Shanaynay says, "Oh, no. You didn't."

A couple of nights ago, I had a dream in which I was involved in a car chase with Martin Lawrence. I'm not sure who was chasing us, but I am sure that the dream was filled with a lot of "straight-laced white cop teams with loose-cannon black cop and comedy ensues" movie clichés. Having thought about it for a few days and momentarily gotten over how much I hate Martin Lawrence (Big Momma's House 2 aside), I've decided that this can go down as one of the best buddy-cop dreams in history.




On a related note, this is the first time that I've ever published a photo of myself on this blog! And yes, that is my real body and is in no way Monique.

Come on, baby. Gonna teach it to you!

On the phone:

Dustin: So, what have you been up to since I saw you last?

Me: I've been trying to teach myself how to do the mash potato.

Dustin: Really?! I've been trying to teach myself how to jitterbug!

Me: Are you serious?!

Dustin: No! Wait. Are you serious?

Me: ...

I got skillz

This afternoon, checking out at the grocery store, I ended up in the good-looking cashier’s lane. The day hadn’t been going my way so I decided that I didn’t have much to lose by attempting to be charming and memorable. It turns out that I did have something left to lose and that little something was my dignity.

First, I couldn’t read the codes that I had written down for the massive amount of nuts that I had bought. Second, I tried to fix the situation by making a joke that was met with patient albeit lukewarm politeness (I resisted making the joke about nuts, so I guess that this interaction could be considered a success). Finally, I decided to pick up the remaining scraps of my pride and book it out of there… without paying.

I am the master of seduction and I now have enough trail mix to last me through the coming winter.







P.S. Thank you all for the kind comments on my last post. As I demonstrate above, I often use humor to cover up when things get rough. It’s a little scary to drop that joking veneer and be serious, but it really helps to have such nice support and reinforcement.

Word Vomit

I’ve been trying to write an “I’m back!” blog for over a week now and it really isn’t going well. Truth is, Italy was kind of a bust and recounting it to you folks is almost as exhausting as living it. Eventually, I hope to slap up some pictures of my trip, but this brief paragraph will have to suffice until then.

Speaking of exhausting, almost everything has been exhausting lately. The humidity is dragging me down, physically and emotionally, and all I can bear to do, it seems, is watch Pushing Daisies reruns, internet shop, and emotionally collapse in on myself like a dying star (a tip of the hat to Jan Levinson). I’ve been almost entirely off caffeine for two weeks now and am attempting to exercise regularly to prevent the stream of anxiety attacks being thrown my way. The sudden speeding up of my heartbeat, accompanied by tears and pillow biting, has subsided, but the constant tug of dissatisfaction has remained, well, constant. The upcoming semester is completely uninspiring, my job is equally lack-luster, and I’m finding myself questioning all of the relationships that I have (or don’t have). Remember that entry that I wrote awhile back? Well, instead of feeling like my world is on the brink of change, I find myself constantly losing hope.

I can’t blame anyone else. Maybe if I were motivated or, and I hesitate to use this word, self-assured, I could propel myself into something better. But I’m not these things. I’m not a problem solver; I’m a problem dweller. Do I try to be a better blogger? No, but I do sit up at night wondering why crap bloggers (all readers excluded) seem to get a kajillion hits a week and receive various accolades while the bulk of my readers consist of people who share a part of my genetic make-up. I get jealous of actresses in movies and on television for having a job that I would love to have, but do I have the balls to audition for anything? No. And why? Because by not blogging more, not auditioning for plays, not learning to play guitar, not singing in public, and not approaching people who I want to be friends with, it all stays under my control. I can tell myself that it’s my choice that I don’t do theater anymore and it’s not because I’m a bad actress and someone won’t cast me or I can say that my lack of readership is do to my choice to not involve myself in blogging communities, not because what I have to say is uninteresting or poorly put together. Is blaming my lack of motivation just another excuse to put off doing anything?

I can self diagnose all I want, but what do I do with the diagnosis?