Because I Don't Have Enough On My Plate...

Last August, I participated in Vlog Every Day in August (VEDA) and had a blast doing it. A few of the people I met doing that plan on blogging every day in June (BEDJ), which isn't as easy to pronounce as VEDA, but since it's all in written form, maybe that doesn't matter so much. And since I'm not doing enough at the moment (insert wild laughter here), I decided about three minutes ago that I should give it a go, too.

I've not done the "group blogging" thing before, where a bunch of people blog about the same topic on the same day. This should be interesting.

Anyway, today's topic is food. Which is kind of a nice segue into the fact that I am coming up on my ten-year anniversary of being vegan.

For those of you who don't know, I went vegan (almost ten years ago) sort of on a whim. I decided to try it just for the sake of trying it, and I was going to do it for a year just to see what happened. Turns out, I love it. I love the food, I love the products, I love the lifestyle. I did not start out with a moral or ethical agenda, but I did gain a sort of sense that I'm doing something good not only for my body but for the planet as well.

I am not one of those vegans who will bombard other people with images of cows being tortured, though. I don't think that's necessarily the best way to spread the joy of veganism. I am the sort of vegan who will bake something and bring it to work or rehearsal just for fun and if people want to try what I brought, fantastic. If they don't, fine. Just between you and me, I don't always tell people from the get-go that my stuff is vegan, so the people who don't know, probably don't know. Yes, I am that good.

It helps that I found a vegan cookbook author who I absolutely adore. I think I own all of her books. There was only one thing I made from them (so far) that I wasn't over the moon about - it was a chili that had espresso in it or something, and I'm not a coffee person so it wasn't really my cup of tea (yay mixed metaphors!). But everything else has been fantastic. I can make a vat of the Seitanic Red Bean Jambalaya (but I use Tofurkey sausage instead of seitan because I'm not big on seitan) and live off of it for two weeks. The Hottie Black Eyed Peas with Greens plus homemade Scallion Cornbread are amazing. And the woman wrote a whole cookbook on pie. Let me say that again: an entire cookbook about nothing but pie. I made pie from scratch and the crust even turned out well. She's a genius. Anyway.

I think my biggest thing about veganism is that while I would never force anyone else to be vegan (except maybe my children if I have them), I do wish it was considered just another type of cuisine. That people weren't so afraid of it. I think vegan food has gotten a bad rep for being bland and dry and dull, but it doesn't have to be. These days, especially in a major metropolitan area, the selection of vegan food is amazing. It's flavorful and colorful and leaves you satisfied. Instead of being some mysterious, scary, gross thing, I wish vegan food was just another option. "We had Chinese last night, and we have your cousin's barbecue this weekend, so how about vegan tonight?" Because seriously, it's too tasty for me to eat all of it by myself. Wanna share?

Skating: Part Deux

As a follow up to my tremendous failure at roller skating on Sunday, I drove about an hour outside the city to a suburban roller rink with drop-in lessons on Monday nights last night.

Side note: This suburb isn't really an hour outside of Chicago - it took me about an hour and fifteen minutes to get there in rush hour traffic, and about forty-five minutes to get home in non-rush hour traffic, so it's really not that bad. I just don't know how many miles it is, which is why I gave the time measurement instead.

What a difference an hour makes!

When I first stepped on the floor, everything about me must have screamed "BEGINNER!" in part because I am one, and in part because I was essentially pulling myself along the wall going around the rink. It was sad and pathetic. I know that. But I thought if I could just get used to the feeling of moving on skates, maybe I could get used to the balance thing and then I wouldn't feel so totally out of control of my body and then maybe I could figure out how to pick one foot up at a time and actually skate.

I got about half-way around the rink and a very nice gentleman skated over to me and said, "Just relax, just relax," as he grabbed my hands and sort of shook them to release the tension.  I told him this was my second time on skates and that I was an actor in a play for which I needed to learn to skate and found out he was familiar with the show already. He, apparently, helped procure the skates and gear for us. He told me the lesson would be starting shortly and that I should try to get back to the (now) far end of the rink because that is where the beginners would be.

I made my way over there and started skating back and forth against the wall. I felt bad for going against traffic half of the time, but the other skaters on the rink were far enough away from the wall that it wasn't a huge deal. The instructor came over and told me to just practice almost walking in the skates, keeping my feet under me. When you try to step in front of yourself, you lose control of the skate and fall on your butt. If you keep your feet under you, you actually start moving in the skates. Which is what the woman on Sunday must have meant when she said, "It's kind of like marching." So I did. I "marched" back and forth next to the wall, trying to hold on to it less and less with each pass. The instructor started working with his other beginning skaters on other things, but told me to just keep at what I was doing, and in five or ten minutes, he wanted me far enough away from the wall that I couldn't catch myself if I wanted/needed to. I took that to mean, "try this now," and moved away from the wall. Miraculously, I stayed standing! And moved across the floor, gaining more confidence and (some) speed with each pass. There were a few trips across the floor where I actually felt like I was skating - my balance was in the right place, the foot movement was easy, I could look up at where I was going instead of at the floor, I could almost give a little push to get some extra momentum, I was gliding. I decided I would throw in a toe stop at the end of each pass so I can get used to actual derby girl skate moves while I'm learning and figured out that I must be left-footed. My left toe stop is much better than my right.

After about a half an hour, the instructor came over and gave me my own set of cones to skate between. He wanted me to slalom around them, to encourage me to pick up my feet, which makes changing directions and turning easier. So I did. I slalomed around the cones. I was doing so well with it, in fact, that he added another cone in the middle to make two of the turns tighter. Only once in all of my passes did I stumble enough that I had to put one knee down on the rink. But I got right back up (since I know how) and finished the pass, turned around, and went back for more.

I have no idea how many times I skated across the rink last night. An hour's worth of times. And when the class was over, I thanked the instructor profusely. He had no idea how much his simple instructions helped me, but they did. I kind of get it now. I'm not saying I'm great at it by any stretch of the imagination, but I was able to skate back to the bench near my locker when the lesson was over without holding on to anything or falling over.

I'm sure I looked silly out there in the full gear when I could barely skate. And I'm sure the tall, slender hot guy who skated like a pro was thinking a woman shaped like me should not be wearing yoga pants in public. But you know what? I didn't care. I didn't care in the slightest. This was not about looking good, or showing off, or dressing up so someone would hit on me. This was about me gaining a skill. This was about me gaining confidence. Which I totally did. I know I'm not great yet, but after last night, I know I can get there, which is something I didn't know after Sunday night. The instructor told me the next time I come back for the drop-in lessons, he'll have me away from the wall in the lesson with the other beginners. He was impressed with the progress I made in an hour. I was impressed with the progress I made. And I talked briefly to a couple of the other beginning skaters as we were taking off our skates and they were really nice. Including an older gentleman (probably in his sixties?) who just decided that he wanted to learn to skate, so he's been coming to the Monday night lessons for a few weeks already. He told me I look beautiful on skates.

I think it also did me a world of good to go and try this at my own speed in a place where I knew nobody. There was no fear of shame or humiliation - if I was really awful, I wouldn't necessarily have to go back to that rink. Nobody had to watch me learn or judge my progress, which means I was comfortable flailing my arms to regain balance when I needed to do that. I found myself biting my lip a lot and licking my lips - my signature "I'm concentrating really hard" ticks. But none of that mattered. I was learning to skate at my own pace in my own time. And I think a couple more sessions like that and I'll feel better keeping up with the girls at our next derby skate date.

A huge thank you to the suburban roller rink for being an awesome place with awesome people, and a huge thank you to the instructor who just let me learn in my own time. You have no idea how much you helped!

Sometimes, You Just Have to Fail

I realize that the title of this post sounds very negative, and I realize that a lot of this post will contain negative language, but it is kind of necessary for documenting this process. I know if I document how awful it felt at the beginning, it will feel that much better at the end.

I have been cast in a play about the roller derby that goes up in November, in which I play a derby girl. I was thrilled to even be invited to audition for this company (they do great work and are awesome people), and even more thrilled when they offered me a role. It is a script they have already been workshopping for about a year, and they decided that they needed more derby girls in it to make it feel more authentic, so they did some searching and rounded out the cast with a total of ten derby girls. I think I was among the last to join the cast, if not the actual last person to join, so while this process has been in motion for a year already, it's only been a part of my life for about three weeks. This can be an issue in and of itself in some productions, but the writer, director, and other actors have been awesome so far in making me feel like part of the group. It has me really excited for the show, even though it is six months away.

Now the fun part. I don't know how to roller skate. I skated once at somebody's birthday party when I was in elementary school (if you count "pulling yourself along the wall while wearing roller skates" as "skating"), and of course I fell at some point and some other kid rolled over my wrist. I cried and sat on the sidelines until somebody took me home. And that is the extent of my experience with roller skating. I think my mom tried rollerblading when I was in high school, and I may have put the blades on and walked through the (carpeted) living room wearing them, but that was it. I was never much of an ice skater, either. I could maintain balance and use the toe pick to give myself a bit of momentum, but yeah. When it comes to roller skating, I am a total beginner.

Everyone else in the cast knows how to skate.

