How the Grinch Stole Your Heart

It's taken a while, and I'm still not quite used to it, but the fact is: I have an effect on men.

I mean this without being arrogant or braggy, but with honesty; from simple responses and behaviors that I have observed.

I don't mean that I walk into a bar and heads swivel, or that I cause traffic accidents. That's left for movies and plastic surgery. No, I mean once a guy starts talking to me, 90% of the time I seem to leave a serious impression on him. I think it all kind of goes back to my abundance of beginner's luck (bulls-eye my first time shooting an arrow, next shot didn't even hit the target) and my ability to listen.
Yes, I talk a lot, but I listen to. And in the words of Dane Cook, "I don't just listen, I LISTEN"

I respond. I ask questions. I give answers, or at least offer a possible path. I don't judge and draw from only my own experiences so I have some authority on the subject.

BUT... not every guy who finds me interesting is interesting to me in turn. And this is the bad part, because when I find I'm no longer interested, I pretty much shut down as far as that person is concerned. I let them fade into the backround of my dating past (because I have other priorities) pretty much through halting of all communication and hope they get the message.
This is not news.

I don't mean to leave people in limbo, I just suck at communication when I or the other person is uncomfortably emotional. In my head, it's easier for everyone involved if I just let go.

I guess although I am very mature in some ways, in others I am just becoming an adult. One of my personal definitions of being an adult is the ability to see outside the universe of you on a regular basis. And I guess if I'm going to keep dating around, I need to be able to see outside of myself and step up to the plate rejecting these guys, or stop sending signals in the first place. I'm a flirt, and I know it. It's fun and, for me, harmless.

But I need to take some responsibility, for my actions and the feelings of others when it comes to, well, me. I need be upfront and tell the truth. And I guess I'll start now, since it is Christmas eve, and according to Love Actually, on Christmas you tell the truth.

No one wants to be the Jew who stole your sanity on Christmas. Not even me.

The Ripple Effect

So today was the day I was supposed to be flying home to Miami for the first time since May. Was going to see Stef tonight, Nikki and Luke tomorrow, Maria and Em monday, and whoever else after. I was going to fly home tonight and have one night of Chanuka with my family- a day late by the way- and watch their faces as they opened my presents. A family night, in my childhood home, with the weather a good 50 degrees above NYC.

But, alas motherfucking alas.

No sooner did I give my official goodbye (changing my status on facebook of course) then I found out my flight was cancelled because of the huge blizzard that has taken over the northeast for the next 15 hours. I got back from the airport about 10 minutes ago, it has just now started to snow, and I don't think it's going to stop for a very very long time. And the kicker: I was supposed to leave yesterday, but I delayed leaving for one day because of a possible callback that I didn't even get. Go figure.

As I watch the little, cute, almost fuzzy flurries of snow, individually they look so benign. So innocent and gentle, blown away with the smallest puff of wind and melting as soon as they hit your tongue. And as I watch there are more and more and more of them, they never hit the ground hard, but layer upon gentle layer, they are the one thing besides and alien or terrorist attack that can stop this most bustling of cities. It won't last long, but by morning this city will be calm and quiet, under a spell and transformed into a sleeping Disney princess of your choice.

Although it snowed a few weeks ago for about 5 minutes, this is the first official, stick-to-the-sidewalk snow of the year. And every year the first snow makes me think back onto my FIRST first NY snow. Just like these small snowflakes shut down life as we know it, at least for a day or so, the event that I connect with that long-ago snow has had such an effect on my life. It was one of those moments that made me who I am today. If everything that night had not happened exactly as it did, I would be a different person. That was planned, this new snow is unwelcome, but they both have the same effect. Something small radiating outward to become huge.

I guess there is no real point to this blog, except that no matter how welcome or unexpected, everything happens for a reason. You might not know what it is now, and you might never, but be assured that it does. I'll get home on monday, I'll still have my chanuka, and I'll still have my family and friends.

And tonight, I think the universe wanted me to make a snow angel. I'd better get to it.

