To 2014

I'm not a huge fan of New Year's Eve. The party side of it, that is. I've had a few good ones (last year was solid), but, generally, my New Year's Eves range from mildly depressing to vaguely traumatic.  Expectations get raised, only to be shattered, nice looking clothes and shoes rebel, creating blisters and pressure marks, and that one extra glass of bubbly you think will put you over the edge toward the lighter side of tipsy winds up being the one that sees your new year beginning in bed, avoiding light and loud noises.

That said, the actual changing of the year? Huge fan. I get why some people don't make resolutions, and the argument that you should change what is bothering about your life immediately rather than wait for January 1 at 12:01 am makes sense to me. I try to follow that during the year. But I can't help but acknowledge that the changing of the calendar offers—to me, at least—a really useful psychological boost in trying to achieve these goals. Anything you start doing or stop doing as of January 1 has its own special momentum. "So far this year I have/haven't..." is a great mantra.

So, what will I be trying to do and not do in 2014? Glad you asked:

• finish my thesis
• move back to the United States
• stop sleeping in so much
• stop buying things—nothing that isn't disposable or doesn't replace something else
• stay in touch

That's basically it. Some of those things have subsets, but really, if I submit a thesis (or complete a draft) and fill out some change of address forms where the letter to follow "U" is "S" and not "K," I'll be a happy camper.

In light of my hopes to be my favorite version of myself in 2014, I'm trying to start the new year doing just that—playing out my favorite version of myself. I worked on my thesis! I stopped procrastinating (as much)! I didn't work myself into a tizzy over ordering food over the phone! Of course, my favorite me also wears yoga pants and celebrates the new year by feasting on Chinese food—the containers spread around her on the floor—while marathoning 'House of Cards.' But you know what? My favorite me is also comfortable with that, so long as it is alongside things like blog posts, thesis drafts, and financial clean-up and not instead of.

And it sure beats trying to find a cab.

So here's to 2014. May it find you the favorite version of yourself for the next 365 days, and all the days after.

When Costumes Revolt

I said I would try and follow up the last post with better, happier things, and there is little better or happier then when things go wrong in the theatre. I'm not talking fire alarms or medical emergencies but those little onstage screw-ups that let you know you're watching live theatre.

I've been lucky enough to get a couple of doozies in my time, the undisputed champion being the time when a lackluster Romeo went up (theatre speak for 'forgot his lines') during the balcony scene. After awkwardly pacing the stage in silence for what seemed like an eternity, Juliet came rushing out, only to have her scene partner try to get them back on track by saying "Speak again"— an awkward line to choose considering no one had been speaking for a good minute. At this point we thought we were safe, but then, as Juliet began one of the scene's many fake exits, another fun little fact was revealed. IN the hurry to go out and save Romeo, her dress hadn't been properly done up, and so was gaping open in the back, exposing her shift and only staying on her body by the elbows she was awkwardly pinning to her side. Live theatre!

Like any theatre-going, theatre-working person, I have tons of these stories and about once every three months they are brought out and dusted off over pints at the pub, where we will all pool our mishaps. Thanks ot last night, I have one more to add.

Took Red and Jenna to see the Company's rollicking Middlteon show. An excellent time, but also a night where all costumes seemed in rebellion. Collars poked up, pants refused to stay fastened, feathers drifted off of boas and languished onstage in theatrical purgatory. But the worst (or best) was when one of the female character knelt in her voluminous 1950's circle skirt. Repositioning herself, those of us sitting in the front row heard a worrying rrrrrip, caused by the actress's skirt getting caught on her heel. At first, this seemed tiny and unfortunate, but then she tried to get up...and, in doing so, managed to position the skipe of her heel in the hole she had just created. rrrrrip became RRRRRRRIP as she proceeded to struggle to her feet, ripping a HUGE hole in her skirt right before our eyes. The poor hem hung pitifully to the floor for the rest of the scene, causing Red physical pain in the seat next to me, as she wasn't allowed to go and immediately fix the problem.

I feel or the actress, but I live for those moments. Remind you that you are seeing something immediate and never to be repeated. I say again...live theatre!

