Christmas is really fucking weird.
Like. For one week of the year, we're supposed to get together with people we never see otherwise and give them presents that they may or may not like? For existing???
I mean, honestly, it's hard to not look at that end of Christmas in Michael Scott's view: "Presents are the best way to show someone you care. It's like this tangible thing that you can point to and say 'Hey man, I love you this many dollars worth.'"
I don't want this to become a preachy soapbox thing where I wax rhapsodic a la Charlie Brown (or right-wing wing-nuts who sneer at a "Happy holidays!" greeting when really, isn't the thought behind ANY greeting at all better than nothing?). I mean, sure, there are those moments where I'd love to go back to the simpler times, when Christmas was a joy-filled dinner in my grandma's basement (no, really), but I'm grounded in the real world, where things move crazy fast and our society is always growing and expanding. I love that.
Um, anyway.
What I'm trying to get out in this blog post is how weird it all is. We literally save up money (or, in my broke-ass case, scramble to make non-existent money move around in a favorable way) to buy more things than we do for the rest of the year, for the people in our lives? But, like, 90% of those expected presents are for people we don't see except for when we're giving them presents? So we're conditioning children to Pavlov-dog their way into every family gathering??? I remember being disappointed when my uncle got re-married because I knew it was a big family event, and then I didn't get one gift. What IS that?! Yes, Meredith. Your uncle is getting married so here's a ton of presents! It's April!!!
...I truly don't know where I'm trying to go with this post but I suppose this is my Christmas gift to the internet. You're welcome.
ALSO!! IMPORTANT ~BLOGGER~ NOTE. I was one of those fools who hastily deleted my instagram account the second they pulled the rug out from under us pseudo-photographers, but I decided to take that and turn it into something positive to hide my shame for being so quick to remove my beautiful shots of my dog and beer. I made a new account, meredithcesare (whoa, just like my name!), and for the entirety of 2013, I am going to post one picture every day. It'll keep me a bit more reigned in and will really let my iPhone photo editing skillz (?) shine. So, if you want to follow that project (the more followers I have there, the more pressure I'll feel to actually keep up with this), go for it!
I also hope to actually blog more in 2013. This past year has kind of been a waste for me, intellectually-speaking. Obviously, I'm not back in school or anything like that -- nor do I ever plan to be -- but I really feel like I didn't accomplish anything. Sure, I saw a lot more responsibilities at work and helped put on some freakin' massive musicals and plays, but... I need a writing outlet. So. Peer pressure. Tell me to write.
AND, speaking of peer pressure, I also got a gym membership from my aunt for Christmas. I haven't had a gym membership in nearly three years, and after one dance rehearsal two weeks ago, I was sore for four days. I need to better myself. YELL AT ME IF I DO NOT TWEET REGULARLY ABOUT GOING TO THE GYM.
...
Merry Christmas?
Monday, December 24, 2012
Friday, December 7, 2012
Ugh, a blog post about ~feelings~ [Insert Liz Lemon eye-roll here]
In any given group of people, I'm that person.
The one who cheers too loudly, laughs too hard, cries for a little too long after the credits roll.
You name the feeling, I feel it. Strongly. Stronger than anyone else I know. It's all-consuming. I get excited to a fault; I put too much faith in people. In some settings, it's really good -- I don't think I would have been front row, center, for the Steve Martin concert last year if I hadn't parked myself outside the theater eight hours before he took the stage (for mic check -- it was an additional two hours before the actual show).
Actually, in most situations, this is ultimately a good thing. Sure, I may take over peoples' Twitter timelines because I reply to comedy writers and celebrities all the damn time, but when exciting or genuinely nice exchanges come from it? Those tweets are worth it. When I'm working on a musical and can't see the light at the end of the tunnel that is tech week, I subconsciously dig my heels in a little deeper and pour every bit of energy in me into the production. It's exhausting and makes me unbearable to be around if you're not on my crew, but again, in the end, it's worth it. I'm so proud of the theater kids I've worked with who are now in college, off starting their own careers. I hope it's a comfort for them that no matter what they go on to do, they have at least one constant cheerleader who believes in them.
I'm not in the best of moods as I sit here, writing this, though. I'm watching The Fifth Element because I wallow in stupid girly feelings in really stupid ways, and I'm trying to keep my mind off circumstances that are making me really, really sad.
