A Place that is just as real, just not as brightly lit.....

Imagine that every insecurity, every doubt, every sadness, you were feeling crashed down on you all at once.  Your eyes becoming a source of unending and unyielding tears.  So lonely that you can only feel the pain of the absence of a much needed hug.  You know it is happening, you are aware of it all, and yet you can't stop it.  That nothing can ever be enough, that no one can ever be what you need them to be or do what you want them to do.  Welcome to my PMS.

Pictured below: Sorrow-Van Gogh

It happens almost every month.  It happens and I don't realize it at first.  Then comes the crushing sadness that sits on my chest.  The lump in my throat that not only makes it hard to swallow, but hard to breath.  I concentrate on taking in deep breaths and realize that taking that moment makes me weep and sob uncontrollably.  Then I pause, I think, I pull out my calendar.  I count... 21...22...23....24....25 yeah, it's PMS.  At that moment, I realize that whatever I am feeling, it will end.  I know in a day or so time, I will feel better.  I may feel a fool for how deep in despair I was over something that may look trivial in the light of an unclouded brain. I know this, and yet the despair continues.  Maybe there is a sense of relief for a moment.  I might know that this too shall pass.  But the moments, minutes, hours, days it takes to pass just seem so unbearable.

Pictured below: Despair-Munch

Perhaps you are a friend or a loved one that has been caught in my crossfire.  Perhaps maybe you will be. Perhaps you will go running before that can ever happen. In plainest terms I can only say that yes, the emotions stem from something bothering me.  It is probably nothing I couldn't usually handle, but in that moment it becomes all too clear that I HAVE to get everything off my chest. No matter how selfish, no matter how manipulative, no matter the outcome.  I know it is happening, I can't stop it, I want to stop it but, it is like verbal diarrhea. I wish there were pepto bismol for the tongue.  I know all of this, I still do it. For those of you that have stuck around for it, I can't thank you enough for standing by me. In fact, the closer you are to me, the more I need you, the more I will find myself unleashing on you. I know that I put you in in an impossible position. Nothing you do or say will ever be right or enough. Yet, I ask, nay demand, that you stay with me anyway.  It is a thankless task and as soon as I have unloaded the explosion of verbal secretions on you, I will feel terrible. I will realize what I have done, and feel ashamed that I could behave that way.

I know as I type this that many may pass judgement. Maybe some will commiserate.  I can only hope to offer you a window in to my soul in it's darkest moments.   But I have chosen to take this moment of "verbal diarrhea" and point it towards myself. Perhaps if I shine a light on the darkness inside, I can find my way out of it.   Maybe I will wake up tomorrow and regret that I posted this, but why should I be left off the hook when so many others have had no choice? I will hate looking back on this, I usually consider myself an upbeat person. It is what it is.  With that.... I click publish.

Allow myself to introduce..... myself

Here is a little peak at me.  Some details are going to be held close to the vest for now.  Maybe I will take off that vest at a later date. I will give you some tidbits about me in bullet points, as they are all non sequiturs.

 My Blog/Twitter/Email name is Naneenoo.  Unless you have asked, you are probably pronouncing it wrong in your head.  It should be read as Nay-nee-noo.  It is a nickname given to me as a child by my mom.  Some friends of mine decided to spell it that way on a personalized ceramic birthday present (I believe my mom spelled it Naneynoo), and that is the spelling I stuck with.

Pictured below: Naneenoo ceramic bear.. the origins of the naneenoo spelling

I thought (and still do) that the name was fitting, off-beat, quirky, and reflected the inner-child in me that still is dancing in circles till she gets dizzy and collapses on the front lawn.

 Pictured below:Young Naneenoo in the front yard, not collapsed ; )

I live in New Jersey.  I was born in New York (Staten Island). Despite this, I do not have a typical New York or New Jersey accent.  There seems to a be a deluge of New Jersey on TV these days, I cannot say that I identify (or want to hang out with) any of the people portrayed or showcased. New Jersey, just like any place, has a wide range of people living in it.  The media wants to focus on one type, and that type sells, I understand that.  It still puts me on guard when I am talking to someone online. I feel the need to tell them I am NOT like the Sopranos. (I did enjoy the show, however)

I am a makeup artist by trade.  I also perform a bit on the side.  I am my happiest when acting and singing.  I adore being the center of attention.  It is a bit of a sickness really.  I know that I thrive on praise from others. I don't need it to make me a confident and whole person; I just like it way too much. I am a moth to a flame.  Flattery and praise fuel me. 

My favorite color is Red (red and sparkly is the true fave) I l LOVE red.  There is no close second.  My favorite Movie, The Wizard of Oz is probably my favorite because of the Ruby Slippers.  Had they stayed the original Silver (as in the book) I wonder if the movie still would have been as magical to me.  I also love movies with makeovers and make over/shopping montages.  This is probably why Grease was a close second in my list of faves.

Pictured below: My very own tootsies in my very own Ruby Slippers

I also love Show tunes.  Sure, I love other music, but nothing stirs me like a good Broadway ballad. I go to karaoke at least once a week (if I can.) I would sing show tunes exclusively but they generally are not what the crowd wants in a crowded karaoke bar. 

