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~

Unquestionably Quirky

(An awkward candid shot of me mid-conversation at the opening of The Winter's Tale. 01/23/09)

I'm quirky on film.

That's the lesson that I've learned in my On Camera workshop this week.

On stage, I've played characters all over the place. I've been women and men. Young and old. Strong and weak. Stable and unstable. Sane and insane.

But on film? As soon as you see my face, you know that I'm the slightly weird sidekick. Even at my most serious, people are ready to laugh at me. I have something on film that I haven't yet found on stage: a type.

I guess that's good to know. I'll happily take my place in a little club with Alanna Ubach, Linda Cardellini, Ginnifer Goodwin, Heather Burns, Judy Greer, Kathryn Hahn, and several other actresses that make people ask, "What else was that girl in? She looks familiar..."

My schoolmates immediately commented following seeing my scenes. "There's something about you that is so very castable." "You're so natural on film." "If I were making a movie, I would find a part for you. I would WRITE a part for you."

And then it led to conversations like this one...

Me: It's funny how much quirkier I read on film than I do on stage.
Girl: You're right. On stage, you're so flexible. It's striking how quirky you are on film. One look, and you just know.
Me: Yeah. So much quirkier than I am in real life.
Girl: *silence*
Me: Um, at least, I think I'm quirkier on film than I am in life.
Girl: Uh... Well, yeah...
Me: Oh. *pause* Maybe I'm wrong.
Girl: Um.
Me: Seriously? Am I really THAT WEIRD in life???
Girl: *silence*

It was more than a little uncomfortable.

I've chanted mantras to myself about how I am the Leading Lady in my own life. I remind myself that I am the protagonist in my own story. I made the decision that I will not live as the supporting role in someone else's life. So the moment of realization that no one else sees me as a leading lady was less than pleasant.

Maybe I need to change my look. Maybe I need to look like one of the girls I call "Florida Blondes". The ones who bleach and tease their hair, and go to bars wearing unnaturally frosted pink lipstick, twenty coats of thick black mascara, and next to nothing on their tan-line-lacking bodies. Or maybe I should slick back my hair, wear grey skirted suits, and sensible black pumps. Maybe I should curl my hair into perfect ringlets, apply baby doll blush, and prance around in sundresses. Maybe with a change of costume, I could somehow end up playing a different role...

Why? Because being the quirky sidekick on film may be a good thing, but being that girl in life is a problem.

I'm Ursula in Bye, Bye Birdie. I'm Brunella in Animal House. I'm Cathy in Win a Date with Tad Hamilton. I'm the female equivalent to Duckie in Pretty in Pink. I'm the girl who exists on the periphery. I'm the girl whose storyline doesn't get a resolution. I'm the girl who could be left on the cutting room floor without the plot needing a major overhaul. I'm expendable.

Maybe that's why guys only want me sometimes. I'm the consolation prize. I'm the temporary solution. I'm the back-up plan. My type is not the Ingenue, the Lover, or the Leading Lady. When all the cards are dealt, I'm left with the Fool.

And that sucks.


May you not get typecast in life.

~A~

The Engineer

(Me and Two-Shots-Up at karaoke, 11/23/08)

I haven't been posting on a regular basis. And I will continue that trend, just so you know. They keep us hopping, and my free-time is sporadic. Not to mention all the guilt I feel whenever I'm working on ANYTHING that isn't centered around making myself a better actor. Blogging seems like a distraction from my REAL purpose (my other blog seems more in the correct vein, hence why I'm better at keeping up with that).

The only truly consistent thing about my schedule down here is that I get Mondays off. So naturally, Sunday night is party night.

Y2K led the initial movement to hit karaoke up on a Sunday, and people followed. But now, it's become even more important to Two-Shots-Up and me than it is to him. We go every week. And we love it.

We dance like maniacs. Seriously. MANIACS. And we've done our "Viewpoints" movement homework on the dancefloor more than once. In fact, now it's part of what we do there, regardless of whether it's required for class. We think it's funny.

I usually sing a song or two, and I'll do a duet with Two-Shots-Up, because she's not confident enough to hit the mic on her own.

A couple of weeks ago, Two-Shots-Up and I were the only people from our group in attendance. We made fools of ourselves, and we met a lot of interesting people in the process. Like the guy who says he's a band with two former members of The Allman Brothers, and the former drummer from Bad Company. And a creepy drunk guy who asked for my number, and when I said I didn't give it out ("for safety reasons"), responded with, "What? I'm not dangerous!"

We also met a nice guy wearing a Bayside Tigers shirt (a clear sign that he was friend-able). He's an engineering student, and the drummer in a not-yet-named band (I remind you all that I have a thing for drummers). He seemed cool, and it was right around the time that 2SU and I were looking to find friends outside the program, so we both got his number and said our friends and his friends should hang out sometime.

He's been text messaging me ever since. But it was hard to think too far into that, as he was CALLING 2SU. One day she came into class and said they'd talked for an hour the night before.

And where did that take my mind?

Shockingly, not to the bad place. I never crossed into the land of, "He wants her and not me. Just another guy picking another girl over me. What's wrong with me?"

No. Perhaps my self-esteem level is improving, because where I HONESTLY went was, "Oooh! I hope they date, and then we can hang out with his friends! I bet he has cool friends, and then I'll know people outside the program! Wouldn't that be awesome?"

Last week, The Engineer was in L.A. (which happens to be the home of 2SU, giving them even more to talk about), so he missed karaoke.

We had several people from our group there. And at one point, Y2K tried to confess his feelings for me. OVER THE MICROPHONE. He started a song that had a "let's get together" vibe by saying, "Angela? Let's cut through the s***..." He walked off the stage platform and over to me on the dancefloor (cut to me, looking terrified), and then said, "And, um, you too, [Two-Shots-Up]." Crisis narrowly averted.

Later in the evening, 2SU and I sort of hinted that we were a couple in front of Y2K... Which we're not. And it seems cruel in retrospect. But in that moment, I felt like it had to be done. I didn't want to have to hurt him by turning him down. It seemed like a better choice to convince him not to take the risk.

As a side note, it's really too bad that neither 2SU nor I are interested in women. Because we would make such a great couple. And I'm pretty sure it'd be hot. We have a lot of chemistry (which is probably why we keep getting paired together in exercises with vaguely lesbian undertones in Acting class).

(Tangent: There's a part of me that always worries that being straight makes me sexist. Like I'm making a statement that men are better than women somehow... But then if I say that being straight is a sexist choice, then I'd have to say that being gay is as well... And since I don't believe that being gay is a choice, then I guess I have to admit that I was probably just born this way.)

Anyway.

A few days ago, I got a text from The Engineer:

"I really want to take you out sometime, if you have time! :)"

Wait, wait, wait... Is that... a date?

I thought he wanted 2SU. I was pretty certain of it, actually. Which made me unsure as to whether I should bring it up to her. On the one hand, I wanted to know if he was trying to hook both of us. On the other, I didn't want to rub her face in it if she wanted him...

I decided it would work itself out.

Last night we went back to karaoke. Me, 2SU, Y2K, and a handful of others. I sang "Whatta Man" by En Vogue & Salt n' Pepa. (note: the words are NOT on the right beat for that song... you have to ignore when they come on the screen). I sang "Killing Me Softly" by The Fugees (with a friend doing all the "one time/two times" bits). 2SU and I did "Love Is Strange" by Mickey & Sylvia (from Dirty Dancing).

The Engineer showed up. He bought me a cherry coke. And he made it quite clear that he wasn't chasing after 2SU. He wanted me.

After all of us did a rousing rendition of "The Y.M.C.A.", the bar closed and we were shoved out into the parking lot, where we hung around discussing constellations.