Last night, we went out to a facility where a woman who used to be a derby girl helps train women who want to try out for the derby. In other words, this woman knows what she's talking about. When she tells you to put your helmet on first and don't take it off until you leave the floor, you put your helmet on and don't touch it until your skates are off and you're seated in the lobby. We have a couple more of these skate dates scheduled to try to get the cast into good enough skating shape that we'll look like derby girls on stage. So we went over safety equipment (helmet, mouth guards, knee and elbow pads, wrist guards) and learned how to fall before even putting on skates. I was doing great up until that point - I can fall like a pro, especially when I have knee pads and wrist guards on. Besides, falling from skater stance means you're only falling about eight inches, so it's not that big of a deal.

Then the skates went on and my dignity and self-respect went out the window. I could stand up on them, and learned fairly quickly how to maintain a stationary position (toe stop or t-stand). But then they told us to move over to the wall and I was completely lost. I don't know how to move in these things. I know the theory of it, but my body has never done this before. Somehow, my feet felt glued to the ground and I was afraid to pick my skates up more than about half of an inch. Despite our falling lessons, showing us how to fall forward without injuring ourselves, I found myself relying on my stage combat experience of learning how to fall backward without injuring myself. I landed on my bum within about a foot of where I initially stood up.   The first one to fall. And it was suddenly broadcast to everyone in the room - the rest of the cast, the director, the writer, the trainers - just how far behind I am on the learning curve. There was no hiding it - I suck at roller skating.

Once up on our skates, the trainers/instructors started us on what they feel were the basic things you need to  know as a derby girl - how to stop and how to fall. In conjunction with "how to fall" is "how to get back up again really fast so you're not a target on the track and don't turn into a squished speed bump." I fully agree that these are important things to know how to do and I listened attentively to the theories presented. When we had to actually do them...how can you practice a good left toe stop if you're not moving to begin with? One of the instructors came over to me for about ten seconds and I told her I had never skated before in my life. She encouraged me to just practice skating back and forth across the floor, then, instead of focusing on the stops, and told me, "It's kind of like marching," before she skated away. In each drill, I was the last girl to get moving, the last to make it across the floor. I know my cast mates/team mates don't hold that against me at this point, but after a while, I couldn't tell if my face was bright red from exertion or embarrassment. I'm not used to being not grounded in my body and I'm not used to sucking so badly in a public forum with people I've not known very long.

When it was time to take a five minute break and get water, it took me the entire five minutes to get over to the side where I finally had to suck it up and ask one of the other women (a former derby girl herself) to bring my water bottle to me. And we were right back into it, now doing training drills. Skate like normal, then when the whistle blows, take the skater stance and hold it until the second whistle. I couldn't get moving, but I could hold the stance, no problem. Now we're going to skate and on the whistles, do our various stops, then our various falls, then switch directions and do it all again and again and again. "Skating" around in circles, I was hugging the inside of the track, which I realized was probably awful floor positioning for someone as inept at skating as I am, largely from the standpoint of my team mates - I was right exactly in their way a lot of the time. And finally, my frustration and exhaustion hit its peak and I crawled into the infield and made my way off the floor. I was largely a hazard at that point, anyway, so I felt justified in crawling off of the floor. One woman helped me get across the lanes of traffic at the end, and she was concerned for my well-being. I'm sure my face was neon red by this point - it was still flushed when I got home forty-five minutes later. I felt dejected and disappointed in myself and humiliated. Perhaps even a little bit angry. I know the point of the evening was not to work with an absolute beginner and help her learn to skate, but I felt thrust into something way beyond my skill level with no safety net, so to speak.

If this was something I was doing just for fun in my normal life, I probably would not go out of my way to skate again. But I am learning to do this for a show, and I have at least nine other women out there counting on me to get my ass in gear by the time we open. I apologized to the writer and director for having to call it quits early in the evening and promised them I would do better. They both thanked me for putting myself out there and trying in the first place. Because if there is one major lesson that we all learned last night, it is that when you fall down, you get back up as quick as you can and keep going.

So I'm going to drive about an hour tonight to get to a roller rink in the suburbs (they don't have many in the city anymore) where they have lessons on Monday nights before free skating time. And I'm going to take my helmet and pads and skates and I'm going to get back out there on that floor and hopefully learn how to move. Because this is not about my humiliation. This is not about my disappointment. This is about picking myself back up as quick as I can because there are people counting on me to do this. Last night when people were saying, "By the end of this, you'll be the best skater of all of us," and when the instructor pointed me out at the end of the night saying, "I think you did a really great job tonight, too," I felt like the three-year-old playing T-ball who can't hit the ball off of the tee, but gets a Participant Trophy at the end of the season. Except as an adult, I know exactly what that Participant Trophy means.

I'm not giving up - I think we all know by now that I don't give up on things that scare me. I feel like crap about this at the moment, though, and I thought it was important for me to keep track of that, so six months from now, when I'm flying around the track just like all of the other girls, I will be able to fully appreciate exactly how sweet that is. Sometimes, you have to fail first so you know how to succeed later.

And, on the up side, I have enough booty that I walked away from last night with only a bruised ego.

So That Happened

As it turns out, all of my worry was for nothing.

We went in and shot the play last night and I actually had a lot of fun doing it. It was kind of amazing to me (and everyone else there) how fresh the show was considering we've not touched it in two and a half months. But I think we were all still finding new things in the script to play with and it was just plain fun.

The end product is not going to be posted on the interweb for all to see. It will be distributed to the five of us involved in the production on DVD to just...have. So we have it. In case we need it for something, or want to take a quick jaunt down memory lane for a few minutes. Meaning, I don't think I need to worry about the girls from high school or random dudes in LA seeing it and finding me physically repulsive. Beyond which, we got to watch it last night when we were done shooting and I didn't find myself nearly as physically repulsive as I had built myself up in my head to be. I'm not saying I have a perfect beach bod that I'm going to run around all summer flaunting it in a bikini or anything, but I also don't think I look like Jabba the Hut, either, so that's reassuring. I think it also helped that the cameraman was doing facial close-ups whenever possible so my rear end spends quite a bit of time not on screen, which is good. If I'm allowed to say it, though, I have super crazy long legs. Just sayin'.

Anyway. All that worry for nothing. It feels good to have that under my belt. And safely tucked away where I have some sort of control over who gets to see it. That makes me happy.

Fear of Exposure

I have to admit, I'm a little bit scared and nervous.

A couple of months ago, I was in a showcase of plays at the theater where I had been taking classes. All around, it was an amazing experience and I got to work with incredible people and just plain had a great time doing the showcase.

One of the pieces I was in had me playing a hooker that nobody wants, essentially. The show was about these two guys who have a fantasy and are confronted with a reality and don't really like the reality. It's a great piece and I loved doing it, even though it involved a rather small costume (nothing that would garner an X rating, barely R, if you ask me. All of the important bits were covered). The whole point of casting someone like me in this role is that I am not a size zero and in a way, it was empowering to be on stage every night in that role, possibly making audience members uncomfortable for how exposed I was physically and emotionally.

This coming Sunday, we're filming the piece so that we have the piece filmed. I don't remember whose idea it was - if the playwright wants it for his portfolio or if it is supposed to be the start of a "film bits of theater" type project that will include other plays down the line or if we're just doing it for the sheer joy of doing it, but we're filming the piece on Sunday. And I'm nervous.

That kind of physical exposure in live theater is easy for me to wrap my brain around and get comfortable with. It is sort of like ripping a band-aid off - you just take off the coat and there you are in a halter top and short shorts and you still have a show to do. Hopefully you can affect the audience enough that they aren't picking apart every one of your physical flaws in the four minutes you are on stage.

That kind of physical exposure on film is daunting. People will be able to freeze frame on me while I'm sitting down or twisting oddly so I'll look even bigger than I actually am. People who aren't of the mindset that they are going to see art that is making a statement may have access to see it. And while I am perfectly comfortable doing it and kind of flattered that I get to represent the non-stick girl in a "sexy" role, I know that not everyone who watches the film will see it that way. I know that girls I went to high school with will watch it and think, "Oh my god, she looks terrible!" so that they can feel better about themselves. Even random strangers may post comments (depending on how the film is distributed) talking about how repulsive it is to have a woman of my shape on film wearing so little. Depending on how the film is distributed, I kind of feel like I have to brace myself for an onslaught of "Sweet jebus, she's disgusting," because I'm not what you expect to see when you expect to see a hooker.

That being said, I'm not going to not do it. Yes, I'm a little scared and nervous, but I'm not going to let that stop me (is that what people are referring to when they call me fearless?). The people who saw the show live were impressed with my bravery and emotional presence in the scene - even people who didn't know me. I made a great impression on fellow actors whose work I have long admired. So I'm not going to let a little fear stand in the way of producing art I believe in. And I'm not going to starve myself between now and Sunday to try to lose two pounds before the shoot. I like food. Food is my friend. Food is necessary for survival and I would much rather look like this than be unhappy, groggy, and grumpy all of the time because I'm not eating enough carbohydrates. I think The Brothers Green will agree with me on this and as we all know, what The Brothers Green say is law. I mean that in the best possible way - I've been a little obsessed with watching their videos in all of their various forms recently because they're just, well, charming, intelligent, and funny.

But I digresss.

I'm looking forward to having a record of this project - that part is really cool. I'm just nervous about what people will say about my physical shape, which can best be described as "round." People can be mean. Especially people you don't know on the internet. So I'm apologizing in advance if I need to lean on the people who love me a little bit and ask for reassurances that you still love me even though I'm rounder than your typical Hollywood starlet. I do sort of hope that if more people like me get to play more roles like this and gain more exposure, maybe we can shift (albeit slowly) the general perception of female beauty away from something that is unattainable, unhealthy, and detrimental to so many. Baby steps, right? Here's hoping this can be one of them.

