I Am My Father’s Daughter

My dad and me, August 2011. The last time I saw him before moving to L.A.

When I look at the picture above, it’s insane to me how much my dad and I look alike. As I get older, I realize that we’re alike in more than just looks. For example, I seem to have inherited my father’s penchant for being late to everything. When I was younger, it would make me so angry, and I used to wonder how the hell my dad always managed to do it. Now that I’m doing it myself, I still have no idea. No matter what I do to be on time (setting two alarm clocks, leaving the house much earlier than I need to, having To Do lists so as to organize my time better), I always manage to get places a little late. Another inheritance? My love of debate. I will argue with anyone about anything, sometimes arguing points I don’t even believe just to see if I can do it. Because it’s fun. Because I grew up in a house where arguing with someone meant you loved them. My dad and I are alike in artistic temperament, in our love of learning, and our pride about The Things We Know. I see my father in some of my best qualities, and I see him in my flaws. But one thing is for sure – I am definitely my father’s daughter.

Which is why it hurts that I can’t talk to him anymore. For those of you who don’t know, my father suffers from dementia and has been in a nursing home for the past five years or so. While his health is pretty good despite several heart-related scares, his mind is gone. I wrote a piece about what that feels like like back in 2008 that’s still pretty accurate, should you care to read it, called Strange Country.

Before I left New York in September, I paid my dad one last visit at the home, which is where the picture above was taken. He barely said anything as my siblings and niece and Robin talked around him. I told him that I was moving to Los Angeles to try and be a television writer, and the news that his baby girl was leaving the state to pursue her writing dream was met with a blank stare and the sighed equivalent of “That’s nice, Dear.” This from a man who himself wanted to be a writer; a man who wrote three full-length plays in his late fifties and early sixties and shopped them around to theaters in New York; a man who wowed everyone with his poetry at a reading I organized. I didn’t cry, but I wanted to. It sucked that I couldn’t share my biggest news with him in a way that would get through to him.

However, my dad is never far from my mind as I make my way here in Los Angeles. Even though I couldn’t tell him about my move, or about being published in Whedonistas, or any of my other writing-related successes, I’m absolutely sure that he would be proud of me if he knew. My parents are much older than those of most of my peers, and grew up at a time and in a place where “following your dreams” was the last in a long list of priorities. As much happiness as there was in my dad’s life, there was also a lot of regret, particularly where writing was concerned, and a big reason why he was so gung-ho about sending me to NYU to study acting and writing was, I think, because he saw that I was completely serious about making a go of an artistic life, and wanted to live vicariously through me.

That used to make me feel pressure. It used to make me feel nervous about possibly failing and letting him down. Now? I know that as much as he would’ve loved Being a Writer, what he regretted most was Not Being Free To Write. It wasn’t about being a name or making money at it. It was about him never having had people tell him it was okay to do what he wanted to do. He’d always tell me that one of his biggest regrets was that, as much as he loved his parents, that they never really encouraged him academically. And telling them that he wanted to be a writer? SO not the thing to do as the oldest in a Puerto Rican family in New York in the 1950s. You either went to college for a “real job,” or you got married and got a job out of high school, or you joined the military. So that’s what he did. He did a term of service in the Air Force (pretty much between wars, so he never saw combat, thank God. But he DID see a lot of Greenland when he was stationed there for a year), he married my mother in 1960, and he had a respectable job with the Post Office for about 20 years and fathered three children. Then he started getting restless. He got his Master’s Degree in English Literature in the 80s, when I was a little girl. He studied abroad at that time, in Paris at the Sorbonne, allowing me to celebrate my 7th birthday in France. He changed careers a lot when I was a kid, and I think a lot of that had to do with him not being entirely happy. He was a TA at Touro College in their English Department. He sold real estate. But there was always writing, and when he started to pursue it more seriously in his later years, writing those plays or a collection of poetry, I helped him learn to type and taught him how to use a laptop so he could try to rejoin the writing world in an age of new-fangled technology. He tried so hard, finally finding the wherewithal in himself to just keep writing after a lifetime of not finding it in others. But by then it was too late. His mind started to go, and he eventually couldn’t write anymore. I didn’t appreciate what that meant at the time – I was too busy being annoyed that he needed me to explain how to cut and paste…again – but I appreciate it now, and it’s the thing that allows me to do what I do every day.

