tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84510841351531011252024-03-06T02:27:14.583-05:00{with love from pittsburgh}laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.comBlogger177125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-32530107741398094002011-10-10T16:39:00.002-04:002011-10-10T16:40:04.579-04:00and...scene.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I received four bouquets of flowers</b></span>--gorgeous flowers--over the run of my show. People I've never even met in person and only "know" on Twitter came to see the show. Almost two-thirds of my colleagues and many of my graduate students supported me by attending as well. And even people on campus--total strangers, mostly students {students! the darlings!}--stopped me to tell me how much they loved my performance. </div>
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Do you know how much I love acting on stage? It's where I feel the most like me. The most alive. The most real. And performing <i>Shakespeare</i>? Oh, my darlings. You have no idea. It's nothing short of magical.</div>
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But now it's over. This past Saturday was our last performance. Afterward, we stayed to take down the set, which is customary in our theatre group before heading to our cast party in Oakland. We were there until 12:30 a.m., ripping apart platforms, draining the 2" of water from the set, and sorting out the costumes. All of us together, one last time.</div>
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I fell in love during this show. With my cast mates. Amazing, complex, beautiful souls that they are. The sixteen of them. Some 18-years-old, some 24-years-old, and lots more in between. All beautiful. And I can already tell you that I miss them, a short two days later. I've begged them to come visit me in my office, daily. Theatre does that. It bonds you in ways that many experiences can't. </div>
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But now I get to rest. And that pleases me greatly.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GlOfJdpJubc/TpNXE_NFY3I/AAAAAAAAHTA/Dx9AZdaUOMY/s1600/photo%252816%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GlOfJdpJubc/TpNXE_NFY3I/AAAAAAAAHTA/Dx9AZdaUOMY/s400/photo%252816%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Well, at least until the </span><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">next</i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> show I do.</span>laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-68505474638620706912011-10-04T18:33:00.000-04:002011-10-04T18:33:20.596-04:00up on stage.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ooi8TGD1p8M/TouDQ8qY-pI/AAAAAAAAHSk/hb_H7JIJqvE/s1600/rsz_1l5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ooi8TGD1p8M/TouDQ8qY-pI/AAAAAAAAHSk/hb_H7JIJqvE/s1600/rsz_1l5.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">me as Isabella, all weepy during Act II Scene IV</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Well, I did it.</b></span> I survived <a href="http://withlovefrompittsburgh.blogspot.com/2011/09/opening-night.html">opening night</a> of our production of Shakespeare's <i>Measure for Measure</i> and two more performances after that. I'm really happy with how it turned out: the lighting, the minimal set, the costumes, and even the 2" of water on stage that we have to deal with. It's all perfect.</div>
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Opening night was great. No major flubs, lots of fun and energy, and an audience that hooted and hollered during our curtain call. And afterward, many of the audience members waited around for us in the lobby and spoke such kind words about our performance.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAbbo5m-FaaTnHIoPFpYugGddNJ7Dr11naf-9XecOtsJxcTaRLlMyCLZV4P7yJvLue6sU45RqnBexdmWWfFgAuFtIpGnxNM4m6pDuyAjlF_IxjEO2ET83-4HPgoRnOhlnPZeRcgUlcZBA/s1600/rsz_l3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAbbo5m-FaaTnHIoPFpYugGddNJ7Dr11naf-9XecOtsJxcTaRLlMyCLZV4P7yJvLue6sU45RqnBexdmWWfFgAuFtIpGnxNM4m6pDuyAjlF_IxjEO2ET83-4HPgoRnOhlnPZeRcgUlcZBA/s1600/rsz_l3.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">L to R: TJ Firneno (Angelo), me (Isabella), Christina Loscalzo (Mariana), Jake Wadsworth (Duke/aka Friar Lodowick), Jason Bingman (Escalus), and Bill Lyon (Lucio)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">On Friday night, a lot of my colleagues from the department where I work came to see the show after they'd all gone out to dinner together. I love that they made a social gathering out of it. Community-building is huge in my book. And they all stayed after to greet me in the lobby, and there were hugs and kisses all around. And they even brought me the most gorgeous flowers and a very sweet card that they all signed! And the show was really, really good that night, so I'm glad I had a large contingency there to see it!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhREakpGE8vpdFz3vlHhdkATGaSi1RokXoACkJRcYalaVRXOnBEWnHqYVbtinj5ApR_JbVKZaRpwi_CvR8MBL2Wx92m9piOaplS_dgfdE7ITDcOqVfiy_UAVlYotz1kG3w1rr5IZvc_vPQ/s1600/rsz_photo%252814%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhREakpGE8vpdFz3vlHhdkATGaSi1RokXoACkJRcYalaVRXOnBEWnHqYVbtinj5ApR_JbVKZaRpwi_CvR8MBL2Wx92m9piOaplS_dgfdE7ITDcOqVfiy_UAVlYotz1kG3w1rr5IZvc_vPQ/s1600/rsz_photo%252814%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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On Saturday night, my dad surprised me and came to see the show. I had no idea he was in the audience! In fact, I didn't think there was anyone in the audience that I knew, but when I got to the lobby after the show, there he and some others were. It was a wonderful surprise. And my dad said, "Honestly, Laura, you gave me chills." I guess that means he thought I did a pretty good job. *grin*</div>
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I've grown really fond of the cast, all 17 of them. Bill, Jake, TJ, and Megan especially. We didn't have any shows Sunday, Monday, or today this week, and tomorrow we have a brush-up rehearsal before we perform again Thursday, Friday, and finally on Saturday night. It's been weird to be away from everyone for the past few days, especially after having spent nearly every single day with them all for the past month. I can honestly say that I'm going through withdrawal.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jkPaEFFX77Y/TouF-20Ls8I/AAAAAAAAHSw/od6NiEwWo3o/s1600/l2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jkPaEFFX77Y/TouF-20Ls8I/AAAAAAAAHSw/od6NiEwWo3o/s1600/l2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me (Isabella) and Jake Wadsorth (Duke/aka Friar Lodowick)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But it has been nice to have the past few days free. Well, except for Sunday. I participated in the <a href="http://www.secretagentl.com/misc/nami-walk-2011-with-team-secret-agent-l/">NAMI Walk </a>early that morning. But Monday and today have been nice, because I've just gone to work and then home to lounge and relax. I needed it!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TX0XwbFWGX4/TouGti6m85I/AAAAAAAAHS0/q_VPUyqYNNE/s1600/l4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TX0XwbFWGX4/TouGti6m85I/AAAAAAAAHS0/q_VPUyqYNNE/s1600/l4.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jake Wadsworth (Duke/aka Friar Lodowick) and me (Isabella)</td></tr>
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Needless to say, though, it'll be nice to get back to the theatre tomorrow to see my fellow cast members and then do our final three shows later this week. I have never worked so hard on a show, but it's definitely been an experience I'll never forget!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Fo6W-g0KL-4/TouHCgJqHkI/AAAAAAAAHS4/30DVWpbcH_k/s1600/rsz_curtaincall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Fo6W-g0KL-4/TouHCgJqHkI/AAAAAAAAHS4/30DVWpbcH_k/s1600/rsz_curtaincall.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the entire cast</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">p.s. If you'd like to see the show, there are still </span><a href="http://twitter.com/#%21/SecretAgentL/media/slideshow?url=pic.twitter.com%2FCl4vUtBi" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">three more performances</a><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">! </span><br />
<br />laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-9750385724404466062011-09-29T13:12:00.002-04:002011-09-29T13:13:27.852-04:00opening night.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0RGscAQKkvA/ToSkB2JahZI/AAAAAAAAHSc/Z_pfkdbhv24/s1600/97248220_bLuUVfGZ_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0RGscAQKkvA/ToSkB2JahZI/AAAAAAAAHSc/Z_pfkdbhv24/s1600/97248220_bLuUVfGZ_c.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Well, it's here. Opening night. </b></span> Tonight at 8 p.m., I go on stage and do the thing I thought I could not do. This whole experience has been something else, let me tell you. Seventeen actors, fifteen scenes, Shakespearean language, all in just three weeks' time. I've lost weight. I've lost sleep. I've lost my mind. {At moments, at least.}</div>
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<i>I must do the thing I think I cannot do.</i></div>
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I have done the best that I can do, and tonight, I will simply go onstage and share it. Shakespearean language, especially, is a gift, and all I want to do is give it. Make it accessible. Let people who have been frightened of it or turned off by it experience it in a way that makes them say, "Oh, my gosh! I get it! It's so real!"</div>
