Halloween is by far my least favorite holiday.  And I blame it all on the "Haunted Basement" hosted by Jamie Adair every year.  Jamie loves Halloween.  Ever since I can remember, she has invited all of her friends over for hotdogs and beverages.  However, when I was younger (circa four years old), Jamie thought it would be a great idea to create a "Haunted Basement".  And Kelley Randall Castaneda will also quote, "I was always the kid that dressed as a witch every year.  I was also the kid that sat in the carport eating a lot of hotdogs while all the other kids went through the haunted house.  I couldn't help it.  It was scary down there."  And I'll back her up on it.  That crap was scary.  I mean, I watched a lady that had played my mother in a show two months before that walk up from the basement with a candelabra in her hand, dressed in all black, with blood smeared all over her face.  This was a far cry from her collared dress and apron that she wore in The Music Man. I mean, I realize she was really trying to be theatery and all, but give a kid a break for God's sake.

By far, the moment that really hit home and triggered my hatred for Halloween occurred during this same year.  I, like Kelley, was dressed as a witch, green face, bowl cut, mole and all.  Now, my father, being the theatery man he is, always participated in the Haunted Basement.  Well, for some reason, I went into the Haunted Basement.  I was only four, so I don't quite remember what possessed me to enter, whether it was my mom taking me through or me going  under my own will.  The point is, it was a mistake.  I enter into the basement.....I see many scary people that strangely resembled many of my neighbors....and as I enter into the next room, I see a man with slicked back black hair, blood around his mouth, white face, and a vampire cape lit by a strobe light and standing over a woman who was dressed in shredded white gown---screaming.  The man was simultaneously screaming and cackling while waving his robe over the screaming woman (again, let me remind you that he was lit by a strobe light which make any experience ten times more intense.....and I was four).  Well, this man/vampire was my father.  Of course, I was so shocked and traumatized by the fact that a vampire was about to eat one of my neighbors, that I didn't even realize it was my father.  That is, until he pulled out his vampire teeth, looked at me while I was screaming, and said "Taylor! It's me!"  It was then that I realized that my father is a vampire.  I've hated Halloween ever since. 

Another reason I hate Halloween is because everybody dresses like sluts.  Don't deny it.  You've done it before.  And I definitely won't deny it.  I've tried.  But the only time I tried was when I was eight years old.  I was really into watching Nick at Nite that year and I watched a whole lot of "I Dream of Genie"....therefore I wanted to dress as the genie.  The costume called for a bare stomach.  I was all about it.  But my mother opted for me to wear a turtleneck under the suit....."because it was a little chilly".  After that, I wasn't about dressing up dirtily for Halloween.  I was never a dirty nurse, or dirty cowgirl, or dirty police officer, or dirty bumblebee, or dirty kitten, or dirty prisoner, or dirty Raggedy Ann doll.  So I never really fit in at Halloween.  My outfit choices have been Betty Rubble, a nun, Bon Qui Qui, a Drunk Bus pilot, and a crab.  It's just not my thing.  

So, this year, I've decided to not let Halloween get the best of me.  Oh no.  I'm in control now.  I will happily spend my Halloween at Talbots, overeating Reese's, and hopefully end my day scaring children who come to trick-or-treat.  I mean dang, I took it for years....so now I'm going to dish it.  

And for now, at least I'm not this kid.

  

First of all, I just want to go ahead and put this out there.
PC Homecoming--1
All of 2-Crunk--0
I'm too old to be doing the matrix dance move that I continuously did at the Sigma Nu house.  My lower back is still recovering.  But I would like to applaud John Mark Elliot for the incredible charisma, creativity, and sheer genius that he brings to the dance floor. I may or may not have ripped his shirt doing a dance move. Once again, we killed it.
Taylor and John Mark--1
Dance Floor--0

Now on to the real point of the blog.  A couple of months ago, I was taking a soothing bubble bath to calm my nerves.  When all of the sudden, Kim busts into the bathroom and says "Taylor, get out of the tub.  Your sister just took a pregnancy test and it's positive.  Oh Jesus."  So we learned that my big sister was pregnant....and needless to say, I almost peed my pants.  I could not have been more pumped.  Is it bad that I immediately thought, "Gosh I'm going to corrupt this kid so badly"?  I personally don't think so.  So, the past two months have been nothing but me addressing Kelley's stomach as "Baby Cecil" and rubbing her stomach in public inappropriately.Needless to say, I've been really pumped to be an aunt.
We found out on Friday morning that the little bambino will be a girl.  And since I've obviously been a mother many times, I started giving Kelley parenting advice, such as playing music for the baby, what to do with the nursery, and of course, the fact that the baby should be named Taylor......she didn't accept that advice.  Whatever.
But ever since we found out that the little one will be a GIRL, I've been thinking about things that I will teach/do to/make her do.  And of course, I will compile this into a list.