Give a Girl a Moment

Wow, it has officially been more than a month since I last wrote. I'm pretty sure no one cares, but I'm going to be more dedicated to this thing... NYR! (new years resolution)

So I was on a date today and realized that this person knew much more about me than I did about him. Not because I talked his ear off and didn't let him get a word in edgewise (I really didn't, I swear) not because he is intuitive, but because he googled my name and... my entire life came up.

I guess between blogspot, facebook, myspace, youtube, and the various other websites that we all now have made a part of our everyday life, the notion of privacy has changed drastically in the last 10 years. Although keeping secrets will always be a part of human nature when face-to-face, people are now accustomed to sharing their innermost thoughts and experiences for millions of people to watch, read, and above all: judge.
Let's face it people: the internet might have started out for porn, but it ended up being the most convenient and anonymous tool for passing judgement on others. With the simple click of the mouse, you can insult someone's life choices halfway across the globe.
The internet. A thing of beauty if not a joy forever.

Back to this date, it had never even occured to me that a complete stranger could know that much about me as long as they had my full name. I guess because I never gave it much thought, I forgot that, unless otherwise specified, myspace profiles are available to anyone and everyone, and facebook profiles are available to anyone with a working facebook account. And by the way, anyone CAN get one, and probably already has.

The basis of looking someone up is to get an idea of them, or, to put it bluntly, judge them. Good for me that I happened to pass this particular round, but who's to say what others will think in the future? Possible lovers, friends, employers, all waiting to type, google, and pounce. The weird thing is, I never thought it was that bad that people would know who I am, because I don't feel like I have anything to hide. At least once I didn't. But as we grow older, we form more walls, we have a front, and it badly shakes us when someone gets a peek behind the wall that we did not authorize.
It's not that we weren't going to ever show them, but we wanted to do it in our own sweet time. Unfortunately the internet sped up that process to the nth degree, as is it's job.

Along with everything else, we as a species need to learn to adapt to our high-speed lifestyles that we have asked for and recieved. Although our brains can easily keep up with the changing technology, our heart takes just a little bit longer.

So until it does, everyone, make sure you know what is out there for the world to know and what is protected, what people can see, and what they can't. In this beautifully dangerous world, we find people that we don't have to hide ourselves from, and that makes them feel special.

Let's keep it that way.

Give it Out, It Comes Back

I woke up this morning (ok afternoon, give me a break) to a grey, rainy, blustery day. Outside my window, trees are barely holding on to their last few brown, brittle leaves, damp debris is swirling down the street, and everyone is covered in dark clothing, bent over against the elements. Inside my apartment, it's an endless mess from my move-in and the doorknob has fallen out of my door. There's really no immediate reason or inspiration for joy or giddiness; no reason for a lifting of the spirits at all and yet...

I woke up with a smile on my face.

Ok, maybe it was because of the adorable dog wriggling on my pillow and the prospect of a perfectly toasted bagel, but I was also smiling when I came home last night. And I think it's all for the same reason I'm seriously considering going to a volunteer program in Africa for a couple of months after graduation.
Yesterday was not about me.

I went to lunch with a friend from LA who is starting to have a lot of success in the acting world; who, like many other people I know, did not discover acting until a relatively short time ago. I was so happy for his success, and we spent quite a while talking about how to work out a character's psychology, and why it is so important.
I have thought these things out over and over again through the years, but sharing what I've learned helps bring new life to it. Not to mention getting to watch the "lightbulb ON" moment cross someone's face in response to some advice you happened to give. It kind of makes all the shit you go through worth it, if you can take what you've learned from all that and help someone else. It's why I do theatre.

But moving on, later I spent an evening with a friend who needed distracting from a family situation. We drowned our sorrows in the most amazing organic baked goods (try the pretzel croissant from the green bakery on Ave A, it's to die for) and people watching in the LES.
My roomate also happened to be performing some of her original songs in a little bar as part of the Folk Yeah! music show. So, excited at the prospect of free music and pizza with cheap beer, we went and supported original artists. And then, just for kicks, I gave a free waltz lesson.

