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After a particularly trying day, a day that included some tears (Boy I’m getting those bitches down, huh?) and some worry about what exactly the fuck I’m supposed to be doing with my life, I took the time to make myself a little sanctuary.

And there I laid on my freshly-washed sheets, talking to the man who loves me to the moon and back, listening to country music. It reminds me of when I was a little girl, spinning tales and dreams and ideas into a web, taking up every inch of my happy room. I needed this. I needed my little space to escape and to relax, to think about love, to think about what I want to do with my life, to breathe.

Being in love makes everything better, yes. It makes dreams seem more attainable, it makes a future more exciting, it makes getting out of bed a worthwhile effort. But being in love with him? Well. It makes me want to string twinkle lights in my curtains.

Rejection. It’s a file that goes straight in to the HIGHLY PERSONAL folder. It’s not something you want to file under PROUD OF or TODAY WAS A GOOD DAY. Eventually, you can move it to GLAD THIS HAPPENED, but it’s hard to find that folder when you’re sitting there, holding it in your hand. It’s heavy, it’s hard to shake off and it’s personal. Highly personal. Rejection.

Last week, I learned I was not going to be in the next Sketchworks show. For the first time in a year and a half. I have been apart of every single show since January 2009. I’ve stage managed, bought props, cleaned up after every show, carried out trash bags full of wine bottles and Stella Artois caps, ran to the kitchen for a cast member’s bottle of water. Eventually, I made it as a main-stage player and I took little roles, one line characters, and turned them into three dimensional people. I’ve busted my ass, giving up Fridays and Saturdays to be there. Not that I didn’t want to be there because of course I did. Of course I did. I love doing what I do and that’s why I did it month after month with no pay. Because I love it.

But for the fall show? Well, lots of people wanted to be in this show. Lots. And I get it. Seniority plays a large part in it. Most of the people cast in this show have been there a lot longer than I have. And I get it! I totally get it. This is not me whining about not being in the show or how all those other people are like sooo undeserving and they like aren’t funny at allllll and like I’ve worked soooo hard. It was just . . . when I got that email and the cast list didn’t include my name? Sucker punch. I had a feeling it was coming, but it’s like, you can’t stop that thought of I guess I just wasn’t good enough, you know? I feel like scuffing my toes on the floor, peering up through my hair and chewing on the inside of my lip. I feel like a little kid picked last for the kickball team and holy crap, it is the best kickball team ever and I want to be on it so bad. And I’m jealous of the cast and I’m jealous that they’re going to get all the recognition and laughs that come from a really awesome comedy show and I’m terrified that everyone’s going to forget that I was ever in a Sketchworks show.

It’s ridiculous and it’s stupid and after a while I even started thinking “Oh, it’ll be nice to finally be free of a show during the fall. I love the fall and I always miss out!” I was feeling better about it. I had my moment of sensitivity and then I was over it. And then. Well. That whole broken heart thing happened and pulled the rug out from under me. And that whole feeling of rejection just came flying back and smacked me in the face. Like football meets Marcia Brady’s nose smack.

And if you dislike my 1970s pop culture reference, well then I’m SORRY.

I’m cranky. Because all of that rejection happened, all of that feeling inadequate and worthless and a really great opportunity came up. Something that made me extremely excited and feel like maybe I could crawl out of this hole and get back up where I’ve always wanted to be.

And I took a steaming pile of crap on that opportunity, tossed in the backyard and ran inside to cry about it. Because I’m afraid. And because I let fear, much like rejection, ruin my entire day. I let those two little words make decisions for me, affect how I talk to myself and how I feel around others. It’s stupid. It’s so stupid and I know that I don’t have to feel this way. But I do. And I let it control my life.

When is that going to let up? When am I going to get better at taking risks? I talk all this big game about how I want to live life to the fullest and how being scared is a GOOD thing and that big risks equal big rewards. But really? I’m a yellow-bellied coward who wants to climb back in her bed and cry for the rest of the day.

