A little less than a year ago I had a conversation with my father about drugs. It was a spontaneous conversation that took place over a slice of pizza & it honestly escapes my mind how it began although I do remember NOT initiating it...

My dad, a caddy-master for a resort island in Charleston, was offered marijuana by a golfing group comprised of a lawyer & 2 doctors. He was telling the story to me because he found it humorous & my first question, naturally, was "did you take it?" He said "no." Then he added a "but" to the answer that drove us into what will remain one of the most unusual conversations I have ever had with my father. "But I would have if I didn't think I would have gotten caught." Now, I may be paraphrasing but I know that whatever it is my dad did say - it held the same sentiment. I dropped my slice of pizza. "What?" He continued "well, I mean I'm not against it. I've done it with Mike & the guys watching football." I was stunned. Not because my dad had, in the very recent past, smoked weed but because he was volunteering the information so willingly to his 23 year old daughter. Mind boggling at first glance but if you'd met my father, not so surprising...

Then came the real killer. Seeing my visible shock, my dad asked "What's the big deal? I don't do it a lot. I don't buy it...." after a long pause "you do it right?" I laughed. I'm laughing as I type this. I'm laughing thinking about other people reading this because the reality is, I don't. I haven't. I've barely even had what would constitute as a valiant attempt at "trying it." My father was shocked. "Oh, Mick, I wouldn't be mad if you had. I was sure by now that you had given it try, experimented a little. Every kid does. Now, don't get crazy or anything but I would have thought by now..."

Disbelief. This time at myself because I realized that I actually had managed to make it 23 years (20 of which I didn't even know what weed looked like) without smoking.... I suddenly realized how strange it was. I started asking myself why this had happened. I remembered the 2 circumstances I had been in where I would have smoked but something happened that prevented me (the first time a friend called to have me pick her up from a precarious & much more important situation than the one I was in - the second, I fell asleep before they started smoking). The only time that smoke actually entered my body was when someone tried to "smoke me out" - a phrase that clearly admits my less than impressive pot knowledge. It didn't work.

Anyways, back to the story. So my Dad gives me permission, in some sense, to experiment with the drug that at 16 would have gotten me kicked out of the house. I tell this story to people as a joke now because it is rather humorous. It's the moment when your parents become "real" to you, opening themselves up to their children. Gratifying moments like this are what make life come full circle, if only in that story.

But I have to take this somewhere else, somewhere darker. Look at the story as an anecdote. Now I have to tell you my real intentions. A close friend of mine had a close friend of his die of an overdose. Obviously not weed as it is, in the realm of things, a milder or more harmless drug. Cocaine was the culprit this time. My friend was crushed - and rightly so. Drugs are so scary in their ability to transform someone, rendering friends and family helpless & scared. Death is hard enough to comprehend without adding the added frustration that comes with understanding addiction.

I prefaced the previous paragraph with the story about my father & I to reveal my lack of exposure to drugs or that lifestyle. But for so many, drugs, hardcore ones, are part of daily life. I can't even imagine this. Literally.... I can't even picture what that would be like. To see powder, needles, blood or decaying body parts like a collapsing nose or ruined forearms on a day to day basis. It saddens me. It makes me want to do something. Immediately.

I don't know where I wanted to take these thoughts other than to put them out there. Maybe someone reading this will stop worrying about which seasonal latte to get from Starbucks for a moment (I'm not bashing that decision because it can be difficult), maybe someone who has lost a person from drugs will find comfort in the concern that the average person has in that struggle as well.... I don't know. But I do think about it, for whatever that is worth.

Below are two links. One to a song, a beautiful song, because I think love can cure all. The other is to a dance that is about drug addiction & is equally beautiful. Enjoy : )

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yOkjB8Jy3uc

Anthony Hamilton - Dear Life

Hey! I know you....

It's true what they say about celebrity sightings in NYC - they're prevalent. Especially if you work in the hospitality industry or frequent the blocks between Park, Madison & 5th Ave. Since I've been here (a measly 30 days) I have walked directly passed Adrian Grenier, sat a party of 2 at a table directly next to Spike Lee & company, stood back to back with A-Rod (although I have to admit this was unknowingly) & helped a friend of Josh Harnett's locate him in a crowded jazz club (he is really frickin' tall). A friend of mine has held conversation with Derek Jeter (also unknowingly until she walked away) & my roommate & I were unlawfully stopped on the sidewalk outside the MoMa because there was "stunt filming" taking place that involved Matt Damon.... the joys of living in the city.

