Just this past weekend we celebrated Will's 32nd birthday. I don't turn 28 until May 29th, which means that he looks like even more of a cradle robber for another month. I don't think he thinks it's funny..............I think it's hilarious. I'm not sure why I decided that once you cross the threshold of a 4 year gap that someone becomes a cradle robber..............probably just to torture Will. Yeah, that's probably it. I'm the BEST girlfriend ever -- obviously.

But in all seriousness, his birthday made me reflect on a lot of things. This July will mark 5 years for us. Prior to meeting Will, I hadn't made it past about 18 months with anyone. I got bored easily. Plus, I also tended to date people who were out of their goddamn minds. My dating track record is impressively terrible. My friends have nicknames for all of my exes. Among the many nicknames, "Stalker Steve" and "Bipolar Bear" are probably my favorites. Well, "The Douche Nuvo" is also pretty fantastic. I realize that the name is redundant, but that was the point. It was necessary in order to embody the level of douchiness that this person achieved on a daily basis.

​Anyhow..........Will is the kind of guy where one of my friends quite literally said to me, "If things for some reason don't work out between you two, we'll probably keep him anyway." I'm still not entirely sure if that meant that they would find a way to be friends with both of us, or if they would side with him in the "divorce." I think I may have been insulted and didn't know it at the time...............

Will is one of the funniest people I've ever met, which is a HUGE factor for me when it comes to being drawn to someone. Funny musicians have always been my kryptonite. I also tend to gravitate towards guys who are about 5'10" ish with broad shoulders. My dad says I'm trying to deplete the gene pool. I'm pretty tall for a girl, but listen...............I don't like having to crane my neck to kiss someone. I'm just attracted to shorter guys -- I can't help it. Their face is right by my face. It's what I like. Leave me alone.

My sister also informs me that I like "the hairy ones." She's not wrong. I think I'm drawn to bearded men because they look more "manly" or something. The "pretty boys" who can't grow facial hair just don't do it for me. Sorry boys.

Back to the point. (My attention span is that of a freakin' gold fish today..............)

Will is awesome. Plain and simple. He's a freakishly talented musician that can play a ridiculous amount of instruments. He's a chameleon -- it's sick. But regardless of how talented he is, he's one of my biggest fans. He thinks highly of me as a musician, and he pushes me musically because he believes in me. I'm sitting over here thinking, "But I only sing and play the piano............I mean, I played trumpet for like 2 years and thought I could play guitar for a few...........but you play ALL the instruments. WE'RE NOT EVEN ON THE SAME LEVEL!!!" But he thinks we are, which is pretty cool. 

I sucked at the guitar, by the way. Like, for real. 

Will is smart and is constantly, proactively seeking even more knowledge. He makes me think and doesn't let me get away with having an opinion without solid reasoning to back it. That's the journalist in him -- he challenges me.

He loves me unconditionally, even when I'm super grumpy. A not so great trait I inherited is to get super irritable when I'm hungry. 

Although apparently he's dated his fair share of crazy as well, because he laughs at me when I apologize for being grumpy. I guess my irritable moments seem pretty insignificant when you've dated someone who tried to assault you on a regular basis and would lock herself in the bathroom if she didn't get her way. And I thought my Bipolar Bear was bad..............yikes.

​Most importantly, Will has a huge heart. He's attentive, affectionate, thoughtful, and makes me feel loved every day. 

A lot has happened in the past 5 years. When we met, we were both musicians who worked at restaurants to make ends meet. Between then and now we've both been through grad school, multiple moves (including Tennessee and back), several difficult family situations, changes in employment (some chosen, some not), weight gain, weight loss, and financial hardship, among other things. We've been through it all together.

I honestly can't imagine having been through all of that with anyone else. And the craziest part is that through all of that we never fought. We had some moments, but they were always quickly dealt with, because we talk. We talk a LOT. We deal with situations head on and we do it together.

We're not perfect, but we're perfect for each other. That freakishly talented goofball is one of the best things that's ever happened to me. I think I'll keep him, even though he is a cradle robber. 

This post is a little different than my others, mostly because this is what has been in the forefront of my mind lately. I have music on the brain. Lots and LOTS of music. 

In preparation for upcoming gigs, I've been making charts and set lists like crazy. It's amazing how time consuming this can be. Between that, practicing the songs, trying to be healthy and work out, trying to keep my house clean, and my day job (which has been double duty for the past month or so with a ton of music/art programming and related parties that fell into our laps -- I'm apparently also a party planner now), it's been a little nuts. 

Woof.

As I was staring at my set list and trying to order it in a way that made sense, it dawned on me that I have really weird taste in music. Like, REALLY weird. My shit is all over the place. I've always had an eclectic taste, but this set list covers everything from jazz standards, to Stevie Wonder, to Black Keys, The Knack, Cake, Talking Heads, Alanis Morissette, Amy Winehouse, Men at Work, and Lit. There's a ton of other stuff on there, but that's just a sampling. It's weird. I'm weird. I've come to terms with it. 

Granted, it's a talented group of people who will be playing this stuff, so we can handle it. But I'm sure the first time they saw the list of songs to learn they were thinking, "Is she high?"

It gets better................
As if it wasn't enough that I handed these guys a song list that looks a drunken monkey just randomly hit buttons on a jukebox....................I'm also making them play multiple instruments. The bass player (who is usually a drummer) is switching to trumpet at times, and the guitar player will play bass on the songs where there is trumpet. Oh, and the guitar player is also gonna bust out the clarinet, because why the hell not. AND, I'm also making them sing on some stuff as well. 
It's a "musical playground," so to speak. And also, I'm a little crazy. "I want what I want," as 3 year old me would say while standing in front of the fridge. 

I swear I'm gonna bust out my kazoos at some point just to add to the insanity...............
I'm sure the other musicians would LOVE it if I said, "Hey, blow on this while you're at it."
Ha...............that was a funny visual for me. 
​Maybe I'll make the drummer play the kazoo...........................