He asked if he could walk me to my car, which was all of about 20 feet away. I let him. He kissed me. I stopped him. I felt weird about it happening with Y2K right there. Not that I had been hiding the fact that I was flirting with The Engineer all night... But making out with him in front of Y2K in a parking lot just seemed wrong. Mean, in fact.

We discussed going out for coffee, but then admitted that neither of us drinks coffee. We said in unison that we normally get hot chocolate. But then he said that he's trying to cut carbs and sugar out of his diet, which is EXACTLY what my Movement Professor told me I should be doing. We laughed. And then he proposed taking me out for water sometime.

His schedule is as chaotic as mine (he has work, school, and band practice), so we haven't figured out a time that we can meet... And I'm going to see my family in Connecticut for Thanksgiving, which cuts out a chunk of time. But I know we'll be seeing each other again at some point. And I'm a little excited about it.


May you find someone to drink water with.

~A~

Chameleon

As I prepared you for in my last post, I've again started dealing with a facet of myself that I don't particularly care for.

I'm a chameleon.

I adapt easily. I am fully willing to change.

Doesn't immediately sound like a bad thing, does it?

But it is.

It comes out in relationships. I have a tendency to mold myself into whatever it is I think the other person wants. And, as a result, I sometimes lose sight of who I am and what it is that I want.

I do whatever the other person wants to do. I watch movies that I have no interest in watching. I listen to music that I would never listen to otherwise. Hell, I watched Monday Night RAW (yeah, that's right... professional wrestling) sitting on a couch next to my then-boyfriend for about a year.

And I liked it.

Or I thought I did. At the time.

I even had a favorite character (Edge). And favorite moves. And I knew all the back-stories of all the wrestlers (both the performers AND their characters).

But I don't know if I ever actually liked it. I don't think that I ever really enjoyed listening to U2, watching Mr. Show, or suffering through The Fast and the Furious with my exes. What I was actually deriving pleasure from was making them happy. Seeing how excited they were that they had finally found someone with whom they could share this thing that they loved? That was the real magic.

Maybe it has something to do with me being an actor. Maybe I crave the opportunity to play these roles. Maybe I just have low self-esteem. Or maybe I think that it's impossible to find someone who I'll actually have things in common with, so I find ways to synthesize that.

When I recently discussed this with a coworker, he said that all relationships are like that. That there's a level of give and take. A balance. And that you each spend time giving the things that the other person likes a chance.

Unfortunately, my male counterparts are usually not as eager to contort to my favorite things as I am to them.

Brian was different, to some extent. We had aligned tastes in music from the get-go. We were excited to learn new music from each other. To look at it honestly, I think I was probably more excited to hear his music than he was to hear mine. And I shared mine with him more frequently than he sent any back... But still, it was a start.

And here I am, watching his collection of Battlestar Galactica, trudging through episodes I don't like, while he holds my copies of Arrested Development and The Office somewhere in the desert. We share these things even now, after all that's happened... We're learning to like things that the other person liked first.

It's more out of friendship now, I guess. I hope. I think I'm watching this show at a friend's recommendation. It's not because I'm semi-consciously trying to be the perfect girl for him.

Yet, I can't help but wonder... Am I watching because I like it, or because on some level I think it'll make Brian happy if I like it?

The honest answer is that I don't know.

And that scares me.

Here's another weird thing... Brian got me interested in the music of Kara DioGuardi and her band, Platinum Weird. And I know, I KNOW, that I genuinely like that music. But I haven't been able to listen to it since I left Nebraska. I skip over it as soon as it comes on my iTunes.

So how come this thing that I actually enjoy is something that I'm now removing from my life, and this other thing that I only like sometimes doesn't bother me at all? What's the difference?

Maybe it's because I listened to Kara's music WHILE I was with Brian, whereas BSG only really entered my life when I was in Nebraska. Maybe, somehow, BSG doesn't remind me of him as much?

The girl sighs.

Why can't I tell the difference between things I like and the things I try to like because other people do? Is it just because I'm good at convincing myself of things?

I don't always know who I am or what I want. I've always been willing to sit through things I didn't like if my friends did. Heck, the thing that got me on stage back in 6th grade was my best friend auditioning for the musical. I thought I should do it, too. The whole reason I'm on the career path that I'm on was because I was pretending to like something that someone else liked, and it just sort of stuck.

In the movie Runaway Bride (I've never seen it in its entirety and I'm splicing together fragments here, so please forgive inaccuracies), the main character is like me, but in an extreme form. She molds herself so closely to the desires of whatever man she's with that she never really knows who she is or what she wants. She doesn't even know how she likes her eggs, because she's so used to eating them however the current male in her life does.

That's how I feel sometimes. I question whether I like eggs at all. (Metaphorically speaking, that is.)

There's another problem I can spot from this behavioral pattern. One that might be worse...

I have this semi-conscious desire to be the "cool girlfriend". So I put up with a lot. I convince myself that I'm not bothered by things that should, by all means, bother me. Like the time that my long-distance boyfriend didn't return my calls for three weeks straight, and I said, "That's okay. I know you've been really busy lately." Or the times that I've let a relationship go undefined for too long because I didn't want to pressure the guy into submitting to a label, and then felt used when it turned out we hadn't been in the same place mentally. Or how I kept dating a guy after he didn't return my phone calls on our 2nd anniversary.

Why? Because I was trying to be the kind of girlfriend I thought I should be. The kind I wish I were. Completely laid back, low-maintenance, and cool. I pretend to be that girl a lot. I feel like I SHOULD be that girl. I want to be her. And so I act like I'm more okay with things than I am. I try to convince myself that things are fine, when clearly I don't actually feel that way. I ignore my instincts a great deal because I feel like I'm being the whiny shrew in the relationship if I don't, and that's not what I want to be.

I don't know why I do it. Maybe it's because I have low self-esteem. On some level, maybe I feel like no one will ever love me as I am. So I try to be something that they will love. I try to do all the things I think they'll want me to do.

Also, I never fall first. I only go after guys that I already know are interested in me. Low-hanging fruit, I suppose (please forgive the corporate buzzword). I guess I'm so shocked by the idea that anyone could want me that I WANT to want them back. And we already know that I'm good at talking myself into things. Add this to the list.

How horrible is that? Maybe every feeling I've ever had has been one I convinced myself to have.

I can't keep doing this stuff. I can't. I deserve better than to settle for someone just because they want me. I shouldn't have to put my needs on hold in order to be the cool, low-maintenance girlfriend. I shouldn't have to be the only one trying to adapt. And I definitely shouldn't pretend to be someone I'm not.

But I'm not sure that I know how to stop.



May you be happy being you.

~A~


P.S. I'm watching Sister Terry twice this weekend in TnT. Woo-hoo!

P.P.S. Renee and Jenn are coming to see TnT tomorrow night, and I'm super excited!

P.P.P.S. I'm also going out with a bar to meet up with a thousand bloggers tomorrow night, and then on a cupcake crawl on Saturday. Best weekend ever? Quite possibly. :)

Getting Through It

I've been sending myself emails all week of things that I want to write, but I'm not really sure how to write. Instead of trying to weave it together to create something cohesive and interesting, I'm just going to put several of my random thoughts here.

- Thank you to everyone who commented on my last post. I can't tell you how much your support has helped me get through the past week. I guess break ups are a pretty universal subject. Previously, the most comments I'd gotten on a blog post was 24. And at last count, that post was at 40. You guys are great. I love my friends/readers/dotcomrades!

- I decided not to cry anymore. I'm going to be okay.

- When I push you, it's not because I want you to fall; it's because I want you to push back.
(This one was almost the subject of a post on its own.)