1.  I will be the biggest "Stage Aunt" that there ever was.  By "Stage Aunt", I mean that I will force this kid to audition for many many many shows.  I will take 9000 pictures at every dance recital she is in.  I will buy her musical theater t-shirts.  I will force her to be in Annie at least once.  While she spends the night at my house (God willing I have one), we will listen to Broadway shows and perhaps even create a dance routine to it.  And I will force her to sing a new song for me and perhaps even do a monologue every month.  And I'm sorry....but if this kid isn't talented, I just don't know if I'll be able to accept it.

2.  I will teach her what Tommy Addison taught to me when I was a youngster.  It goes like this.
      The Adult Asks:  What does the butt say?
      The Kid Replies:  *proceeds to do a farting noise
    I consider this a really charming trait.  I'm glad that I learned how to do it. And she will too.

3.  I will teach her my amazing dance skills.  When Kelley went to PC, she was known for cutting a rug on the dance floor of the fraternity houses.  I'd like to think that I was known for the same thing during my run.  Once again, if this child can't dance, I don't know if I'll be able to accept it.  I mean, Kelley and I have attended many-a-wedding where we have cleared the dance floor and had circles of people watching us.  At her bachelorette party, we had an entire bar surrounding us, taking pictures, and watching us kill "Soulja Boy". Therefore, this kid has to know how to dance.  I don't care what it takes.  She'll work, she'll sweat, she'll cry....but by God, she will dance well.

4.  I will go with her to get her first tattoo.  Yes.  She's getting a tattoo......and I'd prefer it if it was my portrait.  You know the ones that tattoo-clad Kat Von D always does on LA Ink?  Yeah.  One of those.  I hope she gets one.

5.  I will write a song for her.  Now I told my sister that I've always wanted to write songs for my kids or her kids.  So you'd think that she would have the dignity to give her child a name that MAYBE I can rhyme with.  But no....her ideas for names are Ava Wynne.....Ryder....McLaurin.....and it continues.  Seriously?  What the hell do I rhyme with McLaurin? "Ohhh McLaurin.  You're a chick.....darlin?"  This may be difficult

6.  I will NOT pressure her to go to cheerleading tryouts.  Not that my family did.  No.  They did the complete opposite.  Which would have been to my great benefit, had I listened to them. But I didn't.  Instead, I went to cheerleading tryouts....and I thought I had it in the bag.  I thought I was a star.  And I thought my toe-touches were legit.  Little did I know that I looked like a FOOL.  And my family didn't have the heart to tell me that I looked....really bad.  So I didn't get in....needless to say.  And I cried. And my principal saw me crying, felt sorry for me, and told me that it was good that I didn't get in because it would "ruin my voice".  Wow.  OK....it's decided.  She will not try out for cheerleading.

7.  She will love the Stones, Hanson, Elton John, Cher, the Beatles, Ke$ha, and GaGa.  Basically, she will be me.

8.  I will take her to New York with me and take her to all the shows I want to see and force her to like and appreciate them.  She will be so theatery....it's just ridiculous.  I can't wait.

9.  I will teach her how to trick her parents into going to a Christmas party in order to completely cover their house in Christmas lights....at least 1000 lights.....and including a light up nativity scene and a 5 foot blow up Santa Claus.  It's not like I've done this before.....

10.  I will teach her to learn to laugh at herself.  First, this will require that she gets a bowl cut at some point in her life.  Second, she'll have to fall a lot.  And I don't mean like "emotionally fall"....I mean literally fall down on her face.  Third, she will have to have a really awkward encounter with a person/director who could give her a job/part.  This includes awkwardly hitting people on the shoulder and stuttering....a lot.

I can't wait for her to be here.  And I never thought I'd say this, but I can't wait to be an aunt.  Granted I refuse to change poop diapers or deal with a lot of loud and obnoxious crying.  But I think I'll be pretty good at my job as aunt.  Basically, this kid is going to be really freaking cool. And if it's not, I can always just give it back to Kelley when I'm done messing with it.

