The Spectrum

Cue: Dark Humor and Terrible Funeral Jokes

2009-01-10T23:52:00.002-05:00

Tomorrow, my parents, religious conflicts and news broadcasts be damned, are leaving on a ten day trip to Israel.

Impeccable timing, yeah?

"Oh, don't worry," my mother assured me. "We're not going to be anywhere near Gaza. And more importantly, your father and I aren't afraid of dying. We already went over the details with your brother."

"The details of what? The trip?"

"No no, the details of what to do if we die."

"CAN WE NOT TALK ABOUT THAT?"

"Talk about what? I told him he's going to have to come claim the bodies..."

"WAIT. You did not actually talk to Paul about claiming your bodies."

"We did! And you know what he said?"

"?"

"He said we were lucky if they can find all our limbs and body parts to ship back to the United States! HA HA HA."

"So this is all a big JOKE to you people!?"

"I thought it was funny. Anyway, I instructed him to sell the house and split the profit between the four of you."

"Wait. Why do we have to sell the house?"

"Because! Who is going to be able to afford to keep it!?"

"Paul! Can't Paul and Sophie live in the house? They're looking to buy anyway!"

"Well then what about the rest of you?! You need to sell the house to get some money!"

"How much money are we talking here?"

"At least $100,000."

"I get a HUNDRED GRAND if you and dad get blown up in Israel?"

"AT LEAST! Maybe more with you know, life insurance plans and all that."

"I'd rather just keep the house, actually."

"LAURA. You guys are going to HAVE to sell the house!"

"MOM. CAN WE STOP AND THINK ABOUT THE FACT THAT WE ARE HAVING A TEN MINUTE CONVERSATION ABOUT YOU AND DAD GETTING KILLED OVERSEAS?!"

"I know. Well, sooner or later your father and I are going to die whether it's in Jerusalem or in New York, you know?"

"LA LA LA WE ARE NOT HAVING THIS CONVERSATION ANYMORE."

"I just want you to be prepared. I knew you would freak out like this, that's why I already went over the funeral arrangements with your brother. He's less emotional."

"I AM NOT EMOTIONAL. It's just, uh, THIS IS KIND OF A BAD TIME TO VISIT THE HOLY LAND, WOMAN. YOU GET MY DRIFT?"

"Oh please. I agree with your father."

"About WHAT?"

"About the fact that IF we die over there, it's pretty much a guaranteed express ticket to heaven. I mean, really, dying in ISRAEL? We are bypassing purgatory for SURE!"

"I'm hanging up now."

So, off they go with a church group of about twenty to visit Jerusalem and Bethlehem and the Dead Sea and all the places where holy people walked about. In case you're just tuning in, my parents are VERY INTO HOLY THINGS. And by holy things, I mean things related to Jesus.

If you think about it, I mean, it is a very cool trip. There is a ton of ancient history over there and I definitely would be interested in seeing it. It's just not on my Top Ten List of Places To Go, if you know what I'm saying. Especially not like, this week, right? This week, I would play it safe and go somewhere tame, somewhere like Delaware.

But as my mother said, they already spent the money and they planned it back over the summer and who knew it would be a bad time and what are they supposed to do? Back out in fear? The Dlug's do not back out of anything in fear. The Dlug's COMMIT, they LAUGH in the face of danger, they make JOKES ABOUT THEIR FUNERAL.

It will be the second time my mother has traveled overseas in her life, the first time being a few years ago when she attended World Youth Day in Germany. My father traveled extensively throughout Asia and Europe while he was in the army in the late '60's but I don't think he's left the country since then. They are both so incredibly excited and have been looking forward to this for months and months. It's just...uh...do you have to go now?!!?!?

They were originally planning a trip to Italy after my father's retirement but along with the retirement came cancer so, that was put off for a bit as doctors pummeled his prostate with drugs and the like. Right around the time they decided they were ready to go somewhere, the church announced this lovely pilgrimage. And so, the economy plummeted and my father remarked that the money sitting in his retirement account really wasn't doing much at all and so he took some out and away they went.

Or, away they shall go. In about twenty-four hours. Not to Italy but to Israel.

A little bit different, am I right?

I'm going to try not have a panic attack every day that they're away. I'm going to try not to run through different scenarios in my head of all the ways this trip can go horribly, horribly wrong. My parents really are genuinely thrilled about it and I'm stoked for them, for every single aspect of the trip except you know, the whole "Possibly Getting Bombed" thing.

In the end, I'm pretty sure they will return safe and sound, right? (RIGHT!? OH MY GOD, PLEASE SAY YES?!!?!?) But if they don't, I will sell their house and collect some mad cash and throw a LAURA IS AN ORPHAN party. You should come.

In the Bleak Mid-Winter

2009-01-07T23:30:00.003-05:00

I'm not sure which was worse--

The FOUR cellphones that rang during a performance of Equus last night, one of which rang for so long that it caused Richard Griffiths to just stop speaking and take the longest beat imaginable

OR

The one cellphone that rang during the most poignant part of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button this evening which didn't ring for quite as long because the woman ANSWERED IT AND STARTED TALKING.

You tell me.

In other news, I picked three new headshots.

This is my Go-To musical theatre headshot unless I am doing a musical where everyone dies. Then perhaps I will choose a less chipper picture:

This is the "Quirky with glasses and oh so cute you'd put her in a Tampax commercial!" Laura:

And here I am looking kind of sultry which is hilarious because WHEN DO I EVER GET CAST IN ANYTHING SULTRY?

For the record, I have never been cast in anything sultry. In fact, I believe my roommate and I were the only people in our sophomore class in college NOT to be cast in Andrew Lippa's "The Wild Party" because we were too "pure looking". We were devastated, of course, because OMG IT WAS COLLEGE and it was THE SEMESTER MUSICAL and you know, IT MEANT SO DAMN MUCH.

It ended up being the best thing for us because

1) there is a simulated sex scene at the end of the second act and my mother would have FLIPPED OUT IF SHE HAD SEEN IT OMGGGGG

and

b) The production kind of sucked.

Also, the roommate and I spent the semester getting straight A's and eating french fries while the rest of the department was on a diet, desperately trying to get in shape for the aforementioned simulated sex scene.

See? All the things you wish you knew about college theater departments, RIGHT HERE ON THIS WEBSITE.

It's so funny to me to look back and laugh at things that used to matter so incredibly much. I suppose that is a Life In General Thing and not just a College Thing. BUT OH! It was the MUSICALLLLL and everyone was in it but MEEEEEEEEE.

You'll note this is a trend.

In 6th grade, I was the only one of my friends not cast in a community theater production of "Fiddler on the Roof" and I cried into my pillow for DAYS while my mother pet my hair and tried her best to comfort me. "But sweetie, you just don't look Jewish enough..."

I'm also trying to imagine my mother saying this while trying not to laugh, which I assume is how she said it.

And my 12 year old self did not UNDERSTAND THAT. Everyone but ME. I am left BEHIND. Everyone is wanted and I AM NOT. Forget all the times that I was chosen, picked, cast. None of it mattered because EVERYONE WAS SINGING "TRADITION" AND I WAS NOT ALLOWED BECAUSE I LOOKED TOO WASPY.

I'm going to try in this new year to actually believe what my 12 year old self refused to--that 80% of this acting game has nothing to do with me. It has to do with who the director knows and what color hair the girl needs to be and whether or not I can sing a high C. All I can do is work with what I've been given, my vocal range, my height, my preparation.

The rest is out of my hands and I think that automatically relieves quite a bit of stress.

I just need to keep training, keep showing up, keep putting in the effort.

And also, KEEP LOOKING SULTRY.

Done and done.

Resolutions and Stuff

2009-01-04T22:21:00.006-05:00

New Year's Resolutions I've Written So Far:

1. Stop cursing
2. No more plastic water bottles
3. No more popping my pimples
4. No more white flour
5. Put more money into savings each week
6. Keep a gratitude journal

So far I'm doing great with all of these things except the fucking white flour and the fucking cursing. Everything else = awesome.

1. My cursing has spun out of control. I'm not really sure why. I'm also not really sure why I care. My mom always told me that the Holy Spirit drifts away from you when your language and thoughts are vulgar or impure. She also says that it's indicative of a lot of deep-rooted anger.

I don't know what the FUCK she's talking about.

I LOVE YOU MOM.

In all seriousness, it's something I can do without and I'd like to think I'm a person who can think of better words to use than "asshat".

2. James bought me a Sigg water bottle for Christmas. This eliminates the need for plastic water bottles and so far, in 2009, I have not purchased a SINGLE ONE. Go me. The End.

3. Popping pimples...sigh. I love popping my pimples. I love popping YOUR pimples. I swear I would if you let me. PLEASE? Notice that my resolution is to stop popping mine and not yours. SEE?

I get this from my mother. I'm not proud of it. I realize that there are going to be pimples breaking out of my pores, tempting me to do it, just squeeze! Just a little bit! And people, I JUST MAY HAVE TO DO IT. But really, I need to stop. I press my face a zillion times a day, scouring it for the slightest hint of a blemish and I guarantee you that in the process of touching my face with my OILY FINGERS all day, I am actually giving myself MORE PIMPLES than necessary.

Also, there is the tiny issue of scarring. And the fact that now that I am an old lady, I am starting to see these scars and they are not going away and OMG WHAT HAPPENED TO MY BEAUTIFUL SKINNNNNN?

Also, I am also seeing the beginnings of wrinkles. Pass me the botox. Thank you.

So, yeah. No picking. No popping. Unless it's yours. Come here, there's a nice one right there on your forehead...

4. White Flour

This one is HARD. I don't particularly care for starchy things--potatoes, pizza, breads, etc. But I am a pasta WHORE. And I'll buy brown rice pasta or whole wheat and eat it a few times and then realize "OH I FORGOT. I HATE THIS." and banish it to the back of my cabinet. I then go back to the store, load up on the Barilla (Gemelli! Mezzo Rigatoni! Thick Spaghetti!) and call it a night.

