Okay, kid, this is where it gets complicated...

Two things before I go into my main point here:

1. I can recognize really offensive/cliche/stereotypical jokes towards groups of people but I usually don’t address the joke (even though I should), because 99% of the time, they don’t offend me/aren’t directed towards me. And people who make the jokes don’t really understand why I would tell them to stop if it doesn’t have anything to do with me, so I usually just don’t laugh or ignore it. Also, I get that almost everyone is part of a specific group that gets marginalized, and there is some stereotype for everyone’s race/gender/whatever, even if that specific person does not fit into any of those stereotypes. The fact is that everyone stereotypes everything and/or everyone is aware of the stereotypes that will probably be made towards them (whether it offends them or not, and whether they fit the stereotype or not.)
2. It really sucks when someone you really like and enjoy constantly makes these kinds of jokes and you don’t want to cause this weird tension between you and them by calling them out on it. This is a general statement.

So now that I have made those two points, I will now say this:

I’ll be honest, I get really pissed off when people make Jew jokes. Sometimes in general, but mostly when they’re made at me. Not offended, just annoyed that people do it. Like, yeah, it’s funny that I’m the only Jew in my group of friends for the most part and that I don’t celebrate Christmas and that I’ve never had a Christmas tree or Christmas lights. I can deal with everyone making comments about that because even though it gets fucking annoying around this time of the year, it’s normal. It’s whatever. But today this kid that I really enjoy being around, Tommy, who makes me laugh until I cry, just pissed me off. I’M NOT TRYING TO MAKE A BIG DEAL ABOUT THIS AND I’M NOT STILL MAD AT HIM.  It’s just ticking me off. That is all.

We were talking about how I am Jewish and Ted made a joke about how I’m not a “real” Jew since I haven’t had a Bat Mitzvah which was funny in the context, and then Tommy said “Okay, I’m totally going to hell for this, but let’s test it out.” And he pulled out a dime and threw it on the ground and said “Go get it!” And I just stared at him. When people do things like that to me, I just feel really confused. I don’t know how to respond. So I thought for a minute, found the dime on the floor, and picked it up. And while I was doing that, he was making comments like “Oh, she’s going for it! Haha!” I picked it up and threw it at his face really hard.

And the most annoying part was that he got super pissed that I threw it at him. He has a short temper, so I understand, but he was walking around me demanding an apology, and then asking why I wasn’t apologizing, because he deserved an apology because it “really fucking hurt.” So I said “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

I didn’t want to explain to him that when you have to start something out with “I’m totally going to hell for this,” you probably shouldn’t fucking say it. I’m not offended, although it probably seems like I am. I’m just annoyed. It makes things really awkward when I’m actually truthful and say “Yeah, that kind of pissed me off and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do it again.” So I just did what I did and brushed it off for the night.

Making this post probably seems like I’m super overdramatic but I’m really not. I think I have a reason to be annoyed?

Bein’ overdramatic and shit.

Read More

Out of the frustration of being a waitress, I will now compile a list of things you should/shouldn’t do while going to a restaurant:

