The Cincinnati Blues

There are hills everywhere. Metaphorical, sure, but also LITERAL hills EVERYWHERE!

When your grandpa talks about walking to school uphill both ways he is referring to his childhood in CINCINNATI.

I got a library card today. The Clifton (my part of town) branch has some lovely eccentric staff that loves reading and life!

And then they saw my driver's license (you have to show ID to get a card), and the comments came pouring out:

"Oh, you're from KANSAS?! I bet you hear 'You're not in Kansas Anymore' a lot."

"Did you ever have a dog named Toto?"

"Do you click your heels to go home?"

"Are you as corny as Kansas in August?" (An obscure Rogers and Hammerstein reference I was surprised and delighted he knew)

I suffered through it all good-naturedly before picking out a Steve Martin book and heading on my way. They were very helpful, though, they even ordered a book for me.

It just hit me, as I was sweating profusely on the climb ("walk" seems too mild a term) home. I miss Kansas. Beautiful, FLAT Kansas.

There really is no place like home.

I miss the gang (the people at the group home for the developmentally disabled that I worked at). Of course I was watching Hulu and one of my favorite shows had a DD character on it. I bawled like a baby.

I miss my friends.

I miss improv. I miss laughing really loud and not getting weird looks.

I smashed my finger in a door a week ago and it is still numb. It's starting to freak me out.

At least my roommates are cool. One is teaching me French, one is a lover of fine Bourbon, and and the third is a delicious, yet healthy, cook. They all go to bed REALLY EARLY, though.

We went for a wine tasting tonight. It was fun.

Now I'm at home with my $1 Turkish Coffee ice cream that was on sale at the IGA in my neighborhood (really, THIS is my Firday Night in the Big City?!). I have a neighborhood now, for the first time, a distinct section of town known as Clifton, or my area, the more refined Gaslight District of Clifton; but I don't feel at home. Not yet anyway. I am either in awe of my surroundings or feeling like I'm barely treading water.

What I really need is something to do. Some good, old-fashioned WORK.

And maybe a trip to the doc about my finger....

Another "Date" with my "Bro"

On the car ride back to my apartment I apologized.

"Sorry I've been texting you so much, I just don't have any other friends in Cincinnati. I feel bad, because I feel like I'm bothering you...."

What I didn't say: "I feel bad, because I called you awkward to your face when I was drunk (on Friday), and I made you hold my hand so I wouldn't fall or get lost downtown." (What can I say? I feel very comfortable with people, especially dudes, and I forget that some people aren't as comfortable--aka bold--as I am)

What he said: "That's okay, you'll get to know more people and you won't text me as much, but we'll always be friends."

How is my Tour Guide so awkward and so spot on at the same time. For once, he said the right thing at the right time. This was after complaining about his snotty sinuses the whole night, but I'll give the guy a break.

Tour Guide texted me today during the best nap ever (I begrudgingly pulled myself outta bed)so we could go to a local record store together that was rated in Rolling Stone as one of the best in the nation. It's called Shake It Records, but that's neither here nor there.

He was looking to buy music festival tickets, and I was looking for a record player. He SAID he would buy me a ticket to the festival, but he ended up copping out. It didn't bother me because I knew he would.

First he came up to my apartment and met my roommates and saw my place and had a glass of wine. It all felt very formal and date-ish, which was not my intention, and he was proportionately awkward. My distaste for him was growing...

And then we got to the music store, and it was like something out of an indie movie. We played with the toys, he pretended to record me with a toy film camera, we laughed, we discussed music, and then he bought me a beer at the tavern across the street. He was introducing me to people, as he has been, and it felt very date-ish, in a good way....

Then he announced he was having dinner with his ex (that he talks about too much) tonight.

Damn it all.

That's what I get for thinking I could charm the clearly un-charmable.

I'm just going to stop trying and settle into my role as the quintessential bro.

