If the Shoe Fits . . . For Goodness Sake, Keep it on!

We’ve all seen it a hundred times before: girls at their homecoming dance with their high heels tossed under the banquet table so they can dance with their friends without twisting an ankle, a chick who has had one too many Rum Runners and walks down the street holding her stilettos in her hand so she can keep her balance, or any number of reasons that women take off their shoes in public and parade around barefoot because their shoes hurt too much or restrict them in some way.

You will never EVER see me do this.

No offense to those of you who wish to toss those shoes off in public if you didn’t have the time to break them in or underestimated the height of those heels, but that happens to be one of those quirky little things that I simply cannot bring myself to do. It’s for a combination of reasons.

If you know me, as many of you who read this do, you will know that I have a slight germaphobia, so sauntering down the street barefoot is not high up on my list of sanitary activities. Mostly, though, I think it stems from my girly side of liking to look put together and being fully dressed up with no shoes just kind of ruins that effect. It just screams, “SOMETHING WENT WRONG HERE!” I love high heels, and even when I lived in New York City and had to walk up and down stairs to the subway, hop across subway grates and run through the pouring rain on the slick city streets, I never stopped wearing them. And I can assure you, I never took them off if they hurt and carried them with me while I trapsed around barefoot. If my foot was broken, bleeding and blistered, I would soldier on (and incidentally, I have).

In contrast, here in Singapore, I have found that not only are the locals completely comfortable being seen shoe-less, they like to take the opportunity where ever they happen to be sitting, to perform a full pedicure if the mood strikes them. I cannot explain how many times in seven months I have witnessed men clipping their toenails on the MRT.

The gentleman (the term “gentleman” used loosely here) pictured below was so enthralled with his own feet on the train ride that he had no idea I was just snapping picture after picture of him as he removed his shoes, itched and scratched his feet, rearranged his socks and massaging his toes.

Women, for the most part, keep their shoes on, which is a breath of fresh air, literally and figuratively. But seriously, the men just go at it with no inhibition. If there is a place to sit, Singaporean men seem to take that as the opportunity to tend to any and all foot irritants. And frankly, it doesn’t stop there. I was walking off set the other day as Betty Boop and a man was actually changing his pants next to a bench in the park as hundreds of people wandered the streets. He was just standing in his tighty whities changing his pants like it was the most natural place in the world to accomplish that.

Oh Singapore, if you are reading this, I just want you to know that there is at least one person in this country that would greatly appreciate if you kept your feet to yourself. By all means, when you get home, go to town on those bad boys, but on the MRT . . . keep your socks on. I promise you, I will return the favor, and I’ll be in some snazzy Betsy Johnson four-inch heels, so if I can do it, you can do it.

The Graduate

My big brother Rick is receiving his bachelors degree in computer science today and I'm so proud of him! He would be the first one to tell you, he took the long road but today is the day it all pays off! Ricky (as I have always called him) has always been incredibly smart though, and I'm so happy that he finally gets to hold this diploma in his hands after years and years of hard work.

Ever since I can remember Ricky would take things apart and put them back together with the greatest of ease. We must be yin and yang because I am completely clueless in all the ways that he is a genius. I'm constantly calling him with questions about my computer, internet, cable box, printer, phone, you name it. If it's anything technical, I call my brother because I am mentally stuck in the third-grade with an apple computer playing Oregon Trail; that's the level of my technical ability.

To be honest, my brother and I haven't always gotten along. We are each others only sibling and we are almost five years apart in age. I think that fact had a lot to do with our difficulties meshing well while we were growing up. He was the cool older brother and I was the dorky little sister. And yes, he tortured me. I remember vividly being handcuffed to the oven handle while my brother babysat me right after my mom gave him a "real pair of policeman handcuffs." Great gift idea, Mom.

There was also another time when my brother was babysitting me and we were watching TV. I wanted to watch cartoons and he wanted to watch Top Gun or something so instead of arguing, he just looked over my shoulder at the big windows surrounding our dining room table and said, "Oh my gosh! I just saw a man with a gun! Get under the table and hide! Quick!" Being an eight-year-old innocent little girl, I darted under the table and pulled me knees up to my chest, wrapped my arms around my legs and pulled my eyes shut. And I waited, and waited. My brother just watched TV, "on the look out" for the return of the shooter. When I would try to inch my way out from under the table and say, "Ricky . . . is he still there?" My brother would reply, "Oh gosh! Yes! There he is again! You better stay under there!" At least he was creative . . .

