The Chick-Fil-A Curse

Fast food restaurants, man. First that Wendy's, and now the Chick-Fil-A near the space where I'm rehearsing for my show, Two Gentlemen of Verona. I blame Kate and Ivy. If it wasn't for Kate and Ivy (aka SAM AND DEAN) then demons/weird events would not have started happening at the Chick-Fil-A.

OK, but maybe that's not fair.

But it kind of is.

You see, it all started the night of auditions for the show I'm currently in, when Ivy and Kate ran into someone Ivy calls "The Most Hated Boy(TM)" I shan't reveal his actual (absurdly pretentious) name, on the off chance that he somehow reads my blog without knowing me, but I'm fairly sure he would know who he is anyway. Mean people have psychic vibes like that.

 Most Hated Boy earned this epithet by being a really awful, awful person and hurting Ivy. I've never met him, but I dislike him already on the grounds that he hurt my friend, and I will kick your butt if you hurt my friends because I'm a seriously badass angel.

 -

I wasn't there for this particular incident, but basically it was upsetting for her to see him there and she was pretty angry and sad afterwards and we got the fulll story about why Most Hated Boy is Most Hated Boy, but that's Ivy's personal stuff and I'm not sharing it on the internet. 

The Chick-Fil-A curse continued the day Kate and I were starving after rehearsal and drove there to get food. Kate's the one directing the show, so she was tired and hungry and I had been at work before rehearsal and I was also tired and hungry. The plan was to discuss the day, discuss some projects that we're co-creating, and part ways after eating. The last thing either of us wanted was to get approached by some poltergeists. 

And by poltergeists, I mean the special brand of guys that tend to end up hitting on Kate and I. Remember the guy at Wendy's? Who wouldn't stop telling me that my dress was beautiful, that I was beautiful in it, etc? That's the brand. 

We got to the Chick-Fil-A and went in. We were flanked by two guys--maybe mid-to-late 20's; but we didn't think anything of it. We ordered our food, got it, and sat down. 

We were immersed in a conversation about the Dashwood Chronicles, a video-diary project we're working on a la the Lizzy Bennet Diaries, but with the Dashwood Sisters as the vloggers, when suddenly a voice interrupted our discussion. It wasn't disembodied, but for a second I'm fairly sure we both thought it was.

VOICE: You can come sit with us, if you want.

We looked around the restaurant, bemused, but since there was only one other person in the vicinity, it was pretty easy to figure out who had done the talking, even though for whatever reason he was staring at his fingernails or something. It was one of the pair of guys who had ordered their foodstuffs just after us. He glanced up at us and smiled.

The penny dropped in my head (oh right, he's hitting on us), and I looked at Kate, waiting for her to politely decline, because really, who tries to pick up girls in a Chick-Fil-A? 

Come on, Kate, say something. *cue head-tilt*

Meanwhile, Kate was looking back at me, frozen. She opened her mouth to say something, but a vague choking sound came out.

Uhhh...uh...I, uhhh...

So neither of us said anything. We just sort of sat there in silence, trying to figure out if the other person was going to decline, until "Smooth" Guy just kind of gave up and said, "well...you don't have to...if you don't want to." He said it in this awkward way, too, and I felt bad for a millisecond. But it was awkward enough that I thought he probably wouldn't try to instigate any further conversation.

I never learn.

Relieved, I stuck a giant fry into my mouth, chewing happily but wishing those guys (there were two of them at the table by this point; his friend had joined him after) would please go sit somewhere else, their presence and the potential that they might look at me/look at Kate was making me a little wary.

 I don't like it when people stare at me at the best of times. I've been known to snap "WHAT?" at my parents if I catch them looking at me while I'm surfing the internet or eating. There are a very few people in the world whose unswerving attention I'm okay with.

The silence lasted for about half a second before--

"SMOOTH" GUY: So do either of you go to school?

KATE: Uhhh, I go to the University, and she just graduated.

ME: *swallows fry* Yep, I did.

"SMOOTH" GUY: What are you studying?

KATE: Theatre.

ME: I got a degree in English. Creative writing.