Or maybe I'm worrying about nothing because the only people who will ever see it are people who saw the live production anyway.I do tend to worry about things needlessly from time to time.

Grumble, Grumble

I've been angry a lot lately and I don't like that. If you are one of the people I have been angry in the general direction of lately, I apologize for that. I know who and what is making me angry (for the most part), but I don't necessarily have good mechanisms in place for dealing with those specific things or people. I don't know what to do when confronted with incompetence and pettiness and apathy and dismissal.  For the most part, I think I'm pretty good at keeping the focus of my anger where it belongs - toward the specific instance of incompetence or pettiness or apathy or dismissal - as opposed to just letting loose and being a bitch to every one and every thing around me.  But I don't like having this much anger.  It's not good for me to be angry so much of the time.

I also know that the Universe doesn't owe me anything. The only thing it could be argued that I really have a right to is oxygen, so I shouldn't get so bent out of shape when I follow the rules and am told there is a reward at the end and then find out that there is no reward. Nobody owes me a reward. I have no more right to it than anyone else. Though it sometimes feels like I have less of a chance to get it than anyone else. I know there have been instances in my life where it came down to the difficult decision of choosing me or choosing someone else and nine times out of ten, the someone else is chosen. I'm not the sort that gets picked. I'm not the sort that wins things. And I have to wonder if I don't get the benefit of the doubt (or whatever it is that ultimately makes someone else get picked over me) because people just kind of know I'll be okay without that opportunity. Which I usually am. It just gets frustrating to not get that opportunity, you know?

I think it is important to recognize anger. To be able to name it and place it where it is supposed to go. But I also think it is important to let it go once it has been identified, and I need to get better at that. Holding on to this much anger is detrimental to my well-being and makes me a person I don't want to be.

Sometimes, I just need to let it go.

I Just...I Just Don't Know

I'm feeling a little ootsy today, which, of course, has me thinking I should blog.  Writing helps, right?  Right?

I went to a rehearsal/audition/workshop thingy last night (I'm honestly not sure what it was as we were working on a play (kind of) in which I have yet to be cast (officially, if I ever will be cast, I don't know) but we read scenes and danced and brainstormed and whatnot) in a neighborhood I don't think I've ever visited before.  I go to this particular suburb fairly often because it's right next door to the city and it has a really good movie theater, but when I'm going to the theater, I drive north until I don't need to anymore and then I turn right.  To get to the rehearsal/audition/workshop thingy, I turned left.  Which, for all of you Whovians out there might bring up ominous feeling and let me say, rightly so.  Rightly so.  I turned left.  And within a block or so, I started to feel very out of place.  I don't know that I can describe this feeling to people who don't live in major metropolitan areas, but after living in a city for a while, you start to get an instinctive feel for what neighborhoods you're comfortable walking around in at night by yourself and which ones you are not.  I started to get the feeling that this was one I should not be walking around in at night by myself.  Which was inconvenient as it was night and I was by myself.  There is a high school there, which should indicate some level of safety, but I also know that hooligans like to hang out near their school and wreak havoc from time to time.  Maybe because they don't like school in general, or maybe because they all know where it is and how to get there.  And since there was really lovely weather last night, there were plenty of people out and about.  Or, just out.  There was a mob of twenty or so kids hanging out in front of the building where my rehearsal/audition/workshop thingy was taking place, just sort of hanging out.  Until one of them yelled, "Now!" and they swarmed into the intersection like migratory birds or something and jumped up on the cars parked along either side of the street.

Now, I don't like to be one to believe stereotypes.  I like to believe that people are generally good and if you don't bug them, they won't bug you.  Like bees.  But I also know that "mob mentality" is a real thing, so these kids running into the street (against the light, mind you) and jumping on parked cars made me nervous.  Scratch that.  It scared me. I was afraid to leave my car and walk into the building.  I thought about asking them to please just not jump on MY car, but realized that would involve talking to them which may appear confrontational and it may just be an invitation for them to really vandalize my car.  Like when someone asks you to stop calling them "Buddy," so you do nothing but call them "Buddy" for the next three years because you know it annoys them.

On the up side, they didn't do anything to my car.  Nor did they even really notice me as I walked into the building.  So that's good.  But it left sort of a weird flavor in my mouth all night and sort of tainted my first impression of the really cool place where the rehearsal/audition/workshop thingy took place.  I'm going back there during the day on Sunday for another rehearsal/audition/workshop thingy, and hopefully that will help cleanse the palate.

But I think the experience carried over into my dreams.  I dreamed I was suddenly put in charge of a small child - a boy maybe five years old?  He looked like the young version of Jimmy from Raising Hope - whose mother (the only existing parent) was going off to war.  And this kid did not like that arrangement AT ALL.  He was crying and whining and squirming and complaining.  He wanted to call her on the aircraft carrier she was on headed over to the Middle East and I was trying to explain that this wasn't a good time to call mommy because she was doing military type stuff and time changes and do they even have phones on aircraft carriers for personal calls and then suddenly, my honorary sister was there saying it was totally possible to call this kid's mom because she was in transit and probably not all that busy at the moment anyway, which was very not helpful.  The kid even made a break for it, like he was going to run away and find his mom and I felt so helpless and ineffective and alone in the whole thing.  I woke up feeling miserable, and kind of annoyed with my honorary sister for not backing me up.

I'm getting tired of these dreams of helplessness and loneliness.  I'm sure they have to do with things going on in my life that I don't want to talk about here, and are probably a reflection of the fact that I have no control over those things and it drives me crazy that I just have to let them play out, you know?  But I'm ready for them to play out so I can stop having upsetting dreams.  Upsetting dreams do not leave a person feeling rested and ready to face the new day.

But we have nice weather at the moment (record high temperatures), which means I get to walk outside on my lunch break from work.  Which is nice.  If I get a little nice during the day, it helps offset the not-so-nice at night.

I could still use a decent night's sleep, though.

Dreams

I've been tired a lot lately, and as such, I've been sleeping a lot.  I'm not sure if that's helping, though, because I've been having some really odd, rather disturbing dreams of late.

Last night, I had a dream that I was going to my own engagement party. It took place at a church (which was strange enough to begin with), and when we walked in, the walls were covered with white pieces of paper that had names on them.  I think they were supposed to be roses or some sort of decoration for the party, because there was a basket of them on one of the side tables and a sign that said, "Name and Relationship."  My guess is that people were supposed to write their name on the rose and how they knew the bride or groom and  put them on the wall, maybe so we could see how supported and loved we were? Thing is, I didn't recognize any of the names.  I had arrived at the party with my mother, and watched her very determinedly fill out a rose and stick it on the wall in an act of "even if we don't know these other people, I love my daughter" and I love her for that.   She's that kind of mom.  But my fiance was suspiciously absent from the party, as well. Even in photographs. There were pictures of him and pictures of me, but only one of the two of us together and for the life of me, I can't place his face.  In my dream, I remember saying, "I guess maybe we should start taking some pictures together."  And I knew that I wasn't terribly excited about this marriage.  Whoever this guy was (I remember his name was James and I think he was a friend of my brother's?), I wasn't marrying him because we were head over heels in love but because he asked and who else was I going to marry?  So that dream left me feeling rather sad.  My own engagement party was a) not really about me and b) not cause for much celebration.

So I woke up, scritched my cat behind the ears for a few minutes and went back to sleep.

I had another dream, this time that I was in the emergency room of a hospital giving blood.  I gave two pints from my left arm and they wanted to get another one from my right, and then they had to collect some bone marrow or something from my right wrist joint.  After they got the third pint of blood but before the wrist joint thing, I saw some other friends of mine in the emergency room who were there for other various procedures and I chatted with them for a bit.  I felt safe when I hugged them and terrified of going back to my "bed" for the wrist joint thing.  Because I knew that in order for them to get whatever it was they needed, they would have to insert a very long, very large needle through the heel of my hand to the bones in my wrist.  I didn't want my friends to let me go, or I wanted one of them to go with me, but they had their own procedures to have done.  So I went back to my bed when I had no more excuses not to, and they had adjusted it so that my feet would be higher than my head, presumably to facilitate getting the right angle from my palm through to my wrist, but they adjusted it too far and I slid right off, head first, onto the floor.  We all laughed about that for a minute and I climbed back onto the bed (I stayed on this time) and hoped against hope that it wouldn't hurt as bad as I thought it was going to.  But it did.  In my dream, I could feel the pain of the needle piercing my palm and penetrating through to my wrist.  I wanted someone's hand to hold and squeeze, but none of my friends were there.  And the really strange part is not so much that I felt this horrid pain in my dream, but that I was aware that while I was dreaming about this pain in my hand, I consciously knew I was lying in my own bed at home with my hand resting on my stomach.  I could feel that position in real life at the same time.  It was odd.  And painful.  And when I woke up for good this time, I checked my hand first thing to see if there was a mark on it.  Which, of course, there wasn't.

So the common threads in these dreams were feelings of solitude, sadness, and nonchalance.  Add these to the dream I had a couple of nights ago about single-handedly fighting blue zombies with machetes (and eventually losing when a child zombie bit my thigh) and I'd say I'm about due for a really happy dream.  A dream wherein I feel loved and safe and secure and happy.  Or, there is something going on in my life that is making me feel very isolated that I need to examine.  These sorts of dreams certainly don't make sleeping very restful.