That kind of interaction is the sort that usually happened when we were kids. But there were a few shining moments where I got to see how much my brother really cared, between the bouts of torture.

My girl friend LeAnn Sheets and I would spend our afternoons rollerskating around the apartment complex, and pretending to be mermaids in the big complex pool. There was a mean little boy named Wesley who would torment us by following us around, calling us names and finally actually pushing us around physically. My brother would skateboard around the neighborhood with his friends, but our paths rarely crossed. One seemingly typical day Wesley had my friend LeAnn and I cornered next to one of the apartment buildings. Out of nowhere, my brother appeared and grabbed Wesley by the throat. He picked him up and held him up against the wall by his neck. He said, "If you ever go near my sister and her friends again, I'll beat the shit out of you." Wesley squirmed and yelped and said, "Okay! Okay! Let me go!" And Ricky let him go and walked away. It's one of the coolest things anyone has ever done for me.

As we have grown into adulthood, we have become closer. The men in my family are not as emotional and communicative as the women, but my brother definitely tells me what he thinks and gives me advice when it is needed. And I have also learned that even if he can't verbalize it, my pain and troubles are his pain and troubles. He's still just as protective of me as that day at Post Lake apartments and I'm forever grateful.

So, to my brother on his graduation day - You are a bad ass, and I love you.

Missing in Action

I have been MIA again, and I apologize. Life has been challenging to say the least. I have been stuck in bed for the past week and I have a myriad of tests to look forward to at the beginning of next week. Here's the scoop so we can get the unpleasant stuff out of the way.

My tummy has been in an uproar since getting to Singapore, but anyone who knows me well, knows that it's my Achilles heel. Over the counter medicine and my new favorite homeopathic remedy of ginger root have kept my stomach manageable for over five years now. Since arriving in a new country AND getting my heart broken I've been keeping the Ginger People (the brand of ginger candies I buy) in business, as a friend has brought to my attention recently. I really started to become concerned about two weeks ago. I was getting ready for work and tried on about six pairs of shorts and jeans from back home and realized that they were all so big on me that they would literally fall off. Hmmm . . . okay, I knew I had lost a couple of pounds, but it's just stress! Right? I'm eating as much as I normally do, even though I'm never actually hungry, but I force myself to eat, so everything is okay, right? Then I get to work and realize both of my Betty costumes feel awfully roomy. It's probably just the fabric expanding because of the heat, or something that happens since it's being dry-cleaned every day. I let my stage manager know that we need to take my costumes in a bit, but I had this bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Fast forward one week later and I'm waking up feeling like I only slept a wink, when I've actually gotten about nine hours of sleep and feeling like I'm going to pass out when I'm out on set at work. My entire body is so exhausted I feel like I've been running marathons daily. In the middle of a work day I get taken to the clinic and the doctor tells me I'm probably just tired because of the heat and he gives me some electrolyte packets and sends me on my way. Days in bed go by and I still feel miserable. My chest is on fire with acid reflux, and lots of other tummy issues that don't need to be discussed.

I went to a specialist at Singapore General Hospital yesterday (Thursday) and while I'm waiting to see the doctor the triage nurse takes my blood pressure and weight. That's when my jaw drops. I have lost 13 pounds since I have been in Singapore. I'm already pretty slim so thirteen pounds is quite a lot of weight on my frame. And I pretty much only fluctuate maybe two to three pounds at any given time. It was quite a shock. The doctor sees me and tells me what I was absolutely dreading having to do while I'm out here. I have to get an endoscopy and colonoscopy which means I have to go under anesthesia, which means I'm going to make a total idiot of myself. More on that later.