For all those times I feel so proud or excited or valued, I feel those stupid single girl feelings. Even though I don't see myself """"settling down"""" in the stupid traditional sense (what even IS traditional anymore?), I feel all those desires that go along with being a woman. I know that I'm not always the best at expressing those feelings, and I know that changing that is entirely in my hands, but when those feelings are as strong as they are, it's hard to get them out of my head. It's frustrating. It's also something I've been forced to grow comfortable with, as much as it sucks (like right now). Basically, when it comes to romance, there's a whole lot of thinking on my end, but not a lot of action. I like that I'm a grounded person, and on nearly any day, it serves me well. Then, there are days like today, where everything just builds up and comes to a frustrating head that doesn't offer any sort of closure or comfort. It's just a mess of feelings that I can't express quite to my liking or explain away.
On days like this... I write. And I hope that someone reads what I write. And that maybe, something will resound within them, and they'll be a little better off for it. At least then I can feel like my mopey evening hasn't gone entirely to waste.
Monday, November 19, 2012
I really, really like dyeing my hair.
This all started when 19-year-old me looked in the mirror and realized that my lovely shade of mousy brown had somehow transformed into mousy gray. I was 19, and, in most light, I had a full head of gray hair. I've been blessed to have the best stylist EVER at my beckon call, so shortly after working through the expected existential crisis, I was in his chair, watching my hair transform into a lovely shade of auburn.
He created a monster.
I quickly learned that red hair is the hardest color to keep up with, so, thanks to my never remembering what shade I used, my touch-ups turned into (not so) subtle color changes. Unfortunately, I was on a student's salary, so my dye jobs were typically done in a friend's kitchen. Hey, I got free food while I waited for the color to set, so it wasn't all bad! I was crazy experimental back then -- if it's a shade of red that you can buy at CVS, it was on my head. I'd love to tell you that being a brazen ginger was a fantastic time, but 97% of those shades made my skin look fluorescent yellow (damn my awkward skin tone) -- or, more often, I just looked like a foolish college student who was discovering what fun hair dye could be. OH. I was also getting wickedly curly perms through all of this. This was a dark period in my life, kids.
Fall 2009 brought a nice round of sanity with it. I cut nearly a foot of (orange) hair off (it was frizzy perm growth (did I mention that it had turned orange?), so I was not upset in the least to see it go) and had my stylist take me to a nice, sane chocolate-y brown. I finally looked closer to my age, and I spent the winter trying out different shades of brown... until I realized that I had been unintentionally working my way darker and darker.
In the spring before I graduated college (eww, weird December graduate alert), I snap-decisioned a really really REALLY short haircut. I'm talking... nearly shaved on the right side of my head. Part of the decision was due to my wanting to thoroughly erase all the damage the red dye and perms had left behind, but 3/4 was entirely my walking into the salon and saying "Let's do something new." I also let all of the dye grow out with the short haircut. Graduating college puts you in a bettering-yourself state of mind, so it was only natural to do.
I was actually okay with the ashy brown through most of that summer. It wasn't as shockingly gray since my hair was short, and it was definitely awesome feeling something healthy and natural on top of my head. ...And then I found Feria's midnight collection. Black dyes, with either red, purple or BLUE undertones? I was there. The red black faded to an auburn that reminded me too much of my previous mistakes, sadly, so I decided to say "Screw it" to being mainstream, and picked up purple. God, that purple black. It was just your average pitch black in indoor lighting, but a brilliant eggplant whenever I hit the sun. It also made my first showers after dye jobs look like murder scenes because of how much red and pink was rinsing out, but whatever.
And then there was the blue black. Starry Night. The best thing to happen to my hair since that very first auburn dye job, back in 2007. It was just black enough to be considered a natural shade when I was at work, but the second you put me under the sun or stage lights, I had blue hair. Blue hair!!! Do you know how awesome that made me feel? I stayed with that color for much longer than any other; for almost a year, I paraded around my blue hair like the proud little kid I am.
Then... I realized that blonde was the only color I'd never done. My hair was actually bright white blonde until I was 3 years old, but obviously, that was irrelevant in my thought process. Plus, since Amy Poehler holds the lady hero key to my heart, following her lead is something I'm always eager to do. For whatever reason, after years of bizarre hair colors, this was the one that gave me serious anxiety, though. I was terrified as I sat under my stylist's hairdryer. Since I'm a moderately paranoid child of the internet age, I spent the hours before my appointment reading up on bleach horror stories.
Thankfully, I had nothing to worry about, and, at least for the extended time being, I'm pretty sure my color-changing days are over. I really like being blonde. We do have more fun. Of course, that doesn't mean I've ruled out throwing in sections of pink every now and then, but I don't think we'll see that god-awful red ever again.