And until then, at least I'm not this kid.

After I graduated college (a college in which, by the way, I ROCKED the dance floor (that comment's relevance will be shown later in the blog) at), I decided it would be a great idea to take a year off in between grad school to "live".........whether or not that turned out to be a good idea is completely erroneous.
The point is, I decided to move up to CharTown because it's a bigger city, there's a lot of opportunity (again, whether or not that's true is completely erroneous), it's still accessible to the homestead, and they have a great professional children's theater.  So tonight I find out there's an audition for "Scrooge", which by the way, may or may not be the story of my father's life.
So I'm really excited, right?  It's a professional audition.  It could give me a little street cred.  It gives me an opportunity to sing in front of some people that may be connected somehow in the arts.  And maybe there will be a male suitor there........or perhaps a new gay bestie.
Now, you can ask Josh Martin or Anna Katherine Moore and they will be happy to tell you the thing I hate most about theater.  The thing I hate most about the theater:  theatery people.  If you don't what I'm talking about, I'd be happy to explain "theatery people" characteristics in a list:
1.  People who constantly talk about the shows that they have done....example:  "Why, yes, I was in Beauty and the Beast.  I was the 3rd spoon from the left".  Here's a hint, Shakespeare.  I hate you and I hate your previous experiences in theater.
2.  People who obnoxiously stretch/warm up before an audition.  Example:  There was a girl today who, first of all, came into the audition with a black leotard on.....only.  I mean, dang.  At least put on a skirt.  She sat in front of me for an hour doing butterfly stretches, stretching her legs up against the walls, lunging, and basically screaming.  She was trying to "make sure everything was warm in her voice".  If it would have been appropriate to throw my jazz shoe at her face, I totally would have.
3.  People who think it's ok to wear "Wicked" t-shirts, knee socks with stripes, too many arm bracelets/silly bands, and jeans with a lot of holes in them to an audition.  This isn't OZ.  Get your life together and put on a suit, fool.

So, since I haven't been to an audition in a while, I was re-immersed in the hatred that I have for over the top theatery people and the audition process in general.  I literally sit in a corner with my theatery bag, my attempt at an outfit to wear for a dance call, and my cell phone, taking sly and candid pictures of these crazies.  But it always provides for a good laugh....and someone for me to text Kelley about and make fun of.
When I got to the audition tonight, I realized also that this audition was going to mix my dislike for a thing I hate alot, theatery people, with a thing I dislike even more, which is theatery kids.  God knows that I try to have patience for them.  After all, I was probably just like them when I was 11 or so.....but they didn't have as cool of a bowl cut as I did.  I mean, I did buy a Rent shirt the first time I saw it.....and I wore a Wicked shirt to the first improv show I ever saw so they would notice that I liked theater.....and I may or may not have only Broadway songs on my iPod.  ERRONEOUS.  The point is, I tried to have patience, but I couldn't.  These kids were crazy.  They literally bounced all around the room.  One looked at me and said "Oh my God.  I forgot how my song goes....can you sing the first part of A Whole New World for me?" And I did.  One little girl practiced singing "Popluar" from Wicked for 30 minutes in the corner while pacing back and forth.  She was a culprit of wearing those friggin tall socks.  It was literally like High School Musical on crack.
 But then a little glimmer of light shone.  And her name was Ashley.  She was four years old.  She was eating chocolate goldfish....which I didn't even know existed.  And best of all, she had light up shoes.  And they not only lit up on her heel, they also lit up on her toes.  Seriously?  Where was this circa 1994 when we wore light up shoes?!  And these were Chuck Taylors! She was so cool.  I will admit that she didn't, by any means, change my mind about theatery kids because she had on an "Annie" t-shirt, but it was still pretty cool that she had light up shoes.
The audition went really well! And theeeeen the dance callback happened.  And although I did take movement styles with Sally Besuden, Anna Katherine Moore, and Josh Martin, and I admit, I danced my d#*k off, it didn't help too much.  I've never been much of a dancer......outside of the fraternity houses.  Whatever.  At least I smiled alot.....right?
But, another day, another dolla, another audition.  Oh the life of a struggling artist.
And until then, at least I'm not this guy.