If I had to choose a genre(s) where my voice feels truly at home, it would definitely be jazz and anything with soul and grit. That type of music just feels right to me. It speaks to me I guess. So jazz standards, Amy Winehouse, and stuff like Stevie Wonder are right in my wheel house. Good shit. 

But...........................there's something super satisfying about performing stuff that you would otherwise have no business performing. It's such a blast. Psycho Killer? Yeah. Definitely doing that one -- because I want to, dammit. You Oughta Know -- Alanis Morissette? Hell yeah! That song is bad ass! Besides, what's the point of being a musician if you can't experiment? 

As I get older I just keep wanting to do weirder and weirder stuff..............so anyone that works with me now and in the future.............brace yo' self!

In light of yesterday being National Sibling Day, and my last blog post being pretty angry, I've decided to switch gears this week. Honestly, I had no idea yesterday was National Sibling Day, but waking up this morning to a bunch of Facebook posts with kind words, funny stories, and wonderful photos got me thinking about my own siblings. 

My brother, Josh, is 30 years old now -- which is crazy to me. But then again, I'm going to be 28 at the end of May. Oy vey...................My sister, Johanna (aka "Jo" or "Jojo"), is 19 until the end of November. The eight and a half years between me and my sister generally makes people think that she was an "oops baby." The truth is.................she was.

​Josh has one of the most beautiful tenor voices you'll ever hear. Seriously. When he sings Nessun Dorma he puts Pavarotti to shame. Well, I think so anyway. He's really freaking good, okay?

Anyhow, he's a tenor, and a particularly high one at that, but is also a lineman, and is definitely built like one. So when he played the role of Gaston in Beauty and the Beast, he was a shoe in for the body build, but Gaston has a fairly low vocal range,  It was between him and our friend Matt (who happens to be a bass) for the roles of Gaston and the Beast, and if you knew the two of them, it ended up having to work out that way for a lot of reasons, despite their ranges. Plus, I was Belle, and ew. Granted, Gaston is after Belle, so still ew. But I digress. 
​
My brother and I have performed quite a bit together, from piano duets, to show choir, to musicals and variety shows. It's been really cool to be able to do that. 

​Have the three of us always gotten along? Absolutely not. But honestly, we're pretty lucky. We've never had legitimate problems or fights. Anything we ever fought about was the dumb stuff all young siblings fight about. You know, "he/she won't let me play," "she got into my makeup," "she bit me," "he/she called me (insert name)," etc. The usual stuff. 

So far, as we've gotten older we've gotten closer. Josh has 2 adorable (soon to be 3) daughters who Jo and I absolutely adore. My sister-in-law, Lynda, is pretty awesome too. She's actually quite a bit of the glue that holds the family together since she makes it a priority to schedule things with all of us.

I want my brother to sing at my wedding and my sister to be my maid of honor. These decisions are not being made by default, or because I feel obligated to include them. I've always known that this is what I wanted, because they're important to me and I love them to pieces. They're both smart, sweet, talented goofballs............and they're my goofballs.

Happy belated National Sibling Day!!! Go love on your people. 

(This blog entry has been edited to be slightly less offensive, because apparently my grandmother reads my blog. Sorry grandma!!!)

As a society, we seem to be giant pansies. I'm just sayin'............

There must be some kind of biological tendency to just let the a-holes win. Maybe it's some sort of weird dominance. Are we being submissive? Are most of us actually masochists -- secretly getting some sort of pleasure from being treated like crap by those that seem to run our lives?
Or maybe.....................maybe we're just giant pansies. 

Bad people generally tend to have the final say when it comes to important decisions that affect our well-being. Politics drive decision making, even when those decisions are clearly not the right thing or the best thing. Ultimately, these political decisions dictate the quality of our lives. 
When I say politics, I don't necessarily mean government politics. That's part of it, but what I really mean is the politics in our daily lives: work, school, church, family, friends, etc. 
We play "games" in order to not offend people or step on anyone's toes. We stand idly by while people make horrible decisions that negatively affect us -- decisions that only benefit them and actually hurt the greater good.

As human beings, we should absolutely strive to keep peace and not create more conflict -- but there has to be a limit. I'm not advocating acting like a jerk, but constantly letting selfish people run the show is definitely not the answer. Otherwise you open yourself up for them to walk all over you -- and they will -- because you're a giant pansy. 

Why do we strive to make these terrible people happy at the expense of others, including ourselves? Why do we let them manipulate us into furthering their selfish agenda?
Honestly, I think one of the answers is that if we didn't bend over backwards for these people, we'd end up putting their heads on pikes. So it's one extreme versus the other -- go to jail for barbaric murder or bend over and take it. Apparently we tend to choose the latter -- because we're giant pansies.

It's one thing when the "powers that be" make self-interested decisions that affect us financially, but when these decisions start to affect multiple areas of our lives, this is when it becomes sadistic. Especially if it affects our well-being and our happiness. It means they don't have empathy, which from a psychological standpoint makes them a sociopath. That means they're batsh*t crazy and they don't care about you one bit. THEY DON'T HAVE FEELINGS!!!!!

Clearly this rant didn't just come out of nowhere. Clearly I'm angry and would like to go vigilante justice style on the people that think it's okay to toy with not only my existence, but the existence of the people I care about. Will I actually go vigilante justice style on them? Only in my daydreams............because I don't want to be made someone's prison wife. No thank you.
​But for the love of God, can we please stop letting our quality of life suffer in order to appease these selfish megalomaniacs? 
Because apparently we're freakin' giant pansies.

I may not have children yet, but I have a strong maternal instinct. You don't eff with my people. I tend to hulk up if you do. And honestly, I really can't afford to be buying new clothes right now. So please don't eff with my people.

​K, thanks.

Sincerely,
​An angry giant pansy

I've decided it's an epidemic. Everyone is having babies. There are babies all over social media. Old classmates, high school and college, seem to be multiplying like rabbits.
WHAT IS HAPPENING???!!!

​











In reality, I'm at that age where this all makes perfect sense. But I don't think I'm quite ready to face that yet......

