The best thing I’ve learned in my 30’s…

Is how to bounce back like a mother f*cking champ!!  From heartbreak to hangovers; I have my shape shifting down to a science.  Almost.  Until I do it all over again, snarf.  Never-the-less, I bounce back because after the ride of life we MUST learn how to care for ourselves and be gentle.

So here are two things I’ve found myself in a LOT this year: hangovers and heartbreak.

From hangovers:

1. First, you must teach your drunk self to start leaving 40 oz of water and two ibuprofen on your night stand.  This, somehow, regardless of what I’ve been drinking, has become a habit.  I will usually drink that much water before my feet hit the floor regardless of how much wine I’ve had.  Or tequila if we’re being totally honest.  Thank you, drunk self.
2. You MUST remember that this rabbit hole of self loath and shame is only a few hours away from being over.  It will end.  Alcohol after all is a depressant.  But first, you must know that this too shall pass.  As soon as you kick it in the balls.
3. Drink some juice, real natural juice from the vegetable itself.  Your body is dying for some enzymes and vitamins.  Feed it.
4. Also feed it breakfast tacos.  You really want to appease everything even if it’s your bad decision-making.
5. Meditate.  Meditation has been my gateway out of most horrible situations in life.  Or just out of the mundane and into the peace.  Meditate your way to victory (high fives self)!
6. And always, always, always do something that makes you smile.  Besides the breakfast tacos.  Like a movie, or another glass of wine with someone you love (hair of the dog, anyone).  Unless you have a drinking problem then maybe don’t have more alcohol.  Instead drink a super white person coffee from Starbucks.  (And do all of this outside if you can!!)

From heartbreak:

(How I’ve managed to fall in love so many times this year is beyond me yet somehow, the hangover/heartbreak always go hand in hand, funny ain’t it?)

1. Oh boy, the morning after all the impending doom of letting down your defenses.  On the one hand, yay, you’re capable of having great feelings and have determined that you are not, in fact, a robot.  Remember that.  On the other hand, “this” is probably not going to work for x y and z so you might as well go ahead and be sad about it NOW.  This is something I do often.  I also know that my feelings aren’t facts and who really knows what’s going to happen tomorrow?!  But today, let’s just cry about it because today is really all that matters.  Let yourself cry about it.  Then laugh because you suddenly realize how ridiculous it all is.  There is a such a fine line between laughter and tears, find it.
2. Remove the shame of being vulnerable.  Vulnerability = honey badgers.  Honey badges don’t give a f*ck.  So you’re in love, whoopee do, who isn’t.  Being in love isn’t unique.  We’ve all been in love and we’ve all been heartbroken.  Trust me, when you’ve been hurt or left or kicked in the shins, 9 out of 10 people will sympathize with you.  The one that doesn’t is the one who’ll end up on the news someday with a warrant out for his arrest.  Own all your feelings, even the big scary ones.
3. Meditate.  FOR REALS.  You’ll probably spend 20 minutes in a guided meditation thinking about the one person you shouldn’t be but just start.  And breathe.  Always always breathe.  I like to think you’re always three deep breaths away from solving just about anything.
4. If you happen to say, send a drunk text to the one person you shouldn’t be texting on a Saturday night, well girl, you gotta own it.  Again, no shame.  So you put yourself out there and felt the feelings and they weren’t reciprocated, oh well.  At least you know and can put that little nugget to bed.  And knowing is always half the battle.
5. Immediately go on a date with someone else.  And flirt.  But still, stay off Tinder.  You’re better than that.
6. Write it out, talk it out, dance it, run it out, get it out.  I write, obviously hello this is me getting over a broken heart!  I also have great friends and a therapist.  You need to get that stuff onto paper or in the universe and get it out of your body.  Things manifest in your head into warped little creatures waiting to take you down.  And they will.  But you’re also a honey badger and better than that.

And remember, every day is a new day for new beginnings and favors from your drunk and/or highly emotional self.

The rabbit hole of OMGIMGONNADIEALONE!!