Now, I will not for a moment say that all this was entirely unselfish. I had so much fun, and now have a new favorite song stuck in my head, but the intention was truly to help and support other people. The fact that it came back to me and gave me the warm fuzzies was a happy by-product.

So, this weekend, instead of moping around feeling isolated because I'm no longer in the showcase, I'm going to make a picture slideshow that everyone can have for years to come. I am still a part of this class, and will contribute something. And I know it will take a while, but it will stand out for even longer.

Karma can be a bitch, but not always. It can be your best friend.

Check out Lonna Marie at http://www.youtube.com/user/LonnaMarie
Become a fan on facebook, etc. She's awesome. Seriously. She won an award and everything.
My favorite song is I Love the Enemy.

I'll B There 4 U

Ok ok, normally I would rather clean up an elephant cage than use such bad spelling and abbreviations, but if that Friends theme song had been written in the last 8 years, you know that is how they would have spelled it. For some reason, it is now acceptable to settle for less when it comes to song lyrics and titles (just look at the top 10 at any given time and you will know exactly what I am talking about, the whatchas and gottas and using number for words is enough to make any lover of the English language cringe). But the sad thing is, lately, I have been getting the feeling that it is acceptable to settle for less when it comes to friendship as well.

Of course, deceit has been the code of the upper class and petty since the days of Elizabeth, from Anne Boleyn all the way to Serena Van Der Woodsen. That's what makes them so fascinating. the endless scandals and betrayals these girls allow themselves to get into is exciting and makes us feel a little superior, that we would NEVER do this to our friends.

But sometimes, even more detrimental than a huge betrayal, it's the little things.

Just as in any relationship, the little things remind the other person they matter to you are usually a big indicator of the overall commitment. With friends, it's a little harder, because friendship doesn't usually end in a clean break-up, it fades out because friends forget to do these things, especially when living far away.
I have been lucky. Because of this age we live in, I have been able to stay in contact with the people from high school that have really mattered to me. We almost never see each other, but we call and send texts and facebook thingies, and we remind each other that we are there.

Friends I've made since then have been a little different.
I'm graduating in 2 weeks, and have serious doubts that I will stay in contact with more than 3 or 4 people for the first year out, maybe even none once a year has passed. New York is an easy place to feel isolated and lonely in, and every person needs a circle of people they trust. I know I have difficulties reaching out in times of need, but it's easy to text someone if you're going out with a big group, or to just let someone know you're there, or to show up to a party you're invited to. My so-called "best friend" hasn't even bothered to talk to me for 2 weeks now, and chances are we won't speak till graduation, and then never again.

I think this is why it's easier to open up to a relative stranger than friends. Maybe it is the anonymity of it, but there is also the hope that this person could be a true friend, that will be there, that you can be there for, that will help you grow as a human being, that will just shut up and listen without judgement.

Because, when you get right down to it, that's really what we all want.

Don't forget your friends. Don't let them slip by the wayside. If you feel something is wrong, reach out.

Like anything else, it's the little things.

The Doors go Open and Shut

Tonight is opening night for Trojan Women. Last night was dress rehearsal, it went relatively well, but the major note from our director was that we had let the play become safe. The energy was at about 80%, and we had to stay after the run to go over a couple of scenes and make sure we remembered the stakes and make them dangerous again.

How odd that the both my life and the play were in a safe place. And just like our director made us shake up the play, my demons shook up the safe place I had reached at school.

I won't bore you here, but long story short, I retreated into my shell again, and now the showcase is at risk. I shut my door to the world, and by the time I opened it up again, my future is once again in jeopardy.

I screw things up like Forrest Gump meets presidents.

I used to love looking in the mirror. Not necessarily out of vanity, but just because it was fun, it was another person for me to interact with (keep in mind I was 5 at the time). It got to the point where in class the teacher would need to turn the mirror towards the wall so I would pay attention.
I still look in the mirror, but the joy has gone out of it. I look in the mirror to judge and criticize, and where I once recognized myself as a friend I now see an enemy.

