The State of the Angela Address

(In a crazy get-up to go out dancing with Two-Shots-Up in September.)


I have this strange feeling going through me right now. A need to cry. And I have no idea why.

So, as I often do when I have feelings that I can't explain, I'm going to talk it out with myself. And today, I've decided to do that in writing form. I have no idea what's about to come out. Honestly. So hang on, because this could be a weird ride.

I've been touring a show with my classmates. We do up to 3 performances a day. In our first 6 days of performances, we had 10 shows... which is a worse schedule than Broadway performers have (they do 8 shows in 6 days). We're traveling in two vans. One carries 2 actors, 9 chairs, 9 costumes, 1 sound system, 1 microphone & stand, 1 crate of random whatnot, and occasionally some lighting equipment (depending on the venue). The other van contains 1 stage manager and 7 actors. Some of our performance venues are up to 2 hours away. Then we get there, load-in everything ourselves, set up the show, get into costumes and make-up, perform, do a talk back, get out of costumes and make-up, load-out everything into the vans, and then drive to the next performance venue. (And sometimes, depending on the schedule, they give us each $7 for a less-than-healthy fast-food lunch.)

As you can imagine, it's insane. Most of the time, it's fun. We entertain ourselves backstage by making weird videos. Sometimes, it's really stressful. Sometimes I love my classmates. Sometimes I think they hate me. Sometimes I get sick of them complaining about everything (and each other).

But what makes it worthwhile are the kids. Most of our performances are in high schools. We've had a couple of rude audiences (like one that started verbally mocking us as we performed... or that time a kid in the front row was playing with a metal slinky during the ENTIRE PERFORMANCE, and we all wanted to strangle him with it). But for the most part, they've been great. We've come across a lot of students who are in awe of us. Or have learned more about this Greek play from our modernized production than they did from reading the classical text. And some kids have asked about how they can get into grad school like we did. And it's... great. I LOVE answering their questions. I love feeling like an expert. An authority. A scholar.

Of course, sometimes the schedule really blows. We did three shows yesterday. Which meant I was away from home for 11 hours. Which meant I didn't get to talk with Phil.

I talked to him today for, literally, 6 minutes. Between shows. As he was waiting to go into a work-related meeting. Thank God he has Skype on his phone, or we wouldn't have even gotten that. But it's frustrating to talk in that situation sometimes, just because he's in public and can't really tell me the things he wants to tell me. He doesn't want to get into his personal life in public. So instead he tells me about how he just re-watched Tropic Thunder and thinks it's brilliant, and then I tell him that I thought Tropic Thunder was barely watchable (except for Robert Downey Jr., who was actually pretty great). And then we mentally add it to the growing list of movies that we disagree about. And that's pretty much the whole conversation.

In case you missed it in my Twitter feed a while back, I'm going to see him.

Actually, that story was kind of a big deal in and of itself...

I'm doing something rather uncharacteristic of me...

I'm breaking a rule.

I'm skipping a class.

*GASP*

In two years of grad school, I have never missed a class, rehearsal, or performance. I was 20 minutes late to a class once during my 2nd-year because I somehow convinced myself that it was the weekend (whoops). But other than that, I have pretty great attendance. Actually, I might be the only person in my class who has never missed a class. *goes off to sift through memory* Okay, I don't remember Iceman missing any classes... but he's going to be missing one in November, so we're even.

I don't actually HAVE to miss class... I was originally going to go see Phil from December 2-9 (because I have class on the 2nd and the 10th... but I wouldn't land in the UK until the 3rd and would have to leave early on the 9th, so that's really only 6 days). But I found great airfare on the 27th... So I'm skipping class on the 2nd to have a few more days with Phil.

I am going to get in trouble for this. I am going to be yelled at. I might cry. I'm terrified to tell the head of my program (who is also directing me in a show that begins rehearsing on December 14th... so I hope he gets over his anger by then). Send prayers and good vibes that he's not too harsh on me. Because I do NOT handle confrontation and/or conflict well.

I think it's important, though. As a result of going earlier, I get to go to a wedding with Phil (well, actually, I get to go to the reception, and not the ceremony... But I get to meet a lot of his friends, which is cool). And I also get to travel with him to meet his parents. (EEK!)

When I officially bought my tickets (round-trip to London for under $600... Thank you Student Universe!), Phil was so, so, so happy. It might have been the happiest that I have ever made someone as a direct result of one of my actions. As for me, I was pretty elated as well. And I've been counting down the days.

He's going to try to come see me in the last week of January/first week of February. My parents are going to try to plan a visit that overlaps his, so that they can meet him.

Phil goes back and forth on how serious he's comfortable with this relationship being. Which I understand. I do it, too... I just do it more in my head. This relationship is a dangerous situation. But it still feels like I'm still accruing more happiness and positivity than frustration and fear. And whenever I get frustrated, it's because of the situation, not because of Phil. He's great. I just wish he lived within driving distance.

But other than that, things are going well. I'm still crazy about him. He's still crazy about me. And he's cool with me referring to him as my boyfriend now. :)

My classmates have started giving me advice on how far the physical part of my relationship with Phil should go. Some is positive, some is negative. Some is completely unsolicited, and some arises as part of discussions. Not all of it is helpful. But if nothing else, it's nice to know that people care about me and want what's best for me (whether it be protecting myself from things, or exposing myself to them). And that's all I'm going to say about that.

You know what actually kind of upset me today? Like three celebrity couples that I saw were splitting up. Should one be surprised when celebrity couples split? No, of course not. Fame puts a lot of stress on a relationship. But it still makes me feel uneasy.

Maybe it's because I've only recently started to think of myself as the marrying type... But I am TERRIFIED of the possibility of divorce. In my head, divorce is one of the worst things that I could possibly go through. That, and, like, pregnancy out of wedlock (which is, of course, one of the main reasons that I haven't had sex yet). In my head, those fates are worse than incurable diseases and house fires. Ridiculous? Probably. But that's where I am right now.

Okay, let's go on a random tangent:

My self-esteem is in a pretty good place right now. Which is unusual for me (and for artists in general). I feel more attractive than I ever have before (which is the combination of losing weight after tracking calories on SparkPeople, getting half-naked for a play, and having a man in my life who tells me how beautiful he thinks I am on a daily basis). I feel good about my art (and a couple of high-schoolers came up to me yesterday after a performance to tell me that I was their favorite actor in the show... which is amazing, considering that I'm a random member of the chorus). I'm good.

I'm still nervous about the citizenship whatnot. A friend of mine who said she wanted to move to London with me changed her mind this week. It's too hard to do it with visas. And that was a frightening reminder that I'm in a tough spot if I can't get dual-citizenship.