So, here I am in another country on the other side of the world feeling miserable, scared, and alone. Being sick sucks especially when you aren't quite sure whats wrong and you are playing the waiting game. Now pile on the fact that you are in a different WORLD with a totally different system of medicine and the one person you thought was going to take care of you if anything happened while you were going through the constantly surprising experience of performing on a foreign contract isn't there anymore. Thankfully God put a savior of a friend here for me, whom I would have never expected would go as above and beyond in making me feel safe. And, don't get me wrong there are a lot of great people out here, but when it comes to the serious, scary stuff, it's not easy to run to someone you have only know a few months. I miss my family terribly and if there was any way my mother (who has an intense fear of flying) could endure the 24 hours of flying it takes to make the journey out here, she would. I just know that there is no way she could do it between her fear and how anxious she is about my health.

Trust me, no one here should have to be with me when I'm coming out of anesthesia. I know people are known to say silly and crazy things, but I'm just a wreck. It must be my need to feel like things are under control that makes me a total mess when it comes to a situation where you have no control. I basically throw on the boxing gloves and try to fight anesthesia until I have it pinned to the ground. It has never worked, of course, but apparently, my unconscious-self will never stop trying.

That's the update and the reason I have been missing in action. I hate writing "downer" blogs but I wanted to keep everyone updated that I don't get to see or talk to and it's always been hard for me to ignore the reality of what I'm going through when it's the main thing on my mind. It's been a decade since I've had symptoms like this (more on THAT in my next blog) and I was hoping that that was the last time I'd have to go through it, but here I am. All I know is that something is wrong and the only way to figure it out is for them to shove a camera down my throat and up my bum. (Hopefully not the same camera.) I'm just working on staying positive, and taking each day at a time. One of my big "lessons" is not to project or overreact so this is the ultimate test. WebMD and I are not allowed to see one another. It only leads me to think I have every horrible disease in the world. I mean, have you noticed that? I think every disease has the same symptoms!

I'll be hanging out in bed until Monday. Wish me luck!

Daddy's Girl

My dad is celebrating a milestone birthday this year (he's turning 65,) along with my mother who is turning 60 and myself (I'm turning 30). In a recent conversation with my mother, she told me that my dad doesn't want to celebrate his birthday (which is in June) until November when I get back to the United States and we can all celebrate our birthdays together. I got teary-eyed, of course. My dad is certainly not much of a sap, but in the past few years, there have been times when he does or says something that is surprisingly mushy. My dad never really likes to celebrate birthdays anyway, but that fact that he wants to wait until I'm home was sweet. It's probably because my dad and I share a special bond that no other father and daughter share. You see, my dad had me.




Yes, I mean that my dad gave birth to me.



My brother and I each have a photo album that my mom put together from our first year on the planet. The first page in both of our albums is a picture of each of us in the hospital, bright pink, only moments old. The only difference in my album is that the first picture you see is of my father, in a hospital gown sitting in a hospital chair holding me with pink and white balloons floating behind him with a big smile on his face. He looks exhausted but elated, I mean, he's just given birth for crying out loud; give the man a break! My mother, who hates to have her picture taken, was no where to be found in any of the hospital pictures. She must have been working that day and left my father to have me, all by himself.



I somehow got it into my head one day, very early on, when I looked through the photo album, that I had found out a huge secret that my parents were trying to keep from me. I confronted my mother.



"Dad had me, didn't he?" I asked her, through tears. "Why on earth would you think Dad had you?" my mother replied. Oh, okay, she was going to try and play hardball (with a 6 year old). I had THE EVIDENCE! I opened the front page of the photo album and presented it to her. "You aren't in any of these pictures and Dad is in a hospital gown holding me! Why didn't you ever tell me that dad had me?!"



"Oh, you're a silly goose," my mother replied and didn't elaborate, because, well, proving my theory wrong would be quite a conversation for a 6-year-old. I'm assuming that's why my belief went on for so long. I eventually got over the sting of betrayal that I had never been told this secret, and defended it with great honor. This was a constant source of amusement to my family, along with the fact that I am the ONLY person in my generation (and the generations before me) in my family to be born outside of New York. (The icing on the cake being that I was born in New Jersey, but more on that another day.)