I am a series of contradictions. And no, I am not quoting some cliche facebook bumper sticker, it is true. I crave human contact, but shut people out. I love theatre, but keep screwing up my chances to be succesful. I am a control freak, but my room is a mess. I want to change, but I fall into patterns.

Tonight is opening night. And tonight I will find out whether I am going to get away with the latest Rachel-esque-capade. Tonight I must find a way to open my heart to a play, even though I have closed it to others. And tonight I would just like to say again...

I'm sorry.

Standing on a Different Plane

Last week, my day started out with cursing the gods, and ended talking philosophy with a drunk midget. A drunk midget who specializes in human suspension.

May I just say, every week, I find another reason to be grateful that I live in New York City.

Human suspension, in case anyone doesn't know, is the art of putting hooks through your skin in multiple places and hanging for minutes or hours at a time. I don't know what the exact process is, but at the Manor, in the room next door to Barbara Blue's House of Hair, is Disgraceland, where the year-round carnival freaks come to be chained, pierced, and snagged and scare the living crap out of anyone within 20 feet of them.

Whilst talking to Steve (the aforementioned little person) he explained that suspension has been practiced for thousands of years as a form of meditation. Yet another way humans have found to access another plane of existence, to reach mental clarity. Throwing aside the factor of self-destruction, ways to the alternate plane include yoga, suspension, drugs, severe diet restriction, intense excercise, so many trials people put themselves through for a few moments of enlightenment.

All this falls under the heading of meditation; everyone has their own personal form of bypassing the everyday world, including me. My personal choice happens to be art. Theatre, in particular, but I believe all forms of true art come from the desire of the artist to achieve something beyond what the immediate world has to offer. I know that when I personally am involved in a scene, I forget the real world around me and get caught up in 'the moment', and the same happens with dancers, musicians, even visual artists let the world around them fade as they mold and sculpt.

Almost any artist will tell you that a certain amount of pain is necessary to create great art. So are these suspension artists merely a bunch of people who are in desparate need of some therapy, or do we all somehow specialize in pain, if only to reach that other plane for one shining moment?

In my play, our director makes sure onstage we are never on the same spacial plane, because if we are all even, not only is it not as interesting to look at, it is not as lifelike.
However you get there, alternate planes are just a part of human existence. Because no matter how mundane to colorful this beautiful life on earth is, being human is knowing there is something more. SomeWHERE more.

I'll see you there.

The One, or, True Love: WTF?

So, between rehearsal and hell week at the Manor, I'm a bit tired and have decided to post one of my old blogs from myspace. Pathetic, I know, but this is one of my favorites I've ever written and would like it to be up here.
So, without further ado....

Let me just start this off by saying that this is not intended as a message for anybody. This is not supposed to start a personal discussion, this is not supposed to hurt anyone's feelings, and this is not supposed to be read into or taken very seriously at all. This is just a blog about some things I've been thinking a lot about lately.

That being said...

I've been thinking a lot lately about love. No, not family love, not friend or pet love. Real, true, consuming, heated, romantic love. Who has it, who doesn't, who wants it, who loves it, who hates it, who can't get enough of it, who wants to forget it. I'm willing to bet that anyone who has really experienced it has felt all of these things. I'm also willing to bet that if you don't know if you've had it or not, chances are you haven't. It hits you like a fucking mac truck.

Or does it?

I was talking to my mom about love today, or more specifically, The One. How do you know? How did she know? If anyone should know about love, she should. She was proposed to twice by the time she was my age, 5 times in total. She said yes to the last one, who 26 years later, is still her husband. I asked her if she loved the other guys. She said she did. I asked her, but how did you know to say no to them when they asked? She said she just didn't feel 'it', whatever 'it' is. I asked her how did she know with dad if she had never felt it before? She just knew. And she did, right from the very beginning. After their first kiss, the first thing she did was call her mother and tell her "I just met the man I'm going to marry."

No, this is not made up. Apparently this kind of thing actually does happen.

That's the 'movie version' if you will. Some instinct deep in your gut tells you "This is it. You can stop looking. This is what you've been waiting for" And it doesn't, say, wait the appropriate length of time for you to weigh the pros and cons, or gradually let the other person discover it first, or take a very intellectual look at your emotions and logically decide that yes, you are, in fact, in love.

