the Tims.  Even though I know these people super well.  And I avoided calling Laughs by his first name for quite some time because I was afraid I’d screw it up.  Of course, once I truly get to know people, that issue goes away, but they’ve gotta be a regular fixture in my everyday life for that to happen. 

Of course, I’ve self-diagnosed my Dyscalculia.  Firstly because when I was in school, no one really knew what it was and secondly because I see no reason to actually take myself to a doctor and get a note.   So unless I find myself in a job or situation where this information would be helpful to me being successful or for a boss or  partner to be aware of it, I’ll probably just remain self-diagnosed.  

The funny thing is, I actually feel better knowing that there’s a legitimate neurological issue at play, and not that I’m just absent-minded, forgetful, or incompetent.  In high school Algebra class, I felt like the biggest idiot in the room.  No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t get it.  Especially with tests.  I remember my teacher looking at me some days, like, “What the fuck is wrong with you?!  How are you not getting this?  Are you not trying?”  

But I did try.  Until I finally just gave up.    I mean, I’d tested into the non-credit math class.  

I wanted to blog about this because it took 30 damn years to figure it out.  And also if  we’re ever hanging out, and I motion to the right when I’m talking about my left…just let it happen.  I can’t really help it.  But feel free to point it out so I can correct myself.  

If you’re interested in reading more of the symptoms, I’m putting them below.  I have all of them, with the exception of the last one (although I couldn’t take stats or keep score at a baseball game.  But chess?  Dude.  I rock at chess.  Believe this.).  And if you know me in real life, you'll recognize how many of these do apply.

The cool thing is, I just look at is as something that makes me inherently me, not a disability, but more like, the Universe wanted me to focus on my strengths, like writing and creativity, so my brain wasn't built with the ability to comprehend math and such as strongly.  And if that's not a cue to follow my dreams, I don't know what is.

• ·  Normal or accelerated language acquisition: verbal, reading, writing. Poetic ability. Good visual memory for the printed word. Good in the areas of science (until a level requiring higher math skills is reached), geometry (figures with logic not formulas), and creative arts.
  
• · Difficulty with the abstract concepts of time and direction. Inability to recall schedules, and the sequences of past or future events. Unable to keep track of time. May be chronically late.
  
• ·  Mistaken recollection of names. Poor name/face retrieval. Substitute names beginning with same letter.
  
• ·  Inconsistent results in addition, subtraction, multiplication and division. Poor mental math ability. Poor with money and credit. Cannot do financial planning or budgeting. Checkbooks not balanced. Short term, not long term financial thinking. Fails to see big financial picture. May have fear of money and cash transactions. May be unable to mentally figure change due back, the amounts to pay for tips, taxes, etc.
  
• ·  When writing, reading and recalling numbers, these common mistakes occur: number additions, substitutions, transpositions, omissions, and reversals.
  
• ·  Inability to grasp and remember math concepts, rules, formulas, sequence (order of operations), and basic addition, subtraction, multiplication and division facts.
  
• ·  Poor long term memory (retention & retrieval) of concept mastery- may be able to perform math operations one day, but draw a blank the next! May be able to do book work but fails all tests and quizzes.
  
• ·  May be unable to comprehend or "picture" mechanical processes. Lacks "big picture/ whole picture" thinking. Poor ability to "visualize or picture" the location of the numbers on the face of a clock, the geographical locations of states, countries, oceans, streets, etc.
  
• ·  Poor memory for the "layout" of things. Gets lost or disoriented easily. May have a poor sense of direction, may lose things often, and seem absent minded. (Remember the absent minded professor?)
  
• ·  May have difficulty grasping concepts of formal music education. Difficulty sight-reading music, learning fingering to play an instrument, etc.
  
• ·  May have poor athletic coordination, difficulty keeping up with rapidly changing physical directions like in aerobic, dance, and exercise classes. Difficulty remembering dance step sequences, rules for playing sports.
  
• ·  Difficulty keeping score during games, or difficulty remembering how to keep score in games, like bowling, etc. Often loses track of whose turn it is during games, like cards and board games. Limited strategic planning ability for games, like chess.
  
