Mary + Her Mental Health

Inside joke.

So Peggy was born just a few short years ago and last night we celebrated it! We went candlepin bowling!

For those non New Englanders who have no idea what that is, Nat's got a fairly decent explanation of it on her blog.

So I took this picture, and it stinks because Peg is totally cut off. But you can still see the adorableness, can't you?!

This is the guy who taught me how to use a camera.

Yes, Dad was there too.

Look at Peggy bowl!



Look at Peggy blow! (same letters as bowl, only rearranged! Cool!)




Nat and Ju, co-party planners, demonstrate the open mouthed smile. Always a hit. (And yes, that's Dad in the background still trying to make the camera go "shoot-shoot.")



Look at all those wacky bowlers!



I like Mooney. He cools me down after small altercations with bowling alley employee blockheads. Turnip heads, lazy, good for nothing...grrr.



So Peggers, this roll's for you baby. Watch out. Love you.

Guys, my brother-in-law made this video and it's so cute! Remember me mentioning my incredibly astute brother-in-law McKay? Well, here's his latest. Manda, hope it's okay to do this, it's just too good not to share.

Labels: love and stuff so

• I nearly lost my Better Cheddars on the Fung Wah.


• I had a Greek man swear to divorce his wife for me. I asked the man if he had any children, and when he said he did, I laid into him for abandoning his family and devastating his own flesh and blood, all because a blonde chick bought a gyro. I really oughta lighten up.


• I briefly met a woman whose home in Haiti was destroyed, along with all her possessions. This faithful woman was in church on Sunday and asked her leaders for a priesthood blessing. I don’t know if I’ve ever come across anyone with greater faith.


• I learned why Mamma Mia is thriving in Vegas. (Thanks for that one, Michael.)


• I have three fewer cavities in my head.


• I found out I’m getting another one of these September 6th. Is there some sort of support group out there? For those who have genetically-inherited drama-prone teeth? Dad, I really really love you. And I’ll be thinking of you at 3:30 p.m. on the 6th, as they scrape out more of my roots with their little pins with my entire mouth braced open like a square for two straight hours using a metal device that looks like evidence produced at the Nuremberg trials, listening to Jim Croce tell me what he’d do with the time he saved, and wishing the dental technician had remembered her Tic Tacs that morning. Kisses, Pops.


• I got these!

From only one of the most fabulous bloggers I’ve read. Nat, you get me. You just…you just get me. Because now I would deprive crippled children of their toys for you.

Have a lovely weekend, chaps!

If you search the words “vitamin” and “water” you will get 2.3 million websites. Including my blog. Vitamin Water costs about 5,000 times more than tap water. Some nutritionists would argue that vitamin-filled water products are only a ploy to make money. OF COURSE IT’S A WAY TO MAKE MONEY. This is America, and by that I mean we don’t have time to eat vegetables. All free enterprise is saying here is go ahead and not change that.

I have a close and personal friend who really struggles with the idea of something else being in her water besides water. She doesn’t do those vitamin supplements in her fruit smoothies either. Something about the imagined “grainy” texture. I pity her, really. It means she has to eat broccoli. She has to chew stuff. Chewing food is sooooo over with. Ask any runway model, they’ll tell you.

Frankly, I kind of like the idea of getting all our nutrients from a neon-colored liquid. It makes me feel like we’re that much closer to living in Star Trek times. First step, drink our food. Next, sleep in pods and move things with our minds. I heard they started an employee pod-sleeping beta program at Google headquarters. Very progressive.

I do, however, draw a hard line at putting vitamins in my Diet Coke.


Look. Diet Coke people. I know you’re following the trend here, and I deeply admire your already insatiable lust for the mighty dollar which compels you to get even more mo by jumping into the over-crowded vitamin-infused bounce house with your pathetic excuse for a health drink. But let me make something clear. And I think I speak for many when I say this. I drink Diet Coke because it represents what is my last remaining addiction to chemical stimulants designed to alter my state of mind in an unhealthy manner. So please don’t do anything to ruin that for me.

Julie, was this okay?

Labels: a little venting, random

This past weekend I visited my friend Michael. We went to Harlem and had Dominican Republic Ice Cream. Which was more like a really, really good slurpee served with a teeny tiny plastic spoon.



We caught the Dance Theater of Harlem Street Fair. They performed and we ate stuff like gyros, and shopped for very large earrings.