I guess I could be like other girls and keep hoping that someday my prince will come, but we all know that when he does we'll drink beer, high five, and then he'll ditch me for the girl he's actually interested in. Some prince.

We ended the night lingering in my apartment doorway as I gave him sinus medication and a high five. Oh lord, I'm lame.

A Night Out in Cinci

I rode a Segeway!

I danced at a giant dance party!

I drank beer from Ohio!

Cincinnati has turned out to be fairly fun so far, thanks to my tour guide, who has the awesome nickname of Chainsaw. He knows EVERYONE, and I have met so many new people such as Segeway Guy, Farmer Henry (also known as Hot Henry), and so many more.

Segeway Guy works at the segeway store and gave us all a tutorial last night in the bar parking lot. It was so fun, although I was a bit frightened, Bo (who came to visit me from Columbus) was a natural.

We went to Oktoberfest, but it was lame, and we ended the night drinking water at a diner. I smashed my fingers in the bathroom door pretty good, but I don't think anything is broken. My poor fingers.

It was so good to see Bo. It's always good to see Bo, like an espresso shot of confidence. I am a destroyer of worlds when around Bo. I can do ANYTHING! We stayed out until 4 am, and then we went and got brunch this morning at this awesome place called "It's Just Crepes." We had the crepes.

Bo introduced me to Ikea today. I was overwhelmed by the hugeness of it all and underwhelmed by the overly-modern design aesthetic. I prefer more vintage-y, less-clean lines. Everything was just a bit too sleek for me, although I will by a cow skin rug there someday. That seems like the Kansas thing to do.

My tour guide, Chainsaw, is a bit of an odd duck. Everyone I meet I seem to hit it off with and we talk and laugh and tell stories, but not Tour Guide. He's always inviting me to things, and offering to help show me around, but he's either awkward or impossible to charm. He doesn't laugh at my stories, he doesn't even flirt in the way new acquaintances do in order to make faster friends, and I get the feeling when he invites me to a music festival, he legitimately just wants someone go to the music festival with him.

Ladies and gentlemen, I believe I have my first Cincinnati "bro."

Sure, I find him attractive enough, and he's a great connection, but it irks me how impervious he is to any of my endearing qualities. I can usually charm a whole room of people in 30 minutes flat, but he just seems a few steps behind, or maybe it's indifference, I don't know.

I thought I got out of the bro-trap in Kansas, but here I am, 600 miles away, and still one of the guys.

Being bros is easy for me, it's comfortable, and I'm not opposed to a Tour Guide Bro, in fact, it's very convenient, but I'm wary of getting stuck in that same cycle.

I guess it's time to buck the system.

The Greatest Love of All

Here I am Cincinnati! It's wonderful to meet you.

New city, new me. At least that's the plan.

I'm a million miles (actually 600) from home and completely out of my element. I'm getting settled. Learning the shuttle schedule, finding my classrooms, organizing my new place, meeting my new roommates....

I'm ready for my life here to start. What will Cincinnati Tricia be like? I can't wait to get to know her. I know that sounds silly, I know myself, but it is definitely a transitional period for me.

I love life right now. I love that I got into grad school and by some amazing grace of god (and a lot of support from my Ma) I actually got to go. I love that I live in a city...with a Nordstrom Rack. I love that I don't have to drive to school. I love that I get to do theater for at least 3 more years. I love make-up. I love my new apartment (even though my calves are burning from going up an down the stairs in my 3-rd floor place). I love the weather here, and the hills, and the trees, and the restaraunts.....

But there is one thing. One person, who I love, more than anyone else in this world. Who understands me like no one ever has and will, and will not be part of my life here in this new city: My Mom.

My Mom (Ma). My partner in crime. The one who shares my tears and laughter. The hardest person to please who will love me even if I fail. The most judgemental of all my friends. The person I can call at 3 am but will be pissed that I'm calling at that hour. The other half of my favorite two-person team.

