Me: You just mixed up two black sitcoms.

Tyler: I know.

(five minutes later)

Tyler: Movin’ on up is a good time though.

———————-

Tyler: Whenever me and Ashley (his girlfriend) go somewhere, we always take my truck.

Me: Why?

Tyler: Cause I’m too big for her car. I feel like a fat chipmunk stuck in a too small hole.

Infection. INFECTION. INFECTIONNNNNNN!!!!

I will cut that right the fuck out.

Anyway, that’s all you need to know about my . . . injunction (please, am I using that correctly? HALP). Point is, I’m home and even though I’m in pain and not feeling quite so hot, I feel so guilty. Isn’t that weird? I feel bad about calling out of work. I rarely call out and it reminds me of when I was in school at I always felt bad about staying at home to watch daytime television (which SUCKS) and do homework. Because I’m retarded. And have obviously been beaten with a stick of WOE since I was young. And along comes Debbie Downer . . .

I’m over the Feeling Bummed About School thing. I know I don’t need a degree to act, but I don’t really want to spend the time and money getting a degree in something else. I understand, dear Anonymous Commenter, that sometimes we all do need a back-up plan, but here’s the thing: I’m afraid that if I have a fall-back plan, I will inevitably fall back on it. If I plan this entire back-up . . . erm . . . plan . . . go to college, get a degree and then try and do the acting, I’m worried I’ll get discouraged again and think “Fuck it, let’s go get a job somewhere and use that degree of mine.” Does that make sense? No? SHUT UP. God, who asked you?

But I think I will get into my French classes I’ve wanted to take forever. And I’m actually scheduling time to get some writing done. I have all these ideas and snippets of dialogue and characters bouncing around in my head and I need to let them out. If I have to give myself a structured environment, then fine. That’s what people do, you know? If I was going to go to school, I’d have a schedule and a structure. I think I’ve been so caught up in my dreams and being a dreamer, that I have no concept of reality. If I want to make dreams come true, I’ve got to have a plan and a way to make it happen, not just wander around with my head in the clouds. Acting that way is bringing me down rather than lifting me up. What was it David said last night? “For someone who wants to fly so badly, you sure do carry a lot of baggage with you.” Amen.

I guess I’m just ready to feel like every day is fulfilled, you know? And I know I can make every day like that and . . . I need to quit talking about this. Because I give my excuses and my reasons for being all woe is me and then I fight back with myself because I know I can fix it. So I need to shut my trap and just DO IT already.

Okay. I’m home sick. Feeling guilty. Therefore I shall eat my weight in crap food and watch Lifetime.

. . . what?

You know. Maybe you’ll see all of that before you pour your heart out into Wordpress. Maybe you won’t feel so immensely disappointed. Just some advice from your Friendly Scatter-Brain.

Levity aside? I’m really bummed. Really really bummed. Going to Savannah is not an option. I feel like I’m back at square one. I was getting really excited about the prospect of doing something and having school to look forward to in January. Not that my life is like, in shambles right now or anything, but man. That would’ve been fun. So much fun.

Bah.

Which is probably why I’ve been researching Savannah College of Art and Design for the last week or so.

It sounds crazy and just the thought of SCAD makes my stomach turn and twist into a Boy Scout knot. It’s just . . . I’m just not doing anything right now. For the past few months, I’ve just felt pretty worthless. I’ve been working five days a week, spending time with David and Em and my family and waiting for a phone call, an email, something about an audition. Granted, I could be more active in my career, but when you have an agent and you’re not getting much work and you’re seeing other people under your agent audition? It’s hard to get yourself geared up to submit for anything.

When I left Oglethorpe my freshman year, I was confused. I can’t even give specific reasons as to why I left. I just know that I was somewhat depressed, I was worried about how my career was going and I thought I could get farther in my dreams by dropping out. And I did. I feel like, at that moment, that was the right decision for me. The fact that I would have graduated this year is not lost on me. I would have had a BA in theatre and a minor in French. But here’s the thing: Would I also have an agent? Would I have ever joined up with Sketchworks? Would I have any acting experience besides college? Would I have met and joined this network of great actors and producers and agents? Would I have ever been a part of “Drop Dead Diva”? And on a non-acting related point: Would I have ever gone to work at the store and would I have ever met David?