There's something wonderfully therapeutic about tweaking your appearance in an afternoon. I... might blame this blog post on hair dye fumes since I just touched up my color.
Um, if you want a glimpse of some of my color mistakes/triumphs, go through my album of profile pictures on Facebook. Look! A link!
He created a monster.
I quickly learned that red hair is the hardest color to keep up with, so, thanks to my never remembering what shade I used, my touch-ups turned into (not so) subtle color changes. Unfortunately, I was on a student's salary, so my dye jobs were typically done in a friend's kitchen. Hey, I got free food while I waited for the color to set, so it wasn't all bad! I was crazy experimental back then -- if it's a shade of red that you can buy at CVS, it was on my head. I'd love to tell you that being a brazen ginger was a fantastic time, but 97% of those shades made my skin look fluorescent yellow (damn my awkward skin tone) -- or, more often, I just looked like a foolish college student who was discovering what fun hair dye could be. OH. I was also getting wickedly curly perms through all of this. This was a dark period in my life, kids.
Fall 2009 brought a nice round of sanity with it. I cut nearly a foot of (orange) hair off (it was frizzy perm growth (did I mention that it had turned orange?), so I was not upset in the least to see it go) and had my stylist take me to a nice, sane chocolate-y brown. I finally looked closer to my age, and I spent the winter trying out different shades of brown... until I realized that I had been unintentionally working my way darker and darker.
In the spring before I graduated college (eww, weird December graduate alert), I snap-decisioned a really really REALLY short haircut. I'm talking... nearly shaved on the right side of my head. Part of the decision was due to my wanting to thoroughly erase all the damage the red dye and perms had left behind, but 3/4 was entirely my walking into the salon and saying "Let's do something new." I also let all of the dye grow out with the short haircut. Graduating college puts you in a bettering-yourself state of mind, so it was only natural to do.
I was actually okay with the ashy brown through most of that summer. It wasn't as shockingly gray since my hair was short, and it was definitely awesome feeling something healthy and natural on top of my head. ...And then I found Feria's midnight collection. Black dyes, with either red, purple or BLUE undertones? I was there. The red black faded to an auburn that reminded me too much of my previous mistakes, sadly, so I decided to say "Screw it" to being mainstream, and picked up purple. God, that purple black. It was just your average pitch black in indoor lighting, but a brilliant eggplant whenever I hit the sun. It also made my first showers after dye jobs look like murder scenes because of how much red and pink was rinsing out, but whatever.
And then there was the blue black. Starry Night. The best thing to happen to my hair since that very first auburn dye job, back in 2007. It was just black enough to be considered a natural shade when I was at work, but the second you put me under the sun or stage lights, I had blue hair. Blue hair!!! Do you know how awesome that made me feel? I stayed with that color for much longer than any other; for almost a year, I paraded around my blue hair like the proud little kid I am.
Then... I realized that blonde was the only color I'd never done. My hair was actually bright white blonde until I was 3 years old, but obviously, that was irrelevant in my thought process. Plus, since Amy Poehler holds the lady hero key to my heart, following her lead is something I'm always eager to do. For whatever reason, after years of bizarre hair colors, this was the one that gave me serious anxiety, though. I was terrified as I sat under my stylist's hairdryer. Since I'm a moderately paranoid child of the internet age, I spent the hours before my appointment reading up on bleach horror stories.
Thankfully, I had nothing to worry about, and, at least for the extended time being, I'm pretty sure my color-changing days are over. I really like being blonde. We do have more fun. Of course, that doesn't mean I've ruled out throwing in sections of pink every now and then, but I don't think we'll see that god-awful red ever again.
There's something wonderfully therapeutic about tweaking your appearance in an afternoon. I... might blame this blog post on hair dye fumes since I just touched up my color.
Um, if you want a glimpse of some of my color mistakes/triumphs, go through my album of profile pictures on Facebook. Look! A link!
Monday, October 22, 2012
Friday, September 28, 2012
Children? HA! Husband? HAHA!!!
Earlier this week, over on Tumblr, I was asked where I saw myself in five years. After giving that response -- living in a studio apartment in NYC because even though I'll hopefully be able to afford bigger, I'll be throwing all my money into classes at UCB -- I was asked why I didn't see marriage or children in my future. I explained my answer on Tumblr but since this is my real blog, I figured I'd elaborate here because I do what I want.