1. Don’t go to a restaurant without expecting to spend at least 10% of what your food is going to cost. I know money is tight, but it’s rude not to tip if you’ve had a good experience. It’s how I get paid - it’s at least 50% of what I earn. They don’t lower the hourly rate for servers for no reason - it’s because we’re expected to get tips.
2. If I come to your table so I can take your order and you’re in the middle of a conversation, don’t fucking ignore me. Remember why you’re sitting here? It’s to order food from me! SHUT UP FOR A SECOND. Plus, it makes things incredibly awkward if I’m just standing there, waiting for you to notice that I’ve said hi to you, and asked you questions already. Finish your last sentence, whatever, but don’t keep talking as if I’m not standing RIGHT THERE.
3. If you do that, then don’t you dare give me a dirty fucking look for interrupting your damn conversation. I’m just doing my job here, man.
4. Please make ordering time a group activity. It makes it go much faster when everyone is on task, ready to order, and just waiting their turn. When everyone is talking while I’m trying to take your order, it makes it all very confusing.
5. Read. The. Entire. Menu. PLEASE.
6. If the restaurant is busy, DON’T COMPLAIN ABOUT YOUR FOOD TAKING A LONG TIME. Do you seriously fucking think we singled YOUR ORDER out just to make you wait longer than everyone else? FUCK YOU. Everyone in here is hungry, asshole. Not just you. The cooks are going in order of what is ordered first. If you want your food halfway cooked and frozen on the inside and completely half-assed, then here you fucking go. If not, sit the fuck down and wait just like everyone else, douchebag.
7. Especially don’t do that if you’re part of a big group. Of course it’s going to take a while if we’re trying to get all your food out at the same time.
8. Don’t pester other waiters/waitresses more than once or twice to get you something. You’re not fucking tipping them.
9. If there’s a sign out that says “PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED,” don’t fucking stand there, read it, and think to yourself “lol nope” and go ahead and decide where you’re going to sit. If you do that, I hope you know that everyone in the restaurant thinks you’re a huge idiot and also an asshole.
10. If you have a problem with your food, we will take it back. We will ask the cooks to remake it. If you still don’t like it, we will take it off of your bill. It’s frustrating as hell, but we’ll do it. But for the love of FUCK, DON’T FUCKING YELL AT US ABOUT YOUR FOOD. Sometimes we make mistakes, we know that. And sometimes we put in orders wrong. That is something to yell at us for. We deserve that. Well, you should still try to be understanding, but still. We won’t be nearly as upset if you yell at us for something WE did wrong than something we DIDN’T. If what YOU ordered is over or undercooked, don’t snarl at me because of it. Yell at the cook if you fucking have to. Don’t yell at me because something doesn’t taste right. The most I had to do with your food was to put in the damn order, put a pickle on the plate and to take it out to you. I don’t even know how to turn on the grill, for fuck’s sake.
11. ETA: Don’t interrupt a waiter or waitress for something when they’re IN THE MIDDLE OF ANOTHER’S ORDER. WAIT YOUR DAMN TURN.

That’s all I could come up with for now. For the record, I’ve only actually gotten yelled at for my performance once, but people have still been incredibly rude to me. So just remember, when you go out to eat, don’t be a fucking rude asshole!

I don’t know if I’ve just been having an insignificantly bad week (meaning, nothing terrible has happened or stands out in the last couple of days, and I still feel awful, but it’s totally not worth talking about for the rest of my life as “the worst week ever”), or if I’m just turning into this zombie who can’t even think for herself.

I have a hard time getting myself to go to bed when I know I need to. I have a hard time bringing myself to shower when I know I’ll regret looking like shit the next morning. I have a hard time convincing myself that eating real meals (when I am at home) is a good and healthier idea. I have a hard time getting out of bed in the morning, even after 3+ alarms have gone off. I have a hard time doing my laundry. I have a hard time trying to look nice and I just go to school in sweatpants or whatever I slept in. I have a hard time being on time for school; even if I look at the clock and it’s 8 minutes before I should be sitting in my chair in class, I still don’t get up. I don’t fucking get up. And it takes about 8 minutes to get to school in the morning. I can’t do it.

And I’ve been moving so slowly lately. Physically and mentally. I can’t walk fast or bring myself to even try. I did a mile for the fitness test about two or three weeks ago and it took me nearly 13 minutes to get around the track four times. I’m lucky that my classes are mostly all near each other because I walk through the hallways at the slowest pace as I’m spacing out (not that I’m that asshole that’s in everybody’s way. I mean, I may not be aware of the conversations that are going past me but I at least make sure I’m not *THE* asshole).

And when it comes to school, I can’t even THINK. I have to ask my teachers to hold my hand through EVERYTHING and I’ve NEVER done that. I know it’s not bad to ask for help, but it is pretty ridiculous when you need help ALL THE TIME. I couldn’t do my physics lab today without my teacher explaining everything to me because both my partner and I were having so much trouble trying to comprehend the math. I knew everything beore, and I felt good once I was getting the hang of it, but I couldn’t have done it by myself. I don’t feel behind in any of my classes, I just feel like when it comes to test time, I’m going to have so much trouble.

I feel tired all the time, whether I get 6 hours of sleep or 12. I don’t know what to do. I feel so unmotivated to do anything besides go to work because I have to, and because I actually enjoy it. I can’t think of an incentive that would even help - including going to college. I just look at everyone stressing out over all of their extracurriculars, the Common App, their AP grades, their weight, what they’re going to do on Friday night, whose house they’re going to on Halloween. And I’m just sitting here in my chair, like, “Shit, really? All of that while I’m all stressed out over not being able to get out of bed?” It sounds stretched, but it’s really not. I don’t. Know. What. To do.