I took that path and it has brought me a lot of great things. A LOT. But now I’m at another fork in the road and I can’t decide which way to go.

Going back to school is something everyone around me is supportive of. Everyone thinks this is a great idea and perfect for me and I know why. They all love me, of course, and want me to succeed and be happy. But more than that, they want me to do something. They know I’m stuck in this rut and that if I keep working at the store and waiting and waiting and waiting for a phone call or an email that I’m going to either a) give up or b) spend my life saying “what if?”.

Here’s the thing with SCAD. They have a campus in Atlanta. They offer a BFA (a bachelor of fine arts which is what I wanted anyway) in performing arts. NOT in theatre. David asked me last night “So, what can you do with that degree?” I told him, “Act. That’s about it.” That is the degree I wanted. I don’t want a BA in theatre so I can become a drama teacher or work in a corporate office with a larger salary because I have a degree. I want to be an actress. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. A BFA in performing arts is a serious degree. It’s not one for someone who likes to play pretend or who enjoyed being in drama in high school or who wants to be an acting teacher. It is a degree for someone who wants to learn more about the craft as an actor.

Right now, getting up every morning and going to work is dragging on me. It’s bringing me down. If I could change that and get up every morning and go to a theatre, learn about my craft and be around people who are as serious and as passionate as I am, then why don’t I? I think, for a long time, I’ve been worried about committing myself to anything other than acting. I’ve worried about going back to school or taking a French class or spending time writing a book because I didn’t want to take myself away from becoming an actor. I felt like I should put all of my time and energy towards acting.

But I haven’t. I’ve been free of responsibility and free of commitments for a long time and I’m still not doing any serious acting or making a real “career” out of it. Not yet anyway. So why not go back to school for acting? And here’s the kicker, if I go back to school and then my agent calls me with an audition, I can still do it. I have to remind myself that nothing is concrete, nothing is set forever, nothing is absolute. I can go on auditions and book jobs and still go to school and earn a degree. I’m not planning on going to LA in the next six months, so why not try my hand at this school thing and see what it’s like? It doesn’t mean I’m giving up. It means that while I’m waiting on my career to really start and while I’m working in the salt mines waiting for an audition and slinging liquor, I can still be motivated and inspired by my passion.

Phew. So. These are the pros of going back to school:

1. Doing something I love while still pursuing what I love
2. Keeping myself motivated and energized for this career choice of mine
3. Earning a BFA in performing arts

After typing those out, it doesn’t seem like it’s all that great of an idea, but then I read number one and those butterflies start duking it out with a walrus in my belly again.

Now. I’m looking for advice so obviously I need to talk about some cons:

1. Going back to school means working less. Which means less money. Which SUCKS.
2. I really enjoy not having any responsibility, but once my career gets started, I won’t have all that free time to watch old episodes of “Roseanne” and putz around on Twitter anyway, so I might as well get used to it.
3. School is expensive. I’d have to get a scholarship to go.
4. Does it make me look like a . . . I don’t know . . . failure to quit school with dreams of being something bigger and then go back? Thoughts, please.

I was going to list a 5th con with “And what if some great opportunity comes up? What then?” Then I slapped myself, threw a glass of water in my face and said “WAKE UP, FRANCIS” because that just might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever thought. Thank God I didn’t let any of you know I thought that, ’cause then you would think I was a real whackjob. Oh. Wait . . .

So. These are my edumacation thoughts. I still have a lot more to work out in my head, but honestly? I feel like applying, sending off my SAT scores and transcripts, getting some recommendations, auditioning and THEN seeing what happens. Because any time I get an idea, I run like the wind, Bullseye with it and then I start over-thinking it and back out and let the idea saaaaail on past me. Well I’m tired of doing that. If I do all the work to get in and then I’m accepted and then decide I don’t want to do it? Well, fuck. I’m only out $25 on the application fee and that’s pretty inexpensive for taking a chance.