I have never felt so vulnerable as I do right now. I have never told anyone that I let fear control my life or that I take rejection so damn personally. I thought I would feel better, but now I’m worried that everyone will look at me differently. They’ll look at me as The Girl With No Backbone. The Girl Who Will Never Get What She Wants Because She’s Scared. The Girl Who Doesn’t Deserve To Make Her Dreams Come True Because She’s Not Brave. The Girl Who Whines Too Much.

The Girl Who Is Pathetic.

You are everything I have ever wanted and I love you with all my heart. Nobody will ever do for me what you do, but you have no idea how much what happened hurt and still hurts. You are my favorite and my love, I just need time to heal.

A few months ago, I did irreparable damage. I originally wrote a mistake, but what I did warrants a much larger definition. I didn’t let the cats lay on his gray v-neck before we went out for dinner. I didn’t scream “fuck you” after a fight and expect him to apologize. I didn’t spill nail polish over his bed comforter.

Instead, I broke his trust completely. Because we know that if I want to fuck up a good thing, I’m going to fuck up a good thing. I hurt him beyond words and I know that if the tables were turned and he had done it to me, I would not be nearly as patient as he has been. I am completely undeserving of his forgiveness, although he has given it to me. I have never felt so stupid, so selfish, so low in my entire life.

Just remember that I keep my word. I will be back. I have never lied to you and I don’t plan on starting.

Friday morning, he said he needed a break. He has trouble looking at me sometimes without feeling intense anger and hate for what I did and he wants to start our relationship happy and healthy. We need to trust each other from the start. We need to be able to call each other and leave a voice mail without vomit rising in the back of our throats. We need to erase all worry and fear and guilt. Those are not things that belong in a healthy, functioning relationship. Especially if you’re hoping this relationship lasts forever because it just feels so right.

I was a complete mess Friday. I mean, a wreck. I was sent home early from work where I laid in bed and cried and cried and cried. I begged him to come back, to give me a time on this break, to please just talk to me. That pain . . . that pain was equal to the pain I felt over my first heartbreak. I was sixteen and miserable, spending an entire weekend crying my eyes out and checking my phone. The difference though is that I know he loves me and he is going to come back.

Actually . . . I don’t even like the way that sounds. Like he’s abandoned me, because that’s not it. Maybe we both needed this. We both needed to step back and miss each other and breathe and deal with our insecurities and fears before we can make our relationship stronger and make it last. It’s not that I’m sitting here, in a puddle of my own tears, waiting for him to come back so I can have a boyfriend again. This is time for me to really think about what this relationship means to me and how it has made every dream I’ve ever had better. And, as sadistic as it sounds, to really let the gravity of what I’ve done sink in. I need to feel remorseful and guilty for the stupid, meaningless thing I did. When I’m with him, I’m able to block it out, forget it happened because we were still together. It was a relief. But neither one of us had a chance to step back and think about it, to see if we could really get over it. This is that time.

I can’t listen to the radio. I can’t watch TV. It all reminds me of you.

Saturday morning, I woke up so depressed. He wasn’t talking to me or texting me. It didn’t feel like he even missed me. I had to let him know that the ignoring me and not talking to me was doing more damage than talking to me would. I miss him. I want to talk to him and tell him about my day. I want to hear what he’s doing after work or how his dad did at the drag race. It’s impossible for me to cut off communication with him. That really does make me feel abandoned and it was giving me a giant complex that he really wanted to just end the relationship completely, but was trying to let me down easy.

You’re the only girl I want, Sam. You’re the only girl I see. Where else would I go?

It took a while, but today? I believe him. I believe that he still loves me and that he misses me and wants me. I believe that this is going to make everything better and put us back into the relationship we had before I broke his trust and shattered his security. I believe that we are meant to be, that there is no other way this love story can go. So I’m going to let it go and feel sad and miss him, but know that this isn’t the end. We’ve got an entire journey left and we can’t start it in a bad place.

I miss you. It’s starting to be a physical pain in my chest. I miss you.