I just got off the phone with my sister, and within the past hour and a half, I’ve made a really big and life-changing (for me) decision: I’m not doing photography.

I’m not going with my big plan. I’m not majoring in it, and hell, I don’t even know if I’m ever going to even minor in it. Sorry if you’re disappointed. I’m not doing it. I haven’t picked up my camera for artistic purposes since July, and even that was forced. I appreciate everything I’ve learned, but I’m not throwing myself into something pressing on the hopes that I’ll have motivation for it later. No. There’s a portfolio day on Saturday, and I’ve been planning on going for the past few months. I have absolutely nothing put together. Nothing I’m passionate about showing. Nothing I’ve done recently. I’ve been stressing about it. I get e-mails every five fucking minutes saying, “Come to Portfolio Day!” No. I’m not going to another portfolio day because I don’t have a portfolio. I was crying to my parents an hour and a half ago because I was unsure, and I just said to them, “I’m not going to SVA. I’m not majoring in photography. That’s my decision. Goodnight.” And you know what? Fuck all the people who are going to say, “I was so excited for you!” or “This is so disappointing.” Fuck you if you think this is a bad idea. Because you’re the reason why it took me so damn long to make this decision anyways. Everyone’s been under this belief that this is the perfect thing for me because I’ve cranked out a few projects, but mostly because I talk about it. I’m all talk! I have nothing to show you right now that relates to my “passion for photography.”

Let me tell you something that I just figured out. There is a huge difference between having a skill and having a passion. I know how to work a camera better than a lot of people. I know what F/stop and aperture is, and I know how to adjust them. I can recommend a good lens to you if you need me to. I can critique your photo and tell you the good and bad components about it. I have a basic understanding of how studio lighting works. I can edit something on Photoshop without it looking overdone. I can do all this stuff. But guess what? I don’t really care about any of it anymore. Just because I’m good at it doesn’t mean that it’s something I should be doing for the rest of my life. Photography is a skill for me. Sometimes skill and passion go hand-in-hand, but not always. This time, for me, they don’t anymore. For the past few years, I’ve said to myself, and everyone else that photography is what I want to do with my life. Because I can do it. Because I’m good at it. But I have so many other things that I care about that, honestly, I can do so much more with. So, at this point in time, I feel like I’m standing at a fork. One road is called “SKILL” and the other road is called “PASSION.” Which one do I take?

I attended a protest called Stomp & Holler in Northampton, Massachusetts, which was in solidarity with Slutwalk, a march against sexual violence. I brought my camera, of course. I went into it thinking, “Fuck yeah, I’m gonna get so many awesome pictures!” I took like, twenty. I was shouting the whole time. I was doing something passionately. I wasn’t there to document it, I knew other people would be doing that for me. I was there to march with hundreds of others, and tell Northampton what they needed to hear. Sure, I’m disappointed that I didn’t take as many photos as I wanted to, but that’s okay. I got more out of it listening to all the amazing speakers than I would have if I was trying to document everything perfectly. I hate to use a song lyric as an example, but it’s like Matt & Kim’s song, Cameras. The chorus says this: “No time for cameras, we’ll use our eyes instead.” I’ve heard the advice given before, too. I’m sick of being behind the lens because I feel like that’s where I’m supposed to be. It’s not.

I’m going to school for gender and sexuality studies, and possibly for psychology, but I’ll have to give AP psych some more time before I decide if that’d be a major or a minor. Maybe, if I decide later, that I want to incorporate photography in it all, too, that is what I’ll do. But I don’t see it in my future at all. I see so many possibilities for gender/sexuality/psychology studies. I could be a rape victim’s counselor. I could be the one taking calls for Planned Parenthood. I could be speaking at schools about why using the word “rape” in casual conversation isn’t okay. I could be a sex therapist. And on the side, I could be escorting people to their abortion doctor while passing by anti-choice protesters. I could be standing on the streets in Manhattan and asking people to get involved, to sign a petition, to be on a mailing list. Shit, I could write a fucking book. The possibilities are fucking endless.