I’ve seen what happens when a person who needs to write, or otherwise be creative, stifles that in favor of the kind of life that everyone around you tells them they’re supposed to want. My dad didn’t want that for me, and I don’t want that for myself. And so I keep moving forward, despite the hardship, because I know from his experience that not moving forward, not living as a writer, would be much, much harder.

This Father’s Day, I want to say that I’m grateful for the gift of freedom that my dad gave me; grateful that he always let me know that living as an artist was okay if that’s what I wanted to do. It’s because of my dad that my life feels possible. It’s because of him that I’m not afraid of the insecurity that comes with this life, because I know that there are so many other things of which to be afraid.

To all the other dads out there who are giving their kids all their love, supporting them, and providing for them not only financially, but emotionally, I’d like to say HAPPY FATHER’S DAY! Particularly to my brother Kenny, who’s an awesome dad to my wonderful nephew, William, and my brilliant niece, Hannah. Speaking as a hard-core Daddy’s Girl, I’d be the first to say that I know just how important you wonderful men are. I hope you all have an amazing day today!

One of my absolute favorite pictures of my dad. I took this when I was 13 or 14, and my mom and dad and I went to Lake Ronkonkoma with family friends. He saw this lifeguard chair and just HAD to jump off of it! As was his way.

Helping Dad up after his “death-defying” leap.

Corn Flakes With Orange Juice

While I was supposed to be making potato-leek soup and a baked good to bring to the first annual Friendsgiving today with my BFF’s, I had to back out of those plans when I heard some sad news. The grandmother of Vanessa, my oldest childhood friend, passed away this week, and the wake was today. I was touched when Vanessa texted me to tell me, as we haven’t kept in the best of touch over the years, and I knew I had to go.

First, Doña Juanita, as I called her, was a huge part of my childhood. She used to watch Vanessa and me after school, and I was always over at her house to play. She was a fiery woman with an easy to spark temper, but she also cared about her family immensely, and was one of my dad’s closest friends (I guess great tempers think alike?).

That’s the other reason I felt compelled to go to the wake today. In addition to wanting to be there for my friend, and wanting to pay respects myself, I went because my father can’t, and I know that he’d want to if he could. It was a strange feeling, sort of being there as my dad’s representative. As Vanessa’s mother, daughter of the deceased, introduced me to people and explained how I knew the family, I felt the weight of history. Not just my own, but of a history that existed before I was born, when my father used to have a factory, and Doña Juanita used to work in it, and how my mother and Vanessa’s mother knew each other when they were pregnant with us, which is how she came to be my oldest friend. And now, here I was with Vanessa at her grandmother’s wake; my now-married-and-six-months-pregnant friend with whom I ate the orange juice and Corn Flakes concoction we stupidly served ourselves at her Doña Juanita’s house when we were about six after she made us finish it, yelling at us for wasting food. Crazy.

Also, today was the first time in a long time that I prayed a rosary. I’d forgotten how meditative it is. I have my own rosary here somewhere, and I’m going to find it. It’s a really helpful way to pray. And with thirty or forty people in a room all praying it for the deceased at once? It felt like our hearts and thoughts and energies were all working to send this woman directly to Heaven. Do not pass “Go,” do not collect $200. And we were praying it in Spanish. If it’d been a while since I’d prayed a rosary, it’d been even longer since I’d said prayers in Spanish. Yet there I was, reciting the Our Father and the Hail Mary in Spanish as if I’d never stopped. Yet another part of my childhood that resurfaced for the occasion. It was nice to be reminded of a time when Spanish-speaking culture was more a part of my life, as well as to be around people who remember me from when I was under the age of five.

I’ll be attending the funeral service on Monday morning, because I know my father would’ve wanted to attend that, too. If you think of it, send your prayers/good wishes to Vanessa and her family, as they’ve lost a powerful matriarch. Though, since she was 95, it’s not as if she didn’t live a full, long life! She’s earned a good rest.