Ditto, honey.

Things That Really Fucking Suck

1. Turning my phone on silent so I’m not disappointed when his ring tone isn’t blaring

2. Having an “I-Cried-Too-Much” headache

3. Seeing a Miller Lite van on the way home and completely bursting into fresh tears

4. Having my heart broken

Food I Would Make Necessary To Maintain A Healthy Diet:

1. cherry slush drinks

2. graham crackers crushed in melted chocolate, peanut butter, cream cheese and marshmallow creme

3. ice cold Dr. Pepper

4. Zaxby’s buffalo tenders

5. sweet tea

6. Kraft Macaroni & Cheese

7. whipped butter and sugar

8. Hollandaise sauce

9. Snickers Ice Cream bars

10. spinach linguine doused in a crab meat and Romano cheese cream sauce

11. crab legs, shrimp, clams, oysters

12. white cheddar cheese popcorn

13. cheese and sour cream filled quesadillas

14. warm biscuits with honey

15. chocolate eclairs

16. strawberry filled donuts covered in powdered sugar

17. Bruster’s birthday cake ice cream

It’s like they don’t even want me to try. “Everything is booming!” “We’re doing GREAT!” “Wow, we sure are busy!” Oh . . . is it? We are? Are we? Because I had no idea since I’ve been sitting with an empty inbox and a clear missed calls list.

If I’m one of the last ones to think about, one of the last ones to say “Hey, now there’s a good idea!” or one of the last ones to remember, then maybe something should change. Maybe you should not think of those you’ve had for three years who have still not been successful. Maybe you should try and change it up a bit so you don’t look so predictable and tiresome. Maybe you should give some of us a chance who are in this for all the right reasons.

As discouraged as I feel sometimes, I know I’m on the right path and that I’m going to make it. I keep telling myself these people are all big fish in little ponds and I’m heading towards the ocean, but it’s still hard. Hard to not blame myself. I figure that I must not be leaving a large enough impression on them or kissing their ass as much as I should. But I never tell myself “Maybe I’m not good enough” because I am. And I know I am.

I’m just ready to prove it to the world.

I love birthdays. I especially love my own birthday, but that’s not the point. Wait . . . yes it is. I’m sorry. I just ate my weight in fatty, delicious, dripping in Mexican quesadillas during KIDS’ KARAOKE NIGHT so excuse me if I’m distracted by the clots of blood falling out of my ears as I replay that little kid singing “Drop It Like It’s Hot”. I know, I know.

Where was I? I looove birthdays. Did you know I share a birthday with Tom Hanks, Courtney Love and OJ Simpson? Is there a better reason to get balloons, people? NO. So howsa ’bout a good ol’ dashy dash dash recap?

- Thuuuursday, I made cupcakes with my mama and David gave me my first present. A really awesome vanity mirror that flips to reveal a 5x magnifying mirror on one side and a regular on the other. It also has fiiiiive light settings which is SO HOLLYWOOD DO NOT MOCK MY FANCY MIRROR.

- Friday, I spent the day lounging around, watching the “I Love Lucy” episode “Lucy’s Last Birthday” and stuffing my face. My hot date arrived when he got off work and he took me to Joe’s Crab Shack where I continued to stuff my face with crab legs, clams, sausage and corn before putzing around in Barnes & Noble and then to AMC to see Toy Story 3. And if possible, I cried even harder than the first time and go ahead and ask that hunk of mine if he cried. Go ahead. ASK! (He’ll lie, fyi. So I’ll just tell you that YES HE CRIED. But shhhh . . . )

- Saturday (*Elton John voice* SATTADAY, SATTADAY!), I woke up and went shopping with my mama. Do you KNOW how long it’s been since I went shopping with my mama? To Italy and back. On foot. With no water. That’s how long. We hit up Kohl’s (where I scored an awesome scarf and a fedora in the men’s department which means I have an enormous head because it fit and it looks so cute and I SWEAR I will wear it), lunch at Chili’s (where we ate so much, we literally had to lumber into Target while grunting), shopping at Target and then shopping at Wal*Mart where I bought Emily Giffin’s newest novel Heart of the Matter which I can NOT put down. Also at Wal*Mart was a pair of heels for SEVEN DOLLARS that I wanted, mainly because they were SEVEN DOLLARS, but there was only ONE size 8 in that particular heel, uhhh. Anyway. I would also like the jury to know that we only went to stores where mi madre has a credit card and I think that’s how all shopping should be, amen.