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<i>I must do the thing I think I cannot do.</i></div>
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There's water on our stage. Two inches of it. And we must act in it, move in it, speak in it. It's difficult, but we're doing it.</div>
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<i>I must do the thing I think I cannot do.</i></div>
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I'm a professional actor. I've been doing this for fourteen years. But for some reason, this time feels different. But, I'm going to do it, because I have to. And because I want to. I love my cast mates, I love the language, I love the set, the lights, the music, and the costumes. </div>
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<i>I must do the thing I think I cannot do.</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Tonight I give a gift.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ns0d1mvNRss/ToSmvUfCOdI/AAAAAAAAHSg/dvR4kV0ukic/s1600/rsz_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ns0d1mvNRss/ToSmvUfCOdI/AAAAAAAAHSg/dvR4kV0ukic/s1600/rsz_poster.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cash only, please.</td></tr>
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<br />laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-66607397450240002712011-09-16T15:17:00.003-04:002011-09-16T15:17:59.219-04:00"weary with toil..."<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Weary with toil, </b></span>I haste me to my bed <br />
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;<br />
But then begins a journey in my head <br />
To work my mind, when body’s work’s expir’d...</div>
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-Shakespeare's Sonnet 27 </div>
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I'm tired. So, so tired. Rehearsals are going well, but they're draining. We open in less than two weeks, and I still have so many lines I still have to memorize. If I'm not sleeping or working, I'm learning my lines. On my couch for three hours after work? Learning lines. In the shower? Reciting lines. While I'm driving? Saying my lines. While I'm on my lunch break at work? Running lines with TJ (who plays Angelo). All I'm ever really thinking about, it seems, are my lines. Constantly. </div>
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Yesterday was particularly rough. Each year in the History Department where I work, we host a History Forum, where we bring in a scholar, host meals, seminars, and a public lecture (followed by a delicious reception). It's a lot of work, and I'm the one who really plans and executes all of it. Yesterday was our Forum. And last night after work and the Forum dinner, I had a 2-hour rehearsal that included two of my most intense scenes...each of which we ran multiple times. Then, after rehearsal, I went back to "work" and attended the Forum reception. When I finally got home at 10:30 p.m., I was so tired that I wanted to cry. </div>
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But I was too tired to actually cry.</div>
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I somehow managed to get myself into the shower and into bed in one piece, and I really do believe that I fell asleep within ten seconds of my head hitting the pillow.</div>
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And today at work, I just wanted to sleep at my desk. Remarkably, I've been quite productive, but I feel like I'm in a haze. I have rehearsal again tonight from 6-10 p.m. And tomorrow. And Sunday. And I still have so many lines to learn. I'm actually really frightened about how little time left I have to do so. All the lead actors are. We're very, very anxious.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Send good vibes if you can, please.</span> <span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And maybe some Red Bull.</span>laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-5495800991859574442011-09-13T08:43:00.000-04:002011-09-13T08:43:37.473-04:00playing dress up. oh, and joe manganiello.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PkqbuUu53Ic/Tm5e_rC6aVI/AAAAAAAAHRo/rG6p_9PZ-Nc/s1600/rsz_photo%252846%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PkqbuUu53Ic/Tm5e_rC6aVI/AAAAAAAAHRo/rG6p_9PZ-Nc/s1600/rsz_photo%252846%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>One of the reasons </b></span>I like runway modeling so much is that it serves as an escape while simultaneously allowing me to perform a bit. I get to dress up, put on a different face {hello, makeup!}, and get my "hair did." It's a temporary transformation that takes me away from the real world and transports me into a bit of a make-believe world.</div>
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This past Friday night, I did a runway show for a fundraising event for <a href="http://www.pfq.org/">Partners for Quality</a>. I love doing these types of gigs. The guests aren't hoity-toity fashion critics or designers who take it all so seriously. They're regular Pittsburghers who are there to support an important cause and be entertained. We're allowed to smile as we walk down the runway, make eye contact with the members of the audience, and just have fun. That's how I think fashion <i>should</i> be.</div>
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My hair and makeup were pretty simple for the evening: a slick side-swept, bobby-pinned 'do, and a tiny bit of an edge to otherwise classic makeup. </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qD8Z3EfT9Ac/Tm5jCif7dLI/AAAAAAAAHRs/pJE8J9U1vYY/s1600/rsz_photo%252840%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qD8Z3EfT9Ac/Tm5jCif7dLI/AAAAAAAAHRs/pJE8J9U1vYY/s1600/rsz_photo%252840%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Backstage at <a href="http://www.jvsevents.com/">Jay Verno Studios </a>on the South Side was gorgeous. I'd been there before for this same fundraiser a couple of years ago, but this year, it was really well-lit and cleaner. </span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0PrWcT9gWKI/Tm5jSrpZfRI/AAAAAAAAHRw/0BsL77eIU8Q/s1600/photo%252841%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0PrWcT9gWKI/Tm5jSrpZfRI/AAAAAAAAHRw/0BsL77eIU8Q/s400/photo%252841%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I got to wear some pretty sweet stuff, including that adorable red dress you see in the center of the photo below. I had my own dresser {that's someone who helps me in and out of my clothes during the quick changes} and my won little area next to the clothing rack. I plopped my stuff and myself down right next to it as soon as I got there, pulled out my script {which I now carry with me like an extra appendage everywhere I go}, popped in my earphones and listened to soothing sacred choral music on <a href="http://www.pandora.com/">Pandora</a> on my iPhone for a bit.</span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cIh1ZzFzcsE/Tm5j1rxjv-I/AAAAAAAAHR0/iO8vNimFHck/s1600/rsz_photo%252842%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cIh1ZzFzcsE/Tm5j1rxjv-I/AAAAAAAAHR0/iO8vNimFHck/s1600/rsz_photo%252842%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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Because the Pittsburgh modeling industry isn't as large and crazy as that of New York or Chicago, a lot of the same models get booked show after show, so I end up working with a lot of the same girls each time I book a job. It's nice. This is Anna, who I've worked with before, gettin' her hair touched up:</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pZVTP7eO22w/Tm5kYIjK6iI/AAAAAAAAHR4/AQ-O4Hh9tv8/s1600/rsz_photo%252843%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pZVTP7eO22w/Tm5kYIjK6iI/AAAAAAAAHR4/AQ-O4Hh9tv8/s1600/rsz_photo%252843%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And this is me and Anna bein' silly backstage before the show:</span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0zcTim0--E8/Tm5kuELbOcI/AAAAAAAAHR8/LA8zkZmZaLc/s1600/rsz_photo%252845%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0zcTim0--E8/Tm5kuELbOcI/AAAAAAAAHR8/LA8zkZmZaLc/s1600/rsz_photo%252845%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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The one thing I don't like about runway shows is that they put the men and women models in the same area backstage, so it's not exactly private and modest when it comes to changing clothes in between passes on the runway. I try really hard to hide behind other girls while I change, but sometimes you just have to be quick and hope that the dudes aren't eyein' you. And I don't flirt with them, by the way. I find it incredibly unprofessional, and quite frankly, I think it just fuels their egos, which are already big enough. I just get in, chat with some of the girls, take some goofy pictures with one or two, work the runway, change into my street clothes afterward, maybe stay for a bit if there's an after-party or reception, and head home. </div>
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But I didn't stay for the after-party for this show because I was alone, didn't feel like hanging around a gaggle of other models who were ALL wearing skin-tight, short, spandexy dresses and stillettos and drinking, etc. I felt horribly out of place and lonely, which told me that the temporary transformation into another world was over and it was time to head home to my elastic-waist pants, couch, and remote control.</div>
