Me Vs. Shyness: Part Ninety-First

Well, I don't know how many parts there are in that battle. But it's true, I'm shy. Although once people get to know me, they would probably never describe me as shy. A little quiet at times, but not shy. So... socially anxious? But isn't that the same thing as shyness?

I don't really know why shyness is considered to be a character defect anyway. But the point is, I've always been a *little* nervous around new people, and now that's rearing its ugly head. I suppose it's to be expected-- I mean, I am away from home and everyone I know, constantly meeting new people who will be reading my work and having opinions about it that, even though they are discouraged from sharing opinions about others' work, they will still have. So it's probably no surprise that, finding myself surrounded by seemingly confident, veteran Canadian theatre luminaries this morning, I felt a little shaky (ok, a lot shaky. Like, actually shaking shaky) about doing my intro in front of the group and talking about my work.

So my shyness doesn't stop me from going out into the world and doing things like buying groceries, or asking where to find a particular book. But I'll admit that it has make me curtail my social activities at times, because I'm so worried about not knowing what to say to people, or coming across as a loser or something. Which is a feature that I don't like about myself. But I don't really know too much about dealing with anxiety. I kind of assume it's a "fake it till you make it" kind of scenario. And the reality is that strangers find me perfectly pleasant, and even funny sometimes. The trick, of course, is to ask people questions about themselves. Works like a charm, every time. And, probably, not to think of all human interaction as some kind of job interview for the position of "likeable". Sometimes, people just don't like other people. Or they're jerks. Or some combination of those and other factors.

Sigh. Time for another confidence boosting mission, I think. Which is weird to need one, because people here are nothing but supportive and complimentary and excited about my work. So why do I have such a hard time with believing them?

Last night I was saying to myself that I was really looking forward to a summer of music and weight loss. Which begs the question: what am I, thirteen? Isn't that largely the same summer I wanted to have between grade seven and grade eight? Although to be fair, this summer I intend to be performing the music (sorry Bryan Adams Reckless! You had your time in the sun!), and I actually do need to lose some weight and get in shape. And after a year of planning things (weddings, shows, parties, trips), and being stressed out about things, I want to have an awesome summer of doing things I want to do.

I have the first reading of my play this afternoon. Apparently I will have to address the group at the start. Bleurgh! I'm off to prepare some brief opening remarks and try to convince myself that people will find my nervousness charming and refreshingly modest.

Mountains + Massage + Room Service = Happiness

So I've been here almost a week, at ye olde fancy prestigious playwriting retreat. It has been fabulous. And incredibly emotional, and dismal and frustrating and amazing. So, all these things. And as I'm working to deadline to turn in script draft tomorrow for a reading on Monday, I decided to try and get some of the knots out of MY ENTIRE BODY, and to just hole up in my room eating a veggie burger, rather than traipsing down to the dining hall with the rest of the writers.

I've also had Center Stage on tv in the background for company-noise, but that's neither here nor there. I'm pretty sure it isn't influencing the current draft. But the thing is I'm SO TIRED. I always thought that the mountains made me sleep better, but apparently that wears off after a few days. And now I find myself sleeping for about 2 hours at a time, twice a night. That's 4 hours of sleep, people! I mean, no wonder I'm getting emotional at times.

That, and I had no idea how much the bullshit with that last workshop had affected me. So I'm looking forward to Monday, when I can finally put that workshop behind me. And then I have another reading scheduled for the end of the week.

I'm trying to think of something to do this weekend. I'm not feeling too social, and I'm in a small, small town. I was thinking about a movie, but my choices are: Iron Man 2, Prince of Persia, Robin Hood, and Sex and The City 2...

Yikes!

Ouch! Wednesday!

No, it's not a new feature. It just happens to be Wednesday, and I have an ouch-- I slept funny, and now I seem to have a bit of a pinched nerve kind of scenario happening in my shoulder. Good times!

The show is still going okay, if with small houses. I really think that if we did it strictly as our own production, rather than under the umbrella of this "independent season" group, we would have better houses. People have strange opinions about what constitutes independent theatre. And fair enough, I have seen some wanky crap under the indie theatre umbrella, complete with unneccessary-to-the-plot nude interpretive dance, strange and sudden tunefully questionable musical numbers, and just general stage writhing. Always with the writhing, these people.

Not that that should dissuade you from going to see independent theatre. You should. Because these are the people who don't have the huge budget, who are likely using their own money, who are forced to use their imaginations instead of their bankrolls. These are the people who are doing theatre because they really feel they have to. And I'm not questioning the integrity of people who have more money, I think that's great and they are lucky, and don't I wish I had a little more of that myself? But even though it's difficult and expensive, and no one comes, these are the people who keep doing it anyway.

Case in point: in the big theatre last week, there was a high school musical. I think I said before that in my day, you did your show in the gym and liked it. But this school, they rent out a hugely expensive theatre, have a full week of tech time, and a week's run. All the (mostly entitled, rude) kids are walking around wearing wireless mics. And the cost of renting those mics alone was probably well beyond my entire budget. And of course I guess there are no comps, and everyone's friends and family are kind of obligated to come and see their little darlings, so they probably make all their money back.

But still. I wanted to invite all those little Zac Efrons and Ashley Tisdales in for a chilling glimpse into their future in professional theatre. Yes, kids, my set is made out of cardboard boxes! Some of which came from the garbage! And we perform in front of as many as fifteen people! Many of whom forgot to turn off their cell phone, or who have a medical condition causing them to develop an undeniable urge to eat hard candies when the lights are turned off!

But I kid. Hey, I'm just proving that you don't need a lot of money to become an asshole. But it certainly helps.

I must confess I'm going to be glad when this month is over. It's been a bit of a stressful time. I'm feeling very burdened by the world as of late. I think a couple of weeks to just be creative in the mountains is exactly what I need. And to be honest, the fact that what we're doing isn't causing any ripples just means that I have the freedom to do what I want. It's pretty liberating, actually.

I have a couple of ideas already for some shows next year-- I just have to pay off this one first. And I'm still not done with my idea of doing a cabaret, even though my progress in singing has been incredibly slow. Perhaps there is a rip-off-the-bandaid element to doing it.

In any case, I'm off to find some tylenols. Happy Wednesday, everyone!

opened

And... we're open. It went pretty well, barring a few glitches that always seem to happen on opening night-- most hilariously when I threw a t-shirt (which I'm supposed to do), and took out a rather important set piece (which I'm definitely not supposed to do!). Oops!
We had a crowd of about a dozen people (sadly, not unusual for indie theatre), and I'm hoping we top that tonight, seeing as how it is Friday and all.

The space where we're performing is part of what would like to be called an "arts complex"-- we're in the small black box theatre, right next door to the large 400 seat house. Unfortunately for us, this theatre has been rented out by a local high school to perform their play. Which was surprising to me--granted, I went to an artsy-fartsy high school for the last couple of years of my education, but the school I went to before that you performed your play in the gym and you liked it! But I understand this is kind of a common practice now, the schools rent out this insanely expensive theatre to do the school play. And the end result is all these 16 year olds who think they're on Glee or something shoving past you in the crossover, rolling their eyes and saying "Excuse me! I'm performing in a PLAY." Or giggling and yelling in the crossover area immediately behind our theatre while we're performing our very small, intimate, QUIET show.

A friend who came last night said it was like our house was haunted by Gershwin, to give you an idea. And it's not just us they're inconsiderate of. I understand there was a little shoving aside of our audience as they waited to get in.

Kids, I'm not saying you don't belong in High School Musical. And I'm sorry if Miley Cyrus has led you to believe that you can make The Climb. I'm not saying that Randy would say "I don't know, that was real pitchy, dog." I'm just saying that when you watch the video of this production in a couple of years for shits and giggles, you may not be as impressed with yourselves. Just saying.

I think they play until Saturday.

I'm still processing the bullshit that was yesterday. I don't know what I want to do about that, so I'm just not going to do anything. For now.

Of all the passive-aggressive revisionist emails....

Did I mention I sent an email yesterday? I can't remember, and frankly I'm too lazy to go back and check, But I sent an email yesterday, to the AD of the theatre where I had a somewhat awful workshop. And it's not just me. Others who had the circumstances described to them agreed that it was awful. So I sent a brief email withdrawing my script from an upcoming festival. I listed my reasons. And I got this really long, godawful email back, which is either painstakingly crafted to be passive-aggressive, or is just pushing my guilty buttons or some combination of the two. I won't post it here. But suffice it to say that it implies that I'm some hysterical female who doesn't have the years of professional wisdom and experience that the sender has, and that implies none too subtly that he's the only ticket to professional production.

Yikes.

And I just kind of want to cry at the moment, which is a dumb reaction. Because I hate to think of anyone thinking badly of me, even if it is just passive-aggressive bullshit. And because I got that cold prickly sick feeling all over when I read it, like I'd been smacked in the face or challenged to a duel or something. And because I open tonight and I already have a good base level of nerves going on over that. And I really don't want to deal with this.

And I did, in fact, respond. To his accusations about my email. I said I was sorry if he felt I had "tone", and I had worked hard to make my email brief and to the point. And that I would respond to the rest of his comments at another time, once I no longer had a show to open.

And of course, in last minute issues, the FOH (Front of House or ticket-takers) which I have long been assured by our producing company were taken care of, are not in fact taken care of, and we are now scrambling to find volunteers.