  For more information on Dyscalculia: http://www.dyscalculia.org/

Sore Thumb. Wait, square peg? Does it even matter?

No.  I did not injure my thumb or any other phalanges. 

I’m talking about sticking out like a sore thumb.  (And by the way, I once had a terribly infected cuticle on my thumb…I assure you my thumb stuck straight out…

…and felt as though a thousand fire banshees were perpetually spraying streams of hot fire urine on it while a million tiny drummers beat it to hell with their drumsticks…which were made of spears and shards of broken glass.)

But that was years ago.  

Anyways, so yeah, sticking out like a sore thumb.  Can I put that on my resume?

Anyone else thinking about Sarah Jessica Parker in the 80s?

Maybe square peg is actually more like it, actually.

(Yeah, it is.  But still.  A sore thumb really does stick out.  So that's covered.  Phew.  ANYWAYS...)

Because it’s a skill or a trait I’ve possessed since childhood.

Let me take you back to St. Paul’s elementary school circa 1987.  I spent nearly every recess watching the other kids play with each other, while I played with things like dandelions, or rocks, or worms after a really hearty rainfall.

Or sometimes I played on the swings, wishing I could just swing right up into the sky.

I wasn’t sad or depressed.  It was more like, I just never felt like I fit in.  Even when I made friends, the friendships always seemed to fizzle away—usually because someone more assertive would come along and decide that she was my old friend’s new best friend and there was no room for Tiff in the picture. 

 

No seriously, that happened.  Twice. 

 

But as an only child, I had a keen sense of doing things by myself.  I was used to it.  And that’s how I spent the majority of my childhood – alone with my imagination.  And for the most part, I was just fine with it.

As I grew, sure I had friends.  Mainly my cousins, but as time went on and I got older, I did have a core group of people I hung out with.  Still, even in their company I often felt like I just didn’t belong.  

There are a few very close people in my life who I truly feel like I fit in with.  That I rarely ever feel like some sort of strange oddity around.  And I’m super thankful for that, but for the most part I can’t seem to find my place.

Of course, these days it’s less about the social aspect, I love people.  I’m a goddamned social butterfly nowadays.  And I love to meet new friends and people.  I really do. 

But when I think about my life, I realize that there are at least two distinct facets that I’ve never quite been able to reconcile: the social me and the domestic me.

 

Social me goes out, has hobbies, does improv, karaoke, hangs out with friends, etc.

Domestic me hangs with Max, makes dinner, pays bills, does chores, sits at home alone or with Max.

Social me interacts with my social circle.

Domestic me rarely ever does. 

Now I’m not saying that one is better than the other.  Or that I like one aspect more than its counterpart.  That’s not true.  Each facet has its own unique sets of perks and drawbacks.

I think what’s hard for me is that I can’t find anyone in either circle to relate with both sides…if that makes sense.  

When I’m in social me mode, I have no other single parents to relate to, typically.  The biggest part of who I am, which is Max, rarely ever makes an appearance because a.) he’s a little too young for some of the events and b.) there will likely be no one around for him to hang out with.  And I’m fairly certain none of my single, childless friends really care about how awesome Max’s autobiography was, or that he blew my mind with his vocabulary over dinner. 

When I’m in domestic mode, again, I have no other single parents (or parents in general now that I think about it) to relate to.  And the parents I do meet, they tend to live the suburban life.  They don’t have an outside hobby or passion.  They like to talk about curtains.  They haven’t been out on the town in years.  So it becomes just me and Max.  As for those single, childless friends of mine, they are great with him, but I can sometimes tell they’re not entirely comfortable--which is understandable and I totally get it.

It’s almost as if I don’t even fit into my own life sometimes.  Does that even make sense?  Probably not. 

Perhaps I create this dichotomy myself.  Perhaps it’s really just a figment of my own imagination.  I’m betting that it actually is.  