And yeah, a few hours ago I was saying “I don’t have a chance of getting into any schools that aren’t art colleges or community colleges.” My sister has assured me that it isn’t true. People want to see that I’m passionate about things. Sure, I didn’t do great in math. I fucking failed earth science. But hey, I did three summers at the School of Visual Arts and a Saturday program because I wanted to learn about photography. And I did damn well. I started doing much better in English and got good grades last year, and now I’m taking an AP class because I truly want to learn about it, and I’m doing well. I took AP psychology because it’s something I’m genuinely interested in, and I’m doing pretty well! I’m being active when it comes to things I actually give a shit about. And I feel good about them, too. I don’t feel like a failure because of my F in earth science. You know why? Because that class has nothing to do with what I’m going to do with my future. Believe it or not, high school makes no difference. And some see that later or earlier than others. I saw it the second I started. I’m taking physics because I have to in order to graduate. Will I get an A? Probably not. Does it matter? Am I going into school for physics. NO! It’s not worth stressing over.

My worth ethic in my physics classroom is a lot different than my passion for feminism. Yeah, I read pro-choice blogs in my spare time. I read stories about people’s abortions. I read arguments on both sides. I sometimes take part in said arguments. I can tell you so much about it if you want to know. I donate money to the Human Rights Campaign. I donate money to abortion funds. Hopefully in the future, I can attend workshops and talk to people. My sister is going to try to set me up with Logan Levkoff, a popular sexologist. I’m building up my resources. I’m informing people. I’m bringing attention to the things that matter to me, to other people. I’ve had more than one person tell me, “You changed my mind about this,” or, “You made me think about this and realize this.” THAT’S FUCKING AMAZING. That is a fuck ton more amazing than getting an A on my physics test.

I’m going to find the right school for me and I’m going to stop feeling guilty about what everyone else might think. Photography is great, but I’m not going to spend the rest of my life doing it. And that’s my final decision.

I’m sure a lot of people have figured this out about me if you’ve known me for a while, but I’ve always been one of those people who just understands a lot more than my peers. And while I have friends, I just constantly feel like I’m surrounded by children. Or monkeys. And sometimes people want to learn or try to understand, but it has always felt like most people don’t. And I don’t mean everybody, obviously. When you’re raised into a family with a sister 11 years older and a brother 13 years older aside from your parents, it’s kinda hard to ever feel like you fit in with your own age group. You become attracted to older people. Your only friends eventually become half people over the age of 25 and half people who have the same mindset. I know a lot of people can connect with me about this, especially those who just feel like you’re “above” everyone. This isn’t me being all special snowflake about it, it’s just how it’s always been for me. Since like, fifth grade. That probably pitches into my depression too but that’s another post. I just always feel older than everyone around me.

And the thing about this all is, I like it, I always have. For example, I liked being above the middle school drama before it even hit me. I liked that I knew what to expect because I had someone who had already been through it tell me how much it sucks and that it’s going to happen no matter what and that I just had to deal with it without getting too involved. I liked being the person everyone turned to for that because they knew I understood when it seemed like no one else did. And now, I like being politically aware and involved in movements and finally passionate about great things. No, I LOVE it. But no one ever told me how fucking exhausting it is. No one ever told me that this great understanding of life that I’ve been granted with will probably end up killing me. There is so much I want to take in. So much I try to take in. I have my big, important issue, but I read so much about other big, important issues, and I realize that THEY ALL TIE TOGETHER. EVERYTHING I care about all leads back to the same issue.

Once you become aware of this stuff, there’s no way to not know. Once you realize how fucked up everything is there’s no way to ever look at the world in the same way you used to. And knowing all of this isn’t making life miserable for me, and it’s not exhausting to me because I’m trying so many different ways to save the world, it’s just exhausting KNOWING things. People only say that ignorance is bliss because it’s less exhausting than knowing so much, but that doesn’t make it better.

I know this might seem obnoxious, but let me say this:

If you were, like me, lucky enough to be raised in a good, loving family, with little to no money problems, well (or good enough) paying jobs, health insurance and the like, just know (and I’m sure you do know) that not everybody is born as fortunate as you are. You might already be aware of this, yet you still may not fully realize it. You know that these things are indeed issues, but they might be worlds away to you.

I’m not just talking about money, either.

I know you know that there are poor people/homeless people/depressed people/starving people/people with eating disorders/people who are just in really fucking shitty situations. I know I don’t have to tell you that. I also know that although you’re aware of this fact, you have trouble acknowledging it.

