Stop me if I'm rambling...

Some people view crawling back into bed at 4:00 in the afternoon as an admittance of defeat. Like the day beat you, so you have no choice but to give up and get your sorry ass back into bed. I disagree. I see the return to the best place ever as a sign that the day is going well and the only thing that could possible make it better is some attempted nap time. Taking a swing at a nap is shouting to the world 'Hey! I have great time management skills and the confidence that I'm not forgetting anything important.'

So I'm taking a victory nap. Okay, I'm not. I don't nap. I just can't do it. It's probably because I am not a very evolved human. The more I think about it the more it becomes clear that evolutionarily speaking I am not doing too well. I'm short, just like the humans of yore. The whole trend of people getting bigger is not affecting me. At all. I have no tolerance for the sun, which I feel is something we should have all developed by now. It has been around forever. I am pretty sure I only have 'flight' instincts. Most people can now fight their instincts and enjoy scary movies or haunted houses and power through the fear, but my body is so stuck in the cave-man days that if I sense any danger I am sooooo outta there. My body is physically incapable of learning the proper way to type on a keyboard because on I primal level I reject technology. I think my appendix is useful and pulling its weight as far as being a functioning organ goes. And then, of course, theres the whole 'I can only sleep in the nighttime' thing. Because my inner self knows I should be up farming, or gathering things, or whatever, while the sun is out. In pokemon terms, maybe I need a firestone or moonstone or something to evolve? But if pokemon taught me anything, its that if you are happy being a pleasant little charmander, don't try to evolve into a charmeleon or charizard because then you will become really rude and no one will like you.

But thats not what I wanted to talk about. I want to talk about the new bed I got, and how I think it is too firm. Is it? I really don't know. I am doubting all I know to be true. Its comfy, and I slept fine on it, but I am so used to my super old, worn in the middle, mushy gushy mattress I can't tell. Its not a pillowtop, so maybe thats the problem? Are we supposed to know what makes a good bed and what doesn't? Am I at an age where I should be worrying about my back? Can I get a focus group over here and everyone take a turn testing the bed and let me know? Will it get softer over time? The cat likes it, but he also sleeps in the bathtub, so he doesn't get an opinion. Taking it back or exchanging it would be a big decision. I'll sleep on it. (see what I did there? good one right?)

This is the biggest stressor in my life right now. Guys, it is SO hard being me.

Guys, for real, I'm suuuuuuper busy.

So, as I am sure all of you (and by all of you I mean very few of you) have noticed, I haven't posted anything in quite some time. And I have a really good reason for that. I've been busy. 

Were you aware that when you get super stressed out and have a whole lot going on, only the really important things in your life get priority. And when i say 'important', i really mean to say, all the things you hate doing, but still have to do. It's true. Look it up. So amidst all the working two jobs, and the apartment hunting, and the packing, and the moving, and the unpacking, and the drinking, and the general merriment of the past two months, my writing has been on the back burner. The back burner has still been lit, but its been on more of a 'simmer' setting to keep from burning. But I'm back guys! Full force! Contain yourselves. 

Moving, am I right?!   

But for real. It's the worst. Especially when the place your moving into doesn't have an expiration date because you're preeeeety sure you are where you want to be for the foreseeable future. So all of a sudden this place you wanna live is actually going to be your real life, grown up home. So now location is an issue. Proximity to work seems to matter. Where do all my friends live again? Living next to them might be nice. So there are all the things that matter to take into consideration. Then, thee are the things that don't matter, but you have decided they do.

"Oh, I don't know. I mean its nice, but that's a Chase Bank on the corner?"

"Is there a lot of natural light? I'm used to living under an open sky."

"Yeah, I see the Chrysler Building and the Freedom Tower, but there's nothing we can do about the high rise that blocks the Empire State? Because if I don't know what color lights it's sporting tonight, how do I know what holiday it is??"

I'm kidding. About one of those. The biggest problems that will face you and your Caleb when you move are going to be closet space, counter space, cabinet height and shelves. In our new place, I have a great closet, no counter space and I can't reach any of the cabinets. I feel like the last one Caleb intentionally chose because he doesn't like me playing hunter and gatherer with his groceries. Which I just don't understand. 