- Everything happens for a reason. Like losing my cell phone in Omaha, for example. When I was at the airport, I looked at all the old text messages I'd saved from Brian. I tried to convince myself to delete them, but I couldn't. Now I don't have to. I don't have to delete the special Platinum Weird ring-tone I had for him, having Kara DioGuardi reminding me to consider "taking chances" whenever he calls (if he ever calls again). I don't have to take him off speed-dial (which I wouldn't have done). Everything was done for me. It's probably all for the best.

- I have entered into the sort of facebook relationship I thought I'd never be in. The kind that used to make me roll my eyes. I am now "in an open relationship" with a girl. My non-sexual soulmate Megan, to be precise. And it's far more comforting than I had anticipated.

- I started reading He's Just Not That into You on the L, and it's actually really helping. Very comforting. Makes me think that Brian was never as interested in me as he claimed to be or thought he was. Makes it seem like I've done nothing wrong, and that someone out there WILL be that into me someday. Rather than being depressing, it actually gives me hope.

- It's really hard to argue with someone who won't argue back. And sometimes, you just really need to argue.

- I ordered two "somethings" from The Something Store a couple of weeks ago. One for me, and one for Brian. He texted me yesterday that he got cuff-links. I got a USB hub, which is about as useful to me as cuff-links would have been. But the "what could it be?" anticipation was worth the money.

- My iTunes keeps playing "Don't Cry out Loud" by Melissa Manchester. Over and over again. What are you trying to tell me, iTunes?

- Took my computer in to The Apple Store because the sound stopped working right while I was in Nebraska. They say I need a new logic board, and that they'd have to confiscate my computer for 5 days. I'm not sure I could survive without my computer for 5 days. My MacBook is like an extension of my body. It even comes to work with me most days, in case I want to work on my novel at lunch. I wouldn't be able to blog, work on my novel, surf the net, watch DVDs, watch television... for 5 whole days? I would surely die. So I'm keeping computer at the moment and hoping that the logic board doesn't just up and self-destruct on me. Because I think I'd have an emotional breakdown if it did. And I've had way too many of those lately.

- After my last two break ups, men started coming out of the woodwork. Ex #2 showed up a couple of days after Ex #1. Brian asked me out the night Ex #2 broke up with me. (Wait, does Brian count as Ex #3?) No men have come out of the woodwork yet this time. Part of me wishes they would, because having juice always gives my self-esteem a temporary boost. And another part of me just wants to swear off men entirely.

- I just realized I probably won't have any romantic male presence in my life until, like, 2011. No point in getting into a relationship in Chicago when I'm leaving so soon (and clearly long distance doesn't work in my world). And once I get to grad school, I know I won't date anyone. Dating a classmate is a horrible idea in a program that small, and I have no desire to date a townie. I guess I'll just remain locked in my celibacy cellar for the next few years.

- Brian did read my last post, despite my warning. And he's upset. I sent him a text to tell him that I'm okay. He wrote back that after reading my blog, he's not. *sigh* I didn't mean to hurt him. I care about him too much to want to hurt him. And I hate that he's upset.

- On the other hand, why is HE upset? Isn't that my job? And why am I suddenly being so mature and cool with everything?

- How can you transition into being friends with someone you were in a non-relationship with? Where is the line between long-distance metaphysical relationship and long-distance friendship? Is it just that during phone calls you don't say what you're wearing and stop mentioning how much you want to hold the other person? If he thought we were never more than friends anyway, this transition shouldn't be too hard, right? So why doesn't he want to talk to me?



And on to our regularly scheduled story-time...

I've been relatively useless at work, but my boss is being really cool about it. I think she understands that I'm not quite in my right mind at the moment. I'll just have to work doubly hard next week to make up for my sluggishness this week.

I went out after work with a bunch of coworkers on Friday, which is something we haven't done since January 2007. And they convinced me to drink. A lot. People just kept handing me beers, and I kept chugging them. I remember beer #7, and I know I kept going after that, but I can't remember how many I ended up having. I remember wanting to text Brian, and them taking away my phone more than once. After that event, I called my friend Ian, thinking it was probably a better idea to call him than Brian. I'm sure most of what I said was completely incoherent... oh well. Ian dealt with it.

For the record, before Friday, I don't think I'd had any alcohol at all since... that night when I put on the blonde wig, drank Midori out of a plastic bowl, and made people music videos on Facebook. I think that was... middle of January. Yeah.

Last night, I had a performance of TnT. I didn't feel up to playing the "Carmella" role that I have created and loved (high energy, low intelligence, cheerful, loves to dance, obsessed with reality television and thinks global warming is a good idea). And as a waiter, I'm pretty free to switch up my character if I wish. So I started a new character based off of some playful conversations I had with Brian using a sort of "black-cent" (her name is "Hot Cocoa", she's from Indiana but thinks she's ghetto, weddings depress her because they remind her that she's single). One of the other Black Staff (Dan, who played Vito) worked out a story line with me (Vito and Hot Cocoa used to date, but he was flirting with too many other women, so she left him) that made the evening particularly amusing.

After the show, I hit up the usual bar with the cast. My friend Dave came out and joined us. I met Dave doing a show a year ago, and he was vitally instrumental to me in getting through my break up with Ex #1. And all the times I've ever spent with him are marked by a common theme: Dave giving me alcohol and getting me very, very drunk. Dave, Dan, Lauren (the SM), and I stuck together for most of the night, and headed to another bar at one point. I don't remember too much, aside from Lauren confiscating my phone from me for the majority of the excursion. Probably for the best. I wish I could remember how much I drank... I'm pretty sure that at least 4 vodka cranberries and a couple of random shots were included.

I had a text conversation with Ex #1 last night while we were both drunk. It's actually the most I've felt like his friend since we broke up. For some reason I told him about Brian via text... because I had been drinking and didn't realize that it probably wasn't a great thing to bring up... But he was cool about it. Said he hadn't heard, and that he was sorry things didn't work out. How weird is it that things ending with Brian may have brought me closer to Ex #1? Didn't see that coming.

I'm going out to lunch in a minute with my friend Daniel. I'm going out later tonight with Cleric. I'm pretty sure I'm meeting up with someone else tomorrow night, but at the moment I'm not even sure who it is (sorry!!! If it's you, please remind me!!! Drinking is frying my memory). And I'm meeting my friend Beka on Tuesday...

Probably best to keep busy. It's a good distraction.

I'm sure there are like 30 more things I want to say, but this is probably good for now.


May you find ways to get through the bad days.

~A~


P.S. Jenn made a lovely little diagram to illustrate how she was dealing with her break up. I made one too. It's not funny like hers. But I made one. I can't make it bigger than this for some reason, but if you click on it you'll see a large version.

Omaha

It’s not complicated anymore.

On Facebook, that is. In life, sure. My life is always complicated. But my relationship status no longer is.

I flew out to visit Brian on Thursday, and found him sick and miserable. Not the same Brian. A little slower and sleepier. And perhaps a bit more negative than normal.

I packed mostly sundresses, as I know Brian loves me in them.

We didn’t get out much over the weekend due to his illness. We didn’t fly kites. We didn’t go on the giant slides he told me about. We never made it to the zoo. He never cooked me dinner. The virus sort of threw a wrench in everything. He just seemed miserable.

But then, I was miserable, too. For other reasons.

On Friday, I made a comment regarding the state of our metaphysical relationship. And it became clear rather quickly that Brian and I had different ideas about what we were and where we were headed.

I thought we were, in some sense, dating. He did not.

He pulled out the traditional male excuse. The one about me being great, “but I don’t know if I want to be in a relationship with anyone right now.” I told him that we were already in some sort of relationship, albeit an undefined one. He disagreed.

I asked him what he was afraid of. Was he worried that I was going to go off to grad school and find someone else? Was he worried that he would find someone better?

I told him that he and I weren’t getting engaged or something just because I thought we were dating. And that we could always break up if things weren’t going well. It didn’t have to be some huge, serious deal if he didn’t want it to be.