This is what my mom believes to be the indicator that this is The One. And my mom is a smart lady. It hit her once, she siezed it, and never looked back.

This is also what most people are looking for. And they are on their guard about it, because who knows, you may lose your one chance! So grab it when it comes along, don't let go!

I should mention my mom also said that she believes there is more than one The One out there. For everyone.

WHAT??????

This is all very confusing to me. There is only supposed to be one The One. That's why he or she is called... well... The One. Right?

If my mom is right, then I have met one The One. According to her, at least. But she is firm in the belief that I will find another The One. But to be honest, I don't know if I believe that's possible. I absolutely believe in finding love again, I may have already. But that gut feeling... I know what she's talking about. I've felt it. It seems to me to be something so precious, something that not everyone gets to experience even once, that there's no way someone could ever be lucky enough to find it twice.

But maybe not everyone finds The One like my mom did. Maybe the gradual realization that you're in love with your best friend is the way to The One. Maybe the couple that had an arranged marraige, that looks up one day and loves their spouse is the way to The One, and fate happened to play a hand. Maybe two emotionally beaten people who grow to trust each other, testing the waters every step of the way, is the way to The One.

The point is, I have no idea.

So... I'm stuck. Maybe the answer will be revealed in time, maybe my mom is right, maybe she's full of crap. I do believe that everything happens for a reason though, and even in the deepest dark and confusion, I have faith in that.

Anyway, that's been heavy on my mind. I'm wondering if I'm the only paranoid person who thinks about this stuff in that much detail, and if not, what other's viewpoints on love are. Feel free to respond to this, either in comment or in a message, but please, lets keep it academic. Again, this is nothing personal, I don't want to get into personal issues. This is just my neuroses reaching out to bounce ideas and viewpoints off of friends.

Whatever the real answer is, I hope that all of you get to experience it at least once. Just remember to be open to it, and believe it will come.

Thanks for listening.

Interview for the Ages

Well, at least the ages of my limited life experience.

To give some backround so you know what the hell I'm talking about: at my acting studio, we have a class that teaches us how to be working actors, or, the business side of acting. We recently received an assignment to research different vital and relevant artists and theater companies in NYC that we should all be familiar with as working professionals.
A while ago, my grandfather (who seems to know someone in every company that exists) introduced me to a member of the board of directors at New York Theater Workshop, a theater company dedicated to the production of new work and cultivating the artistic urge. This theater company was on the list, and I fought to research it (won, obviously). So I called her, and she was kind enough to set up meetings for me with the artistic and assistant artistic director of the theater.

Oh, and also she let me meet with Michael Greif.
This man is a director, on our list of who we should know, who was the director of, among many others, the currently running on Broadway Next to Normal, Grey Gardens, and..... RENT.

Shall I repeat that for you? RENT... MY FAVORITE MUSICAL OF ALL TIME EVER EVER

What an absolute thrill and honor.
I interviewed him, and he couldn't have been sweeter. Meeting the man who helped bring that amazing musical to life was one of those things I daren't even hope for, because I would be too lucky.

But it did happen, and what made it even better was meeting with the heads of the theater that brought it to life. It was such a relief and comfort to listen to two people who cared so much about creating true art, even after years of living in the theatre world, which we all know is not easy and has the capacity to make anyone bitter. They do it, very simply, because they love it and they cannot do anything else with their lives. Their dedication to carrying out the vision of the artist is truly inspiring, and it makes NYTW the kind of company I want to work in someday.

I never forget how much I love theatre, but it's nice to have the realization that it is where I belong land home, in my heart, once more.

What Makes You Feel Naked?

You know you've said it as some point in your life. "I'd feel naked without my (fill in the blank)" It could be a purse, underwear, makeup, a writing utensil, jewelery, anything. For me, makeup and earrings are a biggie. I always have a little makeup on, and I need earrings when I walk out of the house. I have a weird fear that my ears are too big, specifically the right one...