This here's Michael with his main squeeze, who by the way is completely rad. They are truly adorable. High marks, Michael.



We saw Mamma Mia! Standing Room Only is the way to see this show. You can dance through the whole freaking thing.






Here's one of Michael and me. We call it the "eager tourist" shot.



We worship Michael Jackson in Times Square...



Saturday night Michael and I performed an interpretive dance to Celine Dion in the GF's apartment. I don't have any photos of that. I'm not sure I want to.

A fantastic weekend, I really loved it. I really needed it.

Labels: fun, photos

Ladies and Gentlemen, please rise for the pledge of allegiance:







I pledge allegiance to the rat dog
of the United States of America
And to all the lamp posts, for which it marks
One chew stick, under the couch, indigestible
With endless yapping and Taco Bell for all.

Amen. Thank you.

Labels: random

"To be all that you can be, your only assignment is (1) to cherish your course and savor your own distinciveness, (2) to shut out conflicting voices and listen to the voice within, which is God telling you who you are and what you will be, and (3) to free yourself from the love of profession, position, or the approval of men by remembering that what God really wants us to be is someone's sister, someone's brother, and someone's friend."

In October of 1993 I was sitting in my car late at night, behind the Institute building next to campus, with this cute not Mormon guy I’d just met. He asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. He knew how heavily involved I was with performing, he’d seen me in a few things already. “Honestly?” I asked him. “I want to be a Mom.” I watched his face for any signs of recoil. Maybe to him I would sound unenlightened, too sheltered, too uneducated, too boring. But instead of a backspring out the passenger window and death rolling his way to the bus stop, he looked straight into my eyes and cracked the sweetest smile I’d ever seen. I had him. I had him for the next four years. Bad Boy met Mormon Girl, and both heaven and hell took turns rejoicing. But that’s a different story.

Momhood is my calling and I’ve known it forever. But balancing secular ambitions with this divinely-appointed stewardship has not been easy. How do you know when you’re closing yourself off to opportunities on either side? Am I making enough room for either to enter in? Dude, I don’t know! A few years ago, I stopped dating altogether and did nothing but music and theater. Nowadays, I hardly ever sing in public at all, but spend more time pursuing manly prospects. I don't know the practical meaning of a healthy balance, will someone please enlighten me? Actually, forget it. I'm sick of all of it. And by sick, I mean my inner soul stepping back and wretching a full-throated SCREW. THIS. I'm not happy with my countless attempts at and/either/or. Je suis finis. I toss your scurvy corpses out the tower. I shall take up weaving and be content.

No, not really.

The idea started back in January of this year, when I got my piano. I quickly acquired a few voice students, and the darndest thing happened. I found out I really like teaching. Then last April, I got the clear impression to prepare to leave my job. Over the next few months, things started to shift at work. Personal relationships in the office were tested, which only resulted in an increased incentive to look for another job. At first, I just started looking for other admin positions, but then I remembered something from a priesthood blessing. I was living below my abilities and talents, and the Lord wanted me to find better.

Teaching is such a high. It’s high-energy, high-focus. But it’s a thrill. Dad was right; when you want family, time at home, and music, teaching is far more rewarding. So I guess that’s what I’m officially choosing. With a little performing on the side, if you please.

I gave notice at work on Tuesday. When I told my boss, the blood drained from her face. She flashed the fakest smile to date and said, “Congratulations. I’m going to kill you.”

My job, by and large, has been pretty wonderful. I have amazing bosses. They give me flowers and chocolates and raises. The hours are easy, they tried to make the work interesting, the pace is ideal, and the benefits are beyond awesome. There is no logical reason whatsoever to leave this job. Okay….why did I just quit again?

I want to make something perfectly clear right now. I have no idea what I’m doing. This is all I got so far. I’m only stopping for clear, unequivocal divine interruption of considerable profundity:

Resolve One: Leave my job.

Resolve Two: Never take another full-time administrative assistant position.

Resolve Three: Accept the part-time position as piano/voice instructor with A* Music Studios in Boston. Yes, part-time.

Resolve Four: Gladly accept boss’ offer to continue working part-time temporarily at current salary until replacement is fully transitioned. Hours will be arranged around my teaching schedule.

Resolve Six: Build up private voice studio to 10 students. Um…anyone want voice lessons?