I haven't had time to blog. In any of the places that I'm supposed to. (And note how now that I have time, I'm blogging here... and not on one of the blogs that I'm expected to blog on for professional reasons. I am such a slacker.)

I sort of got a job. I do assistant-type work for a guy who lives in my town once a week for a couple of hours. He was born in 1931, but his two most recent ex-girlfriends were born in 1955. He's a hilarious, dirty old man, who tells me incredible stories. I love talking to him. He seems truly grateful for everything I do for him, which feels lovely. And he recently CC:ed me on an e-mail that he sent, in which he used the following sentence: "Angela is a jewel."

I had my first costume fitting for the upcoming season yesterday. I play an Italian flight attendant ("air hostess") in the 1960s. I'm going to look like the Italian flag vomited on me (green dress, white and red striped tights, white hat, green and red neck scarf). I'm wearing a tight (TIGHT!) low-cut dress, with a hemline that looks like a shirt when I raise my arms. They want to push up my boobs to Salma Hayek proportions. I'll be wearing a sassy black wig and -- my favorite part -- white go-go boots. I could not be more excited.

(So with the wig and the boobs, we're looking at something like this... Which, by the way, is one of my costumes for when I played a Dutch prostitute in a show in September.)

Okay, I've been writing for nearly an hour, and I still don't know why I'm upset.

Maybe I should just blame it on the dramatic emotional tendencies that come along with being an actor.

Or maybe I haven't gotten to the bottom of this yet.



May you know why you're feeling what you're feeling.

~A~

Whirled World, Part IV: Santorini

Breaking down, Jumping in, and Letting Go

(self-portrait in a hostel room)

(Part I, Part II, & Part III)

Two-Shots-Up and I left All-the-Way & Killer at an ungodly hour of the morning without saying a proper goodbye. And then we began a journey through foreign subway trains that led us to the dock with our waiting ferry. There were some initial complications aboard the ferry, but once I sorted them out, it was smooth sailing. (Hah! Didn't mean to make a pun there... enjoy it, I guess.)


(Helpful hint: If you ever take a ferry from Athens to one of the islands, it is TOTALLY WORTH IT to get an upgrade to something called "Air Type Seats". The website does NOT explain them. Basically, you get a reserved seat that's comfy like an airplane seat. If you do not get an "Air Type Seat", then you're left to scrounge for whatever random chairs are around the boat. They're not comfortable, and it isn't pretty.)

(View from our ferry window. I couldn't believe how gorgeous the water was.)

When we arrived in Santorini, we were overwhelmed by beauty. The bluest water I'd ever seen. Just amazing.

(My first picture on Santorini. That's the caldera.)

Santorini was created by volcanic activity, and has a caldera. Here's my simplistic (and probably not completely accurate) understanding of it... So imagine that an undersea volcano erupted and created a huge island. Now imagine that water seeped back into the middle of the island... So now, it's kind of like a ring of smaller islands with water in the middle, that are all secretly connected (deep) under that water. Now imagine that the volcano erupted again, so there was another island in the middle. So what you end up with looks like this. Yeah, that's Santorini. And it's super cool.

We spent our first evening hanging out on a black pebble beach. If you walked into the water, there was no sand. Instead, it was all one giant, slimy stone surface. The island was created from a volcano, so it's just... more of the island, but under water. Totally weird. Not long after we got to the beach, we found ourselves alone there. I covered my legs in the warm black pebbles and felt like I belonged to the beach.




Honestly, the days in Santorini don't seem like days in my memory at all. It seems like one big gob of time. Perhaps it was the only part of my trip that was truly a vacation.

It was also the only part of my trip in which I really didn't communicate with Phil at all. In order to get online, I had to walk a couple of blocks on the side of the road with Lady MacBook in tow, and then sit on a bench (also on the side of the road) to get the internet.

The second day we were in town, we rented a 4-wheel motorbike. Normally, this would've terrified me. But after hopping onto the back of a stranger's motorcycle in Athens, it no longer seemed dangerous. (If there's an antonym for "traffic", that would describe the roads of Santorini pretty well.)


Two-Shots-Up drove. We went to the red beach (so called because of the red cliffs around it, and the red pebbles mixed into the white chalky ones on the shore).




I blew a kiss to Phil from every beach, as I had promised I would. Two-Shots-Up joined me from time to time.


We went to Fira (the main city of the island), where we shopped around for a bit. We had hot cocoa in a little restaurant and admired the view.



And we decided to head up to Ia (pronounced EE-uh, not EYE-uh like my nickname Aiea) for the sunset.


But on our way, our motorbike broke down.
(We broke down at the edge of the road turning a bend, overlooking the village of Ia.)

We tried to restart it a couple of times to no avail. We tried to call our rental place, but after my phone refused to dial them, it decided to run out of battery. So I calmly flagged down the first passing car. The women inside were familiar with the island, called our rental place, and explained to them where we were on the island (in Greek, no less). So Two-Shots-Up and I waited on the side of a desolate road for over an hour until help arrived. By then, it was pitch black.

(Same view of Ia by the time we got picked up.)

The nice thing about it was that we remained calm. I'm usually pretty good in cases of emergency (as I mentioned in the last post), but I didn't know how Two-Shots-Up would be. She was great, and it worked out totally fine. It never really felt like we were lost, since we were together. She was the only person I knew on the island, and I was with her. Nothing about where we were in that hour was any more foreign than anywhere else we'd been. We were cool.

The people from the shop came. One of them was an attractive 20-year-old guy. I think Two-Shots-Up may have been flirting with him, but it's hard to tell. Like me, her normal behavior is often mistaken for flirtation, even when that's not what she's intending. It's one of many things we have in common. (But that's a story for Part V.)

We celebrated by getting really fantastic (non-alcoholic) drinks at a tiki bar where a reggae band was playing. Mine was a bunch of tart fruits blended together, and poured over vanilla ice cream (which was sweet enough to balance it out). It's one of the most delicious drinks I've ever had in my life. (It's up there with the entirely-too-small butterscotch Mini-Freeze from Minnie's in Chicago. Mmm.)

On our third day, we took a half-day trip to the volcano and hot springs. Walking on an active volcano was... actually not as exciting as I thought it would be. Nice views, but it was basically just a big pile of rocks.

(Yes, the water really was that color. I didn't edit this.)

But then we went to the hot springs.

I have a fear of drowning. And I don't generally swim. I technically know how to swim (and once won a 2nd-place ribbon in a backstroke competition when I was 7), but I'm easily fatigued and I'm out of practice. I remember being in a pool in May 1998, and then not again until April 2009. I hadn't owned a swimsuit for years until I got one for a homework assignment in my second month of graduate school.

So I was pretty nervous when the boat we were traveling on stopped far away from the shore, and we were suddenly informed that we were expected to JUMP OFF THE BOAT into deep blue water (where I could not see the bottom! AAAAAH!) and SWIM to the hot springs.