Too much pasta. Too many carbs. Must cut it down. I don't think I can eliminate white flour completely but I'd like to reduce. What is an appropriate goal here? Pasta twice a week instead of eighteen? You tell me. And I shall comply.

5. More money into savings = self-explanatory. I already logged in today and upped the ante which is pretty damn hilarious considering my pay cut. THANK YOU, ECONOMY.

6. Every night, before I go to sleep, I write down three things I'm grateful for. Things in the journal so far include:

a. eating leftover Thai food for lunch the next day
b. belting showtunes in my car
c. new green flannel sheets
d. Orbitz raspberry mint gum
e. Christmas lights still up after Christmas

Gratitude is something that I don't pay enough attention to, don't stop and think about enough. When I get into a really negative mood, gratitude is an instant mood lifter. It takes the focus away from myself and allows me to remember all that I have. It instantly makes any of my melodrama smaller and less important.

There you go. In unrelated news, I got new headshots taken yesterday. I think they came out SMASHING, don't you?

Good. Me too.

2008 Blogging Recap

2009-01-02T11:40:00.002-05:00

Blogging shall resume on Monday with, I hope, more regularity in the new year. (HA. YEAH RIGHT.) My goal is Monday, Wednesday, Friday with possible random Tuesday/Thursday/Weekend surprises thrown in. I hope to get around to posting some resolutions along with how some of last year's resolutions turned out.

In the mean time, here's how my year went down on the blog. The below are the first bits of the first posts from every month with a link to the original entry. Enjoy!

January - "How depressed can I be with curly hair, those shoes and the best New Year's Eve to date?"

February - "There are days, whether single or dating someone, when I miss an ex-boyfriend. I feel like a freak admitting this, however, it makes sense to me..."

March - "Tonight after philosophy class, I waited for the 6 train to come to a full stop before walking through the open doors. As soon as I did, I was nearly knocked over by a strong citrus scent that was wafting towards me in a thick haze..."

April - "This is my darling friend Erica. She had too much to drink at my party on Saturday night and I took this video of her calling a boy outside the bar. This boy will not commit to her so Erica decided to make sure he knew that she 'has options' and that while she was at the bar, she was getting 'a lot of offers'..."

May - "Okay! Internet! I need your help! I am going to Italy...in...um...well...soon. Less than a week now. Shhh, don't mention it or I'm going to flip out..."

June - "So, there's that..."

July - "I wonder. How will I be treated when I'm no longer considered cute?"

August - "I just got back from a concert at Jones Beach. Maroon 5. Counting Crows. Stop making fun of me, the concert was amazing, shut up..."

September - "I accidentally got into a political discussion this weekend with my mother and grandmother. I say accidentally because a political discussion with my mother's side of the family is something I NEVER would willingly want to get into..."

October - "I was sitting at my desk at work last spring talking to my mother, the receiver clamped between my neck and shoulder as I absentmindedly organized a spreadsheet. 'So,' sighed my mother. 'Your sister's entering a beauty pageant...'"

November - "I forget things.It might be genetic, it might be a bit of early dementia, it might be genetic early dementia. Who even knows. I've been suffering my entire life..."

December - "This morning as I was getting out of the shower, my phone rang. I let it go to voicemail as I did not recognize the number. It turned out to be a vocal coach I knew and his message essentially said that he was desperate to find a voice for a voiceover. It was for a children's toy and the role would be the voice of a carrot. Is that something I think I can do?"

Happy New Year!

2009-01-01T16:02:00.002-05:00

Okay. So this year sucked for the most part. HOWEVER, when I was looking through all my pictures to make this video, I realized that 2008 was also full of so much joy. So, I take it back that it sucked for the most part. It sucked a lot. But not THAT much. Does this help?

HAPPY NEW YEAR.

My first resolution is finished - learn how to use iMovie. I suck at it and there's one picture that goes by really fast and some if it is blurry and WAH WAH I SUCK AT LIFE. But here you go, my first attempt.

2008 from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

Christmas Wrap Up

2008-12-30T18:37:00.004-05:00

I am only now recovering from the holidays, if that gives you any idea of how my Christmas went. Imagine you got caught up in a tornado and some if it was fun because OOOO WINDY SWIRLY HAPPY IS THAT A FIELD OF DAISIES I AM SPINNING AROUND IN? but other parts were more like HOLY CRAP PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW, I WANT TO GET OFF THIS RIDE OR I AM GOING TO DIEEEEEE.

You get it? That was my Christmas.

I love Christmas. I do. I love the garland and the houses with the twinkly lights (though I can do without those inflatable things, dear God when did that become popular!?) and my mother's cookies and my father with his tie that lights up when you press it and giving out the gifts that I put so much of my heart into. I love seeing Tom and I love stuffing my face with my sweet potato chili and I love my annual Christmas morning run.

I love how Tom gets furious every Christmas because there's ham on the table and "WHO THE HELL EATS HAM ANYWAY?"

Apparently, not him.

And apparently, he was very excited this year when the Christmas ham neglected to make its appearance. Please excuse how asshat-ish he sounds about poor people. I promise Tom really does like the needy.

Dear Ham, I Hate You. Love, Tom. from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

I did not quite get the chance to marvel over the ham because I was doing dishes for 89% of the evening.

This is actually a total lie. It was maybe 2% but I like how genuinely annoyed I look in the video. In reality, I LIKED doing the dishes. WHAT THE F AM I TALKING ABOUT HERE?!

Laura's Christmas Duty from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

The best present I received this year was from Tom.

Tom hates his job and e-mails me throughout the day to tell me that. We also discuss auditions, boyz and what we had for lunch. You know, important things. Well, Tom decided to get all crafty this year and print out all the e-mails we sent back and forth to each other and bind them into a BOOK complete with ribbon. Cue: me bawling my eyes out.

And then also? laughing my ass off because WHY DO I KEEP TALKING ABOUT BOYS AND HOW MUCH I HATE THEM AND ALSO HOW MUCH I LOVE SOUP???

WHYYYYYYYYYYY???

I'm currently reading a fantastic memoir by Julia Blackburn and in it, she continually references her diaries and journals and faxes she writes to her friends. They contain bits of poetry and descriptive notes and haunting discoveries.

If I were to publish my 25 year old life, it would probably go something like this:

"AND THEN I WAS LIKE WHATEVER BECAUSE HE WAS BEING TOTES RIDICULOUS AND I HATE HIS ASS FACE. WHAT ARE YOU HAVING FOR LUNCH? I AM THINKING 10 VEGETABLE SOUP BECAUSE OMFG SOUPPPPPPPPPP."

Sigh. My life. So artistic, no?

In the above CHRISTMAS HAM video which will soon become famous, I have no doubt, Tom references the fact that this year, we had less people congregating on Christmas Eve. This is the evening we usually celebrate with my mother's side of the family, a huge joyous dinner with too much food to be legal and presents in piles under the tree and sometimes even carols sung in harmony around a piano. Yes, we can be THAT family.

Due to my grandfather's passing in May and the subsequent drama it created, many relatives were absent this year. I cannot fault people for isolating themselves during the holidays, for choosing to spend it alone rather than with family particularly when there are hurt feelings and misunderstandings abounding. As an introverted person, I completely relate to the need to stay away sometimes.

Alayna lost her grandmother one year ago this past November and this Christmas, her family rented a cabin in Branson, Missouri. There are over twenty of them, I believe, all together in one place for five days. Now, the thought of all that time sequestered with my family is enough to make me write another tornado metaphor so I'll spare you but the point is that when I heard this, I thought, "Oh. That is how a healthy family grieves." They get together and cry and laugh and celebrate a new tradition, acknowledging the passing of a loved one.

An aunt of mine turned to me on Christmas Eve and remarked how difficult it was to be without her father. I can't begin to imagine what Christmas will be like after my father dies because just a two second dwelling on that thought results in streams of tears. I hugged her and I know she reads this blog so I don't mean to offend her with what I'm about to say but that moment was the first time all evening I noticed my grandfather wasn't there. I suppose Christmas had its odd moments because so many of my relatives were affected by an absence that I hadn't even been aware of.

Sad, isn't it?

Does that make me a bad person?

I can't tell.

Probably.

There's also lots of conflict with my grandmother and it's maddening and confusing but at the heart of it, so sad. It is odd to live your life without a person and then suddenly attempt to adjust to their presence, especially when nothing is really known about them. I'm aware enough to realize that she is trying to make up for lost time but the thing about lost time is that it is lost. And can't be recovered.

I'm also put off this holiday season by the startling realization that people my age get married. That always confuses me. I'm all, AREN'T YOU TOO YOUNG FOR THAT? DID YOU ASK YOUR PARENTS? ISN'T IT ILLEGAL?

But suddenly, as if it's some disease I might catch, engagement is spreading. I thought I'd have at least ten years before that started, living in New York City and all. We take our sweet time with that kind of thing, don't ya know. But lo and behold, everyone decided to propose this Christmas and it seemed to rock me not because I'm all WHAT ABOUT ME? but because I'm all IF THAT EVER HAPPENS TO ME I WILL KILL MYSELF.

Note to self: please talk to therapist about irrational fear of marriage.

I'm not afraid. It's just that when people get engaged, they tend to get married and that means they pair off and it ceases to become "going to lunch with Nancy" but instead morphs into "going to lunch with Nancy and Phil."

Note: I do not know any Nancy's or Phil's, but you get my point.

Sometimes when I'm around too many couples, a bubble burps out of my chest at the thought that in ten, twenty, thirty years, I will STILL be having brunch on the Upper West Side with all these couples and I will STILL be alone, the hilarious goofy single weirdo that keeps everyone entertained and helps steer the discussion away from boring things like silverware and coffeemakers. HEY HEY GUYS! I'LL BE HERE ALL WEEK! You all go home to your spouses and I will just...well...who knows? Walk around talking to myself like a homeless person! BUT BOY WAS THAT BRUNCH GOOD.

It sucks sometimes, yes? Growing up and stuff?

