auld lang syne ... a year in review

This year has been a year of extremes. Extreme highs and extreme lows ... full of pursuing dreams and being completely broke. I mean seriously broke - I'm pretty sure I had more money when I was in college not working at all than I've had this year. Being broke suques {sound it out} hard core and it's really cramping my shoe habbit. And my audition habbit. We're working to change all of that.

So what have I done with myself this year?

I gave up the home I love and left my wonderful family of friends in Greensboro to follow my dream. Cramming your life into a 10x5 storage unit has a way of bringing everything into perspective. I left 3 semi-cushy jobs and 60 hour work weeks {certainly don't miss those}. Leaving Greensboro was truly one of the hardest things this year has brought ... When you have such a close-knit group of wonderful people who share your passions well, that's not something that happens often. And I miss them all terribly.

I made debuts with Nashville Opera, Opera Roanoke, and Opera Carolina ~ all as part of young artist programs. I feel so fortunate to be able to do what I love every day and that I've been able to find people who not only pay me to sing {as if I could possibly want more}, but also encourage me every day. I have met some of the most ah.mazing people this year and formed life-long friendships {you know who you are ;)}.

I spent six wrenching weeks in the hospital with my brother, Michael, wondering if he was going to live. {I'm not exaggerating even a little bit} It was awful. No one slept. We all wept and sat in a hazy, empty existance for those weeks. I drank way too much alcohol and ate too much junk {and had about an extra 15lbs to show for it... which has finally left my body *thankgod*} He's made an amazing, full recovery that no one ever thought would be possible. I.never.want.to.do.that.again.

I moved home. I started seriously running and ran my first *ever* 5-mile race with my fabulous sister, Sarah. {We ran the Columbus Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving Day and I was so proud of myself. I think it's kind of a big deal.} I got to spend more time with my family this year than I think I have in the last decade combined. It's been wonderful and terrible. Living with your parents is completely glamorous, btw.

I reconnected with one of my heroes, Lynn Roseberry. Soprano, teacher, beautiful human, breast cancer survivor. She is kind of my second mother. I first met Lynn when I was 14, when I auditioned for voice lessons. She's had more influence on my life than almost any other person I've known.

So what will the new year bring? I'm heading back to Charlotte later this week to begin the second leg of my contract with Opera Carolina and I'll be there through the end of March. I get to help my sister plan her wedding with her amazing fiance, Jarod {they're adorable and completely perfect for each other. they even build forts in their living room}. And I'm really, truly starting to do some freelance work to help pay the bills and give me more freedom to do what I love. It's gonna be a good year.

the people of the waiting room {just like the people of walmart, only classier}

**Disclaimer ~ this isn't my usual upbeat, irreverent run-of-the-mill blog post. It's kinda heavy so be forewarned.**

Day 8. Meaning I've spent most of the last 8 days in the Critical Care Unit of the ICU at my friendly neighborhood hospital. A good time has been had by all, natch.

What is it about hospital waiting rooms that brings out the worst of humanity? I mean it's bad enough that we have to spend time there ... And not to be irreverent, but Michael has been such poor company this week. I think he's mad ~ he won't even play rock, paper, scissors with me. It's kinda like watching paint dry and expecting it to interact with you. Totally productive.

Some of my most difficult days as of late have been accompanied with my *already raw as hell* nerves being further taunted by *The People of the Waiting Room*. You know who they are. The People of WalMart transported from your favorite horrifying discount store to your local hospital. I've become accustomed to walking through the hospital with my sunglasses on so no one will try to speak to me. It's really better for all of us.

They're like the Clampetts in spandex. And not one of them has all of his teeth. They take over the entire place and loudly debate politics {you know Obama is clearly a socialist} and which section 8 housing they're moving into next, all whilst dragging their catheter bags on the floor {I only wish I were kidding}. They bring their children and let them run rampant allthelivelongday ~ rearranging furniture while you try to sleep and generally being children in a place where children simply do not belong. The ICU is not a place you go for a paper cut or a nose job, so why, why, why are they here? Especially if you won't reel them in. Oh M. Jesus {pronounced hey-zeus for those unfamiliar with such advanced terminology} what have I done in my life to warrant this? I can honestly tell you that murder has crossed my mind more times this week than it has in the past decade.