From the Rooftops

I've already shared this through Twitter, the EverydaySexism project and www.ihollaback.org, but I'm going to share it here, too, because GODDAMN, I am tired of this shit. My current Facebook status:

was walking home from work when i passed a group of five guys, one of whom thought it was acceptable to tell me "you are so beautiful, let me take you home and bend you over the bed, you bitch." let me say right now, that is NOT acceptable. it is not acceptable to decide you have a right to use my physical appearance as a reason to objectify and degrade me. it is not acceptable to call me "bitch" so as to preemptively negate the validity of any negative response i might have to your sense of entitlement and need to show off for your friends. it is not acceptable to intimidate me because of my sex or gender because it makes you feel like a man. it is not acceptable that you think being a man is talking to me like that, nor is it acceptable that your friends supported you with laughter and cat calls. it is not acceptable that i didn't say anything in response, both because i *did* feel threatened and because my initial reaction was "that's what guys do." it is not acceptable that i even had to think about whether or not i had a right to be offended. it is not acceptable that i am going to spend the rest of my night feeling shitty because you are a shit. it is not acceptable that this isn't the first time something like this has happened to me and it is not acceptable that i know something similar has probably happened to every girl who reads this.

and it is not acceptable that someone at some point is going to see this or hear this and say or think, "i don't see what the big deal is, it's not like she was assaulted" and think because something worse didn't happen, i should count myself lucky and shut up. i am not going to shut up because i am sick of this, and you should be, too.

it is simply unacceptable.

We have to do better.

I have other, better, happier things in my life and hopefully I will write about those at some point, but I wanted to share, because we need to talk about these things and why they aren't okay.

(Sorry for the language, Grandma! I am staying safe.)

The $64,000,000 Question

Over the weekend, I attended a friend's birthday party. It was the usual affair—food, drink, Cards Against Humanity and a chaotic, hilarious round of King's Cup*, during which I pulled a Queen. Everyone's King's rules vary, but, in ours, a Queen means that you have to answer a question from everyone in the group. After explaining why I spell my name with lower case letters (it looks friendlier) and picking a single attribute of my beloved roommate to deem my favorite thing about her (she knows my thought process better than I do), the birthday girl raised her hand and turned to me to put her query forth. A preamble wherein she said many very nice (but somewhat exaggerated) things about me prepared me for the inevitable conclusion of her speech and, sure enough, she ended with a question I am continuously asked and completely unable to answer:

"Why don't you have a boyfriend?"

I wish this was a story about a funny one-off experience, but guys...I get asked this all the frakkin time. And I don't just mean from well-meaning relatives hoping to marry me off. Actually, I don't think I've ever been asked that question by blood relations. Instead, it's from friends, acquaintances, my college RAs, co-workers, friend of friends, waiters. I wish I was making this up or speaking hyperbolically, but I'm really not. Usually it's part of a longer conversation that goes something like this:

me: [says something that indicates I am, in fact, single]
Person: Wait, you don't have a boyfriend?
me: Nope.
Person: Why not?
me: Uh...
Person: Because you seem like the kind of person who should have a boyfriend.

What on earth does that even mean? I think it's supposed to be a compliment, but it's a weird one. I even had one person to go so far as to describe to me what kind of boyfriend it was assumed I had—someone named something like Mike or Mark who made good money in a white collar job but who still had time to go to baseball games and walk his border collie with me. Thanks?

As far as I know, none of my other friends are posed such questions.** To cope with it, I've started compiling a list of reasons why I might be flying solo right now. To wit, I:

• consider raw ramen and straight peanut butter to be acceptable snacks and/or meals
• think ketchup is the devil and other condiments Lucifer's minions
• forget to take out the trash with impressive regularity***
• religiously watch 'Grey's Anatomy' but have yet to finish 'The Wire'
• am a terrible blanket hog
• sing all the time when I really, really shouldn't....ever
• am an English PhD candidate with only a basic understanding of grammar
• am slightly sartorially challenged 
• name inanimate objects
• view velociraptors to be a legitimate threat

While all of these things are true (especially the raptors...if you don't have a comprehensive preparedness plan, I suggest you make that your new priority), that list is my way of saying, "Kids, I don't know." It could very well be because of my off-key musical narration of my daily activities, or, slightly more plausibly, it could just be it hasn't happened yet. And that could be for a million reasons. Does it bother me? Sometimes. But never more than when I have to try and explain it, as if it's a choice or because of something I have done to scare away potential suitors. 

Thus, let it be known! There is no answer to this question. Let that be an end to the interrogation, however well-intentioned the enquirer may be.

....but, if you do happen to know a Mark or Mike with a border collie and a passion for the baseball diamond...feel free to give him my number.

*King's Cup is a game where you put a pack of cards face down on a table and take turns drawing them. Each number cards as a rule, usually (but not always) involving taking a drink.

**If I am wrong and there are some of you out there who have to navigate this peculiar little awkwardness, let me know! We can make T-shirts.

***Not sure this counts because division of household labor currently puts this in Red's column, but I'm trying to be honest.