We tried to move past it several times, but the argument lasted most of the day.

We were watching a baseball game in the evening when he looked at me.

“You’re upset.”

“Can you blame me? You’ve basically just reduced us to the label ‘friends-with-benefits’.”

He muted the television. “I can’t believe you just said that. I respect you and I care about you so much more than that.”

“Do you? Do you love me?”

He paused.

I wasn’t expecting him to pause.

The first time he told me he was in love with me was back in November, long before we were whatever it was we had become. He’s told me many, many times since then.

“I don’t know. I love so many things about you. And I love you in many different ways. But in a romantic way, I just don’t know.”

God, that hurt. I wasn’t expecting it. How could I have expected that? After all the times he’s called me, telling me that he couldn’t wait to see me. That my trip wasn’t coming soon enough. That he wanted to be there so that he could hold me. That he wanted to see me in person so badly…

“Do you think about me as if… as if I’m just one of your friends? Or am I something more to you than that?”

“I need to think about that.”

What! I wanted to scream. WHAT IS THERE TO THINK ABOUT??? How many times have you told me you loved me? And suddenly, that’s just GONE? Suddenly, I’m just like any other friend? I suppressed the urges to scream and hit him.

“Okay. Think about it. But I’m going to need an answer.”

I spent most of that evening crying quietly while he held me. I couldn’t even look at him. Such an awkward experience to be comforted by the person who is causing the pain.

“I wish you liked me as much as I like you.”

“I’m sorry for you. Because I’ve been in that situation before, and I know how much it hurts.”

Of course, that wasn’t what I wanted him to say. It just made me cry more violently. But it’s not unusual for him to make me cry. He’s just never done it in person before. And it would be a lot easier to be mad at him if he weren’t there, within grasping distance. Giving me the sort of hug I needed. And looking so handsome and so strong. And smelling like comfort.

I was at his house for another three days after that. It’s hard to have a conversation like that with a person. But having to stay in a house with them for days after tremendously worsens the situation. Watching television together. Eating together. Sharing a bed (and cuddling, despite knowing that it wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had). And feeling the entire time like I had to be nice to him. Not only because I’m crazy about him. Not only because he was my host. But because he seemed so ill and uncomfortable.

Saturday was actually a nice day. We stayed in pajamas for most of it. We didn’t leave his house once. I’m pretty sure all I ate were four s’mores-flavored Pop-Tarts. We watched Battlestar Galactica, Firefly, The Office, Arrested Development, and The 40-Year Old Virgin. I got to meet some of his friends, who were delightful. I acted cordially toward Brian, attempting to veil my residual anger. I cuddled with him on the couch and attempted to will all previous undesirable conversations out of my memory.

I could tell you about the pretty things that happened while I was there. How when we went to the bookstore, I laughed when Brian gravitated toward the Military History section. About all the ways we applied the phrase, “That’s what she said.” How words like “shiny”, “gorram” and “frak” entered my vernacular (if only temporarily). How he accidentally head-butted me in the nose, making me cry for an entirely different reason than usual. How I had the combination of Frosted Flakes with milk, and it was delicious sugar heaven.

I could tell you that Brian drank water out of a special backpack the entire time I was there, and I made fun of it mercilessly. Or how he taught me to play a video game called "Portal". How we watched two Indiana Jones movies with his friends. Or about how I jumped barefoot in puddles on concrete in a blue dress as his friend used my camera to photograph the orange sky after a rainstorm.

But in retrospect, none of that seems to matter. I guess the negative outweighed the positive.

During that storm, I thought to myself that everything would be okay. That’s what rain always means to me. I took it as a sign that the rest of the trip would go smoothly. I wish it had.

Sunday night, we lay in bed cuddling. He faced away from me and said he had an answer for me. I immediately knew what he was referring to. He told me he thinks of me as a friend. A very good friend.

I didn’t cry. It didn’t seem worth it to get upset. I just inhaled deeply a few times. And I thanked him for giving me an answer.

“Thanks for playing.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?”

“No,” I replied carefully. “It’s not meant to be harsh. It’s more like, ‘We didn’t work out. Oh well. Better luck next time.”

The truth is, I didn’t much care if it was harsh. I hadn’t intended it that way, but he hurt me. And in that moment, if I stung him, I felt he deserved it.

“What changed your mind?” I asked it calmly. It was more out of curiousity than anything else.

“What do you mean?”

“You said you loved me, and now you don’t.”

“I’ve changed a lot in the past few months. I want different things now... You’ve changed, too, you know. In good ways.”

His back was facing me. Otherwise, I would've wanted to punch him or slap him or something. If I’ve changed in good ways, shouldn’t he just want me more?

“Did you know before I got here? Would you have known if I hadn’t come?”

“No. I didn’t know.”

“Then… I guess I’m glad I came.”

I said it calmly and quietly. And in the moment, I meant it. Better to end things now than to wait and let them get more complicated.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t fight. I didn’t try to change his mind. I know better than that. When things are ending, you just have to let them end. There’s no sense in not accepting it. I don’t want to be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t want to be in a relationship with me.

I’m not sure why I was so patient and subdued. Maybe I was in shock.

I found myself saying things that I didn't whole-heartedly stand behind. Downplaying my excitement about grad school and exaggerating my fears about it. I think it's because I know how proud Brian is of me for going. And I didn't want him to be proud of me. His encouragements pained me almost as though going to grad school were some sort of consolation prize in light of him not wanting me. I think I wanted to hurt him. I think I wanted to ruin whatever image of me he once placed on a pedestal. Some part of me thought that it would make things easier. It didn't.

Freud said that we don't fall in love with an actual person; we fall in love with the projection of our own desires. Brian talks so much about passion being important to him, but he hasn't yet found a path in life that he's passionate about (well, maybe he has now with his new goal of being an optometrist... who knows). I think the thing that drew Brian to me was that I had already found that thing for myself. Something that I am wildly connected to and willing to fight for. He mentally defines me by the love I have for acting. I guess I wanted to take that part of me away from him.

We held hands as we fell asleep. I woke up with his arms around me. And I just laid there for an hour or so, not wanting to move him. Eventually, my skin felt like ants were crawling all over it. It was like he was contagious (huh... he probably literally was), and I urgently needed to get away from him. I got up and washed my face, in order to give my sudden stirring some sort of excuse.

Monday was… weird. I physically attacked him a few times. I meant it in a playful sense, but I actually hurt him. I guess it was because my subconscious wanted to cause him pain.

We watched some television. It seemed to be the only way to exist in the same place and not let things get too awkward. But it sucked. Every so often, I’d catch myself staring at him adoringly, and then remember that I shouldn’t do that anymore. I have to stop thinking he’s great. I have to stop caring about him. Because if I don’t, it’ll only make things worse for me.

I did something that I know confused him. He gave me a rare CD upon my arrival. A demo of his favorite band, Platinum Weird (headed by his favorite artist and writer, Kara DioGuardi, whom he mentioned in his interview). Before I left, I uploaded it onto my computer, and then I left it there. He tried to give it to me again, upset by the fact that I wouldn't take it. But I couldn't take it. I knew that if I had it, it would just make me think of him. Too painful to keep, but too precious to destroy or give away. I couldn't take it. Having it in my apartment would've just caused me to cry more.

As I was packing up, I told him that this trip was the first time that I’ve gone someplace alone, where I wasn’t going to or from my family.

“And how was it?” The way he asked made me think of a bed and breakfast owner wanting me to rate my stay.

“My feelings are mixed," I said, before hugging him. "I'm not gonna lie."

He dropped me off at the airport entirely too early. (In fact, I composed the majority of this post at the airport, making it difficult for me to remember to put anything in past tense.) As we parted ways, I hugged him.

“Thanks for coming to visit.”

“Thanks for having me.”

“I’m really glad you came.”

I let that one hang in the air.