Madness!

Another Openin', Another Show...

Well, not quite yet. Opening is actually tomorrow night, and right now no one can say how it will go. Our Q2Q last night was a little uneven, and in fact, we're going to finish it later today before our tech dress.

For those of you who aren't theatre folks, Q2Q (or "cue to cue") is a technical rehearsal of only the cues... basically you take it from a couple of lines before the lights change or the phone rings, or whatever, and the stage manager and technical operators get to practice running the cue in the context of the show. The tech dress is a full-on rehearsal of the show with all technical components. It's like a performance without the audience there. (Although in some cases invited guests are allowed in--making it an invited dress).

I can't quite believe we're at opening already--at least now I know that however it turns out, it'll be done. I'd still like it to turn out well, though. More on this Friday morning, I suppose.

In other news, I still have to go for the blood tests my doctor ordered, because I am still continuously gaining weight FOR NO REASON. I'm feeling a little self-conscious about it. In fact, I kind of want to just chuck it all and eat crap for a week, since I'm going to gain weight anyway. But an unfortunate side effect of eating healthy for a long time is that a lot of unhealthy food will now make you feel gross and greasy. So fruits and veggies it continues to be!

Singing lessons are... frustrating. I mean some of it is from not going for a few weeks, and weird jaw tension from show-related stress. But I feel like I'm never going to get there. Like all I really wanted to do was get up and sing some songs for people and I still can't do that. Not even due to crippling fear, but to actual lack of vocal ability and consistency.

Oh, enough of my artsy-fartsy whining for the day. Think broken legs and French poop for me tomorrow night. (Note-- "merde", the French word for poop is one way of wishing show folks luck!)

Soldiering Forward...

Well, tech week is almost upon us. For any non-theatre folks, tech week is the week that you move into the theatre and incorporate all your technical cues-- lights, sound, set change, other random stuff. So whether we're ready or not, we open next Thursday. I have to say I'm glad we're almost at opening, even though I am freaking out because I'm not quite where I'd like to be. Because now I can actually see beyond the run of the show to the other stuff I'm going to do this summer.

It's been a learning experience, for sure-- my production management skills were a bit rusty, and there's some things I would be more organized about. Some people I'd think twice about working with again. But I continue onward.

And here's the thing-- I've never been one of those people that others feel the need to "rescue". Which is a good thing, I hate being rescued. But at the same time, I must project the aura of always having everything handled or something. Sometimes, the offer of a little help would be nice. And yes, silly, I do ask for help when I need it. But sometimes being the "oh, I'm sure she's fine" girl is as bad as being the "you poor dear, let me do that for you!" girl.

Anyway. This summer, I'm hoping to do some fun things. And when I saw that Butterick was having their 3-day sale on patterns, I couldn't resist picking up a few things:

Butterick 4790, the infamous "walkaway dress". I've seen it done in one colour and in contrasting fabrics, and I can't decide which I'll make. I am fascinated because of its construction (it's a unique kind of wrap dress).



Butterick 5320, which is not vintage, but is adorable! I love dresses with pockets!




Butterick 5319, also adorable and somehow vintage-y to me.





Butterick 4443, which I've had my eye on for a long time. It's actually quite similar to the silhouette of my wedding dress, and I love the different options. It's supposed to be an easy pattern, so I'm hoping to get a few uses out of this one.



Apologies for the hard-to-see picture of Vogue 1044. It's a vintage re-issue that is adorable, but quite ladylike. Like, gloves-wearing ladylike. I couldn't resist the pintucks in the front, but I don't know if I can pull it off-- it's a little fancy to go to Safeway in!



Vogue 2961 is a vintage re-issue which has optional halter straps and just seems like summer fun to me.



And last but not least, Vogue 2902 is another vintage reissue that seems perfect for summer.
I think I may have to add a crinoline to my list of summer purchases-- nothing crazy dramatic and costume-y, but maybe a little something-something to fill out all those full skirts?

Canada would be perfect if we only had...

Is the Lifetime Channel. Now, this is not to be confused with what was formerly called "Life Channel", which is now "Slice" (as in, of life? I don't know). I mean the Lifetime Movie Network, with its 24 hour movie-of-the-week deliciousness.

I mean, how is it that the networks don't do movies of the week? After the sudden influx of unauthorized movies about tv shows (Three's Company and Different Strokes, I'm looking at you), the only time the networks show a made-for-tv movie, is if it's an "Event", meaning it's going to be about an earthquake, or weather-related-mishaps, or something that will require its stars to jump away from explosions, fireballs or magma.

Last night, I caught the amazing "The Party Never Stops", a cautionary tale about binge drinking at college. While I always loved disease/disability movies (Who can forget Nancy McKeon as an architect who develops schizophrenia? Justine Bateman as a young blind woman learning to live independently?), I think I liked the judgmental boogeyman quality of "issue" movies. For example in The Party Never Stops, the heroine just about throws her future away because of her binge drinking. Fortunately, she manages to stop in time, but her best friend, who never had any real consequences before, DIES.


Isn't there usually a cautionary death in these movies? I remember fondly Kate's Secret (starring Meredith Baxter-Birney, the mom from Family Ties), which was about a housewife trying to hide her bulimia. She manages to survive, but her friend and anorexic roommate (whose name, inexplicably, was Patch)DIES.

And of course, one of my favorites, the classic The Karen Carpenter Story starring Cynthia Gibb, who I idolized because she played Holly on Fame. Who, come to think of it, also had an eating disorder for an episode. Maybe it was that research that helped Cynthia nail the role of Karen Carpenter.

In any case,do you know how maddening it is that there's an entire channel that shows movies with titles like: Deadly Honeymoon, Dying To Belong,and They Shoot Divas, Don't They? (which stars Jennifer Beals and Traci Lords, and sounds so amazingly terrible that I can barely get my head around it.

I know we got HBO Canada, finally. Which is fabulous, if you like well-written, well-acted television. But what about the cheap thrills, the tawdry titillations? What about those of us who indulge in schadenfreude and the cautionary death?

Please, tv. Bring back the movie of the week.
Please?

Multi-tasking and Stealing Posts From Facebook Messages

Hello, friends and neighbours!
I'm here at work, simultaneously trying to do some rewrites, find some rehearsal space for the days we have none, email production notes, and, of course, sell symphony subscriptions. In my free moments when I'm doing none of those things, I worry about the show and whether it will be brilliant, terrible, or forgettable and mediocre. And every time the phone rings, I want to say "People! Leave me alone! Can't you see I'm trying to run an independent theatre company here?"

But that can only be said in my inside voice. J is away this week, so I sit at home like a crazy woman, trying to make a tiny cardboard house for our poster (don't ask), wondering if I should just get a free photo from Morgefile instead.

However.

I had that workshop last week. And it was... well, I've been telling people who know those involved that it was interesting, and gave me food for thought. But in reality? When I don't have to worry about what I say getting back to anyone else? It was kind of a disaster. Here's some of what I had to say about it in a facebook message to a friend:

April 14 at 10:37am
So, I finally had my workshop on Monday... You may remember I gave "Artistic Director" the one date I was available about 3 weeks ago, and he was trying to work around (actor)'s schedule. So last Thursday, I email "Artistic Director" to ask if we're still doing this, and he says "Sure, who should I ask to be in it?"

What? Oh, you mean aside from the extensive list of actors we had talked about 3 months ago, none of whom are probably available on 3 days' notice?

So, I gave him some suggestions, and of course, no one was available. On Saturday I suggested we postpone rather than do it with random gender-appropriate people, and he said "let's wait till tomorrow to cancel. I hate it when this happens." But he does find some random girl to play (central character of play) at 9pm on Sunday.

So when I arrive, "artistic director"'s late. We eventually start, and it's going ok-ish, and at the act break we're going to the washroom and "artistic director" says to me: "You know, I don't think I've read this."

And I said "What do you mean you haven't read this? How can you have not read this? You're the one who sent me the pdf of the draft and asked me to confirm that this was the one we're using!"

And he didn't seem to think that was a problem. Turns out, he thought my play was the 25 pages or so that was read at "New Play Festival" 2 years ago, and that I'd just given up on it and hadn't worked on it since then. Which begs the question: why are you doing this workshop, are you offering me a production if you HAVEN'T READ THE PLAY?

And not reading the play doesn't exactly prepare you to guide a dramaturgically helpful discussion about said play. Which you haven't read. "Artistic director" just left me twisting in the wind during "feedback". Which was maddening, because
(lengthy paragraph describing the changes the actors insisted were neccessary to satisfy the audience, which would basically just turn the play into an episode of "Murder, She Wrote", followed by discussion of how "artistic director" couldn't help me out because he was so blown away that I'd finished writing the play.)

So naturally I went home feeling rather OUCH. Like I wasn't sure if I'd just wasted the last 3 years writing this, or if I'm wasting my time trying to get people to see my point of view. I really, really think that audiences are capable of so much more than people give them credit for. I think that an "unsatisfying" ending is neccessary sometimes. In fact, I think the ending of the play IS satisfying if you get the point of the play.


And so on. The point is, that really, really, sucked, and I would much rather have taken the day off of work and lounged around watching Days of Our Lives and eating strawberries and bagels with cream cheese.

Now, back to running a theatre company...

Working For The Weekend?