Stupid and Angry

I'm angry today and feeling stupid now.

Let's say your internet company calls you up and says, "Your internet isn't working, we'll send a new router to you and you'll have it in 3-5 days."  And a week and a half goes by and you don't have the new router yet, so you call them back and say, "I thought you were going to send me a new router.  Has it shipped yet?" And they tell you, "Oh, we issued a new router but there was something wrong with it so your account is on hold."

"Why is my account on hold?"

"There was something wrong with the router."

"What?"

"Please hold."  *muzak*  "Okay, we've located a working router and taken your account off of hold and you'll have it tomorrow."

"Groovy, thanks."

So tomorrow comes and they sent the new router to your mom's house instead of your house.  So you call the delivery company and ask them to change the address (since your mom was smart enough to refuse the package) and they process your change of address request so that your router will be delivered to where you are between normal delivery hours the following day.

Except, the delivery guy shows up an hour late.  You've already left because you had other commitments.  You're hoping he'll not actually deliver your router since you're not there to receive it and will try again the next day but no, the tracking information for the delivery says he delivered it and left it outside the front door an hour after the front door is locked for the night.

So you hurry in the next morning, hoping to find your router waiting for you outside the front door, but it's not there.  It's not in the hallway.  It's not blowing down the street.  Your router is nowhere to be found and all the delivery company can say when you call them is that they don't know where it is, either, since the delivery guy said he left it at the front door.  And at this point, you've been without interweb for two weeks and it's getting ridiculous and you're frustrated and angry.  So you call your internet provider back and tell them that the delivery company lost your router and they need to run a track and trace on it and they need to disassociate the serial number of that router from your account since it was never in your possession and you don't know where it is and you don't want to be held responsible for something that the delivery company lost.  Your internet provider reports that router lost and after quite a bit more hassle, agrees to overnight another router to you, shipped to where you will be the next day when you will be there, because this whole thing is just a freaking mess at this point and you're freaked out and angry and you've been a model internet customer for a really long time and I'm sure they're pissed off that one of their routers is now lost, too.

And then, ten minutes later, your neighbor knocks on the door with your router that was delivered to him last night when the delivery guy showed up an hour late.

So I'm angry.  And frustrated.  And feeling stupid.  If the delivery company had just said they left it with my neighbor instead of at the front door, I would be in possession of my package now and all would be good.  As it stands, I have to camp out at home tomorrow until the delivery guy shows up with the replacement for the replacement for the replacement because someone got frisky and messed with my account in the first place.

And I will freely admit that maybe I should have waited a bit before completely freaking out on the delivery company and "internet service provider" (this has nothing to do with my interweb - it's an adjacent metaphorical story), but wouldn't you?  If sensitive information was supposedly left somewhere in the open where it then obviously wasn't?

I could use some happy today.  I could really use some happy.  I don't like feeling stupid and angry.  I don't like yelling at people on the phone.  I'm sure they are all very nice people who are just trying to do their jobs but when they can't answer my questions or provide reasonable solutions to my problems, I get frustrated and start to yell.  I don't like that.  I'm sorry if you are one of the people I yelled at today.  You didn't deserve that.  And if it helps at all, I'm mad at me, too, for not just waiting two hours to see what else would develop (even though I feel justified in my irritation at the incorrect information given to me).

So I'm sorry that I'm stupid and angry today.  I'm going to go try to find some happy now.

Yeah, You Don't Need to See That

I was cast in a couple of plays that open in January (yay!) at the theater where I took all sorts of classes about a year ago (yay!).  For the most part, I am very excited about it.  It is an evening of short plays, six in total, and I appear in two (which doesn't happen often - they don't like to double cast these shows because they want as many people working as possible).  I really enjoy both scripts and both directors and both writers and both casts - I think it is going to make for a really fun night of theater.

In one of these shows, though, I will be wearing clothing that a woman of my age and body type really has no business wearing.  That's kind of the point.  And on the one hand, I know it's a sort of sight gag (not quite the right term, but I can't think of a better one), and I'm totally on board for that.  Having been a costume designer, I know that the clothes do a lot to tell the story of the character and when I'm only on stage for three pages, there's a lot of story that needs to be told in not a lot of time, so whatever the costume can do to help is great.  But on the other hand, I have body image issues.  I think we all know this by now.  I think we also all know by now that I don't have washboard abs or a cute, pert little rear end.  I'm curvier and squishier than that.  I take comfort in the fact that my cat likes to sleep on my curvy, squishy tummy.  And I try to be an advocate for non-lollipop women in the arts to get more screen time, so to speak, so this would seem to be a great opportunity to showcase an extremely talented woman with a less than Hollywood-perfect physique.

But it's still freaking me out a little that I will be seen wearing...that.  Like people will love me less if they see my exposed, fish-belly white, curvy, squishy tummy.  Or like they will be so blinded by the stark whiteness of my legs that have not seen the light of day in years that they won't be able to focus on my performance.

I will do it.  I will wear that costume on stage and I am sure that once I am in the scene, I won't even be thinking about it.  I usually don't, once I'm in the scene.  The anticipation of it is freaking me out a little.  Almost motivating me to stop eating for the next two weeks and do lots of crunches, but I know that doing that would then fly in the face of the aesthetic of the piece.  That wouldn't be true to the character or the director's vision or the writer's vision.

Anyway.  I hope people come see these shows and enjoy them.  I hope people are able to focus on my performances instead of my tummy.  Though if you do come see them and stick around to talk to me after, I may need you to tell me that I'm pretty and you still like me.

Maybe.

Big Happy, Little Happy

I dream big.

I think anyone who knows me at all knows this by now.  I can't help it - it's what I do.  It could be an overactive imagination or some coping mechanism for dealing with disappointments in the real world, but I dream big.  I dream of the day when I no longer have to worry about money.  I dream of the day when all I have to do is be an artist.  I dream of finding my life partner.  I dream big.

Thing is, the big things don't happen very often.  That's why they're the big things.

Often times, I find myself getting annoyed with the fact that the big things don't happen often.  I know I've posted before that I sometimes feel like I need that "blow your face off" exciting thing to happen - like I'm owed some enormous debt by the Universe.  I'm sure that's not true, but sometimes it feels that way, and then when all of the other little annoyances in life pile on top of that, I get grumpy.

What I need to remember is that there are a lot of "little happys" that happen all of the time.  Getting a hug from my niece.  Snuggling with my cat.  Making someone laugh.  I think I'm usually pretty good about recognizing these things and appreciating them for what they are.  I was on the train not too long ago (I think it was when I was in New York) and this guy on the train sat next to me and ate these sour candy straws one by one out of their little package and it struck me as so beautiful that this man was enjoying his sour candy straws on the train that I almost started crying.  So I think I'm good at recognizing the "little happys."

This time of year, though, is one wherein we're sort of taught that the big happys are supposed to happen.  Movies and television shows pump us full of the idea that the holidays are magic and magic things happen just in time for Christmas.  And when they don't...it can be disappointing.  When the object of your affection doesn't suddenly pull you under the mistletoe for a quick kiss that you know in the movies means the start of a long, beautiful relationship.  When the Christmas bonus doesn't happen at all.  When you discover that all of the little holiday treats you've been enjoying really weren't calorie-free and you don't fit into your favorite trousers anymore.  It can be easy to be grumpy.

But I got a little happy today.  Maybe even a medium-sized happy that came with a nice side of ego boost.  So I'm going to smile for a little bit and maybe even hope that it does snow because the world looks pretty when covered with new snow and I got enough little happy today to let me enjoy that.  So go enjoy some happy - big or little - today.  Maybe even spread it around.  Today is a good day for happys of all sizes.

Another Day, Another "Thanks Anyway"

An actor's live is full of rejection.  I knew that going in, and anyone else who considers this career path should know that. For every fifty auditions you go to, you may get one role.  It is the odd lucky streak when you get to work consistently.  Even amongst our big movie stars - from the time a movie is shot to the time it is released can be a period of anywhere from six months to two or three years.  So when you don't see someone in anything for a while, just imagine how long it has actually been since they worked.

But I digress.

An actor's life is full of rejection, for all sorts of reasons.  This morning, I got another, "You were great, but we're going another direction" email.  On the one hand, I like that theater companies are sending these emails now.  It used to just be if you didn't hear from them within about a week, you cross that one off your list.  At least now they let the non-cast people know they weren't cast so we can stop thinking about it.  That's nice. But it is still disappointing to not get to work on certain projects.

Which brings me back to my feeling that I need something to happen in my life that is so amazing it blows my face off.  I feel like I need to define that a little better, because I am surrounded by lots of little things that go right and are lovely and I am thankful for them, but none of them blow my face off.

I have an amazing family and some really wonderful friends.
I love it that my apartment has been warm so far this year.
I love it that my cat is super snugly.
I'm thankful when I find parking on the street so I don't have to pay for parking at work.
I'm thankful that I have one of the all time great heads of hair.
It still makes me smile every day that I get to drive a little green bug.
I have been getting a lot of compliments lately on this one ring that I wear that I wasn't sure I'd be able to pull off in the first place.

All of these things are amazing and humbling and they make me smile and I am thankful for them on a daily basis.

The thing about the "blow my face off" thing is that I feel like it needs to be a game changer.  It could start with something small, but it needs to produce some big end result.  It would be best if it was also surprising.