I remember several family gatherings vividly where someone would say offhand, "Well, that's because Rich gave birth to Erin." I could sense sarcasm from a very young age and I would fly into a tantrum! "He DID have me! I have PROOF!" I would shout as I would stomp off to get the photo album. My father, of course, didn't help me accept the truth. He would laugh through a big smile and say, "That's right honey, show them!" I liked feeling that my dad and I were a team that no one could quite understand because WE had a special bond. None of my other friend's dads had had THEM! Obviously, those dads were too lazy!



Years went by, and I remember realizing that it might not be true, even before I knew the scientific reasons behind it, but I still insisted that my dad had me. Part of me didn't want to lose that special link to my dad. My mom and I got closer and closer as I became a woman, but the father-daughter bond is harder to keep strong.



One day I will have to re-post this with the picture (THE PROOF!) of my father and I, because it is in storage somewhere in North Hollywood until next year. I've just been thinking about this story and wanting to share it so I couldn't wait that long! I hope you enjoyed it!

Lessons . . .

I have a million things I have been tossing around in my mind to write about, but because my work schedule has been unrelenting and I have two college courses to worry about now, I haven't been able to. I'm also trying to have some semblance of a social life, so it's been quite a juggle lately. Of all the subjects and experiences I want to share, I am going to scrap all of them (for today) and get a little personal because I was really inspired and deeply touched by my friend Joan's blog. Click here to read her entry and subscribe to her blog. It's what made me initially begin mine.

I have been working on myself for the past 7 weeks pretty intensely. Now, in the past, I have gone through periods where I really take a look inside and get real about the things I want to improve, but I had just scratched the surface and then slowly backed off over time. Facing one of my biggest fears has made me re-evaluate everything. I sat back and looked at the past year of my life and everything I've been scared of, and thought, "No wonder my anxiety is at an all time high! No wonder my stomach is in knots! No wonder I can't let myself be really present and happy!"

For the past 10 months I have been scared of moving to Singapore. I have been scared that I will never get out of debt. I have been holding on to the fear that I went through with my breast biopsy. I have been scared that even though the results were negative THIS time, that next time, or the time after, they won't be. I have been scared that my relationship wasn't heading in the direction it was originally. I have been scared of what everyone that I work with thinks of me. I have been scared that I can't trust the company I work for. I have been scared of turning 30 this year . . .

And that's really just scratching the surface. It was exhausting, and devastating. I feel like I look back at myself 2 months ago and think, "Who was that person?" I felt completely and utterly unsafe. I thought, "I have to go home!" and in the same instance, "I can't go home!" I had been running further and further away from myself until I was forced to take a breath, turn around and look at where I was. It was not a place I ever want to be again.

The positive thing about my fears coming to fruition is that, little by little, I realized I actually can handle all those things I thought I couldn't. And I can handle all the scary things that haven't happened, but might some day; but not without putting in the work, and LOTS of it. I've been reading endlessly and journaling and meditating every day. I've been changing my thoughts and it has changed everything. I had been missing out on so much by worrying about everything! And in the past month, I see things I didn't see before, because I'm open to it and I'm looking for the good stuff. It was as if I were absolutely refusing to let all of the joy in before, and I can assure you, Joy will not kick the door in! Thankfully, it waited politely outside until I came to my senses and invited it in. "Letting go" is my biggest lesson this year. I am letting go of that list of crap that has been holding me back.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still a work in progress! I'm not and never will be perfect, but who is? I just feel like I have really turned a huge corner in my life and am so grateful. Meditation is something I always shied away from because I felt like I didn't really "get it" and therefore resisted trying it. Now, I can't get enough! I mean, I'm not like, in a creepy state of mediation 24 hours a day, but I do take at least 10 minutes a day to do it and I feel peace for the first time in a year. A friend actually said to me a couple of days ago, "I like coming to you with my problems because you are so peaceful about it and really think before you give me an answer." I can tell you that would never have been said 2 months ago and it just about floored me. I hope that means I can be a better friend now as well.

Life is stinkin' tough; but it's absolutely beautiful as well. It is all in how you absorb what you are confronted with. If you see a world that is out to get you and make you unhappy, then that is the world you are going to be living in. Somehow, along the way, I forgot that lesson. Now I'm in a world full of hope, beauty and inspiration. Join me, won't you?