But still, it’s Friday night.  I get to hang out with Max and I’m excited about that.  But then I start to think that perhaps I’d like to have one of my girls come over for a glass of wine and some shit shooting after Max goes to bed – and there’s no one to call.  (Part of that is also because 99% of my friends and acquaintances live in Chicago---but that’s a whole other story.) 

Or I see all of my improv friends taking new opportunities or performing more, and I wish so badly that I could do the same, but I know my schedule doesn’t quite allow for it.  

Some days I don’t even think about it.  And then there are other days, days like today, where I just can’t help it.  Like it’s beyond my control.  (Maybe it’s the grey weather…)

Where the heck do I fit in ?  What am I supposed to be doing?  How is it that I could be given so much in terms of having a great kid, great friends, and great opportunities to do the things that I’ve always dreamed I’d be doing (all of which I am infinitely grateful for), yet none of it seems to fit together cohesively?

Or is that just normal?  Does everybody just feel like that sometimes?  

If that’s the case, I guess I fit right in just fine then…right?

I don’t know.  I do know that eventually this nasty thought pattern will let up and I’ll get back to not feeling like a puzzle piece that doesn’t belong to any puzzle.  Well, I mean, I probably will still feel like that, it just won’t bother me.  I’ll embrace it like I usually do and recognize that I’m uniquely me, and that’s just fine.   

Even if it doesn’t seem to make a lick of sense. 

Summer 2011 - An Experiment in Being 30 in the Summer: Without Expectations, Everything is Awesome and, Coincidentally, Unexpected

There are 15 days of summer left.

Well, unless you go by meteorological season changes, in which case a.) summer is over and b.) hey asshat, in Chicago much of our year is spent in the cold, grey, deadness of wintry weather…so take your opinions elsewhere.*

*Admittedly, I was that asshat about a week ago when I got excited over pumpkin spice, sweaters and apple orchards.  I apologize.  I’m trying to be in the acceptance stage of grieving over the impending loss of beautiful weather and trees that are lush and green in exchange for bare, skeletal fingers reaching up to flip off Old Man Winter and his sick, frigid grey joke that lasts from late October to early May.  **

**Although, that’s perfect blanket, pj, and movie night inside weather.***

***Who am I kidding?  After Christmas and New Years, winter makes me want to run screaming, bare naked, right into the goddamned sun itself.

What was I saying?  Oh yes, 15 days of summer left.  Bittersweet?  I dunno…maybe.

So, I thought I’d reflect on the summer of my 30^th year, and also maybe generate some excitement about autumn and all its upcoming red, gold, and yellow, cinnamon spice and pumpkin-filling glory.  

And gourds.  God damn do I love gourds. 

Summer 2011 – An Experiment in Being 30 in the Summer: Without Expectations, Everything is Awesome and, Coincidentally, Unexpected.

This is a picture of a tiny turtle.  That's all.

 My 2011 Summer started out pretty normally.  I was stoked to open my summer clothes box which I had packed away last fall, and to push my sweaters to the back of the closet.  I looked forward to setting up my garden with my mom and to spending time with Max.  I was excited about not wearing a coat, driving to Chicago with the sunroof open, and walking to theaters for shows and rehearsals without fear that my breasts or ladyparts would freeze off and fall to the ground, shattering into a million icy flesh shards. 

 Of course, it would be much different than last summer when I was unemployed and could enjoy every day as I pleased, save for the crippling fear that gnawed at me from the darkest depths of my financial uncertainty.  

But still…

…it was a summer vacation.  An actual summer vacation.  And for the most part, I survived the unemployment part unscathed.  

But this summer I had part-time work, which meant that I would only be enjoying the glorious gifts of Momma Summertime on weekends or days off.  But that was fine by me.

The official start of Summer 2011 (again, NOT meteorologically) was Tuesday, June 21^st.  

But I spent much of early June in a summertime state of mind.  Max started vacation.  The days got longer and warmer.  I anticipated my 2^nd annual 4^th of July party, and upcoming shows (one of which I was asked to do by a remarkable group of people who have just made the whole experience a complete joy.  Thank you SCREWED crew and C.L.O.A.K.A.  I can’t believe our run is almost over!  It has been super awesome.  Seriously.), and basically just hanging out and enjoying summertime as I saw fit.