Holidays mark that in a very distinct way. They dutifully mark "I Am Older This Year" whereas in the middle of February say or the beginning of August, I don't necessarily notice how fast time is passing and how fast other people are moving ahead of me. Sometimes I feel like I'm swimming in a pool that goes on and on and everyone is Michael Phelps and I am some weird girl doing a backfloat, spitting water into the air like a whale. And then some buzzer sounds and the race is over and I'm startled out of my backfloat and everyone is all "WHY DIDN'T YOU RACE?" And I am all "Because the ceiling tiles looked interesting."

Tomorrow is New Year's Eve, a lovely occasion and a beautiful day where I will probably post a video I made on iMovie which sums up 2008. The video is happy and awesome even though 2008 sucked the big one. But I don't have any pictures of it sucking. Why is that? I need to take more pictures of myself having a bad day. Instead, it is a somewhat lame but upbeat movie of happiness and joy and unicorns.

Okay, no unicorns. But you have to wait until tomorrow to see it.

I have no plans for the celebration tomorrow though I've been invited to quite a few soirees. I think it's supposed to snow and if I had to sit and think, long and hard about what exactly I want to do tomorrow night, none of the options include "PARTY" or "SWANKY HOTEL" or "BAR HOPPING". Actually the only option that sounds good to me is "Thai food" and "Bed at 9 PM".

Is that old or what? Shouldn't I be married or something?

I hope everyone is as excited as I am to ring in 2009. From here, I believe everything can only go up and whether I'm out on the town or snuggled under the covers, I am wishing you all a very happy new year.

That Kind of Day

2008-12-20T15:43:00.001-05:00

The winter has officially begun in New York City, a milestone marked by a blanket of snow and ice that is currently covering everything. Alayna and I sidestepped quite a few puddles of slush last night on our way to see "Slumdog Millionaire". I suppose in most other places, inches and inches of snow requires people to stay inside and not go anywhere due to slick roads. Manhattan doesn't seem to shut down like that as subways are rarely affected by snow and it seemed perfectly natural to head out into the winter night.

I found out late yesterday afternoon that I was relieved of twin duty this weekend, a notification I always find bittersweet because while it's a free Saturday, I really, really miss the boys. I got over that pretty quickly when I realized all the things people can accomplish on the weekends. It is CRAZY, are you telling me that people have Saturdays and Sundays off all the time!? Like, more than a few times a year!?!? THAT IS INSANE I TELL YOU.

I started out as a Saturday/weekday evening babysitter for Owen and River in the September of '05 and after my children's theatre tour in '06, due to a variety of circumstances, I became their full-time nanny, Satudays included. That lasted until October of last year when they started pre-school and I began temping. From then on, I saw them only on Saturday afternoons/evenings. And so, in the past three and a half years that I've been with them, I've taken less then ten Saturdays off.

I have obviously grown accustomed to working a six day work week, so having two days off in a row feels abnormal at this point. Last night, on my way home from the movies, I was brainstorming all the things I could do. Paint my windowsill! Iron all my clothes! Clean out the refrigerator! Make some soup from scratch! Organize my bookshelf according to the Dewey Decimal system!!

THE POSSIBILITIES! Endless, I tell you!!

I find it ironic that when I have an extra day off, I quickly scurry around figuring out ways to fill it up so that I don't "waste it". It's as if I need to combine every activity I've ever thought of into one small day so that it will count. Count towards WHAT exactly? I have no idea.

When I catch myself being like this, very typically Aries, attempting to take on ten times more than is humanly possible, I try to take a step back and prioritize. What would REALLY make me happy? Sure, I could bust out some paint and an iron and go grocery shopping and scrape off my car. I could race around making social plans for tonight, I could go into the city and take a dance class or hike to the gym, you know, something AMAZING, something that would MEAN SOMETHING.

Or I could take a breath and remove the word "should" from my vocabulary.

This is what I have done so far:

woke up at 11 am.
ate a bowl of cereal.
put a few CD's into the stereo and pressed RANDOM, then PLAY. (Nickel Creek's first album, original cast recording of Spring Awakening, Whitney Houston's Greatest Hits Disc 1, Sarah McLachlan's "Wintersong", and a mix CD I found this morning from undergrad entitled "DECEMBER 04").
got my ass kicked for 27 minutes by Jillian Michaels.
swept and mopped the kitchen floor.
did the dishes.
cleaned the entire bathroom.
ate a bowl of pasta leftover from dinner with Alayna.
began a blog.
made a pot of decaf caramel coffee.
took a shower.
got back into my pajamas.
put on a face mask.
took the nailpolish off my toes.
stared at my computer screen.
made this list.
changed my blogger profile picture.

It is now 3:17 pm and while my overachieving self would say that list SUCKS BALLS, I will say that that list is what I felt like doing. I didn't feel obligated to do a single task. (Not even clean the bathroom...I have an unhealthy obsession with cleaning stuff.) I feel insanely happy today. I wonder if it's because I have allowed myself to just go with it and do whatever because newsflash: THAT IS WHAT NORMAL PEOPLE DO ON SATURDAYS. People who know how to RELAX and TAKE IT EASY, two phrases that never enter my vocabulary, ever.

I believe I will spend the rest of the day memorizing a monologue for graduate school auditions and attempting to find two others, the dreaded Shakespeares. AHHHHHHH. Granted, these things must be done but will also give me joy because HA! CREATIVE ACTING STUFF. How fulfilling!! Not a bad way to spend a snowy Saturday, reading plays and making notes and finding characters. I think I can deal.

Tonight, I might treat myself to a Weeds marathon. Or a trip to Target for a few remaining ingredients for some Christmas gifts. I need to stop buying people presents. It is getting out of control. I would take a picture of the mountains underneath our small Charlie Brown tree but I'm too embarrassed. Talk about WASTEFUL. Yowsas.

Anyway, this update has been brought to you by a girl who's learning how to enjoy a weekend. A girl, who, the older she gets, realizes how much she likes spending time with herself. Stomping through snow in Manhattan or sipping a mug of coffee in Queens, hanging out alone is actually cheerfully good company.

Where I Blather Like A Crazy Liberal

2008-12-16T22:24:00.006-05:00

Jennifer of Veg*n Cooking wrote:

I would love to read your thoughts on any number of "pressing social issues" - gay marriage, the economy, energy, war, environmental degradation. These are just suggestions though, feel free to ignore them. :-)

Oh come on, Jennifer. Other people suggested I write about falling down in public or what's outside my window and you have to go and suggest something that involves THINKING? Something that requires a BRAIN? Something that requires a degree that is not a BFA in Music Theatre?

HAAAAAA.

Pressing social issues.

Okay. Here we go.

Ahem.

WHERE WE STAND ON PRESSING SOCIAL ISSUES
by Laura Elizabeth, age 25.

We are fucked.

The End.

Ah, I kid, I kid.

Let's take these one at a time.

Gay Marriage:

Gay people got screwed this year. SCREWED. And not in a good way.

I have to tell you, Jennifer and anyone else who cares, the passing of Prop 8 in California was devastating. It was shocking to me, absolutely shocking especially in places as "liberal" as Los Angeles where the vote was almost evenly split 50/50. I've said this before but I think that the way we treat gay people in this country will go down in history as our generation's civil rights movement.

Perhaps I am unable to separate my emotions from the politics of it. I live with two gay men, my best friend in the world is a gay man, hell, I am involved in the music theatre world: it doesn't get much gayer than that. And maybe one could argue that I'm just letting my love for my friends get in the way of the fact that they are living in SIN and need to change their ways. (Oh wait, someone did argue that with me. THANK YOU! SMOOCHES!) But even without my emotions, I can't follow the logic. I don't know what we are "protecting". I don't know why we can't open our circle of love a little bit wider.

We are all human or we aren't. To state that gay people can have rights but just not the same rights as straight people is agreeing that gay people are not really people. They are second-class citizens. They do not deserve the same rights and privileges the rest of us have.

And why? Because of their "sexual preference"? Sorry. Sexuality is not a preference. It's an orientation. Trust me. If the two gay men I live with are STILL GAY after living with the HOTNESS that is me? THEY ARE BORN THAT WAY. Because people, I am hot.

Also, it seems to be a RELIGIOUS issue making its way into POLITICS which, if you haven't noticed, isn't really allowed in this country. So, that pisses me off. A LOT. I wonder what would happen if we removed the ability for states to issue marriage licenses. To everyone. Therefore, if you wanted to get "married", you could get a civil union certificate from the state and then you could go to your church/synoguge/mosque/ceremony on the river at sunset and get "married" by a clergy person or your brother who was ordained a minister via the internet, etc.

I wonder about THAT.

Moving on.

The Economy:

Oh, Jennifer. We are FUCKED.

I, in particular am fucked because today, I was alerted that my temp agency is slashing my salary by 15%. This makes perfect sense, right? The employees I work with will probably forgo bonuses this year but they will still take home a steady paycheck, complete with health benefits, paid vacation and paid sick days. While, I, the temp, will get my hourly rate SLASHED by 15% while STILL taking home no health benefits, paid vacation or sick days. EXPLAIN TO ME HOW THIS IS FAIR.

It isn't.

But hey, also? I could have been laid off today. So if it's that or a pay cut? I'll take the pay cut.

Still - if you have extra cash, please send it to me. I will put out. Thanks.

Energy:

Hm. Like, what kind of energy?

Energy in terms of America's reliance on oil? The oxymoronic phrase "clean coal"? The way my car gets 33 miles/gallon? That kind of energy?

Or the energy I have on a daily basis? The energy needed to do Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred? (THAT IS A CRAZY AMOUNT OF ENERGY, JENNIFER. SHE IS KICKING MY ASS.)

The energy I get after a cup of coffee?

Let's just say I can't drink caffeine because I literally bounce off walls. BOUNCE I TELL YOU.

I'm going to assume you meant the former type of energy. In that case, I will say that I have no freaking idea. I know our dependence on oil is bad. Period. Hell if I know how to stop that. I would assume stop drilling and stop killing polar bears and find a way to sustain our own energy instead of relying on foreign sources. I think Obama can do AMAZING THINGS about this. I think perhaps he could form his own "New Deal" by creating green jobs, therefore creating lots of clean energy AND much needed employment. Please go ask someone else how one would do this. I have no clue. BUT I THINK HE COULD.

