Moving to NYC Checklist

The list of NYC-ccentric TV shows during my short 23 years on earth is extensive: "Sex and the City", "Will & Grace", "Friends", "GIRLS", "Broad City",  the list goes on and on! I have definitely seen the scenes of laughing and drinking wine with friends, but I realized that I must have missed the episode in each series that covered finding an apartment and moving. All I know is something about yelling "pivot!" in a Friends episode and carrying a couch up a flight of stairs.

What was I to do since I had no pop culture guide to turn to when searching for an apartment in NYC?

Well, I winged it.

The 10-week summer sublease search I had down. But the resources I turned to for my internship housing didn't seem as helpful when looking for a permanent home.

Now, in my four months of being here, I have gotten a lot of questions from future New Yorkers asking how to handle the moving process. Here's a checklist for their convenience:

Check Your Money:
Jonathan Larson's angsty "How we gonna paaaaay last year's rent!?!?" has become a mantra rather than the track that I skip over on the RENT soundtrack. Not only do you have to worry about the notoriously higher monthly rate (and bills), but there's an application fee even just apply to maybe get the apartment. Then there's a credit check/guarantor fee, a deposit, and a stupid enormous fee for the broker who showed you the money-sucking pit in the first place. This would be a great time to learn about a rich uncle you never knew you had.

Check Your Resources:

Let no friend go unturned. Ask friends if they know of any apartments that are open, or if they have any friends that know of any apartments that are open. Look up places on ol' reliable: sketchy Craigslist. Post of Facebook. Tweet. Hire a skywriter. Here's a helpful listing website. Here's another. And another.

Check Your Standards:

Apartments in NYC are old. They were once occupied by families in the early 1900s who only needed one bathroom, one bedroom, and two hands to be the dishwasher. They didn't think about Millennial twentysomethings who would need electrical outlets close to where they want to put their queen size bed, or more than an inch of space between the toilet and shower so they can do their routine getting naked dance as they hop in the shower. 

Make a list before you start looking of things you can't live without. A common space to host friends that come over? A hall closet for miscellaneous household cleaning items in? A shower that isn't in the kitchen? Yes, I saw an apartment whose kitchen played home to the shower. That was raised up on a platform. IN THE KITCHEN. Silver lining of the "bitchen" (bathroom in kitchen): you have immediate access to the cookies your roomie just baked while washing your hair?

Check Your Furniture:

The trouble with moving from across the country in September and having a mother that is a teacher and no money: you can't move your stuff with you. Mama Fitz was able to ship some things over, but when it came to bedroom furniture, I had to start from scratch. Bookmark the Brooklyn IKEA address in your phone right meow. Be prepared to pay a hefty sum to have it shipped to your apartment and assembled, or spend a little extra for their car service and nice-as-pie drivers. 

Beware of Craigslist furniture, for not everyone is going to be upfront about their bedbug problem. It's like the lice of adulthood, srsly. 

When picking out furniture, be mindful of the dimensions of your space (I recommend measuring before and taking the measurements to IKEA with you), the fun-house-esque doorways, and how many stairs you'll have to carry them up. (I think this is when I could make the Friends' "pivot!" reference, but I'm only in Season 2.)

Check Your Neighborhood Culture:

Ask yourself this: "could I see myself stumbling home drunk from the subway in this neighborhood?" While a lot of people like visiting apartments during the day, seeing apartments at night can be useful, too. Would you feel safe walking home by yourself? Is there a drugstore you could run to wearing your Sunday's coziest and messy bun? Is there a laundromat nearby that you wouldn't mind spending a few hours at? Are there places to wine and dine? Munch and brunch? Liking your neighborhood and liking places you can get to by foot is tres important.

Check Your Olivia Pope Questions:

No one is looking out for your best interests. They just want to make the sale and get the money. That isn't to say they won't be helpful or honest with you, but you are in charge of you. Channel your inner Olivia Pope. Ask tough questions. Handle your shit. Don't give anyone any question to doubt you.

Check Your Personal Info:

Signing an apartment lease in NYC felt a little like what I assume making a joint checking account or adopting a child is like. They will want your SSN, your bank account number, your last two previous addresses, a couple months of pay stubs, documentation of your job, your great-grandmother's uncle's second wife's favorite breakfast food. (Just kidding about the last one, maybe.) Have all of the info on hand because putting in an offer for an apartment moves quickly.