So when June 21^st hit, and the green-light to start calling this season “Summer” flickered on, I already had a running start.

In retrospect, I find it extremely fitting that just about 3 days into to Official Summer, in addition to all of the awesomeness already going on, a new dab of awesomesauce splooshed onto my tray while in line for the Summertime Funtacularaganza Buffet.  

Now we all know at this point that Summer 2011 marked the momentous occasion of my Aloof, Unavailable, Ice Queendom coming to a halt with the intervention of my first date in over a year and a half. 

We also all know that I’ve mentioned the gentleman caller responsible for this epic feat a few times.

(And that I’ve also provided him a pseudonym that, while quite fitting, isn’t my best creative work.  But, whaaaaaatever.)

And finally, it’s been mentioned that because I’m pretty darned happy and excited to just be exploring this whole thing, I’m off the market, so to speak. 

Again, you can read about all of these things in the links I’ve provided.  (But if you loved me, if you truly, truly loved me, you’d have already read them.  Unless you’re new.  In which case, ignore that statement.  Hey! Welcome to my random life musings. Fasten your seat belts and enjoy the ride, bitches!)

That splooshing of awesomesauce, combined with a plethora of other incredible moments with friends and improv and karaoke and Max and days on the patio has made this one unforgettable summer.  

I’ve had a lot of fun over the past 79 days.  And man, it’s flown by so incredibly fast.  Seriously, it just doesn’t even feel like it’s been that long.  But seeing how I just saw some dead leaves scattered across the parking lot on my cigarette break, I know that it has.  And I know that autumn is slowing making its way into the city.

As one final fist bump to Summer, Laughs and I are taking a mini-vacation to a place I’ve never been before, which is super exciting.  I’ve literally been peeing my pants in excitement every day since the tickets were booked.  Okay, not literally. 

Maybe literally.

I’ll let that one be.  You decide if I’m an excited pants-wetter.  

And then, a few short days later (September 23^rd – which is exactly one month before I turn 31), Fall will officially grace us with its presence.

And just like summer, I will be ready.  I will leap in headfirst to its leaf piles and apple cider, without expectation.  I will walk tall towards winter--and 31--with all the confidence and openness to just let things be and see what wonderful things may happen and lessons I may learn.  

Summer 2011 taught me to shuck expectation to the curb in order to make room for the unexpected, which can be precisely what you never knew you were looking for, but exactly what you wanted. 

And that’s how I’ll approach Fall 2011. 

And I...am...stoked.*

*Winter 2011, however, I can only promise not to have expectations about how my experiences play out. 

I will readily be expecting to offend my neighbors with the loud and crude expletives I will undoubtedly spew while trying to shovel my rather large parking pad.  (Alternatively, however, it’s the perfect time to discover new offensive swear words.  So I guess it’s kind of a win.)

Oh Text Message Delay…You So Crazy!

Disclaimer: What you are about to read might be disgusting to some viewers.  Especially if you’re eating lunch or take issue with excrement humor.  (And if you fall into the latter category, are we friends in real life?  If so, how?!)

I’m pretty good at texting.  As a matter of fact, I’ve got very agile thumbs in addition to an agile mind.  This combination typically allows me to carry on multiple conversations in one text session with the same person.  And if it gets too backed up or starts to get confusing, I’ll just send a  text with a list of numbered or lettered responses to each topic being discussed, which usually gets things back on track pretty quickly.

So when I found myself in a text conversation with a good friend today, and  I had only introduced one new idea into the mix, I was confident I could handle it.

The main conversation was in regard to said friend’s current situation with a member of the opposite sex, whom she’s been talking with and seeing.  Long story short, and without giving too many of her personal details, some plans she had were throw off kilter, so she had to rearrange some things and check to make sure other things with this dude were still in order for something coming up. 

So I asked if the guy responded to her initial inquiry.

She relayed that he had.