For example, I got a phone call from a theater company with a bit of a reputation for putting on good theater, inviting me to come audition.  That's pretty cool.  Didn't blow my face off, though, because unless I get the part, nothing really changes.  Now, if I get the part and we get really good reviews, that could be a bit of a game changer and maybe it will turn into the blow my face off thing, but it isn't there yet.  For now, it's just really groovy.  I do appreciate the awesomeness of some cool random thing in my day - like when I get to see a really amazing sunset, or when a puppy I've not met before licks my face - but my face is still in tact.

What I would really like, in terms of my face being blown off, is, like I said, some surprising game changer.  David Tennant showing up at my door with a cupcake for a chat.  Someone deciding to pay my rent for me one month (or one year).  A significant bonus at work.  Finding my life partner.  Suddenly waking up twenty pounds lighter.  Some movie producer using one of my songs in a blockbuster film.  Landing a role on the BBC.  You know - the big goals.  Not the daily awesomeness that surrounds me.  I love the daily awesomeness.  I'd just like to mix it up a little, you know?  Because there's a lot of daily crap, too.

So anyway.  Someday.  Someday my face will be blown off and I won't know what to do with myself.  But it will be amazing.

Tired and Ready to Move On

I've been thinking for a couple of weeks now that I want to make a vlog about this, but I just have yet to sit down and do it. So I'm writing about it, too, because it's sort of important to me and I don't want to forget about it. I may also need help sticking to it, but here goes.

I still fit into my high school prom dress.

I have told a couple of people this tidbit and their jaws kind of drop, like, "Oh my gosh, you're so lucky that you're still the same size you were in high school!" Thing is, it's not a tiny dress. I've never been the sort that fits into the tiny dresses. But I do still fit into my high school prom dress. Which means that even though I'm not tiny, my body hasn't changed all that much since high school.

I have spent I don't even know how much time dieting since then. I've tried Weight Watchers and SparkPeople and plain old calorie counting and some weird thing that was supposed to help me lose eleven pounds in ten days and I've tried various pills and cleanses and various workout programs and spent I don't even know how much money on gym memberships and supplements and other assorted associated crap. And for all of that, my body hasn't changed that much since high school.

Yes, there was probably a time between then and now when I was smaller than I am at this very moment. And there may have been a time when I was bigger than I am at this very moment. But the net gain/loss is about zero since high school.

The net gain/loss is about zero since high school.

So you know what? I'm done with it. Or, at the very least, I want to be done with it. I want to stop obsessing about how much ketchup I put on my soy dogs. I want to stop counting celery sticks. I want to stop berating myself for eating when I'm hungry or skipping a workout when I'm sick. I want to stop doing these insane things to my body chemistry that will ultimately end up leaving me with a net gain/loss of zero. I want to stop wasting the energy hating myself.

Now, I'm not saying I'm going to totally let myself go and let my health deteriorate. I still like going for walks, and I'll still do squats in the ladies' room when nobody is looking. I'm still vegan, so I'm still going to get my six or seven servings of fruits and vegetables a day. But I'm tired of limiting myself to twelve grapes when I want a snack. I'm tired of feeling guilty for eating! I'm sick of it. People need to eat to live. People need to eat carbohydrates for proper brain function and fats for proper nutrient absorption. I'm tired of not eating mashed potatoes because white starches aren't good for you. I'm tired of not having spaghetti for dinner because my lunch was kind of carb heavy if my body is really, really craving spaghetti. I'm tired of berating myself for having a snack at 10:00pm when I get home after a show and my stomach is growling. I'm tired of restricted calorie diets that leave me grumpy. I'm tired of hating myself for my food choices which are 80% of the time very healthy.

There are those who would argue that as an actor, I am acutely aware of things like this and that there is extra pressure on me to look a certain way so I can get certain types of roles. Thing is, I have come to the conclusion in the last year or so that I wouldn't get those roles anyway. I'm not an "ingenue type." I never have been. The closest I got to an ingenue type role was one I played in college because the girl who was originally cast got really sick and they needed someone to fill in and as the costume designer, I already knew the whole show so I did it. I would never have otherwise been cast in the role of the sort of flighty girl looking for her best friend's approval of her new boyfriend. I'm usually cast as the best friend from whom the flighty girl is seeking approval. Which is fine. Those characters are much more "me." So why am I killing myself to look a certain way so I can try to get roles I'm completely wrong for? It just doesn't make sense.

And how sad that it has taken me this long to figure that out?

But I am figuring it out. Which is the good part. Thing is, I have a pretty face. And I'm not obese. I am a very healthy person - good blood pressure, good cholesterol, all of that stuff. There are men out there who find me quite attractive, just the way I am. Not all of them, but that can be said about stick-thin women, too.

Being thin won't make me smarter.

Being thin won't make me a better actor.

Being thin won't make me a nicer person.

Being thin won't increase my contribution to society.

So why do I do all of this shit to try to be thinner?

I'm tired of it. And I want to stop. I want to eat when I'm hungry and listen to my body cravings to tell me what to eat. My body is pretty smart - if I need more protein, it will tell me - and if I listen to it, I'm pretty sure I'll get what I need. I want to enjoy a slice of cake on my birthday without feeling like I've failed as a person. I want to stop getting angry when I eat a meal that is 400 calories because that is too much food to be eating in one sitting (even though I'm perfectly happy to eat a whole bag of chips in one sitting). I'm just sick of how much time and energy I waste worrying about food and exercising because the majority of it is negative energy. Really negative energy. And I would like to be done with that.

I'd just like to get to a place where my body can kind of self-regulate. So far, it seems to be working, too. I'm not spending time hating myself for eating, which is actually getting rid of some of the urge to overeat.

So I'm going to stop worrying about my cravings for Fritos. When I want Fritos, I'll pick up a bag, eat a few until I don't want them anymore and put the rest away for later.

And I'm going to stop worrying about days when I don't work out. There are days when I walk six miles, and there are days when I spend the evening curled up with my cat on the couch.

What it all works out to is I am still a healthy person, a nice person, a talented person, a kind person, an intelligent person, an attractive person and a lovable person. Regardless of what size dress I wear.

Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho

And so begins my work trip to Italy. I made it from my front door to the gate with detours through a Jamba Juice and a currency exchange in an hour and a half. Which means now I get to wait here two hours for my flight. But it's fine. I'd rather be early than late.

I'm nervous about this trip, in part because it is for work and people are depending on me, and in part because I don't speak Italian. I've done a little bit of research on Milan and I should be okay - its not like I've never traveled internationally on my own before. I'm just nervous. My mom thinks that's normal for overseas travel. She's likely right about that.

I should get some time to walk around while I am there, and that should be fun. Probably just what I need. I will keep you posted (kind of) and will likely have pictures and video to share when I get back. Have a good weekend!

Dream a Little Dream

I have been in desperate need of DTWAC for a while now. Maybe a month? I don't know if it started around the time my grandmother passed, or if it has anything to do with the fact that I've not yet really said goodbye to my friend who passed away from ALS while I was out of town at a wedding or if any of it is residual crap from this character I'm playing at the moment who is very...put upon? But I've been feeling, in general, very put upon lately and in need of DTWAC. Or something good. And surprising. I would like someone to be overwhelmingly nice to me for a minute without me having to ask for it. And now that I've typed that, I've asked for it, which means I'm going to feel ooky if anyone is overwhelmingly nice to me in the near future. So if you have any plans to be overwhelmingly nice, hold onto them for a few weeks and get me when I'm not expecting it so I can fully appreciate it. Deal?

But then last night, I had this completely lovely dream about Liverpool. I dreamed I was visiting a friend in Liverpool and it was absolutely gorgeous there. He didn't live in the city proper, but sort of on the outskirts, so when we wanted to go into the city to go exploring, since he doesn't drive, he rode a Big Wheel. While wearing a helmet and goggles. And he didn't have to pedal it for some reason, so it actually sort of looked like he was luge-ing on a Big Wheel down this twisty, gorgeous, remote mountain road. Because in my dreams, the space between the Liverpool suburbs and Liverpool proper is mountainous and forested and gorgeous. Like the opening(ish) shot in Tucker and Dale vs. Evil (which is brilliant, by the way. If you have the means, I highly recommend checking that movie out. It is extremely funny and very well done). And I thought he was crazy for luge-ing down this road on a Big Wheel, but I was keeping up with him somehow, without being on the Big Wheel. I guess I was flying? I did get some nice aerial views of his trip down the mountain into town, so I must have been flying, and laughing most of the way, too. When we got into the city, it was the kind of place where there was a Barnes and Noble on the corner, but there was also this tiny one-room shop full of all kinds of crap and some books that served both as a store and a kind of library. He grabbed a book and tossed it to the proprietor (a nice little old lady) and said, "Sign that out for me, would you?" I have no idea what the book was, but I thought it was cute that he could borrow a book from this tiny shop. And we went to get lunch somewhere that must have been like a food court or something, and while we were eating, he kept moving closer and closer to me - he started out across the table, but with every bite, he would scooch around the table until he ended up sitting right next to me. Which was kind of nice in and of itself. Nothing unseemly happened, it was just a nice day spent with a friend in a beautiful place.

And I woke up feeling better than I have in a really long time. Not grumpy. I'm kind of amazed at how much my dreams can affect my moods. Bad dreams can leave me in a funk all day. But this good dream has me feeling somewhat optimistic today. And I have no idea where it came from. Yes, I'm traveling next week, but not to visit a friend. The scenery came from Tucker and Dale. But the happy? No idea. I guess I should just be thankful for it and enjoy the dream time I got to spend with my friend.