First of all, I'd like to point out a big growth process that has occurred within myself. I want to say that Justin Bieber's new song, "You Smile, I Smile" is pretty catchy.  Now, as many of you know, if people were to ask me the top five things I hated in life, I would have to reply:

1.  Taylor Swift

2.  The word "moist"

3.  Josh Groban

4.  Sorority Rush

5.  Justin Bieber

But because I live in a big girl world, I've tried to open up my mind; enlighten myself, if you will.  I consider this slight appreciation of his new song a part of my maturing process in my new grown up life.  I'm learning to accept his music and more importantly, his JTim like dance moves.  The Biebs is pretty trendy.  And I'm not trying to hop on the trendy train or get Bieber fever, but I will, as an adult, admit that I do find the song catchy.

Now that I've gotten that off my chest, on with this week's update.  I've been thinking about what I wanted to write about all week, and sincerely haven't really been inspired yet....until today.  

At my place of employment today, I had a lady come in looking for an outfit.  This lady had me running.....I mean RUNNING around the store.  I'm talking panty hose, jewelery, cardigans, shoes, everything.  I'm thinking that I burned around 800 calories alone on this sale.  Which I won't complain about.  And when I finished ringing her up, she looked at me and said "Well, you just made me happy".  And all I think could think of was "Good God."  This lady was making me look like the Queen of England because I found the right control top panty hose for her.  Sweet.  So as she left, I started thinking about things that made me happy and gave me the warm and fuzzy feeling inside; the exact same feeling that I gave my lady in capri pants with polka dots on them.  

Now I think everyone knows that I love lists.  I really do.  So, I've decided to document the things that make me happy in the blog with a list.

1.  Jersey Shore--I don't care how much crap anybody talks about these people.  They are creative geniuses.  A few of my favorite quotes are as follows:  "GTL baby.  If you don't go to the gym, you're fat.  It you don't tan, you're pale.  And if you don't do laundry, you ain't got no clothes"  Another fave:  "When it asks what race I am on job applications, I say TAN."  And my all time fave:  "Shut your mouth, you dirty little hamster". These people are geniuses.  They have created the perfect characters.  They have perfect comedic timing without even trying.  And they made up acronyms for their lives.  I respect anyone who narrates their lives with GTL and DTF.  SO, Jersey Shore definitely makes me happy.  T-Shirt Tiiiiiiiiiiiiime.

2.  Diet Dr. Pepper--Dude....if you've never had a Diet Dr. Pepper, you're ridiculous.  It has changed my life.  When I'm angry....Diet Dr. P.  When I'm happy.....Diet Dr. P.  When I'm nauseous....Diet Dr. P.  When I'm getting ready to get my dance on....Diet Dr. P.  It's all the pleasure with the guiltlessness of a diet drink.  Do it.  Seriously. It has changed my life.

3.  America's Funniest Home Videos--I can't tell you the number of times that Randy and I have sat in our living room watching AFV and just cried because we were laughing so hard.  For example, after I got off work today, I watched a 3 minute montage of people passing out at a wedding.  It's just so funny.  And watching people walk into closed sliding glass doors really never gets old. I also really appreciate AFV because of the number of times that my family should have been on the show.  One particular time stands out in my head.  Don't worry, I'll set it up for you.

Circa 2004

The whole family thought it would be a great idea to do Tae Bo together.  You remember Tae Bo.  The hot sweaty and ripped black man led it and it dealt with a bunch of kicking and punching things really fast.  SO, we set up the formation, Kelley and mom in the front, Dad and I in the back.  The warm ups began and Kelley was on point, not missing a beat or a move.  But we were all keeping up.  Well, the friggin warm up turned into a full fledged body boot camp within five minutes.  Ten minutes later, I realize what's happening.  Kelley is still focused on the sweaty black man who's alternating between kicking and punching.  She sweating more than he is.  Kim is literally hopping all around the room just air punching.  No method to anything.  Just hopping and punching.  Randy is the color of a fire truck. All of the water that had ever been in his body was now either running down him or soaking into his tshirt.  And he's doing the kicking move by pulling up the legs of his shorts in order to lift his legs up.  Oh yeah, and I was on the couch.

Things like this should be on AFV.  And they are.  It's just a great show.  And it makes me very very happy.

And last but not least: 

4. Taye Diggs--I don't think I need to explain that at all.

So, I make this lady happy with good fitting panty hose, and she makes me realize the top 4 things that make me happy.  Other things include the Dragon family, 2Crunk, funnel cakes, Elton John, my theatery people, the gays, fried pickles, everyone in the senior apartments, Ke$ha, and my dog Mae.  