“Have a good flight.”

“Thanks. I hate-love-hate you.”

“Um. Okay. I’m not sure what that means.”

“Neither do I.”

“Write me a letter or two while I’m in the desert? Even if it’s just to say that you’re enjoying Battlestar Galactica.”

“I will. After all, I love-hate-love you.”

And that was that.

Weeks ago, we were talking on the phone, and I mentioned my fear: that I would go to visit, and we’d realize that whatever connection we had only worked over the phone. That be being away from each other, we were filling in the missing information with things we liked. That we had built each other up to be more than we were. And that this visit would somehow make us fall apart.

“That’s not going to happen,” he said. And I trusted him. I guess I shouldn’t have.

All those times when he said I didn’t have to worry that I might do something wrong that would make him stop loving me… I believed him.

And look at the result. He doesn’t love me. Brian doesn’t love me anymore. And I can’t help but think that if even Brian can stop loving me that suddenly, that anyone would. I will never find anyone to love me. Because Brian did. And then he didn’t.

He has said in the past that the more he learned about me, the more he loved me. Even if I told him something less than positive or flattering, it made him adore me more because I had chosen to share it with him. Clearly, that didn't end up being the case at all.

I trusted him. I believed him. I’ve never put as much faith in another person as I have with Brian. I opened up with him. I told him things that I would never tell anyone else. And now I feel betrayed. And broken.

I’m not in any sort of relationship now. Not even a metaphysical one. And I’m not going to be over it for awhile.

There's always a level of disappointment when the potential you saw in something didn't pan out. I think that's especially true when it comes to dating. But this is different than my other experiences.

I’m wounded.

Not in the way I was when I broke up with my first ex. I was the one who ended things. I was in control. And although the process was painful, I felt free when it was over.

I’m numb.

Not in the way I was after my second ex. He broke up with me, but my heart was never really in it. With him, I just didn't care.

I’m single.

But this time is different. This time, I’m really hurting. A week ago I was writing everything I loved about him, and now I’m writing about how he ended things. It seems… wrong.

How can I be this hurt when he was never technically my boyfriend to begin with? And if we were never dating, as he claims, then why do I feel like I’ve been dumped? And why, oh why, does it hurt this much? He may have been a metaphysical boyfriend, but my pain sure doesn’t feel metaphysical.

I don't know why I should be surprised. It should've occurred to me that, sooner or later, he'd realize that he deserves better than me.

I guess this is what I get for not keeping him labeled "As Good As Gay".

I never thought I'd cry over a break-up. I made a deal with myself long ago that I would just say "Thanks for playing" and move on. But it doesn't feel that simple this time.

I didn’t cry in front of him, of course. But I did cry. At the airport as I typed. On the plane, after I realized my phone had fallen out of my pocket. At the lost and found desk at the other airport as airline employees tried to track down my phone (prompting one of the employees to tell me, "he's not worth it, Sugar. It's his loss."). On the L, as I tried to read through my tears. In my apartment as I checked my email. I’ve never cried this much as a result of a guy before. Ever. And I hate it.

I kept it together at work today. My sadness is beginning to turn into anger. I have an urge to shave my head, doing away with the hair that Brian loves so much. And maybe to eat my weight in pancakes and turn my body into an unrecognizable blob so he can't lie anymore and tell me he thinks I'm beautiful. But I'm not quite irrational enough to ignore that these actions would hurt me more than him.

I felt like our complicated relationship was helping me grow. But the way things ended, I wonder if I'll regress. I no longer trust anything he said to me. All the compliments he'd convinced me to believe. My self-esteem continues to plummet with each additional moment I spend thinking about this. If Brian doesn't want me... BRIAN... Brian who cared so much about me... Brian who told me he couldn't stop thinking about me... Brian who said he loved me... Maybe there's no hope.

I just wish... I wish I could understand. I wish I knew what happened. And I wish I didn't feel so stupid for falling for a guy who clearly couldn't care less about me.

I feel weak. I feel pathetic. I feel alone. I feel worthless. I feel discarded. I feel unloved. I feel miserable.

Is this what it means to be heart-broken?

I can’t tell.

All I know right now is that my heart is still beating.

And at the moment, that’s all that matters.


May your broken heart keep beating,

~A~





P.S. Brian answered half of the interview Sunday. He finished typing his responses Monday, as I lay next to him on the bed. He read all the answers aloud. And I felt vaguely violated by the fact that I was allowing him to take over my blog, especially under the given circumstances. But it felt wrong to not go through with it. I doubt that I’ll ever let someone guest blog again.

P.P.S. I actually felt guilty writing this, because I don’t want him to read this and feel badly for what happened. That’s how much I care about him. I’m the opposite of vengeful. I warned him that I'd be writing a post about this. And that it would probably be bitter. And that he might not want to read it. Part of me hopes he doesn't. Another part of me wants to obsessive-compulsively check my statcounter until he does. Maybe things will be easier to express through the written word than the spoken one.


P.P.P.S. The conversations I included in this are recited from a memory that may have been clouded by emotions. Therefore, I cannot speak to how accurate they are. In my head they’re pretty close to what transpired.

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.

Leading with Cheer

Forgive me for being egotistical, but I believe that I am an asset to any group to which I belong. For example, I think my workplace will be a lot less interesting when I'm gone (although I'm pretty sure that only two of the people in my department have realized this thus far). And I think that my grad school class is going to be a more cheerful, energetic bunch because of me.

I think that in many ways, I can be defined as a cheerleader. And perhaps a cheery leader as well.

I come by it naturally, as my mother has the same gift/affliction. In fact, the DJs on her favorite online radio station (Martini in the Morning -- they play mostly standards, and my mother would be ecstatic if she knew that I was advertising them on my blog) refer to her as the station's Head Cheerleader. Whenever she sees a martini glass, she has her picture taken with it and sends it to them. Her automatic signature on any email she sends has a Martini in the Morning graphic on it. She even worked the station into our family's Christmas letter (no, I'm not kidding). She's a one-woman advertising campaign.

And, well, I'm the same way. I like to get people excited about things. I like to bring people together. And I'm not afraid to step up and take the helm. My mother taught me well.

The current students at the grad school to which I'll be matriculating this fall have started sending out "Welcome" e-mails to my class. So I decided to take some initiative; I turned into glue and began binding us all together.

First, I put everyone's e-mail addresses into my address book. Then, I used the Facebook friend-finder thingamajigger to befriend as many as I could find. And then, I sent them all an e-mail, introducing myself. Here is a portion of that e-mail:

My name is Angela. Some people call me Angela, some call me Aiea (which rhymes with Maya... but don't worry about having to spell or pronounce that. Angela works just fine). I'm 23. I grew up in Michigan (near East Lansing) went to Saint Mary's College in Indiana (it's the women's college that's across the street from Notre Dame), and I've been living in Chicago since fall 2006. I have two younger brothers who are in undergrad, and my parents live in Connecticut. I love to write (I'm working on a novel right now... it's seriously terrible, but it's a blast), I love to dance (often at inappropriate times), and I would be completely unable to function without music (and I'm pretty eclectic in my tastes).

I thought that was a good introduction to me. I tried to involve my personality and not just facts (hence all the parentheticals... I think they demonstrate my hyperactivity and ability to digress rather nicely). But I also didn't want to scare them off (too soon to give them a full dose of the insanity that is me). Hopefully, I struck a good compromise there.

My class is twelve students (seven guys, five gals). So far, six of them have followed my lead and composed their own introductory emails.

- Guy from D.C. who goes by the nickname "Thrill" and says, "I have a very different kind of personality, I have nothing but Crunk Juice inside of me almost ALL the time. I'm a little big ball of Crunk energy."

- California girl living in Texas who started her email with "Huzzah!" and went on to write, "I have strange taste in music and stranger taste in books... but I make a mean apple pie."