In my mind I'm nowhere near the right age to have a baby.........mostly because the thought of having a baby right now makes me want to drown myself in bourbon while simultaneously punching myself in the uterus. 
DON'T HATE ME!!!! I would NEVER actually do those things.
I actually love kids, and I am one of the luckiest people in the world to have 2 (soon to be 3) beautiful nieces that I'm crazy about. I'm just not personally ready to have children. Someday. But today is not that day. Nor is tomorrow that day.
Being an aunt is enough for me right now, and it's awesome. 

I'll be 28 at the end of May, which is terrifying to me. I don't think it's a vanity thing necessarily, it's more so that I'm wondering how the hell that many years have gone by already. I know all of you that are older than me will want to slap me, but it's coming up on six years since I graduated college. SIX YEARS!!! I can't even process that. I've been out of college longer than I was actually in college. It doesn't seem real.

Those of you that were in my class in college, just let that sink in for a minute............
Six. Freakin'. Years. And yet I STILL don't truly feel like an adult. 

I was stuck at 23 for awhile.............Probably because it's the last year I vividly remember, which would explain why I was stuck there. I finally got used to 26 and now all of the sudden I'm going to be 28? I used to think it was ridiculous when adults would say that time goes faster as you get older.
What an insane concept. There are always 24 hours in a day. How can it go faster?
I really hate that they were right...............
​
The past 5 years have flown by. A lot has happened -- good and bad. Within that time I've transcribed for Tony Monaco, worked at two churches, had a traveling music studio, gigged quite a bit, gained a bunch of weight, moved to Tennessee and back, earned my MBA, lost a bunch of weight, and landed my first "big girl job." On top of that, four of my closest friends got married, another one had a baby, my dad survived cancer, my baby sister is finishing her freshman year of college, and my brother is about to have his third daughter. That's a lot of sh*t in 5 years. 

During that time I also met Will. That's another story for another blog post..............
I went from my longest relationship being a little under two years, to all the sudden I've been with Will for almost 5 years. WTF?! How is this possible???!!!

"Grab the wheel, Jamie. You're swerving." 

​I guess my point is that the same things and the same timing aren't right for everyone. I need more time to figure my own stuff out before I can bring a kid into this world. Hell, I'm even nervous about the responsibility that comes with having a dog, let alone a baby! That kind of responsibility is terrifying to me. 

I am absolutely thrilled for those of you that have children, whether you felt like you were truly "ready" or not. Clearly things don't always go according to plan, and sometimes the results are what we really needed anyway. ​I think I'm absolutely capable of being a parent, and hopefully a good one, but damn is that thought really scary right now.........

Regardless, there is one fact that I've had to face, which is why I know I am nowhere near ready to have a child: I'm too selfish.

I would like to think that I'm a very compassionate and considerate person, but that doesn't mean that I'm not selfish. I'm not ready for my life to be turned upside down by a tiny human that depends on me to survive. Small children are basically tiny drunks anyway -- they act just as dumb and need just as much assistance. 

When I become a parent I want to do it right, and for me that means waiting probably 4-5 years. 
Yes..........that means I'll be 32-33 years old. Look at you doing math.........you're so smart!!! ;)
And again, that's not the right thing for everyone. Some people are ready WAY before someone like me, and that's great! I just know know that I would be doing my kid a disservice if I didn't wait until I can start being more selfless. I'm not there yet.

Bottom line.........I know myself. All y'all can keep on poppin' out babies, but nothing will be inhabiting my uterus for quite some time. Although, the way time is starting to fly, I suppose that will be sooner than I think. Sh*t.

There will be a time........when no one will be able to tell me........I should go on American Idol.
​Soon...................SOON!

Why? Because my prayers have been answered and the show is on its final season. 
Although there have been rumblings that it may not be the final season after all..........which would royally piss me off. Put it out of its misery already!!!

As I've said before, I really do appreciate everyone who believes in me enough to think that I could make it. You just don't understand how it really works. But that's okay! That means the producers of the show have successfully done their job. Their job is to create the illusion that the competition is based on talent. So it makes sense why you would push people you think are talented to audition. In that sense, it's truly flattering.
Regardless, the show is unfortunately completely fabricated.
In the words of Elf, the creators of American Idol sit on a throne of lies.





Let's break this down, shall we?







There is a screening process before any of the contestants even see the judges. The first part involves small groups of people standing in front of a "scout" together, taking turns singing maybe 8 bars of their song. Maybe. Some of them are chosen because they are "good" and some of them are chosen because they are "bad." No joke.
Be honest..........if they only chose truly good people, you wouldn't watch the show. It'd be boring. "Pants on the Ground" is WAY more entertaining.

The second part of the screening process is for the chosen people to sing in front of a "producer." This is where they see if you "have what it takes to be on TV." Looks and talent play a small part in this, but a VERY small part. They don't want people who have trained for years and studied music in college. They want someone who maybe owns a guitar and sang at their grandma's church once.
It also helps quite a bit if you have a sob story for them to dramatize. For real.
If you are chosen, only THEN do you actually go in front of the celebrity judges. 

Side note:
When Harry Connick Jr. had to explain pentatonics to Jennifer Lopez I about lost my shit. Unfortunately she was not acting. She's just that dumb. You have no business judging music if you don't know basic music terminology.
And no, I don't mean "Pentatonix" the goup. Ick.
I could go on and on, but to be clear..............this is a reality TV show.
(Pssst.........I hate to break it to you, but The Voice isn't much better. Their "cattle calls" are to fill the holes that haven't been pre-cast.)

I'd also like to point out that Nicki Minaj has been a judge on American Idol.
NICKI MINAJ WAS ON A SHOW ABOUT SINGING!!!!
Nothing about that makes sense. That alone makes the show a bunch of hooey.
Hooey I tell you!!!

I digress.............I actually have auditioned for American Idol, just not in the traditional sense. Let me explain................