Another exciting Saturday morning where I am at work-- fortunately it is quiet today (too quiet, as they might say in a d-grade horror movie-- what's the universe holding back for us), possibly because of the insane, gale-force winds that have been plaguing us the past few days. I mean, seriously, snow? In April? And what's sad, is that I've seen it snow here in May and August as well. In fact, I think the only month of the year it hasn't ever snowed here is July.

But I'm probably jinxing myself to monthly blizzards for the rest of 2010. Sorry, everyone! My bad!

This weekend, I am working at the box office all day Saturday, followed by a four hour rehearsal that has been relocated to my house. Sunday is a day of standardized patient (you know that thing that Kramer did on Seinfeld where he pretends to be sick for med students? It's very lucrative and requires minimal effort, but does involve getting up ridiculously early on a Sunday and doing something very, very repetitive all day.), followed by another rehearsal at the house. Monday I work half the day, then have what may be a doomed workshop of the Banff play in the afternoon. Sometime between now and then, I also have to put myself on tape for a film audition which is for a pretty decently written horror movie, but the character they have me reading for is "in her forties".

Now, I may not be 20 anymore, but I was pretty confident that I don't look "in my forties" just yet. Does my agent think I look in my forties? Or do I not look in my forties, but that's what my agent keeps submitting me for, and thus I never get work? Or are there not enough women willing to admit to being in their forties so they're just seeing whoever?

I could go on. But instead I'll just say I have an insanely busy weekend and am actually looking forward to Tuesday when all I have to do is work a 12-8. Well, and some other stuff. OK, June 4, that is my new date where there is nothing to do. I resolve to spend it drinking girly drinks and reading trashy novels/watching trash television, snacking on crustless sandwiches and exotic fruits.

Confession: Style-Challenged

The last couple of items on my list got me to thinking. And thinking got me headed towards a harsh truth. And that truth is that I really don't know how to dress myself.

I mean, I don't think it's What Not To Wear time here, I don't wear acid wash or tapered jeans or horribly age-inappropriate clothing. But I certainly do dress in a boring, generic, somewhat blah and ill-fitting manner.

I think part of it was getting stuck in the "interim clothes while I lose weight" trap, and then plateauing. Because now all my clothes are either way too big or don't fit quite right, but I didn't want to spend any more money until I could buy a smaller size, and so on and so on. So I think I need to suck it up and buy some new clothes. Probably Value Village clothes, but clothes that fit me.

I also don't think I know very much about style. I mean, I know when other people are stylish, but I get overwhelmed trying to figure out how to put things together and what might look good on me.

Any recommendations on blogs/online thingies, magazines I should read? Here's what I like/have realized:
1) I appreciate it when curvier girls rock it out, and would like to learn how to do that.
2) Not everyone who's a size 2 looks good. Not everyone who looks good is a size 2.
3) I love vintage styles, but not looking like I'm wearing a costume
4) I love colours and bold prints
5) I need to learn how to accessorize
6) I love clothes that are a little quirky, or that stand out without looking like they're trying too hard
7) I don't own nearly enough shoes

So I think I'm basically trying to build a wardrobe from scratch. Hopefully my sewing escapades can help with this. But I feel lost.

And can we talk about makeup? I have no lipsticks. Well, I have lipsticks, but none that I wear regularly. I got stuck on the idea that with my big eyes, strong lips make me look a little clownish. Whether or not that's true, now when I wear lipstick, it's all I can see, so I don't know if it looks good or not. I'm pretty unskilled at makeup application to begin with, but am determined to learn.

I want to look pretty, dammit! Anyone have any suggestions on where to begin?

Stuff to Do At Some Point...

Confession: I am an ambitious person by nature. Maybe not always in the healthiest sense, I mean, I have been guilty of putting far too much stock into achievements and accomplishments. But I can't help it, I feel validated by ticking off items on a to-do list. And although I have mucho things to do until the beginning of June, I thought it would be fun to come up with a list of things to accomplish in my much-anticipated spare time.

And then it wasn't enough to come up with things to do over the summer, I wanted to make a list of things I wanted to do over the next, oh, say, year or so. Because January goal-setting is too much pressure. Or maybe I already set some goals, but they've been erased in a cascade of shame and failure. Or I'm too lazy to check previous posts. Whatever.

In any case, here are some things I plan to do sometime in the next 365 days. I'll add to it as I think of it.

1) run a 5k
2) learn to play the ukulele
3) sew a vintage pattern
4) sing for people. publicly, like.
5) drive with confidence
6) develop some mad skillz re: pin curls and victory rolls
7) bake more
8) learn to dress better
9) get clothes that fittt
10) learn to wear lipstick. and makeup in general, for that matter.

The Desmokening... Part 84

Or however many times I have tried to quit smoking thus far. Yes, friends, today is day 1. Day 1, which fills me with such a sense of loathing and bitterness, that I always vow never to have to live through it again, but, well, here we are. I've just passed hour 12 since my last cigarette. Challenges tonight include a production meeting with smoker who's always been more than willing to bum me a ciggie in my time of need. But it's time.

Jesus, listen to me. You'd think Candy Finnegan or Jeff VonVondervonvon were going to ambush me at the bus stop on my way home. Quitting sucks.

But doesn't smoking suck? Yes, in the global picture, smoking does suck, and it is gross and isn't a terribly vegetarian thing to do, and so on and so on. But I have to admit, I kind of like the physical act of smoking. I like having a prop. I like having an "out" to take a break from conversations or stressful situations. I like the secret society of smokers, we who are outcasts from healthy, intelligent society.

Still, I'm doing my best to quit. Can I guarantee that I won't ever have a single cigarette again? Probably not. I would love to be the three-times a year kind of smoker, but I don't know that I can be. In any case, I'm just trying to get through the next 12 hours without (a) bursting into tears (b) murdering someone because everyone is just so goddamned irritating! or (c) eat my weight in reduced-to-clear easter chocolate.

A Mouse In Our House

It's true, we are infested. But just a little bit. As in, one mouse. And I know, I know that there is no such thing as a singular mouse, but we have cleaned the house top to bottom, and found no other mice, not even one nugget of poop. Is it possible that we had a mouse just dash through our kitchen as he stayed one night to review us for TripAdvisor? I suppose not. And laugh at me if you must, but I'm going to get one of those humane traps, because if there's one thing I don't want to deal with, it's throwing out dead mouse bodies.

Our cat is absolutely no help. I blame it on his upbringing, how I reared him to lie on the couch watching Project Runway and Intervention in a semi-conscious state. Being so sucked into the idiot box that any movement seen out of the corner of one's eye is brushed off with a "meh, it's probably my contacts".

In other news, I am working like a crazy woman, and trying to get (a) the show and (b) the workshop with The Producing Theatre Company off the ground. I have no idea why I am organizing the workshop. Well, I'm not organizing it as much as I am being the cattle prod that ensures it gets done and I don't get emails like "Oh, by the way, we're having a workshop tomorrow, the actors and I will see you there." I want people to be organized like me! And I'm not that organized! Yesterday in the wake of house-mouse-driven-house-cleaning, I was opening mail from 2 months ago that I just hadn't bothered to open. Pay stubs and bank statements. And thinking I should get a shredder, because I'm pretty sure my method of tearing things up into bits, mixing them up and pouring old salad dressing over everything (to gross out identity thieves) is neither efficient nor protective.

I've been trying to stay on track, foodwise. Part of me feels like it's useless, because the scale really hasn't budged in, oh, about, 2 months, despite exercise and good eating. And sometimes part of me feels like I can do it. It's not clear which side is going to win here.

Anyway, I am off to the eye doctor's, where they put tainted q-tips and paper strips on my eyeballs, and then my pupils get big like I'm on drugs and I try to find my way home, looking mysterious and old-Hollywood in my sunglasses. Or I assume I will. I won't really be able to see.

Cheers, friends!

I did it!

Are you wondering what exactly it is that I did? Especially since I seem to start so many things and never talk about finishing them? Well, yesterday I took advantage of having a day off, and trucked myself down to Fabricland where I bought a membership, some fabric, and these two patterns!

They are McCall's 5631, and Simplicity 2501, a skirt and blouse respectively. Initially I just wanted a blouse pattern, since I've never really made one, and I thought it would be a good wardrobe-builder for work clothes. But I just couldn't resist a cute skirt. Mine won't be the view in the photo, it's going to be plainer with just overstitching on the hem.

In retrospect, I should probably have gotten fabrics that matched so I could wear them together, but I have a hard time with decisions to begin with, much less picking two things that will also go together.

Of course I don't know when I'm going to have time to start something new-- I think this may have to wait until closer to summer-- at least until the show opens.

But I do recommend the Fabricland membership to anyone who's going to be buying fabrics-- the discount totally paid for itself on my first visit. Plus now I get cheap cheap patterns-- so I'm going to wait until those awesome vintage Vogue and Butterick patterns go on sale. Dramatic Joan Crawford-style ladies' hats, anyone?

Customers Who I Do Not Prefer

1. The passive-aggressive customer who finds smug and "subtle" ways to point out his superiority to the CSR, alternating with painting himself as the victim of the CSR's trickery.

2. The yeller. Not to be confused with the profanitizer, who is also not a preferred customer of mine.

3. The loud talker. Ms. Loud Talker, allow me to introduce you to one of our premium products called "The Inside Voice". Has anyone ever said to you "I'm right here in the same room with you? Really? In any case, being on the phone with you is not only like being in the same room together, it's being in the same room and speaking directly into each other's ears. So pipe down, wouldya?"