RIP, Doña Juanita. You were truly a one-of-a-kind lady.

This Is Not My Dad

My dad circa 1993 jumping off a lifeguard station at Lake Ronkonkoma. Because he is SO that guy!

I have to say Thank You to all of you who read my blog post last night and reached out to me, as well as those that I saw reached out to my siblings.  A lot of you expressed that you wished there was more you could do.  Don’t worry.  Just reaching out is enough.  Seriously.  Knowing that I have so many people in my family’s corner is enough.  So again, Thank You.

So, my brother, sister and I went to visit Dad today.  While it was a difficult visit, it wasn’t a bad one.  He was conscious, and he seemed to appreciate the company even if he didn’t seem entirely sure who we were or why our being there brought him comfort.  We all sat with him outside his room in the hallway lounge area watching Forrest Gump and chatting.  I held Dad’s hand a lot and kept hugging him.  I figured if we can’t have quality conversation, which was the main way in which we used to show love, at least I could let him know I care by touch, you know?  Every now and again a word or two would escape his lips.  It was as if we only got to hear select words from a converation he was having in his head.

After a while, my brother and sister left, and I was waiting for Robin to pick me up, so I just sat for a while holding my dad’s hand.  Just sitting there.  I told him how my writing has been going, and I hope that some of it got in there, as I think it would’ve made him really proud.

The visit didn’t become difficult until his nurse came over to talk to me.  She mentioned the fact that every time he talks about his children, he always mentions a little girl, and that he “seems like a Daddy’s Girl kind of a father.”

He is.

And that’s when I kind of lost it.  Well, I didn’t lose it exactly, but I did start to tear up…because she got me talking about the kind of father he is.  And about the fact that he’s really intelligent, and how much I hate it when people talk to him in a patronizing baby voice when he has a fucking Master’s Degree that he earned, in part, at the Sorbonne.  He’s trilingual, and made it a point to learn 4-5 basic phrases in, like, 30 languages just so he could make polite conversation with people in restaurants or on the street and brighten their day.  He’s written three plays and a book of poetry.  He used to read the New York Times every day and finish the crossword puzzles.  I told her that if he mentions traveling around Europe, or being in the Air Force, or anything of the sort that it’s not just crazy talk.  He actually DID travel in Europe, and he WAS in the Air Force, and a lot of the things he continually goes back to aren’t just things he’s made up, they’re memories.  It’s really important to me that people know that.  She made me feel better by saying that she knew he was an intelligent, educated man the day that they talked about Jamaica, where she’s from, and he was telling her things about Jamaican history that she didn’t even know!  She looked them up later and realized he knew what he was talking about.  I was so glad to hear her say that…

Because right now that’s my biggest frustration.  The fact that, even though the body is the same, this is not my dad.  He hasn’t been for a while now, and that sucks.  The nurse asked if we’d ever taken him outside the home for the day, and I told her that we’d taken him out to dinner once but it wasn’t exactly the best idea ever.  The thing is, my dad was always really proud.  He never even told us (well, me – I don’t know what or when he told my siblings) about any of his health problems until well after the fact, because he didn’t want to “worry us.”  He is someone who would never admit he needed help until he absolutely needed it…like when he admitted to my brother that he should probably be taken to the hospital, which was huge.  So, I wouldn’t ever want to take him out to a function or to a restaurant even if he were healthy enough to go outside…because he would never want to be seen like this, and I wouldn’t want to do that to him.  People coming to visit him in a place where he can get immediate care is one thing, but I wouldn’t want to parade him around like this.  I think he’d hate that.

More than anything, I miss being able to TALK to my dad.  I used to talk to him about everything, and as I got older, our conversations got more interesting.  It broke my heart that I’ve had so much good writing news in my life recently, and I can’t even really tell him about it.

So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my Real Dad.  The dad who was lucid.  The dad with whom I could talk about theater, and books, and my artistic endeavors.  The dad who would take me on trips.  The dad I used to argue with all the time about everything from politics to why my “being a girl” has nothing to do with how late I should be able to stay out.  The dad who, despite that way of thinking, was a hugely feminist influence in my life, because he never doubted that I could do anything – from being a nuclear phycisist to being a writer – and he always made sure to get me dolls AND chemistry sets.