Oh! Random, but at Kohl’s I fell in LOVE with a pair of shoes.

Internet, meet Shoes:

I’m making myself wait to buy them, but oh my God, they are incredible. I was drooling over them. Slobber trailing behind me as I walked up and down the aisles, elderly customers slipping in my saliva as they shopped for matching dishtowels. I also saw Fiestaware live and in person and could someone please buy me the entire set in all of the colors? It’s 1953 and I want my own china DAMNIT.

- Saturday early evening, David and I ended up going BACK to Target where I fell in love with a little lacy vest and a green shirt with buttons that I bought for dancing that night. I also fell in love with a pair of little brown pumps that were randomly thrown in a box they did not belong in and there were no others like them. I’m pretty sure Rod Serling has an excess inventory of shoes that he is using to fuck with me and I blame him for Wal*Mart’s shoe blasphemy as WELL.

- Saturday night, David and I headed up to Fado’s in Buckhead to dance the night away with my enormous birthday party! Enormous as in . . . two people showed up. Grace and my friend Dave from Sketchworks. Regardless, we had an amazing time, dancing our asses off until we had sweated out every drop of alcohol. And in one stunning crescendo of grace, I slipped in a puddle of . . . something . . . on the dance floor and as I envisioned myself cracking both knees on the floor, somebody grabbed me from behind and pulled me up. I turned around and it was David, who had just come downstairs from smoking. Dudes. Like a freaking MOVIE.

- Sunday morning! Woke up, did a whole lotta nothin’ until we decided to go get his dad’s ice cream machine and shopping at Tanger Outlet. Or as my mother calls it Tangir. Anyway, they have a Charlotte Russe outlet there where I stocked up on four new shirts and David bought me two new pairs of jeans. I also had to beat off several man-hungry size zero bleach blonds in there who were staring at David like he was a piece of meat or my gay best friend as he carried my clothes for me through the racks. Which one is worth more? A hunk or a gay best friend? Discuss.

- Sunday afternoooooon, we had my family birthday at the house! Chicken curry, homemade strawberry ice cream and mocha chocolate cake! Mama surprised me with balloons and I got family gifts! Jamie gave me three gorgeous pairs of earrings, Tyler gave me a box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates and Inglourious Basterds on DVD and Ashley, Tyler’s girlfriend and the future mother of all of my future chubby, bowlegged, red-headed nieces and nephews (HEY. I can dream.), gave me a gift bag full of flip flops, scarves, a new notebook and an adorable little make-up bag.

- Sunday night? WHY, that was my debut on the ol’ TELEVISION SCREEN. Yes. I was on an episode of “Drop Dead Diva” which I filmed back in April (and deserves a proper entry I will post very soon) as a non-speaking defendant arguing with Rosie O’Donnell as the judge. It was an amazing experience, my best one ever and the support I’ve gotten from everyone for a little non-speaking role? So amazing. I’m getting Facebook posts from people I haven’t seen since I graduated and text messages from girls I was in plays with many, many moons ago telling me to keep trucking. . . . except they didn’t say trucking because they are not retarded like me. But anyway, my family was very excited that I didn’t get cut out of the scene (like last time I told everyone to watch me on television) and although I was so nervous I thought I was going to puke, it was pretty fucking cool to see myself acting. So there.

Here’s my episode and I’m in there pretty quickly. I’m “Miss Davenport”, the eye-rolling graffiti artist that Judge Rosie sentences to a detention center. DON’T BLINK. You might miss me.