Check Your Roommate:

If you're searching for a brand new place together, please make sure you like and trust the person. You might have to lean on them, they might have to lean on you. My current roomie let me lean on her A LOT, and there is no way I would have gotten through the process without her, which is why I am naming my first child after her, regardless of gender.

Check Your Time:

Make sure to give yourself lots of time. Don't rush the search process. You don't want to settle on something because of lack of time.

Check Your Sense of Humor:

When searching for our apartment, Michaela and I walked through the freezing cold rain, were creepily hit on by brokers, got lost in sketchy neighborhoods, and spent so many nights wondering when the search would be over. But we knew, once we were sitting in our humble abode with glasses of red wine in hand, we would look back on it and laugh. And we do, just like I was taught in every NYC TV show.

Love At First Dance; Or, What Happens To A Dream Deferred

"What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat
Or crust and sugar over--
Like a syrupy sweet?

May it just sags
Like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?"
-"Harlem", Langston Hughes

With completing the opening night of my first professional show, The Who's TOMMY at ZACH Theatre, last night, I can't help but think back to all of the firsts I've had within my 20 years of dancing.

My first dance class: at a Children's World, featuring me in a pink fairy dress with wings.
My first dance performance: with Bettie Nelson's Dance Company, "Tappin' With Elmo" in some seriously sparkly suspenders.
My first musical: "Fiddler on the Roof" at the Vancouver School of Arts and Academics.
My first time choreographing: Michael Jackson's "Thriller" for CRHS' 2009 Halloween pep rally/game.
My first time taking myself seriously as a dancer: after spending 855 hours in BEL502A during my four years at the University of Texas.

And now, my first professional show.

From first competition team to first professional show! #transformationtuesday

And what a heck of a 20-year journey it's been, from my first dance class to this show. It's certainly the longest relationship I've been involved in and the most consuming. We've been through a lot together, dance and I. The successes, the hardships, and everything in between. But no matter what, it's always been there for me, and it was something I could always rely on to make me happy.

Dancing and performing was always more than dream for me, it was just a part of my identity. I was constantly singing and dancing around. There are home videos dating back to 1994 of me just performing "I Just Can't Wait To Be King" in full force. It was just so fun; I was definitely happiest when I was dancing. Then at some point I realized you could do it professionally, and the dream of dancing forever swelled even larger. I took tons of classes, joined dance companies, performed in shows, and loved everything about it. I had dappled in musical theater here and there, and loved imitating Fosse dance moves to the Chicago soundtrack in my room.

Performing the Russian Marzipan variation in The Nutcracker, 2004

Then, before I could even realize it, I was being thrust into socialization, where I learned things like all of the cool kids in middle school would like you more if you wore Hollister, and then I learned other things, like if you had even a hint of thick thighs or anything over a B cup, you might as well stop trying to be a dancer right now. (I had both). So, I quit. I gave up because I let others define my potential and decide my value as a performer. The dream popped.

I tried to find the happiness in other ways, like joining my high school dance team. Yes, it was fun, and at least I was able to still dance, but unlike the rest of the team, I was indifferent to the competitive nature of dance team. I didn't care about landing my barrel jump the exact same way as the other girls, nor if our formations were pleasing to the eye of any crazy judge we needed to impress. I wanted the artistry, the fun, I wanted to perform so I could tell a story.

Loud and proud dance team facials

As my senior year of high school began, my elementary school dance teacher, Ms. Bev Melum, passed away. She had been such an inspiration, and I often felt like she really believed in my potential to be a dancer. Her death hit me really hard, and I decided that I desperately wanted to be a dancer, and I was done with letting others discourage me.

So, I applied to NYU and headed to NYC to audition for the dance program. Friends had their youth groups pray for me, I received numerous good luck texts, and then: I didn't make it past the first round. Shit. I begrudgingly headed to UT as a math major, my dream once again downtrodden. After several tearful calls to Mama Fitz, I knew if I wanted to be happy, I had to transfer into the Theater and Dance department.

My first dance class at UT was Broadway Jazz II, with Natasha Davison, in BEL502A. The warm-up was energetic, the across-the-floor combos were dynamic, and the Broadway rep we learned was famous. It was FUN. Over the next four years, I spent 855 hours of dance classes and rehearsals in that very room. I gained valuable techniques and skills, I gained friends and mentors, and I gained the confidence that I could actually be a professional performer. The dream was now back in action, and I found the happiness again.

Last night, as I was putting on make-up, fixing my hair, and zipping my up my costume, a routine I am so familiar with, it felt different this time around. Because all of those successes, all of those hardships, all of the moments in between that I've shared with dance, helped me get to this opening night. I know that this show and every show after will be so fun, and I will be so happy.