The dad who insisted on jumping off a lifeguard station at Lake Ronkonkoma just to prove to me that it was nothing to be afraid of.  I can’t remember if I jumped that day or not, but I know that any assertiveness I have at all comes from my dad.  And if repaying him for that means visiting him more often to hold his hand as he’s wincing in pain and struggling to form words as he’s lying in a wheelchair, then that’s what I’m going to have to do.  Difficult, or not.

Bad News Doesn’t Stop For Good Days

So, I was all gung-ho about my online release party tonight, but had to postpone it, because about 10 mins before I was about to go on, as I was applying some make-up and changing my shirt, I got some bad news and I suddenly didn’t feel like throwing a party.

Bad news doesn’t stop just because you’re having a good day.

So, my father’s health has rapidly declined.  Long story short, his heart is now only working at 15-20% strength, and he’s going to begin hospice care at the home tomorrow.  Code for “keeping him comfortable until his heart stops.”  What’s frustrating is that this is apparently “indefinite.”  He could go any day, OR he could go in several months.  It’s the not knowing that’s the worst bit.  Actually, there are a couple of things competing for the Worst Bit:

* I was just thinking “I haven’t seen my dad in a while!  I think I’ll visit this weekend!”  Now, I have to.  And I’m going with my brother tomorrow.

* From what I’ve been told, my dad is barely responsive right now.  I was told “He responds to his name, but that’s about it.”  So, I’ve waited to see him, and now he might not even know that I’m there.

* I feel bad about being disappointed that I couldn’t do my book party tonight.  As if that’s in any way important by comparison.  But it was to me, and I was really looking forward to it.  The thing is, my dad is a writer, and if anyone would understand the importance of that event, it’s him.

Well, there’s nothing I can do until tomorrow.  Needless to say, Teatime With Teresa has also been canceled tomorrow, as I’ll be going to see my dad then.  I was debating whether I wanted to blog about this…but I’m a writer, and this is how I deal with things.  So, there.

You should know, however, that copies of On The Ground Floor ARE available for purchase if you want one.  I would’ve liked to announce it with more fanfare, but there you are.  Check out the details at the link in my sidebar.

Also, I have a new Facebook fan page.  If you’re already my friend on Facebook, do me a solid and “Like” my fan page, as I’m hoping to eventually have THAT be the place where I post my writing links and stuff, so I can keep my personal FB page separate (though they’ll probably never be completely separate…). And, as I only friend people on Facebook that I’ve met IRL, for the rest of you, this is my only Facebook presence, so head on over there.

Tonight, I’m doing laundry, drinking Mike’s Hard Lemonade, and eating ice cream.  That’s about the extent of what I feel like doing right now.  My phone won’t be back up and running until tomorrow, but if you know me, I certainly wouldn’t mind Gchatting tonight. 

Oh, and after Jerry’s done watching Supernatural, we’re going to play some Rock Band.  Which is good, as I usually play the drums, and I could really stand to hit something repeatedly right now.

If anyone has an in with Tony Stark and can get my dad an arc reactor, that would be awesome.

Party Weekend

It's amazing what a professional make-up job and my favorite hat can do!

Getting used to Brooklyn.  Money’s tight, but you’d never know it from my social schedule! One of the benefits of being a writer with lots of awesome people in your life is that there is always somewhere for you to eat, drink, and be merry gratis.  Life as a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants, 21st Century bohemian has its privileges.  Now, all I need is dental insurance… 