Snow Day Snack

Every time it snows in England, I think of the headline I saw on my 21st birthday while studying in London: 'INCH OF SNOW BRINGS CHAOS.' Pretty much. When it snowed 2in in 2009, the entire West End shut down. Oblivious to any issues and happening to live on a functional rail line, I went to work like any other day. I was greeted like an Arctic explorer. "You're HERE?! How did you do it?!?! Are you okay? Do you have frostbite? Do you need rations? Is the dogsled outside?" And so on.

Today, this is the view from my dining room table:

And my bedroom window:

Needless to say, today is not going to be a day to venture out into the world, both because it is cold and because I anticipate a great deal of this part of the world is not functioning.


It's supposed to keep going into late tonight, I think, which makes me quite pleased with myself I made sure to have plenty of hot cocoa supplies on hand last night. Even better, a friend at the Institute posted a recipe for microwave mug brownies! 1/4 c. flour, 1/4 sugar, 2 Tbsp. cocoa powder, 2 Tbsp. oil, 3 Tbsp. water, pinch of salt. Mix together, microwave for 1:40....and done! As soon as I saw it, I gave it a go. It immediately brought back memories of EZ Bake ovens, but in a good way.

A little warm chocolate cake on a snowy weekend? Don't mind if I do.

Ma Belle Evangeline

Those close to me know there are only two things I really, really want in this world: a bunny and a baby elephant. The bunny has occasionally been close to a reality except, for some reason, Jason never took a shine to the idea of me getting a bunny and then keeping it at his house for him to take care of and feed, with me only coming over occasionally to play. Go figure. The baby elephant was a more distant pipe dream. None of my friends who went to Africa since the dream was born managed to bring me home one (c'mon, guys, it's not like it's inconvenient) and everytime I brought it up, someone would cruelly point out that there might not be enough room for a tiny pachyderm in my flat. There is always enough room for love, guys.

All of this had to conspired to make me believe I would never get my baby elephant. Until Christmas, that is, when my sister—genius, sunshine of my life and all around greatest human being there ever was—made my dreams come true. Meet Evangeline:

She is the cutest. I have never had such genuine affection for a ceramic sculpture before. I have actually gotten into the habit of petting her when I walk by the bookshelf on which she resides, because that's how great she is (or how weird I am? Let's not examine that one to closely). But there's more! She's A BANK. So I get to feed her. I don't know if it's because I never really had a piggy bank as a child or because, as a quasi-adult, I am more excited by financial planning than I used to be, but something about being able to 'feed' Evangeline coins is endlessly exciting to me. Yesterday I found 17p on the bus to campus, and it was thrilling beyond belief. Seriously, it made my day.

My sister is the greatest, is really all I'm saying.

Adulting

One of my new year's goals was to read this blog more and try to apply it to my life. Those who talk to me often know I have a love/hate/approach/avoidance/admiration/horror relationship with being an adult or, as I more often refer to it, being "a real person." These complicated emotions are never so evident as when I come home, as conversations tend to go something like this:

Friend: emma! You're back! What are you up to?
me: Oh, you know. Still living in England on borrowed money and spending my time alternating between writing a book-report on steroids and watching 'Big Bang Theory' episodes out of order. You?
Friend: That sounds so fun! I spend my time wearing real trousers, adhering to a productive work schedule that both contributes to society and makes me financial stable, living in a house with furniture I picked out myself and spending time with my significant other/child/pet/external proof that I know how to both form and foster functional relationships with living creatures.

In light of this, I've been musing on the little things in my life I already do that make me feel vaguely real person-ish. They consist of things like putting toilet paper on the holder, buying medicine before I need it, leaving the house before 10am and keeping enough money in my bank account that my bills don't send me into overdraft. Clearly, I have some more work to do...but it's a start?

Let's Drink Champagne and Dance on the Tables

I don't like resolutions, really, because they doom you to failure. Of course you are going to break them! Life is too tricky! And then there's guilt and feelings of inferiority because you convince yourself that other people don't break them (which is false) and then it's just a mess. Instead, I try and set goals. For some reason, that sounds kinder to me. Resolutions, once broken, are ruined. Goals are works in progress. After giving a similar disclaimer for 2012, I set some for last year, and didn't accomplish all of them (though I DID get an article published online and got through my upgrade, so yay!), but I feel okay about that because I can continue to work on them.

Thus, some goals I hope to accomplish by the end of 2013:

• consistently limit morning breakfast-coffee-internet time to one hour
• save some money (some things never change)
• have a better answer to the question "when do you finish your degree?"
• introduce more structure into my life
• waste less food
• read all of http://adultingblog.com/ and better apply it to my life

I'm cautiously optimistic abut 2013. I have no real reason to be, I just have a good feeling about it. 2012 more or less ended on an upward trend, despite a few rocky patches. Here's to keeping it going.