4. The eater. Now, I haven't had any in-person customers eat while we conduct our transaction, but I can't imagine it would gross me out nearly as much as hearing someone eat while talking to them on the phone. "I'd like to order some tickets? "

5. S/He Who Thinks I Have Power. Or That It's All My Fault. I mean, I do have some power. Customers, you should really know that. Just as waitresses have the power to decide how much spit makes it into your meal, CSR's have some ability to proverbially spit into your file. Or at the very least, we sometimes have the power to make exceptions for you. But no matter how unjustly you feel you've been treated, no matter how much I seem not to understand the unfairness of it all, tearing a strip off me will not make your life any easier. It will not get your problem solved any faster. And really, ask yourself this: how likely is it that someone with any decision-making, policy-shaping abilities is going to be the one you're talking to at 7:55 pm on a Friday night?

6. The ATVIP. That's the Assistant To the VIP. And yes, I feel slightly guilty for calling out assistants here. I've been an assistant many times over the years. But certain executive assistants call in, on behalf of their bosses, who may be city councillors, or oil executives or judges, or someone else who is too busy with lofty matters to attend to real life, and act like I should have a big red button that stops everything. They drop names like I should gasp in awe, thanking my lucky stars for the chance to serve one so exalted. They get impatient if I ask how to spell the VIP's name. They're always in a hurry. They have to check with their boss, who they refer to as "My Minister" or "his Honour" or "his Excellency" or some other title. And a lot of times I get the feeling that they're ticked that I didn't sense their call coming, and have everything done and waiting for their stamp of approval.

7. The Crazies. OK, the Crazies would probably be my most preferred customers of this group. They can be entertaining, at least. Like the lady who wanted me to change her phone number because the people in her walls were reporting her to the CIA, but I wasn't allowed to say her new phone number out loud, because the people in her walls would hear it, and then she'd just have to get her number changed all over again. Or the guy who came in to the box office (he had an assistant crazy person, a guy who followed him around and said "yeah! yeah!" and repeated the last couple of words in this guy's sentences) and told me he was donating $100 million dollars to the paper to give scholarships for my children, and could he leave these torn polaroids inserted into various brochures in the lobby because the RCMP would know where to find missing kids, and by the way, I should never go to Tim Horton's because of his impending lawsuit about a shooting there.

8. The Everyone's-A-Suspect. Now, I don't like being called at home either, and of course I try to let businesses I deal with know that. And of course I try to limit some of the personal information I give out about myself. But I try to maintain a standard across the board. Like, if I wouldn't give you my phone number, I'm probably not going to give you my video store password. And I certainly wouldn't give you my wifi password. And so on. But if you're going to say "God! Don't you have my credit card on file?" and then sarcastically read the digits to me, you can't freak out and scream at me because I asked you if the address we have on file is correct. In fact, if you freak out and scream at me saying I have no right to your address, you really shouldn't call back in a month later demanding to know why you never got your subscription package.

Hey, y'all...

And due to the accursed limitations of the medium, you'll just have to imagine the "Oh,hay, y'awwll!" inflection, tinged with a mixture of sadness and guilt. I've been a negligent blogger. It seems that you can divide my blog posts into a couple of different categories here: non-posting guilt, and feeling more/less fat posts.

How terrible is that, y'all?
But seriously. Nothing happens to me. I'm currently working a minimum of 12 hours a day, split between two jobs. Any concept of nutrition I ever had has gone out the window. (This lead to the unfortunate veggie sandwich incident, where in my cravings for actual vegetables I decided to try a different place at the food court on my way to job #1. Thank you, giant chunk of tuna salad right in the middle of my sandwich! Mmm, mmm good!)

I am stressed. Terribly stressed, in fact. In that I currently have many expectations piled on me (including a show in 2 months, har har har), and I am constantly working and never doing anything I want to do. With no real end in sight. Oh, until mid-June, when there will be some serious relaxing happening. I'm talking margaritas and gin and tonics while eating 7-layer-dip and wearing those shorts that I would never be seen in publicly relaxing.

Did I just say that? Clearly that is not a healthy-lifestyle thought. Once in a while, though...

Things that have happened:
I found out I have two cavities that need to be filled. Eek. I could probably put it off for a while, but I figure I should just get it over with.

We have a car! It's an old car, that a darling friend has sold us for $1. Of course, we have to get it inspected, insured, and registered, but eventually there will be wonderful, wonderful freedom!

I'm going to try and make some time to get to Fabricland and get some fabric and a membership and get back to sewing. I've been reading all about the fabulous projects on Sew Retro, and those folks blow me away!

Anyone home?

Yes, I haven't been here in a while. Not for lack of spending time on the computer. Writing some online content, trying to make some cash. Sending copies of the script to people who should really have had script copies sent to them months ago. Oops! And that's not including my various blog reading and fuck-offery that I usually do on the internet. So you can see why I haven't had time to keep up.

Nothing much is new. Still working jobs#1 and 2, except now I'm in charge of the rest of the project at Job 2. Which sounds important, but is actually not that important, because there's a lot of cogs in that wheel. However, this week I'm working 12 hours a day minimum, making it tough to get in the 30 Day Shred. It's way easier NOT to fit it into my day, which is something I need to deal with.

Singing: argh. Blerg. Poop! The required musculature has been taken over by various heffalumps and woozles, subconscious, psychological, obstinate, or otherwise.

I saw this Andy Warhol quote on someone else's blog, and I thought it just espoused one of my life's philosophies so well:

"They always say that time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself."

I just want to carve that into a pumpkin, or put it on a cake, or spell it out with alphagetti. I'm not sure why that would give it more meaning (well, other than giving it more weight... Hey-oh!). Perhaps it's best not to examine that too closely.

Be back sooner, all.

Ouch!

Holy Hannah!
I tried out level one of the 30 Day Shred a few hours ago-- it pretty much kicked my ass. In a good way, mind you, in the way that when you're done you're standing up straight and feeling like a tight and toned size 2. But I can tell I'm going to be sore tomorrow, especially in the upper body-- all my years of figure skating gave me a lot of lower body endurance, but I have weak, pudgy arms. Using my hilariously small 2 lb weights was enough weight for me, thank you very much.
I don't know if I can do it again tomorrow-- I'm thinking I might alternate days for the first week, depending on how sore I am tomorrow. But I can definitely see how this gets results. And I was surprised that Jillian wasn't a super bitch, just a supportive trainer who doesn't tolerate bullshit.

Moving On Up...

To the mountains!
Yes, friends and neighbours, on Friday I got the phone call formally inviting me to the SuperPrestigiousPlaywritingColony in the mountains!

I'm stoked. I'm sure as the day to leave approaches, I will be a little terrified, seeing as how I will probably be meeting writers who are famous. Like, whose plays I studied in school. Or whose plays are so good that it makes me want to vomit with jealousy.

Of course, maybe I'm a little bit awesome as well... just don't tell anyone I said that.

On the scale front, things remain largely the same-- down a half a pound, which is just so frustrating. And I know, I should be glad I'm not gaining, but come on. When you watch Dr. Phil and he's all like "Well, if y'all would stop drinking frappucinos, y'all would lose 100 lbs in a year", or whatever. And I'm like "I eat tofu! I eat fruits, vegetables and whole grains! I don't eat whipped cream-laden, chocolate sauce-drizzled blended coffee ice creams! So why am I still fat?

Phew. Just had to get that out.

So I bought a copy of Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred. I'm jumping on the bandwagon on this one. Not that I think that the "You can lose 20 lbs in 30 days" statement applies to very many people, and I don't expect to lose that much. But realistically, a workout that's high intensity and only 20 minutes is appealing, because who doesn't have 20 minutes to work out? Even if I don't want to work out, it can be over in 20 minutes! Or I can just start doing it, and by the time I realize that I'm exercising, it'll be almost time for cooldown.

I'll try and blog a little about it, but I am afraid. I've heard it's a pretty ass-kicking little workout.

News, Knits, and No Exit Strategy

Howdy,friends and neighbors!
I thought I'd stop by and give an update-- that very prestigious playwrights' retreat (hint: it's in Banff)? Well, I am officially on the waiting list. Which I guess is pretty impressive for a play that had absolutely no support from anyone wanting to produce it. I'm not on their "A" list, but I like to think I'm on the "We would totally want you here if we had more funding" list. And the depressingly-toned email they sent assures me that they'll let me know if a space opens up, it seems like they are also saying "fat chance". Because who doesn't go to something like that? And I wouldn't feel good wishing family emergencies on playwrights everywhere, so I'm just going to have to wait and see.

On the positive panda front, I found this website through a blog the other day. It's a super cute idea, and just the thing I need these days-- short, digestible, positive affirmations.

Oh, and the play I'm writing? That we're producing in May? I have no exit strategy. I just keep churning out my 5 pages a day, with no end in sight, no conceivable structure. I know this is an easy fix, just have someone read it, or read it myself and cut out all the crap bits. But I need an end. Good GOD, I need an end. I will feel so much better once it's done, no matter how shitty the draft, no matter how much rewriting it needs. Because I will finally have the albatross that is this play lifted from my shoulders.

But I promised some knitting chat.