But I digress.

As actors, there are many different skills and/or techniques we need to master. Just like you are better at some subjects than others in school, so is every actor naturally more proficient in some areas than others. Some actors have amazing comedic timing, but have a hard time with having expressive body language. Some actors are very emotionally available, but have a hard time figuring out an objective. And so on.

I have many strengths as an actor. I am confident in this belief.
However, my weakness is emotional accessibility. I too often find myself watching, well... myself. And when I'm watching myself onstage I cannot get truly involved in what is happening. And then I can't feel anything; my acting turns fake, albeit entertaining.
To put it simply, my brain gets in the way of my emotions.

I am currently in a production of Euripedes' The Trojan Women. It's a Greek play about the women of Troy the morning after the Greeks win the 10-year war with the Trojan horse. The women are being forced into slavery, and witness atrocities throughout the course of the play.
They're not too happy about it. To put it mildly.

The play requires all the actors to be incredibly emotional, and I was at first incredibly daunted by my part in this. I am onstage literally for almost the entire play, and must be open to every terrible thing that happens.
But I was able to surprise myself. Although it was by no means consistent, I was more open and focused than I thought I would be. And then something very interesting happened.

Over the last few weeks, I have been in and out of apartments, rehearsals, and the Manor. I am exhausted and in the process of moving lost my makeup bag (PANIC) So, as a result, I have not been bothering to put on makeup every morning like I am accustomed to.
This was very uncomfortable for me at first (I am a HUGE girly girl), then as I got used to it, it started to influence me emotionally. I started to, for the first time, really not care how others looked at me.
And once I didn't care, I stopped watching myself.
And one I stopped watching myself in life, I stopped watching myself while acting.

And a whole new world opened up for me.

It is still not as consistent as I'd like it to be, but every day in rehearsal gets easier and more free. I am more emotionally involved, and am bringing forth truer performances. All stemming from being ok with being 'naked' in public.

So, I have a new acting theory. If you are having difficulty with a particular skill, try and find a part in your everyday life that has a similar effect on you. Then, do something to change it.

We all go tripping through life, but sometimes you happen to fall on the right path.
Opportunities to change are everywhere.

Never forget that.

Don't Walk... Grapevine!

I realized I officially started this blog a little out of the blue, and it occurred to me that you (that ever-elusive you we bloggers talk to who could be anyone but is probably no one) might not know much about me. I don't want this to turn into a boring laundry list of facts, and I'm sure in the coming entries you'll get a pretty good idea of what I'm about, so instead I'll go into someone else's idea of who I am.
Or at least, of anyone born in late June/ early to mid July.

I recently went to this website:
http://mizian.com.ne.kr/englishwiz/library/names/zodiac/contents.htm
It is only useful to anyone who wants to read a hell of a lot more than they ever needed to know about their horoscope sign...
Don't judge me.

I was born around 2 am on June 22nd, in other words, a Cancer, right on the cusp of Gemini. Now as silly as it is, we've all read some kind of description of our sign, and general things that apply to millions usually mesh well with our personalities. It has to, purely because of odds.
I am no hippie. I'm not all about love and peace. I do believe there are things that exist that we cannot perceive or hope to truly understand, but I've always thought this horoscope stuff needed to be taken with a large grain of salt, entertaining as it may be.

So, disregarding the kitty roadkill, victim of a 2009 Curiosity, I started reading my sign's description.

Started out predictable. Water sign, in tune with the moon, romantic, emotional and moody, very caring, etc. Then it started to get a little more practical. Well, as practical as comparing humans to crabs can be. (the sign of cancer is represented by a crab)
Then this statement caught me and knocked the breath out of my chest:

Once you've wounded him, you can poke at him with a sharp stick for days afterwards and not reach him. He won't answer his phone, his doorbell or his mail. In the midst of uncertainty, despair and sadness. Cancer people seek retreat and solitude. Just like real crabs.