Resolve Seven: Prepare a 14 song set for performance. Get ready to actually sing in front of live people again. Capitalize on friendships with those owning guitars and audio recording expertise.

Resolve Eight: The right guy, when he gets here, will jump on board. No need to slow down for him.

Resolve Nine: 2 Nep. 31:20

Resolve Ten: Call Sally for a piano lesson. Or sixty.

I started drafting a post about quitting my job today. But it turned into something much bigger. In fact, I'm still not done writing it. It's getting a little long, so I think I'll have to break it into pieces. Here's the first bit:

My father is an elementary school music teacher. He’s taught music to probably thousands of kids for over 30 years. I’ve always admired Dad for plenty of reasons, and one of them is because of his choice to become a teacher. We’ve all heard the expression: those who can’t do, teach. But for Dad, teaching was not his only option. Not by a long shot. It was a choice.

Dad's a phenomenal horn player. He’s got the richest tone quality; he pierces a note right to its center, and the man is a phrasing genius. Dad won second chair for the Fresno Philharmonic Orchestra at the age of 17. I have no doubt he could have gone on to play for any one of the greatest symphony orchestras, touring all over the earth, and recording with the best conductors in the world. Dad is a true musician, who subconsciously executes those subtle nuances the trained ears pick up on and relish immediately. I love hearing him play. We basically grew up to a second horn part soundtrack - the faint song of a single french horn wafting through the doggie door of the garage, the designated practice room, night after night. He stayed with second chair because first chair would mean more practicing. Dad wasn’t up for that kind of investment, especially if the Giants were on t.v. I remember old colleagues of Dad’s stopping in for a visit, guys who were playing for Chicago Symphony or Houston, expressing their envy for my Dad’s chops. That really impressed me. Up until then, I thought all horn players sounded as good as Dad. I mean, all the horn solos on Clearly Classical were.

So if you were to ask him why he didn’t go the route of performing and travel and glitz, he’ll tell you point blank: he loves teaching. Teaching was more rewarding for him. For one, it allowed for a more stable family life, regular hours, so he could spend more time with us. For two, and more importantly, Dad put it this way: “There’s just something amazing about helping a kid learn to play music. You’re changing him in a way that will positively affect the rest of his life. He’ll be a better student, a better learner, a better listener - - he’ll be a better person. As a music teacher, you have a part in that.”

Most of my life, I never understood someone choosing a classroom over fame. I seriously doubted anyone would honestly do that. I was a theater major in college, and bent on becoming the next Sissy Spacek. Turning down the spotlight, if it was offered to you, made absolutely zero sense to me. If you turned it down it wasn't because you honestly preferred teaching. You were a coward, and nothing else. Everyone wants to be famous. Everyone wants to be known.

There are things I can do, and lots of things I can't. I can’t cook, I can’t geometry, I can’t fix a dining room chair, I can’t sew, I can't win a court case, I can't find my keys, and I can't stop talking - ever. But I can act. I can sing. And I can pass for a dancer on a good day.

Acceptance into Boston Conservatory was huge for me. Boco is a school for performing arts, and it’s understood that when you graduate you will be performing. Not teaching. That’s why the degree names don’t make a difference there, you don’t go there for academic credential. When you graduate, you move to New York and you start working. Most of the top-tiered students find work within a year. And by work I mean national tours, Broadway musicals, television and film. So yeah, to get in is a really good thing for your resume.

By the time I was in my second year, I had scored enough roles, and received enough feedback, telling me I could do this. I had the chops. With hard work, with persistence, I had a really good shot at being anywhere I wanted to be in the performing arts. Since the age of four I’d worked for it. Dance classes, voice lessons, acting lessons, workshops, theater camps, auditions, auditions, more auditions, a whole lifetime of this crap. And finally I was right there - - I had the training, I had the encouragement of all my teachers, I was a top student at one of the best performing arts schools in the country. I don’t know if I ever got to the point of someone actually offering me a chance at fame. But I came close enough. It felt like if I wanted it, it was there for the taking. And to my surprise, in my last semester of graduate school, I pulled a Dad. Well, sort of. What I mean is, I said no thanks.

I really wanted to know if I had the talent to make it as an actor. I think I learned that I did. And once I knew that, I didn’t want it anymore. So what did I want? What do I want to do with my life? What instead? Good question. It’s taken five years and counting to answer it.

Labels: deep and reflective, story time

So one of my new roommates (who moved in just last night) has a Freddy Mercury doll. And he sings a medley.