"SMOOTH" GUY: Oh. What do you want to do with that?

"What do you want to do with that?" is my least favorite question, followed closely by, "do you want to teach?". I suppose that generally, the people who ask it mean well, but I just don't understand its necessity. Isn't the clue in the title--you know, creative writing? You'd never ask someone with a degree in mechanical engineering "Oh, what do you want to do with that? Do you want to teach?" No. You'd assume that they were probably going to be a mechanical engineer. "Oh, you're studying pre-med? Does that mean you want to NOT be a doctor?"

ASK ME ONE MORE TIME IF I WANT TO TEACH
GO ON, ASK.

Instead of decking someone in the face, however, I calmly just replied--

ME: I want to be a writer. 

"SMOOTH" GUY: Oh, a writer? Like what kind of writing? Like, SciFi, or like Stephenie Meyer?

ME: No, like good writing.*

*this was in response to the latter half of his question; not the first. SciFi is great. I'm a huge fan of SciFi. I'm sorry to all you readers who might be Meyer fans, it was a knee jerk reaction and I'm really not a fan of her books. Sorry. 

"SMOOTH" GUY: I know Stephenie Meyer. 

ME: *opens mouth, closes it.*

OTHER GUY: Wait, you do? 

"SMOOTH" GUY: Yeah, her dad spoke at our graduation in '07. 

OTHER GUY: Wait, he did? 

"Smooth" guy was obviously getting a little frustrated with Other Guy's persistent Cramping Of His Style, so he went off on a long "I'll prove it" tangent by saying that the first book had just come out and Alleged Father of Stephenie Meyer mentioned it in his commencement speech, which was super bull, "Smooth" Guy  because I was 14 when the first book came out which means it did NOT come out in '07. Nice try, though. Anyway, we stopped listening as he was trying to prove his story to his unconvinced friend, and incidentally also finished our food and made a quiet exit, which lasted only as long as we were in earshot. Out of earshot, we started laughing and trying to figure out what the social conventions actually are for trying to pick someone up in a fast food restaurant. Do they exist? 

I'm not really sure they do.

Anyway, by this point, we'd already ascertained that the Chick-Fil-A was probably cursed, but we didn't stop eating there. Ivy, Kate and I decided to return, this time accompanied by another member of the cast and our friend, Taylor. 

Taylor is legitimately one of the funniest people I know. If she was writing this blog, it'd be even more amusing than it already is. She's playing my third (and best, of course) suitor in the show we're in, and she goes to school with Kate. Not sure who she'd be in our Supernatural theme, though. I'm not going to give her a character without talking to her first, though; because I'm sure she'd like a say.

She is Crowley, in our Supernatural Team. Which fits. Sarcastic, funny, and attitude.

Seriously. Don't. Taylor will take you down. 

We pulled into the parking lot of the Chick-Fil-A, and I could feel a twinge of apprehension. What weird thing was going to happen this time? Were we going to run into my Ex? Had Chick-Fil-A perhaps turned into a portal to hell in the week since we'd been there last? 

The only way to find out was to go inside. 

A cursory glance upon entering revealed no crappy exes, no uncomfortably awkward guys, and no demons. So far, so good. 

We stepped up to the counter, ordered food, and went to go find a table. 

KATE: Just so long as it's not that table *gestures to the table we'd been sitting at when Awkward Guys were chatting us up.*

TAYLOR: Why. . .?

KATE: It's cursed.

So we sat at another table, but it was either 1) too close to the table that was cursed or 2) was cursed itself because we had only been sitting there for a few moments when a shower of water flew through the partition and landed squarely on Kate's legs and the table. One of the employees had been cleaning up and accidentally knocked a vase of (fake) flowers over with her movements. Needless to say we all jumped, and Ivy probably pulled out the Colt (if we had a Colt) because when you're in cursed locales you're extra cautious. 

Once we realized we weren't in danger of our lives, we relaxed. The employee apologized several times, and we assured her it was okay and that we'd just go sit at a new table. At that moment, our food was ready, so Ivy, Taylor and I picked up trays while Kate shook the water out of her skirt. 