Now, I absolutely cannot resist buying knitting needles secondhand. At Value Village, at yard sales, if you're getting rid of knitting needles, I will buy them. Consequently, I end up with a lot of weird sizes of circular needles, yet always have to go buy the right size for a new project. I did score an awesome set of vintage straights in delicious metallic colours, but circulars always seem to do me in.

But no more!
My mom got me these for Christmas:


Not only are they interchangeable, but they are Addis!



They are amazing. Incredibly lightweight and easy to knit with. I'm a huge fan of metal needles, anyway, and these are the best I've ever used. Plus I can make any length circular I want!

I've just been making a test scarf, as I'm currently between patterns-- a friend moved to Australia for a few months, taking most of my knitting books with her! Quel scandal! But once I get paid, I think I'm going to pick a pattern, something juicy and difficult, and really break in these needles.

And that's all the news that is the news!

Production Value

So, the scale is the same. A frustrating 173. But I've made it through almost 21 days of gluten-free vegan! I'm pretty proud that I haven't cracked and eaten a donut or something. I am going to gracefully end the cleanse tomorrow, as it's Hallmark Invented Day, and we are going out for Indian food before J heads out on tour this week. I'm excited to eat bread again, but it has made me really think about what I could be eating, and how I *can* eat healthy, yummy food.

But in other news... I had a long-awaited meeting with an artistic director today. It had really become something of a joke, because we kept trying to reschedule and he kept blowing me off, and it just seemed like it was never going to happen. And when I say "meeting with an artistic director", it seems like it's the huge poopoochichi thing, and it's not. Other places, it might be. Here, everyone knows each other and can tell you five stories about who the person at the table next to you is sleeping with.

In any case, I was having this meeting about a play I've written, a play I applied with to a prestigious writer's colony with, a play I really, really hope will one day be produced. And I was just kind of straight up about it, which really surprised me, but I get tired of the runaround. Long story short, it sounds like we're doing a workshop in March, a public reading in May, and if things go my way, my play will open the 2011/2012 season!

!!!

I was so thrilled I came home and wrote another 5 pages on the play I'm supposed to be writing, like, yesterday. For me, writing can be kind of like working out-- you have to do it as soon as you get the idea, and suffer through it because it feels so good when it stops. And it's good for you. And, you get worthwhile results.

!!!

!

Well, duh...

Do you ever have those moments of epiphany where you realize something that alters your way of thinking, but is so staggeringly obvious that you don't understand how you couldn't have realized it before?

I had one of those moments today after my singing lesson.

Let me tell you a story about me and singing:

One of my earliest career aspirations was to be an opera singer. I remember my dad listening to Saturday Afternoon At The Opera every weekend, and being incredibly interested in the curtain call segment of the proceedings. All those people yelling "Bravo!", and the applause, and my imaginings of roses raining down on the singers (yes, I was a mildly overdramatic child) made me think "That's something I want to do." Of course, I can't discount the fact that the singing orange on Sesame Street may also have influenced me.

I loved singing. I sang all the time. I still do, probably to the annoyance of people around me. I asked my parents for singing lessons, but that never quite panned out. But we did get a piano, which I taught myself to play so I could sing old show tunes to my heart's content. I remember once my dad saying "You know, if you stopped fooling around, you'd probably have a good voice." Needless to say, I wasn't fooling around.

Long story short, when I was 16, and decided to audition for the local arts high school. (It is nothing and everything like Fame, for those of you wondering.) I got accepted into the drama program and the music program, and there was no question that I was going to go into music. Since I'd already moved out of my parents house, this was a BIG SCARY INDEPENDENT STEP that I was taking.

Somehow, as I took voice lessons, as I was surrounded by other singers, something changed for me. I felt... different. I didn't sound like other people, and there were so many people who were so good. So many people that it seemed like it was so easy for, while I was struggling. I felt blocked. I felt frustrated. I started to hate singing in public, because I felt like I wasn't good enough, wasn't good at all. I got tired of getting put in the alto section because I was loud and everyone else was blossoming into these lyric sopranos. I got critiques from a lot of people (one of the hazards of pursuing the arts-- you're expected to accept criticism with good grace, from just about anyone). I wanted so much to audition for a musical theatre program, but I lost my nerve. Not just because of my singing, but because of a lot of other things. There were plenty of other things I didn't like about myself besides my voice, but that's a dark tale for another time. But I hated my voice. I hated singing.

Instead of going away to become a singer, I stayed in my hometown and went to theatre school instead. Which was fabulous, and I learned a lot. But somehow, I kept drifting back to singing. I'd pick up with a new teacher every few year, hoping that they'd have the magic key that would unlock my poor blocked voice. No one did, and I'd get frustrated, realize I couldn't really afford to study something that was going nowhere, and quit after about a year. Incidentally, a friend told me her daughter's piano teacher refuses to take adult students, because adults who want to study an instrument "are always trying to work out some unresolved childhood issue." True? Or maybe they just want to take piano lessons.

I even had a job where I had to sing, last year, doing a school tour, I had to open the show singing a song in French (it was a French touring show). And even when people told me I was fine, good even, I didn't feel like it was good enough. Like somehow they weren't telling me the truth, that I just wished I could be a singer, and whatever I was doing, it didn't feel like it.

Fast forward to last year. My old teacher was moving away to teach elsewhere, and she recommended another teacher for me, if I was still interested in continuing. I hemmed and hawed over it for a while. Let's face it, I thought, I have a weird voice and I kind of suck and it's frustrating. But I decided to give it another shot. And I'm glad I did, because my voice teacher now is awesome. I mean, I still think I have a weird voice, and I'm not exactly fantastic yet, but I'm beginning to remember the things I loved about singing in the first place. And that I don't have to feel judged for doing it. So much so that I'm contemplating singing in front of people, seriously, for the first time in years and years.

Which brings me back to my "duh" moment. Had a great lesson this morning, made some real progress. Thinking on the bus ride on my way to work about the things people have said to me about my voice, things I have said to myself about my voice. And I suddenly realized a couple of things:

*Just because people say something to me, it doesn't mean it's true
*I don't have to hold on to negative stuff forever and ever to torture myself with
*Keeping score of positive comments vs negative comments is exhausting and pointless
*Really, I'm sure most of the people involved wouldn't remember saying anything to me, so why should I keep hitting myself in the face with it in lurid technicolour detail?
*It's none of my business what other people think of me.

So there is my realization for the day. Other than that, I'm eager for the cleanse to be over so I can go and have some Indian food with naan bread!

It occurs to me...

That I do a lot of bitching and moaning and insecuritizing in my blog. Which is okay, I mean, if blogs aren't for pretending your venting matters to others, then what are they for?

But it does occur to me that maybe all this bitching and moaning and insecuritizing isn't great for my life and my creative pursuits. I'm not saying I've suddenly discovered "The Secret" and am busy making an inspiration board, but I have been thinking that maybe you do attract what you put out there.

I was chatting with another artist friend the other day about feeling blocked, and jealous, and left behind. And how I realized that probably everyone I know feels this way, probably right at this very moment to some degree. And how that still didn't help, you see, because I felt like *I* was actually the only one who was sucking the big benucci at this thing called living a creative life.

And do you know what she said?

"You just have to remember your inherent awesomeness."

Now, normally, the bitter, chain-smoking, washed up drag queen who lives inside me would have rolled her heavily-false-lashed eyes at her and ordered another daquiri. But for some reason, this made sense. Remember my inherent awesomeness? But... I'm not awesome. Not at all.

Am I?

I mean, I have some pretty insecure artist friends who are pretty damn awesome, and can't see it to save their lives. Could I in fact, be like them?

You see where I'm going with this?

In any case, I'm going to try and be more positive in my life for a little while. Hey, it can't hurt. And if I don't like it, I figure I can always make a triumphant return to bitterness. Not that I'm wholly bitter, because the bitter artist is an iconic figure whom I particularly loathe. I mean, everyone gets frustrated, but at the same time, no one's holding a gun to your head, forcing you to choose this career.

Which is something I have to remember.

So, friends and neighbours, any of you who are still with me-- how do you stay positive? Are you relentlessly chipper? Do you secretly drink in the mornings to keep a shine on the day? Do you remember your inherent awesomeness?

The Path of Most Resistance

Well, I realized I didn't post my weight last week. That was probably some kind of subconscious thing-- it was 176. Yikes!
Fortunately, today's weigh-in was better-- 173. I'm on day 12 of the cleanse, and feeling good about what I'm eating. I think I've definitely managed to get out of the eating junk for the sake of eating habit. Then again, I would really like a tofurkey sandwich...

I've been thinking a lot about resistance. I has it. I was reading "The War of Art" (which I recommend to any and all creative people), and he talks a lot about resistance. That which keeps us from doing, which keeps us trapped in wishing we could be doing something.

Yeah, I've got some of that.

I'm a results-oriented person. I'm always thinking about the end result, the performance, the finished project. Even when I'm just starting something. Which is, you know, a lot of pressure. I'm trying to get out of the habit of doing that, but it's hard.

I'm resistant to overcoming my resistance.

I'm a bit of a jealous person. As long as I can remember, I've had this idea in the back of my mind that life is supposed to be fair. Ridiculous, right? But I have a very highly developed sense of justice and fairness. I get jealous of people who are jerks who are successful, who are mean and still get cast, who bitch all the time despite having a show in a major company's season.

