Riggle me this, Old Feelings?

Every now and again, I go back and read old blogs I posted on myspace. Yes, myspace was the site of my first blog and now it's just taking up space there because, let's be real, who uses myspace anymore? Seriously, I"m going to post this, then link it to FACEBOOK, like an adult, Sheesh! ANywho, I found this blog humorous and hope you do too!



"I should be a trust fund baby"

So, from time to time, I help out my friend Scott with the subletting of his apt in NYC. He's somewhat bi-coastal, well, more like 85% LA and 5% NYC, and then 10% other places. IN any event, he maintains his NYC location, just in case.

Anywho, I've seen a lot of people come and go as I usually am the one who gives them their keys and whatnot, but I've never had to deal with someone like I did yesterday.

Ok, we begin with last week, just the initial request that I meet up with this girl and her friend to give them the keys and collect the deposit for the place and the first months rent, all of which is more money than I have to my name right now. Emails are sent to both me and this girl, who's name is Britta, yes, like the water filter company. This basically gives cue to her intelligence level as well. So, we discuss meeting on Monday even though she won't be moving in until the following Monday as I am about to depart for Denver on Thursday(today) for the weekend.

Strike One comes in the form of a voice message that could be left by a valley girl. Keep in mind this NYU student is from Minnesota yet somehow doesn't understand that statements don't have an upward inflection at the end like a question does.

"Hey Steve. This is, like, Brit-ta?" There was a definite emphasis on the 'ta.' "Can we, like, um, move our, like, meeting date to, like, later in the week? Because it's not really that important that we, like, get the keys just yet and it'll gives us, like, extra time to get the money? Thanks!" I wish I were making up how many times she said the word like. But I called her back and actually spoke with her, which was difficult in and of itself, but suggested we meet on Wednesday as I was pretty much free. So we decide 630.

Cut to Wednesday afternoon I receive another voicemail from the water girl...

"Hey Steve. This is, like, Britta, again? Can we just move the appointment to like, later in the week? Because we are having problems getting the money? And my parents are wiring it to me? But it's just, like, so difficult to get to it today? So it would really, like, help me out if, like, we could, like, move this meeting to, like, Friday?" I'm about to pull my hair out. I'm leaving thursday. But I call Scott and ask him what he wants to do. So, it's decided that we're going to still meet and all the business end of things is just fine. They worked something out. So off I go to Scott's apt to meet up with this girl, just wanting it all over.

No sooner do I get off the subway does my phone blow up with another voicemail from her.

"Hey Steve? This is, like Britta, again? I saw that you called me and I'm calling from Jess's phone, so like, we were just wondering if you would let us pay the deposit in cash? Or like, does he have to, like, be a money order? Because like, we would love to just pay in, like cash? But, like, we totally understand if that's, like, not possible."

I call Scott again. Cash is fine. I call her back and actually talk to her. Cash is fine. I end the conversation as quickly as possible because at this point I have got to pee more than I recall ever having to before. And finally, I make it to Scott's front door to wait for them to show up.

They show up and while I'm not fully prepared for what I see, they are basically exactly what I expect, just younger. Blonde, skinny, kind of cute if you're into fraternity sluts. But, she's about 22, I would guess. Her friend, Jess, was actually pretty and seemed somewhat smart. But I digress.

So, there we are on the street, me collecting cash from two girls, which just looks like a shady drug deal, when I ask them what they are doing in NYC for the summer. Britta looks at me and just says, "Oh, I like, just wanted to live NYC for the summer. So, you know, like, just hit up daddy!" I wanted to bash my head against the cold disgusting pavement of the sidewalk. I then asked if she was doing a summer internship somewhere. "I like, don't know if I want to. So, I might not." Again, back to the headbashing.

I couldn't believe it, and still kind of don't. Her parents are just letting her run wild in NYC for the summer. I'm so pissed off about it sometimes that I struggle so hard to just break even and someone that obviously couldn't give two shits about it gets everything they ever wanted. And, to top it off, you go to NYU but speak like you went to some reject school in California run by Elle Woods. Just knowing what their parents are spending for the summer on this apartment for these girls makes me crazy. I could put all of that money to such good use it's ridiculous!