We started moving towards a new table, when suddenly there was a resounding splat. Kate's milkshake had done a graceful swan dive off of the tray as Ivy was putting it down on the table, and the styrofoam cup had exploded upon contact with the tile floor. It was a piteous sight to behold. 

IVY: Not my fault! 

KATE: I didn't even get to taste it!

TAYLOR: Go ask them for a new one. If you tell them what happened, they will make you a new one. 

KATE: I didn't--

TAYLOR: I'm serious. Go. 

So Kate did, and sure enough, they did make her a new one. So even though the Chick-Fil-A is cursed, its employees are nice. And nothing else went wrong that night; we had a great conversation and lots of fun was had by all. Taylor and Kate told us about their Senior Show, Bluestockings, which sounds like an incredible play. And then we left. 

But we haven't been back there since. 

Because that Chick-Fil-A is cursed, man. 

Conversations with Myself

IAs an only child who grew up in a neighborhood deviod of the company of people my own age, I've learned to cope with being alone. Not that I've always liked being alone; sometimes I would really appreciate having a brother or sister to talk to and tease (but that's what I have friends for, right?). Talking to oneself/arguing with oneself sounds creepily schizophrenic, but 1) I'm a writer, so it's how I work out plot and dialogue and 2) I'm an only child. Who else am I gonna talk to when I'm alone and it's as silent as that time when Dean Winchester had to climb out of his own grave?

I've been watching too much Supernatural. Too much?
No such thing.

Basically, if you throw in the aforementioned depression/PTSD into the mix; the conversations with myself get a whole lot more interesting.

Exposition, part two: There are always two sides to every conversation. Even when the conversation is with yourself. So I'd like to describe these two sides.

Number One: The productive side. I didn't graduate college with a 3.9 because I was lazy. Okay, sometimes I was lazy, but NOT VERY OFTEN. When I get driven/inspired, I can accomplish a hell of a lot. This usually happens during times when I have strict routines, like. . .school. Some of my best fiction was written during finals. This side of my personality I'm going to illustrate with the help of the fictional version of me:

Hair: Check.
Stress: Check.
Braininess: Check Check. 

For all you muggles, that's Hermione, and if you don't know Hermione, then I'm just kind of a little disappointed. Luckily, there are seven whole books out there that you can go educate yourselves with.

Part two of the personality I'm going to embody with my favorite Winnie the Pooh character:

Oh, bother. 

Basically explains itself, I think. 

So. Now that we've met the main characters, we can start a dialogue. 

HERMIONE: You know, you should really do some writing today. 

EEYORE: Eh. I could, if I had any ideas. 

HERMIONE: Well, you're not going to get any ideas by laying there. 

EEYORE: Who says?

HERMIONE: Basically every writing instructor that's lived. Remember? You get better at writing by practicing. 

EEYORE: I'm probably a terrible writer.

HERMIONE: That's the exactly attitude to take. Get up! Go do something! 

EEYORE: But all my first drafts are bad. 

HERMIONE: Anne LaMott, Eeyore. "Shitty first drafts are okay."

EEYORE: But revising is hard.

HERMIONE: So? 

EEYORE: I'm just uninspired.

HERMIONE: Quit making excuses! 

EEYORE: I'm also really tired.

HERMIONE: You know you just made a rhyme, right?

EEYORE: Oh look at that. I did. 

HERMIONE: Besides, if you can stay up until 1am giving every single facebook chat sticker in existence a character from Sherlock, Doctor Who, or Supernatural with Kate, YOU CAN WRITE A PULITZER PRIZE WINNING NOVEL. 

(authorial intrusion: I wish I was joking. Actually, no, I don't. I'm fairly sure Kate and I won the internet with our characterizations of Sam, Dean, and Cas.)

Just in case you thought I actually was kidding.
I'm not.

EEYORE: That was different.

HERMIONE: Really? What was the last thing you wrote?

EEYORE: . . .

HERMIONE: Was it or was it not really really bad Supernatural fanfiction?

EEYORE: You can't prove anything. 

HERMIONE: It was. 

EEYORE: So?

