Bucket List (feeling my age)

My Bucket List (a work in progress)

1. live in Italy for and extended period of time. (min 6 months)
2. Travel to Greece, Poland, Russia, Turkey.
3. Visit Auschwitz
4. Become fluent in Italian (again)
5. do a benefit recital
6. Get a job in arts admin
7. lose 50 pounds (WTF? Did I just broadcast that?) Just keep going...no comment.
8. meet Ira Glass
9. Meet Obama
10. Live to see a woman become the US president
11. Make a difference in the world by doing something important
12. be kinder
13. be more patient
14. work for myself
15. perform in a musical
16. take acting lessons
17. learn to play the piano better
18. Go to Hawaii
 more to come.....

added on Feb 4, 2014
I hesitate to add more because 18 is really my lucky number. But bucking superstition for a moment, I'll go for it.

19. blog more (did I already say that?) Early senility? Late senility? Whatever. This is all I can muster today.
Sigh.

added Feb 15, 2014
20. learn to cook.
21. be brave enough to have friends over for a meal (that I actually made and didn't just heat up).
22. become vegan for more than 5 minutes.

Faking allergies

Seriously? Why do people say they're allergic to things and then promptly turn around and put themselves in contact with said allergy-causing thing? If you're allergic to milk, don't eat ice cream. If you're allergic to cats, don't freaking get one! And "forgetting" you're allergic is the most insane excuse ever. Why is it that I remember what you're allergic to, but you, who once made a HUGE hairy deal of it, can't seem to remember? Methinks your allergies are for convenience. Like when someone you dislike offers you an offending food...then you're indignant and "allergic"and huffing and puffing about why they can't remember when you've TOLD them a thousand times. I'm thinking of the thousand times I've seen you eat said food(s) and nothing happened. If you don't want something, just say it. Don't conjure up an allergy. What a joke.

And your sudden aversion to gluten, wheat, and anything that's not paleo-pilates raw food I'm holier than thou because I don't eat GMOs, is a crock of turnip shit. Bite me.

I'm gonna die with chemicals sailing through my bloodstream and a bottle of Bombay in my hands.

Drunk With Power

Some people get drunk with power. It's so unattractive. So long, friend.

Entitled brats

Dear Parents,
Please raise your children to be compassionate, kind, caring people who are aware that the world does not revolve around them. Oh, wait...that would mean YOU would have to adopt those qualities too. Sigh. Every day I see children grab, demand, insist, talk back...only a minute few of the actions that would have landed me in my room for a month. And my room had no TV, no computer, no video games, no phone. My room was filled with books, toys, and other things to be sure, but being sent to my room was no vacation. And my room was small. My twin sized bed took up most of the floor space.
That is all.
SS

Promises broken or forgotten

I always promise myself I'll write more. Months go by and suddenly it dawns on me that I've yet again forgotten or tossed aside the shreds of a promise I had made. So much happens in my life but it happens in my head. I'm not always certain what's real and what is simply my perception or the outside world.
I go through the motions, but I never truly dance. Awkwardly, I stumble and stop.

I never thought I'd make it past 30. I'm 13 years past my expiration date and still slogging along through this thing called life. I'm not even sure where I'm going or where I've been. It all sounds cliche and trite. And it is. Which makes me sad, ashamed, and wishing I were invisible.

I still have the same aspirations as I did at 16 years old. I want to be smarter, prettier, thinner, more successful. Perfect. Such a loaded word, perfect is. I'm not even sure what it means anymore. Perfect sounds so neat and clean, all wrapped up in a pretty box tied with a bow. So constricting and almost a trap. But the temptress perfection draws me in with her convincing lies. The promises that just like mine, are in the end, shattered like pieces of glass at my feet. A reflection of my disappointment--of the disappointment that is me.

Sorry this entry is such a downer. It's not a pity party or anything--just raw emotion. I don't tend to allow myself to feel real emotion anymore. I use other things to numb what really hurts, to blur the pain inside, and mask the tears running down my face. It's an easy fix and although it's only temporary, it works like magic. Sadly, the magic is fleeting and then I'm back in the same place where I began. The emotions bubble up inside me. And the cycle begins anew.

Mia, you're a bitch. Ally, you suck the life out of me. And, Katia, you are evil.

Thank you dear readers....if there are any, for reading this missive.

SS

I hate knowing

Just when you think your life is the lowest, most rockbottom excuse for a feeble existence, something comes along to slap you in the face with a large dose of reality. My problems are nothing. People are dying--and not in the figurative sense or the overly dramatic. They find lumps and bumps that are not benign. And we think "wait, aren't we too young for this?" But cancer knows no age, race, gender, sexual orientation...its insidiousness just invades without rhyme or reason until suddenly there are you are face to face with a demon so impossible, it doesn't seem real. But it is real. It's very real. And it's staring you in the face. Fortunately, it's staring AT you, not from you, so you have to be grateful. Or at least a little humbled by your shortcomings of wanting to be thinner, or prettier, or smarter, or more perfect than before. I already feel guilty for saying "fortunately"....for it's never "fortunate" when someone has to face such a horrible obstacle in life. I shouldn't be relived that it's not I....I should be scared and aware and alerted to the fact that the old adage is true. "There but for the grace of G-d go I". Or whatever you believe in. It's all luck. Life is a gamble. You take risks and you go on adventures, never really knowing what's to become of you in the end. It's maddening and horrifying and exciting all at once. Sometimes I just want to hide behind my Sapphire. Just for a moment, I say. Just for a moment until all the demons dissolve and the air is carefree again. But it never lasts. Reality always returns.

And it fucking sucks. (am I allowed to use such language on here? I'll throw a quarter in the jar just in case.)  It sucks loudly and proudly and with a soprano scream so piercing it breaks glass half way across the world. It moves oceans and shakes the ground beneath us.

And then I realize that here I am where I began. I'm the same person only different. I know things I never wanted to know. I hate knowing.

Making my millions

Starting a blog has always been something I thought about but never did. Over some Bombay Sapphire gin, the idea of blogging came up as a way to make millions. I'm sure it will work. So here I am on my first step of the journey to the lifestyle to which I wish were I accustomed. Perhaps my musings will draw the attention of some hapless web surfer--or maybe someone just looking for a light read. Whatever the case, I'm hoping my ramblings take me further than my back porch.

Thanks for reading and there's bound to be more sapphire later. Both literally and figuratively speaking.

SS