If you know me, you probably know my mom, at least through stories. Everyone who talks to me for any length of time at all will have to suffer through a "My Mom is the Greatest" rant at some point.

I always say my Ma is much cooler than me, and that I hope to be as cool as her when I grow up. Sure, she changes into her pajamas right when she gets home from work (I think the only other person who spends so much time in a bathrobe is Hugh Hefner), but she's also crashed a wedding, and married a drummer, and risen above every adversity with so much grace it's almost sarcastic. Like, "Oh that horrible thing? It's outside with the old pop cans."

My mom had to start her whole life over a few years ago. It wasn't easy, but somehow she managed to come out of it more herself than I'd ever seen her. It was amazing to see all she could be when given the chance. At a time when I was struggling, trying to hold on to my old life that didn't exsist anymore, she was pushing forward like a bull toward a matador, and she let me ride on her back. She carried me, without knowing it, and sometimes I lead her, with my red cape, not even caring that when we charged it often turned out that nothing was there, just as long as we were charging. Together.

Now we are apart. As I type she is on the road back to Kansas getting further and further away. We shared a tearful goodbye, and she said, "Just because the team is apart doesn't mean we're not a team."

Thanks, Ma. For everything, big and small. I wish I had enough to repay you, but even my love isn't enough. All I can promise is that I will make you proud.

And that love can bridge even 600 miles.

Couples

I don't understand how couples work.

As a certified genius (no joke, technically my IQ says I am, but I've never been a strong believer in standardized tests) this simple joining of two people in a committed relationship should make sense to me, but it doesn't. I am totally and completely baffled by it time and time again.

I can see when two people would be good together. I can pinpoint qualities of a healthy relationship. I can even figure out when one of my relationships needs to end (and in record time compared to many of my female colleagues). What I don't get is how to become a couple. And once you've become one, how do you stay that way?

Sure, I've been in a couple before. I've even been happy for a while in coupledom, but I've never been in a relationship that just seems right.

Does no one else get that sinking feeling like if you don't jump ship right now you'll go down with it?

I see couples all the time that just seem right together. There's my ex who has the girlfriend who looks like she could be his sister, and my art friend couple with their weird old-fashioned names; and they all seem to get along famously. There's also my couple friends who work because they are opposites, like both my friends named Amanda who got married to the perfect guy for them this year, because they were everything Amanda (plural) was not and vice versa.


I've dated guys who are just like me and I found them annoying (wait a minute, am I annoying?), and I've dated my opposite and been so bored I literally fell asleep during a date. To be fair, I'd been working long hours and was really tired, but STILL!

I've also seen girls who just take on the personality and tastes of whoever they are dating. As a former actress and lover of new things I think it is fun to dip into someone else's world, but ultimately my personality is far too strong to be consumed by someone else.

I just feel like that big puzzle piece in a jigsaw puzzle that, try as you might, you can never find where it goes. Yeah, it goes somewhere, but where? Is it the ear of the puppy, or a piece of the flower, or the corner of the sky? You'd think it'd be obvious, but it's not.

Maybe if I just figure out who I am...

But I KNOW who I am and I am full of paradoxes. I'm a girl who loves football and Vogue. I'm a make-up designer who drinks beer and does improv. On my list of favorite movies is both "When Harry Met Sally," and "Romeo + Juliet," alongside "Children of the Corn," and "Taxi Driver." I could easily spend an hour fixing myself up to go out or making a 9-foot beer bong. (Both have led to an exceedingly fun night). I like hiking and spa pedicures. I sing opera and love punk music. I can sew a beautiful dress, but have burned canned soup. I read like it's going out of style (it is, I know) but get annoyed with "intellectuals." I'm from a no-stoplight town in Kansas (and love it), but I dream of working on (well, behind, underneath, etc.) the biggest stages in the world. I am totally irresponsible (my Mom's words; but losing my keys, cellphone, mind....is a daily thing) and yet completely driven and goal-oriented.