HERMIONE: It proves you can get inspired and write even if your writing sucks. 

EEYORE: Yeah; inspiration based on other people's work. 

HERMIONE: Point is, you can write. What happened to that story you were working on at the end of the school year?

EEYORE: It got lost when George Clooney's hard drive died. DUH. 

HERMIONE: Why don't you re-start it? 

EEYORE: Because. I don't have the energy and I can't remember it. 

HERMIONE: But it was good! The characters were good! The plot was going somewhere! 

EEYORE: You're right. I know you're right. 

HERMIONE: So. . .?

EEYORE: I'll start writing it again. 

HERMIONE: Good! 

EEYORE: After I take this nap.

HERMIONE: WHY DO YOU NEED A NAP? YOU HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING ALL DAY! 

EEYORE: Shhh. I'm trying to sleep. 

And that's how it's been, every day of the summer so far. What I really need to do is get a routine in my body where I sit down and designate time to writing EVERY DAY. I just get distracted by the copious amounts of British TV and Literature that I could be devouring and I'm lost, staring at Dean Winchester's annoyingly perfect face and yes I know that he's not British and his show is not British but mercy, he's the most perfect man, sorry Sam fans...that's all. 

How do you motivate yourselves to write, if you write? Share tips with me if you have any! 

If You Take Two Girls to TFIOS...

There are good friends. There are great friends. And then there are the friends that you trust enough to watch you disintegrate into a puddle of tears and not judge you, because chances are they are themselves also a puddle of tears.

For me, that friend is Kate. Kate is basically me. Just copy and paste my personality and thought processes into a different body and that basically explains the dynamic of the friendship. We have several theories as to why this is, the most significant one being that we're both actually just different regenerations of the Doctor Who character River Song (for those of you who don't watch Doctor Who, just ignore that reference, because like most Doctor Who things, it'd take a whole blog post to explain).

It's weird to think that I only met Kate a year ago, in our very awesome production of The Merry Wives of Windsor. She was one of the aforementioned Wives and I was the barmaid/least dressed person onstage. I suppose the day we coordinated our wardrobe so that we would be twins, and actually became friends should have been an indication of what the rest of our friendship would be like.

Ah, the summer of the flapper phase. For me, obviously. Not for Kate. 

In any case. Months and several emotional crises later, Kate and I decided to attend the movie The Fault in Our Stars. Which is based on a book by the amazing John Green*.

*Side note--is there a word for being attracted to men with glasses? Because that's a thing that I definitely have. Stephen Colbert, John Green, Hank Green. . .other various guys. 

Technically, the TFIOS movie counts on its own as an emotional crisis, and if you've read the book, you'll understand why. Typically, I'm extremely stoic when it comes to emotional things, and while I was touched by the book, I didn't cry at its ending. Generally I like to think of myself as half-Vulcan, and while occasionally something gets to me, it's rare. Before seeing the movie, I hadn't cried for, you know, about a year and a half.  I'm not one of those people who enjoys a good cry while watching Titanic or whatever the kids are watching these days. It doesn't feel cathartic. It feels messy and also uncomfortable. 

I don't think I was emotionally prepared enough to take on the movie. Graduating college has been bittersweet, so I've been a little down. And there's the baggage that's been metaphorically handcuffed to my wrist since my marriage ended that I only deal with on the occasions when I absolutely have to. That didn't seem relevant, though, since the movie is about neither of those things. I was a little skeptical about the possibility of tears. After all, there's nothing like watching a bunch of other people (especially when those people are much younger than you and possibly haven't gone through puberty) crying to take the tragedy right out of any movie and make it a lot more uncomfortable. 

All the same, just to be on the safe side, I armed myself with a box of tissues and set off to meet Kate at the movie theatre. 

Kate was running a touch late, so I settled in and bought myself a caffeinated drink from the theatre's concessions. This was a bad idea, because almost immediately everything got funnier (which, arguably, is not a proven side effect of caffeine). By the time Kate arrived, I was fully sure I was going to be that person in the movie theatre who laughed at inappropriate parts like an insensitive jerk. 