I do not remember the last time I swam in water where I could not see the bottom. I mean, I know that I must've done it as some point in my life, but I honestly have no recollection of it. If it has happened in the past, I must've been in elementary school. No, I'm not kidding.

So it was a bit scary for me.

But then I thought of all the fears I've overcome. I went to the top of the Eiffel Tower. I rode on a motorcycle. I'm a WILD WOMAN! And I looked down at my swimsuit: a two-piece. It was, in fact, the first day in my entire life that I had ever donned a bikini. I have gotten over so many of my body image issues that I was wearing a bikini IN PUBLIC. Huge step for me.

(This is a view from where the boat stopped. See that little brown/red/hazy part? The darkest part of it? That's where I had to swim to. It was far. At least to me. To give you a little idea of scale, all 40+ people from our boat were hanging out in that red strip.)

So I jumped in. And I swam. And Two-Shots-Up gave me tons of verbal encouragement. I swam over to some big rocks to take a break half-way to the shallow springs. But I did eventually make it. The water was warm and brown. There was mud at the bottom that people were caking onto their bodies, claiming that it had exfoliating properties. I don't think my skin got any softer, but the white polka-dots on my black bikini are now stained light brown as a result.

At the end, I swam back to the boat. And I felt accomplished. I felt like I had somehow conquered something. And like maybe I'd found another piece of myself.

After the tour, a girl came up to me and said, "Excuse me, but are you from Michigan?" I said yes, looking at my clothing to see if I had any identifying writing on me. I did not. "Did you go to O***** High School?" I did, in fact. As it turns out, this girl was a freshman when I was a senior. She was in classes with my younger brother. She was in the band, and remembered that I was in the orchestra. The weird thing is, I didn't recognize her AT ALL. (I wonder if that's what fame feels like... You know: people knowing who you are without you having any clue who they are.) But we were on the same 40-person volcano tour on Santorini. And now she's my facebook friend. The world is small.

Two-Shots-Up and I ended up watching the sunset that night from our same little cocoa restaurant built high on the hill of Fira. I discovered a new love for sunsets (and for the "sunset" function on my camera that I didn't previously know existed). And I appreciated just sitting there in silence with a friend, feeling calm. There was nothing we needed to be doing, and no where we needed to be. We could just sit and feel the wonders of the world.







Of course, that calm disappeared the next day. The Greek ferries decided to all go on strike, on the very day that we needed one. Yes, they were striking for ONE DAY. What the hell kind of strike is that?

I texted both Phil and Blake. It was something along the lines of: "Our ferry is on strike, so we might miss get stuck in Santorini and miss our plane to Milan. Please pray for us."

Blake wrote back first, with a slightly confusing message:
"Its a tough life you lead"

It took me a few seconds before I realized that he didn't take my text seriously. He misunderstood it as, "Oh no, I might be stuck in a beautiful island paradise!" Just one more miscommunication I had with Blake. (Note: When I later thanked people for their prayers on Facebook, Blake apologized for the text and said that he had misunderstood. I absolved him, saying that I thought that might have been the case.)

Phil wrote back as well, which I wasn't expecting (as he had said he wanted to avoid texting, as it was an expensive form of communication).
"Oh no. I will pray for you. I hope you find solace in your philosophy. If it makes you feel better im watching BSG and i submitted my last draft 2 days early so that hopefully Ill be finished by the 29th. but I guess itll be what itll be baby. x"

This boy I'd left back in London, whom I hadn't communicated with (or even really spoken about) for three days, was still thinking about me. He was watching Battlestar Galactica at my recommendation. He was trying to beat a deadline with his writing to speed up the process so that he could spend more time with me when I returned to London. And that made me feel... incredible.

The philosophy he was referring to? Everything happens for a reason. Which, of course, it does. Two-Shots-Up and I ended up spending an extra 8 hours on Santorini, and getting on a faster ferry at 12:40am. We got in our "Air-Type Seats", and sailed into Athens. When we got there, we had plenty of time for Two-Shots-Up to mail some packages home (and I slept for 90 minutes in the post office while she dealt with the complications stemming from that fun little errand). We made it to the airport with plenty of time before our flight to Milan. And all was right with the world.


To be continued...

May you not be afraid of breaking down.

May you take the chance and jump in.

May you give yourself permission to let go.

~A~

Love from the Wild Child

Hello all.

I am in Paris this weekend.

London has been amazing. I am squeezing every last drop out of it, I promise.

(me in Conwy Castle in Wales)

I went to see Hair, which has transferred over here from Broadway, and it totally changed my perspective on life. Normally, I am a pretty conservative person socially, sexually, and morally (although not politically). But when I saw Hair, I wanted nothing more than to do drugs and get naked.

Later that night, I went out dancing. At one point, the people I was with were getting drinks when I headed down to the basement dance floor of a club. It was just me, the DJ, and a bunch of laser lights. I took over the dance floor in a way that you've never seen. For two songs, I was more free than I ever remember being. I mean, I'm always free when I dance, but not like that. It was like I'd entered another state of consciousness. I wasn't fully cognizant of what I was doing, but somehow I melted into the room and became one with it. (And for the record, I was sober.)

You know what? I am free because I'm HERE. When crazy things happen, I just wink and say, "London". It is the best explanation and excuse in the world.

(Hanging out with my classmates the night I saw Hair. A little drinking was involved.)

I am totally boy crazy. And a little girl crazy, too. This might be crazy, but I think I'm bisexual. I've just been lying dormant for a long time. No, I'm not joking.

I think I already mentioned my crushes on the French circus boys. Yeah, I miss them. They were fun. Mmmm...

(hanging out with my French circus friends)

(Me with Julien. I seriously wanted him and we had fun on the dance floor. But he's in a relationship on Facebook... and doesn't speak much English.)

(Me and Flo. Being around him is joy-inducing. Sadly, he also has a girlfriend.)

(Nael and me. He's the one who actually kissed me, and it was completely awkward. Oh well.)

(Guillaume was totally cute too -- and totally trying to flirt with me -- but my roommate/classmate was crushed on him, so I was a good girl and backed down. And yes, my love Julien is totally kissing my head in this picture. *sigh*)

I have occasional crushes on my classmates, but they're usually fleeting. More than anything else, it's just an appreciation of them as people more than an active sexual or romantic desire for them.

(me with my classmate D-Train, wearing my famous pink and purple hat)

During a production of Macbeth at The Globe Theatre, I totally connected with the actor playing Malcolm. He kept making eye contact with me. I swear to you, at one point he gestured toward me and winked at me during a scene (in which he was in the background and had no lines). Luke -- the nice, cute undergrad who was standing next to me -- noticed my Malcolm moments and commented on them. After the show, Luke was going to a talkback with the actors, so I gave him my business card (which has my name, headshot, and e-mail address on it), and he passed it along to Malcolm for me (who is apparently actually named James). Haven't heard from him yet, but that's most definitely the most forward move I've ever made towards a man. Huge deal for me. (Unfortunately, the phone number on my business card in my American phone... I hope he has the sense to facebook me or e-mail me... Because CLEARLY he's going to contact me.)