All joking aside, I’m really, really fucking excited about this.

- Monday! We literally did nothing productive. Except I watched David change his oil. And watched him make sausage gravy and biscuits which means I’ll keep him. And then we watched Inglourious Basterds. And then he watched me run into Ingle’s to get stuff for Girlscout Stew and then I watched him make it. And then we watched “Pawn Stars” and are you annoyed yet, ’cause the theme Monday was definitely watching.

And today? Ohhh today was hard. It was hard to get back to work and the shitty eating I did all weekend took its toll on my body this morning. I was nauseous, battling an enormous headache and moving SO slow, feeling so exhausted. But after getting hydrated and eating MORE shit at work and for dinner, I seem to have made my illness disappear! But tomorrow, I swear. Tomorrow starts my back on “healthy eating track” and saving money by taking a damn lunch to work. I’ve got to be determined like I was the first time I lost all that weight because I’ve gained back nearly ten pounds and that’s not good for anybody. But especially me. ‘Cause this is about me. And don’t you people forget it.

And I’m so sorry I wrote so much. I’m so, so sorry.

I can not believe it is Tuesday. My four day work week is half over and it just blows my mind how quickly the days go. I used to look at the calendar and think God, is it still March?, but now I’m having to flip the months over three days late because I’ve just been so caught up. It amazes me how fulfilled I am, how happy and how I still have things I want to do and see and feel, but that doesn’t stop how awesome everything is right now.

I had a fabulous weekend, despite not seeing any fireworks on the fourth. I did, however, see Toy Story 3 with my sister Jamie Saturday night and oh my God. I cried like you would not believe. I mean, my chest was hurting trying to keep the sobs in so I wouldn’t scare the children around me. That series just means so much to me. The first one is one of those movies I can replay in my head and get every line, every shot, every character exactly right. I remember going to see that the night before Christmas Eve and staring out the window as we passed the strawberry patch, replaying it in my head and thinking about all the new toys I would get that year and how they could all be friends like that.

But it was a perfect movie, a perfect end to the series and a perfect experience. Except for the woman who brought a six-month-old baby in there who screamed for at least 20 minutes. I think I said something to Jamie like, “If that damn kid ruins my Disney experience, I will be so pissed.” And my favorite part, besides the movie of course, was the older couple that came in together. He had a bag of popcorn, she had a drink and they sat right behind Jamie and me, laughing and saying “Whoa!” when things would shock them in the movie. So cute. Still going on dates, still sharing popcorn, still completely fascinated by movies? Incredible.

So go see it. ‘Cause the movie’s just awesome anyway. And so funny. SO funny. And unless you a heartless, soulless mongrel like Justin, you’ll cry. But he says he’s never cried in a movie so he can’t be trusted. Remember that.

Sunday I spent the entire day with Amanda, Stew and their little nugget Avery who was giving me a severe complex by screaming every time he was next to me in the car (I will just work with the assumption that a four month old will hate his carseat, not the lady letting him gnaw on her finger for teething purposes). It’s been forever since Amanda and I have seen each other and it was my first time meeting Stew, but we all had a blast. Shopping, eating at Hooter’s for my first time EVER, driving to see fireworks, deciding to go swimming instead and then having David meet us and eating at Kuma later? SPLENDIFEROUS! . . . sorry.

I didn’t get that picture perfect 4th of July I’ve wanted for so long, but I got something even better. Something tangible and real and something that I can have every day of the week. I’ve got people who love me and care about me, people who make me laugh, people to share hot wings with and people who will give me a fucking knock out with their head as they try to hug me. Amanda can also NOT BE TRUSTED.

But um HELLOOOO. My birthday is FRIDAY. I am going to be 22 years old and that is just . . . ridiculous. I love birthdays and I am SO excited, but I thought I’d remind all of you: that is also Tom Hanks birthday. So make sure to watch a little Hanky Hank Hanx action. Might I suggest Toy Story 3?