FRIDAY NIGHT - Was invited to a party thrown by ChinaShop on Thompson Street, NYC.  Knew I was invited because I’m a new recruit on their writing staff.  What I didn’t know was that this party was part of the beginning of Fashion Week. So I go to this party not knowing anyone, get my hair and makeup done there at a special station they have set up for it by their cosmetics and hair product sponsors, and wander around with a drink in my hand watching the models and stylish people go by.  Free vodka/Red Bulls all night!    At first, I was a bit uncomfortable.  I’m usually not one for Standing-Around-Holding-A-Drink parties.  For me, it’s either stay home and drink with friends, or go out and dance.  However, a couple of key things happened that made my evening hella enjoyable.  (Did I just say “hella?”  Really?)  Met my editor at ChinaShop, who is freaking rad!  She’s so full of fun, and tatted up to boot!  This is a woman I can write for!  She introduced me to her assistant and her photo editor, and I met another cool NYC-based contributor.  Suddenly, I knew people at this party, and all was well.  Then my friend Olga, whom I’d texted earlier, showed up looking fabulous, and I had a drinking partner!  And just like that, there was a fabulous steak dinner, and a DJ that started later in the evening so we could shake our shit.  Oh, and then there was the dude who started hitting on Olga incessantly, and when he couldn’t get anywhere with her because she’s happily married, asked me for MY number.  That’s classy, guy.  Thanks, but no thanks.  I’m not interested in being anyone’s Sloppy Seconds.  My ass is too fine.  All in all, a great night out with some awesome people.  Total amount of money spent all evening: train fare.

Me and Olga after a long evening of dancing, drinking, and deflecting unwanted advances!

SATURDAY NIGHT – Robyn’s birthday celebration!  Jerry had reserved a booth at The Delancey on the LES of NYC, and I went ahead with decorations and a cute candy cake he’d made her to set up before the party.  Sadly, I received a voice mail message from my brother as I was blowing up balloons saying that my father had been taken into the emergency room and admitted into the hospital with pneumonia and possibly a blood clot near his lung.  There was nothing I could do, and my brother and sister were at the hospital as Dad got care, so I stayed at the party, but I couldn’t really get into a party mood despite the unsolicited drinks purchased for me by lovely gentlemen.  I had a bit of fun hanging out with Robyn and my mutual friends, and the DJ was playing some great music, but I left before Robyn and Jerry to come back to the apartment and wallow in worry without spoiling anyone’s good time. Total amount of money spent all night: train fare.

SUNDAY NIGHT – the most ROCKIN’ party of the weekend! My niece, Hannah’s 3rd Birthday party! Not only did I get to hang out with my fabulous nieces and nephew, but I got to meet my sister-in-law’s nieces and nephew, and they were all so great! There was ice cream cake and cupcakes.  There were gift bags.  It was a kick-ass time, and it’s always great to get a good chunk of my family in one place. Also, I got to take home food.   I will post a couple of pictures soon wherein you can see that HANNAH IS MY CLONE.  Seriously, if I didn’t know that it’s physically impossible, I’d think she was me as a toddler.

And as of now, Dad is doing all right.  Thanks to all of you who expressed concern!

Right, then.  To bed. Busy week ahead!

Top 10 Events of the Decade

With 2010 upon us, we’ve been subjected to every sort of “Best of the Decade” list.  Lists for Top Songs of the Decade, Top Movies of the Decade… That made me think about my life in the past 10 years, and I realized that during that time, the time of my life between the ages of 20 and 30, more has happened to me than ever in my life.  I suppose it’s the same for everyone.  Our 20s are the first time when we are adults who can make things happen for ourselves, and in that time we experience the most change we’ve ever experienced.  I’ve had a really interesting decade!  Here are my Top Ten Events of the Decade:

Dad, Me, and Mom at my high school graduation - 1997

10. MY MOTHER PASSES AWAY – After many years of diabetes and heart-related health problems, my mother passed away in 2006, and this event gets the #10 spot, because it was the very worst thing to happen to me this decade.  Losing a parent is always difficult, I’m sure, and in my experience it’s especially difficult when you’re still in your twenties, and you’re not completely the person you want to be.  It’s especially difficult when you’re not in a relationship, you’re still “aspiring” to your chosen career, and you haven’t yet gotten to show your mother that you’re going to be OK; that all her work, love, faith, and sacrifice for you was worth it in the end.  You can only hope she knows that you loved her, that you miss her, and that she might have been proud of you even if you weren’t done cooking yet.  Losing her made me reevaluate everything: my relationships, how I live my life, what I believe, how I choose to behave and treat people.  I think that I’m a stronger, better person now that I was when she first died, but that didn’t happen without a lot of floundering and missteps.  For better and for worse, this event is probably the most responsible for making me the person I am today.

