Posted by: Trisha Leigh | February 2, 2012

Hang On To Your Gnome!

Come along for a little trip down memory lane…via my thought process.

On Tuesday The CW (of which y’all know I am a BIG fan. BIG. HUGE.) announced a couple of pilots they green lit for the upcoming season. One of them caught my eye, because it’s a book adaptation* and also because the story is being pitched as “Hunger Games meets The Bachelor.”

Here’s The CW’s official logline:

The Selection
Logline: Based on the forthcoming series of books by Kiera Cass, The Selection is an epic romance set 300 years in the future which centers on a poor young woman who is chosen by lottery to participate in a competition to become the next queen of a war-torn nation at a crossroads.

So…a bunch of girls competing for a single boy, winner takes all? Any guesses where my mind went IMMEDIATELY?

RIGHT. FREAKING. HERE.

I hope that scene is in the television show. Or that Prince Harry decides to try something similar. I’m just saying.

Happy Hunting!

 

*disclaimer: I have not had the opportunity to read The Selection (but I want to), and this post is not intended to be any sort of commentary on the quality of the novel.

Posted by: Trisha Leigh | January 31, 2012

I Have Made But One Mistake

I wrote this post a couple of years ago, but I’m pulling it out again because this is the story that inspired the novel I currently have out on submission with agents. It’s this very true tale that kept me going, that drove me to write even when the research was a massive headache. If the novel ever appears in print, it will be dedicated to these two people, who died over two thousand years ago, but reached out and whispered their story into my ears.

In relationships, timing is everything. At least, that’s what they say. It’s probably true. Just ask Berenice, last in the line of the Herodian rulers of Judea. After all, falling in love with Titus, the Roman general (soon-to-be Emperor) who sacked her country and killed close to a million Jews was probably not the best idea.

But since when has that had anything to do with love?

The Romans were the victors in 70 C.E. As the ones left standing, they won the right to record what happened. Unfortunately, what that means is only their versions of events remain. Several contemporaries of Titus and Berenice told the story of their affair. None of them referred to it as ‘love.’ The Jews were not in vogue, given the fact they had just instigated a lengthy and expensive war. And though the Herods weren’t exactly Jews, they weren’t Roman either.

Berenice and her family gave large sums of money and threw around a substantial amount of influence to get Vespasian, Titus’ father, the job of Emperor. In the months and years to come, her good intentions and the motivations behind her generosity were turned against her.

You might remember a woman named Cleopatra. According to Roman history, Cleopatra was a deceitful, conniving, power hungry, foreign woman whose female wiles nearly destroyed the moral fiber of Rome forever.

Sound exaggerated? It always has to me.

Disease, pirates, bandits, inbreeding, internal power struggles, and hundreds of armies were no match for the solid foundations of Rome, but one woman…she was going to ruin everything? It may sound silly, but the Romans in 70 C.E. were weaned on those stories of Cleopatra, and they harbored an inherent and intense dislike of foreign (especially Eastern) women. The attitude spilled over to Berenice.

Shortly after Titus returned to Rome from Judea, Berenice and her brother followed. She lived with Titus in the Emperor’s palace, and by all accounts acted as his wife in every way. Cassius Dio (Roman History, LXV) even goes so far as to say she had been promised marriage by 75 C.E.  Several writers (aka, historians) of the time noted their relationship, and all agree it dissolved when Titus caved to political pressure and sent her away. Berenice returned one more time, perhaps at his request, when he assumed the throne after the death of his father in 79 C.E. She stayed only a few short months before he was again forced to send her back to Judea. His image and his effectiveness suffered due to her presence, forcing his hand.

In addition to long standing rumors Berenice and her brother practiced an incestuous relationship, she was cast in the role of the power hungry woman who would stop at nothing to marry Titus and rule over Rome. Politicians, playwrights, philosophers, and cynics publicly slandered her character. It would have been nearly impossible for Titus and to recover and polish her image.

Titus died unexpectedly in 81 C.E. after ruling for only two years. He is remembered, along with his father, as one of the most well liked Emperors in Rome’s history. His short two-year rule was dotted with major events like the eruption of Mount Vesuvius and destruction of Pompeii, a massive fire burned a large portion of the city, including important landmarks, and perhaps most famously, the completion of the Coliseum. He did his best, stayed cool in the face of adversity, put the people first, and knew how to kick back and relax.