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Although, had I stayed at the after-party, I would have seen <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0542133/">this guy</a>, who made a guest appearance since he was in town for a fundraiser for Children's Hospital of Pittsburgh. He's a huge star now, but I remember auditioning with him over a decade ago here in Pittsburgh. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oflMOU_5g4A/Tm5l8RkVL3I/AAAAAAAAHSA/3xZwIF-Gl34/s1600/Joe-Manganiello-Headshot5-233x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oflMOU_5g4A/Tm5l8RkVL3I/AAAAAAAAHSA/3xZwIF-Gl34/s1600/Joe-Manganiello-Headshot5-233x300.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>{No offense, Joe, but my comfy pants were worth it. Still, sorry I missed you.}</i></div>
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I finally got home around 10:30 p.m., and, <a href="http://withlovefrompittsburgh.blogspot.com/2011/05/diversion.html">a tradition I'm starting to do</a> after modeling gigs, I took a photo of myself in my bathroom before washing off all the makeup and getting a hot shower.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CQrH9i9QoM8/Tm5minLlF5I/AAAAAAAAHSE/97XMTA26fIs/s1600/rsz_photo%252844%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CQrH9i9QoM8/Tm5minLlF5I/AAAAAAAAHSE/97XMTA26fIs/s1600/rsz_photo%252844%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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I'm usually utterly exhausted after a runway show. I feel flu-ish, which is weird, yes, but true. I think it's because it's a lot of fast-paced physical activity, from getting to the salon prior to the show for hair and makeup, to the fast-changes backstage, to the actual Strutting Of My Stuff on the runway. I love going home afterward, to the quiet of my apartment and the comfort of my couch or bed.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Runway is fun, it's an escape, and I love to play dress up. But nothing beats the feeling of coming home to peace and sleep.</span>laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-31491433321905732072011-09-12T12:26:00.002-04:002011-09-12T12:26:42.013-04:00remembering.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_0A1pIUYiP7YyTZGpLhFcx2fS-_FjqCXYd-9fRkq-CueDK9_dgh5nIHNJQ04KisoV2Kap35Fr7FzVUUiYrZtsxc8KEX7dgbA2W2d06Lq3gG0Ocs-oFWVcR8Io1NHiVapb4LsGJWHM4vU/s1600/rsz_photo%252839%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_0A1pIUYiP7YyTZGpLhFcx2fS-_FjqCXYd-9fRkq-CueDK9_dgh5nIHNJQ04KisoV2Kap35Fr7FzVUUiYrZtsxc8KEX7dgbA2W2d06Lq3gG0Ocs-oFWVcR8Io1NHiVapb4LsGJWHM4vU/s1600/rsz_photo%252839%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I think it's safe to say</b></span> I'm not the only one who experienced a heavy heart this weekend as we remembered, once again, 9/11. I stayed away from the media for the most part {I checked Twitter a little bit, but that was about it.}, mostly because my heart is oh-so-very-tender, and I tried to just stay aware of what that day represents. </div>
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But I also had a heavy heart for other reasons. Partly because I have been very, very lonely lately. But also because I'm just really missing Ross and feeling a true and tangible emptiness as a result...as if half of my heart is missing. I ended things almost a year ago, and I am really struggling with whether or not that was the right thing to do. What I am certain of, though, is that it has felt like a death. It feels as though he died, and I am having a very hard time with it.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Anyway, that's what's on my heart lately. I'm feeling a little quiet as a result.</span>laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-23459237921601668792011-09-06T16:35:00.000-04:002011-09-07T13:50:57.601-04:00busiest. woman. ever.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IdNX9eqTe4o/TmaBHlmgYxI/AAAAAAAAHRg/u6SR2mNxWWY/s1600/rsz_photo%252831%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IdNX9eqTe4o/TmaBHlmgYxI/AAAAAAAAHRg/u6SR2mNxWWY/s1600/rsz_photo%252831%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>On Labor Day, I actually "labored." </b></span>I spent most of the day at the theatre, cleaning up from the previous show and building the set for my show. I got to spend time with the cast and crew, all of whom are just darling. That guy in the plaid shirt in the photo above is TJ Firneno. He's playing Angelo, one of the male leads. He's an alum as well, and he's very good. AND he's very tall. {This is a big deal for me. Being almost 6' tall, I need a tall actor I can play opposite. This rarely happens.} I can't wait to act with him, because he and I have some really juicy scenes together. </div>
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How juicy, you ask?</div>
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Guess you'll have to come and see the show to find out! </div>
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Rehearsals officially start this week. Plus I'm modeling in a runway show on Friday night. I'm booked solid. Here's what my life looks like:</div>
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<b>Tonight:</b> two fittings for Friday's runway show (one in South Side, one in Bellevue)</div>
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<b>Tomorrow:</b> day job and then rehearsal until 10 p.m. Awesome.</div>
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<b>Thursday:</b> day job, a third fitting for Friday's runway show (in Oakmont) AND THEN rehearsal from 8-10 p.m.</div>
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<b>Friday:</b> day job, hair/make-up at 4 p.m., runway show at 7 p.m., home at 11 p.m.</div>
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<b>Saturday:</b> NAMI board meeting at 9 a.m., crew at the theatre (paint, paint, paint!) from noon to 5 p.m.</div>
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<b>Sunday:</b> rehearsal 6-10 p.m.</div>
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And somewhere in there I'm supposed to MEMORIZE A BAZILLION LINES. </div>
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Jealous?</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Excuse me while I go collapse under my desk. And clutch my bottle of bourbon.</span><br />
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<br />laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-5627426959153734902011-09-02T13:45:00.000-04:002011-09-02T13:45:14.353-04:00the power of one.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NEW2lb7XDmI/TmEVhlEwEnI/AAAAAAAAHRU/vytwwV16xjg/s1600/rsz_photo%252830%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NEW2lb7XDmI/TmEVhlEwEnI/AAAAAAAAHRU/vytwwV16xjg/s1600/rsz_photo%252830%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Sometimes doing something</b></span> for someone else is all it takes to help yourself feel better. I decided to do a mission today as part of the Secret Agent L Project. It's been quite a while since I've done a mission. <a href="http://www.secretagentl.com/missions/mission-the-power-of-one/">Go on over</a> and take a look!</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Happy Friday, my darlings.</span>laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-54650192481229053382011-09-01T16:22:00.000-04:002011-09-01T16:22:32.429-04:00and so it begins.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XicjRPLkX18/Tl_oq0AGYgI/AAAAAAAAHRQ/_eUi9RG2MlU/s1600/rsz_photo%252816%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XicjRPLkX18/Tl_oq0AGYgI/AAAAAAAAHRQ/_eUi9RG2MlU/s1600/rsz_photo%252816%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I didn't count them exactly, </b></span>but I'm pretty sure I have about 4,309 lines. That means I probably have about 83,205 words to learn.</div>
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That's a lot of words.</div>
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Last night, after I went to see a movie {note to self: don't go see <i>Friends with Benefits</i> when you're currently missing the love of your life}, I came home, sat on the couch in my underwear, devoured a piece of Oreo Cookie cake and studied my lines until almost midnight. I managed to learn about a page and a half, which is a pretty good start, considering we haven't even really started on-stage rehearsals yet {that comes next week}. This weekend I'm going to get serious. I have nothing else planned. Just me, my couch, my script, and maybe some more Oreo Cookie cake. Or at least some black cherry bourbon.</div>
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I'm excited about this show, about getting back on stage again where I have always felt a serenity, a peace, a freeing sensation. Maybe it's the escape from the real world. Maybe it's the hours away from the hard stuff of life. Maybe it's learning about a character's life and seeing the duplicity within it. Whatever it is, it's healing for me. I'm thankful I don't really get stage fright. I'm thankful that I can get up in front of people and do things. And once those lights hit, their heat radiating into my skin, my heart starts to pump true life through me. The warmth of those lights and the wall of darkness on the other side of them--the audience--makes me feel like I'm in a cocoon, where all is safe and in my control. </div>
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It's kind of weird, actually. I think that in my real life, when I'm not on stage, I carry within me all the hurt and burdens and aching of my life. But when I get on stage, I have permission to let it all go. To channel it through the life of a character. To release those burdens that weigh down my heart. I can scream on stage. I can yell. I can raise my voice. I can cry. I can stomp and run and push and shove and grab and cling. {I will have to do all of those things in this show, and, quite frankly, I'm looking forward to the catharsis.}</div>