Keep on dreaming, kids. It's good for you.

Happy Mug Is Happy

When I was in Pennsylvania for that wedding, we had breakfast one morning at a place with this very happy coffee mug (I'm going to try to post the picture, but I'm not sure if my blog is set up to do that).

Anyway, it occurred to me as I'm in the middle of a silly picture text message exchange with a friend of mine while I wait at the airport for my flight that this could be a wonderful thing to see first thing in the morning or something actually kind of horrifying.

See, on the one hand, you have your coffee telling you that you're awesome first thing in the morning. Most people could use a compliment first thing in the morning, so yay for that.

On the other hand, you are about to consume the contents of the mug, exhaust the mug's entire purpose in life, and then either leave it sitting in a sink all day or scald it with boiling water and soap before relegating it back to the dark, non-ventilated cabinet. And it is telling you, with a happy smiling face, that you are a very important person. Isn't that a rather unhealthy relationship?

Happy mug is happy. And sadistic.

Hotel - Part 2

When I stay by myself in a hotel, I don't necessarily think the room needs to be cleaned every day I'm there. Factor in the water savings and all of that "green" stuff, but I'm also not that messy. They might need to empty one carry out container from my trash bin and that's about it. I mean, think about it - do you change your sheets at home every day? Do you scrub your bathtub daily? So is it really necessary for them to do that in a hotel?

Anyway. I'm out here for four nights, so after the second night, I hung the "service please" thingy on my door. When I got back to my room last night, I found that they had given me a top sheet for my bed. On top of the comforter. Which, again, kind of seems to defeat the purpose. And they took my damp bath mat (damp from me showering wrong with only half of a door), folded it up, and draped it over the edge of the tub. So it was still soggy when I replaced it on the floor so I would have to stand barefoot on cold tile. Instead, I got to stand barefoot on soggy bath mat. Yay.

And one final side note - the thermostat in my room tells me that I have to put my keycard in a slot by the door to adjust the thermostat. Even when my keycard is already in the slot by the door. But it's kind of moot because in New York City, they can only provide heat or air conditioning one at a time, not both. So with the nighttime lows in the forties, they've kept the air conditioning on. Good thing they put that sheet on my comforter.

Hotels

I don't understand some things about hotels, and maybe it is because I don't stay in them very often and I've watched too much "Hotel Babylon," but there are some things I just don't get.

I am currently staying in a hotel in midtown Manhattan that normally charges upwards of $300 per night for it's cheap rooms. I understand the room I am in is one of the cheap rooms - no frills, basic amenities. Well, basic for midtown Manhattan. I was in another hotel in rural Pennsylvania a couple of weeks ago where a hair dryer was not a standard amenity in every room. Where I am now, it is. And it's a pretty good hair dryer, too. But mine is not the sort of room where rock stars would stay and trash the place. It's nice for the business traveller who needs a bed, a shower, and a TV before going to work in the morning.

And yet, there are no sheets on my bed. There is a fitted something over the mattress, but no top sheet. Just a comforter and blanket. It would seem to me more sanitary and easier to clean sheets than comforters, but what do I know? And there is a huge crack in my bathroom sink (and I keep seeing the shape of the crack throughout space and time...kidding). And the elevator is unreliable at best - I don't mind taking the stairs on occasion, but I'm on the seventh floor and it has almost made me late a couple of times.

But the biggest thing that baffles me about this fancy-schmancy hotel in midtown Manhattan is that it only has half of a shower door. And this is the second time I've stayed in a hotel in midtown Manhattan that only have me half of a shower door! It is literally a piece of glass that has been caulked into place that is only half the width if the shower. Which makes it awkward to turn the water on and off unless you are already in there, and it also means the bathroom floor gets soaked any time I bathe. Am I showering wrong? Are other people able to maneuver in this half-shower in such a way as to keep all of the water in the tub? Are they trying to be semi-European where they don't have shower doors or curtains at all because they bathe sitting down? Because the last hotel I stayed at with half of a shower door didn't have a tub, so sitting down wasn't really an option, or at least not an appealing one. And at this place, the shower head is mounted to the wall, so I couldn't sit down with it, so to speak. I just don't get it.

This is why I would either be an awesome hotel reviewer or a horrible one. I'm just not trendy.

Flying High

I'm blogging on a plane. In a plane, according to George Carlin, but you know what I mean. With my lovely iPhone Blogger app, I am writing a blog post while 30,000 feet in the air. Give or take. Of course, I'm going to wait until I land to publish this because even though I'm on a wi-fi plane, the wi-fi rates are ridiculous.

But seriously, when did this happen? When did our world become the sort if place where a) we can connect to the interweb from ANYWHERE and b) we feel the need to do so?

The other fun thing about this flight (well, "fun" is subjective) is that it is a 6:00am flight headed east, so we're flying into the sunrise. I do like that this is the time of year when I get to see more sunrises, but it's pretty cool to watch one from this high up. I took some pictures out the window, though I don't think they can quite capture the beauty of it.

Does anyone else sing "Movin' Right Along" from "The Muppet Movie" when you're trying to remember where the sun rises and sets? "Hey, I never saw the sun come up in the west? Movin' right along (buddy dum buddy dum)..."

Anyway. Not too much else to say from up here. It's going to be a long five days in New York at a trade show and I've been up since about 2:00am, so maybe I should try to sleep. Happy October!

Life, Death, and Marriage

This was sort of an intense weekend that reminded me very much of the cycle of life.  For very good reason.

The first event was the birth of a daughter to a friend of mine with whom I have recently sort of reconnected, thanks to the interweb.  I think it's lovely that he and his wife now have a little girl in their family, in addition to their adorable twin boys.  Congratulations, and welcome to the world!

The second was a wedding, between two friends of mine who might be the cutest couple I have ever met.  She is certainly one of the most adorable people I have ever met, and I think the two of them have a very healthy attitude toward their relationship.  They are partners in life, and are still fantastic individuals.  Their wedding was gorgeous, too - on her parent's property in the northeast corner of Pennsylvania.  It was very "them."  It was friendly and earthy and welcoming and fun, with all sorts of people pitching in to help out in whatever ways they could. And dancing.  Lots of dancing.  Which killed my knees.  Honestly - my knees are really hurting two days later (probably from all of the jumping), which is making me feel very old.  As is the fact that for most of the wedding weekend, I was being hit on by a twenty-year-old.  What is it with me an inappropriately young men I meet at weddings?  Apparently, according to him anyway, I'm still hot even though I could practically be his mother.  But a lot of fun was had at this wedding by a lot of people who came from all over to celebrate the love that these two share.  It was gorgeous.

And the third was the passing of a dear friend of mine.  She had been diagnosed with ALS in late February of this year and now, seven months later, she is no longer fighting.  She was surrounded by friends and love when she passed, and we all know that wherever she is now, there's a huge party happening filled with love and laughter.  Always. 

I haven't really started mourning my friend yet.  She was the woman you wanted in the audience at your shows because her infectious laughter would encourage everyone else to laugh, too.  She was an amazingly talented designer and seamstress.  She had a heart bigger than anyone I've ever met and was beloved by everyone who met her.  I'm sad for all of the things she never got to do - she never married or had kids, so there are no little Vickys running around.  I can't really say she never found her life partner because I think she did in some of the friendships she had.  She had a beautiful family and beautiful circle of friends with her always, though it is a little sad to me that she never got to start her own family.  And from a professional standpoint, she was adored by the theaters for whom she designed the costumes, but her name never got "out there," you know?  And it should have because she was so talented.  On a personal level, she was the one friend from my circle of college theater friends who came to my shows after graduation.  Not all of them, but when she could, she came and that meant the world to me.  For as thick as my heart can be sometimes, I believed her when she said she loved me, and I am forever in her debt for that.  I used to dream that if I ever got married, I would ask her to make my dress.  Or that if I ever went to a big award ceremony like the Oscars or something, I would ask her to design something for me so as I walked down the red carpet, I could tell people I was wearing an original Vicky Strei.  I will miss her smile.  I will miss her laugh.  I will miss her hugs.  Life dealt her a lot of shit.  A LOT of shit.  But she will always be known amongst her friends and family for her tag line "Love and laughter."  Even when she was diagnosed with ALS, she kept smiling, she kept laughing (as best she could when she could no longer speak), and she kept loving the people around her.  We should all be so lucky to be that positive, and to know someone that positive.  The world needs more positive energy, and the world is a poorer place for the loss of Miss Vicky Strei.  I love you always, Miss Vicky.  Always.

So kind of a lot to process in one weekend, and a very immediate reminder of the circle of life and death and celebration and mourning.  Life is weird.  Sometimes it sucks and sometimes it is gorgeous.  And I guess the best we can do is love with all our hearts and keep laughing always.

I Just Need a Little Motivation

I think y'all already know I'm a geek.  I'm proud to be a geek.  I like being a geek.  And a geek I am.  Not in the "bites heads off of chickens" way, but in the Lisa Simpson is a geek kind of a way.  Geeks are cool now and I dig that.