And I don't understand why they always have to be there. All I want is a little peace. And the chance to look at babies because they remind me of the good things happening in the hospital. Which you cannot do, btw. There's no happy nursery full of shiny, new babies waiting to fulfill their destinies anymore. All of the babies are in their own rooms with their mothers. Don't they realize that I have needs!?! I briefly proposed that we COULD go into one of the new mother's rooms and demand to see her newborn baby because we needed a brief happy place, but *apparently* that's frowned upon. I also decided that being arrested would probably not benefit my week. And I wouldn't do well in prison.

So now every time I step onto on the elevator, I pray that they're not there. But that also means that maybe their week has been more painful than it should have been, and I wouldn't wish that for them. Bad teeth and all. But I do so wish they'd find another floor to taunt. I've had more than my share.

please come to Boston for the springtime

If it's not one fiasco, it's another it seems. Traveling to Boston this past week was a bit of a ... we'll call it a learning experience. Growing up in the midwest, I have pretty strong "I can do it myself" sensibilities.  I figured that since I can brave public transportation in New York or Chicago by myself, then Boston would be a piece of cake, right? Well ... not exactly.

I arrived in Boston early Thursday morning and had about 12 hours to kill before my audition. Trying to be as frugal as possible, I bought my handy dandy Charlie Card, armed myself with my HopStop app and headed out into the world. My hotel was a bit north of downtown, but HopStop assured me I could get there on my own. I take the train to the indicated station and find the bus stop. I have to switch buses a couple of times to get to my hotel, but that's no big deal right?

What. have. I. done. Well, either I'm not tall enough for bus drivers to see me, or I look like someone they should pass by for sport because the first two buses I was to catch simply drove by without thinking about acknowledging my presence. No worries ~ HopStop to the rescue! It tells me to get another bus. He stops! And then he doesn't let me out at the right stop so I have to walk 2 blocks to catch my next bus in 10 minutes, which coincidentally takes me past a local fire station. I'm clearly out of place ~ carrying my overnight bag. *Look at the cute little white girl running through the street with her scarf and skinny jeans, carrying a pink bag.*

I run as three {that's right} more buses pass me by as I'm trying to catch them. All to the amusement of the firemen across the street. I don't even know where I am and I'm in *godknowswhereBoston* sure that someone is going to stab me because my mother has made me a paranoid adult. I'm exhausted. I've been trying to catch buses for over an hour at this point and I've been up since 4:30 am. Finally I wave the white flag of defeat and find a cab parked nearby {thank you, gods}. He takes me to my hotel in mere minutes where I promptly book a rental car.

Now I really want to explore Boston, but I'm super tired. And on the verge of a meltdown. So I opt to stay in my hotel room and find inner peace. Only to find a giant knot that's growing on the back of my trick hip {the one that popped out of place when I was 16 during dance, and now doesn't want to move at the beginning of every day}. *le sigh* Oh well. Getting ready for my audition, I'm on the verge of tears. I don't want to do this. *pullyourselftogetherstacy* *youareagrownup*

Thankfully, navigating Boston via car isn't as terrifying as it could have been ~ Bostoners are super friendly and don't want to kill you like New York drivers. The harbor is *gorgeous* and I find my audition location without incident. So I warm up and wait because I am, of course, ridiculously early.

The audition is wonderful. Really wonderful. I sing really well. I'm engaged. When I finish my second aria, the pianist and auditioner {who is so fabulous, I can't even begin to talk about it} giggles and says "that was fun!" Take that, universe!

The universe chuckles menacingly. When I get back to my hotel, the lobby is filled with high school students who are also staying in my hotel. I actually say "you've got to be kidding me" as I walk through the lobby in amazement. I fill the bucket in my room with ice, take some melatonin and crawl into bed feeling great about the only really important part of my day, and wondering how painful walking will be in the morning.

Ah, morning. Some of my karma seems to have turned around, but not all of it. I get a cab to the airport after returning my rental car, and it's cash only. Lucky for me the sweetest cab driver on the planet is driving and when I tell him I only have $10 cash for a $13 fare {blasted toll bridges took all of my cash!} he says "no problem, I'll do it for $10." I buy overpriced Aleve at the airport giftshop because of the pain. So much pain. My god why is my body falling apart? And then ... every. baby. in. Boston. is waiting to board my plane. Seriously, I've never seen so many babies on one plane before. Amazing. Just take me home.