5+ years ago
My mom had been trying to talk me into auditioning for American Idol for awhile. We went on a family vacation to Disney World in 2011, and at the time there was still an American Idol "simulation," if you will. The deal was that they did one "competition" per day, and the winner would get a "fast pass" ticket to the front of the "real" American Idol audition line. Mom kept pushing the issue and talking about how much fun it would be.
Fun is a strong word................
I really did not want to audition for the show, let alone a fake version of an already fake show. 

I'm putting the word real in quotations to emphasize that the "real" show is super fake in itself, on the off chance that my hostility towards the show wasn't glaring enough. 

Now, Mom had good intentions. She believed in me and truly thought I had a shot.
A couple fruity drinks later at the hotel pool bar........she somehow talked me into doing it.
She clearly waited until the perfect moment to strike............damn mai tais..............
The deal was that I would do the "simulation" of American Idol, ONLY if she'd stop bugging me about auditioning for the "real" thing. Her caveat was that she'd stop bugging me if I didn't win. But if I won and got that "golden ticket," I had to audition for the "real" thing. 


And so it begins........
They only took so many people per day, and the "studio" was a decent hike from the entrance of the park. I've never seen my mom walk so fast -- we were among the first people to get there. The first line of defense, the "scout," listened to me sing a little bit of Bill Withers' "Use Me," and sent me onto the next stage.

Mom was pleased.

They sat me down with a weird looking mp3 player, head phones, and a list of songs --
I was supposed to pick two songs from the list. I was holding what was practically a portable karaoke machine.
I ended up picking "I Feel the Earth Move" and "Midnight Train to Georgia" as my two songs. I sang both of them in front of a "producer," who kept telling me that my interpretation of the songs needed to be more dramatic. I remember staring at him and thinking, "Look dude, this is not Broadway. Calm your sh*t."
Both songs are about being in love with some dude -- one just happens to be more sexually charged than the other. And of course that's the one we decided on. What was I supposed to do? Pelvic thrust while I sing? 
​Regardless of how he felt about my acting skills, he sent me onto the next stage.

Mom was very pleased.

I can't remember how many people were chosen total, but there were 4 separate preliminary shows with somewhere between 4 and 6 contestants each. The winners of those shows would move on to the finale that night. So if you ended up winning a preliminary show this was an all day event. All. Day.


The Preliminary Show
We each had a 15-minute rehearsal with some dude, in a small room, with a karaoke machine and a keyboard. I'm still not sure why there was a keyboard. It's not like anyone was playing an actual instrument for this thing, and it wasn't a freaking voice lesson. We just rehearsed with the damn karaoke track.

I sang through "I Feel the Earth Move" twice, mostly so he could teach me the weird ending that cut the song short. Every song choice had a really awkward ending. You could tell that they cared more about how long the song was as opposed to it making sense. Whoever got paid to edit the songs seemed to just arbitrarily cut and paste.
Hopefully they did it for free, because woof.

We were done "rehearsing" in about 5 minutes. Since we had 10 minutes left we started talking, and before I knew it he had me playing and singing one of my original tunes on the keyboard. I was also transcribing for Tony Monaco at the time, and he apparently was a big fan, so he geeked out about it hard core. Not gonna lie, it was pretty cool. 

We went to "makeup," and were sent out on stage to practice entrances, where we were supposed to stand, the order we were in, etc. Shortly after, the preliminary rounds started, and I was in the first round. They had 3 actors pretending to be some semblance of the original American Idol judges (so you had a Simon, of course). I ended up winning, which was kind of cool, but it also meant the rest of my day was shot. The finale wasn't going to start for another...........oh...........5 hours or so? 

Mom was VERY pleased. She had such a smug look on her face...............she knew what she had done. Not cool, Mom. Not cool.

You know how the contestants of the "real" show come running out to meet their families............hugging them and jumping up and down like a crazy person because they made it onto the show? Well they made me fake that. They even rounded up my family while I was still back stage and told them where to stand when I came out.

Then they dragged me into a nearby coffee shop and made me sing in front of all these poor people, who really just wanted to enjoy their coffee, not listen to some random girl from Ohio sing Carole King acapella. This was all so they could put together a video promo for the finale. SUPER cheezy.
Trust me coffee shop people..........it was WAY weirder for me than it was for you. 

I walked around all day with a dumb lanyard around my neck saying, "Vote for me!," and I kept getting yelled at by people who had either sat in the audience or watched my preliminary round on the big screen outside.
"Hey, you're that girl that won!!!"
Congratulations, you were able to spot my crazy, curly red hair. It's SO hard to do. 
Or, "I voted for you!!!" Or "You have such a cool voice!!!"
Okay............thanks.............that's actually very nice of you.
I'd be lying if I said that parts of it weren't kind of fun, but the whole thing was so manufactured that it was difficult to truly enjoy it. But I guess that's how the "real" thing is.

​
The Finale
It came down to 4 of us: some girl I can't remember, a school teacher that sang "I'm Proud to be an American," a guy that sang "Pretty Young Thing" (and could dance like Michael Jackson), and me. The place was packed, and the people in the audience were so enthusiastic you would've thought we were on the "real" show. I sang my song, and the judges started gushing about my "sultry voice," and how I sound like a jazz singer (duh), yaddah, yaddah...........

The one judge who was playing the role of Simon, however, got a little frisky. He got REALLY excited. Beyond talking about my voice, he said I looked like a "pixie amazon." Uh............what did you call me?
He then said, and I quote, "Knock me out and drag me back to your cave!" 
My response was, "My parents are out in the audience you know.,,,,,,,," 
Ew.

The Michael Jackson guy and I were the last ones standing. They had told us not to look up when the winner was announced, because these giant pieces of confetti would be falling right onto our faces. Part of me wanted to win, because I'm competitive. But the other part of me thought, "Oh hell, if I win, I have to go do the 'real' thing. I promised Mom. Dammit.............this isn't good." 
They announced that I was second, and I felt a HUGE wave of relief wash over me. I hugged the guy and started thanking him profusely. Then at the same moment we both said to each other, "Don't look up! Confetti!!!!!" They were not playing around with that stuff.................There was SO much of it. 