My caffeine face,  Kate and the box of tissues. One of these three things did not survive the TFIOS movie.
The other is a box of tissues.
And the other thing is Kate. 

And for the first half-hour of the movie, I totally did feel like that person. Granted, the first half-hour of the movie is exposition and buildup, but everything seemed funny and I ended up laughing silently into a tissue rather than crying into it.

That. Did. Not. Last. 

Kate and I are both only children, which is where 90% of our understanding of one another comes from. When you're an only child, your parents are the #1 source of love in your life but also the #1 source of annoyance. In a good way. The protagonist of TFIOS, Hazel, is also an only child, and she worries about how her parents will survive once she dies from the cancer she's had since she was thirteen. 

That was when things started to get a little misty. Because I get that. Kate gets that. Neither of us have cancer, but our parents are the people who have been the closest to us all our lives. We worry about how they'll cope if something did happen to us. 

By the time we hit Amsterdam, we were both puddles. Thankfully, everyone else in the theatre was a puddle too--the sniffles echoed around the theatre as though they were brought to us by THX.

Although it is entirely possible that the sniffles I was hearing were just mine and Kate's. Echoes are pretty powerful things and we were crying pretty hard. 

The movie ended, and that stupidly awesome Ed Sheeran song came on, and I think we even cried harder through that song because Ed Sheeran. 

The aftermath.

And then we went to get Frozen Yogurt because how else are you supposed to feel better after watching a terribly sad movie? By that point, our poor brains had had *enough* grief, and so instead we started laughing about how much we had cried. Which was an absurd amount. I'm fairly sure the attendant at the FroYo shop thought we were crazy, because we alternately were in hysterics, laughing; and sniffling.

It's a vicious, John-Green-induced cycle. Laughter. Tears. Laughter.

Tears. 

A Brief List of Reasons Why You Should Attend the Farmers' Market, Part 1

So, as you all probably know, I work part-time at a chocolate shop. Which is the best. Truly. But being able to work the Farmers' Market is probably one of my favorite parts of the week. So. Here is why you should come to the Farmers' Market on Saturdays--a list of vendors who are my friends, bosses, and general awesome people who you need to know.

1). The Chocolate Conspiracy. Yep, that's right. I'm gonna just go ahead and put my primary job as #1. Seriously. Chocolate. Raw, organic chocolate. It's amazing. At the markets we sell chocolate sauce--coconut based, because we don't do dairy, gluten, or soy; and bars, which are honey-sweetened and delicious. Honestly, it kind of breaks my heart inside when I ask people if they want a sample and they're like, no, I don't like chocolate or No, thanks. There is really no situation where you win more than a situation where you're getting a free sample of chocolate. It's not like it costs you anything! I'm giving you food. Chocolate food. Even if you don't like chocolate, take it to someone who does. They will be grateful.

AJ--my boss--is really incredible to work with. He went to school to be a nutritionist with the dream of creating a healthy dessert shop, but once he started experimenting with chocolate, he knew that was where it was at. And he's really good at what he does. The chocolate he makes is totally unique to any other kind of chocolate I've ever had, and I'm not just saying that because I work for him. It's really, really amazing.

And yes. I do eat a lot of his chocolate. Because I like it.

Bein' Cute and Sellin' Chocolate 

2) Mamachari Kombucha. So. Kombucha is a fermented tea beverage which is chock-full of probiotics and good bacteria. It's kind of weird, at first, but I will preach the benefits of kombucha until I turn blue in the face. In fact, I do--it's my other part-time job. Christy, the brewmaster, is one of those ebullient, sarcastic people you can't help but want to be friends with. Locally, she is known as the effervescent empress, and I think it's a fitting title for someone who knows how to ferment tea without getting eaten by the skoby. 

Skobys aren't actually carnivorous. 

Doesn't mean I'm not maybe a little suspicious, anyway. It's a good thing I know Christy loves me, because otherwise I'd be terrified of her feeding me to a skoby if I slacked off at work. Which I don't, because I'm a good employee. 