I could go on. But I won't, because it feeds the jealousy. And I hate jealousy. It's a useless emotion. It traps you. And "poor me" doesn't get you anywhere, it just keeps you stuck in the past, or some undefined future when you'll get yours. I need to be in the now, working my own thing, on my own path. I have to trust the path I'm on. Hell, I should probably start out by trusting that there is in fact a path.

Otherwise, I will become that thing I loathe: the bitter artist.

But hey, 173!

Remembrance of auditions past, part 2

Okay, so where was I? Oh, right, I was contemplating hustling my way through the picket sign folks to ask the abortion clinic if I could use their phone to call a cab to get me to my audition on time.

So I didn't do it. Just as I was about to, a bus came around the corner. Hallelujah! I thought. I am saved!

Only I wasn't, not yet. This bus, being a milk run bus at the best of times, had to stop at every. single. stop. on its way to downtown. I was losing it, checking my watch every 3 seconds and wishing I had left earlier, wishing the iron hadn't barfed up cat hair on my skirt, wishing I'd stayed at a hotel instead. I just about lost my shit on the guy who got on the bus and proceeded to have a 4-minute argument about why are bus fares in Calgary so high, and maybe he didn't want to ride the bus today after all.

But finally, we made it. As we were turning into the downtown core, I felt the bus... slowing down. Stopping. Stopping in front of an A&W. And then the bus driver got off and slowly meandered into the restaurant.

I couldn't take it any more. I still had 4 minutes to get there on time, and I was Going To Get There On Time. I grabbed my stuff, and leapt off the bus, my docs pounding the pavement through downtown.

Now, I'm not that familiar with Calgary. Calgary is confusing. It's on a grid system, meaning that it's set up on a Cartesian plane kind of dealie. So there's Centre Street and Centre Avenue, which is (0,0) on the grid. And then the streets and avenues go north, south, east and west. So there's 1st street SE, 1st street SW, 1st street NE, 1st street NW. The grid system does give you the advantage of being able to figure out roughly where one place is in relation to another, but it just looks like so many numbers to me... I get the math panic. You know how it goes.

In any case, the place I was headed for was near the Calgary Tower, a pretty easy landmark to find. And so I, a non-runner (and I stress this heartily) ran about 15 blocks to the stage door entrance. I must have looked like a hot mess when I got there, barely managing to gasp out "Where are the auditions?" Wordlessly, the security guard pointed up a looooonnnng flight of stairs.

Crap. I dragged my sweating, gasping self up those stairs, sprinting the last couple of steps and around the corner to find... another actress, waiting for her audition.

"They're running late," she said.

Thank God! This time, I truly had been saved! I sat down and tried to catch my breath while simultaneously going over my monologues. I was going to be charming, calm, composed and confident. I was going to nail it.

And here's where I do great, get cast and become the toast of Calgary, right? Credits roll as I accept an award, or take a bow at a sold-out show, right?

Right?

Wrong. I had it pretty together when they called me in, had some nice chat with the two artistic directors about my resume, and then they said "What are you going to do for us today?" And I told them. And got ready to show them my stuff.

Now, I still don't know what happened. My best guess is that all the adrenaline from freaking out and running suddenly kicked in. Or, conversely, completely left my body in a mass exodus. But I started my monologue, and...

I started shaking.

And it wasn't the fine tremor of nerves that "no one will notice but you". It was a full on body shaking. Like, the kind of shaking that makes you wonder if the person is going through some kind of withdrawal, or has a brain tumor or something shakes.

Curious, I thought. And I decided to muscle it out. At the time I assumed it was just nerves, and that it would subside as I continued my monologue.

Nope. Just kept on sh-sh-sh-aking through the whole thing. And the two people behind the table were staring at me in horrified fascination, looking at me, looking at my resume, looking at me again. You know we know this resume is totally fake, right? You realize that no one could possibly have hired you to do anything in front of people, right? This is what they were thinking. I could tell. It's what I would have been thinking on the other side of the table.

I finished. The shaking stopped. Completely. I was myself again, apparently. And the people behind the table paused for a moment, and then kindly asked "Do you have anything else?"

Did I? Boy howdy, now that this shaking thing was over with, I was going to blow them away with my serious, touching monologue. And I began.

And so did the shakes. Again, full body shaking. Start acting-- start shaking. Stop acting-- stop shaking.

I recall wanting the floor to open up and swallow me, or for a meteor to hit the building, anything to stop me from having to finish this mon-n-n-n-ologue. Of course, it didn't. And I finished. And stopped shaking. And they graciously said "Thank you" and asked "Do you have any questions?"

And I've always been of the mindset that you should have questions in those situations. Job interviews, auditions-- questions make you seem interested, give you the opportunity to make an impression. And so I asked the only question that sprang to mind.

"Will you be having callbacks?"

I know. As if I, of all people, needed to know that information. Oh, honey, their eyes seemed to say. Don't you worry your pretty little head about that.

And so, I left. I still had a few hours to kill before the bus home. And I went back to my friend's house and ate ice cream and m&m's while watching soap operas. And cried.

Actually, I didn't go out for auditions for quite a while after that. Fortunately, the theatre company in question has changed artistic directors since then, and I'll be mailing my stuff to them asking for a general this week.

And this time I will definitely be staying in a hotel. A hotel within a 6-block radius of the theatre.

Remembrance of Auditions Past...

So I subscribe to the Equity email list for auditions and stuff-- most often the audition notices and ticket discounts are for Toronto, but once in a while something pops up closer to me.

So. There's a theatre in Calgary which is asking for submissions for generals. And it just so happens that I had the worst audition of my life there a few years ago.

But wait! Some of you may be asking. What are "generals"?
Well, Virginia, I'm glad you asked. Every year or two years, theatre companies will hold general auditions, in which they invite people whose work they aren't familiar with to come and audition for them. Union houses like this one are obligated by Equity to give Equity actors a chance to be seen, at least every two years. The plus: you get to go in and be seen by the artistic director. And often other artistic directors in town will tag along to see actors. The cons: really, by the time they do generals, many theatres have already cast their season. Unless they're looking for something ultra-specific, it's less likely you'll get cast in the upcoming season.

Anyway, it's an audition. You go in, hand them your picture, and do two monologues for them, everyone thanks each other, and you leave. What could possibly go wrong?

Flash back a couple of years ago. Actually, maybe about 5 or 6 years ago. I'd been trying to get out-of-town auditions, and had managed to get one with this company. I was feeling pretty proud of my independence as I took the Greyhound down to Calgary the day before the audition. I was staying with a friend, I was familiar with the bus routes into downtown, I'd been working on my monologues for a while. I was pretty sure I was set.

The morning of, I got up nice and early to eat breakfast and get dressed. I was going for that weird eclectic look that only people in movies seem to be able to pull off-- big doc boots, black skirt with a print, some kind of top. The friend I was staying with had cats, and thus I had been extra careful to keep my clothes away from them. But as I zipped up my skirt, I noticed it had a little crease in it. I spotted an iron and ironing board in the kitchen, and decided I had plenty of time to give it a go. I heated up the iron and went to town.

Big mistake. It was like the iron had a cat in it or something. My first pass across my black skirt left a white furry trail.Then, perhaps not believing that this could really be happening, I took another pass at the skirt. Yep. Hot wide streaks of white cat hair.

While desperately looking for some tape to de-hair my skirt, I realized that I was missing my bus. No problem, I thought. That bus comes every 15 minutes. Which was true. When I'd been taking it the previous summer during rush hour. During regular time, it was one of those random buses that seem to come at the whim of the driver. But I didn't realize that as I was cheerfully walking through the sunshine towards the bus stop, headshot my lucky purple folder in my bag. As far as I was concerned, I had plenty of time.

Plenty of time passed. I kept checking my watch, realizing that the chances of my getting to this audition on time were decreasing by the second. This was before I had a cell phone, so if I was going to call a cab, I needed a public phone. I looked around...

Now, the funny thing about this bus stop is it is literally in the middle of nowhere. Even though it's in the middle of a residential neighborhood, there aren't really even houses by it. The only place of business nearby that might potentially have a phone was across the street. I squinted to see what it was. There certainly seemed to be a lineup outside the place, anyway.

That's right, it was an abortion clinic. And it wasn't a lineup, those were protesters hassling people going into the clinic. I immediately flashed back to my days of watching Degrassi Jr. High, when one of the twins is going into the clinic and all those people were shoving rubber fetus dolls at them.

Should I go into the abortion clinic and ask to use their phone? I wondered. Do I show the protesters my headshots and tell them I really just need to call a cab? That's probably the oldest trick in the book for avoiding abortion protesters on your way into the clinic. Plus I thought the people in the clinic would think I was weird. Plus I didn't want the hassle.

I stood there, contemplating this for some time, as my audition time inched ever closer...

OK, that's enough typing for now. I'll finish this fascinating tome later!

The February Blahs

Yes, I get them every year, and every March (or sometimes April), I block them right out of my mind, only to be surprised the following February: What's going on here? Why do I feel so crappy? Oh, right, it's February.

You know that feeling where you feel kind of down, but it mainly just translates to being irritated with everything? Just feeling bored and sick of yourself and everyone else?

If you don't, you're lucky.

I'm in the office alone today. My two cube-mates are out sick, leaving only me in my windowless cell. There is a huge slab of birthday cake only steps away from my desk.
Cake, people. The kind with the disgustingly sweet, edible-oil-product frosting. With yellow roses on it. Yet, I managed to walk on by.