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I spend my lunch hour learning my lines. I sit outside in front of my building and I nibble, recite, nibble, recite, lather, rinse, repeat. And it feels so normal to me. So authentic. {How ironic that I feel authentic when I'm pretending to be someone else. What does that say about me? My life? My heart?} Both food and words sustain me, each in different ways. </div>
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<br />laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-86510438217762587782011-08-29T09:20:00.005-04:002011-08-29T09:42:07.659-04:00{enter stage right.}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oN9UdiUMpsM/TluOze7E3vI/AAAAAAAAHRA/o7cTTQQ7YpY/s1600/photo%252814%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oN9UdiUMpsM/TluOze7E3vI/AAAAAAAAHRA/o7cTTQQ7YpY/s400/photo%252814%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>In my former life, I was a stage actress.</b></span> And by "former," I mean "roughly a decade ago." I was a theatre major-turned-professional. I acted in more plays than I can even count. Here in Pittsburgh. And in London. {Yes! London!} And then life happened: jobs, bills, responsibilities I couldn't skirt, etc. And so my life as a stage actress came to a screeching halt. Luckily, my life as an actress didn't. I'd been with an agency since I was 19 years old, and I was able to continue doing on-camera work and voice over jobs occasionally. It was good.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And then the depression came. Like a bomb. I could hardly get out of bed some days, let alone fathom the idea of acting on stage again. It's true what they say about depression: that it robs you of all the things you used to love. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But the light has started to return a little. And, as a result, I'm starting to think that maybe, just maybe, I'm finding my heart's heart again. In fact, I actually have proof that I am. Do you know how I know this?</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I've been cast in a show.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
Yes. I have.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I auditioned this past weekend for a production of Shakespeare's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Measure_for_Measure"><i>Measure for Measure</i></a>, and I have been given the honor of playing the role of Isabella, which is a pretty substantial role. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>And I am so excited.</i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm a stage actress once again.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
The production is at Duquesne University at the end of September. It's the theatre company's alumni show, which means that any alums from Duquesne can audition for the show. It's a wonderful way of keeping the tradition of the theatre company alive throughout generations, and I am honored beyond words to have been invited back. I'll be working with my all-time favorite director, John Lane, and I feel confident that the forthcoming experience may very well bring a huge part of me back to life.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">THE DEETS:</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Sept. 29, 30, and Oct. 1<br />
Oct. 6, 7, and 8<br />
8 p.m.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>Peter Mills Theatre, Duquesne University<br />
$5 for students<br />
$10 for adults<br />
FREE with Duquesne or Carlow University IDs</b></span></div><br />
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laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-8146714382078460032011-08-24T17:16:00.000-04:002011-08-24T17:16:32.343-04:00deep thoughts at 4:30 a.m.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-72tYI3wiMtQ/TlVnPoiU5CI/AAAAAAAAHQ4/gNiSldL-nYA/s1600/god.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-72tYI3wiMtQ/TlVnPoiU5CI/AAAAAAAAHQ4/gNiSldL-nYA/s1600/god.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/123198878/">here</a></td></tr>
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>You're not gonna believe this.</b></span> I mean, I can hardly even believe I'm about to type it. So, brace yourself. Ready?</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm thinking of leaving the Catholic Church.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">{I'll give you a minute to regain your composure.}</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So, it's late in the day today, which means I'm not going to delve into this in a big way right now, but it just might be a topic I start to cover in some of my future posts. But I will provide you with some itty-bitty detail of how I came to the position I now find myself in.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">My mom.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">If you've read my blog for some time, you know that my mom is mentally ill. And one of the ways her mental illness rears its ugly head is through an unhealthy obsession with Catholicism. Basically, my mom believes every. single. thing. the Catholic Church teaches, and there is, in her eyes, absolutely no gray area whatsoever. Everything is absolute and black-and-white.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And it hurts my heart.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And lately, there have a been a few passing comments I've made, to which she, in turn, has added her own comments, and it all came to a head this morning at 4:30 when I woke up and couldn't stop thinking about it all. I almost threw up.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Recently, I mentioned that I might want to start yoga.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">To which my mother replied that it's against Catholic teaching, that it's spiritually dangerous, and something that non-Christians invented.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">To which I cringed and wanted to rip out her tongue. {What? Too much?}</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I mentioned that my dear friend from grad school was very worried that she wouldn't be able to carry a child due to chronic medical conditions she has and that I would be her surrogate in a heartbeat if it meant that she could have a baby.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">To which my mother replied, "Oh, no! Laura! No, no! That's up to God! If it's His will..." blah blah blah </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">To which I almost hung up the phone on her immediately.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The list goes on and on. So I did some research. And it is true, unfortunately, that the Catholic Church is against both of these things I mention (among a bazillion other things). It's not like I didn't know that the Catholic Church had strict teachings on some topics, but I think I just decided to ignore them. But now, I feel like I can't. And it's eating me up inside.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Like gay rights.<br />
Like women's rights.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Like marriage rights.<br />
Like contraceptive rights.<br />
Like surrogacy rights.<br />
Like women as priests.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Like a bazillion other things that the Church is so against. And I just want to throw up.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But there are so many things I love about the Catholic Church. And so I'm torn. Someone on Twitter today mentioned that maybe this isn't a faith issue with me but, instead, a parent issue. That could be it. Maybe I have to remind myself that I am my own woman, my own human, my own Catholic. My faith isn't going to be a cookie-cutter image of my mother's (THANK GOODNESS), nor does it have to be. But part of me thinks I need to take a closer look and see if I really CAN continue to be Catholic.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Ugh. Religion. It's so exhausting.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm gonna go eat a donut.</span>laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-88099910028862165712011-08-17T12:25:00.000-04:002011-08-17T12:25:34.082-04:00walk hard.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5lyYGzUJ2w8/TkvnFStASCI/AAAAAAAAHQw/92EDjWHhjIc/s1600/rsz_2dsc01844.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5lyYGzUJ2w8/TkvnFStASCI/AAAAAAAAHQw/92EDjWHhjIc/s1600/rsz_2dsc01844.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Remember that time</b></span> I was <a href="http://www.secretagentl.com/missions/mission-save-a-life/">rully brave</a> {um, yesterday} and told even <i>more</i> of the world about my struggle with depression? And remember that time all these amazing, beautiful people left comments about their <i>own</i> struggles? And remember how those amazing, beautiful people showed me {and you} that there are so many of us struggling and that we're not alone?</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Yeah. That was an amazing time.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And now, I want to make it even <i>more</i> amazing.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm currently on the Board of Directors for the <a href="http://www.namiswpa.org/content/index.php">National Alliance on Mental Illness {NAMI} Southwestern PA</a>. My mom has been living with schizoaffective disorder since I was 10-years-old {going on 23 years now}. You can read about her struggles <a href="http://withlovefrompittsburgh.blogspot.com/2008/08/shes-lost-her-mind.html">here</a>. Be prepared: you'll need Kleenex. Lots of it.