So… you know how when you get a virus or a lump and you start searching online for any and all medical advice and somehow fall down the WedMD rabbit hole and suddenly realize that you have stage 4 brain cancer and have 2 weeks left to live?  Well!!  The same thing happens when you start researching “dating” in your mid 30’s.  These are a few of the headlines I found:

1. After 35, you don’t get to be picky.
2. Why I’m okay being single.
3. Do men really want to date women in their 40’s?
4. The dating pool at 30:  (insert photo of mostly empty pool with green sludge floating in the bottom).
5. 9 mistakes you make in your 30’s
6. Larger dating pool means less thoughtful mate choices
7. Dating in  your 30’s: The Ticking Clock

The struggle is real.  I’ve been dating for less than 2 months.  Specifically I’ve gone on exactly 6 dates which was enough for me to realize that it’s excruciating!!   I would gladly throw in the towel but I paid $150 to fall in love and therefore feel this extraordinary sense of obligation to “see it through” because it worked for so and so.

Every one couples up in their 20’s, I did, and is mostly still happily married in their 30’s (SPOILER ALERT: I never got married, I got single).  Essentially I have to wait until my 40’s to start meeting age appropriate divorcees who are recently single again.  “Oh you’ll die when you see how dating has evolved from 2o years ago” says me in 10 years while explaining the now forgotten Tinder app.  The 30’s dating pool is Moses wandering through the desert for 40 days and 40 nights chasing one mirage after another.  When you get up close you realize he’s 25.  Or unavailable.  Or married.  Or crazy.  Which has me wondering, what the hell do people think about me and why I’m single??

LOL!!  Just kidding.  I don’t care. I’m sure most people either think, 1) gah dating most be horrible, how sad to be all alone, or 2) SHIT, I’d give anything to be single again and do whatever I want and sleep in for once and eat in quiet.  This is the greener grass theory.

Truthfully, I try NOT to drive my friends crazy with this, this, this…I don’t know, lack of attachment mostly because they’re all either planning their nurseries or their weddings and if they aren’t planning that, they’re changing diapers and going to bed pretending to have a headache.  Or they’re out doing the same things I’m doing: online dating or waking up after a night of too many whiskies and not enough food.

Why do we do it?   Why do we drive ourselves crazy trying to fit into any box, be it the single box or the married box?  Each, depending on the day and the person, have their ups and downs.  But we put this countless pressure on ourselves to be taken (not in the Liam Neeson sense…or maybe in the Liam Neeson sense??) or loved and at the end of the day there are many people waking up next to someone still feeling lonely.  Attachment doesn’t always mean love.

I decided to online date because, in truth, I want to have babies.  All the babies!!  And of course I want to find my lobster. But dating, I have discovered, does not make me happy.  It does not fill any “void” or sense of loneliness or sense of togetherness or accomplishment.  I do not feel power or strength from being a single person who dates.  SO… I guess with that said, I’m going to do me.  You do you, girl!!

Dear friends,

I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.  You, the family I’ve chosen.  Like most of my friends, we found each other because we were the outsiders, the misfits.  We were the artistic ones, the free-spirited ones, the gay ones, the adventurous ones, the crazed ones.  We eventually made our way to each other in camaraderie; a likeness of souls and a familiarity of heart.  We aligned on human value, artistic achievement, and cultural ideals while moving in open-mindedness with an open heart.

But we didn’t stop at similarities.  Like any individual you allow into your life there must be conditions of expansiveness and growth.  We locate those who will motivate us in our endeavors and dreams, those who will challenge us and tear down our walls, fight with us, stay with us and share with us.  Even if it means walking away and falling apart, the friends we allow in our lives are far more instrumental to our development as human beings that we ever give them credit for.  The person I became during my 12 years of solitude (in NYC) and the challenges we went through, the things we experienced, overcame and witnessed standing alongside 15 other black sheep ultimately made us the people we are today.  Thank you.  Often times I don’t know where exactly I belong in this world, or with whom do I belong.  But I take a look around at the lovers and dreamers who make up my world and it suddenly comes into focus:  you are the individuals who connect me to earth upon which I stand.

This is a love letter to you: the ones standing, the ones who’ve fallen away, and the ones on the periphery.  I am endlessly grateful to have found you.  Thank you for being a friend.