As we were leaving the building, people attacked both of us, wanting pictures and autographs. It's amazing how nutty people can get if they think you "might be famous someday." I just kept laughing as I was signing random pieces of paper (even those character autograph books), thinking, "This is one of the dumbest things that has ever happened to me."

So I got second, which was the best thing that could've happened, in my opinion anyway.
I did as well as I possibly could have, without actually winning and having to truly audition. I think Mom was a little disappointed, but she can't say that I didn't try.  It's not like I threw the competition. Boy had charisma and could dance like Michael Jackson!  
I can't compete with that sh*t!!!

All in all I'm glad I can say that I had the experience. It was goofy and "fake," and essentially glorified karaoke, but it was fun and actually kind of a confidence booster.
Especially since I was the favorite with high school and college boys in the audience. ;)
And apparently that one judge.........................ew.
If nothing else, it's a story, and one that includes my loving family -- my biggest fans. 

Love you, Mom. Even though now you've "not so jokingly" moved on to wanting me to do The Voice.
​Oy vey..........

 Two of the many things I've learned as I adult:
1) I have some great genes that have been passed down to me, and I'm very lucky.
For example, the people in my family tend to age extremely well.
Awesome.
I'm also the only sibling out of 3 that inherited my Dad's curly hair. I used to hate it, but as I've gotten older I have come to embrace it. It's fun. 

2) I have some not-so-great genes, like dark circles (thanks Dad), the "fat gene" (thanks Dad), and an affinity for alcohol (thanks Mom).
​I'll explain the fat gene momentarily.

​
I'm 5'8" and have always been fairly muscular. I'm "dense," if you will.
"Dense" as in closely compacted in substance, not "dense" as in stupid. I know some of you laughed when you read that. You're a bunch of a-holes.
But the combination of my height and being muscular has always made me weigh more than I look like I do. This is a fantastic genetic thing, However, I also have a not so fantastic genetic thing that my family calls the "fat gene." Basically, we love eating, and we don't have that little voice that says, "Hey, you're full now. Stop eating." We probably actually do have that voice, but we can't hear it over our own chewing. 

​



This is a prime example of the "fat gene."





​
I was incredibly active throughout high school. I started lifting weights when I was in 6th grade, I played varsity volleyball for 4 years, and I danced in show choir and musicals. 
Well, "dance" may be a strong word...........I moved.​ Box steps and blades, baby!!!
Fresh out of high school I weighed 120 lbs., which looking back was WAY too skinny. I see pictures of myself from that time and I kind of look like Skeletor -- oddly buff, but still a skeleton. Will calls it my "pointy chin" phase. I was a stick figure (yet somehow I still had a big butt. Another genetic thing I suppose). My metabolism was insane. The "fat gene" had been lying dormant, and was apparently waiting until the perfect moment to pounce and wreck my sh*t. 

I gained the freshman 15, and most of someone else's freshman 15. I was upset when I couldn't fit into my size 4 jeans anymore.
Talk about 1st world problems...........................
I cried, like a little b*tch, because I was finally filling out and becoming the curvy woman I'm supposed to be. I didn't see it like that at the time though. I thought I was getting fat. And no one could tell me any different. 

SOOOOOOOO dumb.

​I had NO business weighing 120 lbs. or wearing size 4 jeans. According to the old height/weight chart that says a 5 ft. tall woman should be right around 100 lbs, and you add 5 lbs. per inch over 5 ft., I was 20 lbs. under the ideal weight. Granted, that chart is completely antiquated, and I would even look sickly at 140 at this point.

By the way..........a lot of people -- mostly men -- have absolutely no concept of weight. Whatever you think I look like I weigh, chances are you need to add 20-30 lbs. to that. So when you guess my weight at 140 or whatever (happens a lot -- it amazes me),
I find that to be very flattering, but I also just want to pat you on the head and say,"Awww......you're real cute."

I'm going to let you in on a secret that is actually not so secret:
MOST WOMEN DO NOT WEIGH 120 POUNDS!!!!!! Many of us, especially those of us that are curvy and/or muscular, more realistically weigh anywhere between 140 and 190. 
Just sayin'. 

Even though it's extremely flattering to have someone guess that I weigh a lot less than I do, that kind of thing unfortunately adds to the body image problem that our culture has. Because of the impossible standards of beauty our society has set (which the older I get, the more I realize there's nothing beautiful about those standards), it's incredibly difficult for young women to be comfortable in their own skin, which is a shame.


​I finally started becoming comfortable in my own skin around sophomore year of college. I was still relatively thin, but I was curvy, healthy, and happy. I started not caring about my weight because I was getting validation pretty regularly, especially from men. Come to think of it, I got a lot of attention from gay men and lesbians too................it was confusing. But hey, a compliment is a compliment, and it boosted my confidence quite a bit. 

May of 2009: FINALLY broke up with my boyfriend at the time (that like a bad habit was hard to kick) and simultaneously turned 21. I was upset, single with a vengeance, and had the ability to purchase alcohol. That Summer was the beginning of some hard core debauchery. 

Fall of 2009 -- NYC internship: Bars were open until 4am, I was single, I didn't have to be at work until 12pm, and SO many restaurants delivered it was stupid. Recipe for disaster.
Meanwhile, my inner fat kid was loving everything about this. I probably gained 20 lbs. from June to December. 
Unlike my freshman year when I was whining about not being a size 4 anymore, this was more serious. I wasn't what you would consider big by any means, but I was starting down a dangerous path. I got serious about my health and dropped at least 25 lbs. by the time I graduated college. I looked like myself again and I felt good.

Unfortunately some bad habits started sneaking back in about a year and a half later. I can't blame my weight gain on my boyfriend, but you know the weight people tend to gain when they get married? We gained that, and then some. We were both working weird hours and would eat and drink at bars several nights a week. We were happy and having fun. But then we both went through grad school, back to back, and dealt with some pretty stressful times financially. I didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. I woke up one day and didn't recognize the face I saw in the mirror. I was really angry at myself.