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">A few years ago, I created a team to walk in NAMI's annual walk. We called ourselves Team Laura's Mom. Our t-shirts were pretty badass, huh?</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DFuTgOb1FH4/TkvoVryDlaI/AAAAAAAAHQ0/NARtCU9p2BI/s1600/rsz_dsc01822.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DFuTgOb1FH4/TkvoVryDlaI/AAAAAAAAHQ0/NARtCU9p2BI/s1600/rsz_dsc01822.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">This year? I'm doin' it again, y'all. Only this year's team is <a href="http://www.nami.org/walktemplate.cfm?section=namiwalks&Template=/customsource/namiwalks/teampage.cfm&teamID=28115">Team Secret Agent L</a>. And I want YOU to join me.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">That's right. I just asked you to do something.</span></b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Now, I know many of you won't be able to actually join the team and walk with me {and, subsequently, wear an equally awesome t-shirt, which I am in the process of designing, and which YOU WILL LOVE}. BUT. Do you think you might be able to give up that Starbucks latte some morning and donate the moolah to this important cause instead?</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Yup. Less than $5. It'd make a difference. I promise.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Now. If you want to join my team, you can do so <a href="http://www.nami.org/walktemplate.cfm?section=namiwalks&Template=/customsource/namiwalks/teampage.cfm&teamID=28115">here</a><span id="goog_1016147131"></span><span id="goog_1016147132"></span>. {DO IT. DO IT. DO IT.}</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
If you just want to give some of your <i>dolla' dolla' bills, y'all</i>, then you can do so <a href="http://www.nami.org/walkTemplate.cfm?section=namiwalks&Template=/customsource/namiwalks/walkerpage.cfm&walkerID=182222">here</a>. {ALSO DO IT. DO IT. DO IT.}</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And if you feel like spreading the word, go ahead and link this post out to anyone and everyone in all manner of ways.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I will love you forever. True story.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Thank you, thank you, thank you.</span>laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-26505797874235389072011-08-16T14:17:00.000-04:002011-08-16T14:17:09.884-04:00take a little hop on over.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NNARpPrVhuM/Tkqzrx-u6hI/AAAAAAAAHQg/nil1QNUTa-0/s1600/102838652_78E998fH_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NNARpPrVhuM/Tkqzrx-u6hI/AAAAAAAAHQg/nil1QNUTa-0/s1600/102838652_78E998fH_c.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I decided to be really brave today</b></span> and go public with my battle with depression.<a href="http://www.secretagentl.com/missions/mission-save-a-life/"> Hop on over</a> to the Secret Agent L Project and have a read.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm seeing the tiniest bit of light, everyone. Thank you for being beside me while I walk towards it.</div><br />
<br />
laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-39200872197458726532011-08-11T16:53:00.001-04:002011-08-11T17:20:06.766-04:00disappearing act. {but just for a few days.}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDiKvoSeAzz6PLYhJZCo3I3MIviDZ7neb6jJ-I_tAupb3A8LgvhtAxC8jt-Auz4shEPRRlOADrlKmbt30UCauKcVKK4x-bS-Zyl1h9Wiy6yuVyLtl2azW0vpzeWNgg26ec2h5Q9U9kE98/s1600/108761882_2d1b5gyd_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDiKvoSeAzz6PLYhJZCo3I3MIviDZ7neb6jJ-I_tAupb3A8LgvhtAxC8jt-Auz4shEPRRlOADrlKmbt30UCauKcVKK4x-bS-Zyl1h9Wiy6yuVyLtl2azW0vpzeWNgg26ec2h5Q9U9kE98/s640/108761882_2d1b5gyd_c.jpg" width="493" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>You know what I love?</b></span> Four-day weekends. I've decided to take a vacation day tomorrow because the university where I work is closed next Monday. I know, right?! FOUR-DAY WEEKEND. BOOM. Sleeping in, jammies all day, breakfast for dinner {a.k.a. "brinner"}, etc. So, I'm gonna take a little break from this here blog, hide out a bit, and return next week.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And I just might take advantage of the above disguise kit while I'm at it. {<a href="http://www.theprojectgirl.com/DHD/DHD-disguise-kit.pdf">You can, too</a>, if you like.}</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Enjoy your weekends, my darlings. I'm off to enjoy the fact that my depression has lifted <i>ever-so-slightly</i>.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Smooches.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">p.s. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Qp_nMntvR8">This?</a> Oh, yes. You simply MUST. I promise. </span>laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-88204169858325926382011-08-09T14:29:00.002-04:002011-08-09T14:54:15.702-04:00words. motion. yay.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5RxVOG1y6ZM/TkF2YyCsfoI/AAAAAAAAHQY/0GdZfNQU7w4/s1600/books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5RxVOG1y6ZM/TkF2YyCsfoI/AAAAAAAAHQY/0GdZfNQU7w4/s1600/books.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>There are a few things in this world </b></span>that I really do love. Like, deeply love. As in <i>oxygen-comes-in-a-close-second</i> to these things. Boston Terriers. Hot tea. Donuts. Boston Terriers. {Did I say that one already?}</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And books.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Oh, <i>Lordy</i>, do I love me some books.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And they are one of the things that just so happen to be helping me battle the <a href="http://withlovefrompittsburgh.blogspot.com/2011/07/dear-letters-from-laura.html">severe depression</a> I've been experiencing for the past few months. Honestly, I'm sometimes convinced that a good book can be just as effective as a prescription for Prozac or Zoloft or Lexapro. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I've been devouring books lately. Like, inhaling them at Mach 3. Embracing them, engrossed in them, totally making out with them. {Okay, not really on that last one. But you get my drift.}</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Here's a sampling of the lovely stories I've been throwing myself into for the last couple of months. And I <b><i>highly</i></b> recommend that you do the same.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Help-Kathryn-Stockett/dp/0399155341/ref=tmm_hrd_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1312913896&sr=1-1"><i>The Help</i></a></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Elegance-Hedgehog-Muriel-Barbery/dp/1933372605/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1312913877&sr=1-1">The Elegance of the Hedgehog</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mini-Shopaholic-Sophie-Kinsella-Author/dp/B00441UMMM/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1312913930&sr=1-4">Mini Shopaholic</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Girls-Guide-Hunting-Fishing/dp/0140293248/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1312913954&sr=1-1">Girl's Guide to Hunting and Fishing</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Nineteen-Minutes-Jodi-Picoult/dp/0743496736/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1312913979&sr=1-1">Nineteen Minutes</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Know-This-Much-True-Novel/dp/0061469084/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1312913999&sr=1-1">I Know This Much is True</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Okay-Now-Gary-D-Schmidt/dp/0547152604/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1312914040&sr=1-1">Okay For Now</a></i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
I'm currently reading Agatha Christie's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Clocks-Hercule-Poirot-Mystery-Mysteries/dp/0062073818/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1312914534&sr=8-3"><i>The Clocks</i></a>. I read it a bazillion years ago when I was in high school. I remember taking it to the beach when my family and I took a summer vacation. And I got a HORRIBLE sunburn {my dermatologist said that if I got a burn like that again, it'd most likely lead to cancer}. I remember being laid up in the hotel room, spraying Solarcaine on my blistering skin, <i>The Clocks</i> my only hope to distract me from my misery. And I remember it being a Very. Good. Book. Indeed.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
I've also been watching all manner of things on <a href="https://www.netflix.com/">Netflix</a>. People. If you do not have Netflix, you simply Must. Get. Netflix. Like, now. Go. Do it.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I've been watching the following ditties, and I adore them fully. You should watch and adore them as well. {Sidenote: I am obsessed with period films. Also known as "costume dramas."}</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/masterpiece/downtonabbey/index.html">Downton Abbey</a> {Best. Show. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever.}<br />
<a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/drama/northandsouth/">North and South</a> {the BBC's version}<br />