My classmate Wifey thinks that Luke has a thing for me. He keeps trying to get me to salsa dance with him, and just generally appears to go out of his way to talk with me and be around me. And I think another undergrad named Nic might have a thing for me as well (he's sweet, and he keeps offering to take my picture with various landmarks). And most likely an IT guy who works for the program named Deron who wanted me to watch the finale of LOST with him.

(Me with Deron)

I have a crush on a Blue Badge tour guide, whom is significantly older than my usual self-limited datable age range. (my Google-stalking suggests he's 39, but I'm guessing that information is old). Dude, intelligence is sexy. Also, he has a great sense of humor. And I'm pretty sure he was flirting with me in Westminster Abbey.

(Me and Blue Badge Seán)

People over here love me. I think it's my cute American dialect. I have been hit on by so many people (men and women) that I've lost track. And the guys here keep asking me if they can make out with me, to which I say no. I don't care how cute the guy is. I am not going to make out with any random nameless person. There has to be at least SOME backstory involved. Dancing with me for 3 minutes does not count.



See those two hot chicks? Yeah, they both wanted me. No, I'm not joking. Look at them, and then look at me. Clearly, they are the hotties in that picture. And believe me, it does not do them justice... They had tight mini-dresses on, and legs that went on for days. And they were really great dancers as well. They wanted me to go to another bar with them, but was celebrating a friend's birthday that night and felt like I couldn't ditch her... In retrospect, I regret the decision. They were HOT.

I've been asked on dates by men from at least 4 countries.

The first was Blake, an American who works for the program in an R.A. sort of way. He's actually younger than I am. He started flirting with me about an hour after I landed in this country.

We had a nice long talk one day, and he asked me out for coffee (which has yet to come to fruition). Then last weekend, I spent a good amount of time hanging out with him in Liverpool and Wales. We talked, danced, and flirted. He sent me text messages telling me that I should come hang out with him in various locations. But the last night we were in Wales, he ended up making out with some other chick on the dancefloor at a club (I don't know who she was... either a Welsh chick, or an undergrad). No big deal. I have other men around... But then this morning our trips aligned briefly (mine to Paris, and his to Amsterdam), and he was both flirting with me and actively following me around. And then he sent me a text message from Amsterdam saying that he wishes I were there... So we'll see.

(Blake and me on a hill in Llandudno, Wales)

Actually, at one point I was pretty sure that another guy with Blake's job was flirting with me as well. But he ended up going for my classmate/roommate instead of me (same classmate/roommate that went for circus-boy Guillaume, actually), so that shut the door on him.

A statuesque black man in a suit approached me in a club and wanted to get to know me better. He's a Brit named Nsikan who works for the United Nations. I gave him my e-mail address instead of my British phone number (because I hadn't memorized it yet), and he has been actively pursuing me through that medium. Unfortunately for him, I have a very busy schedule...

A Palestinian man named Wael wants me as well. He's a musician. And tomorrow, in London, he's performing in a show that Will.I.Am. and Cheryl Cole are also scheduled to appear at. I think he's in the opening act or something. He told me he could get me in backstage, but unfortunately, I'm in Paris.

(me and Wael in a Reggae club)

So far, I've only actually gone out with one of them. He's an Italian (who lives in London) named Alessandro, and he's delightful. As Captain Hammer would say, "Not my usual, but nice." He took me to a really terrible Bollywood dance-based show with a pathetic excuse for a plot. And then we went to a bar and got drinks that were called "I Can't Believe It's Not Watermelon". And then we got on a double-decker bus to Trafalgar Square, and I learned that my usual apprehension regarding public displays of affection does not apply in foreign countries. At all. The next day, he took me to the Camden Town market (which was great fun), and was just charming and lovely the whole way through. He really, really wants me. He wants to steal the purple and pink hat that I'm always wearing, and not give it back to me until I come visit him in Italy.

(Alessandro and me in Camden Town.)


But enough about boys.

I bought a great dress. I'm in love with it. I saw a girl wearing it around town, and I stopped her and asked her where she bought it. She told me it was at TopShop for 70 pounds (roughly $105). But when I got to TopShop, it was only 60 pounds (the tax is included) and I get an international student discount there, bringing the total to 54 pounds (roughly $81). Expensive, but it's the first major purchase I've made after being abroad for over 3 weeks. And it's totally worth it to me. Dude, I look hot in it.

Note: That photo makes me look deceptively skinny. I have actually gained weight since getting to London. I don't usually think of myself as being on a diet, but I watch what I eat (which is usually mostly made up of South Beach Diet bars and SmartOnes frozen meals), and I'm not doing that at all here. I have started eating ice cream, french fries, and mayonnaise here (all of which have been on my Forbidden list for awhile back in the USA).

I'm a wild woman.


Anyway. I thought you all deserved an update of my plot.


May you find your wild side.

~A~

Health Update

In case you were wondering...

My second blood test came back totally fine, so I'm in the clear on brain issues.

My ultrasound was completely normal.

I've had stomachaches all day.

So basically, now they have no idea what's wrong with me, but something is definitely still wrong with me. In some ways, it's more frustrating and disappointing than having a real answer.

My doctor wants to put me on birth control to regulate my cycle, but I'm not into that idea. I really don't want to add more hormones to my body. Especially since I'm trying to be healthy and lose weight right now.

I've already lost a good chunk of weight. 17 pounds since November. Today I stepped on the scale, and the number I saw was lower than I've seen in two years. I'm a size 6, which is skinny for a normal person, but still pushing it for an actress.

I'm doing exercise videos and I've given up french fries. I'm just trying to eat other bad-for-me foods in moderation.

Why do I always feel like I'm fighting against my body?


May you find a way to work with your body instead of against it.

~A~

Jagged Little Transition

(Me on New Year's Eve)

I'm writing this at 11:30pm. I haven't eaten anything since 8:00am. And I'm not hungry.

Let's call that a side effect.

You see, today I did something that I thought I would never have to do again: I went back on medication for my ADHD.

I haven't been on meds since around May of 2007. I stopped taking them for multiple reasons. And as I was no longer in school, I didn't think I needed them (having a job is way different than being a student, and I could handle my workload without being medicated). And if I have the option of whether or not to introduce foreign chemicals into my body on a daily basis, I'd rather not.