Then there's the packing. Which seems fine before you actually start doing it. Then it becomes like this really long winded magic trick that no one is sure you're going to be able to pull off. Including you. You discover stuff you never knew you had, as well as things you will never know what you kept. The best way to avoid cleaning your apartment is to move out of it. Somehow, we made it work and paid two hipsters a bajillion dollars to move all our stuff. Because if I have learned one thing from my cherished and brief time lived as a privileged princess, 'don't do anything you can pay someone to do for you.' So that was my last big hurrah, seeing as now I'm back to being Cinderella pre-ball. Or I guess, post-ball, pre-wedding. When she's poor guys, get it?

But we persevered! We are in a great apartment in Long Island City, right off of 4 trains and within walking distance to culture and eating. No one is killing chickens on our street, or partying to latin techno at 3 in the morning. Our super even speaks english. The smell of latin food has been replaced by the permeating smell of curry. And we are finally moved in! After three trips to ikea in 10 days, we are also unpacked.  We made our first big, grown up, long term roommate relationship purchase of a couch, and here we are! We even bought Barry a new litter box. He didn't know how to thank us, so he peed on a pillow. How sweet. 

So that's where I am right now in life. Getting settled, watching Sherlock, working my butt off, doing improv and sometimes getting to have some semblance of a social life. 

Don't Take Advice from 'Queen'.

There are few things in life I really hate. Well, thats not true. There are a lot of things in life I really hate. But most things I get to hate from afar, so it's really not that big of a deal for me. I hate fish, but they live in the ocean, so it's fine. I hate mimes, but they live in France, so it's not really a daily concern. I hate 'Ugg Boots', but winter is rumored to be ending, so I guess I can deal. I hate bicyclists, but... but they're everywhere, so it is a big deal. It's a HUGE deal! It is the biggest deal of my day to day existence.

Now, I want to clarify, as I usually do. I don't hate bikes. Nah. Bikes? Bikes are fine. I enjoy a leisurely bike ride every now and again. You know, on a bike path. Like, on a path that's only purpose is to be trodden upon by bikes. It's a path specifically constructed for people to use as a route when a bike is their means of transportation. It's funny actually. There are signs and things that designate it as a bike trail.

You know whats not a bike trail? The sidewalks of New York. You know what else is not a bike trail? The subway. You know what else? Hallways. Also, Starbucks. Elevators. These are all places for humans, sans bike, to use.

I almost get hit by a bicyclist every single day. And as much as I wish that was a gross exaggeration, it isn't. And it wouldn't be an issue if I knew how to avoid the bike people. But, this is what I have discovered since living in New York and I am gonna let you in on a little secret: there is no place you are safe from bikes. There is no escape. They are in the street and then BAM! They are on the sidewalk. They are being ridden on the subway platform and then BAM! They are being carries down the stairs. Every corner you round? BAM! Bike.

People who ride their bikes on the street: Fine. I'm okay with you. But here's the deal. If you are going to choose to be a 'StreetRider', guess what? THE RULES OF THE ROAD APPLY TO YOU! They do. I know, its crazy. Makes no sense, right? Geez. But you people cannot just ride against the traffic! You can't go through red lights! You can't go the other way down a one way street! The 'walking man' sign means I do not have to wait for you to pass. AND you cannot make the switch to being a 'SideRider' at the drop of a hat!

People who ride their bikes on the sidewalk: I'm less okay with you. And here is why. First, if you are speeding towards me as I'm a'walkin', you can't expect me to get out of your way. Where am I supposed to go!? Do you want me to jump gleefully into traffic? Because all thats going to happen is that I am probably going to get hit by some other mo'fo on a bike! Second, you are not a 10 year old in a midwestern suburb, so either get in the street and mean business, or buy a metrocard like an adult.  That also goes for you 1990's throwback skateboarding punks who always clip me as you go by. Its 2013. Skateboards are no longer a thing. I took a poll. Sorry.

Also, if you have a bike, don't bring it on the subway. You're just cheating yourself out of that extra exercise that you clearly thought you needed when you bought the bike. If you are a delivery man on a bike, I don't speak your language, so yelling at me to get out of your way does nothing. Sorry. I am about two near death experiences away from carrying a sack of bricks to knock you all off your bikes with. I just wanted to give you a heads up.

Give me Taxes or Give me Death!

Sometime after Valentines Day and before Easter, but right around St. Patty's day is one of my favorite holidays: Tax Day. Well, it's really more of a Tax Season, but I am campaigning to get it the full holiday status that it deserves. Needless to say, it is not going too well.

What? You think its weird that I like paying may taxes? Oh! You think the only reason I like it is for the tax return? The answer to those questions is yes. Yes I do. I love the tax return when I get one. And now that I make something that resembles "grown up money," I actually do get one. But the paying of the taxes is the part I like best. And I get to do it ALL YEAR!