This is soooo going to work out.

I AM GOING.

Tickets go on sale August 11th. Who's coming with me?

Labels: fun

A friend and I decided to set up profiles on eHarmony. Why? For the blog. I do all this for you. It’s true. I’m not looking for dates, I’m good with that for a change. But I always need something to blog about. And my mouth salivated when my friend suggested an online dating profile. The entertainment value from one online dating account is sure to divert both me and…well really just me. Which is all I care about. Yeah, yeah, save the spotted tiger, stop the rain forests, yadda yadda. How many comments?! How many?! Two?! This world is utterly pointless if I get only two comments. I need more love than that. I figure in order to get the love, you gotta find the love. Cyber style. So here we go.

Pollyanna said Abraham Lincoln said: “When you look for the bad in people, expecting to find it, you surely will.” Wise, wise words. So here’s me proving that Abe is, to quote Alan Jackson, right on the money with that little phrase.

Over the last four days, eHarmony has “matched” me with a staggering 17 eligible bachelors. Oodles Boodles! I read all 17 profiles, and have extracted some of my favorite parts from each. I will mention only 10 bachelors, not because there’s nothing juicy to report from all 17 of them. I just think 17 is too long for one post, it’s overkill. If you really want to hear about the other 7, I’ll email you separately. So let’s begin:

Oh, and before I do, let me just say…the only thing I have edited is their names. Everything else is completely accurate, and I can prove it.

First we have Carl. Carl is 45 and lives in a rural part of northern California. The 3 things Carl is thankful for are God, his family and that he’s an American. Carl operates an RV Park and owns several mules. It’s like I was reading myself. A perfect bullesye, eHarm.

Next is Javier, 37 who stands 5’ 5”. The last book Javier read was, and I quote, “the left behind series the series about the apocolips.” Javier works with juvenile delinquents. I imagine the quotes from his “apocolipstick” reading he shares in group sessions would prove a powerful tool to get Tina to stop setting her mother on fire.

Tim, 36, thinks global warming is myth.

Casey, 37, is in sales, and says his personality is “what he does for a living.” What does that mean, Aristotle? You know what I do for a living? Seashore.

Orlando, 35, has six toes.
“…this little piggie had roast beef, and this little piggie had none. And this little piggie…oh. Um. This little piggy, and then this little piggy, went backpacking in the Adirondacks. And This little piggy pushed this little piggy off a cliff, who went ‘weee weee weee weee’ all the way down.”

Kevin, 45, keeps a personal autographed photo of Marie Osmond under his pillow. Blast. I don’t look a thing like Marie Osmond.

Michael, 31, and a school teacher, says: “I’am most passionate about kind and loving others.” And in case you thought maybe he’s just a sloppy typist, here is the next sentence: “I’am most passionate about music.” Michael also speaks Spanish and French. But no one understands him in those languages either.

Saul, 33, loves anything to do with eagles. Loves eagles. Also Tony Robbins. Also, “making it happen.” Also, there goes my lunch.

Adam is 40 years old, lives in the Silicon Valley, and lists three different high-profile professions under Occupation. Under “Who is Adam’s most influential person” Adam writes, “Heavenly Father, need I say more?” Yes, Adam. You really do. But first, take back everything you’ve already said.

Adam’s got a lot of balls juggling, he says, but never fear. “If there’s chemistry, you’ll be Priority 1.” Wow, really? Priority 1? I mean, if there’s chemistry, of course. Sure. I understand. Gosh, I mean…thanks. With all your balls…and stuff. It must be...juggling.

And finally, there is Sean. Sean, 33, says the first thing you’ll notice about him is his “…energy level. I am extremely high energy though I am also laid back and relaxed for the most part.” I know what you mean, Sean. It’s like with me: I’m a total narcolept, like I am always sleeping, but I am also like such an insomniac and unable to get any real sleep at all for the most part.

In conclusion, eHarmony’s field is white. Just four days, and what treasures! It’s astonishing to think, based on my four day experience with this company, that they actually reject certain applicants from posting profiles on their website. What kind of three-eyed homicidal hermaphrodite does it take to get turned down by eHarmony?

My boss’ husband, for one. He then went to Match.com and found the love of his life. They just celebrated their wedding anniversary, and couldn’t be happier. So, folks, the moral of this story, is….you tell me.

Labels: love and stuff so