<a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/drama/bleakhouse/welcome.shtml">Bleak House</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Horatio-Hornblower-Collectors-Ioan-Gruffudd/dp/B0018C705M/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1312914380&sr=8-1">Horatio Hornblower</a><br />
<a href="http://abcfamily.go.com/movies/revenge-of-the-bridesmaids">Revenge of the Bridesmaids</a> {HILARIOUS.}</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Tell me, friends. What do you read and watch when you're feeling blue? Or, actually, when you're feeling not blue too. I'm always looking for recommendations.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-small;">{Photo above? Oh, goodness. I want to go to <a href="http://travel.nationalgeographic.com/travel/countries/ireland-photos/#/old-library-trinitycollege_6791_600x450.jpg">there</a>.}</span><br />
<br />
laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-92049170436405469952011-08-05T15:33:00.001-04:002011-08-05T15:33:54.573-04:00defcon 1.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uVo4l3GThtQ/TjxD8gofitI/AAAAAAAAHQU/ZSFPiryttb8/s1600/95518033_e5cj1D9L_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uVo4l3GThtQ/TjxD8gofitI/AAAAAAAAHQU/ZSFPiryttb8/s1600/95518033_e5cj1D9L_c.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Alright. I'm gonna keep this short.</span></b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Last weekend sucked. Saturday? <a href="http://withlovefrompittsburgh.blogspot.com/2011/07/when-i-lived-in-mansfield-ohio-many.html">That day</a> that I knew would tear my heart in two again? Yeah. It did.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">My depression? It's at <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/DEFCON">Defcon 1</a>. {Which, contrary to popular belief, is actually more serious than Defcon 5.}</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I can't really leave the house because of it--I even stayed home from work on Tuesday--and so while I'm at home, and on the days when I can actually get out of bed, I'm going to take the above Post-It note's advice.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Or at least think about it.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">{Image above? From</span><a href="http://re.pn/b/uynI" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> my Pinterest board</a><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">.} </span></span>laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-33939892808840726372011-07-29T16:04:00.002-04:002011-08-09T14:37:14.163-04:00protection.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Nr9ZgckLN28/TjMPX6DWlsI/AAAAAAAAHQA/srKsrTMOJYU/s1600/3450702_LbVron9e_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Nr9ZgckLN28/TjMPX6DWlsI/AAAAAAAAHQA/srKsrTMOJYU/s1600/3450702_LbVron9e_c.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>When I lived in Mansfield, Ohio,</b></span> many years ago, there was a gorgeous weeping willow in our next-door neighbor's backyard. I remember walking home from school and dipping under its branches, feeling so protected by its long, draping leaves, some so lengthy that they touched the ground next to my feet. I'd look up and see a canopy of green, bowed around me like an umbrella, shielding me from all that could fall on me and hurt me.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">This weekend, I will be hiding under a different kind of weeping willow. I need protection this weekend. Tomorrow is the anniversary of a day I thought would always be a happy part of my life, and now that it's not, I need to grieve it. Alone, in private, under protection reserved for me. And I am sure there will be some weeping of my own, without branches, without a canopy of green.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I wish I could run my fingers against the dipping branches of that weeping willow in Ohio, the tickle of my childhood running its touch across my hands. How I long to be back there, where danger and hurt only seemed to come in the form of scraped knees from riding a bicycle too quickly or falling off the swing set, instead of from people. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">How I long for that...</div><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: xx-small;">{gorgeous image from </span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/3450702/" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">here</a></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: xx-small;">}</span>laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-37746817346429409012011-07-29T09:39:00.000-04:002011-07-29T09:39:21.304-04:00holy awesome, batman.<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Pittsburgh really does kick ass.</b></span> If you haven't been here, pack your bags now, fill up your tank with gas, and GET HERE.</div><br />
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<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We really are the Hollywood of the East.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm so proud. </div>laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-84524111516707877962011-07-28T14:52:00.004-04:002011-07-28T15:00:05.141-04:00why you should always pee BEFORE you get on an elevator in my office building.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yViNzCjLNnY/TjGoCfLU2KI/AAAAAAAAHP8/SGIXwLfG_tg/s1600/keep-calm-who-kidding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yViNzCjLNnY/TjGoCfLU2KI/AAAAAAAAHP8/SGIXwLfG_tg/s1600/keep-calm-who-kidding.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I have fear of elevators.</b></span> No, really. I do. Remember <a href="http://withlovefrompittsburgh.blogspot.com/2009/12/five-photos-in-five-days-photo-3.html">this post</a>? <i>Thank you, Big Brother Geoff, for giving me PTSD at the age of nine. High five. </i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Fast forward to me, age thirty-three, and when I'm in an elevator I worry that there will be a similar repeat experience of The Great Elevator Incident of 1987 when my brother got us stuck in an elevator and we had to crawl out onto the floor of a nun's convent. <i>"Holy" shit</i> doesn't even begin to describe what I was thinking.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Yes, go read <a href="http://withlovefrompittsburgh.blogspot.com/2009/12/five-photos-in-five-days-photo-3.html">the post.</a> I'll wait.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Done? Good. So, you can see why I'm not particularly fond of elevators.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Here in 2011, you'd think that elevator technology {and the behavior of those accompanying you in said elevator} would have vastly improved. But when you work in the Liberal Arts College of a major university, you remember that <a href="http://withlovefrompittsburgh.blogspot.com/2011/07/oh-truth-truth.html">nobody cares about the Liberal Arts</a>, let alone their elevators. And for the six years I've worked at my current job, the elevators have been nothing more than Transportational Boxes of Death, or TBDs. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">There are four of them in my building, each numbered with what appears to be a red label from a very large Dymo Label Maker machine. <i><b>ELEVATOR 1</b></i> the label reads, its red ink angry and menacing. We all know that <i><b>ELEVATOR 1 </b></i>actually stands for <i>You are going to die when you step foot into this transportational box of death, so you might want to reconsider and take the stairs. Plus, have you seen your thighs lately?</i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Today, I stepped onto <i><b>ELEVATOR 4</b></i> {<i>Now boarding for Dante's Fourth Circle of Hell, please watch your step.</i>}, having just returned from picking up a salad and Pepsi for lunch from our bookstore's cafe. If you're lucky enough to even get an elevator within 8 minutes of pressing the call button, you then need to rush into the elevator car before the doors smash you flat, which has been known to happen on a regular basis. I mean, those doors slam shut after being open for only 3 seconds. And it really hurts your boobs if you're standing sideways at the time.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Anyway.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I stepped into <i><b>ELEVATOR 4</b></i> and pressed the button for the sixth floor.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The doors closed.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And then the car just stayed there. Nothing happened. This is not unusual, you see. These TBDs are highly unreliable and very fussy. But I've learned from experience that if you jump up and down and wiggle a little bit, the car will sometimes start to move. And so that is what I did. Only nothing happened.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Next, I pressed the button for the sixth floor again. Still no movement. I pressed the button another time. Still no movement. I flipped the little emergency start/stop lever, which has been known to "kick" the elevator out of a stuck moment. Only when I flipped the lever this time, the doors opened, and do you know what I saw?</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">THE ELEVATOR SHAFT.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">If you wanna see me go totally bat-shit crazy and freak out, put me in an elevator and have the doors open to reveal the elevator shaft. It's about as pretty a sight as a hairless cat getting a honey wax on a hot summer day.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I started to freak. Of course, because we are the Liberal Arts College and have no money, our elevators don't have "Door Close" buttons. So I couldn't even close the doors! I was forced to lay my eyes on that horrible elevator shaft, the image burning into my brain, the PTSD of the Great Elevator Incident of 1987 washing over me. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I immediately pushed the emergency call button {each elevator had one installed due to the many, many times people were getting stuck in them in our building}. Campus police answered, calm and cool.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"Campus Police," the officer said.<br />