Being unmedicated has its pros and cons, like everything else in life. One of the big pluses is that it's cheaper, plain and simple. I feel more like me. I have an appetite. I can drink alcohol without thinking about it (not that I take advantage of that very often, but it's nice to have the option). And frankly, I think I'm a better actor, as it makes me more impulsive. It also gives me more access to my vulnerability, and I can easily tap into my emotions.

Probably the biggest argument on the "con" side is where I'm left socially by being off meds. In my natural state, I am an acquired taste. There are a lot of things that I do that other people have a difficult time handling. I fidget constantly. I accidentally zone out mid-conversation. I make statements that seemingly come out of no where (because my thought process is quick and erratic, so things that make perfect sequential sense in my brain don't have clear connections for others). And I have a nasty habit of interrupting people (which I do my best to control), because I see nothing wrong with both of us talking simultaneously (somehow I can process both conversations at the same time... it took me YEARS to realize that other people cannot).

The social issues I faced in the beginning of my school year here made going back on meds a major temptation. I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be liked. I wanted to stop feeling like a freak. But I also realized that I'm here to be an actor, not to make friends. And I knew that going on meds might have an adverse effect on my ability to do that.

In the middle of October, I realized that I'm not just an actor, but also a student. Yes, it hurts the actor a little to be on meds, but it helps the student tremendously.

I actually went off my meds for a semester of undergrad, just to see if I could. And I did. I was in three shows that semester, while taking a full course load, and I still made the Dean's List. I was incredibly proud of that. And I have NEVER worked so hard in my life as I did that semester.

It occurred to me that ADHD puts me at a significant disadvantage as a student. Taking medication for it isn't cheating, nor is it giving up. And it isn't lazy either. All medication does is put me on an equal playing ground to everybody else. And by not taking meds, I was doing myself a disservice. Because if I accomplished all that I did that semester without the benefits of medication, just imagine what I could do with them. So I went back on meds for my senior year, and those last two semesters I ended up with the highest grades of my college career.

After a long conversation with one of my roommates about the pros and cons in the first week of November, I decided to make an appointment. And due to my doctor having to cancel my appointment (death in the family), I didn't meet with her until this week.

My doctor put me on a prescription for the same drug I was on in undergrad, but half the amount. She referred to it as a "mild adult dosage", which she thought was a good idea considering how "tiny" I am (which is funny, because I weighed 20 pounds less when I had the last prescription).

I know from experience that it takes about three days for my system to acclimate itself to whatever new medication I'm giving it. And those three days are always a rollercoaster. One time I actually forgot my own birthday, was unable to read properly, and started making violent threats against people. I was yanked off of that drug after I had a four-hour emotional breakdown over absolutely nothing (NOTE: that drug is now one of the most commonly prescribed drugs for ADHD. It was given to me after it had just hit the market. Turns out, I'm in the .3% of people who has a bad reaction to it.) Usually, it's not that bad, but I don't know how it's going to change me. I might be moodier. I might be funnier. Flirtier. Sleepier. Dirtier. Sometimes I get headaches. Sometimes I laugh or cry without warning. Sometimes the sight of food makes me want to throw up.

So today was day #1, which happened to coincide with my first day back to classes (something that I had originally intended to avoid by scheduling my appointment mid-break). I snapped at one of my classmates when she was trying to joke with me. I cried hysterically when I was driving home from school (insane, vocalizing kind of crying, as though I'd just been told someone had died). And then I had a spastic laughing fit over NOTHING (luckily, I was home and there were no witnesses). So I guess we're in mood swing territory this time.

I had memory problems. I kept unlocking my locker, only to lock it again without taking anything out. I went on an errand, but left everything I needed at school, and had to go back. That was frustrating.

I've also been incredibly jittery. Not fidgety, but shaky. My teeth have been chattering and my body shaking even though I'm not cold.

And, as I mentioned, I've lost my appetite. I keep trying to convince myself to eat something (as the lack of food is probably part of the reason that I'm shaky), looking at food, and then feeling disgusted by the thought of it and walking away.

This is a symptom that I'm very familiar with. I remember once when I was going back on meds, I couldn't look at food for about 48 hours. At that point, I tried to eat a breadstick, and my body physically would not (could not?) swallow it. It wasn't until I was shaking quite badly and I knew I was about to pass out that I got some Doritos out of a vending machine and started breaking them up into small pieces and swallowing them with water as though they were antibiotics. Another time, I hadn't eaten in about a day and a half, and my mother convinced me to at least have a milkshake from McDonald's so that I'd have some calories in my system. But that load of sugar was such a shock to my system that my heart went into some really scary arrhythmia.

I just convinced myself to have a glass of light chocolate soy milk. It has 19 grams of sugar, so I'll probably have to force down some form of solid food before I go to bed in order to balance things out. No weird heart palpitations so far, though.

I know it probably sounds awful (it isn't a picnic), but I'm willing to go through a few days of unpleasantness. It's worth it. It's like so many other things in life. You have to go through the bad things to get to the good ones. In a couple of days, I'll be back to my old self again; a slightly more functional version of myself, but still me.

The hardest part of this transition is that it's a secret. I've decided not to tell my schoolmates (with the exception of my roommates) that I'm going on meds. Because I don't want there to be an expectation that I'm suddenly going to be easier to handle. Because I don't want my stranger moments to get responses of, "Are you SURE you took your meds today?" (one of the most hurtful comments that a person taking meds can hear). Because it's none of their business. And mostly because I'm not doing it for them; I'm doing it for me.



May you know what it takes to be who you need to be.
May you know whether the pros are outweighing the cons.
May you be willing to deal with the bad to get to the good.
And if you're going to change, may you do it for the right reasons.

~A~



P.S. I have been nominated for 2 (TWO!!!) Bootleg Awards at 20-Something Bloggers. My nominations were for "Most Sincere" and "Most Encouraging/Inspirational". If you are a member of 20-Something Bloggers, don't forget to vote. For me, that is. VOTING HERE

Reflections

So guess what I did...



I got a haircut.

You know how I've been talking about cutting my hair since, oh, the beginning of September? Remember when I got permission from the head of my program and the head of the costume department? Remember how I even had a poll on here a while back to see what my readers thought?

And how I kept pushing it back, questioning it, over-analyzing it, and backing out?

Well, I cut it. Finally.

Not the "Audrey Hepburn Roman Holiday" style that I was originally considering. Not that drastic, no. But if you take into account how much of my life has been spent with long hair, this is still a significant transformation for me. Far more than dying my hair last March.

I needed a change. I needed something different. Maybe to reflect that the person on the inside isn't the same.

More than anything, I think I just needed to stop being afraid.

I got it cut yesterday. My head feels lighter. I think my face and neck look even heavier than they did before. But in general, I think I like it. I still look like me. I just look like a new version of me. Maybe a more serious version. Maybe one who has matured.