I can explain this one. Its not as strange as you like to think it is. Lets look at this in a rational way, shall we? I, being the princess I am, never choose to do anything myself that I can pay others to do for me. Am I right? Yeah, you know I'm right.

Things I never wanna have to do:

-Arrest Bad Guys
-Clean trash off the street
-be a member of Congress
-or the House
-give White House tours
-Mow the lawn of parks
-clean fountains
-paint benches
-fix sidewalks
-decide to declare war
-know how checks and balances work
-teach kids
-serve kids food
-help people cross the street
-put out fires
-be the President
-guard prisons
-be in the army

And so many more! I am so relieved that it is not up to me to do any of that. I gladly pay taxes to take care of that shit!**

Someone asked me the other day how I felt about paying social security, when I will probably never see any of the money that I paid into it. Right. Yeah, I mean, that kind of sucks. But I say its still worth it! I like old people. They're cute! Whats more, is I'm okay with old people not working for a few reasons.

1) They probably worked longer, and definitely harder than most of us will.
2) Without them, we wouldn't be here
 and on a less adorable note
3) They are too old to efficiently do things now. Have you ever had a really old person serve you or help you? Its not fun. They can't hear you most of the time, they are kind of slow and you spend the whole time feeling really bad that you are getting suuuuuper inpatient and annoyed. They did their time! Let them drink tea and watch re-runs of 'Murder She Wrote'!

I am also really hoping that when I get reals old, some young, starry-eyed girl with skewed notions of how things should be, takes me under her youthful wing and helps me retire to a life of luxury. I figure I have 70 more years to figure that one out.

So thats why I love paying taxes. I like the standard of living that I have come to expect. I like feeling safe in my city, and clean and happy. I like knowing that there are, presumably, smarter people than most people I know running the country. I like knowing if my cat gets his tail in the candle again, and the house happens to catch fire, people will come take care of that crap. Its great. I'm so glad that we Americans got over that whole "we don't wanna pay taxes so we're gonna steep tea in the ocean!" phase.

**if this isn't how my tax dollars are used, please let me live in ignorant bliss.

I Am, what I Ham

As a species, we have a lot of things that connect us. It's really nice actually. There are so many things that we all have in common that allow us to bond and feel a real sense of camaraderie. We all have to breath, we all have to sleep, we want to feel loved, we need at least two hours of tv a day, we like to own lesser species as pets to feel powerful and we are all fat.

Yeah. You. You are fat. You soooo are. I know, its really hard to hear isn't it? But it's true. Okay, maybe thats a little harsh. I'm gonna rephrase that. We all think we are fat. Is that better? Is that a statement we can all get on board with?

I'm certain that all of us have, at one point or another, called ourselves fat. I have. My friends have. My cat has (in his case though its crazy true). But I'm not fat. You're not fat. Barry still is though...

So maybe some of you out there are like "Carly, thats real sweet and everything and I know we should all love ourselves, but I really am fat." And to that I say: "Says who?" What if its not fat. What if its just you? And what if its the best part?

To quote Woody Allen:

"For when we lose twenty pounds dear reader (and I am assuming you are not as large as I), we may be losing the best twenty pounds we have! We may be losing the pounds that contain our genius, our humanity, our love and honesty or, in the case of one inspector general I knew, put some unsightly flab around the hips."

                                                  -Notes from the Overfed

It really got me thinking. And the more I thought, and frankly snacked, the more I realized its true. Every pound makes us who we are. The pound I gained last week? That pound was caused by a great few days spent with friends and cupcakes. That pound is a pound full of laughs. The pound I lost this week was clearly a pound that aided with my ability to wake up on time, which I am now not able to do. So next time you look at your fat, whether or not you really are fat, remember that each five pounds are chock full of experiences and lessons and the little chunks that make you, you. Winston Churchill had productive fat. Think of what a fat Gandhi could have accomplished!  

Also, if you are considering lipo-suction, ask yourself "where does that fat go, and who is using it and to what ends?" Maybe there is a secret underground army of discarded fat full of genius cells and crafty sneak cells and war savvy! Lipo aside, where does all the fat we lose go to? Where is it lying in wait? What is it planning? When will it strike?? Has it left us with only weak and unimaginative fat and taken all the good fat with it? Oh no. Oh dear, this is terrible. I think I liked life better when I just thought I was fat. Now I am enlightened and I'm scarred.