It was then that it truly dawned on me how stupid I was as a freshman in college. I had no desire to be Skeletor again, but I certainly would've killed to get back to the weight I was when I thought I was fat. It's amazing how skewed our perception of things can be, especially when it comes to ourselves. Yet we seem to be able to see each other so clearly when it comes to the physical...............ironic.

The journey back to my "happy weight" began in May of 2014. It's been a long process, and I'm still not exactly where I want to be, but I'm a hell of a lot closer. I'm at that point where I look like myself and I'm becoming comfortable in my own skin again. It's a wonderful feeling. After having struggled with my weight more than once, and feeling like I hit rock bottom the most recent time, I can never go back to that place. I won't go back to that place.


The hardest lessons I learned through all of this:
1) There is no quick fix. I had to make lifestyle changes in order to be successful. Lifestyle changes are hard. REALLY hard. But the key for me has been moderation and balance. I still drink beer and bourbon, but not like I used to -- like an idiot. I still eat "bad" foods, but I limit it to weekends and/or special occasions. You can't stop living your life. 

2) You cannot compare yourself to other people. This one is tough, but you just can't do it. It doesn't do you any good. The only thing you can do is maximize what you've been given genetically. I will always have a big butt, crazy curly hair, and a voice that is deeper than pretty much most women (and a lot of men too). I've learned to embrace those things. You know what those things all happen to fit perfectly? My personality. 


And yes...........I realize that those of you that can math and connect the dots have probably figured out roughly how much I weigh. And I don't care.
I'm a sexy M.F. dammit.

As I was walking into work today, it dawned on me that my life was very different around this time last year. My family and I were dealing with something that no one could've predicted. I immediately welled up with tears just thinking about it. My brain likes to do that to me sometimes.............think of something terrible and make me cry in public. It's SUPER fun. It also makes me look like a crazy person. But sometimes..............my face leaks.

This may sound odd, but I've never experienced death in a real way. I was either too young when it happened, or I wasn't close enough to the person for it to affect me in an extreme way. I'm lucky. All of my grandparents are still alive, and I haven't even really experienced the death of a childhood pet. Pug is 14 and still going. I realize I just discussed the mortality of my grandparents and my dog in the same sentence, which is probably weird, but you get the point. I mean, I do love that dog quite a bit though............





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Look at that face!!!!!!!










So back to why I started crying right before I walked into my office. Thank God I was the first one there so I had time to compose myself. I'm such a big baby. I cry at Disney movies....................like, pretty much every Disney movie.................

I apologize if this post gets a little too serious and/or emotional for you, but this is what's on my mind today. Plus, it's my freaking blog. I do what I want. (But for real, I won't be so serious next time. Don't hate me!!!)

About a year ago
Mom texted me, my younger sister, and my older brother, telling us that there was something really important her and Dad needed to talk to us about. It had to happen and it had to happen that night. HUGE red flag. We don't really do "family meetings."
Well this can't be good..........

My sister and I had rehearsal for a musical that night, so we were completely distracted the entire time, dreading whatever it was that we were going to be informed of later.
Let me tell you...............there's nothing quite like having to sing and jump rope at the same time (we were doing Legally Blonde and I was the "fitness queen," Brooke Wyndham), let alone sing and jump rope while you're completely distracted. You know how many times I ended up whipping myself with that thing? I literally had lashes on my back...........from my own damn jump rope.

We meet at my parents' house that night -- Mom and Dad are waiting for us. Mom immediately hands me a glass of wine. It wasn't a question. She apparently knew I would need it. 
Oh hell, this must be REALLY bad.
​I was frantically trying to figure out what it might be so I could brace myself.
Were they getting a divorce? Was one of my grandparents sick? Did Pug die???!!!
Oh, just kidding. Hi Pug (he was sniffing my pant leg at the time).

I don't remember exactly what was said, but it went something like this:
Mom: "Your dad has something to tell you."
Dad: "I recently participated in a fitness test, and had a chest X-ray taken in the process. They saw something that they wanted to look into. It turns out that I have something called a Thymoma, which is a very rare tumor."
(I heard tumor and I started drinking my wine faster.)
Dad: "It's a form of cancer, and because of the size of the tumor, it's past stage one............................"

I don't remember much of what was said at this point, because I felt like I was drowning. I refilled my wine glass, drank most of it, then refilled it again. Trying really hard to fight back the tears, which I failed miserably at, I probed for more information and what the next steps would be. I think I asked something about treatment options and what the survival rate was. Due to the nerf ball sized tumor attempting to crush one of his lungs, the surgery needed to remove it did not guarantee that all of the cancer would be removed. They wouldn't know what they were dealing with until they got in there. And even if they were able to remove it, the recurrence rate was something like 50%. 

How do you respond to something like that? My dad is one of the most important people in my life. He's young, he's always been healthy, he's a family physician whose patients adore him, he's an amazing dad, and he has one of the most amazing souls I've ever known. For real? That guy gets a rare tumor? A tumor that is about as rare as getting struck by lightning? COME ON!!!!!!

Things moved incredibly fast. Before we knew it he was scheduled for surgery, and they were going to be cracking his chest open in order to remove the tumor. I know he was scared, but I'm still amazed at how strong he was leading up to the surgery. He was strong because he felt he had to be...........for us..........his family who couldn't imagine a life without him. 

The day of his surgery was the most nervous I've ever been for anything in my entire life. Mom was at the hospital waiting, and the rest of us were trying everything we could to distract ourselves until we had an update. And this was a long surgery. I was a long-term sub at my sister's high school at the time, so she would come in and visit me most days. That day she came in and sat in silence by my desk. I wish I could've offered her more comfort, but I'm the more emotional of the two, and at that moment I was no stronger than she was. In fact, she was probably stronger. 

We finally heard from Mom. The surgery had gone extremely well and the surgeon was fairly certain he had been able to remove the entire tumor. I didn't know whether to yell, cry, dance, flip the desk, or all of the above.
I definitely cried -- because I'm a giant baby.
It seemed as though everything was going to be okay, but what a freaking roller coaster.......................