I know that you see dirty people in ripped clothing, clutching onto things they have picked out of the trash, sprawled all over your city’s sidewalks and sometimes even having the audacity to demand money from you. I know that you may roll your eyes, insult them, or simply just walk away without giving it a second thought, or thought they were crazy and ridiculous. I know that you might not have ever considered that the person you just walked by in Penn Station, hollering at everyone they see, might have been a perfectly normal, sane hard worker in the past, and suddenly lost his job. I know that you might not have considered that he might have serious mental health problems, and lost health care, thus making him unable to buy medication.

I am, by absolutely no means, telling you that it is your responsibility to cater to them or give them your wallet.  What I am telling you, however, is that your lack of understanding - your lack of even wanting to understand - is what hurts the most.

And no, these definitely aren’t words coming from someone who was in that situation (although someone in that situation might say the same thing). But these are words coming from someone who has been told that my depression isn’t real, that my self harm is for attention, that my lack of a good GPA is because I’m lazy. That if I wanted to change and get better, I could; I just had to try harder.

I know that there are people out there who believe eating disorders just happen to stubborn people, or people who want attention, and that it could be solved by “Just eat.” I know there are people who believe that depression isn’t real, and that it could be solved by “Just get happy.” I know there are people who believe that homelessness only happens to people who do drugs and probably didn’t try hard anyways, and that it could be solved by “Just get a job.” I know there are people who believe that addiction isn’t a disease, and that it could be solved by “Just stop drinking.” I know there are people who believe that if you can’t get a job, you’re obviously not trying hard enough, and that it could be solved by, “Just try harder.” I know there are people who believe that if you’re in an abusive relationship, you’re weak, and it could easily be solved by, “Just leave him.”

I also know that a huge amount of these people think, “It will never happen to me.”

And maybe you really are just lucky. Maybe it will never even touch you. But I swear to you that many of the people that found themselves in those bad situations thought the same exact thing.

The truth is, it’s never that easy to “just stop,” to “just try harder,” to “just get out of it.” Everyone has a story behind everything. And I know that you know that. I know you know that about something. But you might not know that about everything.

Learning someone’s story makes all the difference. It doesn’t mean you need to empty your pockets for that guy on the subway, or be there for your depressed friend every second of the day. It just means: listen for once. Stop acting like it has nothing to do with you, or that it could never happen to you.

And yes, like I said, this is coming from someone whose life is like what I just described in the first paragraph. I was born into an extremely loving family. I’ve had health care all my life, which covered annual checkups, regular dentist checkups, gynecology appointments, hospital visits, surgery, my birth control, and in the future, more surgeries. (I don’t have health insurance at this very moment but it’s for a completely different reason and I’m going to have it in the next few months.) My parents have never had money issues. My mom worked for over 30 years and now collects retirement. I have home cooked meals in front of me almost every single night. I have a job. Next year, I’m going to a school that costs almost $30,000 a year, and my parents are okay with it. We’re not rich, but we don’t have anything to complain about.

That said, I am aware that there are millions of people who will never be able to say any of that. But there was a time in my life where I wasn’t, until I learned that the people that became closest to me didn’t have that. I’ve heard so many people’s stories. And I know that I obviously can’t do much about it. I can help people as individuals, but I can’t for an entire population.

It’s just important to listen to the stories that have never been told and the hardships that have been totally misunderstood. Whether or not you do something about it, and what exactly is to be done about it is your choice.

When you haven’t been in a traumatic situation, the idea of “triggers” might not make sense, or they might not be that big of a deal. I understand why some of you think “trigger warnings” are pointless and annoying and stupid, but to be honest, sometimes it really is necessary.

In May 2009, I saw a puppy run into the middle of the street and get hit by a car. I was shocked, I didn’t know what to do, and as I saw more cars coming, I urged the oncoming drivers to stop. They didn’t. The dog was run over by another car and inevitably killed right in front of me. I saw his owner run into the middle of the street and pick him up with the saddest look on his face. I cried and panicked in front of my best friend at the time, and called my dad and begged him to pick me up as soon as he possibly could. In the car, he gave me the option of going out to dinner with my parents and grandmother, or going home to be by myself. I desperately wanted to go home, but he urged me to go with them, so I did. And while this may seem overdramatic, I’m being completely serious: If I had chosen to go home, I probably would have tried to kill myself.