Anywho, I am a person that should hit the age of thirty and then find out that he really has a trust fund of millions of dollars because not only would I have worked my ass off up to that point to truly appreciate it, I'd put it all to really good use, not just living and playing in nyc with no purpose, drive or contribution to society. This girl should be sterilized and forbidden to reproduce.

(THE END)


SO riggle me this; as it stands now, I'm thirty and no magic trust fund appeared. Either it's God's cruel joke to keep hiding it, or there is never going to be said trust fund just showing up on my doorstep. Maybe when I go out today, I'll follow the first L.P. (little person) I spot and see if she/he leads me to a pot of gold?

Riggle me that!

Riggle me this, Fear.

Every Monday evening, I hang out with a few people. It's kind of a standing arrangement. If one of us can't make it, it never seems to be a big deal, the evening just goes on without that person. I live for Monday nights. It's a blast. There's always food involved in mass quantities, television/movies, great company, and always hilarious conversation.

However, I noticed a trend in the past few weeks from one said person I've been hanging out with. Justin Summa. Yes, Justin, you're getting a shout out in my blog. HA HA. I think that should get you a check mark on a bucket list you're hiding somewhere. Justin and my friend John Alix (again, check that bucket list!) are fond of making up games where someone has to hum a tune and people have to guess what the song is, or, following suit of RuPaul's Drag Race, making people get up and perform a two minute stand up routine in a character of their choosing. There are various other games, but that is the one that stands out the most to me.

While this is all fun and games, I'm thrown into a tailspin of sweating, nausea, and tragic memories of my youth involving stage fright. Yes, I did go to school for performance and have been a performer my whole life, however, intimate settings are the biggest stages of fear in my life.

I can recall, in third grade, how I was to sing a solo at the school choir concert and I was so scared I started crying into the microphone and if I'm not mistaken I ran off stage. I could be making up that last part(I'll have to check with my mom, Mrs. Riggle, and get back to you).
However, it was just the beginning of my stage fright. My piano teacher also made me perform for my classmates during "music" hour at school so I "could get more practice in live performance." I was deathly terrified and, sadly, tormented by my friends. I was known as "Stevie Wonder" for most of elementary school. I know you're all wondering how this was a bad thing, but trust me, I am not comfortable being the butt of a joke, however good intentioned it may be.

Then came a moment, that I will always remember. My mother asked me to play a song on the piano and sing it for her. My nerves were shot. leading up to the big day, I practiced and practiced and practiced for hours on end. But for some reason, I was so terrified that she would be disappointed in my performance that I chickened out at the last moment. To this day I regret it.

And it happens all the time. My mom recalls stories of my piano recitals growing up, my sisters would be nervous wrecks, yet I was cool, calm and collected going up to the piano to perform. Little did she know that there was that nagging voice in my head that told me, "you're not good enough, you suck, you didn't practice enough, everyone is going to make fun of you!" leading me down a path of fear and dread everytime I knew a recital was coming up. It did, however, make me practice harder and prepare harder just so I knew that I was really ready, so no mistakes would be made and I would be able to hold my head high and know that I did a good job.

These are all of the things I think about when i am put on the spot. It is my achilles heel, so to speak. I clam up at the mere suggestion of something impromptu or impulsive. It's not something I love about myself, but there it is. In drama class, I would freeze up just looking at a syllabus that said, "improvisation." I was and still am terrified of such things.

So, what do Justin Summa and John Alix have to do with this fear? Well, they continue to put me on the spot over and over again, and I'm, quite frankly, more embarrassed about the fear that causes a wall to go up than I am about what would happen if they made fun of me. I'm pretty confident in my friendships with them, that I could fall flat on my face and make an ass of myself and they'd still love me. Yet, I struggle over and over and over again. So this is where they come into play. I am gonna conquer this fear if it's the last thing I do in my life, so I hope they won't (but they probably will) bombard me with questions like, "Steve, name a pop song!" or other such nonsensical questions, but I hope they will help me overcome this fear of mine because well, it's just a dumb little thing that I hate about myself. And I'm too old to be afraid of trying, right?



Riggle me that!