Servant of Too Many Masters

Well looky here, the holiday season rears its ugly head once more! It's that time of year when I can't decide whether Xmas music or Katy Perry is more irritating... and then I remember that every time I hear a classic Xmas song, a Jew somewhere makes money, and Katy Perry wins. It is indeed a wonderful life.

Anyone in the restaurant business (especially in NYC) can tell you that December is the biggest and busiest time of the year. People are visiting family, or taking a trip, or are too tired from a day of shopping to go home and cook. For those places that are open during the day, there is nothing people want to do more in the middle of a freezing day of shopping than sit down somewhere warm and have goodies served to them.
It's great in terms of money for those of us in the service industry, but sometimes in the hectic scramble to get everyone what they need, some weird stuff comes spazzing out, and some customers are not as forgiving as you'd think they would be.

Although I look forward to the time when I can drop it like a bad habit, being a server is a good day job for me personally. It has a flexible schedule, it lets me learn more about food and drinks, and I get to talk to people all day. My current job in particular is the best server position I've ever had, just because the people my company hires are all incredibly nice and willing to put up with and even laugh at my idiotic dances, dirty jokes, and constant singing to myself.
There are a lot of things you learn being a server. I am determined that, whether they like it or not, all my future children will work in a restaurant for at least a few months. They will learn to multitask, keep a cool head under pressure, and most importantly, they will NEVER EVER mistreat people in the service industry.
Whether in a restaurant, a hotel, or on the phone, this is a thankless and tiring profession, especially for employees paid in tips. At least with an hourly wage, you know you're getting paid to listen to people gripe. There's not a lot worse than trying to keep a happy face when you know that after spending 90 minutes trying to make a table happy, they gave you 3 bucks for your trouble because their water glasses were not refilled enough.

For those of you who have never had to work a job like this, let me give you a few pointers on how A: not to be an ungrateful, rude asshole to people who are trying to help you out and earn a living and B: not be served the oldie-but-goodie loogie/snot sandwich.

Rule #1: Answer the question your server asks you. I can't count how many times I have gone up to a table for the first time, asked "Hi, how are you today?" and had the response be "Um, we're not ready to order" or "I'll take a Diet Coke." As your server and an employee of my restaurant, I'm not only trying to stuff you with as much food as I can sell, but I'm trying to give you a positive overall experience. If I come to you inquiring about your personal well-being, and you immediately order me to get you something, this tells me you don't see me as a person, but as your personal robot servant. In other words, I already hate you.

Rule #2: READ THE MENU. I honestly can't stress this enough. Yes, I have a detailed knowledge of what we serve, but no, I can't recite every item for you because you are too lazy to run your eyes across a page. At my restaurant in particular, we have over 150 different teas. We have so many, in fact, that we have a specific and separate tea menu with descriptions of every one of them. Despite this, I continually have people ask me "So, what teas do you have?" This is my signal to treat you like you are 5 years old, take the tea menu, open it in front of you and explain that they are all listed right fucking there.
This also includes ordering things we don't have. Don't order a muffin or a bagel without looking to see if we have it, then get irritated with me because we can't snap our fingers and make it appear in the kitchen just for you.

Rule #3: If you need additional items with your meal ask for them all at the same time. Nothing wastes my time more than having to make 4 trips to and from the kitchen because you want ketchup, mustard, more napkins, butter, and another fork, but decide to tell them to me one at a time, after I fetch each thing for you. I'm not a dog, and this game is not fun for me.

Rule #4: I am NOT your babysitter. I understand that occasionally you have to let your small child go with you somewhere other than home or school, but that means they are YOUR responsibility. Make sure your child stays in their seat, or they will wander out on the floor and will be run over faster than a tortoise on the Indy 500 track. It is not my job to sheepdog your loud, sticky flock because YOU made the choice to bring them out.
Sidenote: Although I am not in a place to judge because I am not a parent, if it's just you and your kid having a meal, try to actually talk to them and not spend an hour looking at your phone and shoving a crayon or iphone in their face whenever they try to say something.

Rule #5: Most important rule of all. A verbal tip is in no way a replacement for a monetary tip. Yes, if you are nice to me, I like talking to you. I like knowing I gave you a great meal. But I'm not here to hang out. I'm at my job. And unfortunately, whether or not I can buy groceries depends on you showing your appreciation by tipping me. Many a time I have had everything go perfectly with a table and have even been told specifically that my service was exceptional. Then I go to look at the tip and it's somewhere around 10-15%, and I consider you a lying dirtbag. Nowadays, a tip for good service should be 20%, and if you leave less than that, that tells me I did a shitty job.
I get paid $5.00 an hour, and because of taxes, I usually don't see any of that money. I live off my tips. I am not a charity worker. I'm working for you. If you think I went above and beyond, then pay an above and beyond tip. It's really insane how just 5 extra dollars really makes a huge difference between a shitty tip and a great one, and if you can't afford that extra 5, don't fucking go out to eat.

In general, just be nice, and remember your manners. Please remember that not only are we serving you, but usually anywhere from 2 to 30 other people at the same time. We're honestly trying hard to make sure you have a good time, and just treating us like people and not slaves helps us keep a smile on our face, and may even get you a free dessert. Oh yeah baby, you know we can hook it up for you... if we choose to.

So, now you know how to be a great restaurant patron. And just in case you were starting to feel indignant that it's not always the customer's fault, I will send you off with the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me in front of a table. Yes, sometimes the server makes a mistake. Lucky for you, it is often hilarious. At least it usually is with me...

I had drinks in my hand for 2 different tables that were right next to each other. At one table was a family of four, and at the second table were two people who were practicing their English conversation skills. One was a large Russian looking guy who had a pretty good handle on the language, and the other was a meek Asian woman who spoke somewhat correctly, if hesitantly.
As I was pouring drinks for the first table, from behind me I hear the conversation the second table is having. I hear the Russian guys say "Well, I've never heard the term date rape before."
I then turn around and begin pouring drinks for the second table. As I'm pouring, I see the woman struggle to organize her thoughts enough to give a definition, but she's having a hard time putting it together. Me being me (talkative, friendly, and having very few boundaries) I begin to cheerfully explain, and give a couple examples of, date rape.
Now, just to set the scene, I work in a restaurant that is styled after a popular children's book. There are fairy wings on the walls, and when you come in, if you enjoy this sort of thing, you can get glitter sprinkled on your head while you make a wish. This place is as far away from date rape-y as it gets.
After letting me go on for about a minute, the guy looks up at me and very slowly says "Well, ok, but I said date mate."

Moment of silence while I processed this...

To recap: I had just given a full, detailed explanation, within earshot of a 12 year old child, of what date rape is. For absolutely NO REASON.

But, at least there was a happy ending. The guy saw how embarrassed I was, and when the check came, gave me a 50% tip.
See folks? You can tip on entertainment value too.

Anyway, I hope everyone has a safe, easy, and happy holiday.

And please, say thank you. You're welcome.

1 Step Forward, 3 Steps Back

I know my last post was about something really nice and good. And something really nice and good did happen, and it still means a lot.

But at a price, apparently.

Bad things come in 3s. I know this. I mean, as a Jew, I should already know that bad things are just going to happen regardless of anything we do to try and stop them. Such is life (sigh).
But it seems sometimes that when shit goes down in my life, it always is right on the heels of something good. Like, I'm only allowed a certain amount of enjoyment from the good things until the shitstorm starts and I have to dive for cover.

I know, I know, privileged little white girl whining alert. Just give me a second, I have real problems too, you know.

I was in the hospital Friday night. Because I was in massive pain. Wait, backtrack, because I had been alone in my apartment with massive pain all day until boy came to my rescue and whisked me off the the ER. A little morphine, a CAT scan, and 8 hours later, back to my place to wallow and sleep it off.

When I called my mom Saturday to tell her what happened, she informed me that my grandfather (not the one who had the stroke, the other one) has stopped eating and is not expected to make it to Thanksgiving. I realize this is not a bad thing happening specifically to me, and I can't imagine the pain my grandmother is going through, but I do love my grandfather and I have never lost a grandparent before. I knew it was only a matter of time, (like everything else) but I still thought I would get to see him one more time. It turns out this is now not the case.

And just to put a capper on the weekend, boy and I decided not to talk for a week.

Only a week ago I was thrilled to have done some meaningful work and gotten amazing feedback. One week. And now it seems like everything is backwards.

Is it my fault? Is it karma? Maybe I don't deserve to be happy for too long. Or at least someone up there seems to think so.

It sort of leaves me thinking... What did I do wrong?

Just Called to Say

I did it again, didn't I? I neglected my faithful readers and the devastation is... it's just...

"Everyone watch out, Rachel needs some attention and is being dramatic!" - my darling sister

This entry is going to be a little different than the usual tone of my blog. I don't really have a problem I need to sort out (at least nothing that I feel comfortable writing about on here), or a specific point I want to allude to, segue from, then drive home with witty nonsense.

Simply, something really nice happened. And I'd like to write about it, so I can always remember it.

I recently was cast in and finished shooting my first (!) feature film. Due to real and imagined legal reasons, I can't give specific details, but no worries fair readers, as soon as I am able to, I will be selling the hell out of it.
Especially since the director promised me one of those "and introducing..." credits. I always wanted one of those!

Anyway, back to my non-point, I spent a couple weeks filming with a great crew, a smart and communicative director, and my best friend. The fact that I spent Tuesday mostly naked surrounded by men in front of a camera is just another feather in the hat of 'is this really my life?'.
And before you ask, no. It was NOT a porno. If it was porn, I would have gotten paid. True story.

Most of my scenes involved little to no dialogue, but lots of emotion and intensity. Fortunately, the only character I had any scenes with was played by my bestie MJ.
We have a long history, MJ and I. Besides the many adventures of our colorful friendship, we have done many many scenes together, and maybe because we click so well as friends we click amazingly well onstage and screen. We trust each other, and are not intimidated by the others talent. Sort of a dream team, if you will.

While filming, I had that great sense of being lost in a scene. Granted, MJ does not like to stick to scripts, so I had to constantly be on my toes, but it was exhilarating. Truly, when I'm working on a great quality project, there is nothing else I'd rather be doing.
But what you feel is not always what comes across, especially on camera. That little lens captures every detail of your face, and something as small as the tilt of your head can convey and entirely different mood than you intended. Well hey, I figured, if it wasn't what he wanted, the director would have us fix it. You just have to trust.

So come the day after filming, I get a call from my director while at work. I can't pick up right away, but the first chance I get I sneak away to listen to the voice mail he left me.

And within minutes, my day was made.

He had been looking at my scenes in post, and felt the need to call and tell me that... he loved my work. Apparently for each scene I had not only done exactly what he wanted, but had far exceeded his expectations. He then went on to encourage me to never ever give up acting, that I was very talented and that he thought I would go very far.

Give that a second to sink in. Wow.

And that was it. No other reason for the call.

Now, this did not surprise my mother, but it shocked the hell out of me. It's been so long since someone has professionally encouraged me. Someone I have no personal attachment to, who has nothing to gain from flattery. I'm not saying I'm not grateful for the support of family, friends, and boy (in fact I couldn't keep going without them), but this is coming from an entirely different source.

And man, it feels great.

I guess that's what keeps us actors going. For 99% of us, being an actor is a shit life. Unemployment, rejection, frustration, lack of inspiration threaten us every day. Sometimes we can get to wondering why we try over and over again.

But when a moment like that comes, we learn why all over again.

Remember, Remember...

I was in biology class in my freshman year of high school. I had had less than 2 weeks to adjust to the new, hectic, tiring life New World demands from it's students, and had I been in any other class but (evil) Dr. Tucker's, I probably would have been very awake. Then the class phone rang. Per usual when the teacher takes her eyes off the class, we all talked amongst ourselves, some boy threw something, and then she hung up and told us:

"A plane has crashed into the World Trade Center."

We tentatively looked around. In our last few minutes of innocence of what really happened, we of course figured it was an accident. A malfunction. A horrible, horrible mistake.
By the time class was over and we had made our way back to the central building (science classes were located further away on campus) the second plane had struck and the Pentagon was in flames. This was the point when cell phones stopped working and parents started showing up (mine included) to whisk their kids away from a building located right in the thick of Miami's downtown legal and financial district. We had heard that there was one more plane out of control, and although some may find it silly, at the time it seemed very plausible that Miami could also be attacked, what with the other 2 main east coast cities being targeted.
Thankfully, Miami was fine.

New York, as we all well know, was not.

I have a dim memory of a visit to the World Trade Center... When it was still standing. I was 10, and it basically consists of me looking out over Manhattan through huge beautiful glass windows. It was the highest point I had ever been while not in an airplane in my little life.
And although I didn't know why, I felt an urge, and longing to be down in the city. I've always felt that. NYC is now my home. And with the pain and connection I feel now because of something that happened 10 years ago, I can't imagine what it must have been (and to this day continues to be) like for the people living here during the attacks.

I don't mean to get all sentimental, but it's moments like these that make NYC the amazing city it is. Remembering the rebuilding of a community, or celebrating equal love with a parade. Moments where we can all come together and be proud to be New Yorkers.

I'm not usually one for praying, but I found out yesterday that my grandfather is in the hospital, suffering from walking pneumonia and a possible stroke among other things. He is a crazy, loving, larger than life man and I am blessed to have him in my life... and share his birthday.
I'm taking the train to Saratoga to see him today, and although usually nothing would make me leave my city on a day like this... My family is everything to me.

So, today, I pray. I pray for my grandfather. I pray for the survivors of 9/11. I pray for the families of loved ones lost. I pray for the health of the brave men and women who helped save countless lives and pick the city up out of the rubble.

But I do not pray for NYC. I don't need to. We take care of our own.

No one can ever change that.

Happy Hurricane Helper

Attention New Yorkers: I know you think you are capable. I know you think you are ready. I know you think you are prepared for any kind of situation. But, as a native South Floridian, let me give you the gentlest of reminders that there is something coming you may not be fully prepared for:

Hurricane Irene.

If you've been paying attention to the news (which by the way I totally haven't, but had to be informed by my mother) you will know that a category 2 hurricane was rapidly headed towards SoFlo. Key word here being was. Its projected path has now completely changed, making it skip Florida entirely, hitting the east coast somewhere between South and North Carolina and continuing straight north to...... wait for it...... NYC by about 2 AM Monday! Woohoo!

"Woohoo? What are you talking about? This is already a pretty strong storm (recently up to a category 3) and by the time it hits the east coast it will have spent a few more days over water gaining strength. It could even be a category 4 or (shudder) 5 by the time it gets here! What do you mean WOOHOO??"
This is what I imagine some of you are thinking right now... right? No? Awkward....

In any case, this information is all true. And later on in this blog post, I will give you some tips straight from the horses mouth about how to prepare for a hurricane. But if you're wondering why I'm so nonchalant and even a little excited, it all comes from the fact that for me hurricanes have sort of been, well, kinda fun.

I'm not saying that hurricanes are to be taken lightly, and I do not think it is at all funny or non-serious (?) that people have lost their lives and homes from these storms at their worst. This is merely my point of view because, luckily, I have never been rendered homeless or physically incapacitated by a hurricane. My experience has been slightly different.

Imagine you are a kid, and you hear a hurricane is coming. If you have been through one before, you know certain things are going to happen:
1. School is definitely going to be closed for anywhere from 1 to 7 or 8 days.
2. Wood is going to be nailed on the windows.
3. There will be lots of water bottles and canned food
4. There will be a river in your street.
5. Afterward, there will be branches everywhere, with spaces big enough to crawl into.
6. Your whole family will be in the same room and you get to stay up way past your bedtime.

Basically, your house is turned into a fort with moat included, you don't have to go to school, and you get to pretend like you're camping.
Now, how does that sound? That's right. Totally AWESOME.

Now, as an adult, I realize putting the brakes on an entire city is very difficult. I know if the hurricane hits our little big apple and hits it hard, it will be difficult to shake off the debris and get going again. But let's admit it, if there's anything New Yorkers can do, it's starting again and again and again. And, with the proper precautions, you can give yourself a few advantages and stay safe.

Tip 1: BUY WATER. BUY A LOT OF WATER. Water is always the first thing to be contaminated, and after a hurricane, Brita ain't gonna do shit. Buy big bottles, and put a few in the freezer. This way, if the power goes out, you'll still have cold water, for a while anyway.
Tip 2: Speaking of freezers, eat everything perishable in your fridge this week before the hurricane gets here. Again, power outage is a high risk, and you don't want rotting cheese and meat to deal with. So, have a few dinner parties this week, but get it out, and save your money.
Tip 3: Buy food. But, buy non-perishable items. Canned goods are always a good option, and you can't go wrong with dry goods in water-proof packages. I distinctly remember eating Alpha-bits cereal after hurricane Andrew in '92, and damn if it wasn't the best cereal I've ever had.
Tip 4: If you don't have them already, get candles and flashlights. If the power goes out, you don't want to be without light. Check the batteries in your flashlights, and grab some backups just in case. Make sure you know where every alternate light source is, and put them in an easy to reach spot. (This tip credited to Aaron because I originally had a brain fart and forgot to put it. Oops.)
Tip 5: Take a few hundred dollars out of the bank in cash and keep it safe. Or, if you are one of my fellow tip-earners, wait until next week to put it into your account. ATMs and banks might be out of order/closed, and you don't want to be without money until they decide to work again.
Tip 6: I realize this is not really an option for many apartment dwellers, but if you have a window that you can reach and is not protected by metal, put some plywood over it. Winds get very very strong, and the last thing you want is a stop sign or a freaking TREE (totally happened to me) through your window.
Tip 7: If you have bookshelves, or any items that might be damaged by water, rip up a strong garbage bag and secure it over them. just in case a window breaks or there is flooding, it's nice to have that little bit of a backup off your mind. Let's be real, if the power goes out, we're going to be turning to books to keep busy anyway, right?
Tip 8: Stake it out with a friend! There is no easier way to last through what can be a very scary night than by camping out in your apartment with someone who can talk to you and keep your mind off the storm. My favorite part of hurricanes was my whole family, dogs included, sitting on one mattress playing games and singing songs, or just sitting listening to the wind. It turned the experience into something exciting and fun, and a great memory to look back on.

So there you have it. My best tips for weathering out a hurricane. Please, everyone, stay safe, and keep updated on the hurricane's progress. This is a great site that is updated every 6 hours: http://www.nhc.noaa.gov/gtwo_atl.shtml
Also, if any fellow Floridians can think of tips that I forgot, please add them! We want everyone to be as informed as possible.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I hear a box of Alpha-bits calling my name. Happy Hurricane everybody!

See You Next Tuesday

I have to be upfront about this. This post is going to have a lot of bad words. Not so much an assortment of bad words, but one word in particular will be mentioned. A lot. You may think you don't care, you may think bad words don't shock you at all anymore, but I'm pretty sure this is one of the few English curse words whose sharpness has not been dulled with overuse.
This post also gets extremely personal and disturbing at times.
So, a warning: If you are easily offended, stop reading now.

I'll wait......

Ok, are all the wimps gone now? Good, this post should be read amongst friends.

Man, I've really built up the suspense, haven't I? You're dying to know what word I would actually warn about. I'm just going to say it once, get it out of the way, and then we can move on to my reason for bringing it to your attention.

CUNT.

Yep, you read that right. This post is all about the cunt. Or, more specifically, my response to the book Cunt: A Declaration of Independence by Inga Muscio.
This book is many things; it has many messages. It starts off with a backround of the word cunt, how it was originally a word used for female priestesses, women who were holy and connected with the spirit world. It was a word of reverence. A word of power. And I guess it still is, but in a very different way. Inga is adamant about reclaiming the word, much like African Americans have reclaimed 'nigger'. (Yes, I thought about using the phrase 'n-word' instead, but I figured, I've already used cunt, being P.C. is pretty much out the window at this point.)
She talks about sexual abuse, she talks about women's relationships with their cunts, she talks about alternative natural "accessories" for the cunt, she talks about sex workers, and basically everything else you could imagine about that lovely area. If you're wondering whether or not you should read it, I will say that on the flight from CA to NY I pretty much did not put it down except to sip water and munch on sunflower seeds. If nothing else, whether you agree with what she says or not, it will make you think about the cunt in a very different way than perhaps you once did.

Now, I did not agree with everything she said. I'm not trading in my tampons for a sea sponge (not making that up) and I will continue to see movies and read books by men. However, I found myself affected and at times even moved to tears by the stories and epithets she wrote.

Truth be told, women's issues have always been very important to me. In acting school, we were assigned a project, or Poetry Project as it was called, where everyone had to create a 5 minute one person piece using at least 3 different published works. It could be from a script, yes, but it could also be from a book, newspaper, even a cereal box, as long as the actor performing it did not write it. Those were the only parameters. I could have made it about any subject I wanted. And I chose to make mine about... menstruation.
Why? I'm not really sure. I don't know why I wanted to talk about my cunt for 5 minutes. Perhaps it's been at the forefront of my mind since middle school, where I was the only girl I knew who had not yet gotten her first period. Who knows?
Thankfully, it ended up being pretty funny, even with the ending of me dropping my red skirt to show nude colored panties stained with stage blood and talking about 'the great river'.

And yes, the whole realizing your "womanifesto" thing appealed to me. I do believe that women have tremendous power within us, simply because our bodies produce life, which is a pretty miraculous thing. I'm not saying it isn't a pain in the ass having a cunt sometimes, but on the whole, I very much enjoy being a woman and revel in my femininity.

But what really got to me in the book were the stories of sexual abuse. Stories of men exerting their power over women in this way make me furious. The fact that, at age 24, not having been sexually assaulted makes me very very lucky. In America, 1 in 4 women will be sexually abused at some point in their lives and 1 in 3 will at least have to fend off an attack. And these numbers are probably conservative, as they are based off of mostly reported cases. I shudder to think about the statistics in other countries.

I read a book last summer called Desert Flower by Waris Dirie. It's an autobiographical tale about a woman born into a Somali tribe of goatherders who runs away, manages to get to England, is discovered and becomes a supermodel. But that wasn't what affected me. She became a fighter for women's rights because of what happened to her as a child, and what happens still to many women around the world: Female circumsicion, or as it is politically and correctly called, female genital mutilation.
As an 8 year old girl, she was woken up in the middle of the night, dragged to a spot in the desert, had her clitoris and labia sliced off with a rusty razor blade, and was sewn up so only a hole as small around as a matchstick remained.

When I read this, and read that this is a common occurrence in many African countries and their ensuing communities in Europe, an emotion that I must label as rage swelled inside of me. There is no religious base for this. It is nothing other than men controlling every single aspect of women's lives, at the most personal level. Of men treating women as property.
Few issues affect me more.

Though, thankfully, barbarity such as that is not legally tolerated in this country, we are still, in my opinion, far away from true equality between the sexes. I'm not saying I hate men, and that all men treat and think of women in the same way. This is not at all true. But even in a city as liberal as NYC, misogyny is everywhere. Language has incredible power, and what may masquerade as innocent guy banter actually perpetuates the objectifying of women, which can have devastating results. The change has to come from the people it affects: women.

This book, if nothing else, made me more determined to love myself and my cunt, and to treat both with reverence and respect. If you are reading this, and you are a woman, think about the last time you paid a visit to your cunt. Do you know what it looks like? Feels like? Let's face it ladies, if we aren't willing to get to know ourselves, how can we expect someone else to?
It can be a place of joy and power, if only you let it.

In the words of Inga, "You gots a goldmine between yo' legs." So get digging.

West Coast Summer-ization

I've been trying to think of how to sum up this trip. How to concisely put into words what this trip has been like, what it has meant for me, and what I took away from it.
First, I tried out the paradigm that this trip was all about traveling to the west to spend time with boy and meet his family and to have a wonderful and relaxing 4th and explore the city he grew up in..... Wait a second, this is sounding very 2006. Try again.
Then I tried out the paradigm that this trip was all about my professional prospects, to learn about the twists and turns of life in the not-so-angelic City of Angels and make connections and see if I should consider moving here... Wait a second, this is sounding very 2009. Start from scratch.
Then I tried the paradigm that... um.... ouch. My head hurts now.

The truth is I'm not sure what label could cover this whole trip and give me something solid to take home and examine at my leisure. I'm looking for a mental touristy tchotchke that I can put up on the shelves of my mind and, tacky though it may be, let it bring back memories and lessons learned with just a glance.

Wait, I'm sort of jumping in too deep too early here (that's what she said), aren't I?

Ok, so boy has been wanting to make it home and see his family for quite some time. A few months ago, he invited me along. I, of course not wanting to be rude, and not being stupid enough to turn down a trip, accepted his offer to travel to the lovely San Fransisco and explore the city through the eyes of a local.
At the same time, I had been wanting to make a trip out to the west coast myself, to see some friends from back east, but also to finally meet with and hopefully make a good impression on a woman we'll call DZ.

Now, let me explain this whole DZ situation. My mom's best friend Suzanne has a friend who works in the entertainment business. A very good friend who happens to be very powerful in the world of making movies. I have been hearing about this woman, I think, for about 10 years at this point. It started out as a family joke when I was still in high school. "Oh Rachel, we know you love theatre, but when you're ready to be a big star we'll call DZ." As I grew more serious about choosing acting as a career, it was brought up more and more, until it became a matter of me becoming ready in my talent, professionalism, and personal health.
Let's face it, being an actor is hard. If you haven't picked up on at least that from my blog, I think maybe you should try a little harder at reading comprehension. And most successful people, actors or not, got to where they are in life with some mixture of hard work, talent... and opportunity. Someone to give them a break, to trust them, and help smooth the way just enough for them to seize their moment and make that extra stride.
That's what DZ has been rumored to be able to do for me.

I figured the approaching San Fran trip was as definite of a sign as I was going to get. I decided to spend some time with Boy & Co, then hop down south for a meeting and some good times with friends, then back to my beloved NYC just in time for some massive heat wave or power outage or other fun disaster.

Now, while I have just been cast in a very cool project, I still feel like my career is gathering speed a little too slowly. I have felt a dearth of opportunities in the last few months, not to mention the fact that it took me a long time to get my head on straight and I feel as if there are some burned bridges in NY. I have been considering a move to the West Coast for a couple years, but never quite as seriously as now.
Not to mention the fact that boy has been feeling a little stuck himself, and has been having his own debate about whether or not he has worn out his NY welcome.
Both of us wanted this trip to spend time together and grow closer, but also to give some clarity and help figure out some 'heavy shit'. That's Cali talk, right?

So, without going into too much detail (trust me, it would take a lot of scrolling for you to read it all, forget about me writing it), San Fran was wonderful. About as close to a perfect trip as I've ever had. I was made to feel instantly welcome in his house, I met (and liked) his old college/BBYO buddies, and ate enough good food to give even my iron stomach a longing to take it easy. I went all over the SF area, from hiking at the beach to wine tasting at Napa, and not to toot my own horn, but I gave boy an awesome birthday and somehow managed to bring along the perfect gift. I rule.

Then, I hopped of the plane at LAX with my dreams and my- NO NO NO I WILL NOT QUOTE MILEY CYRUS, DAMN IT!

ahem... I spent most of my time in LA hanging out with Peter from high school, who was nice enough to let me crash in his absent roomie's empty bed, and basically trying to keep my mind off of the imminent meeting that could or could not determine my future. You know, I just try not to sweat the small stuff.
Again, not to go into too much detail, but the meeting went very well. I even got some clarification afterward through the mother-daughter grapevine that DZ liked me, understood that I needed a little help, and was willing to give it. As added bonuses, I saw friends from every education facility I've attended since middle school, and I spend most of Tuesday wandering around the streets of LA with some random guy named Dre, and escaped unscathed.

This trip has been amazing. I accomplished pretty much everything I set out to do, and then some. It was fun, romantic, exhausting, hilarious, and exciting.

The only question that remains is: Where do I go from here?

From what I can gather, boy seems pretty set on being done with NY. He wants to head back west, and I don't blame him.
I have to admit, moving west would probably be the best option for me too. I've always said I will go where the work is, and there is certainly more work for an unknown film/tv actor in LA than NYC. And, though this is not my deciding factor, I am in a relationship, a pretty damn good one, and would like to see where it goes.

But NYC is more than a city, it's my city. It's my home. It's my life. It's witnessed me at my worst, and at my best. It's given me love, strength, attitude, and the beginnings of a sense of fashion.
And as far as it is from Miami (read: family) LA would be exponentially further. Time zones be fuckin my shit up.

I'm not making any immediate decisions. But I am feeling it's time for a change. Time to grow. Time to stop waiting for my life to begin.

And like generations of pioneers before me, the West may be the key.

With a Stick

I feel weird.

I feel really weird.

I feel really weird right now.

And I don't think I should.

I just got back from a fundraiser for a new webseries that I (hopefully) will be a part of. A good old fashioned roof party, with cheap drink specials, a DJ, and of course, bitchy landlords that call security and totally try to kill your party buzz. I wasn't drinking, but I was feeling pretty good.

And I think that's where the trouble started.

Before I went to the party, I tried on a dress that has not fit me in 3 years. Many girls who have weight loss goals will tell you: When you try on an item that you have kept around hoping it will fit again one day, and then one day it fastens just like it used to... One of the best feelings in the world. It makes you feel powerful that you have reached a goal. It makes you feel sexy that you look better. It's an immense feeling of satisfaction, and more importantly, hope.

And once the clothes look good, you have to make sure everything else is up to par. So, I let my hair go wild, carefully applied my makeup, unbuttoned one button more than absolutely necessary, and slipped on vintage shoes that never fail to get comments. (They are two different colors. It makes sense when you see them. Really.)

Needless to say, I was feeling very good by the time I walked out the door.

When I got to the party, I didn't think I would be able to convince boy to come all the way out to the alien Brooklyn, but boy did I try. And it actually worked!

But before he arrived, there had been a group of guys staring at me. Not talking. Not even trying to be subtle. Just staring. It made me very uncomfortable, but I was with friends, so I didn't let it bother me.

Fast forward a bit, he came, spent some time, then left so as not to be brain-dead for the dreaded brunch shift... and that's when the trouble started.

I'm not saying this to toot my own horn. I'm certainly not bragging, as this is nothing to be proud of. But for the rest of the night, one by one, I was very clearly hit on by about 5 different guys.

In a way, it was fascinating. Everyone had a different technique, from the blatant "Are you interested?" to the oh-so-subtle "Can I have a glass of water?" and everything in between. At one point in the night, I got a little fed up and decided to fuck with this one guy and told him that I used to be an actress, but it wasn't going so well so I became high class "escort".

Oh yeah. Escort. A high-class (read:expensive) lady of the eve, if you will.

He totally bought it too, but I was silly to think that might dissuade him. He asked for my number so he could 'make an appointment' the next time he was in NY. Thinking quickly, I told him he needed to give me a number where I could reach him. Tricky, huh? Hey, a girl needs to cover her ass in this business...

Anyway, back to reality.

I know I'm a friendly person. And I know this can be translated to flirting under certain social circumstances, but jeez, give a girl a break. I have to imagine that it wasn't all out of my control, but I honestly don't know what was so different about my vibe last night that everyone took it as an open season call.

Or do I?

I know it's a huge cliche that how other people will see you depends on how you see yourself, but I've never seen such a marked difference. Since I lost weight, I've definitely been feeling better about my body and want to show it off more (always in a classy way of course). And last night I was feeling exceptionally hot and, more importantly, confident as hell. Whether I wanted it to or not, it shined out of me.

And damn if it isn't the one non verbal thing men actually pick up on.

Scoff though you may, I'm not used to being hit on that much. Every girl has a certain screen or some other way they deal with the occasional overly flirtacious guy, but I felt like I had to be on guard and defend myself all night with witty repartee and not-so-gentle ribbing.

Or maybe just beat them off with a stick.

Mastering the Cleanse, Part 2

Well ladies and germs, believe it or not, (I certainly don't) guess what...

I DID IT!!!!!!

Yes, you heard right, I did it! I am now at the tail end of my 7th day on the Master Cleanse (for info check out previous blog), sipping my last mug of senna tea, completely ready for that amazing taste of apple juice at tomorrow morning's first light.

Yes, I do still have the 3 day ease-out process to get through before resuming somewhat regular eating habits. During the cleanse, your body goes into starvation mode, and metabolism drops way way down. So, to not overdo it on your system/tummy, it's necessary to slowly reintroduce easy-to-digest foods. The first day is apple or orange juice combined with water, second day is vegetable broth and rice crackers, third day is cooked veggies and fruit, and most recommend probiotic yogurt to replace all the bacteria that has been flushed out of your system.

But enough about what I'm going to eat. Lord knows I've thought about that enough in the last few days. Let's have an overview of my reactions.

I left you, good and kind people of the interwebs, on Day 4. Day 5 was very similar to Day 4, maybe a slight increase in energy, but still going strong, cravings not driving me crazy, so on, blah blah. I thought it was going to be an easy slide home.

Hah. So I thought.

Come Day 6, and for some reason I wake up on the wrong side of the bed. Yes, I did wake up late, but I was alerted to the fact that I wasn't needed at work for an extra hour, which usually makes me perk up.

Not this time.

From the minute I got to work, it was apparent to me that not only was everyone I served incredibly stupid, with almost no sense of social courtesy and a complete lack of reading comprehension skills, but also was there for the sole purpose of pissing me off as much as humanely possible.

The longer the day wore on, the more easily irritated I was with everyone, customers and staff alike. Now, I'm usually a chipper little chipmunk (there are fairy wings on the walls after all), but by noon the entire staff knew to just make a wide berth around me. And then the oddest thing happened: I started crying. Actually. Fucking. Crying.

And you want to know why? Because I saw another waitress, who happens to be incredibly short and petite, wearing the cutest little white short shorts, and thought to myself "It doesn't matter, I'm never going to look like THAT."

Yeah, don't worry, I don't know what I was thinking either. I don't want to look like anyone else. I want to look like ME, just a healthy, fit version of me. But for some reason, I was fed up with everything and it was just the mental straw that broke me.

I left early from work and put on a big smile to spend the evening at a comedy show with the boy and his sweet-as-sugar mom, but then had to have yet another cry before bed. This wasn't even about something specific, just the things that I always have to worry about. We all have them... right? Right? Yeah, you know you do.

Fortunately, once I got it out, I was able to enjoy the rest of my night in, and woke up this morning with one triumphant thought: THE LAST DAY

And for some odd reason, this turned out to be one of those "best day EVAR!!!"s.

I went to meet a friend for lunch, and of course, took a sip of my evil concoction every time I felt like reaching out and snatching a bite of his perfectly-cooked bacon. One of the waitresses stopped to ask me about it, and ended up being inspired to try it herself. Then, a walk around the Union Square Market, where I, on a whim, bought potted rosemary, dill, and basil, which are now resting in soil in my backyard. Time will tell if they actually survive (I had to plant them with a spoon because I didn't have a shovel), but at least I can cross 'plant my own fresh herbs' off my bucket list. Then, while walking around the market, I discovered a loophole in the Cleanse. Pure, organic, grade-B maple.... CANDY.

I jumped 3 feet straight up in the air as soon as I made the connection in my brain. If I'm allowed to drink maple syrup, then OF COURSE I'm allowed to have one little piece of pure maple candy! The joy I felt at putting the first solid food in my mouth in 7 days, and knowing it wasn't even cheating is... is... I can't describe it. I'll tear up again.

But true to my word, I only got one small piece, and nibbled it bit by bit for 10 minutes until it all dissolved to mapley goodness on my tongue.

And, to top off this lovely, lightened, hopeful day, I got chatted up by none other than a male model on the subway ride home who asked for my number.

Admit it, ladies, things like that put a swing in your step, eh?

To conclude this off the wall experiment: I accomplished a goal that I previously thought was next to impossible. I have purged out a lot of my physical as well as emotional toxins. I now feel in control of my food urges. I have lost a total of 8 lbs. I feel happy, and hopeful that I can keep my body in a healthy routine.

And I've never been so excited to eat veggies in my life.

Whether I've made a believer out of you or not, the bottom line is: If you're in good health, a week without food won't kill you. And I always advocate shaking up your routine, whatever it is. I just want to continue to learn and grow as a person.

Doesn't everyone?

Mastering the Cleanse, Part 1

I know what you're going to say. No, really, I do. You're going to tell me it's ridiculous. You're going to tell me it's unhealthy. You're going to tell me I'm crazy for attempting it.

And you may be right on any of those points. Definitely at least one...

But despite your rampant naysaying and protests, I am still determined to see this through.

I am talking, of course, about the famous, but more importantly infamous, MASTER CLEANSE. (Cue dramatic music)

Now, for those of you who have never heard of this highly controversial process, I'll give a quick overview:

The Master Cleanse, also known as the Lemonade Diet, was created by Stanley Burroughs in the 1940s, and was reintroduced/promoted by Peter Glickman in the 1990's as a way to thoroughly detoxify your body and give it a break from the taxing process of digestion.

It's basically a liquid diet that consists of fresh lemon juice, grade B maple syrup, and cayenne pepper (all organic, of course) mixed with filtered water, supplemented by either a laxative tea or salt water flush to, ahem, help expel waste without solid matter to push things along. It is usually followed for 10 days, but some have taken it to as many as 40 days.

Supposedly, the lemon juice provides your body with vitamins, as well as helping to clean out mucus and other things too gross to mention that lurk inside your intestines. The cayenne pepper also helps wave bye-bye to mucus, as well as being a highly detoxifying agent. The water is to keep you hydrated, and the maple syrup? Well, your body needs some calories to run on, and without it, the concoction would probably be close to undrinkable.

It has been glorified as a miracle detoxification process, and damned as a starvation-themed weight-loss trick, and everything in between. Research is unreliable at best, and even though some people swear by it, studies show that some people are out of their fuckin minds, not in relation to this cleanse.

So, why do it?

I don't know if I've stressed this enough in previous blogs or conversations, but I LOVE food. I have never been one of those people that views food as necessary fuel that my body needs to function throughout the day. I view food as one of the most pleasurable things I'm expected to do every day. I think about food, I look forward to meals, and when I'm bored, you can probably find me reading through recipes online or watching the best food porn ever, Iron Chef.

Being able to eat not only to survive, but to enjoy ourselves, is a privilege that should not be taken lightly. We are the only species on the planet that has, as a regular rule, been able to use taste to determine not what is edible, but what is delicious.

Pretty damn lucky, I think.

But this has a downside. I tend to indulge my taste buds way too much. I eat what I feel like eating, not what I necessarily should be eating. We are all guilty of this from time to time, but I seem to have a hard time controlling it.

I want to change my relationship to food. I want to change my habits when it comes to food. And changing habits, not to mention any relationships, takes work.

So, I committed myself to this seemingly fanatical process for a week. I would have set an original goal of the normal 10 days, but when you work as a waitress 8 days in a row, a spoonful of sugar, maple or otherwise, won't get you too far.

If nothing else, I figured it would definitely A: break whatever eating habits I've accumulated over the last 23 years, and B: flush out some of the bad and start with a clean slate.

This is my status report so far: I am finishing Day 4. I tried this once before about 3 years ago, and broke on Day 3, so already I beat my old record.

The first 2 days were definitely the worst in terms of cravings. My brain was used to reaching for whatever was available, and without that crutch, it became obsessed with sustenance. Every bit of food that I saw, smelled, or even thought about drove me up the wall with wanting. I'll be frank, it's a good thing the boy was around to distract me in moments of weakness. Plus, kisses always help as a positive reinforcement tool.

By Day 3, the cravings had incredibly subsided. I was expecting severe headaches, backaches, and many other symptoms that people have reported, all thought to be due to the detoxification process. I had none. A little dizziness in the morning before I had my first serving, but other than that, nothing.

Today I worked in my restaurant for the first time since starting the Cleanse. Not nearly as bad as I thought I would be. It's interesting and almost disturbing how easily my body has adjusted to not expecting food. But the amazing difference I noticed was not the existence of cravings, but what I was craving.

I work in a place that has fresh baked goods made every day. Scones, cookies, cakes, you name it, it's fresh out of the oven in front of me. And usually, I can't help but take a bite (or 5...) of something sweet and delicious. But over the course of my shift, I was giving barely a glance to the warm chocolate-butterscotch-chip cookies, and found myself salivating over the... beet salad.

This is the biggest signal I have seen so far that my body is getting back in balance. The fact that it's craving what it's actual nutritional needs are rather than the forbidden taste simply because of the fact that it's bad is a new, welcome sensation to me.

Side note: Another new sensation is an extremely heightened sense of smell. Sort of feeling like a Superhero? Never a bad thing.

So, I don't know if I'm a full believer yet, but I do know I'm tempted to go the full 10 days despite my workload. I will blog again about my results at the end, but till then, I remain faithfully yours, the Detox Overlord.

It's Opposite Decade

So I'm going to start this off by giving you a scenario, a very real scenario that repeated itself way too often throughout my childhood, and I want to know if this ever happened to anyone else.

Imagine you're sitting in your classroom, most likely elementary school. Let's say 4th grade. Life has not yet beaten you down. You inevitably have an "-ey" added to the end of your name. You still think D.A.R.E. is cool.
Ok, maybe not the last part. but you get it.
Basically, are at your desk ready for a full day of school. Or so you think...
After a normal morning of pledging allegiance and roll call, your teacher suddenly announces it's time for the big test.
Your heart stops dead in your chest. Your blood turns to ice. You suddenly have to pee really really bad. Your mind is devoid of every rational thought save one:
"WHAT TEST?????"

If you were anything like me as a child, items like tests and homework projects were always sneaking up on you, mostly because you spent most of class daydreaming, or reading, or doing some other way more important activity. This is all understandable, comprehensible, not a bit reprehensible, all defensible, whatever.
But for some reason I always seemed to bet the only one. In the entire class, I was the ONLY one who had not studied for the test, or brought in my field trip form on the last day, or written that paper that was assigned right before the bell rang, etc.

I always thought that maybe it's because I was on a different plane than everyone else. My parents and teacher used to call it Racheland. Once I was gone, man, was I gone. It usually took someone calling not only my first name, but my first and last together a number of times before I finally acknowledged them with a groggy "huh?".

I've gone through most of my adult life thinking that somehow, everyone was paying attention when all the life lessons on how to be a functioning adult were given out, except me. Or that the life how-to memo landed on everyone's desk, but because I was on a water break, they skipped giving me one. Whatever stupid metaphor I could come up with here, the result is the same:
I feel everyone knows how life goes except me.

However, I am starting to think that maybe it's not that I didn't get the memo, it's just that I was scheduled to receive it at some other time. It's not my life that is out of whack, just my schedule.

1st case in point: during the first two weeks of school, most of my time would be spent reading all the short stories and full novels (seldom poems) in my literature textbook for that year. Yeah, I was that kid. Not because I was obsessive, but because I loved reading, and couldn't wait to see what other stories were lying in wait for me. Plus, I would have all the required reading done for basically the whole year, and due to my ridiculously good memory (it has faded somewhat since then, but apparently when I was a kid my memory scores were off the charts) I would retain it for the whole year, and never worry about reading homework.

2nd case in point: I was absolutely, I'm sure, the last girl in my grade to be kissed, to grow boobs, basically every puberty milestone you can think of. I even had braces till the week before senior prom because I had to wait until high school to lose all my baby teeth. I was 15 when I had my first kiss. Summer before sophmore year. At camp. For a Jewish girl, where else?

These are two opposing examples that prove the same thing: I was way off the schedule that dominated the norm. And that was all before college.

To speak more currently but less specifically, I feel I have gone through much more emotionally than many other members of my age bracket. I have had more life experience, and I know it shows. Most people don't think I'm 23. Unless they catch me watching a Disney movie.
I feel like I got my midlife crisis over with in my early 20s.
On the other hand, I have never done my own taxes. I didn't even know what equity really was until like, a month ago. Not the most mature thing, I know.

And one odd example always stuck in my mind. When I first got to college, I was immediately wrapped up in the throes of my first truly serious relationship. (Moment of nostalgia for first love. Ok, done.) All my friends were dying to know how it was. And I had no problem sharing, and ending each romantic epithet with "You'll find it too someday!"
Fast forward a couple of years, and I was going through my first real heartbreak, the one where you learn that if you care enough, you can actually feel your heart physically hurting. And those same friends who I had giddily shared stories with were all entering their first big relationships.
And, of course, all dying to tell me how right I was.
For some reason, ever since then, with this same group of friends, my love life schedule has always been completely opposite to theirs. When I'm breaking up, they're getting hitched. When I'm getting hitched, they're breaking up. A short while ago, I got a new boy in my life, and I recently learned 2 of those friends broke up with their significant others of more than a couple years. These events happened basically weeks away from each other.

Spooooooky.

Strange as it may seem, taking this scheduling theory seriously is actually quite comforting to me. It doesn't mean that I'm never going to learn how life works, it just means that I'm gonna do it on my own time. True, I am writing a blog at 3 in the morning the night before an early day of work, but hey, I did get boobs eventually. Who knows how I'll grow up next!

So if you share this feeling with me at all, don't despair. Although you may not be ready for the test today, you'll know the material when it really counts.

The Vader Within

Dr. Jekyll, Lord Vader, and Pink Floyd. Three seemingly unrelated subjects (besides pure awesomeness and being veritable legends in their own right), and yet, all associated with one running theme: The Dark Side.

Much of Eastern culture and philosophy is based on the principle of balance between extremes. Yin and Yang. Sun and moon. Feminine and masculine.
Dark and light.

I am a big believer in balance. I know, I know, I'm an artist and artists are supposed to live life to the extreme, big emotions, constantly pushing limits, blah dee blah. Does that make an interesting life? Yes, of course. Does it make a happy life? Eh. It's tiring after a while to be constantly going from one extreme to another. Unless you're Robin Williams. And even he needed surgery eventually.

Just like everyone else, I have a dark and light side. My light side is probably the one that people know me by. I can't help it, I naturally have a pretty sunny and outgoing personality. Almost every time I've heard someone describe me, inevitably the word 'bubbly' is one of the first out of their mouths. And that's fine. There are worse things to be than happy.
But every once in a while, unexpectedly, the dark side pops out and... I have to admit that I like it.

For those of you who are scoffing, who don't believe that I have a dark and twisted side, I'll just give you these few examples:
One of my favorite hobbies is researching serial killers.
When I first saw Requiem for A Dream I made myself watch it once a month for a year.
My most recent role was a girl who fantasized about gutting her boyfriend while masturbating. (The director said she knew I was perfect for it right away)
I've always wondered how I would stand up to torture. Very specific torture.

I used to be freaked out and scared by my dark side. At first because I didn't understand it, and then because I let it get out of balance until I couldn't see anything else. I now treasure my dark side; it provides the balance I need for how I am 90% of the time.

Now, for those of you who don't know, I have a certain special boy in my life right now. He's pretty awesome, whatever, but the reason I bring him up is that he has seen part of my dark side and not only accepts it, but understands it. