39. Knit something wearable

While I appreciate the convenience and efficiency of modern advances, I like to keep one foot in the past, and do things the old fashioned way. It's a tricky dance to execute, but when I can, the resulting connection I feel to my ancestors, history, and humanity is a priceless gift that not only I enjoy, but get to share with my son-my future.

Both my maternal and paternal grandmothers were highly skilled at knitting, crocheting, macrame, cross stitching, embroidery, etc. I have dozens of examples of their beautiful work that is not only practical, but a reminder of who they were and how special they still are to me, even though they are no longer here. I think of my Nana every time I pull out her delicately embroidered table cloth and napkins. And I can't help but smile when I wrap up in my grandma Lucille's colorful crochet blanket. These gifts were made with love and carefully honed skills, and are worth so much more to me than anything they could have purchased at a store. It occurred to me, with Christmas approaching, that I should learn to knit, and give my creations away as gifts.

It turns out that there is the most beautiful yarn store just down the street from me--who knew. And not only do they sell unique yarn, they offer classes. That's how my obsession began. I was not overly ambitious to start. I knew that I had a short amount of time and zero skill level to complete these gifts. Scarves seemed like a reasonable project to tackle. However, I had no idea that one wrong stitch would send me down a tangled knitting path with no trail of bread crumbs to help me find my way back. After much trial and error, a few classes, several pilgrimages to my knitting guru, multiple knitting needles, and about 40 hours later, I created three scarves. They weren't especially beautiful, though I would have been very proud to wear them. They weren't unique or even made from exceptional materials, but they were made with lot's of love. Within each stitch I weaved love, kindness, and all the positivity I could muster so that when the recipients wore them they would feel special.  On Christmas, I was able to give my son, and my boyfriend's daughters their gifts. I can only hope that when they wear them they feel warm and special. If not now, then maybe sometime in the future.

56. Go Skydiving

5 minutes of instruction to jump out of an airplane seems reasonable!

Free falling. Best feeling in the world

Beautiful view of Santa Barbara

I'm still alive!

The hardest part of this experience was calling to make the appointment. While the idea of jumping out of a plane was a thrilling one, and one that would no doubt garner a lot of attention and admiration once I posted the pics on facebook, committing to and executing on it was almost unthinkable. First there was the money- it's expensive to risk your life for a little adventure. Second, and more important, it's freaking crazy to risk your life for a little adventure. Isn't it? I told no one about this particular excursion. Experience has taught me that it's better to tell my mom about my crazy ideas after I've successfully accomplished them so she doesn't worry. And since I was surprising my boyfriend with this gift for his birthday, he didn't know about it either. So I was completely on my own to fret and worry for three weeks without anyone to whom I could vent my fears. The night before the jump I really began to panic. I thought about my son and how irresponsible I was being by risking not only my life, but his as well. What would happen to him should I die? Was I being a terrible mother? And what about my own mom? She would really be mad if I died. And who was I to risk my boyfriend's life? I could have potentially hurt a lot of people, and for what? A little admiration? I decided to proceed with the plan anyway. At any moment I could pull out, and I would only lose my deposit. Certainly that's better than my life.

When we arrived at the airfield, just outside of Santa Barbara, Eric was able to guess what we were doing, and to my delight was excited to do it. Admittedly he was scared, but excited as well. This gave me the confidence to proceed. And finally I wasn't alone. I could share my anxiety with another human being. After literally five minutes of instruction we were on our way to the plane. I figured I was strapped to a professional, what did I really need to know. The plane ride was the scariest part of the experience. I think my son has toy airplanes that are bigger than the tin can we went up in. If we were going to die that day, odds were that it would be because our Lilliputian airplane crashed. This made me more eager to jump out of it.

There were only a few other jumpers in our group, and I was proud to note that I was the only girl on that plane. Girl Power!  Air is cold at 18,000 ft elevation which is the point we jumped from. Watching Eric jump first was frightening, more so than jumping myself. I didn't want anything to happen to him, and I certainly didn't want to watch anything happen to him. I jumped next, and was surprised at how peaceful the feeling was. I did not get that "stomach in my throat" feeling that I feel on roller coasters. Instead it was quiet and difficult to tell that I was falling at all. When the professional I was strapped to deployed our parachute, and all seemed well, I breathed for the first time in over a minute. The rest was a piece of cake. We landed safely, and took a short van ride back to where we started. The adrenaline stayed in my system for hours. I can't say that I'll jump out of a plane again, but I have some pretty great photos to post on facebook. And yes I feel cool saying I did it.