So in a rather large "geek" moment last week, I downloaded an app to my iPhone from a radio station in the UK for the sole reason that is has an alarm clock that you can set so that David Tennant is yelling at you to wake up in the morning.  I thought it might be funny to have Mr. Tennant wake me up.  I wasn't sure if it was going to work, though, as often times, I sleep through my alarm and usually the horrid, horrid alarm clock buzzing sound is just about the only thing that will get me.  Which is weird, because I am a terrifically light sleeper.  Anyway.  I didn't know if David Tennant's voice shouting, "Wake on up!  Wake on up!  This is David Tennant telling you to wake on up!  Come on, move!" would do the trick.

It does.

It completely does.

I start to anticipate him yelling at me two or three hours before the alarm is actually set to go off.

And when it does go off, I feel guilty snoozing it and making him yell at me again ten minutes later.  Which means I've actually been waking up when my alarm goes off.  And not just waking up, but getting out of bed and going on about my day.  I've done quick little 10-minute yoga workouts the last two mornings before work because I've had the time to do them.  Crazy, that.

The sad thing is, I sort of decided that I feel guilty snoozing him because it's like I'm letting him down if I don't wake up when he tells me to.  WHICH IS REALLY FRIGGIN' SAD, I know.  It's a friggin' iPhone app with a recorded voice! Nobody except maybe my neighbors would know if I snoozed it and made him yell at me again.  But it's true - I feel like I am letting David Tennant down if I don't wake up when he tells me to.  And considering he is the sort of actor I aspire to be, and the sort of actor I would love to work with one day, I don't want to let him down.  Not even his yelling, pre-recorded voice.

It then occurred to me that there are other areas in my life where maybe a little bit of this sort of guilt trip would come in handy.  For example, when I start mindlessly snacking in the evening, wouldn't it be nice if I had a little alarm in David Tennant's voice to yell at me saying, "You don't need to eat that.  Come on, you know better.  You're just eating 'cuz you're bored!  Put the snacks down and read a book!"  Or when I don't feel like exercising, a little alarm in David Tennat's voice to yell at me saying, "Get up off your arse and move!  It'll make you feel better, you know it will.  Move your arse!"  I think it would work; I honestly do.  I just need someone who I look up to like that to yell at me on occasion to do the things I know I should be doing for myself anyway to keep myself on track.

Just a thought.  There's money to be made here, Mr. Tennant.  'Cuz, ya know, I know you're sitting around twiddling your thumbs at the moment, wondering how you're going to make ends meet. Tee hee.

To Tweet, or Not to Tweet

To Tweet, or not to Tweet; that is the question
Whether 'tis cooler on the net to join the
Throngs and masses of shortened conversations
Or to stand strong against peer pressure
And by boycotting, maintain individuality
To join, to Tweet with them; and by a Tweet
To say we reduce the thought process to
One hundred forty characters; 'tis a limit
Strictly to be followed.  To Tweet, to chat
To chat, perchance to meet - ay, there's the rub
For in that chat of Tweeting what friends may come
When we connect on the interweb
Must bring us joy; there's the conflict
That makes the sign up process such a conundrum.

My grandmother passed away today.

In a way, it was sort of a relief - she has been suffering so much for so long, it is good that she won't have to suffer anymore. But it's always a sad day when someone you love dies.

I think she knew that I loved her. I told her as often as I could, but in her mental state, I'm not sure how much of that got in. I'm not a terribly religious person, but I did get the image today of her in a happy place, where it is light and warm and she is back to her normal self, the woman I grew up with. A smile on her face. A warm, inviting house with the radio on in the background. I picture her with my grandfather, and how happy that reunion will be. I know she believed in those things and I hope they came true for her. I'm taking comfort in the fact that they did.

I love you, Grandma. And I would like to remember you with a smile on your face, arms outstretched for a hug, with the "WARNING: These premises patrolled by an attack grandma" sign on your door. I'll miss you. But I hope you have found some peace. God knows you deserve it.

I'm trying to remember the last time I asked someone out when I really cared whether or not he said yes.

I think we all know that I have relationship problems, as in, I'm not sure how to have one, so the last few times I've asked someone out, it has been through an online dating site where I sort of had the attitude of, "So what?" or "This could be fun, or it could not, and I'll never have to see the person again, so what have I got to lose?" And in their defense, those dates didn't turn out that well (no second dates), so I really didn't have anything to lose but one evening. No biggie.

But when was the last time I did the asking out when I was actually invested in it? The guy from college who re-found me asked me. The hot drummer asked me. The clown asked me. Was it Fucknut? I know I have expressed interest in guys since then (the musician, but in his defense he lives a bajillion miles away so dating isn't really that feasible), but when was the last time I asked a non-online-dating-site guy out and cared whether or not he said yes? Am I only able to do this via email?

Which I guess begs the question, if you are actually invested in the answer, what is the best way to pose the question? Should one make one's investment known (i.e. "I think you're gorgeous and would like to get to know you better, so how about a cup of coffee?") or should one play it as if one is not all that invested (i.e. "Dude, coffee later?")? Which is more likely to get a positive result? Functioning under the assumption that one knows the ask-ee is not completely repulsed by the ask-er's existence, but not knowing if the attraction is at all mutual.

Now, I know there are those of you out there who would say, "Honey, you're a girl asking a guy out, which is hot to begin with, and you're kind of attractive so he would have to be stupid to say no." To which I can only reply, "Thank you, but there are a lot of stupid men out there."

I'm probably way over thinking this. And it is also possible that blogging about it is a mistake, for which I will apologize right now. But I think we all also know that I'm the sort that likes to do the research and find out the best way to go about something before I do it, especially if it is something scary. I'm not sure how to research this one, though, other than to ask other people what is the best way to ask someone out? What was the best way you ever asked someone out that yielded the best result? What was your favorite way that you were ever asked out? Can I borrow that?

I'm curious as to when "standing up for oneself" became "being a bitch." They seem to be synonymous in our society today and frankly, it's kind of pissing me off today. Two separate incidents, one common thread.

I was walking home from the theater last night, crossing the street with the green light and the walk signal, and this guy making a left turn almost hit me. Now, most of us know already that this has happened to me before. I was crossing the street while training for the Avon Walk in 2005 (I think) and a car turning left felt it was more important he turn left in this little open space in traffic than it was to avoid hitting a pedestrian and he hit me. I managed to jump up a second before impact, so it was kind of like I jumped up and landed on the hood of his car, and he slammed on the brakes and I slid off into the gutter. Well, last night, the car was coming at me from the opposite direction and when I saw him turning despite my presence in the crosswalk where I totally had the right to be (and the right of way), I thought to myself "Oh, no. Not again," just like the bowl of petunias, followed by "I'm not as good at falling on this side." I wasn't so much afraid of getting hit because it has happened before and I survived, but its really undignified. There is no graceful way to slide off of the hood of a car that just hit you into the gutter. Fortunately, he stopped just short of hitting me. His window was open so he laughed a little and yelled at me, "Sorry, I couldn't see you," so I replied, "You're supposed to look." At which point, he started calling me names. Because obviously, I was WAY out of line for being upset that I was almost hit by a car. I'm the bitch for pointing out his error. What did he expect me to say? "Oh, no worries. Wherever you are going must be much more important than my ability to use my legs, so it's perfectly understandable. Tee hee." Really? Really, dude? You're pissed at me for being upset that you almost hit me? Really?

Then this morning, I got an email message forwarded from someone I don't know containing some random bit of spam saying cell phone numbers are going public and if you don't call this number, you're going to get charged for incoming telemarketer phone calls. I did a quick Google search to verify that this is hogwash and emailed back the link saying, "Please check your facts before forwarding spam. And please remove my email address from your distribution list, as I don't know who you are." So they emailed me back saying, "U don't have 2 b rude." Which honestly made me want to reach through the monitor and slap them. You spammed me! And you don't know how to spell real words! You are a complete stranger and you spammed me. So I asked that you please refrain from doing so again, and I'm the rude one? Really?

Granted, in that second case, you miss out on the whole "tone of voice" thing since it was an email, but still. Two instances wherein someone did something that I don't appreciate, so I asked them to stop, and they get pissed at my reaction. Am I in the wrong here? When did it become not okay to ask people to either not hit you with their car or to not spam total strangers?

I need to get back to my I'm-About-To-Go-To-Comic-Con happy place. Because in my fantasy world, I'm allowed to stand up for myself without being labeled a bitch. I know. I ask a lot.

So the events of this past weekend mean I didn't cook for the week like I normally do on Sundays, and the events of my evenings this week and coming weekend and next week and next weekend mean I probably won't cook for myself for a while. So I'm whittling down the food I have left in my house and buying lunch at work as needed until I come back from San Diego (Comic Con!) and have the time to once again, make myself a decent meal.

I went out at lunch today thinking it would be nice to get a salad from that make-your-own-salad place, with perhaps some chips (crisps for our British friends) on the side. Granted, I realize that nutritionally speaking, the crisps cancel out the salad, but I do like a bit of a crunch with a salad, especially when the base is spring mix because a lot of those lettuce leaves are really not crunchy. Anyway. I picked up my salad and went to get the crisps and could barely find one bag of regular corn chips. I wanted Fritos, specifically, in all of their original glory. The first store I went to DIDN'T HAVE THEM. They had Super Mega Tornado Blast Pizza Cheese Wow Fritos, but not regular corn-flavored Fritos. They have Garlic Jalapeno Whirlwind Storm Cheetos with a Twist, but not regular corn-flavored Fritos. And all I can say is what the hell? Does nobody understand the simple joy of a corn chip anymore? Do snacks have to be as ADHD as Saturday morning television in order to get people to eat them? I don't want some foreign-colored fake cheese product dust all over my hand. I don't want a list of ingredients I don't recognize. I want a packet of crisps that says, "Corn, oil, salt," on it and that's it.