Berenice disappeared from the historical record after Titus dismissed her for the last time.

There is absolutely nothing to suggest Berenice was after Titus for any reason other than love.

There is also nothing to suggest she wasn’t after him for his power and influence, like the Romans believed.

Precious little information remains regarding Berenice. She was powerful in her own right, a fact attested to by her contemporaries. That a woman was mentioned in official record at all is proof she was both influential and respected. So were the (all male) historians leery of her because she was a beautiful, powerful woman, or were their suspicions founded in fact?

As a female, I know one thing. For all his admirable traits, Titus was the last man in the world Berenice should have fallen for. Historically, she was devoted to her people, and loving him was an egregious betrayal. Also, being rejected not once, but twice, smacks of real love, especially for a proud and powerful woman used to having her own way. She had plenty of money, comforts, and influence in Judea. I just can’t see her going to him a second time for any other reason than actually needing to be by his side.

Maybe I’m wrong. I’m not a power-money-prestige hungry woman myself, so perhaps you think I just don’t understand her. For some reason, though, I have always felt as though I do.

Titus’ last words were allegedly, “I have made but one mistake.” The historians (all men, remember?) believed he regretted allowing his younger brother to live after an ill-conceived assassination attempt. The romantic in me, the woman in me, wants to believe he referred to Berenice. That the only regret he had was giving in to the pressure, for choosing his country over true love. He wasn’t the first person to do so. He certainly wasn’t the last, either. After all, his actions seem to point toward real feelings as well. He knew how his advisors and the public felt about her. Why ask her to come back a second time? For what other reason than he needed her, missed her?

It’s the never-gets-old-ill-fated-lovers tale. Romeo and Juliet. Heathcliff and Catherine. More recently, Edward and Bella (except they got the happy ending). Why does that story never get old? My guess is because most people can relate to it. If timing is everything, most of us have experienced a relationship that would have been amazing…five years earlier. Ten years later. If he wasn’t the Emperor of Rome. If he wasn’t undead. If his family didn’t hate mine. If he wasn’t a dense asshole (oops, how did that one get in there?).

I love the story of Titus and Berenice because it’s real. Even through the gauzy curtain dotted with sparse details, I can feel their pain. I believe it was real, their love. I can’t wait to keep writing so more people will know them and feel the exquisite anguish that must have been theirs.

For poor Titus, whom I have always liked, but mostly for Berenice, who’s mouth has been sewn shut on the subject for two thousand years. In Heartstrings I rip those ugly black stitches out of her lips and give her a voice, a story, and the chance to finally tell her side.

One day, I hope you all get to hear it, too.

Posted by: Trisha Leigh | January 26, 2012

Please Do Not Attempt This At Home

There are a great many things that are better in the stories.

One of them has got to be love triangles, because heaven knows I have trouble making room for one other person in my life, never mind two. Also, when I like someone (a rare thing), I can’t imagine liking someone else at the same time. The confusion! The freaking energy it would take!! I have no idea how on earth these poor girls, faced with the destruction of their lives or the honest to eggs end of the world have the time for any such nonsense.

That said, these situations make for a compelling read. Everyone loves to take sides, and an extra boy (or girl) means everyone has someone to root for.

These love triangles, though, follow a pattern. Even though there many, many stories that differ in plot, tone, and character – there are really only two teams.

Team Known Entity

def: These boys are your best friend. They make you feel safe. They’re the ones your mother would approve of, the boy next door, the one who you’ve always known but suddenly see.

Famous Members of Team Known Entity

Dawson Leery (Dawson’s Creek), Jacob Black (Twilight), Gale Hawthorne (The Hunger Games). See also: Cal (Hex Hall), Cal (The Notebook), Mark Darcy (Bridget Jones), George Tucker (Hart of Dixie), Riley (Buffy the Vampire Slayer).

Team Strange and Mysterious

def: This boy sparks your curiosity. Their eyes promise adventure, maybe danger, and the most intoxicating thing of all – the idea that at his side you could be part of it all. Sometimes they’re dangerous, other times they aren’t, but either way they have the unique ability to make you see the world, and maybe yourself, through different eyes.