Dad left the hospital earlier than expected, and was walking 4-5 miles with me within about a week or so of being home. We're not talking just leisurely walking..........we're talking like a 4-5 mph pace. Freaking serious power walking. He wore me out and I'm half his age. Plus, I didn't just undergo an insanely invasive surgery where they removed a freaking nerf football sized tumor from my body. The man is insane. 
I do miss those walks though....................I happened to be living in the area when all of this was happening, so we would walk most days of the week. Even though I was out of breath for most of it, we had hours upon hours of conversation. We talked about anything and everything. It was really special. 

The next thing was prepping for radiation. He was supposed to have about 5 weeks of radiation treatment. He even got marked for where the radiation would be focused, but after a checkup it turned out that he wasn't going to need any radiation after all. It didn't seem real. 

Within a few months time, everything went from a scenario where it was quite possible that my dad would not make it, to him being seemingly back to normal. It was a blur of emotion, and until my brain forced me to remember those emotions this morning, it almost seemed like it had never happened. I've been randomly tearing up off and on all day, which has been a little frustrating, but at the same time I'm grateful for the reminder. 

​It shouldn't take a rare, cancerous tumor to remind us................but time is fleeting, and we only get so much of that time with the people we love. Even though my eyes are kind of puffy, and my makeup has undoubtedly been messed up, I don't care. I needed the reminder, even if it did cause my face to leak. It's so easy to get caught up in what we're doing that we lose sight of the important things. 
​
Thanks for listening. Now go and love on your people dammit!!!!!

What do you want to be when you grow up?

That's a loaded question. I still don't know the answer to that one, and supposedly I'm a grown up. When we're kids, the answers are relatively easy. We want to be astronauts, movie stars, fire fighters, dancers, doctors, etc. Why? Because at the time it sounds cool, or we look up to someone who does one of those things, or because we can't come up with anything else -- the answers come flying out of our mouths like word vomit. ​We've also been taught that we can be anything and do anything we put our minds to. This is a nice sentiment, but it is undoubtedly false.

"I WANNA BE AN AIRPLANE!!!!"
That's great Timmy, you'll make a fine airplane.

Don't lie to Timmy!!! That's just mean. Not that we shouldn't believe in ourselves, but a realistic outlook on life is healthy. You can chase that dream of being an airplane all you want, but eventually reality will set in and you will be sorely disappointed. And likely locked away in a padded room. 


Let's step away from the absurd for a moment and go back in time, shall we? If I could have a conversation with myself at various stages in my life about my career path, it would likely go something like this:
​
Me (Present Day): "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
7-year-old Jamie: "I want to be a detective!"
Me: "Really? Why do you want to be a detective?"
7-year-old Jamie: "Because I read a few detective books with cool pictures in the library, and it looks like fun!"
Me: (*Pats 7-year-old Jamie on the head*) "That's real cute."
7-year-old Jamie: "I have a trench coat and a hat!"
Me: "Of course you do...................(*says under breath*) nerd........."

Really dumb, but I was 7. That answer was acceptable at that moment in time. My trench coat was awesome, by the way.


Me (Present Day): "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
8-year-old Jamie: "I want to be a doctor!"
Me: "Are you sure about that?"
8-year-old Jamie: "Ummmmmm..........I change my mind. I want to be a movie star!"
Me: (*Face palm*) "Well that didn't last long.............."

Okay.........starting to fall into the artistic trap..............it was only a matter of time.


Me (Present Day): "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
12-year-old Jamie: "I want to be on Broadway!"
Me: "But you don't have the right kind of voice for that and you have no formal dance training."
12-year-old Jamie: "You don't know what you're talking about! My music teacher says that I'm going to be a star!"
Me: (*Rolls eyes and walks away*)

Family full of doctors and I choose the career of a starving artist. And not even a career I was capable of pursuing. SO special.


Me (Present Day): "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
17-year-old Jamie: "I still want to be on Broadway!"
Me: "Look......we've been over this. You don't have the right kind of voice for that and you have no formal dance training. Plus, this is an incredibly difficult life to lead. Do you really want to audition for the rest of your life? You hate auditions!"
17-year-old Jamie: "But I love Broadway. I have to at least try. I'll look like a failure if I don't at least try to make it."
Me: (*Sigh*) "This will not end well............."

What the literal eff was I thinking? I would really like to slap 17-year-old Jamie. Hard.


Me (Present Day): "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
20-year-old Jamie: "I've decided that jazz is really where my passion and talents lie, but I know that it will be difficult to make a living solely on music. So I'm going into the business side of things for stability, but will still write and perform since it's my passion."
Me: "That seems like a much better plan than your hairbrained Broadway idea. I have to ask though...........when you say you are 'going into the business side of things,' what exactly do you mean? Any particular area of business?"
20-year-old Jamie: "Ummmm.............well............you know...........music business. Like probably artist management or working for a record company."
Me: "You may want to narrow that down a bit, but okay. Also, you know that artist management is sort of like glorified babysitting, and record companies are dying, right?"
20-year-old Jamie: (*Stares blankly*)
Me: "Nevermind..............do me a favor though.............you know those things you really don't want to do? Things like teaching? You are not allowed to say out loud that you will never do those things. It will come back to bite you in the ass..........hard................just trust me."

I remember hearing people say things like "never say never" when I was growing up, but I guess I never took them seriously. You don't tempt fate like that. I've learned that the hard way. Woof. 


Me (Present Day): "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
22-year-old Jamie: "Dude. Eff if I know. I'm just trying to find a job that doesn't involve waiting tables."
(I definitely ended up waiting tables for awhile, by the way.)
Me: "Did you remember that thing I told you.......about not saying out loud that you will never do something? Please tell me you didn't screw that up............"
22-year-old Jamie: "I may or may not have said some things................why?"
Me: "Dammit Jamie!!! The one thing I told you NOT to do."


Things I said I'd never do (out loud):

1. Work at a church. I have a bit of a rough history with this. Karma is a big ol' b*tch, because my very first job out of college was working at a church as a band leader. I actually ended up working at two churches. I was being smited. 