So in order to stop what can only be the beginnings of a massive fat overhaul and uprising, we must give the fat less power. We have to stop obsessing about that weight flux that has taken over our lives. I am grossly aware that this entry turned a little sappy and self-lovey, which is frankly... well, gross. But I have alternative motives. I really just want everyone to stop being so touchy about their weight, because I want to be able to make fat jokes and not offend people. So if you care about my comedic well being, you will stop thinking you are all fat. Because I have lots of jokes waiting about, gathering dust and itching to only be mildly, and not wildly, offensive.  

***Side note: If you happen to have excess amounts of fat filled personality, its still not okay to take up three seats on the subway. I just wanna clear that up.

Roses are Red, Crips are Blue...

I don't know if you know this, but yesterday was Valentines Day. I know, right? Its so totally one of those days that you can just miss. It's like Presidents Day, or Arbor Day. Sooo weird. But, yeah, like I said, it was yesterday. If you happened to miss it, you can rest assured you didn't miss much. No parades or anything of the sort. I bet you are wondering what I did, aren't you? You're probably thinking to yourself "Oh, she most likely did something terribly romantic and noteworthy" and you my friend, would be totally right! I had a straight up Rom Com night! Unfortunately I played both the man and woman in the meet cute senario. Also, it wasn't so much a 'meet cute' as a possible 'near death' or 'kidnapping' scenario. Okay, okay. It wasn't so much a Rom Com as the beginning of a very low budget horror film. And when I say horror film, I mean one of those movies they show kids in middle school about the dangers of the real world and being out after dark. Don't worry guys! This has a happy ending. There is a dashing man involved, so strap in!

It was a night that was most peculiar for a February in New York City. It was not as cold as you would expect it to be. The weather was much like a walk in freezer thats had the door left open for quite a while.  It was like one of those beer rooms at a gas station. Got it? Man, can paint a picture or what? Am I right? Anyways... I had met Caleb and his castmates for a drink at the 'Harlem Tavern.' Getting there was fun since Caleb both told me the wrong bar and the wrong directions. But I got there, blah blah blah fast forward and we are leaving! They want to go downtown to go dance at a gay bar. What can make a single girls Valentines Day more depressing then having spent the evening watching 'The Office' with her cat? Going to a gay bar. No thanks. So, I decide to go home, taking with me the gifts Caleb had gotten for being so dapper and talented.

I cross the street to the C train and halfway down the stairs a nice homeless man informs me that the train is not running. He then wants me to pay him for this information. News flash buddy, ask for the money first. Psh. Duh. Heed that advice and you will be re-homed in no time! No big deal, I will just walk ten blocks. It's nice out. People say Harlem is really a good neighborhood. This is gonna be fiiiiinnnneeeeee.

Wrong.
No.
West Harlem is scary at night.
West Harlem is dirty at night.
And also probably trash covered in the day... I don't want to blame that on the nighttime.

So I just call Baggy and talk to her for a spell. But she was near sleep and I was getting lost, so that didn't get me far at all. I racked my brain for people to call who a) weren't in a relationship, so were clearly not busy b) people I thought would be awake c) people who don't have real people, early morning jobs. Check your phones kids! If you got a phone call, this means I consider you an unattached, evening job holding or jobless night owl! (I'm lookin' at you Rach-Face, Beecher, Marky-Mark, and T-Tay**). But alas, I was on my own.

At this point you're most likely thinking 'Carly, take a cab you stupid cow' and to that I say 'Ease up, I tried.' Fact: Cabs are full on Valentines Day because people are trying to show off. Either that, or the cabs I tried to flag were not in service. I did receive a few offers from men in vans and beat up cars. It's so strange, but they all thought my name was 'baby.' I feel like it was a weird guess at my name, and even weirder that they all guessed the same thing. So, if nothing else I learned I look like a 'baby.' This is strangely the thing that upset me the most tonight... I gave up on the cab thing and kept walking. I stopped to check my google map, when I noticed something written in the cement at my feet. It said 'Crips.'

Oh. Awesome.

I was in gang territory. I didn't and don't really know what that means, but I do know that its not good. Not good at all. Suddenly, everyone I saw I was certain wanted to kidnap me. I could finally see the 125th Street Station looming in the distance. I had to get there. If I had to defend myself, I wasn't completely unarmed. I had five long stemmed red roses that were Caleb's, so I had no qualms destroying them to aid in my self defense. I also had some chocolates that were also Caleb's, which I didn't want to use as a weapon because I wanted to eat those. I had my headphone cord for strangling, my heeled boots for bashing and my iphone to...I don't know, get it on camera?