49. Smoke a Cuban Cigar

46. Go to Club 33 in Disneyland

It was strange walking through Disneyland in heels and a dress. My boyfriend insisted that I wear a skirt, as the restaurant he was taking me to, and surprising me with for my 31st Birthday had a strict dress code. It did not take long for me to guess where we were going. I could eliminate Pizza Port, and the Hungry Bear Restaurant right away simply by the direction we were heading, but The Blue Bayou was still very much in contention for the evening's final destination. I am a big fan of their Monte Cristo sandwich, and my mouth was already watering before I got to Pirates of the Caribbean. However, I was thrilled (and not entirely surprised) when we passed the entrance to the Blue Bayou and stopped instead in front of a very unassuming, plain green door with the number 33 engraved on a simple address plate next to it.

I had always heard that to enter Club 33, a guest must press a buzzer on an intercom concealed by a hidden panel in the doorway. A receptionist will ask for the guest's name over the intercom and, if access is granted, open the door. I was excited for this part. Yet when we got to the door, we saw no intercom. The door was cracked open and we just walked in to an empty lobby. Still I was thrilled to be on the other side of the green door for once. According to wikipedia.com, corporate members pay an initiation fee of $27,500, and individual members pay $10,000 in addition to annual dues, which are about $6,100 or $3,500, respectively. Initiation and dues may change annually. There are 400 members, and the waiting time for memberships is approximately 14 years. All members must have a valid membership card to gain entrance to Club 33. Additional utilization of the card is to spouse only, with reservations accepted only from the cardholder, the spouse or the cardholder's assistant. I don't know how my boyfriend got us in, or how far in advance he had to make reservations. But I was impressed. It's nice to assume he jumped through hoops to get me in, even if he does work for Disney.

I may have been more impressed by the fancy decor and old important things in the restaurant, were it not for all the dowdy guests marring the experience. I was told no jeans, or we would be sent home. Why did I see men and women in baseball hats, t shirts and shorts? I half expected Buzz Lightyear to come in and sign autographs. Nonetheless, the food was delicious as expected, and the service was spectacular. Even the mom nursing her baby at the table next to us could not spoil that. I ordered the 5 course tasting menu - warm spinach salad with pancetta, and Dijon dressing, lake whitefish with Meyer lemon and yam pomegranate croquette, followed by New York strip steak with roasted vegetables and hollandaise, a cheese course, and finally a caramel apple tatin. I licked my plates clean. What? They were tiny portions.

It was ultimately a very delicious and unique experience for which I am grateful. And though I didn't see Walt's head, or any of the celebrities that frequent the restaurant, I will never forget my 31st Birthday at Club 33.


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Club_33

50. Get a tattoo

I always told myself that if I could think of something that I would want on my body for the rest of my life, be it a quote, a picture, a special date, etc. then I would get a tattoo of it. If I could picture myself at 80 with this same tattoo and would not look or feel completely ridiculous, then I might consider permanently inking my body. This put a lot of pressure on me the few times I actually did consider getting a tattoo. I thought it had to be so remarkable, make such a meaningful statement, that it would warrant "defiling my body" as I was taught getting a tattoo was considered by God. Nothing could measure up to that standard. At various stages of my life, I had contemplated tattoos to represent who I was. I briefly considered the "comedy/tragedy" masks when I was getting my degree in Theater. When "Moulin Rouge" came out, I pondered how the phrase, "The greatest thing you'll ever learn, is to love, and be loved in return" would look on my arm. During my "Summer of Love" I debated what kind of peace symbol would look best and where. But each time I got close, I chickened out for one reason or another. What If I inked a statement that 10 years later I no longer agreed with, or wanted on my body? The potential of regret was the biggest factor in putting off something I only thought I wanted to do. Another was not wanting to go with the crowd. It seems like everyone has a tattoo these days, even people I would never suspect.  I actually like being different. Not having tattoos made me different. I don't even have my ears pierced. A tattoo is way more rebellious than a piercing. And finally, as an actor, I have to be conscious of my body and how it will look on camera. A casting director is less likely to cast me if they have to constantly cover up my body graffiti. If you don't believe me, look up Nikki Taylor, a famous model who can't get cast because of her tattoos. She is now going through the painful process of removal. 