Match.con

Ah a new year, a new opportunity to practice vulnerability, a time to put yourself out into the dregs of online dating and wait.  And wait.  And wait.  Here’s a quick run down of what 90% of match profiles will tell you about humans in Austin:

1. They love to run.
2. They love their dogs.
3. They are very healthy.
4. They love live music.  And tacos.  And running.  And biking.  And travel.  And snowboarding.
5. They are ALL outgoing and up for an adventure.
6. They are all funny and romantic and enjoy long walks in nature.
7. They all mostly love their careers, work hard, feel successful, I digress.

Here’s my rebuttal to your boring perfection:

1. I hate to run.  Like HATE to run.  Unless its for my life.  Or chocolate.
2. I’m only so so healthy.  I eat good.  I’ll order a salad.  And a side of fries.
3. I am totally up for an adventure, especially one outside of downtown Austin.  Rebel.
4. I don’t have a career.  I have passions I work hard at daily and a school schedule in which I prepare for but I currently work at a bar.  That is not my career. That is the vehicle which affords me the opportunity to pursue the things I love.  So please don’t ask me what my real job is.  I had a “real job” for 12 years and decided it wasn’t for me.  I’m flexible.
5. My dream job on the other hand, pool shark.  Or poker shark.  Fuck it, SHARK!
6. I legitimately am spontaneous but not at the risk of my job or learning or art or Game of Thrones.
7. I am also somewhat of a perfectionist who probably has unhealthy expectations of people.
8. I enjoy being alone ALOT and often think that if had I unlimited wine, jazz and a scribe, I could be alone forever.
9. Fact:  if I ever learn your first and last name, I will google you.
10. My room isn’t always clean.  I’m so carefree and spontaneous there are clothes on my chair, so wild I left a glass of water on my night stand for an entire day.

Because all those are truths too.

Crazy is as crazy dates!

We all have that friend who constantly dates the crazies!! My wonderful friend (who I won’t name) could’t get away from them.  Each time he met a new lady we all knew she was going to be crazy.  And most of them never let us down.  Why?  Well… hate to say this but crazy is as crazy dates.  My friend is one of the biggest hearted men I’ve met.  He’s sensitive, artistic, creative, musical, funny and also a little bit insane.  But show me an artist who isn’t and you’ll show me a liar.  Artists of all kinds are forced to reckon with themselves daily; unearth their demons, face their fears, put themselves out there in a way most folks shudder to think of.  Artists are constantly putting our hearts into the universe to be judge and thrown back in our faces.  Becoming that raw in art, in life or in love will leave you in a particularly touchy place.  If you’re ever been inclined towards anything on the negative or depressive end of nature, art will make you crazy.  This is exactly why most artist need a great therapist; to stay afloat when everything is trying to drown you, when looking in the mirror is a horrifying endeavor.  When we find similarities in others we recognize in ourselves, we understand that, it’s comforting, it makes you feel less crazy.

I recently started questioning my “choices” in crazy because for some reason, like most of the “men” in my life, I couldn’t escape the crazy.  Finding another crazy, or someone more inclined to crazy than myself, is always SUPER FUN!  And I mean that very genuinely.  Of course crazy comes in an array of colors but crazy in and of itself is still a duck.  My particular crazy at this particular time came in the shape of a Mexican stand off between where I wanted to go and the paralysis I faced in simply getting out of bed, his was a super healthy id and a super delusional ego.  Or scratch that, verse it.  I digress…

So…it came at almost no shock to recently discover that I’m for sure 100% crazy.  Not in the I’m-gonna-drive-by-your-house-crying variety or even of the Facebook stalking variety and most certainly not in the I’ll-jump-from-this-roof-if-you-don’t-love-me crazy.  But crazy in my definition of love.  Love to me is easy (of course I know it isn’t all easy but for the sake of falling into love, it should be pretty damn easy).  It just is.  It’s uncomplicated.  It’s either yes or no.  Sure it hurts and it’s scary and it’s often times incredibly confusing but when there exists the possibility of love, then love it is.  But we complicate the shit out of everything else so why not a basic emotion as well.