AND HEY. Thanks to a friend of mine, Carly, I have another project to start. It’s called 52 Weeks of Lists and each week I’ll post a list of things and do this for an entire year. I haven’t even started thinking about what my lists are going to be yet, but we all know that I love a good project. Like REPLANTING several flowers after my dogs dug a ginormous hole and then ATE my flowers in the garden yesterday. Oh I cried and cried until David promised me that this was fixable (which he then proved by replanting one that was tossed up against the house) and that apparently there is some kind of spray called Dog-Gone that keeps them away from flowers? That’s not the point. The point is I have three dogs for sale and I’m not asking for much.

Martina McBride says that the “sweetest thing that you’ll ever see in the whole wide world is a happy girl.” You diabetics better stay back, because I’m positively beaming these days.

Beetlejuice is on right now and it just reminds me how movies can cure all. I am a firm believer in the power of Hollywood, because nothing can calm me down, make me laugh, make me cry or make me feel comfortable and secure like a movie. Is that weird? Whatever. YOU’RE WEIRD.

(What’s really weird is the new Activia commercial about “skeptics” filming themselves for two weeks to see how Activia has changed their lives. . . . what exactly are they going to film to prove that Activia has made their digestive system . . . regular?)

But I’m sitting here text messaging David about it and we were talking about how different it is to watch the movie now from when we were little. Like, this is still one of my favorite movies, but I used to watch it over and over and over when I was little. Mom had it recorded on a VHS with one of her homemade video labels. I think Water Babies was on the same tape and all I can remember about that movie is that I loved it and that I used to routinely shout “C’oh blimey!” with Mom like the chimney sweep did when he poked his head out at the beginning.

Herro, tangent.

Anyway, I don’t ever remember being scared by Beetlejuice. Were any of you? You lurky lurkers, you. Part of me feels like I should’ve been, but I never was. I loved the calypso part and I loved Catherine O’Hara because my God. She is genius in this movie and she has the best quote ever: “And I will go crazy AND I WILL TAKE YOU WITH ME!” And I could sit here all day and mention my favorite scenes and lines and characters and describe Michael Keaton’s glorious amazing-ness in every second of the movie, but I won’t. Because I can not do this movie justice and you should go watch it right now and oh it’s the part where he sees the strip joint and dude Alec Baldwin was so young and OKAY STOPPING.

So David and I were talking about the movie and how neither of us were really frightened by it, but then he told me about how he had nightmares for a year because of the bat in Disney’s The Great Mouse Detective. Oh man, do you remember that movie? God, I loved it and I used to watch that one over and over, too. But I don’t remember being frightened by the bat either. Or having Scream affect me too much like it did David.

I’m trying to remember any nightmares I had because of a movie and I just keep drawing a blank. Sure, some movies scared me and still cause me to jump on my bed and keep all limbs from hanging off the edge so whatever’s under there doesn’t grab me, but I think most of that was just an overactive imagination. Like, for most of tonight, I’ve been home alone. So instead of holing up in my bedroom, I’m out here in the nice open living room with the loud ass TV so that if anyone or anything decides to sneak on in the house, I won’t be the lone white girl giggling on her computer as it sneaks down the hall. No, I’ll be the one having the heart attack in the center of the house, but at least I didn’t have to wait for it.

Movies were a defining moment in my childhood and still are, really. Mrs. Doubtfire was how Mom explained the family changes to me when I was six-years-old. A Little Princess was a movie I used to sit, slack-jawed and starry-eyed, in front of for hours. Beauty and the Beast was the first movie I remember seeing when I was little and I stared out the window, up at the night sky on the way home, singing the songs in my head.

And Beetlejuice, even at five years old, was a movie that inspired me to be an actor. It’s just such a vibrant movie. It’s full of color and quirky music and Tim Burton’s cinematography. The characters are in 72 dimensions, weaving this storyline in such a way that you feel like you’ve been sucked into that miniature town as well. I am constantly using this movie to describe what I mean when I say why I want to be an actor. Because people love to watch this movie when they’re having a bad day and need to escape for a while. And I can’t wait to be the actor in those movies for people.