          (Smited? Smote? Smitten? No, that's not it...............sh*t...........whatever............)

1. Teach. I just never saw myself in this role. I didn't want to do it, and no matter what my financial situation was, I was determined to not go into this line of work. I taught private music lessons for over 2 years. 
2. Go to grad school. I didn't need it. There was no reason for me to go. Why waste the time and the money on a useless degree? I hit a wall near the end of 2012, and what did I do? I decided to pursue an MBA. 
3. Live in the south. Karma was really mean to me on this one...............the MBA program I ended up in was located in Nashville. I'm glad I ended up getting my MBA, and I liked my school, but I truly did not like being in that area at all. It just didn't fit me. Now I didn't live directly in Nashville, which was touristy as hell, but I was just outside of it. My particular area was a quirky mix of seemingly conflicting southern cultures -- houses with proudly displayed Confederate flags, competing Ranchera music blared almost nightly, and a racist ice cream man. (I kid you not, the ice cream man would switch from the standard playlist to La Cucaracha once he hit the neighborhood. Messed. Up.) Oh, and let's not forget the "stabby shooty" bar that was right down the street. This place had been in the news multiple times for various types of murders. 

So what have I become as a "grown up?" I'm a musician who is also an amalgamation of every single damn thing I said I'd never do. The place I work now...............I wrote a screw you letter to them about 6 years ago and swore I'd never step foot on the premises again. Jamie you idiot!!!!!!!

But here's the thing.............even though my life has not been what I thought it would be so far, it's been what I need. Out of every single thing I said I'd never do I have learned incredibly valuable lessons, had amazing experiences, and met wonderful people. Life has a funny way of giving you what you need, even if it's not wrapped up in the package you expected. The trick is learning how to make the most of what you're given. But I can almost guarantee that you will not grow up to be an airplane...................just sayin'.

What do you do with a BA in music?
You don't have the patience to teach.
Arts administration was sweeping the nation 
Until we wrecked our economy.
If you're not the smartest you'll be a starving artist.
I hope that you like waiting tables.
                                                  -- Me (circa 2010) -- Parody of a song from Avenue Q

As part of my senior recital back in 2010, I decided to create a parody linking 10+ songs together, poking fun at my major and my college experience as a whole. It was meant to be a playful string of inside jokes and oddities from my alma mater, but was honestly mostly a giant middle finger. Choosing to be a music major, and especially a music major at that particular school, was hands down the absolute dumbest decision I have ever made. 

Some of you reading this are probably thinking something along the lines of:
"But Jamie, you love music. It's your passion. You have such a beautiful voice. You're so talented. You went into music because you love it. You should do what you love. Go on American Idol. I know you'd make it big if you just took a chance. Herpy derpy derp derp derp." 
That's what you sound like. Simply put.......herp derp. (Before you decide that you hate me and that I'm a terrible person, read on. Well, I am kind of a terrible person, but read on regardless.)

I realize that escalated into offensive real quick like there at the end, but hear me out:
As much I appreciate every single person who has ever said those types of things to me, and I know it's coming from a genuine and lovely place, you can't understand why going into music is dumb unless you have personally done it. Don't get me wrong, music is my passion. Life would be really freaking boring without it. But going into music is about as smart as a naked man walking through a room full of cats who have not been declawed. Let that image sink in for a minute............
So now that I've offended some people by saying that when they speak, it sounds like "herp derp," let me explain. You don't ACTUALLY sound like that. That's mean. I'm a terrible human being. You're so pretty. (*pets your head*)

Music is just a really difficult career path. You spend years training, wrack up all kinds of student loan and credit card debt getting an education, and are sent out into the world with absolutely zero chance of "making it big." You're constantly undervalued and told "you should do it for free because you love it." 

Now stop. Right. There.

Who on earth wants to do their job for free???!!! Unless someone is going to hand me a suitcase full of money at some point in the near future, there is no way in hell I will perform for free. Do you want to work your 9-5 for free? The time worked for a gigging musician is not just the actual gig itself. So you may see a musician setup a half hour before the gig (after schlepping their own equipment in the snow), play the three hour gig, tear down (schlep the equipment in the snow again), and that's their "time worked." Wrong. I have spent HOURS prepping for gigs. I'm not a human juke box. I actually have to select material, make charts for myself so I don't have to spend hundreds of dollars on sheet music (what exists usually sucks anyway), learn the damn tunes, rehearse them until I sound like I know what I'm doing, and THEN go play the gig. Only then does someone hand me a suitcase full of money. Except the suitcase is full of monopoly money. And they don't even let me keep the suitcase. Now I have no place to sleep. Thanks a-hole. 

Most musicians piece together a stupid amount of part-time things to make a living, and are still considered to be right around the poverty line. (Hence drinking Old Crow on a regular basis -- ouch) Before I decided to get my MBA and get a "big girl job," I was teaching a ton of piano and voice lessons, running a church band, gigging with two bands, transcribing for a jazz organist, and waiting tables. Let's not forget the swell times I had waiting tables and relying on cheap oxygen thieves to help me keep my lights on. I'm not bitter.

The biggest irony of it all is that I wouldn't change any of it if I could. If I had pursued a different path that chewed me up and spit me out right into a 9-5 after college, I would probably be in a psych ward by now. Being a musician really sucks sometimes, but I honestly don't know any other way to live my life. And I don't want to. I am however completely fine with serving as a cautionary tale to future music majors......"Don't let this happen to you! Run! Get an education and training in a field that will actually pay you money!" But it's so true what they say: "You do it because you love it." But if you don't love it enough to bleed for it, get the eff out while you still can. I happen to love it that much. So I will continue to bleed for it.

And even though I openly mocked you earlier with the "herp derp" stuff, please don't stop saying those things to me. Except the American Idol thing. That's dumb. Please stop that. But the other stuff.......it helps to remind me that I not only stick with music because I love it, but also because I know that it brings joy to other people. And that's pretty cool. But if you book me and try to hand me monopoly money, I will cut you. (*Drops mic*)