Love has taken on an entirely new identity.  Love isn’t just holding hands and sharing an ice cream sundae anymore.  Love is THE REST OF YOUR LIFE AND OMG AM I READY FOR THIS AND IF NOT THEN I NEED TO DECIDE RIGHT NOW ON OUR FIRST DATE OR ELSE ILL MAKE AN EPICALLY BAD DECISION THAT’LL RUIN MY LIFE AND ANY OTHER POSSIBILITY OF LOVE AND IF THIS ISNT THE RIGHT ONE BUT I CHOOSE THIS NOW MAYBE ILL BE MISSING OUT ON THE RIGHT ONE LATER.  Guys, I mean actual men here, dating or loving or sex doesn’t mean that we want to tie you down and marry you and have kids and share a mortgage together!  Trust me, us ladies have SO MUCH MORE at stake that you could ever begin to wrap your complicated heads around.  We’re just taking you for a test drive, amiright girls?  When we decide, if we do, that marriage is something we’d like to partake in with you, you’ll know it.  For sure.  We’ll drag you kicking and screaming to Tiffany.  So can we all calm down for a minute and realize that dating or love or sex is just dating or love or sex right now.  That’s the black (or white) part of it.  It’s either YES we’re doing whatever it is we’re doing today or NO we aren’t doing any of that at all.

Too often I consider the weight of my text messages.  I’m certain that so many guys assume things or take sweet messages out of context and imagine they mean the heavy l-going-to-take-your-soul-then-your-401K.  From the very beginning I’m tiptoeing around being who I am out of fear that my sweet side, my flirty side, my smart assery will scare you little flowers away.

Love just is.  And if that simplicity makes me crazy, then….

****On publication of this post (which I wrote a couple months ago) I’ve weeded out most of the crazy from my  life and am feeling much less crazy myself.  FUNNY ISN’T, IT?!

 

So there’s this guy…

…who fought with me non-stop, who challenged me, and argued with me (often times just to get a rise).  He knew my buttons and he pushed them regularly not because he disagreed, he just wanted to play devil’s advocate.  He would argue with himself and I truly think he did often.  Many times his then girlfriend would wonder how it was I managed to stay his friend for so many years.  He was exhausting!!  Yet you knew that each time he challenged you or fought with you, you grew ever so slightly and learned that arming yourself not in his defense but in defense of the world and what was only made you a stronger more capable person.

But then he’d smile that charming Cheshire cat grin and his laughter would begin.  He’d tell you a joke or that he loved you and somehow, each time, everything would be okay.  Until it wasn’t again.  But it mostly never mattered because regardless how many buttons he pushed or how tiring his rants would become, his glitter was far more exhilarating.

He was a brilliant musician who could write songs that spoke to places in your soul that would fire automatically without warning.  He’d write a lyric or a chord and suddenly you were right in the middle of the music your heart beating to it’s rhythm.  He would wax poetic about the life he saw or the experiences he encountered and you felt not for him but because of him.  Each time he pulled out a camera, still or motion, something slightly brilliant would be captured and edited into pictures possibly coherent yet deeply meaningful.

And his voice!!  He could hit the low notes that you felt deep in your blood and the high falsetto that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on ends.  His voice was the voice of someone who felt more in the end of his middle finger than most allow in their deepest of hearts.  And it added to the already driving words and notes to create an orchestra of love and hurt and hatred and nothing at the same time.  He knew that regardless of how subterranean his music was the world itself was fleeting and we were all merely passersby often on a trip to nowhere.  And everywhere at the same time.

He introduced me to new music, new lands, new ideals.  He taught me about heartbreak, wandering/wondering, artistic maintenance, literature and bits of Farsi I’ve long forgotten.  He was and is, somewhere, a sage.  Although he’d argue with me for saying “somewhere” and simply have me admit that he is no where.  This is exactly the circle of madness you’d find yourself in with him.  Until he just picks up his guitar and starts strumming away.

He also was in a constant state of evolution, always another .0 version of himself it was often hard to gauge which creature you were encountering.  His music changed, his words changed, his art changed, his friends changed, his drugs changed, his lyrics changed and his place changed.  But the love he felt, and perhaps the constant restlessness, was unflappable and it came out in extraordinary, spell-bounding ways.  This evolution only empowered his artistic being to higher highs.  And sometimes lower lows.