I feel like I’ve been so concerned with making my dreams come true that I’ve been letting life fly right past me. And although I already feel old when it comes to my career, I never had a “set age” in mind when I was younger. I never said “When I’m twenty-five, I’ll have an Oscar” or “I’ll have worked with Spielberg before I’m 23″. So I just need to take a deep breath, keep my eye on the prize and not let myself get bogged down with all of the insecurities and worries and “what-if?”s. And if going back to school, even for one damn quarter, is going to keep me up, then why not?

So David and I have been talking today about our fears, our insecurities, our trust issues. We both know we have things to work on and change. We both know that our fears are stupid and without merit, but there they are.

But here’s the thing. This is still the healthiest relationship I’ve ever been in. In my past relationships, if I said “I don’t like that you kissed another girl and took pictures of it while you’re my boyfriend”, I was told that the “jealousy thing wasn’t going to work.” Right.

If I tell David something makes me uncomfortable, he does whatever he can to make me feel secure. He doesn’t change who he is, he just respects my fears and takes them into consideration. I do the exact same thing with him.

David is also the first relationship I’ve been in where I tell him that I’m angry or upset over something he did. Past boyfriends would tell me “I’m not going down this road with you, I don’t need this negative energy, I need to be able to spread my wings.” David apologizes. He doesn’t say “I’m sorry you feel that way or I’m sorry you’re bringing that on to yourself.” He says “Baby, I’m so sorry I did that.”

I can’t believe I put up with so much shit for so long. I can’t believe I grinded my teeth all night long and had to fight the urge to throw a rock through a window because I was so angry and miserable in my previous relationships. I can’t believe I’ve finally found the love I was looking for with him. A healthy, happy, respecting love. A do-anything-for-you love without comprimising what we individually want/need.

David: I can’t remember which gay boy band sings it, but “Larger Than Life” is playing at Kroger.

Me: Backstreet Boys! They’re actually going on tour with New Kids On The Block!

David: I don’t know why you’re so excited ’cause you’ll be going alone.

Me: Baby!

David: Hell no.

See? Staying true to ourselves while staying true to each other. That’s our kind of love.

1. “Roseanne”

2. “Will & Grace”

3. “Cheers”

4. “Frasier”

5. “I Love Lucy” (. . . obviously.)

6. “The Mary Tyler Moore Show”

7. “The Golden Girls”

8. “Family Ties”

9. “Bewitched”

10. “The Dick Van Dyke Show”

11. “The Brady Bunch”

12. “Pushing Daisies”

Ahem. You do realize that this list could alternately be titled “My Favorite Sitcoms”? Okay. Just checking. Making sure we were all on the same speedboat and you didn’t get knocked into the water and eaten by Nessie.

Ooookay.

I will ask this question again, the same question I asked when someone tried to break into my oh-so-interesting Skype account: Um. What the fuck?

Let me just say that while I love harboring the fantasy of someone thinking I’m so fascinating that they must break into my emails, emails that obviously hold the answers to life, it still pisses me the fuck off. IT’S NOT YOUR SHIT TO READ. It’s not your stuff to look through! You have no business there and it is violating. This feels like, on a much smaller scale of course, the night my car got broken into. Sure they didn’t steal anything, but the mental damage was bad enough. The thought of someone going through my things without my permission is infuriating and upsetting. I’m this way with all of my things. Don’t go in my bedroom when I’m not there. Don’t rifle through my drawers looking for something without asking. Don’t try and break into my boyfriend’s Facebook account. Aren’t these simple things? Shouldn’t you learn this shit in preschool? RESPECT OTHER PEOPLE? Seems pretty self-explanatory to me.

Anyway. They didn’t get in David’s stuff because he is a sneaky ninja. And while I have my suspicions over who tried to read his stuff, I have no idea who tried to get in mine. Earlier this week I got an email from a place called “fashion union”. It was a “thank you for registering” email and gave me a username and password. I have never been to the site before so . . . yeah. Changed my password again. I’m thisclose to just getting a new email, but I’ve had my current one for over three years and everybody has it. It would be a major pain in the ass, basically.

I don’t know. I’m trying to think of rational explanations for all of it, but I can’t. All I can do is keep my stuff secure and remind the world that some of us get emails on our phone as SOON as they go in our inbox. So you know, if you don’t want us to see something in our email, maybe you should go back to 1995. I hear “Seinfeld” was really funny back then. Oh and OJ gets off, just fyi.