My last blog entry mentioned my boyfriend, Keith Olbermann.  I failed to mention that I have many boyfriends.  KO is definitely at the top of the list, along side of Jake Gyllenhaal.  The list is numerous, and it is added to all of the time.  Don’t try to pin down my tastes… as indicated by the top of my list, they are quite diverse.  Sometimes it is just the way about a person, or their voice.  I go gaga over a good set of arms, but the tush, chest and abs are all attention grabbers. Nothing gets me going like a man who gives great brain. I can drool over eye-candy plenty, it is what they say that keeps me coming back for more.  

I love to shop.  I love dressing up.  I love shopping for, with, other people.  I love putting together a great outfit.  I love accessories.  I have an unhealthy relationship with designer shoes (especially those fabulous ones with the red Bottoms-Mr. Louboutin, I am talking to you).  Although I own more makeup than most department store counters, I could easily go back and find tons of stuff I still feel like I NEED to buy.  I love Love LOVE dresses.  I like dressing up in them. I like being flirty and feminine, and would rather wear a dress than anything else.  Doesn’t mean I don’t buy tops and jeans, it is just that if there is a dress in the store, I am trying it on, if it looks good and is at a price point that is in my neighborhood, it is coming home with me.  I find bargain and thrift store shopping invigorating as well.  At the end of the day, I just like to look put together and a little funky.  I can spend a few days obsessing over what to wear… and truth be told, I enjoy every second of it.

So, there you have some very basic Naneenoo knowledge.  I promise you, I am deeper than all of this.  I just thought this was a good place to start.  It is like I am dating you, oh blogoshpere, and you got to court me a little tonight.  I can drop the heavy stuff on you later… at least after you have paid for dinner ; )

Cause ALL the cool kids are doin' it.

For a while I resisted creating a blog.  Sure I once would have "journal entries" on LiveJournal, but I barely ever read my friend's post there and have long since abandoned posting anything on my own.  Even when I did post anything, it was locked to all but a few friends I deemed worthy of reading.
Facebook is really what sounded the death knell for LiveJournal.  It monopolized my time with it's fun inter-activeness and the occasional addictive application.  Sometime during my facebook frenzy I decided to add a twitter account.  I resisted that too.  I saw no need to have yet another Social Medium in which I would read the same exact things my friends already journaled and posted as a Facebook status.

But go to Twitter I did.  Once there again, I protected my tweets.  I would tweet now and again and got little joy out of it.  There would be some hashtag games that I found fun... such as #BroadwayMusicalMashups and the like.  After the buzz of those wore off, I often left my account to collect virtual dust.

Then one day, HE joined Twitter.  For a while before this, I thought about unlocking my tweets so that I could interact with the world at large but never was the idea so tempting as when HE joined. The HE is Journalist and Host of Countdown Keith Olbermann.  One might not suspect that this man, who is many years my senior and perhaps not who most think of as a sex symbol could be the person who would make me invoke the all cap HE but, KO (as I like to call him) has been "my boyfriend" for years now.... even if he doesn't know it. PLEASE, don't get me wrong.  I am not a stalker, I am not a psycho. I have no delusions that we are actually an item.  That doesn't stop me from referring to him as "mine" to all of my friends, and hushing them when HE is on the television and saying, "Please, let MY Keith speak." HE comes, silver-haired, impeccably dressed to my living room every night Monday through Friday. HE reads the news in a way that not only gets me interested, it keeps me interested.  His sense of humor and cheeky nods to the camera fill me with a giddy glee as if HE were telling me a joke that only "we" understand.  More than all of that, his special comments spoke so passionately about so many beliefs and outrages being perpetuated in this country.  When I felt my own voice was being stifled, his was loud and strong and speaking more eloquently than I ever could.


So, there it was.. there HE was.  I noticed HE was there when my friend Maddie started following him.  I think the debate to unlock my tweets was all but over.  As I told her, he held the key to my virtual chastity belt of tweets.  The deed was done and I was unlocked.  It was a day or so of giddyness as I started to mention celebrities in my tweets. John Cusack being my first response, I nearly died.  One night I mentioned KO in a tweet, HE answered... then HE followed me.  It would, in fact, be an exaggeration to say that was the best day of my life, but it made me WAY happier than something such as that ever should.  His mention of me, plus follow, equalled  a surge in people following me, people I never met before.  I don't have huge numbers by any means, but days before I think I had about 25.

Twitter has become alive for me.  Sure I feel like a bit of a voyeur but, I am kinda getting used to that.  So many of the people I talk to have their own blogs, so I decided to try my hand at one too. I know how much I can talk and sometimes a tweet just doesn''t cut it. It may be challenging for me, as I have finally become accustomed to being brief... 140 character brief.  Part of the inspiration also has come from Roger Ebert who, by following him, has linked me to many wonderful blogs out there. 

I can't make you any promises of what this blog will be. I am not a writer, I speak from my heart, I often add commas where there should be no commas.  My punctuation may leave something to be desired. What my intention is, is that it will help me peel off the layers of guardedness that I put up for some time. Some entries may be fluff, some may be days when I need to be talked down from a ledge (not literally) in any case, I hope that I can learn something about myself and that I can share a little something with those of you who decide to read it.