Famous Members of Team Strange and Mysterious

Pacey (Dawson’s Creek), Edward Cullen (Twilight), Peeta Mellark (The Hunger Games), Archer (Hex Hall), Four (Divergent), Noah (The Notebook), Jack (Titanic), Wade Kinsella (Hart of Dixie), Angel (Buffy the Vampire Slayer).

Yes, there are men who encompass all of these qualities. One that comes to mind is Patrick Kenzie, from Dennis Lehane’s phenomenal series of detective novels, but I assert the following two things are true:

1. If there is a traditional love triangle in any book, movie, or television show, the boys will fall into one of these distinct categories.

2. Every girl instinctively gravitates toward one or the other.

Do you disagree? Can you think of any examples that disprove my theory?

If not, which camp do you fall into, and what makes you prefer one Team over the other?

Which Team am I on, you ask?

Well, I’ve been a lifetime, card carrying member of Team Strange and Mysterious.

Perhaps because I’m…one of those things. I’ll let you decide which.

 

Posted by: Trisha Leigh | January 24, 2012

An Open Letter to Andy Roddick

I’m a huge tennis fan. Somehow, over the last four or five years, I’ve also become a big Andy Roddick fan. There are many reasons, and I’ve written before about the ways he inspires me in my writing.

Today, though, he’s the one who needs the talking to. From what I can tell. I think. I could be wrong. It’s been known to happen. On occasion.

Like last weekend when I ate that cookie dough that was a little crusty on the outside. That…was not the right call.

But I digress.

Here’s my letter. Just in case.

Dear Andy Roddick -

Tough break in Australia. I listened intently when you talked of what this year means to you. How hard you’ve worked to prepare your body, to change your game, to make sure you’re ready. How important it is for you to reclaim your spot in the top ten, because you still feel like you belong there. And it made me smile, because I believe it too. I had some choice words for the announcers and bloggers writing you off, saying you’re no longer relevant, that you’re too old.

Then you went out in the first round, and boy did your game look fantastic. The match with Hewitt was sure to be a tough one, but I felt confident. If you’re both having your best day, it’s a good match but one you will win almost every time.

Then it happened. The ten seconds, the awkward lunge that changed the course of the tournament for you.

But it doesn’t have to change your season. Or your career. Not if you don’t want it to.

That look on your face while you toughed out another set and a half, it worries me. Defeat, depression, and maybe just the hint of they’re all right, I can’t do this hung in your typically defiant gaze.

Heck yeah, it’s frustrating. No doubt you want to punch something, break something, and spend a couple of days talking about quitting and wondering why you’re putting yourself through this, and why for the love of Pete can’t you catch a break.

But then you calm down, you pick up the pieces, and you make a game plan.

You remind me a little of Chipper Jones, another athlete with a special place in my heart. He’s old (older than you). He’s played baseball a long time, and every year he answers questions about retirement. If he hadn’t been injured, he might have retired with Bobby Cox. If the Braves had made it back to the playoffs last year, instead of the massive implosion they suffered last September, maybe he would have been done already. But he isn’t.

A bum knee isn’t going to decide when he’s done. Neither is his age, or the fact that other people think it’s time. Chipper wants to go out on his own terms, and only he knows what those are – it might be making it back to the playoffs, or having a healthy year, or just that he feels like playing 182 games a year is what he wants to be doing. And when he does retire, no one is going to remember the bum knee, or the games he missed, or that maybe his last five years weren’t as outstanding as his first ten. He’s going into the Hall of Fame, maybe even on the first ballot.

You have the same right. You’re a great tennis player, one we’ve been proud to root for the past ten years. Only you get to decide if an injury is going to end your career. Only you get to admit you have nothing left to give the game.

I’ve had a rough year too. I think my stories are ready for the big stage. Other people disagreed. I’ve had a few painful setbacks, and yes, I’ve seen a similar they’re all right, I can’t do this look in my own eyes.

That’s when people like you and me have to look at those assholes and (excuse my French) say fuck you. I’ll do what I damn well please, and nothing you can say, no unexpected setback, is going to make me quit unless I’m ready, so get the hell out of my head.

And one day you’ll be ready. That day will be bittersweet for you, and for your fans.

But don’t let it be because they said.

Let it be because you can walk away and be happy with the contributions you’ve made, the achievements you’ve reached. If playing tennis 10 months a year still makes you happy, if those moments after you win a big match are still what lights you up, then it’s not time to go.