So my friends, the moral of the story is this.  When the big girl or boy world is sucking, sometimes you just have to think of things that make you happy.  I had to do that today, or else I wouldn't have been able to keep my mind off of the fact that my feet feel like an 18 wheeler is continuously driving over both of them.  

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SALLY BESUDEN!

And everybody should give Brice Taylor a donation to go help orphans in Kenya.  It really is for orphans.  This isn't like The Hangover when he takes $$$ for a "fieldtrip" and uses it in Vegas.......or is it?

And until then, at least I'm not this guy.

 

First of all, click on this youtube link and let it play in the background while you are reading the blog.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7S_gLohI4XE

Why listen to this, you ask?  Well, I've come to realize that in CharTown, it's essential to stay positive and always think happy thoughts.  And let's face it, "We Are The Champions" sung by the fabulous queen of Queen, Freddy Mercury, always raises one's spirits.....except for the time that it came on the radio after my last class ever at PC.  Needless to say, I cried the entire car ride back to my apartment.
The point is, I had a great thing happen to me today and my place of employment.  An accomplishment if you will.  And I was watching the last 15 minutes of COPS on the Fox network, I began to think of all of the accomplishments in my life.  Naturally, I had to blog about it.  The list will go in chronological order and will end with my accomplishment of today.  The list is as follows:


3 years old:  My family captured the most perfect Christmas picture ever.  Kelley was grinning from ear to ear, hand on hip, sitting on Santa's lap.  However, the camera was at the widest angle lens possible because I was approximately 3 feet away from both of them....crying.  Thus, I created the most classic and perfect Christmas picture ever taken.  If I ever find it, it will absolutely be posted to the blog.

5 years old:  I won the "Showstopper Award"  for the Laurens County Community Theater's production of Anne of Green Gables.  This award was given by Ami Vaughn and was literally a bathtub stopper that was put on a string.  It was awesome.  And why did I win this award?  Because of my incredible talent of reciting my two lines:  "Diana's druuuuuunk" and "Anne, you have cuffs!".  I also thought I was the coolest person in the play because I got to wear an apron with ruffles (Yeaaaaah Sallie Anna, take that!)

5 1/2 years old:  I had the most successful Power Ranger themed birthday party that ever happened to Clinton.  So what if it was at the former Burger King (also known as Murder King).  I had a yellow Trini ranger birthday cake.  And a yellow Trini ranger t-shirt.  It was good.  And may the actress who formerly played Trini rest in peace.

6 years old:  I broke my arm for the first time.  Now, you may say "How is that an accomplishment, weirdo?" Well I'll tell you why when I get to 9 years old.  Don't worry.

8 years old:  I got my second bowl cut.  Yes, I say second because Kim (my mother) made Kelley and I have bowl cuts around the age of 3 (right around the time when the Christmas picture was taken).  However, this time I made the decision on my own to get the bowl cut.  Now, some people may not consider this
an accomplishment, but I definitely do.  It's always a conversation starter.  It provides good entertainment while watching home videos.  And let's face it, I was a fox.  A fox with a bowl cut and braces with yellow bands.

9 years old:  YMCA Basketball.  Championship game.  The Clinton All Star Team vs. Whitmire.  These girls were HUGE.  I mean, they were mammoths.  Seriously.  And one of them always wore bandaids over her ears.  I never understood it.  One minute left in the game. We were up by 2.  Bandaids had rebounded the ball and was taking it down the court.  I was the closest one to her, so it was my opportunity to guard her.  I turned around and was running backwards.  Suddenly, I trip over the feet, not of Bandaids, but my feet.  As I was falling, I grabbed her arm and tried to take her down with me.  This time, I landed on my arms and broke BOTH arms.  But, the balding ref called a foul on me.  And as I sat on the sideline crying and watching Bandaids shoot her foul shot, I hit the bleachers and screamed louder than any of the protective mothers who tended to scream obscenities from the stands.  Bandaids shoots.  AND SHE MISSES. THANK GOD! SHE MISSES.  One more shot.  Bandaids shoots.  AND SHE MISSES AGAIN.  Thus, we won the championship game...I broke BOTH arms (which was semi cool to have 2 casts).....and we got trophies (eventhough I found out this year that our parents paid for our trophies every year.  Whatever.)

Ages 10-14, nothing really happened.  I was pretty awkward.  I tried wearing pink and carrying a purse.  That didn't work.