- A fellow who has lived in Manhattan all his life writes, "I was a competitive swimmer until I went into the LaGuardia "Fame" High School and fell in love with drama."

- A girl who started in the program two years ago, but left after a semester because of family troubles. She's starting again with our class. She writes, "I'm a red headed "Jersey Girl" through and through."

- Michigan guy who is "an avid reader", a "TV drama junkie", and says, "currently The Frames have stolen my heart."

- Another Michigan guy (side note: the Michigan guys went to undergrad together). This one writes, "I find foreign affairs really interesting, as well as anthropology, spanish lit and history." He started the email with "Yo dudes" and ended with "Rock on".


So I'm excited. Seems like a fun bunch. And like we're all different sorts. So that'll be fun. :)

You might have asked yourselves, "What are the odds that THREE Michiganders would end up in the same tiny MFA Acting program in Florida?" But here's the even weirder thing: I know there are already at least two Michigan students in the program (one is a second year, one is a first year). So 5 out of the total 32 students that will be there next year are from Michigan. Which means that along transportation equipment, cereal, and Christmas trees, thespians are clearly one of the best exports that Michigan has to offer.

I formed a facebook group just for our class. I figure it'll be nice to have a forum for figuring out all the things we might want to discuss. Five of us are in it at the moment.

The next mental debate I'll have on the grad school front has to do with my living situation. Three of the aforementioned future classmates expressed interest in finding a roommate. It's way cheaper to live with someone, and you can wind up with a bigger (and nicer) place as a result. But I don't know if I really want to be cohabitating with someone whom I'm going to be seeing in every class. There would be no escape.

And there's also the tiny little issue of applying. I STILL haven't lined up my recommendation letters. I'm not too worried, as I'm pretty sure I have until May... But still. Should probably get on that. I tried making a couple of calls today, but I ended up talking to the usual voicemails. Ah well.

Aside from trying to start the ball rolling on cohesion within my class and avoiding other grad school whatnot, I've also been pretending to be an adult. I actually did my taxes today. And you know what? It was totally painless. Piece of cake. I also edited a chapter in my novel (a good one, I thought. I was pretty happy with it). And I tried to clean my apartment. My mother tried to help give me a jump-start on it while she was here, but we didn't get all that far.

I started going through my makeup today, throwing things out. You wouldn't believe how much makeup I have. It's obscene. Particularly since I wear very little (often none) on a daily basis. No makeup case is big enough to hold all of it, so I actually bought a tackle-box at Wal-Mart several years ago. And, frankly, it barely fits in there. I might need to find something bigger soon.

Speaking of new things, I recently made myself a new book to write in. I already have a book for poetry I've written, a book for quotations, and a book for lists. Well, now I have a book for compliments.


I'm getting a lot better at accepting compliments than I used to be. And certain people in my life seem to be happy about that *cough, Brian, cough*. So I've decided I'm going to start writing them down. Besides, it'll probably be good for my self-esteem. I'll be able to look back on nice things people have said about me whenever I'm feeling as though I'm worthless.

(Ha! I was about to write that it'll come in handy next February when I'm going through Seasonal Affected Disorder, but then I realized... I'm going to be in FLORIDA! I won't have SAD next year!!! Woo-hoo!)

As one final thing to mention, I love Jenn. No, seriously, I love her. Remember when I guest-blogged for her? She actually sent me Thank You gifts!


Two scented candles (delightfully green, I might add), and a lovely notebook (I'm such a sucker for blank pages in pretty packages). And all this after she allowed me to write on her blog for a day! I feel like I should be sending HER a present, not the other way around. Anyway, thank you Jenn!

I now have the beginning of what I fear will turn into a wicked headache, so I've got to stop staring at my computer screen.


May you lead some cheers of your own.

~A~


P.S. I switched out my other plaid background for one with only two colors. Is it less busy? Or is it equally problematic? And is it less fun? I can't decide what I like and/or want.

Grad School Auditions: Update #1

I did my two monologues in three minutes for the screening judges today.

And I got into the next round!!!

WOO-HOO!

(If you don't know what I'm talking about, read about the grad school process HERE)

I was freaking out last night a little bit. I found out that a couple of my friends didn't make it on to the next round, and I became nervous that the same thing would happen to me. Luckily, a combination of phone calls and video messages from Ian, Brian, and Ricky helped me settle down and start believing in myself again. And they distracted me from the audition enough that I was able to sleep. (It was nice to finally hear from Brian... Hadn't spoken to him in a week).

My mother got into town this morning (she was supposed to get here last night, but the inclement weather shut down the airports for awhile). I had time to do my monologues for her exactly once before going to orientation. And after orientation, I performed them for both my mother and a woman from the housekeeping staff that had chatted with my mother while I was gone (she gave me a suggestion... which I actually took... Sometimes you get advice from the strange sources, but it doesn't make it bad advice. And in this case, it wasn't bad).

I went to the waiting room about a half hour before my scheduled audition time. When they gave me a 15 minute warning, I walked out into a huge hall space with a bunch of other actors. They were all doing physical warm-ups and mouthing their monologues to themselves. And I thought, what could I do right now that would best relieve the tension and stress from my life?

So I began to dance.

Yes, seriously. In the middle of a hall space. In front of a bunch of "serious" actors (different from "serious actors", you see). With no music. Full out dancing. And I just closed my eyes and went with it. I did the Twist. I started hearing songs in my head like "Shake It" and "Ruby Blue". I was dancing like a maniac. And it totally worked. I stopped stressing. I stopped thinking about the audition altogether. I decided not to care if all the other people there thought I looked like a lunatic. What do I care? If this dancing will help me get into grad school, then I'm doing it, gosh darn it.

When I was on deck, I told the guy ahead of me to break a leg. He said, "Thanks. You too. Oh, and I really liked your dancing."

A couple of minutes and a mild coughing fit later, it was my turn.

(Have I mentioned that I have bronchitis? Because it turns out that The Plague is at least part bronchitis. I went to the doctor after my boss nicknamed me "Typhoid Mary" due to my fits of violent hacking. I ended up with a prescription inhaler. I've been using it for about a week now, but the cough still isn't completely alleviated).

I nailed the screening round. I actually recognized one of the judges (she had been my screening judge last year, and had also been a judge for me in the Irene Ryan competition at the American College Theatre Festival a few years back), and I think that made me even more comfortable (I couldn't tell if she recognized me). During my second monologue, I had both of the screening judges laughing. When I finished my pieces, I said, "Thank you", and they said "No, thank YOU." I think they were genuinely entertained. :)

And somehow, I managed to do it all in two minutes and fifty seconds. TEN SECONDS TO SPARE! Party!

As soon as I finished, I knew I was going to make it on. My audition rocked. Seriously. I was at my best. Frankly, if they hadn't moved me on, I would've questioned the judges' mental health. (Please understand that I don't mean to sound arrogant... It's not often that I feel confident after an audition. Generally, my self-esteem tends to default to the low side. But, after all, Confident/Cocky is a Fine Line)

Sadly, several people I know were here as well (a couple more auditioned today), and none of them made it to the next round. It makes me feel a little guilty...

But I'm not going to focus on that (as insensitive as that may sound).

Because tomorrow, I'm going to perform my monologues in front of graduate school representatives. Tomorrow is the most important day of the year for me. Tomorrow is the day that I prove myself.

Please continue to pray for me and think good thoughts. I'll let you know how it all goes.


May you find all the confidence you need in order to make it through.

~A~

Strength, Spirit, & Self-Esteem

Guess what I found?

Exactly what I was looking for.

I just had my "Come to Jesus" moment.

The world has flipped.

Are you ready?

I'M A GOOD ACTOR!