And I responded with a “Well, there you go.”

A few moments had passed, and I realized that the Taco Bell I had eaten this past Wednesday was just about done scrubbing clean the walls of my colon.  In other words, I really needed to use the bathroom. 

 

There’s something you should know about my friend and I: a lot of our random texts to each other, in addition to being about guys or what’s on tv or other random nonsense, revolve around farts and poop.  (So yes, fellas, girls do indeed fart and poop.  And we even sit around and talk and laugh about it or compare notes.  I hope I haven’t shattered all of your fantasies.  But look, you ever get married or at the very least get serious with a woman, I’m sure these fantasies would be shattered in that respect anyways.  So just consider this divulging of information a service to you.  Preparedness for the future if you will.  And really, it’s not all that bad.  Far better than menstruation talk.  But I digress…)

Like I was saying, we text about shit sometimes.  Literal shit.  And since I took my phone in the restroom to catch up on Words With and Hanging With Friends, when I noticed that my shit smelled like sauerkraut, I of course wanted to tell her.  So I did.

“I had Taco Bell the other day.  And now, I believe it is clearing my tunnels.  Omg.

And why does my shit smell like sauerkraut?!?!”

After a few seconds, my friend wrote back: “Good sign, right?”

Um, excuse me but...whaaaaat?! 

 

 Now, in my mind I went back through all of the WebMD pages my borderline hypochondriac self has scoured over the years.   

Is it a good sign when your BM smells like grandma’s kitchen on Easter?  (I’m Slovak and Hungarian…sauerkraut in my family is just as natural for a big holiday dinner as potatoes or deviled eggs, or some sort of main meat dish…) 

And a sign of what exactly?  That my colon is in happyland? That I likely won’t be shitting myself on the way to Chicago tonight---or worse, forced to shit in a public place because my bowels have now been sufficiently evacuated?

My shit…smells like sauerkraut. 

HOW IS THIS A GOOD SIGN?!

I haven’t even eaten cabbage…let alone sauerkraut…in over two months.  Is it in my DNA somehow?  Did a Slovakian gnome somehow sneak into my bedroom at night and sleep-feed me copious amounts of kraut without my knowledge?

Oh.

My.

God.

AM I SLEEP-DRIVING/SWIMMING TO HUNGARY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT?!

What is going on?!?!?!  I simply just don't understand how this can be a good sign?!

It wasn't until panic and confusion had almost completely taken hold that I finally realized:

My friend was not responding to my short-short story on sauerkraut craps.  She was responding to the situation with her guy from earlier.  

I had lost control of my text conversation.

Serves me right for texting on the shitter I guess.  Especially since I've already lost one phone to "death by toilet drowning."

So I immediately wrote back, “I hope you meant that about *guy’s name withheld* and not my shit smelling like sauerkraut. Lol”  (I added the "lol" in order to hide the fact that I had just spent 2 full minutes trying to diagnose the cause of my cabbage crap and what kind of mystical sign it was giving me.  "How about you just give me winning lottery numbers?  Not the smell of a staple food from my heritage...")

And followed up with, “If so, yes.”

Almost immediately she wrote back, “Bwwwwhahaha. My farts smelled so weird yesterday.  And yes I meant “guy’s name withheld.” 

And with that, all was well again. Text conversation back on track.  The world can carry on as usual. 

Save for the fact that I still can’t figure out why my shit smelled like sauerkraut…

Ah…mysteries!

Why I’m excited for my birthday…already.

A little under a year ago, I started Bye-Bye Twenties in the hopes of chronicling my 30^th year.  I somehow thought that this year would be completely different because I was entering a new decade.

And in some ways, I guess it was different.  I fostered a new sense of self, moved beyond being trapped in negative thoughts and emotions, and realized I have every opportunity to take this life and do with it what I choose.  

There was a part of me that feared that 30 meant I was getting past my prime…

…but that’s total bullshit.  As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure I’m just stepping into it.  And I love it.