Although I was well aware that this was a daily occurrence all over the world, it fucked me up in really horrible ways. When I went home, I rented some movies to hopefully make me feel better, one of them being Anchorman. Then I saw the scene where he kicks his dog off of a bridge and I screamed (even though it was just for humor and of course the dog came back out of the water perfectly fine). I was seriously depressed for the next month or so, and I think it definitely pitched into things that caused my anxiety that came shortly after. I thought about really gruesome, bloody death a lot and I began to have really bad panic attacks on the regular, especially while I had a lot of time to let my mind wander. About a week after this happened, a girl I was acquainted with had sent me a video, saying that it was “hilarious.” It was of a man diving off of a cliff and bashing his head open. I had one of the biggest panic attacks of my life and I contemplated killing myself again because I couldn’t stop thinking about death.

The reason why I bring up trigger warnings is because, well, things can be really fucking triggering. This isn’t to imply that we should put a big, fat warning label on everything that can ever be read/seen/touched, but when it comes to something that can obviously be traumatic to someone, such as gory images, or talk of sexual abuse, people need to understand that shit like that can make people go into this unexplainable mode of horribleness. Everyone has different triggers, and guess what, WE KNOW that sometimes, those triggers might not make any sense at all. People will often go out of their way to avoid things that might trigger them, but sometimes, it’s not easy.

And this isn’t just limited to blog posts on the internet. Even just talking about certain things can make someone uncomfortable and remember things they don’t want to think about. When people joked around about animals getting hurt to me, I had to tell them to stop, and they didn’t really understand why. To me, saying “I saw a dog get hit and killed by a car and talking about anything relating to that just makes me feel kind of sick” made good enough sense for why I shouldn’t have to talk about something like that, but so many of the people I had to say that to just looked at me, like, “Really? I don’t see how that’s such a big deal.” And all I’d think was, Of course, it isn’t a big deal to you because you weren’t fucking there! You’re not me and you don’t know what I’m going through! Can you seriously just fucking drop it? We’ll be fine if you just drop it. I couldn’t look at bloody images, or pictures of dead animals. To this day, I can’t even look at a dog with no leash anywhere near a street without feeling a bit of worry (which happened this morning).

I guess all I’m trying to get at is just a simple request. Respect us, okay? If someone gets triggered by something, don’t go out of your way to dangle it in their face. Just keep it away from them. Get over the trigger warnings. They’re there for people who need them, and it’s really not that hard to skip over a single disclaimer.

I love musicals. I mean, I don’t pay much attention to cast members like many Broadway fanatics do, and I don’t know all the words to every song ever been played on stage, but I love them. I’ve loved Rent since I was little, years before I saw it on stage in 2005, and my sister played La Vie Boheme on repeat everyday, and I could recite every single line before I even knew what “mucho masturbation” even meant, and the line “Dorothy and Toto went over the rainbow to blow off Auntie Em!” always stuck out to me. Hairspray has always been a favorite of mine. I saw it twice before I even reached sixth grade and I did a project on it in fourth grade. Although I didn’t fully understand the meaning of it, it was just so much fun to me, especially the end scene - “You Can’t Stop The Beat.” Even at nine years old, I never found it weird that Edna was played by Harvey Feirstein, a man. I thought it was amazing. Everything about Wicked fascinates me - the costumes and the music especially, even though it’s insanely cliché and everyone is obsessed with it. It’s playing in Hartford this month and they have a special area in the mall dedicated to it and I gasped when I saw it and just ran my little feet to it to see the dresses they had on display. In The Heights was beautiful to me, it was like entering a whole different world that I’d only heard about from New Yorkers, and it taught me a lot about community. I also was amazed by the set design - how something I normally find so ugly in the city was made to be something gorgeous. I don’t even know where to start with Hair; the way the cast involves themselves with the audience so much makes me giddy. I got a daisy from one of the members of the show and I never wanted to throw it away, and then by the end of the performance, I had the opportunity to dance on stage. I stayed up for two days straight to write the most amazing paper I’ve ever written - eight pages on the history and making of it. Avenue Q was the first show I ever saw from the front row, where I really got to see the actors’ faces up close, and I learned that you can put life into a piece of fabric on a stage. Even though I didn’t even care for the typical Romeo and Juliet storyline in West Side Story, I still liked the music and they way the actors showed themselves on stage. 42nd Street was the second show I ever got to see, and I thought it was so pretty. I remember listening to “Lullaby of Broadway” on repeat in 4th grade, and being ecstatic when I’d hear it in public. I remember crying my eyes out when The Lion King started, because not only did the movie mean so much to me, but because I underestimated how stunning a faux-Africa could be, and even with people running around with immobile gazelles, it just looked so real.