No, f*** that. I'm a f***ing great actor. And I'm going to get into grad school. I'm going to go in there and knock their socks off. I can feel it. I know it with every fiber of my being. God I feel great. I hope this feeling lasts.

I went to a coaching session with Susan (my Shakespeare coach) and Jeffrey last night, and four other "students" were there as well. I actually got there like half an hour late because I went to the wrong place, but anyway. I did the same Shakespeare monologue that I've been working on since November: The Princess of France in Act V of Love's Labours Lost. And it's like tonight it finally worked exactly the way it was supposed to.

I truly believe that everything happened for a reason.

I lost my voice for a REASON! It was because I was forced to not recite that monologue for a week. I ran through it in my head. I did runs of the thought process silently. And I found her. I connected to her in a way that makes her real. I found moments where I became her. And then I was able to put them all together.

And most importantly, I let her go. If I hadn't lost my voice, I would've kept doing what I was doing. I wouldn't have rediscovered her. But instead, I found something that worked.

It worked really well. So well. Jeffrey and Susan asked what I'd done to change her (as they hadn't seen the piece since the end of November). They said that I found a great balance. I stopped being too formal and too timid, as I thought a princess should be. After all, you can't "play the princess". Every other person in the room has to play that you're the princess.

You know what else happened for a reason? This f***ing cough. Because of it, I've been staying in the lower register of my voice. My Kathleen Turner voice (when I told Jeffrey that, he started telling a story about when Kathleen Turner saw him on Broadway in Taboo. He's awesome, FYI.) And that was EXACTLY what the princess was missing. That low, firm resonance to prove that she's in control. She's regal. She's a lot more mature than the silly King of Navarro that she's dealing with..

Thank you, Lord.

It worked so well that they actually requested to see what my non-Shakespeare monologue was that I'd be using at auditions (which is something I never predicted that Susan would do). I was hesitant for a couple of reasons. First, that I was wasting time in this workshop. Second, that it might be really bad (as I haven't had an audience for it yet... I've been playing with it on my own). But I had such an emotional high going into it, thanks to the last monologue working...

And I found HER, too! I got braver with my modern piece. I dropped to my knees and really explored the physicality of it. And they were all laughing their heads off and cheered hysterically when it was over.

I've been working with Susan since July 2006. And I first worked with Jeffrey around February. And they said that last night was the best work they've ever seen me do (and I've brought Susan near to tears before).

So this is why I believe that I can do it. Because they believe in me.

And now I know I can. I know that I've found these women. I know that they live inside me. And I know that I can bring them back to the surface when I need them.

For the first time, I'm not worried about begging grad schools to accept me. I know that they'll be begging me to go there.

I came so close last time. And you know what? I'm BETTER this time. I can't believe that this didn't occur to me before. I've IMPROVED from then. I have a résumé with professional shows on it! I'm older now, and therefore more valuable to the programs! Things can only get better, not worse. And I need to stop freaking out (please remind me of that in a week when I start freaking out again).

I finally found my strength, my spirit, and my self-esteem. And it feels great.

Look out, world. Here comes Angela!


May you learn that all the strength you need comes from within.

~A~

Unresolved

Hello ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the new year.

First off, I'll give you a quick recap of my 2007, as it seems that's what all the cool bloggers are doing...

(Note: Pictures all taken in 2007, though not necessarily in the months they're near)


(My friends and I went to a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I was going for a Magenta-esque look)

JANUARY
- I began temping at my current workplace.
- I took a Shakespeare class.


(Goofing off with my old roomie, Cameron, in his Maverick flight suit)

FEBRUARY
- I was in a staged reading of a new play (in which I was cast as a 50-year-old woman... perfect, obviously).
- I went through my usual "I hate the world" bout with Seasonal Affective Disorder


(My coworker and me in our cubicles on "Jeans Day", the last Friday of the month. It's a major office event.)

MARCH
- I auditioned for a massive amount of productions, and kept getting called back, but not cast.
- I was hired officially by my current workplace (and got benefits and a 401k. Woo-hoo, I'm an adult!).


(Decked out for a "Pirates, Indians, & Gypsies" party. I think I was trying to be a gypsy.)

APRIL
- I was cast in a play-turned-musical production of Picasso at the Lapin Agile.
- I started playing Guitar Hero II. And kicking booty at it.


(In rehearsal for Picasso at the Lapin Agile.)

MAY
- The cast of said production began giving me lessons in "how to drink socially", and bought me drinks wherever we went.
- I won a Baby Name Pool out of over 700 entries.


(A scene from Picasso at the Lapin Agile, in which I played Suzanne.)

JUNE
- I got a promotion at my current workplace. And a raise. Hooray!
- I broke the heart of the fabulous guy I dated for over 2 years.
- Picasso at the Lapin Agile ran for 4 weeks
- I started dating a new fellow, who everyone knew was completely wrong for me (I think even he and I knew it).


(I get dressed up for the Tony Awards every year. My former roommate Anna looked on.)

JULY
- I took another Shakespeare class.
- My roommates and I threw a few parties, culminating in a "Sexy Party", which rocked my world.


(Some of my college friends and I pose at The Sexy Party)

AUGUST
- I moved into a shoebox-size studio apartment.


(Being a dork with my dear friend, Brian, who is on my speed dial)

SEPTEMBER
- I started this blog!
- It hit me that I'd gained 25 pounds in a year. How on Earth did that happen?


(My Picasso castmates Dave & Dane taught me a lot about bars.)

OCTOBER
- I was dumped by the new fellow. Meh.
- I turned 23.
- I took yet another Shakespeare class (Yeah, I'm a geek. So what?)


(Sniffing out my friend Zel on my birthday)

NOVEMBER
- I participated in (and finished) National Novel Writing Month, which might be the coolest thing I've ever done with my life. I've never been more proud of (or more embarrassed by) anything than my unfinished slap-dash novella.
- I participated in (and finished) NaBloPoMo by posting three completely random things per day for the entire month of November.
- I became a vegetarian (which I STILL am, shockingly; I thought it was a two-week experiment, but it's starting to stick).
- A guy told me he was in love with me (note: not one of the two ex-boyfriends).
- I started another blog (I have an addiction). I'm pretty sure no one reads it but me. But I don't even really care... It's just where I throw links I like so that I can find them later on. And if it amuses others, that's just a bonus.


(Laying my claim on my friends Mike and Jim)

DECEMBER
- I was hit by a car.
- I took a vacation from work to head to Connecticut, New York, and Michigan for 11 days (which I'll probably write about in my next entry... Sorry for the delay).


(Goofing off with Anna)

Eventful year, right?


(Playing Guitar Hero II with Anna, still in our Rocky Horror gear)

I also learned that a few of the people I'd basically forgotten about after high school are some of the coolest people I know. And I gained a couple of "dotcomrades" (and a pen-less pen-pal, with whom I exchange epic e-mails that the rest of the world wouldn't appreciate) whom I've grown fond of. I've learned how to pay bills. I've made up a couple of recipes (the sorts of food that only I would dare touch). I've found a new favorite television show (Pushing Daisies, which makes me want to hug my laptop after every episode that I watch alone in my apartment while eating copious amounts of food). All in all, I'd say it was a good year.


(Dancing in Picasso at the Lapin Agile)

And at this time of year, people tend to think about things they should resolve to do differently in their lives, as a fresh year suggests a clean start.

I bet you're wondering whether I kept my resolutions from last year (actually, you probably weren't... people tend to think so hard about upcoming resolutions that they forget about past ones entirely). Honestly, I don't remember what I resolved to do for 2007. No clue. Just another auld lang sigh (forgive the unnecessary pun).

I tried to quit biting my nails for 1993. And pretty much every year since then. It never sticks. One year, I made it until the last week of February, and then went through an emotional breakdown and gave up. I'm not going to try to give it up this year. Frankly, I like biting my nails. It's comforting. And I have a wicked oral fixation, so it's just easier if I leave it alone. (And really, I could have worse habits. I don't smoke, I don't do drugs, I don't have sex, and I rarely drink... how bad could nail-biting possibly be?)