As I've mentioned, I work two jobs-- one is doing box office at a concert hall, and the other... well, I have a feeling they're one of those companies that probably don't want you mentioning them in your blog, even if your blog is read by no one. Suffice it to say that I am working in a facet of the entertainment industry, and that I am very lucky to work here, and a lot of my friends would kill for my job. But there is a lot of food here. Like, they bring in 3 meals a day. Bins of pastries, fresh fruit, yogurts, cheeses. They have sandwich presses and all the fixins, should you so desire. Cereal. Lunch and dinner brought in every day.

Today is day 8. I'm doing well. A little bored with my uncreative dinners, but what are you going to do? Trying to work up a non-intimidating, accomplishable to-do list that will GET DONE for the rest of it.

Making some plans for the future, that kind of thing. Just working through the blahs. Or working with them. Because as much as I'd like to spend February hiding in bed and watching soap operas, I need to make some money!

Day 6

Today is/was day 6 of the cleanse. It was a hard day, I'll admit. It didn't help that I woke up feeling rather blah and unmotivated-- do you ever have those days where you just have no motivation to do anything? I don't know if it's just that end of January meh feeling I always struggle with, or the fact that today EVERYTHING I WANTED TO EAT HAD GLUTEN IN IT.

I just shouldn't have gone grocery shopping, really. But I had to go get a prescription filled, and get my nails fixed (I've developed an unhealthy depends on my big ole fake nails since the wedding), and it just made sense to pop in to the grocery store and get some mushrooms for tonight's risotto.

As soon as I stepped into the store, my immediate urge was to deny every single chickpea and nugget of quinoa (grain? nugget? niblet?) I've eaten over the past week. Them? No, sorry, never heard of them. I had an instantaneous craving for soy bacon and tomato sandwiches (just the bacon's soy, not the tomatoes, folks. ba-doom-*ching*! thank you! I'm here all week!). I checked the package, knowing the answer wasn't something I wanted to hear. Yep. Gluten.

To make a boring story short, I felt a bit better upon slogging home and making myself some oven sweet potato fries. I'm going to look through some cookbooks tomorrow and try to at least plan something interesting for dinners this week.

Blah blah blah DIET blah blah blah FOOD blah blah blah GLUTEN, right? Am I really that uninteresting? Is this quickly becoming a blah-g? Wait, I can talk about exercise! I put a bunch of workout dvd's on hold at the library, figuring that I might actually find a couple I like, and that I can switch them up and avoid getting bored with the whole situation. The first one I think I'm going to try is called "Dance Off The Inches: Country Line Dancing".

!!!

The cover, from a distance, makes it look like a low-budget porn. (And I worked at a video store with an extensive adult section. I'm well familiar with low-budget porns. From a retail sense, you understand.) Maybe I'll get crazy and post a pic of myself line dancing.

But back to motivation. Gentle readers, do you ever lose your motivation? How do you kick yourself in the ass and get back in gear?

One of my worst habits

Is saying "let's work together"! Okay, it's not one of my more annoying habits like constantly singing conversations, or a destructive habit like smoking. But I think it is a bad habit, in a way.

I plan these little projects with people, and we're all excited, and we're going to Make. It. Happen. or Do. Some. Crazy. Shit., and then... well, more often than not, things fizzle out. Life happens. I get busy, or they get busy, or one of us gets a gig, or, or, or... all those things that can derail a project.

And so I am in awe of people who self-promote, self-produce, self-anything, really. Because I have done it in the past, and it's hard. And I'm wondering that if I did it in the past, where did all my motivation go? Which is the real danger for me of planning a project with someone else. Because, really, no one is ever going to be as interested in your career and your creative future as you are. And nor should they be. But I believe that you have to find the right people to connect with, the people who won't fizzle out. I need to (a) put my money where my mouth is, as it were, and (b) follow through, and maybe even (c)find people to work with who are also driven to follow through.

Because it's all very well to have plans... I've always been great at coming up with imaginary futures, and new projects, and plans,plans,plans! It's really the action part I seem to have trouble with.

Scared? You betcha! Trying to outrun my thoughts of "Meh, this probably won't work out anyway"? You know it! But I have to get out of this rut. Out of any rut. And I'm beginning to realize that the only person who can do that is me.

In other news, Day 4 has passed along uneventfully... I refused croissants, biscuits, even fudge cake. (Job #2 has a fully-catered kitchen right by my office, and many many co-workers with delicious treats). I don't even really miss bread that much, which surprised me. Tomorrow is weigh-in day. I'm already amping up not to get discouraged.

Did I mention that one of my other worst habits is a slightly negative attitude towards myself?

The Cleanse, Days 1-3

Hello, friends and neighbours!
Well, I didn't hear back from the industrial I auditioned for, and today was my last day to worry about it. I like to do that with stuff like this-- give myself a deadline for when I would reasonably hear yes or no, and then... just stop worrying about it. It doesn't mean I still couldn't hear later this week, but I just need to let it go. Because otherwise I would drive myself crazy thinking about it.
As I mentioned before, I'm doing the Quantum Wellness Cleanse for 21 days. Yes, I saw it on Oprah, but I did read both books (Quantum Wellness, and The Quantum Wellness Cleanse). I think I'm really ready to invite some healthy changes into my life, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't hope I'd lose some weight in the process.

Basically, the Cleanse is about adopting healthier habits nutritionally, mentally, spiritually, and physically. Hmm, it sounds a bit cult-ish when I put it like that. It's not, though. You give up the following for 21 days:
*caffeine
*alcohol
*refined sugar
*gluten
*animal products, including eggs and dairy

I don't drink tons of caffeine, and I'm not usually a big drinker. I'm also already a vegetarian, and since J can't have dairy, we have TONS of vegan cookbooks around the house. In fact, we eat vegan food quite often. Still, I was worried that it would be hard to go full-on vegan for 3 weeks. Turns out, it's gluten that's the difficult one. That shit is everywhere!

Anyway, it's going well heading into day 4 tomorrow. I don't feel much different yet, but I don't feel deprived, either.

Here's what I ate today:

Breakfast: plain oatmeal with soymilk, banana, and a little agave nectar
Snack: unsweetened applesauce
Lunch: Tofu scramble with red peppers, onions, mushrooms, and carrots
Snack: Carrot sticks and a handful of roasted cashews
Dinner: Tacos with refried beans, avocado, tomato, lettuce and soy cheese

I may have some fruit or a rice cake with a little peanut butter later if I get hungry. But it sounds a lot like WW Core, doesn't it? I did buy some gluten-free products like bread, wraps and crackers, but it's pretty expensive. I think next week I'm going to try and focus on rice, beans and greens. Cheap, vegan, gluten-free, and healthy.

It may be TMI, but I have a feeling in a couple of days I'm going to be pooping like a champ!

Audition #2

So today I had audition #2. And it's funny, the amount of time I spent stressing about it, trying to get my shift covered, learning my sides, getting dressed in a respectable-social-worker fashion, trying to get there in the snow, it all culminated in what was literally a five-minute period of my life. Before I knew it, I was back out on the street, heading home.

I think it went well. It seemed like it did. Of course, you could drive yourself crazy thinking of the various meanings behind "Great job", and "Thank you!" I haven't had too many on-camera auditions yet, but here's how they generally break down so far:

You get there. There's usually a sign-in sheet of some kind. And you can tell who your competition is, because they will all look somewhat like you, or at the very least be dressed like you. Many of these people know each other, and make what can sometimes seem like forced conversation about other gigs they've been working on, how they know the director/casting director/writer/other person of importance on the project. Other people will be smiling tersely, furiously going over their sides.

You wait. See people go in (and sometimes hear their audition through the door), come out. Eavesdrop on any conversations concerning: who and how many people are in the room. Wait some more if they're running behind.

You get called in. There's a cameraman, a reader, the director and/or casting director. You go stand on your mark (a piece of tape in the shape of a T), and be nice, agreeable, nice, energetic, and nice, doing your best to project the attitude that you're confident, together, talented, and easy to work with. You slate yourself, if they ask for it: looking into the camera, state your name, agency, and the role you're reading for.

You audition. The reader may give a lot, or they may be monotone, emotionless, and hard to hear. You might get some direction and get to do it again, or you might get nothing.

You're done! You might hear compliments, you might just hear "thank you". After all, they've got a lot more you's in the waiting room to get through, and they've been doing this all day. And it's pretty much crazy-making to try and figure out any subtext in their comments.

Overall, I feel like it went really, really well. It was definitely the first time I've come out of an on-camera audition feeling so good about it. (I tend to get CAMERA PANIC. Have I talked about this before? You know that episode of 30 Rock where Jack is going to be on the show, and he doesn't know what to do with his hands, and he needs two coffee mugs to walk "naturally"? Sometimes cameras make me feel like that on the inside.) Of course, now the wait begins, but I'm going to try not to focus on it. If I hear, I hear. If not, hey, at least I'm getting called in for stuff, right?

Come On, Get Down With The Sickness...