I’ve honestly never been more broken-hearted by anyone than I felt with him.  And why or how he left me emotionally long before he left me physically is something I’ve stopped trying to work out because those answers I’ll never unravel.  However, much like Ali himself and his Cheshire cat grin, I received my “I love you” days before some fucking asshole climbed down his fire escape and shot him in the head.  I hate to be so blunt but I feel sugar-coating the circumstances of what exactly happened is something Ali himself never shied away from.  He faced reality like a bulldozer.  So after a two-year “challenge” of isolation, and incidentally 15 days before his murder, I received a letter with a beautiful apology and the words, “please know that I’ve always thought the world of you and have much love for you.”  His peaceful words and peaceful heart made those two years of wandering somehow all… okay.

And on that note, the season of death (and heartbreak) has ended for me and mine.  We can all go back to dating assholes, decorating for Christmas and what exactly Taylor Swift is up to in New York City.

The magical universe…or how I want the works.

Here’s ONE thing I learned when speaking to the universe about love:  you should be VERY specific with what it is you want exactly.  Because when you say things like “all I want is someone to dance with”, that’s ALL you get.  Of course he’ll be handsome and charming and fascinating and all those other fantastic things that make you want to dance with him in the first place but all he’ll be able to give you is a slow dance.  So why does it feel somewhat selfish to be too specific with our desires?  Are we afraid of being disappointed by not having more?

Truth is, we don’t often know what it is we do want.  We might have a short list of the things we think we need right now but I assure you, tomorrow, it’ll change.  I’ve always thought about love in terms of who that person is and what they’ll do and be motivated by and feel and think about life, the world, God and music.  I’ve never thought about love in terms of how it’ll make me feel.  That is a strange realization I came too very recently. I want all wondrous things in love but I also want someone who is going to make me feel loved and desired.

Yesterday marked the beginning of the new moon.  I put a lot of thought into the new moon and how it’ll affect my life.  And while thinking about the things I’d like, I realized that my love/life intentions are very broad.  All I wanted was an agent in Austin, I got an agent.  But I’m still an out of work actress.  FUNNY, AMIRIGHT?!?!

We need to ask for everything.  “I want it all!  There’s no harm in wanting it George because there’s not a chance in hell you’re gonna get it all anyway.  But if you don’t at least want it, you’ve got even less chance than that.”  That’s from the play Chapter 2 by Neil Simon, a semi-autobiographical play about his second life or second love.  It’s true, we aren’t going to get everything we want, it’s just the nature of life.  Having “everything” is boring and designed to disappoint you (if you somehow seem to be struggling with “having it all” as they say, snarf).  “Everything” means there’s no room for anything new or exciting.  “Everything” doesn’t allow room for change or growth.  When our only jobs as human beings is to grow and learn, “everything” stunts your life.  But honestly, no one has “everything”.  Even if you think you know people who have everything and even if they tell you they have everything, I assure you, they do not have everything.  They have what they need.

But there’s no harm in wanting everything because specificity is designed to suit your desires.  I’d like to win an SAG award and I’ll throw that in there for sure but ya know what, I’d be happy being a working actress AND THAT IS OKAY!  In fact, that’s better than okay because today, I’m still a waitress.  I’m a semi-healthy, loving, kind, generous person who has everything I need right now to teach me all about the things I will get tomorrow.  And having what I need in life IS everything!

How to get over an American man (Sorry American men):

1. Date a foreigner specifically one of the latin persuasion who speaks more than one sexy language.  Then make him talk to you in said languages.
2. Buy a floppy 70’s hat or something equally fabulous and pointless.  (I’m trying to justify strange purchases)
3. Remember that there are thousands of Italian men who would LOVE to date you and chances are they”ll be dressed WAY better anyhow.
4. Have a cup of tea with an American women in her 60’s who has an American son.  She’ll get it.
5. Re-design your feng sui love corner.  Switch that stupid nondescript Hallmark card out for a postcard from Paris.  The lovers bridge.
6. GET OFF TINDER!  FOR REAL NOW ILL WAIT WHILE YOU DELETE YOUR STUPID PROFILE!
7. Go to a sports bar during a college football game.  And just wait.  Until you crack.
8. Then go listen to jazz and drink wine.
9. Read this article, How To Fall In Love In 5 Minutes.
10. Remember that if he’s white, attractive, well spoken, charming, and American he could also be Ted Bundy.  You’re welcome, ladies!