So chin up. Rehab your leg. Get your brain back in order, because we all know you’ve got to be mentally tough to keep fighting when people are whispering behind your back that you’re crazy for trying.

You’re not crazy. Neither am I. We’re fighters.

And fighters? We do everything on our own terms.

Figure out what those terms are, because eventually there won’t be anyone to answer to but yourself.

XOXO

Gossip Girl – Er – ME

Posted by: Trisha Leigh | January 19, 2012

The Dangers of Every Day Living

So I’m following behind my good friends Harley May and Anne Riley (which is a great place to be – nice asses on those girls), and jumping on the living dangerously bandwagon, even though I haven’t done too many crazy things in my lifetime.

I mean, there was the night I accidentally ate a salad with ground up peanuts in the dressing, and instead of asking my friends to take me to the emergency room, swallowed ten Benadryl. It only took about an hour to be able to breathe without wheezing. Living on the edge? Hardly.

I spent years letting my father, who is normally a level-headed type, drag me around behind the boat on an innertube at speeds inadvisable if you’re traveling by airplane. I spent entire afternoons inside with a headache caused by my head slapping water.

Last spring I agreed to share a hotel room in New York City with a girl I’d never met. Sure, she said she was a librarian from Texas, but who can really be sure about these things. (For the record, Claire is a beautiful girl and writer and now, a friend).

And you know how when you’re little and inevitably use the argument “but Sally’s doing it!” and your parents respond (because it’s in the parent rulebook) “If Sally jumped off a bridge would you do it too?” I did. Jump off a bridge because a boy I was head over heels in lust with did it too. Not proud. But it was fun.

I’m not talking about those kinds of dangerous things, people. These suggestions, like Harley and Anne’s, can bring a little spark to your life without even changing up your routine.

1. Put something in the oven for thirty minutes or less, then run an errand to Walmart. Trust me, you never know if thirty minutes is long enough to get in and out of Walmart. Some days, thirty minutes isn’t enough to get through the frozen pizza aisle. You can frantically check the clock while your heart races against the oven timer and images of your burning home dance through your mind.

2. Use the mute button on your phone to pee while you’re having a conversation with someone. It takes practice and talent to carry on a flawless conversation without the other person realizing you’re muting at regular intervals to tinkle.

3. Put on eyeliner before you insert your contact lenses. Because the possibility of blinding yourself first thing in the morning will rev up anyone’s ticker.

4. Don’t wash your hands after you go to the bathroom at work. First of all, someone might catch and shame you in front of half the office. Second, you will be staring a billion different kinds of germs in the face and saying “I FREAKING DARE YOU, YOU LITTLE SPECKS OF NASTINESS.

5. Tell your parents that you don’t care if you get married again or have children. You might want to try this one over the telephone, or run away as soon as the words leave your lips.

6. Black out all of the expiration dates on the dairy in your refrigerator. Potential food poisoning! Or, if you look at the bright side, a day off work!

What about y’all? Any advice for spicing up your everyday life? Because I’d like to try them!

Posted by: Trisha Leigh | January 17, 2012

Purse Dogs, Giant Bangs, and Fairytales

Fairytales are all the rage right now, like carrying a small dog in your purse was five years ago, or having really huge bangs was in 1985.

We’re seeing them everywhere. There are two Snow White movies being released in 2012, a boatload of books available that twist old tales and shine them until they sparkle almost like new, and on television we’ve been offered two new shows this year in Grimm and Once Upon a Time.

I’ve seen every episode of both shows, so that makes me an expert. Right? Isn’t that how it works?

The two series are completely different. Grimm is about a hard-nosed cop who learns that, after the death of his aunt, he’s inherited the legacy of the Grimm family – to fight the dark big bad’s that melt out of the fairy tale world into ours. Once Upon a Time is a whimsical, at times tragic story of Snow White’s evil queen selling her soul to Rumplestilskin in exchange for a curse that banishes all of the story book creatures to the real world – where there are no happy endings – and where none of them remember who they really are.

I prefer Once Upon a Time. It’s gorgeous, front to back, and I love the vaguely Lost format of doling out backstory bit by bit that changes and deepens our connection to every character, and makes us ponder the events that made them who they are. It makes you think about what it means to be good, or evil, and how no one is all one or the other. If they were, life (and stories!) wouldn’t be very interesting.