So I guess we've learned a couple of lessons here. First ~ when it comes to public transportation trains and subways are a win. Avoid buses at all costs. Second ~ sometimes terrible trips make for great auditions. And flawless trips make for pretty boring blogs.

sabotage

You know those days when you wake up and you *know* it's going to be a great day? It's audition day and all of the stars have aligned in your favor. You feel good. You look great.  You're not the least bit bothered by being violated by the government as you pass through airport security. Not even one flight was delayed. Even the flight attendant says "have a great day, hollywood" as you you deboard the plane.You land in a new city, hop in your rental car {which you scored for a mere $15} and think "I like this place!" You've found the perfect souvenir {I collect things from audition locations} in perhaps the most beautiful shopping "mall" you've ever seen in your life. It's going to be a great day!

You arrive at the audition location appropriately early, because that's how you roll. You warm up. Ahhh, the gods of singing have blessed you. Everything is in line and you sound great {if you do say so yourself}. You wait. They're running behind, but you don't mind. They're only hearing one aria, and you've already chosen which one to sing. The aria that always works. The one that everyone loves. It's your *thisistheariaIpulloutofmybackpocketbecauseIsingitwellevenwhenI'mnotsingingwell* aria.

When it's finally time, you walk into the room. The people you're singing for are friendly {thank you, gods!}. The music director says he loves the aria you're singing. You're wearing his favorite shade of blue. And he looks at your resume and says "what a great name!" *Yes* ... And then it happens. The pianist begins to play and it's clear that she's never seen the aria you're singing before in her life.

Now let me clarify - it's not like I'm singing some obscure piece of 20th century, atonal music that no one ever sings. And it's certainly not Stravinsky or some giant Straussian aria that audition pianists fear. It's "Steal Me, Sweet Thief." One of *the* most performed English arias for light lyric/lyric sopranos. We sing it all the time.

She really wants to play slowly so she can get *all* the notes. {why do audition pianists do this? don't they realize that this moment is not about how well they play?} No big deal, you think. Just stay with me and everything will be fine. Not to worry. Just keep up with me. But she doesn't. In fact, the more you try to push the tempo forward, the slower she insists on playing. So you have to take all of your emergency breaths ~ the ones you *never* take. And when you get to the glorious B in the middle of the aria she keeps slowing down until ... *motherfucker*

That didn't just happen. You did *not* make me breathe in the middle of a word. Never in my life have I ever had to breathe in the middle of a word in an audition. If I can't finish the aria well, I don't sing it in an audition. *whatjusthappenedwithmylife*

So you finish the aria. They thank you for singing and apologize that they're only hearing one aria today because they're running behind. You smile, say "of course. thank you for hearing me," and retrieve your binder from the pianist {who you wish you could kill with your laser-like vision, but instead you smile politely and again say "thank you."} But it's not over yet. There's a hole in the stage where your heel promptly becomes wedged and comes completely off of your foot. Mother.of.God. You retrieve your heel, laugh nervously and say "wow, there's a hole in the stage... hehe..." getmeoutofhere. And you can't slink out of the room fast enough.

Suddenly all of my mojo is gone. The line to return my rental car is miles long and I need to get back to the airport to catch a quick flight. Only to get there and find out it's delayed. And we won't even talk about the flock of giant basketball players who are on the last leg of my flight, sitting right next to me ... who start a fight with the guy in front of me. And continue to use their cell phones for the duration of the flight. Oh this plane is going to crash, I just know it. Sweetbabyjesusinamanger where did my fabulous day go?

So this leads to the question ... what can you do, if you can do anything, to recover from audition issues stemming from the accompanist they've selected for the audition? Is there, in fact, *anything* you can do without making yourself look like a total diva or excuse monger? Anyone?

near death experiences...

Let it be known that I do not like bugs {I know ... shocker}. Of any kind. Especially those who dare to enter the threshold of whatever dwelling I happen to be in at the time. I have been known to flip sofas over while attempting to kill those who have entered my domain. Not joking.

So during my last week in Nashville on a particularly quiet evening, I encountered an especially disgusting specimen while exiting the shower. It was terrifying and did not end well for said creature. Let's be honest ~ it really didn't end well for me either. Here is a real text conversation that happened between me and my friend, who we'll just call F.

Me: I WAS JUST ATTACKED BY A 10-FOOT BEAST IN MY BATHROOM!