Personally, I'm not one for being star-struck. I met Bruce Willis as a child & Kevin Costner when I was a senior in Charleston. The experiences affected me little other than to note that there is a this strange feeling of "connection" that comes with meeting a celebrity. I mean, I could swap celeb sighting stories with every New Yorker & a fair share of other people as well. But it is strange when you consider the individual who really really REALLY gets attached to the idea that "I sat next to Justin Timberlake at a coffee shop" or "I was at the club that Samantha Ronsen DJ'd at last night!" There's something less obvious to their excitement than the competitive nature that comes with relaying stories like the ones above. It's not the typical "let me one-up you on the celebrity-encounters front." No, on second glance there is a very real, oddly powerful connection that these people feel to this, in reality, perfect stranger they have just (barely) interacted with.

I find it fascinating. What is it about brushing past someone who has more money than you, more notoriety than the majority of the population will ever have & less interest in talking to you than the barista at Starbucks that makes people go CRAZY to admit they have experienced it? I mean, all opinions aside about who your favorite actor is, which member of the Pussy Cat Dolls you'd rather meet (which is actually a mute point considering no one really knows any of them except Nicole who really should just go solo) or what you would do if you ran into Lindsey Lohan on the street (punch her? launch the nearest sharp object you could find?), I think it is more rewarding to see a siberian tiger at the zoo than pray for the luminary of the latest reality TV show or Friday night box office slam to walk by you on any of NYC street corner...

Although, it is admittedly "cool." All I'm saying is don't act like a 13 year old asian child that saw Obama wave as his caravan drove by (this really happened. She started crying....) Oye.

Cheap Fun

What to do when you're bored..and broke...

1. Walk. It's free, it's good exercise and I promise you will notice something different every time you walk the same block.

2. Google yourself. Then google your friends. This assumes you have a computer and/or internet connection, of course. Even if you don't, that's what libraries are for. Let the google in you take over...

3. Go to a museum (the free ones). My personal favorites for NYC: The Brooklyn Museum, Guggenheim Soho & the Dahesh Museum.

4. Start a blog. Ha. Yes, do it. It's good for the soul.

5. Learn something. I don't care what inspires you to do it. Maybe you always wanted to know what Mick Jagger's childhood was like or what it really means when you see Free Tibet signs. Whatever it is, research it. (again, Internet at the library is free).

6. Get a copy of AM NY & do the cross-word. You will immediately feel small...

7. Clean something. Your room, refrigerator, your computer's hard-drive. You will feel rejuvenated.

8. Find something free like a writer's workshop or a book-talk at Barnes and Noble.

9. When all else fails, facebook stalk or respond to those emails you've been meaning to for weeks.

Getting Evolved

I apologize in advance for what many people call "heavy" writing. Perhaps spending too much time at home, thinking, wheeling, bargaining with the "job God's" who seem to have nothing in store for me has left me in a deep, dark world of thoughts I can't escape even if I wanted to. Lightheartedness is a foreign concept to me of late. Thank the Lord I still have my sense of humor though...

The mental debacle I find myself submerged in today was spawned by a phone call a few days back. A phone call from the dreaded "ex." The phone call, itself, wasn't so much the dreaded part. Not even the content of the conversation either. It was this weird, looming feeling of loneliness that gradually picked up strength in the days that followed. Until, finally, today I felt like I was being laughed at via some "Truman Show-esque" camera I couldn't see. Let me explain...

This "ex" in question is THE EX. He is the "love of my life," "shit, how will I ever get over you" guy that existed high-school through college & during the trials & tribulations that follow suit. I love him. He loves me. These two facts remain & always will. But that's precisely why we can't seem to figure out anything else. Despite dating other people, forcing each other through hell & back, neither he nor I can get this right. NOT talking to each other feels painfully unnatural. However, talking to each other leads to confusion, heart ache & the occasional angry outburst. This is not to say it's always bad. In fact, its quite the opposite which is why it is so irrefutably ridiculous that he & I never get our shit straight. We spend a few days conversing, emailing, texting, talking. It ranges from pleasant to wonderful. We laugh, we miss each other & then eventually make the comments that will lead to our downfall in the ensuing days. "I still love you," "we are just like a storybook," or "we can figure this out." Kiss of death.