I spend a lot of time with children. I always have. Volunteering at church pretty much guarantees that 99% of your time is full of JESUS LOVES ME THIS I KNOW and the like. Plus, almost every customer I interact with at work is under the age of 12. I don't dislike children and I can't tell you how many times I've stopped everything at my cash register because a cute little infant's eyes are making me melt. But... that's it. That's the extent of my maternal instinct.
"HAHAHA. Just you wait, Meredith. I'll remind you of this conversation when I get the invitation to your first baby shower!"
If I had a dime for every time I shook my head at that response... I'd already be living in that NYC studio. I'm in my mid-20s. This isn't some fleeting thought that seemed cool at the time. I've been of the child-rearing age for, like, 10 years now (wh...), and I've known this about myself for just as long. Believe me, I'm aware that for every person who just naturally oozes that maternal instinct, there is someone who, when they are there in the maternity ward, suddenly become mother of the year. And... I am neither woman. Don't get me wrong -- I think it's completely admirable for a woman to either devote herself to the challenges of motherhood or take them on while maintaining an ordinary job. Both routes take an insane amount of dedication that I can't picture many men competently handling.
But when I sit back and look at myself? At all of my ambitions and goals and the little quirks that make me who I am? Being a mother is nowhere in that. That bit of knowledge is, quite frankly, the ONLY bit of my future that I am 100% certain about. I take a great deal of comfort in that since so much of my future is entirely up in the air. Obviously, I see myself in New York City, but wanting a job on SNL is so outlandish and based so solely on chance that I've had to get used to living my life by the seat of my (currently, purple floral print) pants. Knowing one thing about my future is what keeps me sane when I spend most of my time in my head wondering if today will be the day I find the job that will take me to NYC.
And then... there's the (lack of a) husband thing.
I know that my whole never-wanting-to-be-a-mother definitely turns away several guys, right off the bat. While I am completely okay with random hook-ups and weird nights that can only be excused by the fact that I'm a 20-something, the flip side there is that I AM a 20-something and, at least in this suburban nightmare that I call home, ladies my age are expected to be settling down right about now. I can't keep track of how many former classmates I see at work, with two, three kids listed on their family zoo memberships.
I'm fairly certain that at least half of this ~realization about myself~ has been caused by all that ~uncertainty about my future~ (SQUIGGLES). I had to end my healthiest relationship because of uncertainty. Granted, we were young (so we set the world on fiyah), but I knew in my gut that because I had no idea where I saw myself professionally and as a person in five years, there was no way I could string a man along and be content with myself.
Maybe, when I finally find myself in New York, I'll find a man who is as into comedy as I am (I cancel plans around SNL, guys) and who doesn't want children and will just be happy with me and all my weird commitment issues and flaws. I mean... in addition to watching so many relationships fail around me, I've watched countless friends entirely lose the very essences of who they are, just to fit into a romance. I'm not saying I'm perfect and that I haven't changed myself for a guy, but each time, when I finally came to my senses, I was able to get back to myself and my priorities and the things that make me who I am. I know, I know... when I find that guy that doesn't make me change who I am, I'll be taking back this entire post and I'll be happy. I've heard that a million times, guys.
But... there's a really big, brassy part of me that doesn't want to find that guy. I've always been a horrifically logical person. Being an only child set me up for lots of evenings full of getting lost in my own mind. While that's typically a really dark, dangerous place that leads to a lot of angsty nights that even Prisoner of Azkaban-era Harry Potter would be ashamed of, it's also shed some really helpful insights on who I am.
Although I lack self-confidence far more often than I'd like to let on, I am a fiercely independent woman. While there is a part of me that loves when a guy opens a door for me and all those other romantic cliches... most of me hates them, I'm not a bra-burning feminist by ANY means but... I'm not helpless. When I'm in the moment, I can let myself go, but when it comes down to it, I do not let myself get swept off my feet. I'm entirely aware that this can be a fault VERY easily but I'm feeling comfortable with myself tonight, so... it's a good thing. I like being able to keep my head on my shoulders. I like who I am when I have my head on my shoulders instead of in the clouds. I like being able to put a reason behind my feelings and actions, instead of letting instinct take control.
Watch, hoards of replies will come to this post, from tons of guys who have quietly admired me from the sidelines but have always been too afraid to make a move on such a fierce lady.
Until then... I'm going to enjoy my Friday night ritual of beer and pizza at my favorite coffeeshop, by myself. I like being a single lady. I'm... NOT going to break into a Beyonce chorus right now.