Recently, though, I realized the real difference between the two shows, and the reason I prefer one over the other.

Grimm is about accepting life the way it is, and battling the inevitable bad every single day, knowing good and well it’s never going to stop until you die.

Once Upon a Time is about hope. Hope that even in a different life, true love refuses to be forgotten. Hope in the belief that every person can be better. Hope that good will eventually triumph over evil. Hope that we can, in fact, go home again.

Each lesson is essential and true. But there aren’t enough shows on television, movies in theatres, or things in this life that encourage us to hope, and that’s why my Sunday nights are spent in Storybrooke.

Because real life teaches me that the fight against the bad things will never be over.

Storybrooke lets me believe, for an hour a week, that whether or not we get that happy ending is entirely up to our ability to believe it exists at all.

What about you? Do you watch either show? What do you like/not like about them?

Images courtesy of ABC and NBC.

Posted by: Trisha Leigh | January 12, 2012

The Neverending Pizza Story

A few weeks ago I had a very simple goal. I was tired. It was cold. I wanted a pizza delivered so I could sit on my buns in my warm house and do whatever it is I do to fill the house between work and bed.

This rather simple goal was not to be, people. It was not to be.

I called Pizza Hut on my way home, around 7pm, even though I haven’t been a fan of that particular establishment for some time. They told me I would have my pizza in 5o minutes.

I let my dogs out, changed into comfy clothes, and turned on the television. 8:00 came. Then 8:15. I gave them a bit of extra time, you know, because of Monday Night Football, but I called between 8:15-8:30. They apologized. The store scheduled to deliver my pizza was just a bit backed up.

A bit. The pizza hasn’t left the store, but it will be here soon. Promise.

9:00. 9:15, I call Pizza Hut again. This man is not very sorry about my inconvenience. Don’t I know the store is backed up on deliveries?

Yes. But you see, sir, I’ve been waiting 2 and 1/2 hours for a large pepperoni pizza.

Technically, he tells me, I’ve only been waiting 2 hours and 23 minutes. But they can give me my pizza for free. He supposes.

What about an estimated delivery time?

No, we definitely can’t do that.

Um….

Thirty minutes later I call again and to be honest, at this point it’s all pretty much funny to me, except that I’m hungry. LIke a wolf.

This time the woman freaks out properly when she pulls up my order, and transfers me to some management team a hundred miles away from where I live.

My pizza hasn’t left the store.

“Which store? Is it the one on 40 Hwy?”

She hesitates, probably wondering if she tells me which store has been standing between me and my pizza for over three hours whether I’ll do something crazy. Or violent.

I work in a call center. I understand these types of concerns.

When she confirms that the store holding my pizza hostage is less than five minutes from my house, I wonder aloud  if perhaps I could just go pick it up. Seeing that it’s 10:30 at night and almost time for me to go to bed.

She checks, and we agree that I’ll get in my cold ass car, go out into the freezing ass night, and go collect my &*#($^#$ pizza.

The store is closed when I arrive, because it’s after 10:30pm and all good and decent citizens have had their dinner. I knock until a teenage girl shuts off her vacuum and opens it for me. The manager behind the register can’t be older than me. I tell him what i want. He explains that they requested the call center ask hours ago if people could come in and get their orders because he had a mutiny on his hands.

A MUTINY, people. And here I’ve been worried about a little ol’ pizza.

I have no good response for the fact that no one advised me to come get my pizza, and to be honest, the mutiny comment kind of stopped me in my tracks.

He looks up my order, then goes into the back.

He’s gone for a long time. A really. Long. Time.

Guess what?

MY PIZZA IS NOT THERE HE GUESSES A DRIVER TOOK IT BY ACCIDENT.

To make a long story short (too late)(name that movie reference ftw) he made me a fresh pizza and threw in two batches of breadsticks while I waited for twenty MORE minutes. My pizza was hot and delicious, and I ate it even though I knew eating it at 11pm would chew up my insides with heartburn.

The End.

Goals are funny like that. Sometimes the ones that seem easy turn out to be hard. But if you really, really want that delicious, cheesy pizza, you might have to jump through some hoops. You might have to deal with people who don’t believe in you, or want to make you feel dumb for wanting it.