Christy's kombucha is basically very different from the stuff you might acquire at Whole Foods, but in a good way. It's a lot stronger and more fermented-tasting, which I like. And it literally saved my stomach from digesting itself in a fit of nervous, PTSD anxiety-induced rage. After everything that happened with my marriage falling apart, basically all I could eat for weeks without wanting to die was quinoa. My stomach just did not want to digest solid food. It rebelled every time I fed it something that had substance. It got to the point that I would go to bed with a bottle of pepto-bismol next to me, like some poorly-conceived addict. That all changed when I started working for AJ, and he let me have a bottle of Christy's 'booch. 

At first, I was like--eh? Weird. But then, that night, my stomach did not try to kill me. I actually digested things. And so when I went to work I bought another bottle, curious to see if my stomach's sudden functionality was just a fluke. 

It wasn't. Needless to say, I drank the stuff consistently for months until my stomach relaxed. And now I drink it because I like it. It's seriously tasty. My personal favorite is the rooibos flavor. 

Drinkin' Booch makes you cute. Like us.

Honesty's the Best Policy. Just sayin'.

3). Vive Juicery. Oh, man. Don't even get me started about Vive. Their juice is probably the most addictive juice that I have ever consumed--in a good way. I first met Brittany, who co-owns Vive with her husband, Bryce; when Brittany was helping AJ with his website design. I had no idea she made juice, but I learned at the Winter Market when I would see AJ toting these distinctive bottles of brightly colored juice around--making me extremely jealous and thirsty. 

So I decided to see what all the fuss was about. It took me about two seconds to realize that Guys, This Juice is The Real Deal after trying my first sip. It's all cold-pressed and chock-full of all those healthy things like vitamins and minerals because it's veggie and fruit juice. It's wonderful because some of their juices are savory, some are sweet, but none of them are cloying the way store-bought juices are. My personal favorite is the Local Love, which is a beet juice accented with carrot, apple, swiss chard (right?) lemon, and ginger. And it's the most vibrant color. I'm obsessed. 

You really have not had JUICE until you've had Vive. I'm not even getting paid to say any of this. I talk about this juice for no money at all. The best part about it is it's just down the street from where I got my undergrad, and so I'm planning on badgering all my currently-enrolled friends to go there and study and drink lots of juice and be healthy. You're welcome, guys. 

Dat Beet Juice Tho

4). The Queen's Tea. If, for some reason, you don't want booch or juice, GO SEE THE QUEEN'S TEA PEOPLE. Actually, even if you get booch and juice, just go see them anyway and just count on having a really full bladder every time you come to the market.

 Their teas are perfect. Run by another local-food-power-couple, Mike and Seth are some of the nicest people you will ever meet. And their teas deliver. Their booth is just south of AJ's, and they are the best market neighbors. I mean, any time I get thirsty I just pop over there and get iced tea, which is truly a blessing on the hot summer Saturdays the market is known for. I've not had a flavor of tea from them that I did not like. 

Plus--awesome name. 

They're just so happy! I think all that tea has something to do with it. 

5). Laziz Hummus. If you see people walking around with shirts that say "hummusexual," they are representing a little business called Laziz. And seriously, that hummus is good enough that it really does deserve its own sexual orientation denomination. Derek and Moudy--another local food power couple--make the hummus the way Moudy's grandma used to make it, and it's not like any hummus you've ever had. I mean, I thought I knew what good hummus was before I tried Laziz. Now I see that I was living in ignorance, because it really is...the Best. Hummus. Ever. 

No, really. Ever. I've heard people who are talented chefs praise the hummus, saying basically that they can't make hummus that's as good as the stuff these guys make. It's impressive. Texturally, tastewise--I've got a little bit of drool in the corner of my mouth just thinking about it--it cannot be beat. I challenge anyone to bring me a better hummus than the stuff from Laziz. 

Plus--those awesome hummusexual shirts? A certain percentage goes towards helping Marriage Equality, and I think that's one of the worthiest causes I know. 

Now--don't you just feel silly for not coming to the market today? You should. Luckily for you, there's a market next week. And the next week. And the next. And there will be more reasons for you to attend the market on here, soon. 

See you next Saturday. Riiiiiiight? ;)