Thanks for the reminder!

The big question. Why am I so scared to see this guy, this weekend? It's not just about this guy, but everything this guy symbolizes. Reading was where I became ill, and one could say, it was in part due to him. With this guy, this was my first foray into performing. When I moved away, I pretty much abandoned the idea of performing for years. He was the one that got the wheels turning, putting the idea into my head about moving to New York.

In Creative Writing class, I would write many stories about the two of us running away from this awful town, to Manhattan. Mrs. Becker said I had a lot of promise, and that pulling out Tic Tacs in class was unsophisticated and inappropriate. She's dead now.

This was the place, where I quickly realized I was so different. Now, I treasure that, I wear it as a horribly disfigured badge. But as a young teen, being different is your key to the Gates of Hell. Theatre and music were the only places I felt accepted. And I was good at it. This guy reenforced everything good and wonderful about me.

The first time I met him, we were working in a summer improv class. I'd never heard of Improv before, but I thought it was easier then memorizing lines. He was this tall and lanky Hispanic 13yr old, and horribly sunburned from being at the Jersey shore for Independence Day. There wasn't anything spectactular about him. I'd never met a boy that enjoyed theatre and singing and acting.

He went to Parochial school, and lived in a pretty crummy part of town. Our parents didn't really approve of the two of us, due to religious reasons, among other things. But we were just kids, nothing could come of it.

School started in the Fall, and I began auditioning for community productions around the county. At auditions, I'd be on the lookout for him or ask about him, but nothing came of that.

Eigth grade was one of my most difficult years, with being Bat Mitzvahed, being in two shows at once, band & chorus, my father losing his job, and the illness now running my life. When I performed, it never was an issue. I thought I'd never hear from the guy again.

That summer I entered the same improv workshop again, and he was there. Everything came rushing back, times 10. We began speaking on the phone, every few nights. Unfortunatly, I couldn't function in the program this time, and had a mild breakdown during rehearsals. The director called me, the day before we opened and told me I was out because I was "mentally unstabile". I'll never ever forget that for as long as I live.

I moved back to Philadelphia, a few months later. Our phone calls began taking place on a nightly basis. One night, I told him I loved him. He didn't reciprocate the feelings. Of course we were just kids, how could we know what love is. I knew.

When I found out I was going away to school, the understanding was that I would be unable to have easy access to my friends and my life in Philly. I wanted to close certain chapters in my life, so I could open new ones.

A few weeks before I left, he came down. I'm not sure what I was expecting, and I figured out what he was expecting. After he left, I burned the only photo I had of him, and went on with my life. As far as I was concerned, he was poison to me and I couldn't have that at this point. I was trying to get well.

As I became older, I slowly but surely forgot about him. I no longer sought out people showing similarities to him. I quit this stupid obsession.

But with every major step forward (finally learing to drive, working full-time, loosing 100lbs, accepting myself, giving up medication, and moving to New York), I thought about him. Where would I be, had I stayed in Reading. Had we grown together. I know, I wouldn't be here.

We found each other a few months ago, on Myspace. We're very different from the way we were 10 yrs ago. And we're polar opposites of each other now. That's a comfort to me, because it makes this a bit easier.

I swore to myself, I'd never go back to Reading. It was a horrible place, and I've blocked so much of it. When I made my millions, I wanted to buy the theatre I performed in, knock it down, and build a Bennigans. Reading never had a Bennigans. I really didn't think it would take this guy to bring me back to the place where it all began.

It's Murder on the Dancefloor

It's tough performing eight shows a week, two matinees. For me, it's part of my daily existance. Alltering myself to fit someone else's needs, must make one feel quite good.

One of my roommates is such fun, a real treat to be around. I look forward to coming home, and chatting all evening with her. I haven't had a friend like her in I don't know how long. We share some common interests, enjoy each other's company, and continualy make one another laugh, but we are fairly different.