I made it to the 125th stop, and then onto the train and then safely home. The worst thing that happened was that my 2008 ipod with no battery life died and I was sad. In the cool light of morning, as I sip my coffee, I realize that it probably wasn't as scary as I made it out to be. In retrospect I also realize that 9 out of 10 scary strangers you see do not want to kill you. They don't really care what you are doing. I also learned the true meaning on Valentines Day. Its not gifts, or candy, or presents or love. No, its none of that. Its a day to remind you that you need to choose your mate wisely. For instance, I now know to choose someone who could potentially save me from gang violence, who can hail a cab successfully, who carries something more useful that headphones for self defense and who can stave off a zombie attack. Because I know nothing about zombies and would prefer to live through an attack if it happens.

What about the dashing man at the end of my story? I didn't forget! He was at home waiting for me the whole time!

** To those I mentioned above, its a travesty that you are all single. You are all fabulous people who could only have been made for fabulous by answering their cell phones at 1 in the morning.

Where's my Crown!? Buh.

I have high expectations. For everything. I honestly expect my trash not to smell and my shelves to never get dusty. I get unjustifiably mad when that turns out not to be the case. But I mainly get upset when things don't work out the way I want them to. I just don't understand why everything can't be perfect and catered to my exact needs. You know who I blame for that? My parents. Thats right mom and dad! Its alllllllll you.

Growing up, our parents tell us that we can be anything we want to be. We can grow up and do whatever it s we want. At least, that what my parents told me. Maybe your parents told you that you really aren't that bright and your options are limited. Maybe your parents suck. I don't know your life, so I really can't make a valid call on that. Sorry.

Now, I don't want you to misunderstand me. My parents did not let me do whatever I wanted growing up. No, no. I grew up with a healthy fear of my parents. Which is hilarious to me, but most likely not to you, because just as I don't know the intimate details of your life, I hope you don't know mine. But I never got beat (I say 'beat' in a socially acceptable, earned punishment kind of way) by my parents, or like locked in a closet or had my mouth washed out with soap or anything like that. I just knew them to be very capable individuals and I didn't want to ever see what sort of punishments they might dream up. But all kids should live with a solid fear of their parents. A child should direct the following feelings toward their parental figures:

40% love
25% respect
30% fear
5% skepticism

The problem is, kids today ( because clearly I'm 75 and shake my cane at them). They have too much power. I see these kids in stores throw straight up tantrums and their parents ask them, yes, ask them, to think their actions through. "Johnny, is this really the best idea? Let's think about it sweetie. What if we use our words?" You know what lady, 'what if' I walk myself over there and give your child the spanking he is obviously asking for? Then we all win! Well, not Johnny. Johnny doesn't win. But who cares what Johnny wants? He won't shut the hell up!

Sorry, I got a little off topic. Anyways, what I am saying is, because my parents spent so much time telling me I was awesome, I am really bewildered that the whole world isn't on the same page there. Seriously though, if I was half as talented as my parents think I am, I would have been crowned 'Queen of the World' by now. Okay, maybe not 'Queen of the World,' but I should of at least pulled off 'Queen of Norway' or 'Queen of Sarcasm' or 'Dairy Queen' or something.

I am also one of the lucky ladies who were raised by a mother who fully realizes and appreciates the power of women. I mean this in a completely genuine way. My mother made sure I grew up to be a strong, confident, capable, self assured woman. Mix that with my Dad's sense of humor and ability to charmingly make fun of people and you have a recipe for a woman doesn't need a man! Or is it a recipe for a woman who can't get a man... I'm still not quite sure which it is. All me best girlfriends who were raised by bomb-ass parents have the same problem! Our lack of tormented childhoods have left us as whole, happy, functioning, single, people. Its weird.

But being raised to think I am super awesome and nifty created a problem. My 'I'm better than this' attitude is not always received well. The credit card company will not accept it as a reason to not pay my bill. I am baffled. My dishes still won't do themselves. No one gives me free coffee. I can't get the train to wait for me to come down the stairs. UPS won't just leave my package at the door. Hulu still makes me wait 30 seconds through the ad for my show to resume. GOD ITS SO HARD TO BE ME!

Mom, Dad, if your reading this, I'm going to bed. Can one of you fly up here, tuck me in and bring me some ice cream? And do my laundry? Because that would be great. Can you also write a note to my boss that I should get paid and not have to come in to work? You guys rock. I love you so much. I'm still working toward being the worlds first Dragon Riding Princess Comedian and Professional Peruser of Books. But it's going well.