I also think he could do the same with an issue like healthcare but I don't think that was on your list.

If it WAS on your list, I would tell you that I wish I had healthcare because uh, my uterus kind of gives me problems and I get UTI's once every few months and also? Paying out of pocket for your therapist = not that fun. See also: 15% PAY CUT/lots of Catholic guilt to work out.

War:

Hm. My cousin has done three tours in the Middle East as a marine. Another cousin of mine leaves next month for Iraq. We are VERY excited.

Ha?

I am not really qualified to talk about politics which is surprising considering how much I've written in this post so far. But honestly? War is bad. President Bush and his cohorts messed up royally and it has cost us in young American lives and in American dollars. It's an embarrassment, a horror and I am still waiting to hear where they are storing Weapons of Mass Destruction. I hear we'll get the answer soon. But I hate myself for even writing this as I sit in my New York City apartment, white and privileged and safely tucked in bed while it snows outside. There are men and women losing LIMBS and DYING and they are younger than me and I'm all, "Oh, I think I'll blog tonight."

Please excuse me while I punch myself in the face. Thanks.

Environmental Degradation:

WHY AM I WRITING THIS POST AT 11 PM? I have no brain cells left, Jennifer. NONE AT ALL.

Um. I think people that do not believe in climate change are deluded. They are scary. They freak me out with their THIS IS THE NATURAL WAY OF THE WORLD nonchalance. But that's not really what we're talking about here, is it? I mean climate change is an effect of environmental degradation and WE, the humans are degrading the environment, yes? We agree on that, I think. Or at any rate, that the environment is degrading and we are ACCELERATING the process?

I have to 100% say hell yes we are. The amount of waste I see in New York City on any given day is MIND BLOGGING. Hell, the amount of waste *I* produce is embarrassing. And here is how I feel about my personal impact on the environment: it sucks. It's ENORMOUS.

I can do better.

I started out the year really well and have slowly eased up on things. I've forgotten my canvas bag and taken home plastic shopping bags. The roommates bought paper towels and I got used to having them around. I've bought excess clothing and make up that was not necessary, brand new things that were not environmentally friendly or needed at all really. I have even lost some of my veganism momentum, treating myself to the occasional egg sandwich, etc.

What I'm saying is: I have a lot to improve on. I'm constantly wondering WHAT MORE CAN I DO? because it never feels like enough. I also get more and more frantic about other people who seem to be CLUELESS about their waste. In the bathroom at work, for example, when I see a girl grab FIVE paper towels, pat her wet hand with one of them and throw them ALL in the garbage. GAHHHHHHHHH THE TREEEEEES, WOMAN. HAVE YOU NO SHAME!

But also? The thing is? Am I really helping at all?!? I mean I can look at what I did do this year that helped the environment and you can tell me:

* reduced plastic grocery bag consumption by about 80%
* went about 9 months without paper towels, now when we have them they are 100% recycled
* switched to 100% recycled toilet paper
* remained 89% vegan
* traded in disposable feminine products for a diva cup
* joined a CSA, ate local produce for 5 months this summer
* lost some weight, reducing my impact! Literally!
* unfortunately upped my driving by dating dreamy boyfriend in the suburbs - still only drove about 2 times per week, used mass transit otherwise
* not flushing the toilet every time I pee
* bought handmade soaps instead of shower gels in plastic bottles
* use one towel at the gym instead of two
* took only two trips that required air travel

There must be more. But the point is: I try, I do. But not hard enough. I was a bit too consumeristic this year, too many times I told myself I "deserved" that Starbucks latte, that extra pair of shoes. I'd like to be more conscious of it in 2009 and that goes hand in hand with being more frugal, more aware of what I'm spending money on, what impact that has on people. I'd like to do more--avoid leather products, buy more used things, more local things, etc.

The whole point of this is to say that I try but am I really helping? Does it even matter? For everything I do, aren't there ten other people using 100 paper towels in the ladies room every day? So...is it worth it? Does it just make me feel trendy and hip to take my canvas bag to the grocery store? Is is just something I do because it makes me FEEL like I'm contributing and helping but in actuality, I'm not? At all?

I don't know. You tell me.

Also, please make me a cup of tea because now I'm depressed.

Thanks to Jennifer's suggestion, I can honestly say that the world hates gay people, men are dying in a pointless war, I am getting a pay cut effective Monday - MERRY CHRISTMAS, and I am single-handedly destroying the rainforest.

AMAZING! Anything else you'd like to discuss!? If so, I'll be over here, drowning my sorrows with a bottle of bourbon. And also? watching this video on repeat:

LA Recap

2008-12-12T00:04:00.001-05:00

The rain started as soon as my plane touched down in Los Angeles. As soon as I stepped out of the sliding glass doors and onto the sidewalk under DELTA - ARRIVALS, everything was instantly familiar. I had never been to LA but had been to San Diego twice and the smell was the same, the palm trees, the eerily warm weather in the middle of a cold season, the ever-present feeling of spring where it doesn't belong. My heart lurched in my chest and I wanted to throw the bags off my shoulders, slamming my laptop to the ground and run around waving my arms wildly. WARMTH! HERE I AM! COME TO MAMA.

Tom pulled up but not before I mistakenly waved happily at some other man who I thought was Tom. I got nothing but a weird look and when I realized it was just a look-alike, I played dumb, drifting my eyes to another place pretending that it had not been me excitedly jumping up and down and shouting HI TOM to a complete stranger. When Tom DID pull up, I squinted really hard to make sure it was really him so as not to make a total ass out of myself TWICE. This time, I was correct and he helped me dump my suitcase into the trunk but not before hugging me fiercely.

"WELCOME TO LA!"

"See that guy over there?"

"Yeah."

"I thought he was you so I just spent a few seconds jumping up and down and waving to him."

"Um."

"Yes. Get in the car. Quick. AND DRIVE."

Tom's apartment is divine, in the heart of Korea Town and a few blocks away from Thai Town, my most favorite place on Planet Earth besides Target. I tried to be polite about keeping my things out of Tom's way but eventually gave up when I realized he was family and couldn't really do anything to stop me. Pretty soon, his apartment was full of make up, three kinds of moisturizers and four pairs of shoes. I began contemplating ways to move in permanently, disguising my conspiracy in the form of compliments.

"LOOK AT ALL THAT CLOSET SPACE!"

Translation: BWA HA HA! PERFECT SHELVING FOR MY SHOES!

On Tuesday, when I arrived, Tom had rehearsal for a play he's doing and so I decided to meet up with my ex-boyfriend, Rick, for dinner. He kindly drove up from San Diego to meet me and seeing him after about two years was wonderful in every sense of the word.

It's no surprise that I have a cautious relationship with most of my ex's. One is engaged, two others don't speak to me, refusing to engage in any contact with me, which is their right, of course. I just hate it because it didn't end well if you know what I'm saying. But what can I do about that now?

Rick is another story, an ex-boyfriend of mine who is understanding, sympathetic and willing to check in with me now and then to see how my life is going. We met for dinner at the Grove and killed a few hours, eating dinner, drinking coffees, walking around, reminiscing and sharing a few belly laughs. There is a mutual love and respect there, a bond that doesn't need to be spoken about, a familiar tie that will always remain. There was no need for anything more than comfortable conversation and a gentle hug goodbye, a hug which said "Thank you so much for being who you are." I am so grateful for that. Also, that jawline. LOOK AT THAT JAWLINE.

On Friday, Tom and I met up with our lovely friend, Teresa, a Long Island transplant who's recently made her way to LA. We spent the afternoon at the Getty Center, taking in some art and some cloudy ocean views. Emotionally, she and I connect easily and she's one of those rare people that make me feel like no time has passed when I finally speak to her after months of no communication. We pick up right where we left off and it's light and hilarious and perfect. Also, I got lots of Catholic church gossip. LOTS.

My trip was punctuated by visits with familiar faces, some intentional, some not. While seeing "Milk" one evening, we realized that a few rows in front of us sat a good friend from college in Buffalo. We freaked out accordingly and hugged and exchanged hellos and phone numbers until the movie started and then I forgot all about him and spent approximately 1/3 of the entire film CRYING MY EYES OUT.

We grabbed a late night cup of tea with my friend Dan, a screenwriter who moved to LA five years ago and got kicked in the ass by it. You can see the struggle on his face, the despair threatening to overtake him, the way that LA eats you up and spits you out. He's on his way to achieving success, that much I know, but I related so well to his journey, the way that your naive heart tells you it will all be so easy and you show up and realize it isn't, at all.

And here is the thing about Los Angeles: the despair is palpable. I can SMELL IT. Everyone is involved in the entertainment industry, EVERYONE and they are all clamoring to get ahead, afraid of failing, afraid of getting old, afraid of getting fat. It was evident everywhere I went, from the rail thin soccer moms huffing and puffing up the Santa Monica steps to the 34 year old waitress wearing knee socks and pigtails, in deeper denial than I thought ever possible.

New York is full of actors and writers, sure but only if you're hanging out in actor-infested pockets. They do spread out and paw their way through the masses but they are not the dominate culture. There are bankers and stockbrokers racing about, fashion designers as well. It's not just actors that want to get ahead, it's EVERYBODY. New York just moves and moves and moves. Los Angeles just threatens to swallow you whole and spit you out on the beach wondering what the fuck just happened.

On second thought, perhaps LA is not such a bad place to be. Because...have I mentioned the beach?

Or Tom and I taking pictures for our MYSPACE?

Even though we don't have a MYSPACE?

So, there's that. I suppose what I'm saying is: in Los Angeles, it felt harder to find the momentum. Pursuing an acting career felt even more daunting and exhausting. Getting in the car and sitting in traffic every time you go to an audition? YIKES. I feel like I would probably give up and get a tan whereas in New York, I HAVE TO KEEP GOING because the feeling of getting lost is so much more intense. In Los Angeles, I feel like people are so mellow that they wake up and they're 45 years old and bartending like, "Huh. How did this happen? Why did I move here again?"