The nice thing is, there are also people who want to help you get there.

Keep going, people. There is pizza for all of us.

Posted by: Trisha Leigh | January 10, 2012

Hitting Refresh on My Brain

She twists in the seat, glaring. “So if you know that, what are we doing here, Mae?”

“I want to go see Kira the medium.”

Her mouth falls open, but she can’t seem to find the right words. If there are any for this situation, which seems unlikely.

“It’s a long story. I got this email…”

“Seriously, Maegan? We’re here because you got spam email from a psychic?”

“She’s a medium, actually.”

“Whatever. I can’t believe you.” She crosses her arms. “I’m not going in there. Take me home.”

I almost laugh, because she’ll totally go with me, but don’t want to waste time arguing. “Come on. You have to, because what if Kira is a ninety-five pound bald man named Chester with no teeth who kills people and puts them in his freezer?”

“Are you describing someone you know?”

“You’re not listening. I haven’t even been inside yet, how would I know Chester?”

Lindy sighs and unbuckles her seatbelt. “Just so you know, if we get chopped up by a serial killer named Chester I’m not going to be your friend anymore.”

It’s a new year. I’ve spent the past several weeks eating all of the sugar and butter based concoctions I can get my hands on and not working out, so I’ve got some rebuilding to do as far as muscle mass is concerned.

As we’ve discussed at depressing length, 2011 was a rough year for me, writing wise. I’ve had trouble remember what I love about it, and why it is I’m willing to put myself through all of the pain and growth and critiques and rejection.

So I’ve decided to take what I know about exercising (which is very little) and apply it to my writing life. Sometimes you get to a certain point in your weight loss that no matter how many calories you count or how many times you work out, you stop getting results. Know why?

Because you’re doing the same exercises over and over again. You’ve trained your muscles. They don’t have to work so hard anymore. Or something.

The stories I’ve told so far are all on the heavy side, dealing with intense concepts like fate, humanity, death, and the end of the world as we know it. But the other day I got an idea for a lighthearted mystery, which I’ve been describing as Veronica Mars meets Odd Thomas.

Can I write a mystery? Shrug. Am I funny? Remains to be seen.

But I’ve decided it can’t hurt to stretch writing muscles either.

So that’s what I’m working on. The snippet above is from Chapter 2; after three days of writing I’ve got almost 8,000 words. My main character, Maegan, is full of skepticism and opinions and she pretty much never shuts up. I love her.

I even have a title – What I Know About Charlie – which makes me happy.

It’s a new year. I have big plans.

What about you guys? Any changes in store? Have you ever branched out and written something totally different just to see if you could, or just because you got an idea you couldn’t let go?

Posted by: Trisha Leigh | January 5, 2012

It’s Like I Don’t Even Know Me Right Now

So it’s that time of year again, where people make resolutions and plans and lists of what they want to accomplish during the upcoming year. Me? What I want is no secret – to take the next step on the road to becoming a published author.

That aside, there are certainly areas of my life that could use, let’s say, work. One of the big ones for me is the financial arena. I’m a spender. A buy it now, think about it later kind of personality. An impulse buyer. With frequent impulses. It’s a good thing my impulse is to buy clothes and not to, like, whack someone random in the face with a frying pan, because then I’d really be in trouble.

This looks like me. Sort of. I don't look good in hats.

Even though my shopping habit isn’t likely to result in assault charges or jail time, it’s still something I’d love to get a handle on, because although the instant gratification is soothing and nice, the subsequent oh-dear-lord-who-spent-all-this-money-now-I’m-broke-how-am-I-going-to-feed-myself moments are not so attractive. Not all of us can look like Amy Adams when having a meltdown.

I’m enacting a plan to attack my horrendous spending habits. Chip away one chunk at a time. Baby steps. One day, one week, one month at a time eventually turns into one year, right?

So here it is. I’m going to say it loud, on this blog, so you are my witnesses.

All of you put up your right hand and shout WITNESS.

I’m not going to buy any clothes or shoes in 2012.*

For some of you, this might not seem like a big deal. Others just gasped and fell out of your chairs. I fall somewhere in the middle as far as an actual fashion lover, but shopping is what I do when I’m feeling down, because looking pretty or snuggling inside soft new clothes makes me happy.