Maybe it's just that for the first time in a long time I'm looking in the mirror and having to really take myself in.

Have you ever noticed that after awhile, you stop seeing the people you're around regularly? You look at them, but you don't really see who they are or how they've changed. But if you go a year without seeing them, they look so different.

I think that's how things started to go with me. I stopped seeing myself. My progress. My metamorphosis. The fact that who I am now is not who I was a year ago. The fact that although my hair has been the same length since college, I have not been the same me.

I am not the girl in my headshots. I am not the girl fretting about graduate school. I am not the girl who was so obsessed with completing her mediocre NaNoWriMo novel. I am not the girl who Brian said he was in love with. And I am not the girl who sat by waiting for life to come find her.

I guess in some ways I'm that girl. I will always be her a little. For after all, though I've changed, I am still fundamentally me. But I'm so much more now than I was before.

And when I looked in the mirror this morning, I think I finally saw a change in what was reflecting back at me. Something was different enough that I finally stopped and paid attention.

I don't look like a college girl anymore. I almost look like an adult. I'm not sure how I feel about that yet. I think I'm okay with it.

I don't look the way I want to, but at least I'm not trying to hide that from myself anymore. I'm not looking in the mirror and pretending that I see myself as I once was. I can't hide behind my hair the way I've been doing for the last 2 years.

And you know what? That's fine. Unlike Jo in Little Women, my hair was not my only beauty.

I can be beautiful without it. And I don't need other people to tell me that in order for me to believe it.



So without further ado, I present to you the new me. Not as I want you to think of me, but as I truly am.









(Me, my Aunt, and my Mom. This is the first time we can remember that I've had shorter hair than either of them. 11/29/08)


May you have the guts to see yourself as you are.
And may the person that you are be similar to the person you want to be.


~A~

I Get It

(My roommate and me at an opening for a show. 11/15/08)

I'm doing well.

I've started kicking booty in my acting class in the last couple of weeks. We had an exam on Friday, and I was really proud of the work I did. And my classmates seem to be excited for me and impressed with my progress. I'm stoked.

Some of my classmates meet with our professors for long periods of time to discuss process and technique one-on-one, but that's really not my style. I let them know where I'm at every so often. I'll stay after class for a couple of minutes to tell my Movement Professor that my knee is out of whack. I'll go to Voice class early to ask my professor's advice on things. I email my professors when I come to realizations on my own outside of class. That sort of thing.

After our test, I walked by my Acting Professor's office, and his door was ajar. I knocked. He invited me in, but I didn't need to sit down and talk. All I needed to say was, "I get it." He nodded, smiled approvingly, and in his delightful Russian accent responded with, "Good." And that was all that needed to be said.



I thought that when I got to grad school, I'd magically get skinny. I thought that the weight I'd put on in the previous year and a half would just fall off. But it didn't. Quite the opposite, actually. I've put on 15 pounds since I've started classes.

Jamie once wrote about that number on the scale that makes you think to yourself, "I'm heavier than I'd like, but at least I haven't hit ___." That dreaded number that seems so detrimental and intimidating. Yeah, I passed that number by 3 pounds. And it was upsetting.

I can see it in my face, neck, and midsection. And I'm pretty self-conscious about it.

I thought my Movement class would be more active than it is. But it turns out I was actually getting more exercise when I was in Chicago, walking all over the place and taking 14 flights of stairs up and down twice a day at work, and another 5 flights in my apartment building. Here, I jump rope for 5 minutes 4 days a week, and walk on a treadmill (with no resistance at a low speed -- professor's orders) daily. And that's pretty much it.

I talked with my Movement professor about it, and she said she wants me to keep a food journal, so I've been tracking everything I eat all week. And I eat a TON. I'm so busy here that I've begun mentally associating "food" with "break time". Not good. And it's mostly healthy stuff, but it's just too much.

My professor also wants me to eat my biggest meal at breakfast, and my smallest meal at dinner. And she wants me to stop eating after 7pm (she originally said 6pm, but I pointed out that I often don't get home from school until after 6). This has been virtually impossible for me because of how long my days are. There was literally a day this week where I got to school at 8am, left for about 45 minutes for dinner, and then was back at school until 12:15am. So I basically went from 6:45pm to 12:30am without eating, and then got home and felt ravenous. I just can't do it.



Speaking of food, I hit the year mark for being a vegetarian, and have now been adding meat back into my diet (which I know disappoints Jessica and Heidi). And I'm so glad I did. For one thing, meat is way more delicious now than it has EVER been before. Also, I'm hoping that this might help me lose some weight, as I can get protein from meat instead of peanut butter and cheese like I've been doing for the last year. We'll see.

To be honest, I don't think I'm ever going to eat as much meat as I used to. As frustrating as being a vegetarian has been, I've discovered that it's POSSIBLE. I can do it and be relatively healthy. And I'm sure there will be days now when I don't eat meat and don't even realize it. I'm just glad that it doesn't have to be every day.

I'm really proud of myself for doing it for a year. Last November, I was in the middle of doing both NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo. And when I finished, I felt an enormous sense of pride because I'd stuck to my goals for a month. But now I've stuck to something that was really hard for me for a full year. I have more will power than I thought I did.



Anyway. I'm growing as a person. And while many days feel like battles, I'm finding myself, one piece at a time.


May you get it.

~A~

Questions Written on My Face

I've spent half of April 29 wondering if something crazy would happen. And I'm spending the other half trying to prevent anything interesting from happening at all.

I had plans. I was supposed to go to a write-in to work on my novel. And I decided I couldn't. I wanted to lock myself in my shoebox-sized apartment and block out the world for a bit. I even considered turning off my cell phone (but decided I shouldn't render myself unreachable, in case the craziness of April 29 manifested itself in some sort of emergency situation... but even just considering it was a big deal). I just want this special day to not be special anymore. I want it to be like any other day.

Instead, I decided to stay in and write a blog post. On a Tuesday. Because I have something to say. Some thoughts that I have to drain from my skull before they flatten my brain like a pancake.

In the comments section of my last post, my buddy Nilsa said:

I think you should start posting "real life" pictures of yourself (i.e., post-storm) instead of continuous dolled-up ones. We already know you're gorgeous! :-)

This seemingly innocuous comment got my wheels turning in a major way.

I post the pictures that I do because I'm interested in photography. I really like taking photographs of people, but most people I know don't seem to like getting their picture taken. And besides, my camera isn't particularly great. So I improvise. I take pictures of myself. Using my laptop, as I don't have to hold it as I would a camera. I'm both the amateur photographer and the model. It helps me practice. I'm learning about lighting and angles, and even a little bit about editing (although very, very little... any editing I do is in iPhoto, which doesn't have a ton of functions).

Or, at least, that's what I tell myself.