9.  MY FATHER GOES INTO A NURSING HOME – He’d been slowly deteriorating in health and becoming forgetful for a while, but when my mother passed away, it was as though something in my father’s brain cracked, and from then on there was a quick downward spiral.  One night, he asked my brother to take him to the hospital because there was something he needed to get checked out, and he was never able to come home.  It was clear that his dementia wouldn’t allow him to live alone, and neither my siblings nor I had the resources or space to take him in ourselves.  What’s so sad about this, is that my dad was always the person I talked to about the things I love most: writing, theater, politics, art…when I was acting, he was the one who got the most excited about my plays, and when I wrote anything, he seemed so proud.  He was always reading something, or doing a crossword puzzle, or watching the news, or trying to have as much of a social life as possible.  He was the person in my family I was able to relate to the most.  Now, conversations with him are cyclical, and can only last for 15-20 minutes at a stretch before petering out.  My father is still here, and I still love him, but I also miss him.  Even though he’s still alive.

I actually know these people.

8.  MY JOB IN PUBLICITY – I started the job as an internship while in college.  When I graduated from college, it was my first post-student job.  It’s the job I have now, and I’ve had it on and off for about 8 of the past 10 years.  As much as I’ve complained about it for various reasons, I owe so much to this job. I’ve learned so much about the entertainment industry, about dealing with people, about being a strong woman in a demanding field, and about being true to myself.  I’ve been lucky in that I’ve had a boss who, even if she sometimes lectures me or makes a face when I ask her for something, usually gives me what I need if it’s within reason.  I’ve had a boss who’s let me wear casual clothes to work for most of my working life, and I’ve had a boss who’s treated me like a friend.  I’ve made a friend of our colleague with whom we share an office, and the three of us have kept each other sane, and often laughing, as we go about our work days.  This job’s been full of ups and downs, but all in all, I’ve been very, very lucky to have it.  And despite everything, I continue to be lucky.

Graduating from NYU! Nicole, Dayna, Me, and Anne - 2001

7.  GRADUATED FROM NYU – I had made the conscious decision to study two extremely useless careers in college – Drama and English Literature – and by golly, I stuck to it!  I wasn’t anywhere near the overachiever I was in college that I was in high school.  In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize that I didn’t particularly enjoy college very much.  However, I AM grateful for how independent NYU made me.  You kind of had to be to survive, because unlike other college environments, NYU wasn’t about to hand you anything.  While I was primarily a Drama major, I made most of my best friends – Liz, Jean, and Katie in particular – through my English classes; though there were some notable exceptions (I’m looking at you, Dayna – not only a good friend, but my first roommate after college!).  I performed in plays, had some very interesting experiences (ritalin and alcohol shouldn’t mix, but they work wonders when you’re trying to write a 10 page paper on Hamlet overnight), had some quality teachers, and had time and space in which to grow.  I suppose that’s what college is for, isn’t it?  So, in 2001, I sat in the sweltering heat with a couple hundred other graduates, listened to Ang Lee speak, and graduated with a BFA in Drama (with a double major in English Lit).