Age 15:  I was accepted into the Governor's School summer Academy program for drama.  This was a miracle.  I mean a MIRACLE.  Why?  Because they asked us to do a 30 second monologue and 16 bars of a song.  I did at 3 minute monologue (because it was the only monologue I knew) and tried to sing an entire song from Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.  Don't worry.  I was eventually cut off.  But they did accept me.  Maybe they were high.

Age 16:  I got through the "Drug Bug" situation and lived to tell about it.  Don't know that story?  Ask me.  Maybe that can be another blog.

Age 17:  I got through singing "For Good" at my high school graduation without crying.  It's probably because I was trying my damndest to pull Victor together, who was trying to sing while sobbing and getting snot on my shoulder.  It was a hot mess.  Period. And then I looked up to get a little support from the audience and, oh I don't know, my family, and they were as hot of a mess as Victor.  I mean, Jesus.  What do I have to do to get a little emotional stability at a graduation? The accomplishment was that we simply got through it.

Age 18-21:  I lived through PC.

AAAAAAAAND the moment we have all been waiting for.

Age 22:  I have officially been out of training at Talbots for three days.  My feet are throbbing, my hair is frizzy, and the store has been slow all week.  My sales goals had not quite been met because the crowds were not coming in.  UNTIL an angel walked into those red front doors.  She was wearing black Jackie O sunglasses and looked like she had gone through about seven facelifts and years of lying in a tanning bed at the spa next door.  And as she walked in, I jumped on it like white on rice.  45 minutes later, THIS GIRL had a......$1200 SALE!  That's right!!!! I'm sure this may be a violation of privacy, but I don't even care.  I didn't even know what $1200 worth of clothing looked like....until today.  2 cashmere sweaters, 2 pencil skirts, 3 blouses, 2 dresses, and a pair of kitten heels and yours truly is the new Goddess of Talbots.  UHHHH! TAKE THAT NORDSTROM! THAT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR NOT HIRING YA HOMEGIRL!

I'm happy.  And I'm real proud. And for now, at least I don't look like this dude.


Love,
Taylor

Well.  22 years old is a lot different than 21 years old.  I will explain this thought by describing my past weekend.

As many of us all know, the past weekend was the big PC vs. The Clemson Bullies game.  Thus, the 15 best friends that anyone could have, and I, decided to create a reunion weekend out of it.  The weekend began on Friday night with a trip back to Clinton and to my beloved Sigma Nu House for 70's party.


Ways to know you're not 21 anymore #1:
After dancing to my favorite song, Fantasy by Ludacris, and pulling out moves that have been retired since May 2010, I thought my back had detached from my body.  The pain that I felt in not only my back but more like my entire body could only be compared to what I think child birth may eventually feel like.  After a serious drop it like it's hot, my body was completely done.  The countless struts across the dance floor and the number of running man moves that occurred were just too much.

After waking up and finally retrieving some MUCH need BoJo, we made our way to the land of the Bullies.  (I say this because there was a Tiger fan who walked by and said "ALRIGHT HOW BOUT THEM TIGERS! 57-21!"  We responded by saying "WE SCORED 21 POINTS?!?! ALRIGHT!!")  We enjoyed a ballin tailgate courtesy of Jeremy Nates, and then set off to scout out cheap tickets.  I mean, it's Clemson vs. PC.  There will be TONS of people giving away tickets right?  WRONG.  After Smurch, Laurie, and I walked approximately 14 miles around the Clemson campus in search for a ticket, I realized we had to get serious.  Thus, I resorted to something I never thought I would do.  I took out a legal pad, a sharpy, and wrote NEED 3 TICKETS.....I then proceeded to walk around with the sign held above my head and three fingers stuck in the air.  Who was I?  Ughh.  Well, anyways.  We scrounged up 4 tickets from a very sketchy man with dreadlocks and a walky talky.  We traveled another 37 miles to get to Gate 20 and sat in the upper deck....aka......hell.

Ways to know you're not 21 anymore #2:
Normally, as a 21 year old in an excitingly huge stadium like Clemson with 80,000 fans screaming and cheering around me, adrenaline pumping, and football in the air, I would have thrived and stayed until the very end--cheering on our team even if our opponents were playing their 7th string players.  However, after the first quarter, I was dunzo.  I had officially turned into my grandmother.  I was using a football shaped fan.  I was incredibly hot.  I refused to stand up.  And my feet were swollen.  I officially quit.