The reason I didn't post a picture of me post-storm was because I didn't have a camera on me then. If I had one at the time, I'm sure a picture would've been taken. And who knows, maybe it would've been posted. It would, after all, have illustrated the story rather nicely.

And I have put a lot of candid pictures on here. Even a few in which I don't think I look particularly attractive.

But maybe not.

I take so many pictures. So, so, so many. And most of them get deleted before anyone other than me sees them. Any picture you ever see of me that I took? It has gone through a strenuous approval process. I have hemmed and hawed over whether it's good enough. I've hit delete on so many pictures. Ones that are blurry. Ones with bad lighting. Ones where I don't look like myself. Ones with bad angles that make me look like I have a double chin (my greatest fear).

I paced around my apartment trying to figure out why that is until I found an answer that is, at least in part, true.

Sometimes I'm afraid that people will see me the way I see myself.

*her vulnerability clicks into place*

It's true. You know how people say you can be whomever you want to be? Sometimes I wonder if I'm only pretending. I like the idea of being the quirky, light-hearted, smiley girl. But am I embracing who I am? Or am I pretending to be something I'm not and taking on this persona as some sort of facade? Maybe my entire being is a lie. Maybe I don't want people to see that I'm really just normal. And boring. And not special in the least.

I see the bad things about myself before I see the good things. I see how thirsty my dry skin is, and how badly it breaks out and taunts me when I over-moisturize it. I see the disorder in my eyebrows. I see the gaps reforming between my teeth because I stopped wearing my retainers once a month like the orthodontist said I should. I see my loathsome neck and the double-chin effect that it has been producing for the last 10 months in photographs and mirrors alike. I see my pathetic, bony wrists. I see the features that seem too big for my face. I scrutinize every detail. I'm sure I've worked myself up over problems with parts of my face and body that other people wouldn't look at twice. But then, why would they? These things are my burden, not theirs.

There are days when I think I'm attractive. And there are days when I don't. You may have noticed that two of the posts I put up recently had photos that were clearly taken on the same day. I stockpile them sometimes. Whenever I have a day when I feel cute, I take a bunch of pictures. Because I know there will be days when I don't feel cute. And I want to have those pictures. They make me feel like maybe I was once. And maybe I could be again.

God, that makes me sound so... fake. And manufactured. Maybe I am to some extent. Maybe I only allow people to see the parts of me that I approve first. Maybe I need that level of control.

You know what, fine. Here.



This is what I look like right now, at this very moment. I'm lying down, typing, with all the lights off. I'm wearing a truly hideous nightgown and am not wearing a stitch of makeup. And the sunset in the background is far more interesting than I am.

When I look in the mirror, I see me. I see all the flaws that come with me. And not just physically. I see the tenacity. I see the fear. The loneliness. The indecision. The manipulation. All of it.

Sometimes I have conversations with myself in the mirror. I will literally ask myself questions and answer them. All aloud. And sometimes I surprise myself with the answers. Sometimes I say things that I didn't know were underneath the surface until I say them.

(Note: I just started typing out one of these conversations, and then realized just how inexcusably dumb it sounds.)

There's a line from the movie The Truth about Cats and Dogs that Uma Thurman's character delivers... "Did you ever look in the mirror so long that your face didn't make sense anymore? It just becomes all these shapes. Just shapes. Not good or bad."

I do that. My face has lost a lot of meaning to me. I look at the pieces instead of at the whole. Sometimes I stare at my reflection until I'm near tears. And what's really horrifying and embarrassing about it is that I don't know why. Maybe it's just to see if I still can.

Do other people do this? Is there something wrong with me? Shouldn't I have grown out of this by now?

But I haven't. I have flaws. I have fears. I have insecurities. I have more boundaries and barriers than international travel. I can try to work through them as much as I like, but they'll never be completely gone. They're a part of me... Take it or leave it.

So you know what, while I'm in this vulnerable, uncovered sort of mood, I'm opening it up. I'm blatantly ripping off an idea from my blogging buddy Tipp (hope you don't mind).

Leave a question for me in the comments.

Please.

And, barring anything that might make it possible for an online stalker to track me down or a person I know in real life to find me via Google, I'll answer it. Honestly. Openly. Vulnerably. Longiloquently. And to the best of my ability.

Seriously. Anything. Even if it's something stupid. It'll give me something to think about other than the thoughts that are currently rolling around in my head. And that would be a welcome distraction. And it'll remind me that someone, somewhere, wonders what I look like on the inside.

ETA: Hey, lurkers! Come out, come out, whomever you are!

I hope it'll be a learning experience for all of us.


May you step back from the mirror and try to see yourself another way.

~A~


P.S. Please don't go paying me obligatory compliments and trying to build up my self-esteem or something. I wasn't fishing for niceties with this. And frankly, knowing that you've read what I've just written, it would be hard for me to believe them anyway.

P.P.S. Maybe that's what was supposed to happen today. Maybe that was my fluke. Having a weird psychoanalysis in my apartment alone, with no outside stimulus. Happy April 29 to me.

P.P.P.S. I'm sorry, Bri.

Picture Perfect

I've been thinking a lot lately about the value of on-camera training as an actor. I focus so much on the theatre aspect of things (I'm from the Midwest... it's what we do) instead of considering film and television. I've never been much of a film person until recently. Especially now that I have Netflix (genius!).

If the graduate program I choose is one that doesn't include it, I think I'll have to seek out that training on my own. I think I'm also going to look into training for voice-overs. And possibly acrobatics and aerial dance (not so much because I think I'll need it... more because it's SWEET!).

I've been told I have a good face for stage (big features, I guess), but I don't know if it's the same for film. I mean, I guess it works for Angelina Jolie...

Also, I'm too fat for Hollywood. Not that I think I'm fat... I just think that they're all unrealistically skinny. I'd be a six-to-eight in a world of zeroes. (Weird to note: I was a zero-to-two a mere year and a half ago... And people were concerned that I might have an eating disorder. For the record, I didn't. I just had much higher metabolism at the time.)

And they're all so pretty in Hollywood. So perfect. When's the last time you saw a lead actress in the movie that couldn't be described as either "beautiful", "hot", "cute", or "striking"? I wish the way I looked made more of an impression on people. The managers at my old apartment building could never remember me (although they always recognized my roommates), and it became sort of a joke between us how I was so unrecognizable (I suppose they really meant "generic" or "forgettable"). And I'm always being told, "you look so much like a friend of mine." I'm always being compared to other people. I guess I just have one of those sorts of faces. I wish I looked more... distinctive, I guess. I would love to be "striking". Like Donna Murphy. Or Uma Thurman.

But anyway. I often extol the virtues of the theatre, fighting on behalf of this art form for which I have such deep passion. I often overlook the other ways I could reach people through acting. If I'm serious about wanting to use acting as my way of changing the world, I think I should really explore all the paths through which I could accomplish that. I shouldn't limit myself to just one medium.