On the other hand, Tom moved to LA despite me clinging to his legs like a toddler and screaming at him not to and he is doing remarkably well. I suppose the difference between Tom Who Moved To LA Two Years Ago and Tom Right Now is that this Tom is happy. He is more secure. He knows his way around. He has a strong circle of friends. He is making progress. Nothing made me happier than to see that.

It is hard for your best friend in the whole world to pack up everything and move 3,000 miles away. It is harder still for you to bite your tongue and tell him not to go and please stay because how do you tell someone that living every day without them nearby is like missing a limb? Like you are never able to be yourself because so much of you is wrapped up in that person and their life and their sense of humor and the way they naturally just complete you?

Visiting Tom isn't like visiting another friend. It never gets awkward or feels obligatory in any way. It isn't hard to find activities to do or restaurants to go to and conversation eases in and out of silence without ever being forced. Laughing until we can't breathe about some joke about a fish that we don't even understand. Him drinking tea, me sipping coffee, sharing a croissant on our way back from a jog. Time spent with Tom is comfortable, hilarious and always full of the purest joy because he brings me back to a place in my childhood when it was me and him against the world.

Oh no, I never ever wanted him to go to LA, never in million years. But toddler temper tantrum aside, I let him go because if Tom is one thing, it is headstrong. He was focused, he knew what he wanted and he went for it and all I could do was sit on the East Coast and cheer him on, regardless of the choices he made and the way I felt about them. It's one thing to sit on the opposite side of the country and hear about his day. It's quite another to be right next to him and live it. It was such an odd sensation: oh! This is your life! This is what you see every day! These are the things you do! HOW STRANGE.

Yet how awesome that I could be part of it, if only for five short days.

I will definitely be going to Los Angeles on a regular basis, particularly when the winds in New York pick up and the snow won't stop falling and I want to kill everyone on the subway with my bare hands. I am certain that I made the right choice moving to New York City as it seems to suit me like a second skin. However, I am also certain that Tom made the right choice moving to Los Angeles. Back and forth for how ever long it takes, I will make it a priority to be a part of his journey because I'm not sure how to go on without having him in my life, my cousin and best friend who I have known since he was born.

And if for some reason I can't get there and he can't get here, there is no doubt in mind that we will always find a way to meet in the middle.

Sucking

2008-12-11T08:36:00.002-05:00

I know, I know.

I have fallen off the blog wagon.

There have been several reasons for this, none of them really interesting or remotely exciting.

My friend Jason, from Buffalo, came to visit for almost an entire week and I offered him my couch and we spent many evenings discussing the finer things in life like how tired you get walking around New York City all day and which is more beneficial to your health: giving up meat? or giving up dairy?

I know, I know. Things are CRAZY OVER HERE. Especially when you consider that I'm eating a bowl of Trix. When was the last time I did this? I'll tell you: about a month ago when I bought one of those cereal variety packs. I don't really love Trix but when there are eight little boxes of cereal glaring at you from the shelves of the supermarket and one of those is Cinnamon Toast Crunch and the other is Honey Nut Cheerios and ANOTHER ONE is Cocoa Puffs, you DO NOT ASK QUESTIONS. You just buy it.

I always leave the Frosted Cheerios for last because it disappoints me. Nothing fun exists in that little box. I'd rather have plain or Honey Nut.

Hi. The blog has reached a new low.

What else what else...

I have caved into what seems to be a blog trend and purchased Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred. I plan on beginning the shred tomorrow morning. Actually, I PLANNED on starting TODAY but you know, I had cereal to eat and work to be late for, etc. etc.

My Christmas shopping is 5/8 completed. For my extended family, we choose names so that everyone gets one present. We really are far too fertile to do more than that. I chose the name of my twenty-year old male cousin. What on earth do you get a straight guy that age!? Anyone else I know would be getting tickets to see Liza at the Palace. But...dang. I don't know what non-homosexual people like. AT ALL.

I have decided to apply to graduate school. I don't think I want to talk about it because I have settled upon three of the best schools in the country, schools that take between 15-18 people out of 850 applicants. So, ha. I will let you know how that goes. I am elbow deep in applications and statements of purpose, etc. This last thing really bothered me and took me over a month to finish. Statement of purpose!? "TO BE AWESOME. THE END."

Another school has a little blurb on their application that essentially says, "If you are not applying to graduate school directly out of undergraduate school, please use the space below to tell us what you've been doing."

Really?

"EATIN' CEREAL AND KISSIN' BOYZ. KTHX."

What? Does that answer not make me a competitive candidate?

WEIRD. It sounds so good to me.

Wellllll, the rain in New York City is a-pourin' down and I need to get dressed and go to work. Tonight I am going to my first ever BROADWAY SHOW OPENING thanks to my dearest friend Ashley AKA Commenter Werbie who has hooked me up with a pair of FREE tickets because she is the epitome of awesome. JK and I are going to take in a lovely viewing of "Pal Joey" and I hope it kicks ass. Even if it doesn't, who cares? I'm not paying to see it. WOOOOOOOO!

Better posts to follow, I am finishing up an LA Recap and I still have some lovely topics to ramble about from our lovely SUGGEST A TOPIC Blog Post of 2008. I know, you're excited. Me too.

FYI, the only thing worse than Frosted Cheerios? Soggy Trix. Ew.

How Many Times

2008-12-09T21:54:00.001-05:00

Can I possibly see "Gypsy"?

Answer: 3

How sad is that?

If by sad you mean AWESOME?!!?!?

Why You Shouldn't Invite Me Over For A Visit

2008-12-06T12:26:00.003-05:00

A few days before I left New York, Tom had asked me via e-mail what I wanted to do in Los Angeles, if I had any special requests, if there were any sights I NEEDED to see, things I needed to do.

"Uh, I want to run those steps in Santa Monica."

"OH! I HAVE HEARD ABOUT THOSE!" Tom said eagerly. "LET'S DO IT!"

And so began "Laura Is The Worst House Guest You Ever Had 2008 Extravaganza: West Coast Edition". Every day with the exception of Wednesday when it POURED DOWN INEXPLICABLE RAIN, Tom and I embarked on a Super Fun Physical Activity!!

"Remind me never to invite you to my house," said a friend.

"YOU ARE A DORK," exclaimed another with affection. "A TOTAL DORK! WHO DOES THAT?!"

I do. And you know what? Y'all can suck it because Tom was totally up for it.

The steps in Santa Monica met my every expectation. Carved into a mountain, every day, eager exercisers stay to the right and run all the way down to the highway at the bottom, turn around and climb all the way back to the top. We went on Thanksgiving morning and the stairs were pretty packed. A black man with the biggest thighs I've ever seen was chatting with other regulars. "How many you doin' today?" "Eh, I'm only on fourteen."

I'm sorry, I just hallucinated. Fourteen? You went up and down those stairs fourteen times?

DO. NOT. UNDERSTAND.

Tom and I did four. FOUR. Two laps up and down on the wooden stairs, two laps up and down on the concrete set. It's also worthy to note that in between each lap, we jogged around the neighborhood and attempted to get our hearts to SLOW THE HELL DOWN before we died. But that still doesn't mean we were anywhere near FOURTEEN LAPS. I was jealous. SO JEALOUS. If I lived in LA, I'd be on that staircase every day because I am what you call Batshit Crazy.

Friday morning, after telling Tom that I wanted to go running, we drove to Hancock Park and went for an hourlong jog. You would think Hancock Park is a park but you'd be wrong. Perhaps there is such a park or grassy area with that name, I have no idea. In this case, Hancock Park refers to a neighborhood, a BEAUTIFUL tree-lined gorgeous neighborhood with some of the most amazing houses I've ever seen. Tom and I wanted to select our favorite pieces of real estate so off we went.

We would chat a little bit as we ran, which was very new for me. I almost always run by myself, just an eclectic RUNNING playlist on my iPod, clearing my head, keeping me company. I didn't mind running with Tom at all, the way I would mind running with someone else. There was no pressure to keep up conversation, no obligations at all and I found that we'd go through waves of speaking and then being silent, concentrating on our breathing, nothing to be heard except the sound of our sneakers slapping the sidewalk.

I will say that the aforementioned bliss was temporarily disrupted every time Tom said something funny which, if you know him, occurs approximately once every three minutes. I definitely learned my lesson: Tom can be a pain in the ass to work out with because you cannot run and laugh at the same time. I tried to ignore him, but I just couldn't and so our jog was punctuated with pauses as I bent over to catch my breath, giggling hysterically.

This was also a good time for Tom to breath heavily and remark, "I need to walk now. Cannot...run...anymore."

"OKAY!!!!" I would shout cheerily and we would walk a few blocks before picking up speed again.

On Saturday, our exercise routine culminated in a 90 minute hike through Runyon Canyon.

Sweating profusely, Tom and I huffed and puffed as we made our way up and down some really difficult trails. It was the warmest day yet, a balmy 72 degrees and I never wanted it to end. The hike itself was pretty challenging at times because Tom chose the harder path to walk on, which he later regretted.

"I think I definitely chose the harder way to go..."

"YA THINK?!"

"You picked it! YOU TOTALLY DID THIS TO ME."

"Tom, I did not! You chose it!"

"UGHHHHH."

"Do you think it's acceptable hiking behavior to just sit down and slide to the bottom of the mountain on our asses?"

I was very sincere with this last suggestion but luckily, it never came to that. I gripped rocks with my bare hands, maneuvered my sneakers in just the right way and made it up and down some TREACHEROUS TERRAIN all by myself without dying or breaking a limb or scraping my knees. APPLAUSE, IF YOU PLEASE.

"If I lived here," I told Tom on our walk back to the car, "I would do this every day."

"You'd hike 90 minutes every day?"

"No. I would run the Santa Monica steps, jog through Hancock park AND go for a 90 minute hike EVERY SINGLE DAY."

"You realize that would take up the entire day? And also, that you would probably die?"