The dream has become reality.

Opening Night!

The Week of Spontaneous Moments of Theater; or, My Last Week of College

Theater/dance/performing is one of the most frightening things I've ever done. To be so vulnerable in front of a group of people can be terrifying. Theater/dance/performing is also one of the most gratifying things I've ever done. To be able to tell a story to a group of people can be so fulfilling. Theater/dance/ performing is my passion. To be able to connect with a group of people is why I feel happiest when I'm on stage.

You know what else is frightening and gratifying at the same time?

Graduating college.

I think it's scarier this time around because as cheesy as it sounds, college is the place where I found the most confident and truest version of myself. And I am also officially finished with the educational institution structure that I've known for so long, which is probably why I've become extremely nostalgic for days past. But surely I can't be the only one? I sift through the memories of swing sets and tater tots, CRTV morning announcements and pep assemblies; tossing aside the negative ones of frustration, anger, and hurt, and spending extra time carefully and vividly re-membering the details of the good ones.

And sometimes, we're so busy trying to craft the perfect good memory, that we miss the actual good memories. You can't force good memories; isn't it always the unplanned moments that we revisit again and again afterwards?

I wanted to make sure that I honored the place that I had called home for the past four years properly. How was I to plan a memorable last week of college, and yet not get in the way of myself by spending too much time planning?

The morning of Monday, April 28, I didn't know.

Later that day, I invited myself to participate in a staged reading by using my (as described by Martin Rodriguez) silky voice to read the stage directions. I was so happy that I got to engage in my passion of performing with my friends one last time before I graduated. Then I though to myself, why does it have to end here?

Spoiler Alert: It didn't.

I decided I would spend the last week doing one of the most frightening and gratifying things I could think of: theater/dance/performing.

"Five days left of my college career; five unknown, spontaneous moments of theater to be discovered and performed. I'm spending my last week of school engaging in my passion. Today, I used my "silky" voice in the staged reading of Matt Hill's "Erin Roberts in A Wheelchair".
Planned: 3:03pm Performed: 7:05pm"

What better way to celebrate the end of this chapter than with being able to do it five last times, right before it's all over? I gave myself a few rules:

• It had to include at least one other person besides myself
• It had to be planned after I woke up for the day
• It had to be documented 

"Today, my moment of spontaneous theater took place with one of the most committed and talented actors I know, reading Ruth and Walter in the opening scene of one of the classics: A Raisin In The Sun.
Planned: 2:14am Performed: 2:20am"

It was incredible how much happier I felt. Even if it was a quickly planned reading of the first scene of one of my favorite plays at 2 o'clock in the morning, it was a moment of theater I wouldn't have had otherwise. In fact, the impromptu and almost-haphazardness of it all was actually my favorite part.

"Today, I choreographed and danced "Four Women" with the spirited and brilliant Ursula Walker Full video of this spontaneous moment of theater can be found on my Facebook!
Planned: 1:56pm Performed: 4:52pm"

I also found that this week was perfect for creating and performing pieces that I've always wanted to do but had found so many excuses not to do. Never found the time, never had the energy, etc. On Wednesday, I finally got the chance to move to the song "Four Women" by Nina Simone. Originally, I wanted four dancers to represent the four women, but being spontaneous, not all four could make it. So instead, the piece included Ursula and I, and it was exactly what I needed it to be. 

It felt right. Making and performing theater so quickly gave me a rush of adrenaline and sense of accomplishment. Especially sharing it with fellow theater artists that encourage and inspire me daily. On Thursday, several of my favorite musical theater friends and I recreated Wicked's "Dancing Through Life" in the same setting as they do in Wicked, in front of a statue.

"Today, I recreated Wicked's "Dancing Through Life" with some of my favorites! We performed choreo we leaned in our musical theater class in front of the MLK statue just like they do at Shiz University in Wicked. Full video will be on YouTube soon!
Planned: 3:18pm Performed: 5:09pm"

Okay, I'll be honest. For Friday's spontaneous moment of theater, I cheated. The idea came to me on Monday, but if it helps, I waited until Thursday to ask if people were the next night around 10:30pm. And I waited to give out official details until Friday. 