So who knows. Maybe one day, you'll see me in pictures.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My friend Amanda and I went to the AMC Best Picture nominee marathon yesterday. It started at 11am and finished at 11pm, showing the five films nominated for the most coveted Oscar. Are we crazy? Quite possibly. (We actually both saw Juno ahead of time -- I saw it Friday night, making it the first time I've ever gone to the movie theater alone -- so that we could take a two hour dinner break).

Here are my thoughts:


Michael Clayton
Generally good. I personally feel that George Clooney is overrated as an actor, but he was fine here (I just wish there hadn't been so many close up shots of his face). Tilda Swinton is truly excellent, and I hope she pulls an upset. Tom Wilkinson is also nominated, as a man losing his mind, and he's fantastic as well (and I'd love to see him beat out Javier Bardem, but I'll get to that later). The editing and storytelling are good. But I failed to pick up on the importance of one seemingly innocuous detail -- a sketch in the margin of a book as it's being leafed through -- and Amanda had to remind me of it when the movie was over (I don't remember the sketch at all... and the movie makes a ton more sense as a result. My parents had seen the movie, and they didn't remember it either. Maybe it just wasn't highlighted well enough). The music was good. It was at times suspenseful. I'd see it again, if only for the sake of clarification.

There Will Be Blood
Yes, there is pay-off for the title. By the end of the movie, there is indeed blood. Daniel Day Lewis shows off a truly grand performance in the corruption and decline of an oil man. Paul Dano isn't really on equal footing with him, but he's pretty good. The movie is far too long (three hours, I believe) and the director (Paul T. Anderson) was clearly over-indulgent with his shots. The score was creepy and well done (although it was deemed not eligible for an Oscar nomination). All in all, a good film. But I wouldn't see it again... Spending three hours of my life with this flick was enough; six would be too many. (By the way, the "I drink your milkshake" line is better in context. And actually really sort of terrifying.)

Atonement
EASILY my favorite. This movie is so good. I thought it was going to be some sappy chick flick, but it's not. The movie is about a character who observes the love story, as opposed to being about the love story itself (and who would've thought I'd love a movie that so prominently featured the C-word?) The acting is excellent (how did James McAvoy not get a nomination? He's stupendous in this), and I now understand why Saoirse Ryan was nominated (although I don't think she should win, based on the other nominees in her category). The sound editing/sound mixing/score = superb (sounds in the scenes play into the score in a way that I don't think I've ever experienced in a movie before, with sensational results -- How was it not nominated for Sound Mixing or Sound Editing?). The cinematography is incredible (including an extraordinary 5.5 minute tracking shot through a beach at Dunkirk. The whole movie is gorgeous). The editing and storytelling are phenomenal (you see several scenes from more than one point of view, and it unfolds nicely), and there are a couple of scenes where it felt like a "classic" film. And it's at times suspenseful, causing me to lean forward while literally sitting on the edge of my seat. The costumes are exquisite (including the breath-taking green dress that everyone seems to be talking about). This is the best movie I've seen in a long time. As soon as it ended, I wanted to immediately watch it again. Phenomenal. Go see it.

Juno
A delightful little film, although certainly not one that makes you think "Oscar". Ellen Page is wonderful in it. The writing is extremely stylized and over-the-top, but once you become acclimated to it, it's fun (if you're willing to suspend your disbelief). Michael Cera is the same character he always plays, but he's well-cast, so it didn't bother me (I haven't seen any range in him as an actor, but he's so charmingly dorky that I can't help but adore him). Allison Janney and Jason Bateman are both great, and I also enjoyed Olivia Thirlby's performance as Juno's best friend Leah. I walked out of the theatre with a strange mix of emotions that I couldn't reconcile. I felt simultaneously lonely, detached from humanity, and maternal. I had a bizarre urge to have a child, but let someone else raise it. I'd see it again. (My favorite line: "Have a condom. They're boysenberry. My boyfriend uses them every time we have intercourse. They make his junk smell like pie.")

No Country for Old Men
HATED it. One of the most boring movies that I have EVER seen. Horrible. Javier Bardem won a Golden Globe for his role as a remorseless killer, but he was just okay. The most interesting thing about the movie is a character that's only in about half the movie (I won't ruin it for you in case you decide to go against my advice and see it anyway). It was incredibly slow-moving. Woody Harrelson wastes what could've been one of the interesting roles in the movie. The ending is completely bland and unsatisfying. There was nothing redeeming about this movie. Nothing. It was terrible. There's a fair amount of gore and guns, which I guess is why certain male friends of mine seemed to like it. I can't figure it out. At the end of the movie, I felt gypped. I think that any and all Oscar nominations for this film are wholly unsubstantiated, and will be greatly angered if it wins... anything. And it's rumored to be a front-runner in several races (God only knows why).

I just got Away from Her via Netflix, so I intend to watch that today (as I've heard that Julie Christie is a front-runner in her category).

My only other Oscar comment? I'm rooting for "Falling Slowly" from Once to win for Best Song. You may have noticed it was on my playlist for awhile (and will be again, I'm sure). It's a gorgeous song that is truly integral to the plot. To be fair, I don't know any of the other nominated songs... But "Falling Slowly" needs to win. It's just... lovely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My life feels complicated.
Not that such a thing is unusual.
I feel like I'm telling the same stories to people over and over again.
I'm looking for some answer that isn't there.
Some obvious explanation as to how to solve my problems.
A way to make everything into the way I'd like it to be instead of the way it is.

I keep reflecting on things that have happened.
I've replayed events in my mind so much that I can't recall their original order anymore.
I've wondered if I made the right decisions.
I hope that I'm not steering life in the wrong direction.
(And after seeing Atonement, I'm now keenly aware of how misunderstandings and missteps can alter the course of life.)

I hope that I somehow end up away from this.
That years from now, I'll live a life without confusion.
And without regret.

I hope that I'll lose this aching pain of loneliness.
I hope I'll know who I am and what I want.
I hope I'll find a way to explain myself to others without resorting to typing.
I hope to have things to do and people to see.
I hope to find a base of friends that I can trust.
I hope I'll be intellectually stimulated on a regular basis.
I hope that I'll pair off with someone who fits me perfectly, as though it were meant to be.


May the future you picture be one you hope to live in.

~A~


P.S. You may have noticed that my playlist is sort of... missing. Replaced by one song: "Desperately" by Michelle Branch. Perhaps you should listen to it and then help me figure out why it's been hitting me so hard lately. I don't know how accurately it reflects my state of being, but it's tugged on my spirit when I've listened to it in recent days. (Don't worry... the playlist will return to its regularly scheduled programming at some point.)