In the end, I went to another store and found them in the back corner, somewhat sequestered from the rest of the snack foods. I can't be the only person left who likes regular corn chips. Or if I am, I weep for the state of snack foods in America.

So I had kind of gotten into the mindset that I'm a pissy person. I've spent a lot of time griping about things that don't really matter in the long run and being grumpy over things that I cannot control and getting irritated by the behaviors of others who don't do things the way I think they should be done (particularly bicycle riders in the city who feel the need to cut me off, not signal, and not stop for stop lights or signs and then get pissed when cars almost hit them). Admittedly, it's not really fun to think of yourself as a grumpy, irritable, pissy person.

But in the last week or so, I think I have come to the conclusion that in truth, I am sort of an inherently nice person. Most of those icky feelings are just thoughts that I have from time to time, but from a behavioral perspective, I think I come off as a genuinely nice person. And I like that. I like that I could be a genuinely nice person. Or a nice, genuine person. For example, there are several dietary restrictions amongst my Hamlet cast mates, so I made cookies that accommodated all of them and brought them to rehearsal one day because I wanted to. I made a birthday present for my mom that I hoped would make her smile because it was fun and I wanted to make her smile. I had a moment wherein I thought bringing flowers to the cast and crew for opening night might be a bit much considering the recent cookie episode, but then I remembered that I like to do little things like that for other people so that they know they are appreciated. I like celebrating other people. Those who deserve to be celebrated, anyway. I like doing nice things for other people. I like saying please and thank you. I like giving compliments when they are appropriate. I like greeting the people around me with a smile and a friendly, "Mornin'," regardless of the time of day. I like being positive. I like making people smile.

But then, of course, the voice of my high school English teacher pops into my head, saying there is no such thing as an altruistic act and he would accuse me of being a nice person because it makes me feel good. Is that really a bad thing, though? Did I give my cast mates flowers because I wanted to make them smile, or because I wanted them to thank me, or because I wanted them to think I'm a nice person? Was I really being manipulative about the whole thing? Do I celebrate other people because they deserve to be celebrated, or so outsiders will say, "Look how well she celebrates others. She must be a good person?"

Honestly, I don't know. Does that make me not a nice person anymore? I do feel a little weird classifying myself as a genuinely nice person. It feels egotistical or something. But I think I would still rather tell someone that his haircut looks nice than not. I believe that people like to hear that stuff. I like to hear that stuff, so why wouldn't others, right?

I'm stopping now.

Hamlet opens tomorrow. I'm starting to get nervous about it. I've been working on this project for, what, two months now? Three? And finally, we are going to have an audience come in and judge us, and I'm sure there are those who will judge us harshly. There will be those who think the cuts we made to the script were excessive. There will be those who think Gertrude should have been a conspirator. There will be those who think our sparse set and modern costumes don't make enough of a statement. There will be those who just think Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are funny and walk away with only that. And I know this. I know this is true of any production I put up - everyone who sees it will have an opinion and they are not always positive. Hell, remember the one I shaved my head for?

But this one feels different to me because it is such a KNOWN play. There will be people coming in who have seen seven different film versions of it, or five stage productions, or there may even be audience members who were in a stage production of it themselves and it is very possible that our interpretation will offend them for whatever reason. Our Hamlet speaks too fast or our Claudius is too young or our Gertrude is too nurturing or whatever. All I know is that I have worked my butt off in this show - we all have - and it is one that I am proud of. I love the cast, I love the crew, it has been an extremely positive experience for me start to finish. I just hope the critics don't crap all over it. Which they have every right to - it probably looks different to us than it does to them. I just...I dunno. I like this show. I want other people to like it, too.

Though it did occur to me that opening night is kind of a sad occasion, too, because it means we're almost done. Only six more weeks with these people who have become so dear to me and then we'll all go our separate ways again. There is always the hope that we will work together again on some other project, but I know from experience that you're lucky to stay in moderate contact with one or two people from a show once it closes and even then, it takes a lot of effort from all parties involved. So a delightful four or five months is drawing to a close and that makes me a little sad.

But in the meantime, we still have a few shows to put on, and people will get to see the fruits of our labors starting with our final dress rehearsal tonight. I'm excited and scared and sad and nervous and I hope the cute boy in the cast doesn't just disappear from my life once this is all over, though I know it would probably be better if he did. So lots of mixed emotions surrounding opening night tomorrow. Let's all break legs!

So I've been thinking about lust lately and trying to understand where it comes from. I'm not sure why I've been exploring this concept, but I have so let's just go with it, yes? Okay. So, lust. I think my biggest question is whether it comes from a desire to make oneself feel good or from a desire to make another person feel good or whether those desires have to be mutually exclusive. If they are not mutually exclusive, is the thought that bringing desire to another person will bring desire to oneself what makes lust such a strong feeling for some?

I've thought about my life and thought about times when I've lusted, if I have lusted, and I realized that I don't lust very much. I think it has been fairly well established here that I don't have crushes on people the way that other people have crushes on people. I'm usually attracted to the person and don't really factor in the "gettin' jiggy" part of it, especially if it's a famous person I'm crushing on because who knows? He could turn out to be a jerk in real life. And I think we all also know (or if we don't, we're about to find out) that I get kind of weirded out by men who are physically attracted to me because a) I've had plenty of bad experiences in that department and b) I think I have a lot more interesting things to offer than my physical being, so I kind of mistrust those who focus on that. Maybe it's because I'm weirded out by men who are physically attracted to me that I started thinking about this. What is it about me that would make someone lust over me? Is it a desire to make me feel good, or does that person think I could make them feel good?

So then I meet this man. Kind of a man - he's young, so maybe more of a boy? He's old enough to drink legally, but the age difference is enough that I'm kind of beating myself up for finding him attractive. But it's only happened to me a handful of times in my life where I meet someone, just see him from across the room, and am instantly attracted to the point of distraction. One was a boy I met in Spain. One was the gay man I loved for ten years. One was the musician I loved for six. None of whom I actually dated. And then this man. I want to touch his hair. I want to touch his chest. I can't stop looking at him. I don't know if he falls under the "typically handsome" category or not, but I find him so physically attractive I can't look at him. Is this what lust is? I would think that the desire to play with his hair comes from the thought that it looks really soft and would feel good, but also from the thought that it is fun to have someone play with your hair so hopefully he'd enjoy it, too. Though to be honest, I have no idea what his sexual preferences or relationship status are, so it is entirely likely that a random woman playing with his hair would not be at all enjoyable, which is why I do not qualify as a sexual predator, because I realize that my advances may not be welcome so I do not advance them. But anyway.

Hey, cute dude? Hi. You're friggin' gorgeous. Just so you know. And I'm sorry if I just smile like an idiot when you're in the room. I'll try to stop that. If you could be not so hot for a little while, that would help. Or if you were a jerk. Which I've not yet seen any indications of, so maybe just let your inner jackass out a bit so I can make it through this project like a professional, that would be great. Thanks!

It's been a while, huh? Sorry about that. For some reason, I seldom feel the need to write in here when things are going well. It is only in times of frustration or unrest that I feel the need to post. I'm not really this unhappy. Or maybe I am. I don't know.

So I thought perhaps the big "blow my face off" happy thing had arrived, but as quickly as it came, it went again. I will not be playing Hamlet this summer. I am still in a stage production of "Hamlet" which I love and am intimidated by all of the time, but I'm Gertrude in that one. The production in which I was to play the Dane has been put on hold until who knows when, if ever. Which is disappointing in part because I was looking forward to tackling such a huge, complex, well-known role and trying to bring something new to it, and in part because it was a perfect motivation for me to get myself in shape. So I've lost a bit of my workout mojo. I need to get that back because I'm feeling lumpish and unattractive.

And I have a dear friend who was recently diagnosed with ALS and she is not doing well. She was diagnosed in about February or March, had lost the ability to speak by May, and is now confined to a wheelchair. It's just...progressing really fast. And if there was ever a person who did not deserve to watch her body fall apart while her mind stayed sharp, it is this woman. She is cheerful and friendly and loving and brilliant and beautiful and what a horrible diagnosis to get in her early 40s. On the up side, she is surrounded by people who love her and support her and can help her. On the down side, she'll never have children. If anyone from that group of my friends should have been a mom, it was her, and I mean that in the best possible way. So that's been weighing on my mind a bit lately. I love my friend and don't want to dwell on the negative with her, but it's hard to watch her wither away. I know it's hard for her best friend, too, and I'm trying to be supportive there as well. It's just not a good situation.

I do have a couple of theatrical projects to work on at the moment, though, so that's good. Like I said, I'm in love with this production of "Hamlet" and feel kind of unworthy every time I show up to rehearsal. There are so many talented, creative people involved; I hope I'm not the weak link. And I'm rehearsing another show that will go up in October that has just a brilliant script and I actually get to play the lead in that one, so here's hoping I don't muck it up too badly.

But I'm seeing all of these "blow your face off" wonderful things happen to people around me. People getting married. People having kids. People finding new jobs. People getting to go to London to see my hero on stage. And I can't help but wonder if that was my "blow your face off" wonderful thing that is no longer happening, can I have another go at it? Do I still have a shot at some mind-numbing amazingness?

Please?