I wanted to celebrate this week of spontaneous moments of theater with the people that had shared this experience of college with me. The Theater and Dance seniors. We wrote and read love letters to the Forty Acres together at the Tower. It was beautiful, emotional, and spontaneous. While, yes, we all had very individualized experiences and feelings, they were all conveyed through rhythms of appreciation, cadence of reverence, and phrases of gratitude. Tasha wrote a salacious, erotic poem, Ja'Michael sang, and several even spoke extemporaneously about their experiences over the past four years. One thing we all had in common? We thanked UT. 

"Today, I finished my college career. Today, I read a love letter to the Forty Acres with nine of the most inspiring theater artists I know, who are also graduating. Today, I concluded my week of spontaneous moments of theater. Thank you, UT.
Planned: 8:25am Performed: 10:44pm"

So, thank you, UT. For the confidence you gave me. For the community you gave me. For the memories you gave me. You took in a young girl who didn't know what to make of her potential, and is now leaving as a fearless woman, who will most definitely look back, sift through these memories, and spend extra time carefully and vividly re-membering the details of the good ones. 

(Re)Introducing the Fearless Fe*

Since my first week back at home for the winter break, I've been itching to write a blog. Every idea sat comfortably within the realm of nostalgia, recalling stories from my childhood that I had been reminded of from catching up with friends, visiting old stomping grounds, and digging through old journals and scrapbooks. What did I make of these memories? That I'm envious of my younger self, and not just because of the crystal clear, acne-free skin I had. Baby Felicia was pretty damn fearless, and I'm totally jealous, because slowly but surely, that confidence and self-assuredness was chipped away, as it does with everyone.

My creative quirks became embarrassing after I wanted to go by the name Fe* and a kid at school promptly asked "Fe*?! What kind of name is THAT?" (Upon retrospect, maybe not the most sensible name, but give me a break, I was in 3rd grade!)

My feministic approach with guys wavered after asking a boy to go to the movies with me and rejected me -- over AIM no less!

My time to get dressed doubled after getting questions of why I had purposely chosen to wear different colored socks.

Isn't that kind of a bummer?

Something else I made of these memories? I'm freaking scared to graduate college.

There, I said it.

All of the memories, the reminiscing, the nostalgia; they are all currently acting like a security blanket as I get closer and closer to moving my tassel from one side to another and making some version of this face to my mom:

I truly have no idea what I'm doing after college. I'm actually okay with not knowing what I am going to do. It's more that I'm nervous to enter this scary, eternal version of summer. The chant, "No more pencils, no more books! No more teachers' dirty looks!", was fine when it only pertained to 80 days of summer, but now it's applying to the rest of my life. The structure I've known for 17 years will be gone.

I may be working a 9 - 5 job every day, strategizing a brand's social media presence, or I could be living out of a suitcase as I tour with a Broadway show company. I'm not even freaked that those two careers are completely different from each other, I'm freaked about the one thing they have in common: it means that I will no longer feel like a kid. For some reason it feels like this serious ceremonial severing between childhood and adulthood -- quick, someone get Al Roker and the guy with the scissors who begins the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade!

For the sticklers: Yes, I know his name is Robin Hall, and yes, I know he no longer cuts the ribbon.

Completely separate from my winter break of nostalgia:

At the beginning of 2012, Ann Shoket -- the Editor-in-Chief of Seventeen Magazine challenged her twitter followers (via her assistant Berna) to choose one word to be their mantra for the year. That year I chose "action" and that was the same year I got my first internship with DoSomething.org. I've been choosing year mantras religiously ever since.

2012:

2013:

As if I could have planned it any better, my one word mantra for 2014 is FEARLESS. When I first chose this word I wanted to push myself, and face the post-grad unknown head first. But after this winter break, it is going to mean so much more. I want be true to myself. I want to be like fearless little ol' Fe*, with her mismatched socks and all.

xx

The Good, The Bad, The Ugly

Today was my last first day of school. Ever.
(Unless, of course, I decided to buy into that whole grad school idea...)

You would think since last night was the 17th first day of school eve that I've experienced, I'd be calm, cool, and collected. Oh, how wrong you would be. After scrambling around preparing for things, I lied in bed for at least half an hour, reminiscing on the my 16 year relationship with the one and only: education.

As I tossed, turned, and ferociously adjusted my pillow to its cooler side, it seemed like every memory from the past 16 years rushed to my brain; the good, the bad, and the ugly.

From organizing four of my friends and myself into the Hayes Elementary School version of the Spice Girls (the good - 1st grade), to the day I ate a whole tin of cinnamon altoids and promptly got strep throat (the bad - 5th grade), to the bright blue velvet track suit covered in stars and moons I frequently wore (the ugly - 4th grade).