"So? What else would I be doing? I'm just going to move here and sleep on your couch. It's not like I'm going to need an ACTUAL JOB."

"Can you go back to the east coast now? I can't feel my thighs."

"SUCK IT UP, PANSY."

If you too would like a house guest who beats your muscles to a pulp, please call me. Inquiries are now being accepted. I take Visa, Mastercard and cold, hard cash.

Wondering

2008-12-05T09:22:00.002-05:00

Why do I want to marry every male model in the J. Crew catalog?

Genetics: Should I Be Excited? Or Terrified?

2008-12-04T09:06:00.003-05:00

My father was in the city yesterday picking up medications for his cancer treatment. He comes in about once a month and we meet for lunch at a Thai restaurant near my office. I use the word "lunch" loosely because I have to be at the restaurant at 11 am sharp because my dad doesn't like the crowds that form at noon. So, essentially, I meet him for a delicious Thai breakfast and I do not care in the slightest because I was always that girl in high school, ravenous for lunch and my friends were all IT IS 3RD PERIOD, CALM DOWN and I was all I AM ABOUT TO SKIP THIS CLASS AND RUN TO THE CAFETERIAAAAAAAAAA.

So, my phone rang at work around 10:30.

"LAWRA. IT'S YOUR DAD."

"Hi dad! I know! I have caller ID! What's up?"

"I JUST WANTED TO TELL YOU I WILL BE AT LITTLE THAI ITALY AT 11 AM."

Now, you may question the name of the Thai restaurant after hearing this. Rest assured, the name of it is NOT "Little Thai Italy", it is "Little Thai Kitchen" but my father kept adding Italy to it when we first discovered it, complete with Brooklyn pronunciation--It-lee. He finds this VERY amusing and has changed the name of the restaurant permanently.

"I JUST WANTED TO TELL YOU I WILL BE AT LITTLE THAI IT-LEE AT 11 AM."

"Okay! I will be there."

"AND GUESS WHAT?"

"??"

"YOU WILL NEVER GUESS WHAT I FOUND."

"What you found? Wha? What did you find?"

"HOLD ON. LISTEN TO THIS."

*silence on the other end of the phone*

"YOU HEAR DAT???"

"No, I couldn't hear anyth--"

"IT IS THE SOUND OF A WATERFALL!!!!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE DAT?"

"A waterfall?"

"YES. I FOUND A WATERFALL IN THE MIDDLE OF NEW YORK CITY. YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE THIS."

"Okay, well, I'd love to see it!"

"YES. WE ARE GOING TO EAT AT LITTLE THAI IT-LEE AND THEN I WILL SHOW YOU DA WATERFALL!"

He did not disappoint. Apparently, my father had stumbled across a tiny public park in the middle of 52nd street which had tables, chairs, lots of pretty trees and of course, a waterfall. I've stumbled on quite a few of these hidden city parks, most notably one closer to the west side that has a waterfall cascading over a tunnel which you can walk through. I am blanking on the exact location but it brings me lots of happiness. I DO NOT KNOW WHY.

My father stood for awhile, just marveling at the waterfall and the trees and the tables and chairs.

"I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT WANT TO COME HERE ON YA LUNCH BREAK TO READ A BOOK. I MEAN, IF IT'S NOT TOO COLD."

"Great idea!"

There's a little cafe with a window attached to the park, the menu offering sandwiches and coffees. My father waved to the Korean woman working behind the counter, her cheek resting on her hand. When I looked at him quizzically he said, "OH SHE KNOWS ME FROM BEFORE."

What? Are you guys friends or something?!

Not surprising. At all. My father waves to people while driving, waves to people while he walks to church, etc. One time, at another lunch date inside the Thai restaurant, he WAVED people into the restaurant.

"What are you DOING? Do you know them?!"

"NO! I JUST THAWT THEY SHOULD KNOW TO COME INSIDE. IT'S COLD OUT THERE."

...

After our stroll to the waterfall, we walked to Starbucks, a monthly tradition. I told dad about some of their new lattes and he got VERY.EXCITED. He was also VERY.EXCITED about the fact that my boss had given me a 10% coupon. And right now, I need to take a minute to explain this coupon and why it resulted in nearly three Starbucks baristas leaping over the counter and strangling my father and me to death.

So, Starbucks apparently has a new thing called a GOLD CARD MEMBERSHIP! You pay money to join (I assume?) and reap some rewards, like 10% off purchases or blah blah, who knows. Well, my boss, an avid Starbucks addict, joined last week and handed me a coupon that came with her membership.

It reads "As the GUEST OF A GOLD CARD MEMBER, you are entitled to 10% off any purchase in the store! Whether it's a cup of coffee or a coffee maker..." on and on about getting a "taste of what membership is like". And at the bottom it has directions for the employees. "Barista - use discount code 124 and take coupon."

So, dad and I order some coffee and my dad politely offers the coupon. The young barista flat out says, "I CAN'T TAKE THAT."

What?

"You need a gold card to use that."

What?

"You need a GOLD CARD. I need to swipe your GOLD CARD. This is for GOLD CARD MEMBERS ONLY."

??

I try to explain, "But see here? It says I'm a guest of a gold card member, not a gold card member myself."

He calls over his co-worker, a VERY VERY ANGRY GIRL.

"YOU NEED A GOLD CARD."

Sigh.

My dad attempts to explain what the coupon says and she isn't having ANY OF IT.

At this point I want to give up because it is 10% off, not like a free house or anything and oh God it's embarrassing and THIS IS WHY I NEVER USE COUPONS because it is MORTIFYING. But at the same time, I am so damn certain that I am right about this that I can't help but press a little further.

"I NEED TO SWIPE THE GOLD CARD TO GIVE YOU THE DISCOUNT. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GIVE YOU THE DISCOUNT IF I CAN'T SWIPE AN ACTUAL GOLD CARD?"

"Um. Actually, the instructions are at the bottom here," I say, pointing to the "BARISTA INSTRUCTIONS" section.

Both of the baristas squint at the fine print.

"NO."

"Okay...just...forget it then..."

At this point the ANGRY BARISTA takes out the Gold Card Membership packets and starts flipping through them to SHOW ME.

"SEE HERE!?!? SEE! THIS COUPON COMES WITH A GOLD CARD MEMBERSHIP! SOMEONE MUST HAVE DETACHED IT AND GIVEN IT TO YOU."

"Isn't that the POINT?!?!?!" I say, throwing up my hands in exasperation.

"NO."

She calls over one other manager to confirm, a silent elderly lady who doesn't even listen to her, just nods her head in agreement.

Dad and I both opt to just let the damn thing go because WHO ON EARTH CARES AT THIS POINT!??!!? We were also quite certain that they spit in both of our drinks and let's just settle for that instead of something worse like having them throw coffee in our faces, scalding us to death. Death by Starbucks barista, not a good way to go.

They call our drinks and we apologize profusely to the workers and thank them ever so much for our lattes. And right before we turn away from the counter, my father takes a sip.

"How is it?" I ask.

He pauses, his eyes twinkling.

"OHHHH IT'S GOOD," he says, laughing to himself. "BUT YOU KNOW WHAT?"

"What?"

And then, loud enough for the whole Starbucks to hear, "IT WOULDA TASTED A WHOLE LOT BETTA IF IT WAS 40 CENTS CHEAPA!!!!"

This cracks him up to NO END and he heads out the door.

Normally, my cheeks would have gotten a little red because ohhh people making a scene, ugh. But, since it's my dad? I can't stop laughing. I mean how can you be embarrassed when even after a Starbucks fight, he isn't even angry? He finds the whole thing INCREDIBLY amusing?

I mean, I'm sure the Starbucks baristas didn't but they were kind of a little bit stupid, no? Or misinformed? Unless they were correct and Starbucks just has poor marketing skills? But we didn't YELL at them or blame them, we stayed completely calm and rational. I just enjoyed the fact that my father had turned one of those irritatingly stressful "WHY ARE PEOPLE SO STUPID ALL THE TIME?!" into something funny.

Not to mention his genuine WONDER and DELIGHT at finding a freaking WATERFALL as if he had never seen one before, as if it was as big as Niagara Falls.

"RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF NEW YORK CITY. CAN YOU BELIEVE DAT?!"

No, dad. I honestly can't.

Back to Reality

2008-12-01T23:20:00.003-05:00

This morning as I was getting out of the shower, my phone rang. I let it go to voicemail as I did not recognize the number. It turned out to be a vocal coach I knew and his message essentially said that he was desperate to find a voice for a voiceover. It was for a children's toy and the role would be the voice of a carrot. Is that something I think I can do?

HELLS YES, I thought to myself.

Pacing around my apartment in a bathrobe with a towel turbaned to the top of my head, I practiced all the various carrot voices I had in my repertoire. I finally settled on one (high-pitched, fast-paced) and was CONVINCED that this was sooo not going to be a problem. Carrot voice? I AM YOUR GIRL.

I called him back.

"So, do you think you can do it?"

"ABSOLUTELY!"

"Great! I will send you the copy and you can do the voice of the parrot into the phone so I can hear it."

"Voice of the...parrot?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Oh what?"

"I thought you said carrot."

"..."

"Okay, seriously? Stop laughing. I swear, I...no. Okay. Stop laughing for real. I HEARD WRONG. I will try the parrot, but no promises."

And that is how I found myself at 8 AM squawking into the telephone, practicing an array of parrot voices.

I just wasn't feeling it. Not like I was feeling the carrot. DAMN.

"Dude, get someone else. The carrot? The carrot I have DOWN. The parrot? Eh, she's a little shrill."

"Thanks anyway."

"No problem."

Welcome to my life. I am officially back in NYC.
You can find all the photos from Los Angeles here.

And if you're bored, you can watch the other videos that didn't make it into previous posts. Well, except one. One is staying on my computer for all time because it's borderline offensive. Let's just say it involves Tom showing the camera the hole in the fence that you can climb through to get to Mexico and how grateful he is to his "Mexican breathren" for "breaking through the chains of capitalism."

??

I'm going to leave that one for parties.