This perfectly describes a facet of myself I've never quite been able to understand. Very often, usually in response to something going wrong in my life but not necessarily, I will go into a funk for a few days at a time. I will not answer phone calls, emails, doorbells, will try to avoid contact with anyone. It usually results in some hurt feelings from loved ones and people getting worried, and yet I persist.
My explanation for this has always been that when I am upset about something, I somehow think I should be able to handle it on my own, and don't want to burden others with my problems. I either work it out, or suppress it until it goes away for the time being.

As if this wasn't creepy enough, a few scrolls down the page and I was hit again:

Cancerians never go directly after what they want. Their strategy is to move in every direction but straight ahead.

This sentence describes perfectly the last 4 years of my life. I have taken so many indirect routes to try and achieve what I want, that I have sometimes wondered if it was what I really want after all. I figured if I really wanted it, I would go the straightest and strongest path.

But maybe I'm just trying to fit my square peg into life's round hole.

Maybe these are not problems to be dealt with, but just parts of who I am. Maybe there is nothing wrong with taking a few days to yourself, as long as you go about it the right way. Maybe there is nothing wrong with going after what you want through the (many) indirect paths of life, as long as you have faith you'll get there eventually.

And maybe there is something to this whole astrology crap.

Go figure.

Sex, Money, and What I Wore

I have so many thoughts going through my head that maybe if I get a few out I'll be able to sleep tonight.

Today what happens to be on my mind (for the first time in a while) is sex. The power of sex? The illusion of the power of sex?

My current job is working in a Haunted House called Blood Manor. Satu has been working there for 5 years, I dropped her name, got an audition, and now I am by day, a (mostly) dedicated acting student, but by night... I am either Barbara Blue Bush, the maniacal mutilating beautician, or Amber DeCay, Zombie Stripper/ Go-Go Dancer extraordinaire.
Now as good ol' Blue, I scare the crap out of people with huge fake scissors, blood running from various wounds on my neck and face, with a mile-high blue beehive hairdo. I get to yell, insult them, intimidate them, and it's all fun albeit rough on the voicebox.
As Miss DeCay (get it? cause I'm a zombie and I'm decaying. ha. ha.) I get to do those things as well... but in the stripper room, we have the opportunity to get tips. And a scared customer is not a tipping customer.
This is where the lines begin to blur.
My outfit is pretty much underwear, boots, and a lot of body paint. I have a dog collar around my neck, and I twirl around the pole with grace and vivacity I never thought I would have back in high school. When people come in, I perform what acrobatics I can and then go into sexy mode. The words 'baby' and 'you gotta dollar?' fly out of my mouth, and only when I see that they are not going to tip do I try to intimidate them out of the room.

The question is: Am I sacrificing part of myself, even though Amber is not technically me and no one who didn't know me could ever recognize me, to get a measly crumbled dollar? I am playing a stripper character, but where is the line? And more importantly, why do I enjoy it so much in the moment, but then feel some shame when I am pulling out a wad of fake-bloodstained singles from my wallet?

I have done many things in the past 2, hell, 5 years that I never thought I would do. Some to be proud of, some to be ashamed of. But does this qualify as something shameful?

In high school all I wanted was to be sexy. I've now figured out that being sexy is all in your state of mind, and it is hard to understand sexuality if you've never had sex. But, like any other woman, I sometimes have to fight to reignite that specific fire.
There is this girl from my high school named Chynna. In almost every facebook picture of her, she has that predatory intensely sexual look down to a T. She is a beautiful curvy girl, and she pulls it off effortlessly. A small part of me wants to be like that, but I am awkward, silly, a total dork, who has some good sexy moments that most often stem from being adorable rather than a Venus-like apparition.

As Amber DeCay, I get to live out my inner fantasy of being that purely sexual creature who is out for fun, money, and if she can, the power of the scare.

The important thing in the end? Just as I was not Christina in Red Light Winter, I am not Amber. She is a facet on the gem of who I am, but not the whole damn stone.

So I will continue to fly around the pole without shame, probably fall off once in a while, and revel in my mask of sexuality and gore for the rest of the month. And with my tip money, buy the real Rachel a couple of extra groceries and a much-needed manicure.