She invites me to hang out with her friends, friends she's had for years. Right away, there's a bit of resentment and contsternation towards me, but that's understood when someone new invades the sacred sanitarium of friendship. These girls are very cool. They treat me well, and I feel they've accepted me, to a point. I think they feel I'm not a threat towards them. I'm safe. Reliable. Square. And to a point, that's true. But it's tiresome trying to prove to someone who's not of the same fiber, that a Square can coexist with a Hipster.

My roommate invites me to places, I wouldn't typically be clamoring to go to. But, I moved to the City, wanting to expand my horizons, experience new things. I come with her, simply because I like her company, and I'd love to get to know her group a little better.

This evening, we went to a dance club in Williamsburg or Greenpoint. It's all the same to me. The music was so loud, the lights were so bright, the people were so hip, I quickly lost my ability to keep up this charade. I desperatly wanted to leave, but I hung in there, for the sake of my dignity, and my social life. I followed my roommate, like a scared child lost in the mall, but she was all right with it. She made sure I didn't become lost, which I appreciate. Unfortunatly, she didn't realize I was lost the moment they stamped my hand at the door.

I left, and her friends seemed to support this decision. "Here's an easy way to the subway." Although my roommate was concerned, I didn't want my departure to hinder her enjoyment in any way.

I just walked the vacant streets of whatever pretentious town I was in, just telling myself not to show any emotion. I wanted to get lost, I was so hopeful I wouldn't find the subway. The lights of Manhattan teased me from across the river, and I knew I deserved that. I deserved it, because I shoud've known better.

Although scared and saddend by my poor choices, I pressed on. I refused to ask for help; I was determined to make it out of this on my own. And like other obsitcles in my life, I made it through.

Wallow in my sorrow, if only for a moment. Like a cocaine buzz, this to shall pass.

Join me this evening, at 8 at UCB for some Krompf. Thank you to those that made the previous evening, so blogable. Now, I'll go to my lunch table, and you go to yours. In ten years, we'll laugh about it - well, I will when I tell the story on Conan.

Oh, and you'll be happy to learn Jack-Ass is offically over and done with. But I am concerned for him. Emotional impotance is a very real problem in today's society; the Mental Health field has grown leaps and bounds, and I'm sure the right medication for your social disease, is out there. As for your physical impotance, again let me point you into the direction of proper medication. And please take comfort in knowing, I had the dubious honor of being the first person "bed" on your bed since you moved to Brooklyn. It's strange, because you weren't even in the room at the time. Nella guerra delle parole, vincerò sempre. Vaffunculo. L'Estremità.

Little girls, little girls; everywhere I eat, sleep, and breath them

Today, I'm a commodity. I'm being "shared" by two families. In the "biz" we call this a Nanny Share. In reality, this is what the Confederate party was fighting for. Normally, the mothers coordinate the share amongts themselves, leaving the Nanny somewhat out of the loop. Here, I'm the liason between the two because they don't get along with each other.

The two girls know I care for both of them, and they are aware I act a particular way with each one. I'm very careful not to play favorites; it's really easy for me to care for 2 or more kids at a time. I just prefer multiples.

Switching gears slightly, I forgot to explain myself for my somber behavior at Cage Match last evening. On the way home from work, I got on the "6" train at 77th St.. I like the "6" almost as much as the "4". I typically take the "C" to the "L", but the crosstown bus was sitting there, looking helpless, so I hopped on. At 33rd St, a small group of Asian NYU students got on, and squished up agianst me. There was plenty of room farther down the bench, but whatever. Suddenly, the girl right next to me opened up a small Tupperware container of food. Weird. She began eating what appeared to be a small salad, and was gesticulating like mad with her fork. She was making me very uncomfortable. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something shiny in the container. It was scales. To a fish. Oh, crapp I though I was going to be sick. I then noticed something else - an eye. The freakin fish this broad was eating, had an EYE!!!!!!! The man sitting across the way, asked me if I was allright. I said yes, why? He replied I was turning green. The women finally realizing my discomfort, apologized and moved. I got off at the next stop, Astor Place, and proceeded to vomit outside the Starbucks facing Cooper Union. I'm sure I'm not the first person to spew into a trash can in the East Village.