A Blond, A Brunette and A Redhead Walk into a Bar . . .

Rachel (Ray Ray), Niki (Nipple Niki) and I (Err Bear) have been the walking cliche for a decade, ever since we met working as can-can girls at Rosie O'Grady's in downtown Orlando. (Clearly, that picture to the left is not us, it's from like the early 90's but that's what we wore and did. I don't have my older pictures out here with me in Singa!) For anyone not from Orlando, Rosie O'Grady's was a tourist hot spot that boasted the "Good Time Gang" which consisted of a ragtime band, jazz singer (the "Hot Mama") and a can-can dance on the bar performed by the cocktail waitresses. We would slide down the two story brass fireman's pole in the center of the stage and rouse the crowd with our can-can routine, full of "Wooo's!" and high kicks. It was one of my first jobs, and I can still say to this day, it was the one of the most fun jobs I've ever had! Rachel (the blond), Niki (the brunette) and I (duh) were fast friends and when Rosie O'Grady's closed it's doors, our manager said, "Yeah, you three act like you are inseparable, but I bet you won't keep in touch for more than a year." Famous last words, Jim.

If I were to even try to tell you all the adventures I have had as a part of this threesome friendship, we'd be here all day! The stories from the summer after college when I lived with them, alone, would take a week to regale and they could never compare to the experience. I'm introducing you to these amazing ladies to highlight one of my deep dark secrets. I have never been able to, and fear I will never be able to flirt. And if I didn't learn from these girls (the masters), I doubt there is any one who could teach me! I think I'm just one of those girls who feels more comfortable hanging back and watching in awe as my beautiful friends work their magic. I'm the sarcastically funny one, which I am happy with, but it usually makes you "the buddy" or "wing man" when it comes to the opposite sex.

Now, make no mistake, Niki and Rachel are hilariously funny also! That's what brought us all together. All of my girlfriends from Orlando happen to be the most stunning, humble, and comical people I know.

First let's take Niki, a molecular microbiology major, graduate of UCF, Pilate's instructor, pharmaceutical sales rep and all around generally amazing person. She's the first to throw a get together in her home when I come visit Orlando and always has dozens of guys waiting for her to become single (which she rarely is). Flirting technique? The eyelash bat. Seriously, Niki bats her eyelashes at men like Minnie Mouse and they fall to their knees. It's actually a lethal combination of a giggle and eye lash bat, but I digress. I realized shortly into our friendship that it only shows itself when there are people of the male species within a 6 foot radius. I tried to do it once. I just looked like I had something in my contact or was at the onset of an epileptic seizure.

Next, we have Rachel, a five foot eight or nine blond Cuban model, built like a shit brick house. She is one of those people you hate because she has had a baby and looks better then you ever will pre-baby. This is someone who does not even NEED the skill of flirting, because guys just stop, look and listen when she walks in the door. On top of her looks, she's a spectacular mother, amazing lifelong friend, a top real estate agent, and the first one to cook dinner for me every time I come to town (and an spectacular cook on top of all that). Flirting technique? The Spicy Cuban-ness. She's has no inhibitions whatsoever! She walks into a bar or club and heads right to the dance floor and throws down some wicked moves. If she wants to talk to a guy, there's no hesitation or waiting, she will just go up to him; and I've certainly never seen any guy mind! The funniest thing about it is that she is one of the kindest sweetest people I know, but you don't want to be a girl in a bar giving her the stink eye. She has no problem showing you how she feels about that out back in the alley, walking away from it with a ripped skirt and one shoe on, but always victorious. Clearly, even trying this flirting technique when you are a bony Irish girl would be ludicrous.