So pushing the 30’s Boat off the dock and setting sail into 31 and beyond is part of the reason I’m excited, but there’s actually something else that almost makes me wish I could push fast forward to October 23, 2011.  (That's right...almost.  Because actually, I don’t want to rush past anything…but if there was also a rewind button, I might consider fast forwarding and then rewinding back.  Holy Fuck.  DeLorean.)

Here’s the thing: months ago, I don’t even remember how many actually, I watched a movie called “P.S. I Love You.”

Now, it wasn’t the greatest movie in the world, and there were parts of it that would not allow me to suspend my disbelief.  Just kind of like

“Yeah, that’s sweet but…

Wait.  What the fuuuuu….”

But there was a part that did resonate:  Here was this 30-year-old woman, trying to figure out who she was now and what she wanted to do about it.  And to that I could (and still can, actually) totally relate.

Of course, me being one of those people who cries super easily when I’m touched emotionally (and physically, I guess…if it’s a bad touch…too much?  Probably.  Gross.  Uh…anyways), of course when the credits rolled, I was bawling, thinking about my own 30-year-old self and who I was and what I wanted to do about it.

So, I made a list.

RAWRRRRRRRR!!!  I love lists!

 I made a list of things I wanted to accomplish or try or do while I was 30.  And it’s been under my pillow ever since.  I haven’t even peeked at it once.  Sure, I’ve  had ample opportunity when changing the sheets, but each time, I keep it folded, place it aside, and put it right back under my pillow.

I don’t remember everything that’s on it.  There is one thing I remember, but I know there were specifics that I can’t quite bring to mind.  The funny thing is, I’m pretty sure I can check that one off.  So now, here I am,

super excited to wake up on the morning of October 23^rd, pull back my pillows like a child opening a birthday present…

…sorry, like a rabid child with octopus tentacle arms opening up the first and only birthday present she has ever gotten in her life…and it’s from Daddy Warbucks, so it’s probably pretty good.

I find myself thinking about that list a lot lately.  I’ll just be working or sitting quietly, and I find myself going back to writing the list, folding it up, and placing it under the pillow with the promise to myself that I wouldn’t think about it or open it until I had officially crossed the threshold into 31.

I’ve got about 60 days until I can look that baby over, and I can’t wait.  It’s almost like a birthday present to myself.  I mean, even if I didn’t accomplish most of the things on that list, it just means I now have some more goals for 31.

So now we wait.  And I say “we” because I plan to reveal the list, with annotations and thoughts about each item and whether or not it was actually accomplished.  

It will be the final post of Bye-Bye Twenties, save for an epilogue.  But don’t worry…I have plans for next year’s blog.  (One of which is to actually post in it on a regular basis.  No really.  I mean it.)

Until then, I’m just looking forward to this weekend where amongst a slew of rehearsals, shows (one of which is a fundraiser), and the normal hustle and bustle, I’ll be making time for a little wine, Van Morrison, and possibly chop busting. 

Hopefully chop busting.

Almost certainly definitely chop busting.

Hallelujah to all of that.

Off the market

Look closely.  Wait, nope.  I'm not there anymore.

Okay, okay, maybe I was never actually "on the market" to begin with.  More like, I was kind of tucked away on a dusty bottom shelf somewhere, going about my business when BAM! Someone noticed me (and took me out to a Polish buffet).

Okay, so I guess that is technically on the market...just not in an "on display, advertising myself as 'Redhead seeks gentleman caller to spend time, laugh, and tell the occasional fart joke" kind of way.

Ugh.  Semantics.  Anyways...

...Laughs and I have been having a really great time the past couple months.  I don't want to gag you with all the juicy details, but in summary: when I'm around him, I feel like I'm the best version of myself (which is the version I am in front of the people who know me best).  You really can't ask for more than that, right?

So...long story short, I'm no longer on the store shelf.  I'm off the market.  I like this thing Laughs and I have going on.  And to be honest, I kind of just want to put some of my attention (the part that isn't focused on Max and improv and karaoke and all that other stuff) in his general direction for a while.

And yes, I find myself smiling into space like an idiot sometimes.

Deal with it.