<br />
"It's Laura," I said. {As if I call them on a daily basis.} "I'm stuck in ELEVATOR 4 in College Hall."<br />
<br />
"What floor are you on?" the officer asked.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"I don't even know, because all I can see is the elevator shaft OH MY GOD I'M GOING TO DIE IN HERE, AREN'T I?"<br />
<br />
"Uh..."<br />
<br />
"I pressed floor six, but I didn't move, so I flipped the little emergency stop lever and the doors opened but all I can see is the elevator shaft...oh, wait the doors just closed. I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S HAPPENING."<br />
<br />
"Are you moving?"<br />
<br />
"No, but...wait...I don't know...the lights above the door are saying I am but I can't feel it."</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And then suddenly the doors opened to the fifth floor. Like magic. Not the floor I wanted, obviously, but I didn't care. I WAS FREE!</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"Oh, the doors just opened!" I yelled with glee. "I'm free! I can get out! OH THAT WAS SO SCARY!"</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And I didn't even say goodbye to the officer on the other end. I just high-tailed my ass outta that crazy TBD and took the stairs up one flight to my office.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Can you imagine if I'd been stuck in there for, like, <i>hours</i>? And if I had to pee really bad?</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">That would have been Very Bad Times, Indeed.</div>laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-65806633278569592072011-07-27T16:18:00.001-04:002011-08-09T14:37:37.396-04:00when my own words can't come out.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lAAcMZHJ7Wc/TjBrYCJWjxI/AAAAAAAAHPU/jA6KXtmc9zI/s1600/19096930_XO2pTSdy_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lAAcMZHJ7Wc/TjBrYCJWjxI/AAAAAAAAHPU/jA6KXtmc9zI/s1600/19096930_XO2pTSdy_c.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/19096930/">here</a></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGags9fqTMTDfPexFtXwvgMJ13Ex1i_CwdCFqMQQf7q-C0zeEE71Shp7bvPf8xvXL_Ao3C8BgHYQvjtuGw52tChV5ccEbksv15EGpEd1zTxMw5ivh4ePWQ2yT8Bnwe_-5OVho3BjIzkfg/s1600/remember.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGags9fqTMTDfPexFtXwvgMJ13Ex1i_CwdCFqMQQf7q-C0zeEE71Shp7bvPf8xvXL_Ao3C8BgHYQvjtuGw52tChV5ccEbksv15EGpEd1zTxMw5ivh4ePWQ2yT8Bnwe_-5OVho3BjIzkfg/s1600/remember.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from <a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/5180806">here</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPxPQNuLKFxp82Kg9jzbXRevWrSHGdaWaO1r4gVsZuewgd9DVszV5JBNRvv66xctii0oYG0pI7Yc6A6ATApP_opY36qMjcIfUXk9dMpTGdMNFm9-vy1nCP-O4YrP5KH4E2uTeNVSbZaY8/s1600/tumblr_l7hxioJwKd1qd5ab3o1_500_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPxPQNuLKFxp82Kg9jzbXRevWrSHGdaWaO1r4gVsZuewgd9DVszV5JBNRvv66xctii0oYG0pI7Yc6A6ATApP_opY36qMjcIfUXk9dMpTGdMNFm9-vy1nCP-O4YrP5KH4E2uTeNVSbZaY8/s1600/tumblr_l7hxioJwKd1qd5ab3o1_500_large.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from <a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/3478595">here</a> </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/21676675/"> here</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from <a href="http://dillonpower.tumblr.com/post/7260663100">here</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from <a href="http://love-remains-the-same.tumblr.com/post/7703139222">here</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YQ235ZHgZ-g/TjByM9TTGpI/AAAAAAAAHP0/ebAjHYZCjhc/s1600/18538887_osptONDt_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YQ235ZHgZ-g/TjByM9TTGpI/AAAAAAAAHP0/ebAjHYZCjhc/s1600/18538887_osptONDt_c.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
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</tbody></table>laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-91175267352036322742011-07-26T16:22:00.001-04:002011-08-09T14:50:04.921-04:00dinnertime thinking.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2o2vkxudeRY/Ti8euSze5tI/AAAAAAAAHOw/eyYHEGuQH48/s1600/okay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2o2vkxudeRY/Ti8euSze5tI/AAAAAAAAHOw/eyYHEGuQH48/s1600/okay.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>I sat on the steps </b><span style="font-size: small;">of my deck last night,</span></span> a bowl of leftover penne pasta and olive oil in my hands, and looked out over the busy city below. People coming and going. Cars moving, parking, and moving again. People on bicycles gliding down the street, helmets protecting their heads. <i>What protects their hearts?</i> I wondered.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I ate slowly from my bowl. Chewed with measured rhythm. When the bowl was empty, I still held it. It was warm. I do that, you know. Hold things, even when they're empty. Synonymous for my own heart right now? Maybe. Or maybe I just liked the feeling of that warm pottery against my palms. These days, I will take all the comfort I can get. But for whatever reason, it felt right. To hold on.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I do that, too. Hold on. Sometimes too long. I've never been good at letting go. Things feel so permanent with me once they begin, once they exist, once the come into being. And when they finish, or die, or disappear, I can't let myself be okay with that. I wish I could. I'm working on it. But I'm very, very slow.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Right now, I'm trying to hold on to a few things. Some are good to hold, some I should let go. But I can't just yet.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-49Vxob3TR1c/Ti8hXfT3wVI/AAAAAAAAHO4/Mk3awlqelJU/s1600/63687033_oAUScTx1_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-49Vxob3TR1c/Ti8hXfT3wVI/AAAAAAAAHO4/Mk3awlqelJU/s1600/63687033_oAUScTx1_c.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm doing the best I can. And for right now, that has to be good enough.</span>laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-20683076741637074902011-07-22T14:10:00.000-04:002011-07-22T14:10:48.761-04:00au canada!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qDQHQhJwvdo/TimroLlAVpI/AAAAAAAAHOo/n2D-3kzoz0w/s1600/brandy.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qDQHQhJwvdo/TimroLlAVpI/AAAAAAAAHOo/n2D-3kzoz0w/s1600/brandy.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">This is my favourite Canadian. Well, next to Ryan Reynolds, that is. Hey, Brandy? I added the "u" in "favourite" just for you.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I'm a big fat liar.</b></span> In my previous post today, I said there wasn't much to report. <i>Lies, dirty lies! </i>Actually, let's chalk it up to what I've been referring to lately a Mono Brain. Seriously, people. This here Mono has made me a space cadet. Dumb? I haz it.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Anyway.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">What I want to tell you is that I love Canada. And by "Canada", I mean "Brandy." Do you know Brandy? If not, you should. Seriously. She will change your life. I mean, just look at her up there. SHE'S WEARING A HEAD LAMP, PEOPLE. Need I say more?</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Brandy writes <a href="http://brainyjane22.wordpress.com/">this</a> amazing blog, which I read ALL OF THE TIMES and find myself either laughing hysterically, feeling my eyes well up with some sort of liquidy substance, or just wanting to rip through the Interwebz as fast as possible to get to her so that I can hug the living daylights out of her. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">{Hmmm. Better re-think that. 'Cause, you know, then she'd be dead. And that's no good.}</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Oh, and she also teaches third grade. One of my most favorite-est posts EVER regarding said topic? <a href="http://brainyjane22.wordpress.com/2011/06/27/sometimes-i-think-about-whales-and-just-about-lose-my-mind/">Right here</a>, people. Grab some Depends. You're not gonna be able to hold your bladder from laughing so hard.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">You get my point.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Recently, the darling girl had <a href="http://brainyjane22.wordpress.com/2011/06/09/for-word-nerds-contest-lovers-people-who-adore-free-stuff/">a giveaway contest</a> on her blog. The topic? Books. {HELLO THAT IS MY MIDDLE NAME} I entered. I won.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I know! I know!</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And what did I win?</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Girls-Guide-Hunting-Fishing/dp/0140293248/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1311357704&sr=8-1">This book</a>, which arrived in the mail yesterday, courtesy of the Canadian Postal Service {which, it appears, has finally gotten its act together after, ahem, <a href="http://articles.cnn.com/2011-06-15/world/canada.postal.lockout_1_mail-delivery-postal-workers-strike-notice?