2003

What's going to be saddest about this exercise is I will feel the urge to go to my performance website to see what I was doing professionally at the time.  But I'm not going to.  And THEN I'm going to see how far off I was.

And ain't going to be anything sequential about this...just diving in.

My friend Rusty died.

I recorded, did the arrangements, some of the orchestrations, and produced a CD of lullabies from around the world (14 languages, GAH!) that blew my mind (GAH GAH) and got me so incredibly stressed out I NEEDED lullabies.  So my mom helped me out with my first Xanax ever. Googoo gah gah... thanks, Nana. Nana, the Pusher.

Everything else on the CD was done exquisitely and at a fraction of the cost by beloved friends. Such a gift that I'm sure I still need to repay somewhat  'cause  I don't think there's enough good in the world to do those cumulative kindnesses justice.

I spent a month in St. Petersburg (the Russian variety) where a night in was 4 shots.  A bad night out was 8 shots and crikey, did I feel special the next day.  I think I wore sunglasses for 24 hours straight 'cause ain't nothing so bright as a St. Petersburg winter.

I was the worst date ever.  I haven't been that bad a date since.  I promise.

I sang in some AWESOME legit-ish concerts and made my Carnegie debut. 

I ran into a guy I'd been strangely involved with...near my apartment.  But he lived in California.  That was REALLY bad luck for him and proved once and for all that I am here to out lies and fears... whether I want to or not.

I had the best birthday ever.  Everyone had to bring a dessert or liquor.  Friends cleaned and decorated my house.  I supplied the sparklers and fireworks. 

I had three straight hours of the best kissing ever.  Soul to soul.  Bone and sinew.  

I worked in theater for 31 weeks straight.

I got stressed.  Again.  Every time I was in the city I would see awful things. That's when I realized NYC is a reflection of what you feel on the outside.