*you’re welcome for the most amazing American gif EVER!

Dear plants of the world,

Why do you hate me?  I rescued you from Home Depot and brought you to my beautiful art-filled charming apartment!!  I got you a new pot, bathed you in sunlight (or moderate sunlight depending) fed you, named you, loved you.  And just like all the other plants in my life, you want none of it.  Barbara Streisand (my lovely purple and green ivy) hated my apartment.  She couldn’t stand the desk top or the floor to the lovely corner in my living.  SO… I threw her outside.  I neglected her.  I refused to water her, never spoke to her, hardly even remember she was out there.  I played hard to get!  But guess who’s suddenly making a comeback from my patio?  Ya, BABS!!!  She’s thriving basking in the sunlight and rain making a mockery of my green thumb.  Truthfully plants, this feels like dating.  OVER IT!!

Sincerely,

April

Uh, moment of truth: I make a horrible honey badger.

I care.  I’ll admit.  I care!!  I wish I didn’t because caring is the reason I’ve had my heart-broken 6-8 times this year.  I’ve stopped counting.  So ladies, I’m here to admit that I make a horrible horrible honey badger!

My sister on the other hand is the ULTIMATE honey badger!!  She even has a saying for not giving a fuck when someone is annoying her, “CARE!”  And she means it, hardcore.  She can’t even be bothered to say “I don’t” in front of the care, it’s just “CARE!”  She’ll say this to your face, to your back, to your friends, to your dog.  She will straight up “bye Felicia” you and walk away and really truly never look back.  When it comes to men, she’ll wave down a handsome stranger at a bar and invite him to sit with her and THEY ALL DO!  She’ll never utter a word to a man yet pass him a note across the bar then wave and join her friends.  Sooner or later, he’ll always make his way to her table.  Because ladies she is a real honey badger!!  She doesn’t give a shit.  And she never has. **

Is it confidence, bravery, something other-worldly?  I don’t know because I don’t have it.  I don’t have an ounce of it.  I’m the girl who sees a cute guy and trips.  Ask Channing Tatum if you ever run into him.  I’m the girl who knocks off the glass of ice water or runs into the trash can.  I’m the girl who will take a sip of my wine very cool like and spill it down the front of my white dress.  I’m the girl who will make jokes at my own expense because there are plenty to be made.  I’m a walking sitcom.  I care too much about what someone else will think, or how I’ll be perceived, or rather or not someone is going to like me.  When the truth is, if they don’t like you, well, CARE!!  There are many others who will and probably more who won’t.  It’s the crap shoot of life.

However, the older I get the more and more pages I take from my sisters book of “how not to..”  Frankly, life is too short to care that much.  I attribute it to being a very sensitive artist.  Or just sensitive perhaps (I like blaming a LOT on being an artist if you haven’t noticed).  If you look at me wrong I’ll wonder for days what I did to piss you off.  My sister will slap you and take a nap.  If you don’t call me, I’ll again wonder for days what I said or did.  My sister will just delete your number from her phone and make a sandwich.  She will stop taking your calls and texts.  I, on the other hand, am learning the fine art of being silent and caring less (truth be told, I’ll respond to all your calls and texts, I’m a glutton for punishment).  Or… perhaps just valuing myself more and that is simply what I think it comes down to.

My sister has dealt with so much in her life that she gets it.  How much we value ourselves, our time, and our hearts is in direct relation to what we accept and expect of others.  This value theme is something I’ve been discussing a lot with my therapist lately.  Taking care of my heart has never been my priority until now and while I am working on it I keep thinking of the original honey badger, my sister.  My LITTLE sister.  It’s a process but I feel like I’m finally finally taking the right steps to care less because my time matters and my feelings matter and in the grand scheme of life neither can be or should be taken for granted.  So I write.  I distract myself with the things and people I do love and who love me.  And I keep working on “playing it cool.”  And then I say something really dumb but ya know, growing spurts!

 

 

**Although my sister is the poster child for all things honey badgers, she is without a doubt the most generous, loving person you’ll ever meet.  And if you get a chance to be her friend, she’ll be your friend for life.  Until you’re dumb then she ain’t got no time for that.