_s=PM:WORLD">that one time</a> they didn't}:</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Evm-4BAOAV4/Tim5hCDlbnI/AAAAAAAAHOs/sM9OTduGs_E/s1600/rsz_photo%252824%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Evm-4BAOAV4/Tim5hCDlbnI/AAAAAAAAHOs/sM9OTduGs_E/s1600/rsz_photo%252824%2529.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Thank you, my sweet Miss Brandy. Oh, and the card you included? The weeping. Everywhere. I love you, too. Please get your cuteness here to Pittsburgh stat. Or, you know, invite me to Canada.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Oh, who am I kidding? I'll just invite myself.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">There. I just did.</span> <span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> See how I did that?</span>laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-65398702987648972582011-07-22T09:42:00.001-04:002011-07-22T09:43:53.606-04:00oh, the truth. the truth!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yZSuHp7cUSE/Til-DvVMkiI/AAAAAAAAHOk/e-WtPaheFls/s1600/flow+chart+pain-500x692.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yZSuHp7cUSE/Til-DvVMkiI/AAAAAAAAHOk/e-WtPaheFls/s1600/flow+chart+pain-500x692.jpeg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Not much to report today.</b></span> Saw this image on <a href="http://www.shareable.net/blog/post-college-flow-chart-of-misery-and-pain">Shareable</a> and thought HOLY BANANAS THAT'S SO TRUE. Even for people with graduate degrees. It breaks my heart that our society doesn't value the Humanities like it used to. Big business and money money money are all that seems to be valued these days. Terribly sad.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Le sigh.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Happy Friday anyway, my loves.</span>laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-75503770960336662932011-07-21T16:17:00.000-04:002011-07-21T16:17:33.274-04:00sleepwalking.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNETdAvFW9lExilKHxf8KuWeAAnuJK26Q99Uhf27cBzaPRN4hwIvCv8JuipE-61D04Pmz58gQNASve2Rc4Y-zI4M-k9BofOdlesd6QPHOf29_k948laf_fgKUYT7_hikF0QAqt5n98Njw/s1600/BEACH+BED.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNETdAvFW9lExilKHxf8KuWeAAnuJK26Q99Uhf27cBzaPRN4hwIvCv8JuipE-61D04Pmz58gQNASve2Rc4Y-zI4M-k9BofOdlesd6QPHOf29_k948laf_fgKUYT7_hikF0QAqt5n98Njw/s1600/BEACH+BED.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>You guys. I am tired.</b></span> Like, <i>super exhausted why do my limbs feel like they weigh 200lbs each</i> tired.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Mono. What a little bitch.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I just want to sleep...stop my body from moving, recline horizontally on a soft surface, and shut my eyes. I've been doing just that, as a matter of fact, as soon as I get home from work. And my poor little body literally feels like it's sinking through the mattress. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Yesterday, I arrived at the parking garage at work at 8:20 a.m. But here's the thing: I was literally too fatigued to actually get out of the car. I couldn't lift my legs. I mean, I really couldn't. So I just slept in my car until 9 a.m., my body a tiny bit stronger after that little bit of rest. And then I was able to walk to my office across the street. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So, who wants to come over and take care of me?</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Bring tea, please and thank you. Oh, and also puppies. <a href="http://puppydogweb.com/gallery/bostonterriers/bostonterrier_freeman.jpg">This</a> kind. Mmkay, thanks.</div>laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8451084135153101125.post-40948552836188258572011-07-19T11:30:00.002-04:002011-07-19T11:32:35.252-04:00why i shouldn't have children.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KOAchCuuqd4/TiWazv_whTI/AAAAAAAAHOc/a4jXV6XZlcs/s1600/kid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KOAchCuuqd4/TiWazv_whTI/AAAAAAAAHOc/a4jXV6XZlcs/s1600/kid.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Let's take a break</span> </b>from <a href="http://withlovefrompittsburgh.blogspot.com/2011/07/well-at-least-its-not-ebola.html">Shit Storm 2011</a> and focus our attention on something else: my control and anxiety issues. I know what you're thinking: <i>How are those two separate from Shit Storm 2011, Laura?</i> Well, they just are. Because I say they are.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Can we just talk about why I shouldn't have children? It's not because I'd, like, engage in immature or dangerous behavior, or that, you know, I'd <i>eat</i> them or anything. It's because I have major anxiety issues. Which make me need to control everything. Including the uncontrollables.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Let's examine.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm currently helping out a friend who asked that I drive her 16-year-old daughter to an intensive dance class each morning, at which she needs to arrive by 8 a.m. and be picked up at 10 p.m. {A long day, I know!} Now, I am <i>logically</i> aware that a 16-year-old isn't exactly a 3-year-old, but somewhere in my mind's Crazy Department, I think that a 16-year-old is helpless and can't be left to go to the bathroom/make a sandwich/open a drawer on her own.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Because, you know, she just might fall in/cut off a finger/get crushed. And then we'd be in a heap of trouble. And we all know that Laura <i>does not</i> like trouble.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So, as I function this week as temporary guardian and chauffeur, I am, I will confess, <i>freaking out.</i> </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I am such a worry-wort. The night before, I lay in bed, thinking out the next day's activities. <i>Are her clothes laid out? Did she pack her lunch? What if her alarm doesn't go off? What if </i>my<i> alarm doesn't go off? Is traffic going to be awful? What if she's late? Will her dance teacher make her do a hundred extra </i></span><span style="font-size: small;"><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">pliés</i></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>? All because I'm a horrible guardian/chauffeur?</i></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And that's before I even turn out the lamp on the nightstand.</span><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Yesterday I dropped her off for the first time. I was looking over at her, like, forty times to make sure her seat belt was on. She must have thought I had a tick or something. Then, when we were pulling up to the building where her dance class is, everything was blocked off because--oh, that's right--they're filming the <i>Dark Knight </i>movie. {Yes, Pittsburgh is the Hollywood of the East.} My first thoughts were <i>What if she gets kidnapped by a grip? What if she stops to eat a bagel at the craft services table and gets food poisoning? What if the make-up artist mistakes her for an extra and swoops her away to the make-up trailer, never to be seen again? What if she trips on one of the bazillion lighting and sound cables that are strewn all over the place, breaks her leg, AND CAN NEVER DANCE AGAIN? OH MY GOD THIS IS A DISASTER.</i></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">When she was finally ready to get out of the car--we'd found a safe place to pull over, not too far from the building she needed to go to--I was like <i>Okay, why don't you text me when you get in to let me know you're at the right place? And, maybe, you know, you could also send up a smoke signal. How about a carrier pigeon? Do you think Western Union still sends telegrams?</i></span><i> <span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> </span></i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Arrived at correct building STOP Am putting on leg warmers STOP </span><i> </i></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Bless her heart, she agreed and somehow managed not to make her eye-rolling too dramatic. And then, because I am<i> completely </i>neurotic, I circled around the area until I got that text message. Which didn't come quickly enough for me. And so I started to worry. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>OH MY GOD SHE'S BEEN TAKEN ALIVE. OH MY GOD THE MAKE-UP ARTIST SNATCHED HER. She's probably in one of these movie trailers parked around here, tied up in a barber-style chair, having animal-tested make-up caked on her skin, Diet Coke {oh, the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aspartame">aspartame</a>! The aspartame!} being given to her through a straw, which is putting unnecessary air in her tummy, causing excruciating gas cramps, AND SHE'LL NEVER DANCE AGAIN.</i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And so I sent her a text message. And didn't get a reply. And so I kept circling, like a vulture, one that preys on people who may have taken the poor girl <i>{I'm looking at you, Make-up Artist.}</i> And then I called. No answer.<br />
<br />
Commence Operation Freak Out.<br />
<br />
FINALLY, she text messaged and said she was at the right place and was filling out paperwork.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I un-hunched my shoulders. <i>Phew!</i> I thought. <i>I was so not interested in taking down that make-up artist!</i> <i>She probably would have stabbed me in the eye with a mascara wand!</i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And that, my friends, is why I shouldn't have children.</span>laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319528506123407572noreply@blogger.com2