I just love them. Every part of them. The costumes, the set designs and changes, the magic, the effects, the music, the dances, the colors, and in most cases, the story lines.

But I will never be able to explain my love for Next To Normal. I feel like I’m a part of the family whenever I listen to the music, and I bawl my eyes out when I hear each point of view. I can understand it all fully - Diana, Dan, Natalie, Henry, and even Gabe. I love the simplicity of the set design - a house. A house that “was a home long ago,” in the words of Dan. I mean, I’ve seen plenty of simple sets before, it’s not an uncommon thing. When I first saw this one, I think my thoughts were along the lines of, “That’s it?” And I understood why.

I love the fact that it’s not just focused on Diana’s problems and her own mind. I like that we do get a glimpse of what goes on in her head, but not everything fully. It’s not just about her - it’s about the way it affects the people around her. The way Dan feels like everything is up to him to fix because he’s the “man of the house.” Maybe not everyone will understand that feeling, but when you do, you understand how poisonous it is to want to be the hero, and how awful it is to realize that you can’t save everybody. I feel like I can sympathize with him so well because of that, even though, he wasn’t drawn to Diana because of her illness, whereas I seem to be drawn to people because of their issues in life and I constantly feel like I need to be “that friend,” the one that is there all the time, that holds everyone up and together, and that’s how Dan feels to her as a husband.

I love the eeriness of Gabe… (AND I’M SORRY THIS NEXT BIT CONTAINS MAAAJOR SPOILERS WHO HAVEN’T SEEN IT AND WANT TO, even though it’s not even on Broadway anymore, but………)

Read More

Anyways. My sister’s wedding is in two months from today and I fear that I will be too fat for my dress which has still not shipped. Also I have to make a speech but I don’t know how I’m going to be able to do that. And the whole, standing in front of 160 people just holding a bouquet of flowers while I try not to lose my balance on my blister-inducing wedges and/or look too distressed thing doesn’t sit so well with me either, but it’s not like I’m gonna be the center of attention, but I am the maid of honor and all, so some attention will still be on me. But of course, my fears are not just limited to gaining a few pounds and looking like an idiot. How do you write a speech for your sister when you hated her fiancé for the first two years you knew him? Or without sounding too cliche? The last year and a half has been spent talking about this day nonstop so it’ll be nice when it’s finally over… but then what? I don’t want to imagine my sister pregnant. That’s horrible of me to say. I know my brother’s wife is eight months pregnant so it shouldn’t be weird to me to think of my sister starting a family as well.

I guess the whole concept of “change” and “growing up” and “moving on” still fucks with my head. And I will forever be haunted by the idea that my relatives are going to either be dead or too old to care when it’s my time. This is what comes with being the baby of the family and of the family’s friends and of everyone you know. That when it comes to be your time, nobody gives a fuck. Rather, nobody gives as many fucks as they did before, when everyone else was in the spotlight. I don’t care what anyone says. It’s the sad truth. I spent the majority of my childhood at the house of a family that was quite close to my family. Then we stopped going when I was in middle school. We were still close to them, spent a lot of holidays with them and everything, we just didn’t/don’t see them quite as often. And when we see them now, they ask about my sister and brother. They ask about the soon-to-be baby, and the soon-to-happen wedding. They don’t ask me about what I’ve been doing with my life, what I plan to do, what I plan to be. Not in depth, at least. I know the last time they really knew me was when I was little, but they could at least get to know me again. And obviously, I’m not the center of attention or anything, but fuck, if I’m around, don’t ask me about my siblings. Ask me about ME.

I don’t want to grow up too fast. That’s not what I’m trying to say. I know I still have plenty of time and should just focus on school and college and my job and getting my license and doing things that seventeen year olds should be doing. I just can’t help the inevitable thought that I’m not as important, even if it’s not true. It’s just hard being a decade behind everyone around you.