Spice Girls in training

From the first time I experienced the joys of socializing during passing period (the good - 6th grade), to the backlash I got after I broke up with my first boyfriend over AIM, which I will admit, was pretty harsh (the bad - 7th grade), to basically every outfit I wore in middle school, especially the carefully crafted placement of my puka shell necklace hanging out of my navy blue Mickey Mouse hoodie (the ugly - all grades).

Note the omnipresent puka shell necklace and the signature Felicia pose

From winning best personality with my good pal Ben Koch (the good - 12th grade), to failing my first written driving test (the bad - 10th grade), to the hideous hodge-podge outfits that new dance team members had to wear for initiation (the ugly - 9th grade).

Best Personality, clearly

On top of these outfits we had to dance whenever someone asked us to...

And there so many more in between.

The best moments I thought of? The graduations from 5th grade, 8th grade, and 12th grade. By far my top three years of school so far, graduating from each of those grades was just the sweet, sweet icing on the cake. With remembering distinct moments from each graduation, I definitely smiled in between my glances at the clock to see how little sleep I was going to get. Getting pulled into a hug by Principal Thompson (5th grade), watching our rememberance video (8th grade), and holding back my tears after I finished my graduation speech to CRHS's class of 2010 (12th grade).

Alan Grove and I winning CR's Citizenship Award!

With all of those, I did feel a sense of finality, but I felt excitement more than anything. I knew I would be diving into this new, large pool that would be even bigger and even better than the last. But this morning, as I was putting on make-up and singing along to Black Eyed Peas' "Where is the Love?" (a ritual I've had since 6th grade), I couldn't help but feel a little scared and sad. I can't help but think that this will be the last time I do anything related to school. I can't help but cling on to this last year with all my might. Maybe it's because there isn't another institution of higher learning to head off to. I'll be heading into the real world armed with only #hashtags and tap shoes, and wow, it's a scary feeling. This new, large pool looks dark and deep, and naturally I'm hesitantly dipping one toe in, rather than just diving right in.

I want to soak this last year in. The mornings I wake up so late I rush out of the house without giving my looks a second thought (the ugly), the tests I fill out with only the guidance of "Well the last time I filled in A was three questions ago, so it seems reasonable that this answer might be A, too," (the bad), and those days where I nail a triple pirouette, where my mind is blown by a class discussion, where I learn, expand, and grow (the AMAZING).

Last first day of school with my amazing roomie Sean!

I'm going to soak it all in, and then, I'm going to cannonball.

Love Is Never Having To Say You're Sorry

Love is a funny thing in New York City. Or should I say; attraction is a funny thing in New York City.

Here's a breakdown of the levels of attraction I've experienced:

1) The Subway Eye Flirtation
Your eyes meet on a crowded subway, over the shoulder of a mom being clung to by a baby, past the right earlobe of someone listening to music; your eyes lock. Then they quickly shift away. Then you look back. Ah! They are still looking at you. Now downwards at your shoes. And back, but damn they are focused on wiping the sweat off their brow. Maybe they are trying to make themselves more presentable for you?

The subway eye flirtation is a favorite of mine, because it is non-committal yet deliciously entertaining. You feel good because they are checking you out, they feel good because you are checking them out. Everybody wins!

2) The Street Holler
It's the end of the day, you just climbed the stairs after a 35 minute train ride, and it begins. "Hola chica, que paso?", "Muy bonita, mama", "Mi amor, mi amor!". You adjust your earbuds, permafix a frown to your face, and march on down the street.

It's like Vanessa sings in "It Won't Be Long Now" in In The Heights, "The boys around the way holler at me when I'm walking down the street / Their machismo pride, doesn't break my stride / It's a compliment so they say." Okay great, another ego boost. However, these just seem lewd. Maybe it's because I'm not 100% sure what they are saying (WHY did I take French over Spanish?), maybe it's because I've never really experienced this kind of attention (Vancouver guys certainly haven't whistled at me on the street), or maybe it's just because I feel somewhat objectified (Thanks Theater and Dance classes!). It just seems a little absurd. I mean, I've gotten a marriage proposal before... Really? A girl you've seen for less than 30 seconds and you think she's the one to marry?

3) The Real Grown Up Dating
You meet up at the predetermined time and place. The basics are covered: where you grew up, where you went to school, family, your professional future (and only your professional future, your romantic future is taboo!). You discuss things you have in common, things you don't have in common, and if you're lucky, only a few awkward pauses.

Or you get stood up. Cute.