:)
I spend a lot of time with children. I always have. Volunteering at church pretty much guarantees that 99% of your time is full of JESUS LOVES ME THIS I KNOW and the like. Plus, almost every customer I interact with at work is under the age of 12. I don't dislike children and I can't tell you how many times I've stopped everything at my cash register because a cute little infant's eyes are making me melt. But... that's it. That's the extent of my maternal instinct.
"HAHAHA. Just you wait, Meredith. I'll remind you of this conversation when I get the invitation to your first baby shower!"
If I had a dime for every time I shook my head at that response... I'd already be living in that NYC studio. I'm in my mid-20s. This isn't some fleeting thought that seemed cool at the time. I've been of the child-rearing age for, like, 10 years now (wh...), and I've known this about myself for just as long. Believe me, I'm aware that for every person who just naturally oozes that maternal instinct, there is someone who, when they are there in the maternity ward, suddenly become mother of the year. And... I am neither woman. Don't get me wrong -- I think it's completely admirable for a woman to either devote herself to the challenges of motherhood or take them on while maintaining an ordinary job. Both routes take an insane amount of dedication that I can't picture many men competently handling.
But when I sit back and look at myself? At all of my ambitions and goals and the little quirks that make me who I am? Being a mother is nowhere in that. That bit of knowledge is, quite frankly, the ONLY bit of my future that I am 100% certain about. I take a great deal of comfort in that since so much of my future is entirely up in the air. Obviously, I see myself in New York City, but wanting a job on SNL is so outlandish and based so solely on chance that I've had to get used to living my life by the seat of my (currently, purple floral print) pants. Knowing one thing about my future is what keeps me sane when I spend most of my time in my head wondering if today will be the day I find the job that will take me to NYC.
And then... there's the (lack of a) husband thing.
I know that my whole never-wanting-to-be-a-mother definitely turns away several guys, right off the bat. While I am completely okay with random hook-ups and weird nights that can only be excused by the fact that I'm a 20-something, the flip side there is that I AM a 20-something and, at least in this suburban nightmare that I call home, ladies my age are expected to be settling down right about now. I can't keep track of how many former classmates I see at work, with two, three kids listed on their family zoo memberships.
I'm fairly certain that at least half of this ~realization about myself~ has been caused by all that ~uncertainty about my future~ (SQUIGGLES). I had to end my healthiest relationship because of uncertainty. Granted, we were young (so we set the world on fiyah), but I knew in my gut that because I had no idea where I saw myself professionally and as a person in five years, there was no way I could string a man along and be content with myself.
Maybe, when I finally find myself in New York, I'll find a man who is as into comedy as I am (I cancel plans around SNL, guys) and who doesn't want children and will just be happy with me and all my weird commitment issues and flaws. I mean... in addition to watching so many relationships fail around me, I've watched countless friends entirely lose the very essences of who they are, just to fit into a romance. I'm not saying I'm perfect and that I haven't changed myself for a guy, but each time, when I finally came to my senses, I was able to get back to myself and my priorities and the things that make me who I am. I know, I know... when I find that guy that doesn't make me change who I am, I'll be taking back this entire post and I'll be happy. I've heard that a million times, guys.
But... there's a really big, brassy part of me that doesn't want to find that guy. I've always been a horrifically logical person. Being an only child set me up for lots of evenings full of getting lost in my own mind. While that's typically a really dark, dangerous place that leads to a lot of angsty nights that even Prisoner of Azkaban-era Harry Potter would be ashamed of, it's also shed some really helpful insights on who I am.
Although I lack self-confidence far more often than I'd like to let on, I am a fiercely independent woman. While there is a part of me that loves when a guy opens a door for me and all those other romantic cliches... most of me hates them, I'm not a bra-burning feminist by ANY means but... I'm not helpless. When I'm in the moment, I can let myself go, but when it comes down to it, I do not let myself get swept off my feet. I'm entirely aware that this can be a fault VERY easily but I'm feeling comfortable with myself tonight, so... it's a good thing. I like being able to keep my head on my shoulders. I like who I am when I have my head on my shoulders instead of in the clouds. I like being able to put a reason behind my feelings and actions, instead of letting instinct take control.
Watch, hoards of replies will come to this post, from tons of guys who have quietly admired me from the sidelines but have always been too afraid to make a move on such a fierce lady.
Until then... I'm going to enjoy my Friday night ritual of beer and pizza at my favorite coffeeshop, by myself. I like being a single lady. I'm... NOT going to break into a Beyonce chorus right now.
:)
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