To give you some context, I was raised by very conservative parents, who even though they were alive during the 60's somehow managed to miss the entire decade. They had two 50's and moved straight into the 70's. According to my knowledge they had no "rebellious stage" which is often how tattoos come about. Especially during my parents generation when tattoos were the exception to the rule; unlike today where they seem to be the rule. I knew a few people growing up who had tattoos, but being raised Mormon, I just wasn't around many people who had them. However, when I was 18, and a Senior in high school, one of my best friend's got a tattoo of a lady bug beneath her bikini line. This girl was the most conservative young woman I knew, and I was blown away by her decision to get one. It was totally out of character; at least what character I had pre judged a person with tattoos to have. Years later, I asked if she still liked the tattoo, and if it held up after two babies, and to my surprise she said she was very happy and it still looked good. It made me think about who and what a tattoo is for? She clearly made a personal decision, and enjoys the little piece of art that only she and her husband can see. It made it sweet and intimate, rather than cheap and grungy.

In the Summer of 2009, I began dating my boyfriend. After a meeting at the beach, I realized that he had two tattoos. Up until that point, I had regarded him as a very well educated, buttoned up, corporate executive. Yet here he was with two, very poorly done tattoos that looked like he acquired them while drunk in Mexico. Still, this side of him was exciting, and I liked that. I learned that he, unlike my parents, spent many years in his "rebellious stage." Mexican tattoos were just a remnant of that time. A few months into our relationship, I dared him to get my name tattooed onto his arm. I said it as a joke, really, over dinner. But astonishingly, he got up, grabbed his coat and walked out to his car. I followed silently, waiting for him to say, "just kidding," at any moment, but he didn't. Maybe he was waiting for the same from me. But neither of us spoke until we arrived at the tattoo parlor. He sat down, explained what he wanted, and 10 minutes later, my name was indefinitely inscribed on his arm. It was fast, exciting, sexy, rebellious, and I wanted more. I knew I couldn't keep telling my boyfriend to get tattoos to satisfy this desire (though I'm still hopeful that we can fix the Mexican mistake). It was time for me to step up.

With newly discovered excitement, I researched celebrity tattoos. Rhianna has some cute ones. I pondered getting stars down the back of my neck like her. But ultimately the image I kept coming back to was music notes on Lea Michelle. Like Lea Michelle, I am a singer, and music is a huge part of my life. The song fell in place much easier than I had suspected. While a few songs came up, the one I kept coming back to was "Good Feeling," by the Violent Femmes. I heard it for the first time when I first started dating my boyfriend, and fell in love with it and him at the same time. It was one of his favorite songs as a teen. It's about how elusive feeling good is, and how it "always seems like your leaving, when I need you here just a little longer." It is entirely possible that the song is about drugs. However, it was very powerful and meaningful in our young relationship, and was the jumping off point for many deep discussions. Gordon Gano, the singer, sounds so tortured in the song, and even though the title is "Good Feeling," the tone is quite melancholy. That spoke to both of us at the time.

Just as quickly and deliberately as my boyfriend etched my name on his epidermis, I strutted my virgin skin into the same tattoo parlor and rather unceremoniously became initiated into the club. I chose the first three notes of the song that begins, "Good feeling......." a half note, a quarter note, and another half note, and tagged them on the inside of my left forearm. It was painful but bearable. I cannot imagine how some people suffer through the enormous tattoos I often see pricked into their skin for what must be hours and hours, and in some of the most tender places - seriously, genitals? Will I regret it in 10 years? I doubt it. I forget I have it. It's easy to cover with makeup, it's simple and subtle, yet makes a big statement to me. It's personal, and reminds me of a time that I look back on with fond memories. I don't feel particularly rebellious, though I think about getting something bigger every once in a while. I don't feel grungy. I don't feel any less unique. After all, I still don't have my ears pierced, and have no plans to do that in the future. I am happy that I did it. I anticipate that it will still look pretty decent at 80 when I will want to be reminded of 'good feeling' more than ever.