4) The Bicycle Built For Two
Basically the happy montage section of a rom-com. Exploring the city together, sharing Big Gay Ice Cream Monday Sundaes together, taking touristy photos together, loving life together.

This level of attraction is so fun. It's like nothing is the world can touch you. Sometimes I crave the affection of the level four attraction; the finger linking, the gentle kisses, the late night life talks. But on the other hand, there is something extremely freeing and exciting about not having to answer to anyone but yourself. That's what NYC has given me this summer. A chance to "do me". I've been doing independent, single, 21 year-old me, and as cheesy as that feels to read, it feels even better to live it.

And while I do appreciate the quote from Love Story that titles this post, I think we can all agree there are times when you hurt someone you care about, and you have to apologize. But when it's you, just you, you never have to apologize for being yourself.

New York City, the sequel.

In Theaters Now!

Put on your seat belts, ladies and gentlemen, for this post is going to be a doozy.

I first must take a moment to apologize to my loyal readers, who had been religiously following these posts (hey mom!), for not updating since March. But now that I'm back in New York, I've had a request to chronicle my life and the brouhaha that is likely to be this summer. I had already been scolding myself for not writing more, but after the NYC/Spring Break post, life got CRAY-CRAY. Just three mere days after I wrote that post I had to spend the night in Nashville, alone! A snowstorm delayed my flight from NYC so I missed my Nashville-Austin connection and had to sleep for six hours in a scary big (albeit suuupes comfy) bed in some random hotel ALONE. Talk about our 20s being a time to grow up.

I also threw myself into Theater and Dance when I got back. Our department hosted this AH-MAZING New Works Festival and my responsibilities with the end-of-the-semester musical theater performance peaked.

The 202 (the apartment I share with Sean!) became the social hub for our friends, and we spent many a night staying up til 4am, laughing, reenacting musicals, and me surreptitiously trying to sleep. (Didn't work-- my so-called "friends" even stole my mattress one night.)

Then I spent time in the good ol' Couve, where I caught up with my best friend, my fave local ice cream shop, and some much needed time with my pillow. I should have caught up on my posts also, but I'll be honest, eating s'mores and watching Gilmore Girls sounded a lot better at the time.

But now I'm back in that city that never sleeps, and it just feels right! NYC is where I took my first baby steps into the blogging world, and now that I've returned, it'll be easy to slip right in again.

It's funny, during my first couple days back in the city, I realized I needed to readjust back to several of my NYC-ccentric tendencies. I had remembered that since I'm in the same neighborhood that people would talk to me in Spanish because they think I'm Dominican, and I actually think it's really cool. But I had forgotten that I don't have to self-consciously try to hide my thick thighs when wearing shorts because there are girls that are the same shape as me. I forgot that I don't have to search high and low for hair products because there are girls that have the same hair as me. I forgot that you don't have to say sorry when you bump into someone on the sidewalk. And I certainly forgot how tiring the city is.

Let's do a quick recap of this past week's highlights:

*Attended Chicago night at Below 54 with my friend Jennifer
*Fan-girled over Adam Pascal at Chicago night
*Second first day of summer internship at DoSomething.org
*Drinks after work with one of DS's graphic designers, Keri, and the oh-so talented performer, Kyle Scatliffe
*Made Kyle serenade me with "Felicia Green Eyes" (formerly "Sarah Brown Eyes") from Ragtime
*Celebrated DS's 20th birthday in a major way:
     -Sang along while Hanson performed
     -Received cell numbers from two guys in 15 minutes (a first for me..)
     -Bonded with new interns and saw/laughed/danced with old interns
     -Went karaoking (which is much better when you are 21 and with the DS staff)
*MY FRIEND JENNIFER WON TONY AWARDS STUDENT RUSH TICKETS!
*Wore an XXL T-shirt and yelled #fitchplease outside of the flagship Abercrombie store.

...and those were just the highlights. So now I'm in bed, enjoying this luxury of, well, doing nothing. Even Wonder Woman has nights off.

I'll admit I might have been a little nervous that this summer wouldn't live up to the summer that never slept. I mean, they say that good things come in pairs, but in my experience, that isn't always the case. Thing 1 and Thing 2? Two people obnoxiously making out on public transportation? And don't even get me started on Grease 2. However, if this first week is any indication of how the rest of this summer is going to go, I have no reason to worry. I can already tell this will be a sequel I enjoy, like National Treasure 2: Book of Secrets. Love me some Nicholas Cage and Justin Bartha!

xx