It also makes me stressed and poor, and the truth is, I have enough clothes and shoes to last at least three more years, provided I don’t lose/gain a significant amount of weight.

Can I do it? I’m sure going to try.

It’s 2012. Let’s get crazy.

What are your resolutions for the coming year? How do you plan to keep them, or are you of the mind that these things are meant to be broken?

*I have this adorable dress that I bought about 4 months ago but have not been able to find shoes or a cardigan to wear with it. So, I’m making an allowance for those 2, and only those 2, items. If I find them, they must be purchased, or I can’t wear said adorable dress. And that would be a travesty.

Not compared to like, the animals in the ASPCA commercials or starving children in Africa, but a middle class American white girl travesty, for sure.

Posted by: Trisha Leigh | January 3, 2012

This is Going to be AWESOME. Or Not.

There are few things that stink as much as a night that doesn’t live up to expectations. I’m going to tell you something that is pretty embarrassing, and even though it happened some time ago, you’re probably still going to judge me. And I don’t blame you one single bit.

In college, my friend (let’s call her The Beast) and I somehow managed to acquire a rather rabid level of devotion to a little band (we’re using that term loosely) known as N’Sync. You might have heard of them. I’m aware we were just a smidge outside their target fan base, but that didn’t stop us from acting so nutso in the pursuit of the ultimate fandom that I will absolutely never, ever speak of them again. I’m not sure how we managed to come out of this dark, disturbing period in our lives with any friends at all. Cheers to those who stuck it out.

One autumn I came back to school early in August because we had floor seats to a N’Sync concert at Texas Stadium. It was going to be the best night of our lives.

Texas. In August. With thousands upon thousands of our closest friends and only a little moonroof to let out trapped heat.

I’ve never been hotter in my life. They took a record number of patrons out with heatstroke. I literally wrung sweat out of my sundress every thirty minutes. It’s safe to assume our spirits were already a bit dampened by the time we ran out during the encore.

Wait. We ran out? While our favorite band was still playing on stage and we were in the 4th row? Why on earth would we do such a thing?

I’ll tell you why. It’s because we knew about a little afterparty that a local club was throwing and promised the band would be in attendance later that night. OBVIOUSLY this was our chance to get Justin and Lance to fall in love with us.

The local club? An under 18-no alcohol-no parents type establishment. We were 21 at the time (I just died a little typing that), so The Beast and I had secured fake ID’s.

That made us younger.

They worked like a charm, but once inside we had to contend with an army of kicking, biting, sweating, shrieking teenage girls fighting for the best vantage point to see the guys once they arrived. The Beast used her considerable elbowing skills to secure us a pretty good spot ourselves, and we waited.

And waited, and waited, and waited.

More than 3 hours after we left Texas Stadium, N’Sync showed up. And they were wasted out of their minds. Little Justin Timberlake could hardly stand up, and none of them had a lick of interest in being on display (not that I blame them, for heaven’s sake, but why didn’t WE think to drink first).

We left. We were tired, soaked to the bone with sweat, and worst of all, it was all for nothing. The best night ever had turned into something like the worst disappointment ever, though The Beast and I can still have a good laugh about it from time to time.

You know what else is never, ever as good as you think it’s going to be? New Year’s Eve. I hate New Year’s Eve. What I want to do it spend it curled on the couch with my dogs watching all of the movies I need to catch up on, but since I’m single, that smacks a little bit of giving up.

New Year’s Eve is supposed to be about hope and anticipation and possibility, a night when anything might happen. “Out” is packed with other single people searching the room for their own possibilities, and if I’m “In” then it’s like I just don’t care.

Which I really don’t, but that’s a blog for another day.

At any rate, New Year’s Eve always disappoints on those big moments. Instead it’s full of queasy stomachs, shouted conversation, and waking up with a nasty headache before trekking to the nearest Whataburger. Which is not to say I didn’t have a great time with my friends. I did.

I think I’ve decided the key to everything is not expecting anything, and that way good times are a pleasant surprise. Is that a bad way to go through life? I don’t know, but so far it seems to be working for this girl.

What about y’all? Any funny stories about events that were supposed to be the pinnacle of greatness that turned into the biggest turd your life punchbowl has ever seen? Any GREAT New Year’s Eve stories?

If you have one, I think you deserve some kind of prize.

 

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