Beethoven's Mass in C Major, and a post with no hyperlinks

I'm in Dallas now. Last night the gang went to dinner and I had the most wonderful evening... My truly amazing friends made it such a special night- so, thank you, Madison, Dave, Amy, Julia, Angela, Jonathan, Ryan, Taylor, Scott, Kathryn, and Carrie for making it such a special time. I wish I could give you Beethoven's Mass in C Major. Or Van Gogh's Starry Night. Or this beautiful moon. Or something besides the words thank you.

A couple of weeks ago I watched a documentary by Rosanna Arquette about women in Hollywood called "Searching for Debra Winger." A lot of it was self-serving, but listening to some of those amazingly talented women talk about how to "have it all" was really moving. It seemed to me that the non-American women were much more intuitive about the parts of life that truly MATTER: Charlotte Rampling, Vanessa Redgrave, Emmanuelle Beart. Salma Hayek expounded on how the only way for a woman to have it all was to be able to juggle. Her career, her hobbies, her passions, her relationships, her alone time. If ANY one of them starts outweighing the others, all balance is thrown off and everything suffers. The next week I read an article in Vogue about Jane Goodall (right behind an article on ARM lifts, of all things) - what a beautiful, strong, passionate woman! Someone's aptitude for a LIFETIME passion is always enigmatic to me. I feel as though my interests change with the wind. To truly spend your entire life focused on one thing is such a romantic notion. Last week I watched almost the entire 4th season of The West Wing, and although fiction, I always marvel at the amount of time those people spend at the office (and I can't imagine that it's that far from the truth). Their "night off" is spent playing poker in the office. They eat three meals a day at the office. They believe in what they are doing so much that it is their work time, play time, night time, and day time.

I believe that one is responsible for filling up one's own life... and has no right to complain when it is empty. Our generation is especially guilty of laziness, when the truth is that my life could be as full and busy as I want it to be if I'd just get off my duff and live it. I have passions and hobbies and friends and talents and it sickens me to think that sometimes I get bored and take what I have for granted. It is MY responsibility to live my life to the fullest. It is my responsiblity to read all the books I can, and spend time listening to my niece, and volunteer for those less fortunate than I. It is my responsiblity to learn how to make a pie crust from scratch, and visit places I have never been, and take walks, and listen to good music, and at least one time in my life, finish the New York Times' Sunday crossword puzzle. I am not the first person to discover this mantra; obviously many have been here before me, not the least of which is Sir Henry David Thoreau, who said it much more poetically than I (I'm not looking it up now but it's something about living deep and sucking all the marrow out of life. Thank you, Dead Poet's Society). But I think it's an ongoing physical action. Something you must choose every day. And I intend to choose it.

Thank you to all of you who make my life beautiful. I hope I contribute to yours as much as you contribute to mine.

Sleepless in Sin City

Greetings, my wholesome (and not so wholesome) friends, from Sin City, where you can drink, smoke, and gamble 24 hours a day, or get a hooker to your hotel room for $39 in 15 minutes or less. (I only know about that last one from the breasty flyers they've been leaving on our rental car. Really.)

Truly, this week has been one of the worst experiences of my career. The details are too dull to elaborate, but suffice it to say that if the moment hasn't been ACTUALLY sucking, it was either just finished sucking, or about to start sucking. I went in at 8am this morning and worked... HARD... until 11pm. And now I'm all wired and worked up and can't go to sleep, even though I have to be up in 6 hours to do it all over again. The worst part is that we signed a 3-year contract for 2 shows a year. *sob*

This week's hours have reminded me of my 8-month moonlighting stint with the Barnes & Noble Cafe. Do you guys remember that? How on earth did I do it? Well, I was only 25 for one thing. It hurts more now. I used to work 8-5 and 6-midnight 3x/week. Ugh. Then I'd get home and be crazy awake (which birthed my VERY unscientific hypothesis that you can absorb caffeine through your skin) and end up with about 4 hours of sleep.

So, a lot of you have been asking for pictures of my new haircut. I've posted 2 pictures of my friend Marci and me, taken exactly a week apart. It's like a whole different person. Hope you guys like it as much as I do. Going to pressure sleep. Love, J.

The Great Milk Caper

Soooo, I won the bet. What? You made a bet! A bet's a bet! You bet on a bet and if you lose you lose the bet!! I'm wearing the crown and Brian's wearing the frown. He was a trooper. Got 2/3's of it down in about 40 minutes, and then decided he was not ruining his lifelong love of milk for a mere $50, so he quietly exused himself to purge, and I did the obnoxious "I won" dance. He came back a few minutes later with a bottle of wine.

I miss Friends.

Yes, I miss you guys. But also, the TV show. Several months ago, my friend Gen and I were discussing some of our favorite Friends moments (the one where the girls lost the apartment, when Chandler had to spend Thanksgiving in the box because he kissed Joey's girlfriend, the entire season of "but they don't know we know they know we know!"), and how it kind of tapered off at the end of the series. But then we remembered this awesome Chandler-Joey scene from season 8, when he thought he had a crush on Rachel. Gen located it on the web and e-mailed it to me, and I giggled like an idiot just reading it. It's probably not half as funny if you haven't seen it, but the comedic interaction between these two actors is spot-on.

Joey: (entering) Hey, Chandler, you got a minute? I- I really need to talk to you.
Chandler: Oh! Uh, yeah! Is this a cold pizza talk or a leftover meatloaf talk?
Joey: Well, neither.
Chandler: Oh my God, what’s up?!
Joey: I don’t know. It’s- it’s just…lately, I’ve been feeling… Okay, here’s what it is… You know what? I feel a lot better, thanks! (Starts to leave)
Chandler: Oh no-no-no, no you don’t, just come back.
Joey: All right. Okay. You and Monica, friends for a long time, and sure, there are rules, but then you went to London. Oh, no, but that’s different. I mean, there are rules there, too! You know what I mean?
Chandler: Do YOU?
Joey: It was different for you guys! I mean, I mean, you were both in the same place, right?
Chandler: In London?
Joey: Yeah.
Chandler: Yes. When Monica and I were in London, we were both in London.
Joey: You know what? This is a bad idea. Forget it. Forget it, and listen, do me a favor, this conversation was between you and me.
Chandler: If that.

Nice to meet you.

So, I would like to take this opportunity (ibym opportunity... slow day at work) to expound for a moment on how much I hate shaking hands. It's one thing in a professional setting (although I don't like it much then either) but it's entirely another in a social setting. I realize I'm somewhat of an obsessive hand-washer, but say we're meeting a big group of people (including new faces) at a restaurant. Do I really have to shake hands with everyone before I eat? That's disgusting. My mom's church is the worst. EVERYONE wants to shake my hand between the door and the pew. I then spend the entirety of the service obsessing over whose kids have snotty noses. And beyond the germ phobia, it's simply not... ladylike. Sure, men have to do that handgrip-shoulder-pat-with-opposite-hand move (since they're no longer permitted to beat their chests in public,) but I find it uncivilized for women to shake hands. If I know a woman well, I'll more than likely give her a hug and/or kiss on the cheek. If I'm just meeting her for the first time ever, a simple "it's so nice to meet you" will suffice.

I feel like this post going to come across as unfriendly or unaffectionate. Anyone who's reading my blog should know me well enough to know that I'm an extremely affectionate person. I adore having physical contact with my friends and loved ones. I just don't adore having it with perfect strangers. Does this make me a bad person?

Top 5 Things I Learned in South Florida

Back by popular demand, the top 5 series. If you'd like to check out my previous Top 5 Lists, please click here.

Top 5 Things I Learned in South Florida

5. If you absolutely, positively, MUST be in South Florida in the hottest, most humid time of the year, probably your best bet is to *not* be in an un-air conditioned warehouse for 15 hours a day, especially when they break out the forklifts.

4. Florida is almost entirely populated with alligators and rednecks. And the occasional oldster. Oh, and 10 million tourists.

3. What Not to Wear should host a special series dealing with the industry of nurse practicioners.

2. Greek people get offended when you ask if a "Greek coffee" is the same thing as a "Turkish coffee." Apparently there was once some bad blood?

1. Nothing ends happy hour faster than the sight of a mullet hitting on a over-40, over-bleached, over-siliconed, over-acryliced, over-tanned saddy, unless it's the massive cockroach that's running across YOUR TABLE.

Welcome to my Friendster blog.

Hi gang. I've decided to start a Friendster blog. I wasn't feeling the love from Diaryland anymore. And ps> I can't figure out yet how to get that picture of me playing the Jew's Harp off the side. Doh.

I'm sitting in South Florida listening to the daily thunderstorm. It's keeping me from the ocean, but I've always loved the sound of rain. I was craving some time to myself, so I'm holed up in my hotel room with the balcony door open, listening to it storm. I honestly haven't had any detox time in about a month. My nerves are raw; I feel exposed and bare, like I haven't any padding around my soul. I watched it lightning over the ocean a couple of nights ago. I could stare at the ocean for hours. I just get lost in it. Being near the ocean makes me feel so... SMALL. I felt as though I could weep enough to double the sea, and it would still be about a teaspoon.

A friend just gave me a book to read called "Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality." The opening paragraph practically blew me away:

"I once listened to an Indian on television say that God was in the wind and the water, and I wondered at how beautiful that was because it meant that you could swim in Him and have Him brush against your face. I am early in my story, but I believe I will stretch out into eternity, and in heaven I will reflect upon these early days, these days when it seemed God was down a dirt road, walking toward me. Years ago He was a swinging speck in the distance; now He is close enough I can hear His singing. Soon I will see the lines on His face."

I've been alone in a crowd for weeks. You can always get a handle on who you really are when all you do is meet new people. I am starting to understand how incredibly selfish I am. I spend all of my days completely wrapped up in what I want to do with my life, how something someone said made me feel, where I should move. It pains me to realize how I can't seem to make the right decision for fear of it being the wrong one, when what I should be doing is focusing on is something else entirely. I should listen more than I speak; I should feel more than I hurt. My shallowness astounds me.

It's so easy to slide around on your surface in a job like this- introductions are frequent, close friends are few, and solid conversation with someone who loves you is practically non-existant. Friends, true friends, hold up a mirror to your soul and remind you who you really are. When you're with your friends, you should be the best version of yourself and the worst version of yourself all at the same time.