You know which part makes me go “GOD, I want to be an actor” the most? When they call Beetlejuice near the end of the movie and he’s dusting his jacket off as they say his name one, two times and then the third time, he cocks his head and says “It’s showtime” with his hands up. Just thinking about it gives me chills. CHILLS. Awesome movie moment. He’s just so in character and it’s just so . . . GOOD. And yes, I know. I’m weird. You’re weird. And you’re probably charging your camera right now so you can video tape your bowel movements and send them in to Activia. That’s how weird YOU are.

The joy I feel when I get to go home and lay down and start a movie? It’s equivalent to having the one you love tell you they believe in you and are there for you. It’s like the ultimate comfort. It’s a best friend all wrapped up in a DVD that wants to take you on a journey and tell you it’s all okay. It’s an unconditional love because that movie is there for you. And when it’s done? You can rewind it and go right back to that joyful feeling you had an hour and a half ago. But for me, that joy stays forever. And I’ve seen so many movies now and watched so many over and over, that when I’m having a particularly bad day? I can play several movies from start to finish in my head to calm myself down. I can not wait to be in movies that do that for other people. I can not fucking wait.

So now that I’m feeling all inspired and shit, some of my favorite images to inspire you no matter what you’re doing:

And because I just realized that this entry makes ZERO sense and is basically my brain matter spilling out of my enormous, elephantine ears, that last one was just to round it all up. And because it makes me pee my pants every time.

(PS. I just randomly save these images off the intarwebz, so I has no credit except . . . lots of Tumblr sites . . . )

Picnic tables straining with the weight of watermelons, fried chicken, hot dogs and hamburgers. Sweet tea in translucent jugs, blueberry pie smeared across checkered tablecloths, baseball bats propped up against a tree. Kids running by with ketchup stains on their shirts, an ice cream cone in one hand, a big toothy grin on their face. Dogs barking after Frisbees, hollering from the backyard as a cousin steals second base, the smell of charcoal wafting down the street, inviting everybody over. Swimsuits and flip flops, red, white and blue streamers, paper plates filling the trashcans. At dusk, everyone finds a spot on the warm grass, drinks and cold drumsticks in hand. Fireworks light up the sky, crackling and popping, drowning out the summer night crickets. Kids and adults both glow ear to ear, lovers kiss under the sky show, Wow is the only word you can hear.

——-

That is my dream 4th of July. My dream summer, really. I’m not the only one, right? Do people even have summer get-togethers like that? Or am I perpetually stuck in a “Wonder Years” dream fantasy?

I’ve just always been obsessed with Americana. With white picket fences, American flags, big porches, small towns, big parades, Mom & Pop shops, local delis. Part of me wants a big white house in the suburbs, a town where I know everybody, where my kids will have tons of friends to play with and chase after. Assuming, anyway, that by the time I have kids they’re not spending their days in hovercrafts chasing robotic butterflies. I want simpler times and a big neighborhood cookout and green grass and a neighbor that will walk over for coffee and help me plan the food for our 4th of July party.

But this year? I’ll try and see fireworks that night, but there won’t be a need to make peach cobbler or fire up a grill. It’s my first Independence Day off in 4 years, but I’m missing all the people. I’m missing the big backyard and the small town parade and the gummy mouthed kids. But I will celebrate being half-American with a Springsteen song, a ride in his Ford and maybe a sno-cone. I’ll just keep waiting on that Norman Rockwell painting of mine to come to life.

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  This Time Together by Carol Burnett
  
  Okay, whether you're into Carol Burnett, acting or just hearing really cool stories about really cool people, you'll love this. It's not an autobiography per se, but stories separated into really short chapters so it's easy to read a couple at a time. So endearing and so inspiring. It's like she's sitting right next to me and telling me the story herself. It also makes you want to pull your earlobe after you close the book. No? Not you? Damn.