After the exhausting and hellish game, the 15 best friends that anyone could have and I regained our composure and some of our dignity, and traveled back to Greenville to celebrate one last night together.  We ate pizza and decided to go out on the town like old times!  We've still got it right? WRONG!

Ways to know you're not 21 anymore #3:
It's 2:00 AM.......we've all returned to Sallie Wham and Erin's house.  An average night at Presbyterian College would conclude at around 4:30 AM (after a McDonald's run and sufficiently renegading the boys of 3F's freezer, of course).  However, I look around and everyone is sitting around the room, heads bobbling.  And not in a way that suggests there's a funky beat playing, but rather bobbling because everyone was falling asleep.  We couldn't hack it.  It was too much.

So after sleeping on a kitchen floor (because there was LITERALLY no space left to sleep anywhere in the house), I headed back to life in the real world.   I'm still poor (donations are welcome and appreciated).  My feet still hurt every day after coming home from work.  And I'm still living the life of a starving artist. I'm definitely not 21 anymore.  Not even close to it.  BUT, at least I got to at least TRY to take a trip back in time to those college years this weekend.  And for now, at least I'm living like this lady.

Dude.....it's the hard knock life.

When I was 9 years old, I auditioned for Annie.  I just knew that I was going to get the role of that cute little red head with a red dress that I always thought was a few centimeters too short for a nine year old to be wearing.  But the point is, I knew I had it in the bag.
I wore a red sweatshirt with a big black stripe, my cool jean/cargo pants (did I mention I was still in the phase where I thought I was a boy?), and was still rocking my bowl cut. I auditioned with the heartbreaking opening number, "Maybe", complete with hand motions and a dramatic hand extension at the end of the song.  Duh.  I thought I was a star.  It was a done deal.
Two weeks later, I got a call from the director saying that I had received a part as an orphan. I was to report to rehearsal two days later in order to find out my role and have my first reading.  The day came, and I arrived at the theater 30 minutes ahead of time (because I wanted to stop at Krystal to get mini burgers on the way) along with my fellow castmates Sallie Anna Barton, Kay Addison, and my stage dad. I got out of the suburban, this time in my brown corduroy overalls, and walked up to the call board, fully expecting to look at the words that I had always dreamed of seeing:

TAYLOR RANDALL.................................................................ANNIE

And what I actually saw was:

TAYLOR RANDALL................................................................MOLLY

Needless to say, I was devastated.  Molly was NOT Annie.  Molly did NOT get to wear the red curly wig.  Molly did NOT get to sing "Tomorrow" to a drooling Golden Retriever that refused to stay onstage and sometimes peed on the props. Molly was the shrimpy orphan who cried all the time because she had bad dreams.  Molly was the orphan that Annie sang to......that Annie sang MY AUDITION song to!  How dare they?!?!?  Not to mention that I was a foot taller and probably 40 pounds heavier than Annie.
However, because we lived an hour away from the theater and my father forced me to go into the rehearsal, I accepted the part....reluctantly.  I sat in front of three girls that already knew each other before the show had started.  And let me once again remind you that I had a bowl cut.....and brown corduroy overalls.  I was not the coolest cucumber in the group.  I was intimidated and was wanting to be a cool girl too.
But at that rehearsal, those girls behind me came up and started a sweet little convo (which turned out to be three friends I still hold dear to me today, Lauren Cann, Leah Gagnon, and Emily Grice), and we four became instant friends....that sometimes got on the moms that volunteered to work backstage's nerves.  And although I was initially very angry that I was cast as Molly, I realized that I got to sing "You're Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile" and I had more time to sit offstage and eat Butterfingers while playing Crazy 8s.  It could not have been more perfect.  It was an experience I'll always remember....and it turned out to be a great one.

The moral of the story is this:  After attending a great labor day BBQ hosted by our new adopted family Jim and Carla Gambrell this weekend, I had to go back to my first full week of work.  The day began as hectic as ever and once again, we had 9000 middle schoolers wanting to rent instruments.  People are not always patient and nice....and people want their instruments....and they want them fast. I was overwhelmed and frustrated. And for a good while, I had a bit of what I like to call a "badditude". But just like Annie, I know this experience will get better and it will turn out to be one that I love. It's just a bowl cut away from singing showtunes and loving what I do.

And for now, at least it's good to know that I'm not this girl.

Love,
Taylor