In 1996 (I think), I gave up drinking cola (I included Coke, Pepsi, Dr. Pepper, and anything else that was dark, as I was convinced they were staining my teeth). And I successfully completed the year. I overloaded on Sprite and 7-Up so much that year that they've never been quite as good since.

I have a tendency to follow my Lent resolutions better than my New Year ones. I usually give up two things, so that if I'm a horrible failure at one, I can at least stick with the other. Like the year I gave up "worrying" and "elevators". Or the year I gave up "pursuing boys" and "television I can't learn from" (I was still allowed to watch the news and anything with acting on it, -- I considered that to be professional research -- but I couldn't watch, say, anything on VH1. Including Strange Love, which I believe was entirely contained within Lent that year). Or the year I gave up "excuses" and "computer games". I never make it easy on myself, do I? One year I gave up "red wine vinegar", and it threw my whole immune system out of whack (I came down with several back-to-back mystery illnesses), and vowed never to alter my diet in favor of a Lenten promise again.

Anyway. I don't like the idea of changing things just because it's a new year. If you want to make a change in your life, just do it; don't wait for a year change.

That said, there are some things I want to try to improve with, and now is as good a time as any to get going. So here are a few things I've come up with:

- Make a conscious effort to call my brothers more often.
Now that we're living in three different states, I don't talk to my brothers as often as I should. And I know that if I don't do something about it now, it's just going to get harder as we age. So I'm going to try to call each of them at least once a month, instead of just finding out about them through my parents and their Facebook profiles.

- Be more physically active.
I'm a sedimentary rock. I need to start walking more or something. Haven't put much thought into this yet, clearly, but it needs to be done.

- Learn to accept compliments with more grace.
I've mentioned before that I'm horrible at accepting compliments. I always think people are lying to me. Trying to get on my good side. Or mocking me somehow. I don't know. I have less-than-perfect self-esteem (okay, it's pretty bad). And I usually don't agree with the nice things they say (except with strangers... I'm a little better at taking them from strangers, as strangers have no reason to lie to me. I also enjoy complimenting strangers, and have no problem tapping a woman on the shoulder on public transportation to tell her I dig her shoes/purse/hair). But I want to stop that. I want to believe the nice things people tell me. And deflecting every compliment I get isn't going to help my self-esteem. So I'm going to try to stop. I'm going to learn to look them in the eye, smile, and say thank you. Hopefully, I'll be better at it by the end of the year.

- Memorize the correct spellings of excersize, maitenance (maintainence), and immeadiately.
And everything else on my list of "words that I consistently have trouble spelling for no apparent reason and am frequently embarrassed by when I can't figure out how to get them to spell out in T9 on my cell phone, but I don't want to switch over to the alphabet function because then I KNOW I'm spelling them wrong, and I don't want people to think that I don't know how to spell simple words like corderoy, persue, desparate, and seperate." (If any of the aforementioned italicized words looked right to you, then you might want to make this a resolution for yourself as well.) I swear, I'm generally an excellent speller. And I'm embarrassed every time I have to question the spelling of any common word.

(NOTE: I intentionally used my mistake-spellings of these words instead of the correct ones so that you'd be able to see what I'm doing wrong. I think I've actually mastered separate/desperate now, but I used to mix up which had the "a" in the middle and which had the "e". I included two spellings of maintenance because it's the HARDEST word for me to spell for reasons unbeknownst to me, and I usually go through four spellings before I find the correct one.)

- Finish my NaNoWriMo novel.
It seems that the most vote-getting item is for me to post portions of the unbelievably bad novel I'm working on in a weekly blog as I edit and finish the book. So I will. Now, as my business-oriented brother has told me, he thinks this is a horrid idea, as once something is on the internet, you have no way of protecting it. Someone could steal it easily. My solution at this point is to publish it in a "private" blog (if I do that, I'll leave instructions on this blog as to how to get to it or something) and to use Copyscape or something. If anyone else has any thoughts on how to protect my work as I share it, please let me know. Although I can't imagine anyone wanting to steal my unfinished garbage, but some people are incredibly ill-meaning, so you never know.


And, perhaps the most terrifying of all...

- Figure out what I want to do with my life.
I feel like I should have figured this one out by now. And I have a feeling that at least one person out there is probably confused by this. Well, here's something I've recently talked out with a friend well enough to be able to put on paper: I love acting, but I hate being an actor.

Theatre is the most amazing thing I've ever experienced. I truly believe that theatre can change the world (a belief that I'll have to explain another time in more detail). And I love working in theatre. I love acting more than I possibly put into words. It helps my soul to breathe. It makes me feel powerful to my core. And I'm good at it.

But that's only a small fraction of being an actor. The rest of it is the business behind it. I hate going to audition after audition, callback after callback, putting everything I've got on the line, and never hearing back. I hate wondering if I'm sending the right head shot to the right company. I hate networking, and schmoozing, and acting like remembering someone's name is going to get me a job down the line when I doubt that it actually will. I hate knowing that I'm just another 20-something white girl, and that plenty of other girls who look/sound/act just like me will be showing up to the same audition, and I am not in any way, shape, or form "special". And I hate failure. I don't have the ego to bounce back from long strings of rejection. And I'm not sure that I ever will.

I'm auditioning for graduate schools in February, and I'm not even certain that I want to go. Would it even do me any good? Or will it just make me an even better actor with the same sets of hang-ups and fears that I have now?

My other problem stems from my indecision and my chameleon-like ability to pick up new tricks. I have too many interests, too many skills, and too many talents, and I always feel like there's something different I should be doing (which is perhaps why I went through SO MANY MAJORS in college). There are days when I ask myself why I'm not trying to get into medical school (I love helping people, I'm great at biology, I kick butt in dissection, and medical professions sort of run in my family). There are days that I want to quit my job and be a writer (NaNoWriMo and blogging were the biggest natural highs of my year). There are days I wonder why I'm not in graduate school for Psychology/History/Dentistry... etc. There are days that I wonder if I've been working towards the wrong goal, and the thing that will make me truly happy is right in front of my nose and I'm ignoring it.

And then there are days that I think if I don't get back on stage soon, I'm going to explode.

My love for theatre consumes me. I think about being on stage every day. I run monologues as I'm getting ready to leave the house (which my brother made fun of me for while I was in Connecticut). I read plays on the bus. I save money so that I can go to plays/musicals/workshops/classes/lectures as often as possible. And it gives me so much joy to be a part of it.

But I hate the business. I hate the idea of having to get agents. I hate the idea of being in horrible shows to get my face seen. I don't think I'm strong enough. I'm more likely to believe criticisms than compliments. I'm more likely to get knocked down and stay there. And when push comes to shove, I'm more likely to give up than try harder.

It wasn't easy for me to admit any of that (and there are many people I hope will never read it), but it's the truth.

So this year, I want to figure that out. I want to know whether I want to keep acting, or throw in the towel. I want to figure out if I need to go back to school and get new, usable skills that can help me get a job I'm well-suited for, or if I should keep doing what I'm doing.

As a side note, acting is truly a craft. And it takes far more training and skill than most people realize. All the arts do. So if you meet someone attempting to make a living in the arts, support them. Don't think to yourself that they should get a "real" job. They have real jobs. And chances are good that they're far more passionate about their chosen careers than you are about yours. If they weren't, it'd be impossible to keep going. It's too hard to do if you don't love it with every fiber of your being.

And some people, like myself, are passionately in love with what they do, but hate the means to do it.


May your fresh year give you a fresh perspective on what you want in life.

~A~


(Jumping for joy after bowling a strike on my birthday)