When I finally get one of those days, however . . . I daydream about going to work. Standing behind the counter, talking to drunks, ringing up –

HAHAHAHAHA. Oh God. I funny. Sammy funny.

I never daydream about going to work. I have nightmares about going to work, but those don’t usually start until I’m pulling into the parking lot and David has to hang up on me to get me inside the building.

Ahem.

Today was my day off and I pretty much spent it like any other red-blooded American would do. Except I’m half British and half American so that doesn’t count. ANYWAY. The point is I did nothing today. NOTHING. ARE YOU HAPPY?

David still wasn’t feeling 100% so he was off today, too. He was the one who actually made French toast this morning! Except, David apparently doesn’t mix his eggs with milk to dip the toast in. So he had egg toast . . . yeah. I hope I’m not the only one that experienced a full body shudder at that sentence. I requested milk therefore my French toast was light and fluffy! Except for the huge chunk of egg nestled into the burnt side of one piece. I know, I’m so ungrateful. I love my chef.

Plus he put so much powdered sugar on it anyway, I could barely taste it. What toast? I had powdered sugar and syrup for breakfast!

After breakfast, we laid around and then he retreated to The Land of Cute Geekdom while I surfed the web. Also? I can’t believe I just typed “surfed the web”. Later I’m going to watch the new episode of “Seinfeld” and see if they’ve made any headway on that OJ Simpson trial.

(Editor’s note: I totally just got distracted as hell from reading about the OJ trial. I was old enough to remember this. Why don’t I?)

Around 1:00 or so, I announced I was hungry because I am a princess and I deserve to be fed. David said “Fine. When we both put down our respective technologies, we’ll go get something to eat.” Twenty minutes later . . . we made chili and hot dogs. I’m gonna start calling mine The Hot Dog Bowl. Chopped up hot dogs, chili, ketchup, mustard and shredded cheese all poured into a bowl together and stirred up. Dude. I know I’ve been eating like a perpetual 4th grader lately, but it’s so damn good. Do it. DO IT NOW.

I know you are on the edge of your seat right now, gripping your computer with such feverish anxiety about what I possibly could’ve done NEXT. After the thrilling Hot Dog Bowl, what else is there?! Scale Mt. Everest? Swim the English Channel? Start an all-girl band and play the tambourine?

We climbed back in bed and watched Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom.

HA. You were expecting something less exciting, eh?

That movie is gold and not even for the incredible graphics or Harrison Ford’s stunning facial stubble. It’s for lines like “HOLD ON RADY, WE GOIN’ ON A RIDE” and “HE NO NUTS, HE CRAZY!” That movie is insanely quotable and come on. It’s Indiana freakin’ Jones. It’s a Speilberg/Lucas collaboration. It’s got the Asian kid from The Goonies. It’s got an awesomely cheesy/awkward almost-sex scene (“And what kind of research would you do on me?” “Nocturnal activities”). You should watch it. Trust me, it is a very productive way to spend an afternoon.

We made grilled pork chops, macaroni & cheese and peas for dinner, which was also awesome. Then David drove me to CVS to buy some medicine after I doubled over in his bedroom (no worries, I’m golden!) because he is, without a doubt, the best boyfriend ever. We came back, he called his mama and I flossed my teeth. That is the most productive thing I’ve done all day.

It’s funny. I love these days filled with nothing, but at the end, I always feel a little blah. Like I wasted a day off. I get bummed out that I have to go back to work tomorrow or that it’s already time to start getting ready to lay down with another movie. But then I look at my partner in All Things Lazy and I grin. Because I got to spend the entire day with him, doing absolutely nothing.

. . . QUIT THROWING UP. God, you’re so rude.

So! Hi! You’re looking good. Like maybe your lunch has NOT consisted of napalm-y meat sauce. How was your weekend? Because mine was awesome. Except for almost driving David to the ER, but let’s backtrack, fine people.

Saturday, after work, I headed straight to David’s so we could go to the drag races. I don’t think I’ve mentioned the race in detail before, but his dad and uncle have a drag car that they . . . y’know race in this itty-bitty town called Reynolds. His uncle drives the car and we go and hang out with his dad, his aunt and his cousins. It’s an absolute blast and so exciting despite the fact that “drag race” does not include men wearing make-up and stilettos. I KNOW.