Halloween party at The Revolving Door Commune - 2004

6.  I MOVE INTO THE REVOLVING DOOR COMMUNE - My friend from NYU, Beth, put out the word that she was looking for a new housemate in this 5-bedroom house she was renting in Astoria.  I was living with Dayna on the other side of Astoria at the time.  She was a great roommate, but if I took Beth up on her offer, I could pay $100 less a month in rent for a bedroom about 3X the size of my shoebox of a room in my old apartment, AND I would be living in a proper house, not an apartment.  I couldn’t turn it down.  So I moved in in June 2003, and I’ve been living here ever since!  It’s been one of the most insane, tumultuous, and also rewarding and fulfilling experiences of my life.  It earned the nickname “Revolving Door Commune”, because roommates have tended to come and go.  Once Beth left, and I took over the lease, I’ve gotten to know all sorts of people and experience all sorts of new situations all without leaving home.  Living here, it’s like the world comes to me a lot of the time.  I’ve realized that I love living with people.  Whenever I describe my situation to others, they always look at me like Wouldn’t you be happier getting your own place?  But I wouldn’t.  I’m too used to having people around.  I’ve gone from living with my parents, to living with roommates in college, to living with one roommate, to living in a flophouse, and I’ve come to love the bustle of having lots of people in the house.  Of course, there are times when it gets to be a bit much – you can’t have lots of people in a house without tempers flaring (haven’t you watched The Real World?) – but there are always times when no one is home except me, and I get to have the place to myself in peace and quiet, and I can always escape to my room when I need to.  But right now, I have absolutely no need to live anywhere else.  I’ve come to love our home and the makeshift family we’ve created.

5.  BOYS, BOYS, BOYS – I’ve been a late bloomer about just about everything.  I never dated in high school.  I went on my first actual date when I was 18, and there was no second.  Then, when I was about 23, I went on another date.  Then about a year later, I went on another.  Then there was another.  Then there were a couple of random make-outs.  Then there were more than make-outs. There were attractive guys, and there were not-so-attractive guys.  There were deep loves, there were mediocre crushes, and there were guys I fooled around with just because they were there.  I’ve never been in a long-term relationship, and I’m certainly not a Man Magnet by any stretch, but when I think about it, my twenties weren’t entirely bereft of male company either.  As much as I complain about this area of my life, I haven’t done shabbily, all things considered.  And in the past two years, men have seemed to come out of the woodwork in a way they never have before.  Here’s hoping 2010 leads to more of that! 

Me and William at Ann's baby shower! Sometimes, he likes smacking me in the face...

4.  WILLIAM, COLLEEN, AND HANNAH – While my oldest niece, Caroline, was born just before the beginning of this decade, 2000-2010 saw me become an auntie to a brood of Jusino/Murphys.  I have loved watching my Nieces Pieces and my little nephew grow and change in the past 10 years…and they’re still growing!  Caroline is thisclose to junior high, she’s got braces, and is a heck of an athlete (swimming and basketball, mostly).  William is a sweetheart, autistic and a bit hard to handle sometimes, but also incredibly loving, very smart about certain things, and quick to smile once he’s warmed up to you.  Colleen is Caroline’s opposite in that she’s a girly-girl, but she’s also obsessed with video games and has a machine-gun laugh that cracks me up.  Hannah is just starting to be an actual person.    She loves everyone, is very bright, and is always quick to get in there and participate with whatever’s going!  I love these kids, and I’m looking forward to seeing what the next decade has in store for them.  Caroline legally drinking??  William and Colleen in high school??  Hannah starting to go through puberty???  EEEEK!!! 

Me and some other students in the Dublin NYU program on a day trip at Blessington Lakes in Co. Wicklow. Note that I'm hiding my non-Baywatch self behind my friends.

3.  STUDY ABROAD IN DUBLIN – One of the most life-changing experiences of my life was studying in Dublin in the Spring of 2000.  I had originally auditioned for the Study Abroad drama program in London, but got rejected and was SO upset.  I got waitlisted for Dublin, and ended up signing up for that program instead.  At first, I thought it couldn’t possibly be as awesome as studying Shakespeare in London.  I could NOT have been more wrong.   I loved, loved, LOVED Ireland – the people, the city of Dublin, the theater community, the literary history…  Because we were the first Dublin program NYU had ever had, there were some snags at first – NYU housing wasn’t complete when we got there, so we ended up living in a homey bed and breakfast on Aungier Street called The Staircase most of the time (home of the oldest staircase in Dublin!), then got apartments across the street from Christchurch.  However, these snags meant that we weren’t insulated by the university establishment.  We got to just live in Dublin like the locals.  There was Trevor, the 40-something undertaker who lived in The Staircase and hung out with us at the pub.  There was the time that I tried to bring food to a hungry family living in a trailer park, and ended up being humbled by having a group of ungrateful 8 year old boys take it instead.  There was the party with Irish film students at Jim Sheridan’s house in Dun Laoghaire.  James Joyce Tower in Sandycove.  Having the dialect coach at the Abbey Theater compliment me on my flawless Galway accent.  Seeing Ralph Fiennes perform Richard II in London.  Being inspired by a wonderful acting teacher, Michael Caven.  Being inspired in an entirely different way by my classmate, Sara Barron, who without realizing it, taught me about the kind of outgoing, boisterous person I wanted to be.  Oh, and then there was smoking pot for the first time, accidentally drinking a fifth of Jameson’s, passing out, and throwing up all over an antique bedspread that NYU had to pay to have cleaned.  Ah, college.  Dublin was an amazing time.  I look forward to going back someday.