But the rest are mostly PC, so you can watch those. I apologize in advance for my shirt riding up and my belly hanging out. My mother is mortified, I know, I'm sorry. The inner Long Island slut in me can't help but shine through sometimes. SQUAWK.

Tom Stops Hiking To Do Yoga from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

Tom Chases A Helpless Bird from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

Never Leaving. SRSLY. from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

I Mean It

2008-11-30T05:14:00.001-05:00

Never Leaving from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

Falling Down In Public

2008-11-28T10:47:00.003-05:00

Continuing on with my promise to write about subjects you suggested, the next post is from avid commenter Abbie who wrote "OH! Falling down in public gets my vote!" Well. Here you go.

It is a well known fact among close friends and family members that I have trouble with simple tasks. Tasks that most people don't think twice about. Tasks like making it through a doorway on your first try, instead of whacking a limb or your head into a wall first. Easy things, you know, like walking and standing upright without toppling over.

This predicament was ten times worse during my adolescent years as my body stretched and I tried to figure out how to control it. But I must say, I had trouble before then and I still have trouble now. Most of the time, it's just me, being awkward. Other times, things happen that are out of my control, say, getting on a moving treadmill.

When I read Abbie's request in the comments, I was worried that I wouldn't have anything to write about. I mean, I could delve into my memories and come up with some gems--the time I slipped down an escalator and landed at the bottom on a subway platform with a ton of people staring at me, waiting for the train. Or the numerous times I've had poor spacial judgment while driving and turned my car into a fire hydrant or another car or a concrete median. WHAT COULD I WRITE ABOUT? WHAT COULD I SAY?

I need not have worried because sure enough, the universe came through. On Monday, the day before I left for Los Angeles, I left work to run an errand and grab some lunch. Everything was in place for me to have a completely spastic experience--the weather was clear, no rain. I was wearing flat shoes without a hint of a heel and it was during lunch time where everyone could see me make a fool out of myself.

All was right with the world leading up to my mishap. The sun was shining, the weather was warmer than it had been in days, I was headed towards Hale & Hearty for a DELICIOUS LUNCH, etc. I realized that I had been daydreaming about my soup for too many blocks and that I needed to cross to the other side of the street to get where I was going. Just like thousands of New Yorkers on any given day, I stepped off the curb onto Park Avenue in an attempt to cross. And just like no other New Yorker ever, my perfectly flat-heeled foot stepped down on some perfectly normal looking pavement and I abruptly fell forward, breaking the fall with my knees and palms.

I crouched there for a moment as shooting pain erupted in my knee because, OF COURSE, I wasn't wearing pants, just a skirt with stockings which means I essentially fell on my bare knee. I was less concerned with the knee and more concerned with my beautiful gray tights which seem to be bad luck. I already ripped the first pair I bought RIGHT BEFORE going into an audition a few weeks before. And now the second pair was destroyed as well. A tiny hole was stretching bigger and bigger and now BOTH PAIRS were goners. WHY GOD? WHY??

As I was bemoaning the loss of my beloved tights, the man at the kabab stand behind me leaned down and got right in my personal space which, if you've never been in that position, is rather startling. His turban cast a shadow over my upturned my face as he eagerly searched my eyes.

"YOU OKAY?!?!!??!?!?"

"Yes, I'm fine, just stupid."

"YOU FALL DOWN."

"Yes."

"WE ALL WATCH YOU FALL."

"I...thank you. Great."

At this point of course, I looked behind me at the long line of New Yorkers waiting to buy some kababs. All men. All in business suits. All pretending not to stare at me.

I thought I'd at least get a free lunch out of the deal but kabab dude wasn't having it. He helped me up and went back to serving his hungry customers. I sat on the curb and picked the gravel out of my palms. I didn't get to check on the damaged knees until I was safely locked in a bathroom stall at work. After rolling down the ruined gray tights, I was able to witness the carnage: skin hanging off both of my knees and drops of blood everywhere. Though not as ghastly as I thought it would be.

I have a nice yellow and green bruise going on at this point as the wounds are healing. I'm no longer limping but I do look like a seven year-old kid who fell off her bicycle. I can't tell you the last time I fell down and scraped my knees; I feel silly but also not really surprised. I am 25, with long limbs like a muppet and honestly? Sometimes things get the way of them functioning properly. Things like curbs and paved streets and walking. SIGH.

2nd Thanksgiving Ever Away From Home

2008-11-27T22:17:00.001-05:00

Thanksgiving with Tom and Laura from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

How My Trip to LA is Going

2008-11-27T03:21:00.000-05:00

How LA Is Going from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

Closure: Not Actually Fiction

2008-11-25T20:16:00.002-05:00

If anyone was paying attention to my last post, they would've read about me fretting over communication with an ex:

<<I never heard back from him.

And I suppose I didn't expect to.

It's just that...

I sent that e-mail from work.

My work, which has a habit of eating incoming e-mails that are not from work-related e-mail addresses.

And lately, I have been wondering if perhaps, he DID write me back and my e-mail account at work stopped it from going through? WHAT IF THAT HAPPENED? What if that very important e-mail is LOST in cyberspace!?!? What if there was something I needed to know?!>>

If anyone continued to pay attention to that post, they would've noticed a comment from said ex:

<<While cruising the interweb I checked this site and found that you are still posting away.

Never did get that email from you...

Check your email account>>

If you are not involved in the situation, you would've perhaps been mildly intrigued. "Woah! He never got the e-mail! GOOD STORY."

If you are involved in the situation, you would've reacted like this: OMFG THIS IS THE MOST INTENSE DRAMA OF MY LIIIIIIFE!

And initially you would play the victim:

WHAT ARE THE CHANCES THAT THE ONE DAY YOU POST ABOUT HIM, HE ACTUALLY READS IT!? Why are you SO STUPID!?!?

After I sufficiently beat the crap out of myself, I nervously tapped my fingers against the keyboard at work while re-reading the last part of his comment.

"Check your e-mail."

Wait.

Check my e-mail because he's sending me an e-mail?

Or, check my e-mail because it's faulty? As in, make sure I actually sent it?

WAIT.

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?! And how many times can I possibly say the word 'e-mail'!? E-mail e-mail e-mail and then my blackberry buzzed. I snatched it up and sure enough there was an E-MAIL from him.

My stomach dropped onto the floor below my desk and I clicked it open. The details are irrelevant I suppose...and personal. There was misinformation and a lack of communication and he never responded to my e-mail because he never received it.

So, I sent it again.

We went back and forth a few times and after some hazy misunderstandings, we were able to get on the same page. We will never be the ex's who chat often or hang out in groups. We may exchange information occasionally, if we move or get a new job or have a baby. I'm honestly not quite sure. I do know that we will never end up together but that we both will only ever view the other in a positive light.

I left work around six, put my headphones on and cried for three city blocks. And then it was over. I didn't have it in me to grieve. There was nothing to be sad about, no need to waste tears on something that was truly for the best.

An underlying issue which seems to permeate every aspect of my life is the inability to trust decisions I make. I think a lot of it is my innate perfectionism and my fear of being "wrong". I have such a hard time committing to a man because I don't want to make the wrong choice. Often, it's easier to remain indecisive than to make up my mind. But I am learning that decisions are part of life and indecision and ambivalence lead to paralysis.

You can have an amazing mind, body and soul connection with another but if you are heading in two separate directions, it simply can't work. More importantly, as sad as it is, there is nothing WRONG with that. For so long, I've questioned whether or not I'm making a mistake. Is it foolish to pursue the career I've chosen? Does it make me an unattractive partner? Is it a waste of time, money and youth?

I think it was time for me to accept my lifestyle and stop feeling uncertain. Perhaps this ex business allowed me the freedom to own my choices, the confidence to say "No, I don't want babies just yet." The compassion and maturity to say "I'm sorry I can't be that person for you but I'm so glad you found someone who can."

Last night, I left philosophy class a little early to hightail it down to the Village. My dear friend, Sasha, was singing at a wine bar on Bank Street and tired as I was, I promised her I would be there. I squeezed into a red plush booth a little after 9 pm with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc in hand.

Sasha was beautiful and hilarious. I chatted with a few people in her improv troupe as candlelight bounced off burgundy walls. I slipped out a little after 10:30, discovering that rain had begun to fall while I was safely tucked inside. I didn't have an umbrella and the rain felt refreshing and cool on my face. I wandered for awhile through the cobblestone streets before finally hailing a cab and collapsing in the backseat.

I know people roll their eyes at the cliche of the twenty-something in the city, trying to find herself. It's a nebulous idea and I've questioned the importance of it myself. But this is what that actually means--learning about the kind of girl I am, the kind of girl I wish to be and the kind of partner who might fit into my lifestyle and accept me as I am instead of what he wishes me to be.

It is definitely not the life for everyone but it is for me, for now. Sipping white wine late on a Monday night, surrounded by artists who make me laugh, able to relax and just be. No more second guessing, uncertainty or fear: I am exactly where I'm supposed to be.

Genius

2008-11-23T19:22:00.004-05:00

A girl my age put these signs up in the subway station. She was standing next to them singing opera. I gave her four dollars.

What Do I See

2008-11-23T01:33:00.004-05:00

For those just joining us, the next few blog posts will be taken from the comments in this post.

Debbiy wrote, "So, what's going on outside your window? What do you see?"

I responded with a few short paragraphs in the comments section. Here is the rest.

There is an elderly Greek woman sweeping the red leaves off the sidewalk in front of her apartment across from me. That side of the street is completely free of cars since it's Thursday and alternate side parking is in effect from 9:30-11 AM. City streets always look awkward with one half completely devoid of vehicles. I always get the urge to sprint up and down the street, that close to the sidewalk, running on pavement that I otherwise never get to touch.

The sky is gray and the world seems quiet, as if it might snow. It reminds me of my winters in Buffalo, in college, when the world turned dark for six months of the year, perpetual gloom hovering on the horizon. Snow was constantly falling, steadily building a blanket on the lawns between the dorms while I shuttled between classes in the Center for the Arts. Nibbling at a grilled cheese sandwich in a leotard and sweatpants, reading through notes before a Theatre History quiz, developing a lifelong love of coffee during my late afternoon math class.