{the offending bastard}

F: It looks so small on the screen.
Me: It was giant. And it tried to kill me ... I almost DIED.
F: You are SO brave.
Me: I know. But it was terrifying.
F: I'm sure it was. How did you do it?
Me: I knocked in into the tub with a feta cheese container, turned on the shower, stabbed it with the lid and washed it down the drain. IT ATTACKED ME IN THE SHOWER.
F: It was only fighting back.
Me: Oh no ~ bitch started it. I just finished it ... After crying a little.
F: That is so funny! I can totally picture that.
Me: Which part? Being attacked by a giant robo-centipede is no laughing matter, sir.
F: Oh it so is.
Me: You're not my friend.
F: I am ... a laughing friend.
Me: Uh huh.
F: "after crying a little..." {snort}
Me: Why do you hate me? It had knives. And a grenade launcher.
F: But I love you. Wow ... artillery too.
Me: It was trying to maim me.
F: What was its move?
Me: It waited 'til I opened the shower curtain after showering. So I would be vulnerable.
F: Ambush ... it's clearly had sniper training.
Me: See! I need to go to bed. And to take a tranquilizer.

And this is why bugs shouldn't mess with me.  It's not good for anyone's mental health.

I'm lame ... and other meaningless excuses for not blogging

So you may have noticed that I completely suck at life when it comes to this blog. Because I published two posts and then ran away screaming. Or perhaps I've been extremely busy taking opera to the children of middle Tennessee for the past six weeks {which has been completely amazing and life-altering in so many ways}, including spending almost two entire weeks on. death's. door. Like forrealzies. I know ~ it's a lame excuse but it's my story and I'm sticking to it.

So today the Mezzo and I {all names have been changed to protect the innocent ... or maybe not so innocent} had a break in between performances. After trying to sleep and looking at a little Carmen {oh, Leontyne, why do you have to be so amazing}, I abandoned the notion that I would be actually napping. Instead we headed to our fav local establishment, Fido. Which is completely overrun by hipsters, but their Local Latte is amazing. You *must* try it.

We strolled down the street to this darling little ~ paper and things ~ shop, and that's where I found it. The most amazing book. Ever. 

{even the elephant on the cover thinks it's effing awesome}

Contained within this book of whimsy, are hundreds of lists for, oh say Ukulele Songs Appropriate for a Funeral, Haikus About Duct Tape, Best Streets on which to attempt a Blindfolded Bike Ride, Dance Moves for Unsafe High Places, Working Titles for a Screenplay on George Washington's Space Adventures, or Places to Practice Invisibility. I could go on, but I'm far too enamored to spend much time away from my new book. Which is filled with merriment. And awesome.

Feel free to create entries for the above lists {or others I will most certainly post in the future} in the comments below. I can't wait to see what kind of wonder awaits.

Uncharted waters...

I've spent the last year an a half of my life managing the social media goings on of the largest furniture store in the world {which shall henceforth be referred to as The Palace}. This awakened many interests in me ~ interior design and furniture to be sure, but also blogging. There were some wonderful things about The Palace, but also a lot of trash. We won't talk about that now. But the point is, I found that I really kind of dig blogging so I've decided to keep it up. I decided that I would start a blog-journey as soon as my time at The Palace was up so ... Ta-da!

Tomorrow I will be packing my life into a 10'x5' box and leaving my cares behind ... at least that's what I'm telling myself. And while I really should be stuffing things into boxes with catchy labels on them, I'm sitting on my bed for one of the last times {which I shall bequeath to my fav New Yorker, Chelsea, until we can be reunited} writing a blog. The idea of leaving Greensboro has been a bitter-sweet experience {read terrifying and heart-wrenching}. I kind of used to hate Greensboro. But that all changed a few years ago. I have found the best group of friends in the entire universe, and I can't imagine my daily life without them. This has made me pretty philosophical the last few days. And weepy. I'm a bit of a crier. I'm sure we'll hear more about this later.

So where could I be going from the Promised Land that is Greensboro, NC? I'm heading to Nashville, the land of country music, to pursue the glamorous life of an opera singer with Nashville Opera. And while I'm there, I'll sing sophisticated compositions like Sid the Serpent Who Wanted to Sing {I shit you not}. But I also have the amazing opportunity to make beautiful music with some pretty cool peeps. I'll keep you posted.