Where does someone like me fit? The crass, high-fashion, loud, wine-drinking, opinionated, theater lover?

How do you match that?

Sometimes I feel too big, in every sense of the word, to fit into a couple.

I wish there was a standardized test on how to be a couple. I rock at those.

BEST. WEEKEND. EVER.

I went to my old home of Emporia for my old bossse's wedding, and had the time of my frickin' life.

Friday
I arrive around 2:30 and do some serious catching up with my old neighbor and prodigy, Emily. We go to the school to visit the director of theater, and as soon as I get up the stairs Em says, "I like how you just checked the callboard. Nothing pertains to you, you don't have to check it anymore." Old habits die hard.
I got a great compliment from the director of theater, he said "Those people (aka the people I work with who have developmental disabilities) are so lucky to have someone with a heart like yours working with them."
I almost cried.
Then we all meet up for dinner (3 of us opt to drink our dinner). The drinks are flowing and the laughter is easy.
Then we head to the rehearsal dinner for free/awesome food.
Then we drink more, and laugh more.
Then we go to the bar.
Then we crash two parties and abduct a new theater student and corrupt him during our night of debauchery. We just pull up and yell: "Hey Bieber (he has Justin Bieber hair, don't remember his real name), get in the car."
"Yeah, and bring your beer!"

I hardly bought a drink all weekend.

Saturday
We nurse our hangovers with a little hair of the dog and head out to the rugby field to watch a game. We all proceed to get sunburnt and show up to the wedding with red skin and horrible tan lines in our pretty dresses.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
After the game we go to the rugby party. If you read about the last rugby party you know how ridiculous they can be. Naked men, free beer, raucous singing. It's basically the best thing ever. However, they had just got their asses handed to them and had several players who had to go to the hospitable, so when we arrived the scene was downright subdued.
We get a couple pitchers and I holler. "What is this a effing dinner party? Well, I forgot to wear my ballgown so put out your candelabra and let's drink some effing beer!"
Games of flip cup and zumi zumi followed thereafter. I gave one of the poor rookies the nickname Sunshine and it stuck. I did a little verbal smackdown with the biggest guy there, and he actually dug it, I don't think he's used to back-talk, being a behemoth and all.
While still riding our buzz we get all fancied up for the wedding.
Lovely setting, perfect weather, and a reception with free food and this delicious raspberry champagne drink that I drank copious amounts of. Don't drink lots of champagne, it makes you feel awful.
But I had red lips and a rugby player as my date (he's actually one of my good friends, like a girlfriend--he hates it when I say that--but on the other hand he looks like a Greek god with his shirt off). He even danced with me even though nobody else was, and I was drunk enough not to care.
He told me I looked nice and everyone made fun of me when I blushed in spite of myself. Even though I think of him like a little buddy, when someone who looks as good as he does without clothes on gives you a compliment (oh and did I mention he's super-smart and rich and still manages to be a real stand up guy and not a douche?) even gals like me who are "one of the guys" are gonna blush. Good faux-date.
Then we went to the bar.
Then more people I hadn't seen in forever showed up.
The night became a giant love-fest with compliments and "truth bombs" as I like to call them (you know that thing that everyone's thinking, but no one says? I like to let loose with that stuff like it's Hiroshima) flying left and right. Everyone was hugging and laughing. My friend James (a girl) kept screaming, "I'm a Fucking Legend!"
It felt legendary.
I ended the night eating tortilla chips with one of my best guy friends, Essay (I call him that because he's Hispanic, and his name is Jessie) and talking until I passed out. I had the walk of shame minus the shame this morning. I can feel autumn in the air.

It's the end of an era. It's really over now, my time at ESU.

My old theater guys gave me some advice and well-wishes in refernce to grad school. They told me to "Break Legs," and "Kick it's ass."

I cried a little as I drove home.

How can anyone else possibly be as great as this group of friends?