Adam and I at the NYC RNC protest march in 2004

2.  MEETING ADAM – I am lucky in that I have a lot of amazing, long-standing friends.  I might have crappy luck in my romantic relations, but it’s balanced out by the fact that when I make a friend, I tend to keep him/her forever.  Of all the friends I’ve made in the past 10 years, the one who had the greatest impact on the most areas of my life has been Adam.  He answered an ad I placed on the NYU alumni list serve in 2004 about a room for rent.  We hit it off immediately, and we chatted in the living room until about 1AM about everything from politics to Star Trek.  After he moved in, we became closer friends, and about 3 or 4 months after meeting, I confessed that I had a crush.  It wasn’t reciprocated, but I was let down very gently.  In the years we’ve been friends, we’ve seen a lot of ups and downs, but my friendship with him has done more to teach me about myself and the world than just about anything else.  It’s because of him that I’ve been able to let my geek flag fly – not only did I have someone to talk Star Trek with, but he introduced me to comics.  We all know where that lead…  It’s because of him that I’ve met a LOT of my current friends – Liz#2, Lindsay, Alana, Ruth, Evan, Dana, Justin, Diana, April, Carsen, the folks at the dance studio, etc – all wonderful people that never would’ve come into my life had it not been for him.  It’s because of him that I realized that silence doesn’t always mean tension (sometimes it’s the purest way to just be with someone), reticence doesn’t always mean one doesn’t care, reading stories aloud is an amazing pastime, non-monogamy isn’t always negative, and consensual violence can be fun.  He joined me in collaborating with Stone Soup, and ended up writing me the best role I’ve ever played.  It’s because of him I went on an amazing trip to France for a month.  It’s because of him that I know that my heart is the strongest muscle I’ve got, stronger than I give it credit for.  He was one of the strongest shoulders I had to lean on when my mother died.  He helped me wrap my dog in a blanket when she died, and patted her on the head and endured her living here even though he hates dogs.  And even though it’s difficult for him to tell people how he feels about them, he’s always ready with a kind word, or sound advice when I really need it.  And the fact that we’re still friends, even after everything we’ve been through, makes me think that we’ll continue to be friends through the next decade and beyond. I’m very grateful.

Me at 4 years old, valedictorian of my nursery school class. The first time in my life when I knew I should be a writer.

1.  MAKING THE DECISION TO WRITE – Two years ago, I had an epiphany.  I decided I wanted to pursue writing fully, giving it my complete attention.  For years, I had been a hyphenate: an actress-writer-producer, but then I realized that I couldn’t do any of those things well if I pursued them all at once.  Since I made the decision to give myself over to writing, opportunities seem to have fallen from the sky.  I started writing for Pink Raygun, which not only gave me the opportunity to write about stuff I love, but gave me two wonderful friends in Lisa and John, and allowed me to go to my first conventions and interview all sorts of geeky icons.  I got accepted to the comics section of PopMatters.com.  I have a paying column at Examiner.com, and I’ll be writing for Tor.com in the coming year.  I’m also in loose talks with an editor about a book on geekery.  I’m more motivated than I’ve ever been, and I’m currently working on a webseries, which will be followed by a first draft of a novel.  This decision earned the #1 spot on my list, because it is the thing that will carry me into the next decade.  Hopefully, it’s the thing that will make the rest of my life.

To Be Continued…    Here’s to the next ten years!