A keepsake box I have under my bed combined with a folder, discreetly positioned on my hard-drive contain letters upon letters of thoughts - good & bad - to him, from him, about him. Ones he has seen & ones he never will. I've gone over our relationship a million times in my head trying to figure out when we really messed up. When we lost everything for good. Really, there is no exact moment. There was just a lack of effort on one of our parts at different times that meant the other person was pulling all the weight. Anyone who has been in a real relationship knows you can't fight for it on your own. It use to be that I would always bring it back to the fact that we loved each other & that should be enough, despite it being our biggest problem. We loved each other too much it seemed.

Then it dawned on me that while loving someone is a monumental feat, it doesn't exclude the fact that you will likely love something else more. Like yourself. Or your independence. For me, its myself. For him, its his freedom. I don't mean that I care about myself more than him because I don't. That's selfish. I would & have sacrificed all of me for him & for our relationship. I just mean that I love my sanity, my hopes & dreams for a relationship more than I love the dream of making things work with him. For him, he cherishes his freedom. The ability to do what he wants or deal with things in his own time. It's nearly impossible for him to see that when you are in a relationship, you're no longer on your time schedule. You have someone else counting on you, waiting on you, rooting for you.... your decisions affect them just as much as they affect you. He never really grasped this.

Now, a few days have passed & I'm once again left with this all too familiar feeling of defeat. Except I'm 900 miles away from where I usually am which is both a curse & a blessing. I can't see him. I won't see him. But I'm also terribly alone - more so now because I realize I have left him behind in a way I never thought possible. He will always be a part of me. But he isn't the active part of me. He's my past. He's who I was, not who I am. I'm growing up. Maybe.....

MK

Pop the Blog Cherry

I suppose I should start by explaining the title of my blog. My second weekend in NYC was also my roommate's birthday. Being that Lexi is a fan of the Zac Brown Band, she found out they were playing that Saturday night and asked me to go with her. Loving a good live concert and thinking this may bring me a piece of Charleston, I obliged.

It rained the night of the concert which made it borderline miserable trying to venture into unknown parts of Manhattan in search of Terminal 5, the venue of said concert. But we found it and managed to make our way inside where a sea of semi-wet and wholly smelly people were awaiting the start of the show.

Somewhere between the 3rd and 16th songs, I started daydreaming about possible titles for an autobiography-taking for granted the fact that I would ever BE that famous or important where a biography would be necessary. Regardless, the title of this blog was what I came up with.

Next natural question: why? In a nut shell, because I'm a chameleon. I can hang with the guys watching a football game and eating a burger but I can go shopping with my best friends and advise them on the latest trends in shoe-wear. I can, and often do, play many roles. This is what makes me, me. But it's also what makes me impossible to predict and difficult to hire. What I view as an "ability to adapt" or "take on various roles" others look at as a recipe for inconsistency. Even the potential for boredom. SO not true!

Ok, who am I kidding-it is kind of true. I do get bored easily and because I hardly every really know what I want (don't blame this on my age, it's Micky-ism more than a 20-something's curse) I am doomed to see myself as a successful nurse, actor, playwright or even business owner. In short, I really think I'm good at whatever I want & what I want is usually whatever I think is cool for the moment. (I usually define cool by some standard of random inspiration that happens when I met or see a person who is successful at whatever occupation I listed above). This is not met to make me sound flaky or worse, out of touch with reality. It's meant to show you that I completely believe that a career choice can be self-suicide if there is not room for fluidity. I much prefer to pick up on my emotional or personal strengths (like the fact that I'm good at organizing or that I like to be in control and I love to teach, well, anything). These offer more insight into the skills I think are necessary to "decide" what I want to do with my life. But I digress....

"Slamming Whiskey, Sipping Wine" is more than a testimony to my down-to-earth, girl-next-door, cliche personality. It's also a vague admittance that I do, in fact, have a schizophrenic tendency to change my style, opinion and interests daily. I admit this is not such a desirable trait. There are, however, traits I will never change. My sense of loyalty (I am unwavering loyal), my need for independence (have you met the women in my family?), my love of animals, shoes and traveling (obsessions, really) or my need for a creative outlet (even if a painting will sit for months, unfinished, in my room). These qualities will never change. They can't. They're engraved in my DNA.

My alcoholic beverage of choice - always changing ; )

Shots all around!

MK