Buffalo winters remind me of my college boyfriend, who has been on my mind quite a bit recently though I can't say why. The last I heard, he was getting married. Or, he was getting engaged. What is the difference? He was doing something that did not involve me and it infuriated me and hurt me and I painted my entire living room bright blue just to stop myself from crying all day long.

I took a deep breath and took a few weeks and finally wrote him an e-mail in September. It wasn't just that he was getting married. It was that he had been dating a girl for years and had never mentioned her to me. It was that in his e-mail, he had asked me for advice about it, as if I had some input, as if he was making sure that I had readily moved on. This to me was incredibly unfair and I expressed that in the note I wrote him. I also wished him well and told him to perhaps ask his friends and family for advice, please not ME, Lord, can't you see that it still hurts me?

I never heard back from him.

And I suppose I didn't expect to.

It's just that...

I sent that e-mail from work.

My work, which has a habit of eating incoming e-mails that are not from work-related e-mail addresses.

And lately, I have been wondering if perhaps, he DID write me back and my e-mail account at work stopped it from going through? WHAT IF THAT HAPPENED? What if that very important e-mail is LOST in cyberspace!?!? What if there was something I needed to know?!

The first obvious conclusion is that there is no way of ever knowing. What on earth do I do? Write an e-mail asking him if he wrote an e-mail in response to my e-mail!? Bitch, please. That is psycho and also, more importantly: What Would It Matter?

What could he have said that would've made a difference in my life?

What would it affect? What would it change?

Nothing.

And here is where the 25 year old is learning her way, the way that is so much more fair and even and mature than the way she was at 22 or 23. The fact is that if he needed to get in touch with me, he would have. The fact is that if he wanted me at all, he would've showed up at my door and told me so.

I am learning and oh does it suck to learn, that boys don't show up at your door at midnight with a dozen roses, down on one knee, begging for another chance. If you tell a boy you don't want him, he goes away and finds someone new. It really is that simple. Real life is not the movies and when you expect it to be, you are continually disappointed.

It was his birthday the other day and I took out my phone and stared at the keys, wondering whether or not to text him. Myself at 22 would have done just that. Myself at 25? I put the phone back in my pocket, realizing that such an action was unnecessary, immature and selfish. No need to constantly make sure you are always the center of everyone's universe. He has made it clear that you are not wanted and as a grown woman, you are to respect that and leave it alone.

The thing I sometimes forget is that my perception of a situation makes all the difference. I can choose to panic and wonder for the rest of my life, WHAT ABOUT THAT E-MAIL!? Or I can choose to believe that life has a way of working out the way it's supposed to. I can choose instead to look at all I have accomplished without him in my life, all the paths I have taken, all the people I have met, all the opportunities I was able to take advantage of.

And I still carry pieces of him, heck a whole large chunk. Part of him is branded on my heart and while he normally lays dormant inside, occasionally he rises up when the sky turns that particular shade of gray. Suddenly then, I am not gazing out at a New York City street, but a naked Buffalo sky, cuddled on the couch next to him, eating a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.

But the moment passes. And I'm back in my apartment, sipping a mug of coffee, staring out my living room window. One side of the street is full of cars, lined up in a row, crowded together, packed in tight. I turn my attention to the blank side of the street, the empty side. I will continue to stand and watch the street cleaner go by and my heart will surge with hope as I wait for something brand new to come into view and fill that vacant space.

Inspired

2008-11-21T08:44:00.003-05:00

Wow! You guys totally came through for me!

And here is what's going to happen next (I KNOW, YOU ARE SO EXCITED).

Beginning tomorrow, I will post a new entry every day about one of the topics you suggested. I'd like to regularly post one each day, even through the weekend, to help with aforementioned writer's block. I might run into a problem next week as I'm traveling to LA on Tuesday. However, I will have my laptop with me and will try to write a few posts in advance so all I have to do is click PUBLISH. That's right, I will lay on the beach and just click publish, just in case I haven't yet rubbed it in that I am going to Los Angeles. BECAUSE I AM GOING TO LOS ANGELES. FYI.

So, if you haven't yet chimed in with a topic for me to discuss/rant about or if you'd like to get more specific about a previous suggestion, you can leave a comment on this post or on the original. Thanks so much everyone! I'm a little shocked no one wanted to know more about my uterus or urinary tract. WHY ARE THOSE THINGS ONLY FASCINATING TO ME?!

A Bit Blocked

2008-11-20T08:38:00.002-05:00

Every day I'm all, "I NEED TO BLOG." And then I'm all, "BUT I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY."

So, uh, does anyone have any ideas?

Anything pressing we need to discuss?

My urethra? Perhaps a debate on Obama's tax plan? A story about an ex-boyfriend? My upcoming trip to Los Angeles next week? Audition stories? Stories about how I fell down in public and embarrassed myself? Eco-friendly living? Vegetarianism? Questions? Comments?

I was thinking you guys could unblock me. You know, the four people who read this? Surely you have an opinion. Or an interest. Or a reason to keep refreshing this website. But...what on earth is it?

Suggest a topic and I will write an essay, in MLA format, with a Works Cited. Or maybe just a blog post.

Any takers? Any at all?

Molting

2008-11-15T20:02:00.004-05:00

There are many ways that acting, as a profession, messes with your psyche. Because the business is overcrowded with competition and chock full of rejection, in order to survive, you need to develop a thick skin. Despite my wanting to and probably born out of necessity than anything else, I have developed a thin protective veil that allows me to keep moving forward without wanting to curl up in bed and die. And while this veil is necessary for survival in such a harsh climate, I find it hinders other aspects of my life, other aspects where I don't really need to wear it.

Becoming a hard, bitter person doesn't happen over night in the same way that self-esteem can't grow in a day. For someone like me, who is naturally confidence-less and who was raised in an environment that didn't boost what little I had, there seems to be a fine line between building self-worth and building an inflated, narcissistic ego. I have been actively concentrating over the past few years to build up some confidence, to take risks, to be more self-assured and I wonder if I have been overzealous in this endeavor not because I suddenly find myself with an astounding amount of self-confidence (I don't, at all) but rather because I am noticing a pattern of negativity in my thoughts, a critical voice that no longer just criticizes myself but everyone else around me.

Perhaps this is just an extension of the go-to defense mechanism that I learned while growing up: I will beat myself up before anyone else can. This is best manifested in my fantastic ability to self-deprecate. Allow me to make a joke about myself so you can't hurt me first. Let's put aside how messed up and unfortunate that way of thinking is and look at how dangerous it can be when it proliferates into I will beat YOU up before you can beat ME up.

I realize this is the nature of the business but I am disheartened to realize that I have bought into it, bought into a career centered around Me Me Me and What You Have That I Don't. I am constantly ingesting the underlying mephitic whispers of my chosen profession: that I am only of value at my thinnest, that I am already too old to get anywhere, that I have nothing to offer anyone and sadder still, that when You are successful, it immediately means that I Am Not. None of these things are true, of course, and I used to know that. I find I am more forgetful now.

There are many layers to this. Wanting to protect myself from rejection is natural and building up a wall of some kind seems obvious as any actor will tell you that to some extent, it is absolutely without-a-doubt necessary for survival. But I have been paying close attention to my innermost thoughts lately and I do not like them. There is very little gratitude, very little humility, lots of criticism, lots of jealousy and anger, a kind of insatiable cupidity that disgusts me. Perhaps acting is only a piece of that, perhaps the path I have taken, a path of over self-analysis, of psychotherapy, of living in New York City, of keeping a blog, that this path has helped create a young woman who is incredibly self-absorbed. This is ironic because I don't feel more confident, I just feel like an asshole.

I'm thinking that my recent discovery of commitmentphobia is directly tied to my negative attitude. I am less loving and therefore, less open to being loved. While I still manage to find hope and joy in so many things, when it comes to relationships, I am startled to find out that I seem to start off any adventure waiting to be let down. Disappoint me now, come on, I know you will. That strikes me as overwhelmingly sad.

I realize that I am a 25 year old living in a notoriously hard, fast-paced, jaded city. I am therefore completely unable to return to my spoony adolescent attitude of consistent hope and firm belief in my talents and ability to love. But surely there is a way to balance protecting yourself and your heart while still allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Is that in and of itself naive? Is there a way to let down my guard more while still maintaining my sanity and good nature? Or do I have to pick sides?

There must be a way to build myself up emotionally without mentally putting others down. There has to be a way to experience rejection and disappointment without internalizing it and allowing it to consume you. Perhaps there is a way to put up my wall in an audition setting and take it back down again when dealing with people and relationships. It is so difficult to find a happy medium and I am honestly so turned off by myself lately.

I am independent to a fault. You can't take care of me because I already know how. I can't bend my schedule to accommodate yours because mine is too important. I can't slow down because my business never slows down and can't you see that since I started so late, I am constantly playing catch up? I have such a hard time letting someone in because MY PRIORITIES! MY ROUTINE! It is all SO IMPORTANT.

Newsflash: in the grand scheme of things, it actually isn't.

I am posting this for the reason I post a lot of other things: accountability. Now that I've owned up to it, I can change it. I can also perhaps treat myself gently. The acting thing is a huge part of this but I can count three major events that have transpired in the past six months that have aggrandized the subtle negativity into a level that no longer feels comfortable. I am partly to blame for one but the other two were out of my hands, 100% and maybe it's natural for us to get a little bitter when life kicks us in the ass repeatedly.

I have already taken some steps to shed the negativity which I'm excited about and hey, we can all agree I'm on the right path if I'm still able to get excited, right? Maybe I'll share some of my pointers for Drawing Yourself Up Out of the Muck in case anyone else out there tends to get into these negative Hate the World funks. No? It's just me? Okay then, um, just forget it.

As always, thanks for listening and I hope that if you know me personally, I have been deft at shielding you from my nastiness. If I haven't, please forgive me. If you don't know me personally, BE VERY GRATEFUL. That is all.