Last night, between work and Value Village, I remember thinking "Hmmm. My throat is a little sore." Sometime between then and going to bed, I got the mother of all sore throats, a cough, some stomach ickiness, and so on.
Of course, this morning, I woke up with absolutely no voice. Curses! So I called in sick to Job #2, and hung out in bed all day, desperately willing the scarf I'm wearing to have a curative effect beyond the psychological. Oh, and trying to memorize my sides for tomorrow. And hemming a pair of pants, and making an adjustment to the top I bought last night.
And weighing in.
Yes, I did it. And while I was (as always)outraged that I wasn't suddenly 10 lbs lighter without doing anything, I am going to consider this my new starting number.
175.
Could this be pre-special-woman-time weight? Maybe. Does that matter? It shouldn't, especially if I'm going to stop playing mind games with myself about it. And it's a far cry from my all-time adult high of 235 (which I was also outraged to find out about, especially after catching sight of myself in a store window and not recognizing myself. "Why didn't anyone tell me?" I raged to myself.)

Tomorrow after my audition (send good vibes at around noon MST, please!), I'm going for some gluten-free goodness at the grocery store. It's funny how that five to seven minute slot really weighs over my whole day. I mean, it's what I really want to be doing, it is. I've gone through the whole examining-my-pathos career stuff. And I keep coming to the conclusion that I'm a creative person, specifically a performer and writer. And somehow I've just gotten it in my head that I shouldn't put myself out there, because I'm not... something.

So begone, doubts! And laryngitis! Tomorrow I get to act for some people. If only for five to seven minutes.

Back to real life, and Audition #2

So here I am, back at work (Job #2, to be specific), and it's cold and a little snowy outside. I'm just beginning to discover that my house does not, in fact, have a swim-up bar or a buffet. And I'm back to getting up early and slogging to work.

While I was leisurely perusing my emails yesterday (still haven't managed to escape the email lists of all the wedding vendors), I noticed that an email my agent had sent me had an attachment that didn't look like an attachment. And what I mean by this is: sometimes for non-union or non-paying gigs (something you'd do for resume credit and experience), she'll send out breakdowns for us to submit ourselves to. Usually stuff like student films and the like. Which is what I thought this particular email was. But when I clicked the unnoticed attachment, I saw that it was actually a schedule for Saturday, with my name smack in the middle of the day.

It seems she'd submitted me for an industrial, and they've asked to see me. Unfortunately, Job #1 had scheduled me all day Saturday. Much frantic facebooking later, I managed to find someone to cover my shift, and now I have two more things on my list of things to do:

1) head to Value Village on my way home to find something smart and businesslike in camera-friendly colours (all my work-ish clothes are black or crazy patterns, a no-no for camera)
2) memorize my sides for Saturday morning

See? Just when I start giving up, life throws me a bone. Thanks, life!

It just so happens that last night I was reading The Actor's Voice, which is a terrific weekly column by Bonnie Gillespie--she's an actor turned casting director, and she has great perspective for actors. This week's column is about doubt, and she poses the question "What would you do if you knew you could not fail?"

Which is a simple enough, hippie-granola-ish question. But I know that my list of things would probably be quite long. The threat of failure is an embarrassingly huge influence in my life. And Bonnie suggests that I consider letting my doubts go, whether I'm using them to protect myself, using them as an excuse to not really go for it, whatever. I don't even know what I doubt, exactly. Something I'll have to examine further, I suppose.

OK, finishing some work, planning some menus, and hoping some other size 12/14 woman has discarded the perfect outfit!

Choosing differently...?

Hello friends and neighbours!
Thanks to all who've commented on previous posts lately-- I love knowing that someone's reading.
Jamaica was fabulous and relaxing and lazy. We had a great time not doing anything. I do have some rather boring pictures of the resort and the ocean, which I will eventually perhaps even post.
I must confess-- I'm not a huge picture taker. I think it may come from growing up before digital cameras, but taking pictures isn't something that immediately occurs to me. Which is strange, because I'd say I'm a very visual person. I'm going to try to get better at documenting things with pictures. Which brings me to the subject of this post...

choosing to do things differently.

I'm a creature of habit, I freely admit. I like getting stuck in my little comfortable ruts, and I get anxious about change. About trying and failing, about doing things wrong. But eventually the rut gets more tedious than comforting, and I'm confronted with the fact that for things to change, I have to make different choices in life. Possibly scarier, choices. Taking risks. And so on.

I'm excited to start my cleanse on Monday, heading out to get some vegan essentials this weekend. (And gluten-free--- eek!) But I know that to achieve what I want, I have to actually step up and claim it. Like change how I eat, commit to exercising, get those new headshots, put myself out there. I feel like I'm surrounded by so many fearless people, it gets me down sometimes. Or maybe they're not fearless at all, but they've figured out how to get out and do it anyway.

How does that happen? Do you train yourself to be brave? Just do stuff before your brain gets in the way? Is it an innate ability, or something you can learn?

Speaking of, in a roundabout way, I actually sang in a piano bar in Jamaica. And it wasn't as bad as I thought. Mind you, i was a little bit drunk at the time, so that probably helped. A little.

PS- I haven't weighed yet. I figure I'm going to let things settle down for a couple of days (not drinking a lot of rum-based girly drinks may help) and weigh in on my usual Friday.

Ba da da da da da da... feelin' pudgy...

It's kind of like feelin' groovy, only less pleasant.
Well, today I weighed in. And the news is not good, my friends. Today I am at 174. 174! How is it possible to gain 5 pounds in a week? I haven't been eating THAT much. I didn't think so, anyway. I mean, realistically, that's 3500 calories per pound... umm... 17,500 calories over and above the calories I need just to maintain? That's a lot of food. Could it be the massive amounts of salt I've been eating? Not enough water? Hormonal stuff? Not enough fibre?

Many, many possibilities here. And so, friends and neighbors, we come to a subject that is known to weight strugglers, but perhaps not to the lifelong skinnies. It's a terrible world of mathematics and rationalization (and irrationality) and it's known as

REAL WEIGHT vs. NOT-REAL WEIGHT.

At the risk of sounding crazy, let me explain. Real weight is... well, real weight. You gain it from eating too much food, usually over a longer period of time than a couple of day. Not-real weight is the water weight, the special-ladies'-moontime bloat. I could sit down and try and assign the weight gain (1 lb to real weight, 2 lbs to water weight, etc.), and believe me, there have been times I've obsessed over stuff like that. If you don't already obsess about that stuff, don't start. It will make you crazy and a little miserable with yourself.

Of course, I'm going on an all-inclusive, buffet-laden, booze-ridden holiday next week. And it's going to be hot, so I'm going to have to wear some summer clothes, and a bathing suit. I'm going to try and eat light until we leave Tuesday, and have fun but not pig out next week. And then get back on track when I get back to real life.

Off to drink some more water now...

Well, that was anti-climactic...

So I went down to the blood donor clinic after work today... everyone was super nice, and I answered all the questions and sat in the chair squeezing the little rubber ball... and then... BLAMMO! the nurse totally missed my vein. Which sucked. And they couldn't find another one in my other arm. So they sent me home.
Lame!
I guess I could have taken a cookie anyway, but I didn't. The good news is that there's only a couple of places to visit in Jamaica that would preclude you from donating blood, so I'm going to load up on water and try again when I get back.

I was all set to write this meaningful post about food and vegetarianism, but instead this is a short, meaningless post about my crappy veins.

Oh, but speaking of vegetarianism, I did find out that I'm not anemic. Not that the two go hand in hand (I've actually known plenty of anemic meat-eaters), but I was a little curious about whether I actually eat enough iron.

Most boring post ever!

Another Blog Post For January!

I know! I'm on a roll here. I'm going to count this as writing, if only because it clears my brain of all the crap that clutters it up.

So I'm assuming a no go on that film. Which is-- well, it's whatever, because you never know why someone didn't hire you. It could be that I looked too old, or too fat, or they found an asian lady to play the grandmother part, or they decided to give the part to their friend after all. Them's the breaks, as the saying goes.

But I've been thinking a lot about my mere 25 pounds to go (or possibly a mere 30 pounds, depending on how 25 pounds from now looks). What's so hard about 25 pounds? I mean, I checked out Biggest Loser tonight, and there were people who needed to lose 200, 300 pounds to get to their goal. In the grand scheme of things, 25 pounds (or 30 pounds, as the case may be) isn't that much. But the thing I wonder is: Am I more afraid of succeeding than failing? Because let's face it, I know how to be overweight. I know how to be pleasantly plump, a little chubby, a two-sandwich girl, I even know how to be obese. And I know how handy an excuse it can be.

They would have cast me if I was 20 pounds lighter.

I'd be more successful if I wore a size 8.

I'd be braver if I was thinner.

But what if that isn't true? What if I do reach goal, and nothing changes? Still not booking auditions, still not brave enough to put my own stuff out there, still spending a season being ignored?

What if it isn't my weight? What if they just don't want me?
And that, my friends, is a little scary. Because what if I let my best excuse go, and I have to face up to not being good enough (or castable, or successful, or what have you) for no good reason?

And yes, "good enough" is a bad way of putting it. I don't base my value, my self-worth on my career. Or not that much, anyway. But I think some of you will know what I mean.

Because as much as my weight probably hinders me, it protects me, too.
So am I willing to give up my big defense?
I hope so.

In other news, I realized that once I go to Jamaica, I'll be restricted from giving blood for a while. So I figured that I should just get it out of the way before I go. So I'm going to donate blood for the first time tomorrow! Fear of needles be damned, they can have my sweet, sweet b-negative blood!

That's a lot of exclamation points.
!!!