And bless their hearts, but Niki and Rachel certainly didn't help my case. I was working at Universal Studios, Orlando as Kimberley Duncan in T2-3D at the time and for some reason they found the opening monologue knee-slappingly hilarious. I had rehearsed in front of them at home when I was training in to the role and that was the start of a never ending barrage of, "Oh! Do the Kimberley monologue!!" at every outting we had. If they had a drink and there were a group of guys talking to us, I knew it was only a matter of time before they would shout, "Oh my gosh, you guys, Erin is so funny! Erin! Do the Kimberley monologue!" Now, the monologue was "cute" on it's best day, but out of the context of the show, in a bar, it was most certainly not funny. In fact, I would describe it more as confusing. But after minutes of, "Oh please! Come on! It's SO FUNNY!" I would give in because otherwise I looked like a jerk. I would always preface it with, "It's really not that funny," then I would watch Niki and Rachel die laughing as I spoke and the guys just stare blankly, wondering when the funny part was coming. I guess, ultimately, this was my flirting technique, albeit something I did repeatedly against my will and to my great discomfort.

Maybe I have a flirting technique that just hasn't quite manifested yet and when it does, it will be spectacular. I certainly don't have trouble making friends with guys but that's pretty much as far as it goes on my end. My relationships have generally come about because the guy has flirted with me. In fact, if I'm attracted to someone, I am much less likely to talk to them or attempt flirting. Obviously, that's a flawless system.

Make no mistake, I'm perfectly content being the audience for these adventures. My friends are the best! We can be completely ridiculous and have a ball. For instance, the picture below is just a regular night in Orlando where we decided it was The Village People Appreciation Day. We started at Cigarz, where we all tended bar (that's the owner and our surrogate pops, Syd) and continued to several bars around downtown in our costumes. I even had caution tape that I put up in various places. Being 22 years old makes these things possible.

I miss these girls terribly and can't wait to get back to Orlando to have more adventures!

But the important question is, What's your flirting technique? Do you have a friend who has that magical, effortless technique as well? Sign up, follow my blog and share! (pretty please!)

Building Sand Castles

When I was a little girl, I was extremely shy. My mother likes to constantly remind me of how she would have to take my hand and walk me over to groups of other little girls playing (whether we were on the beach, playground, you name it) and ask if they would mind if I joined them. I remember vividly one day on the beach when I was probably about 7 or 8 years old, standing in front of a group of little girls, with my head down, looking at my feet, waiting to hear their answer to my mother's request. I was really hoping they would say I could play with them because they were building an incredible sand castle. I had been watching from our beach towels with envy and had tried to psyche myself up to ask them myself but I just couldn't do it.

Of course, they said yes, as sweet little 7 year old girls always did, and I joined them in their sand castle building adventure. (It had a moat and the walls were as tall as I was, people!) Sometimes I can't believe how painfully shy I was; but to a certain extent, I still am. I always feel a little awkward when I'm thrown into a new group of people. When I have a security blanket of a boyfriend or best friend, I find myself getting comfortable in that relationship and not branching out as much as I should. If not, I just hang back and wait until time passes and I feel comfortable. Usually, I end up cracking a joke and then people all of a sudden look at me and say, "Whoa, you're funny. I always thought you were so quiet!" Don't ask me why it feels like a completely different thing to get up and perform or do stand up, but it somehow compartmentalizes to a different part of my brain where the shy gene does not have any power.

Since I came to Singapore, I had definitely kept a distance from meeting a lot of people by staying in the safety zone of my relationship. Moving here was so scary and different that it was easier to just sit on the beach towel and watch while everyone else built sand castles.

When my boyfriend, who was my closest friend, wasn't there to hide away with me anymore, I must admit my first instinct was, "RUN!" Then, after about a week, I didn't want to run away, but I DID feel like now everyone had their little clicks and it would be harder to work my way in and become friends.

This past Friday, Chelsey, Tori, Crista and I took the short little boat ride to Puala Ubin, a beautiful little island in Singapore, to mountain bike through the trails. It was such a fun little half-day adventure, and I felt really lucky to have gotten to a place where I have these kinds of friends. We spent the morning and early afternoon just biking, having girl talk and laughing.

And that's just a small example of the interesting and multi-faceted people I have gotten to know here. The amount of people I've communicated with in the past month in contrast to the first nearly 5 months of living here is incomparable. It's really shown me that even though it's a good thing to find someone I feel the security to hermit away with, sometimes I have to push through the shyness to connect with the other incredible people around me.

But I can't say I don't miss my mom holding my hand every once in a while.