We did really well Saturday evening! His uncle got to the round before the semi-finals which was awesome. I can’t remember if they said that was the first time that had ever happened or it was rare, but it was still cool as hell. The excitement was contagious and we were all grinning like buffoons. David’s aunt was so happy buzzed and giddy over him winning that she was bouncing in the golf cart so hard I thought it might flip over. His family is so welcoming and quick to talk to someone that half the point of the race, to me, is just to hang out with them and share a bag of boiled peanuts. They are awesome. End of story.

The theme of the weekend was apparently itty-bitty towns because Sunday afternoon, we drove up to see my aunt, uncle and cousins in Ballground. Which is an hour away from my house, which is an hour away from David’s, which is like 45 minutes from Reynolds which means we pretty much drove to Tennessee.

I LOVE family get-togethers. I love them, I love them, I LOVE THEM. I know part of it is because of my yearning to live in a Norman Rockwell painting, but the other part is that they’re just so much fun. It didn’t always used to be like this either. Before, it was Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas. That was pretty much the only contact I had with any of them because none of us really put in the effort. But when Grandpa died, everything changed. We all saw each other a lot more, started saying “I love you” when we left, hugged each other goodbye. And it’s sad that it takes a family tragedy to bring people together, but hey. We’re all together now and that’s what matters, right? RIGHT. Don’t argue with me. I hate when you do that.

Um.

So we show up and hang out for a little bit, marveling at baby Hazel who was born less than a month ago. And that is the craziest thing ever that my grandmother is a great-grandmother. Like . . . blows my mind crazy. She’s really adorable and I totally did not develop a complex when she started screaming as soon as I held her. And I’ve never held a newborn before so no, I promise. Nooooo complex here! Nope. No way.

We all ate lunch and that was probably the best part. All of us sitting there, talking, eating hot dogs and the fact that my boyfriend not only speaks to my family, but gets along famously with them. He went to fix Granny a plate of cake and ice cream and whipped his head around to say “What kinda ice cream ya want, Granny?” He says it slipped and I think it’s the cutest thing ever. Especially when she reprimanded him later for calling her ma’am by saying “No, I’m GRANNY. I’m always Granny.” He also said “Yes sir” to my uncle and Uncle Eddie informed him that sir was saved for my daddy and that was it.

David also gets along really well with my cousin Amy’s fiance Josh. They started swapping deer hunting stories and then went outside to smoke and Granny leaned forward and said “Two of a kind, Sam. Like peas in a pod!”

OH! Hey, speaking of Granny, would you all climb aboard the Tangent Express?

So she was complaining about her back hurting her and when she went to sit on the couch, she was wincing a bit. My aunt asked her if she wanted a muscle relaxer and Granny said no, she didn’t need any of that stuff, it would make her loopy (which I would pay MONEY to see), so Amy offered her advice:

Amy: Do you want one of those back pad things?
Granny: A what?
Amy: It’s one of those things you stick on your back and it like heats up.
Granny: A VIBRATOR?

Oh . . . my God. I died. DIED. And I was not the only one. Uncle Eddie, Aunt Sheila and Daddy were all doubled over. It’s not even that it was a “sexual” joke, it’s just the way her face looked when she said it. Oh my God. I can’t even explain.

At one point, Josh and David came back in and David headed straight for the bathroom. The rest of us sat in the living room, playing with the baby, listening to Dad do his best Ric Flair impression to get her to stop crying, when we all heard a loud cough coming from the bathroom. Now he had been in there for like 20 minutes, but I figured he was doing his . . . what does he call them? His “daily devotionals” (to the porcelain gods, I’m assuming) so I didn’t think anything of it. But after that loud cough, Sarah looked up and said “Um. That’s your boyfriend.” Dad sat up and asked “Is he puking?” I made some funny comment about “If he is, someone else is gonna have to come take care of this!” But when I got to the bathroom door and pushed it open, poor David was on all fours with his head in the toilet, sweat dripping off his chin. His arms were shaking just to hold himself up.

I immediately freaked out and Amy brought me some washcloths. I sat in there with for nearly thirty minutes wiping his forehead and not touching his back. Do not, I repeat DO NOT, rub or even touch that man’s back when he is ill. He will bark at you and shake his head, but will later apologize when, y’know, his esophagus isn’t ripping open anymore.

He says he just ate way too much and because of a surgery he had when he was five, sometimes that food can just SIT right above his stomach and cause immense pain. At one point, I thought I’d have to take him to the hospital because he said he felt like he was going to pass out. “Everything’s yellow and fuzzy” he said before crawling into the fetal position and passing out in my lap.

Now, I get that I’m not a mother and I don’t know that kind of unconditional love or bond, but holding his sweaty head in my lap and brushing his hair with my fingers? I felt so needed. Especially when he immediately fell asleep. Like, here he was in immense pain and discomfort, worried that he might be really really ill and having my lap there was enough to calm him down so he could sleep. It just made me love him even more. That I can be that security for him just as much as he’s there for me.

Although I never want to feel that way again. Because to see your strong, masculine boyfriend pass out in your lap and moan in pain? Sheesh. Tough.

Everyone in the living room got worried and Dad came to check on us at one point.

Dad: Everything okay in there?
Me: Yeah, Dad.
Dad: They wanna know if he needs to lay down on a bed.
David: Nooo, too far from the toilet . . .
Me: No, not right now.
Dad: Okay. So on a scale of 1 to 10, are we in the deficits?
Me: We’re . . . pretty low.
Dad: (whispering) Are we hungover?
Me: No!
David: I just ate way too much. (whispering) Now please stop talking.
Dad: Just ate too damn much, huh? Ya’ll got the vent on in there?
Me: (exasperated) YES, DADDY.
Dad: Okay!

When David finally had the strength to stand up, we headed into the living room so we could leave. Everybody immediately freeeeaked the hellll outttt. Granted, David was pale as a geisha and his clothes were soaked, but everyone started with the “Oh God! You poor thing! Bless your heart. Are you okay? Are you allergic to anything?” Then my aunt chimed in with “You might wanna go to the hospital” and Dad leaned forward with “You want me to take him, Sam?” David told me he was fine, he just needed to lay down so we started to head out.

Dad: You wanna take my car, Sam?
Me: What? No, Dad. It’s cool. I’ve got mine.
David: I’d rather puke in her car than yours anyway, Terry.
Uncle Eddie: Aw hell why? I’ll give you five dollars to ride in his!
Brian: I’ve got two bucks!

Once we got to the house, he was okay. Still weak and super dehydrated, but fine. He stayed home from work today and will probably have to stay home tomorrow because his stomach is just sore. Can you bruise your diaphragm? I don’t know. I hope he’s better soon. He’s not nearly as much fun like this.

KIDDING. Totally kidding. At least he’s kicking ass in Final Fantasy while he’s been sick. Oh my little nerd. How he makes my heart swoon.

At one point during the afternoon, when Josh and David were outside, Amy yelled from the living room, “I think this is the one, Sam.”

Yes. Yes, he is.

Things I Wish I Could Talk To Granddad About:

1. His life when he was younger. I never thought to ask about what growing up in England in the 40s was like and God I wish I had. The stories I know about him I only know from Mama.

2. My dreams and career. He always told Mom he thought I was going to be someone some day. I wish I could ask him if he thought I really would make it. I want to know if he’s proud of me, if he thinks I’m talented. I want to talk to him about performing and the joy it gives me because I think he would’ve known exactly what I was talking about.

3. Oooh politics. Granddad was so far left that he would have called himself a socialist. I would love to tell him about the chills I got that November day when I read on the computer “President of the United States of America” and I got to choose Barack Obama. He would have been so proud of me and I know that my bleeding heart is partly because of him.

4. He was a wonderful singer and loved music with every fiber of his being (every fiber that wasn’t dedicated to the Audubon Society anyway). I wish I could ask him to teach me to carry a tune. Not to make me win a Grammy, but just to help me not be so embarrassed when my future children need a lullaby.

I hope you’re proud of me, Granddad. Even now, I seek your approval in almost everything I do and I hope I never let you down.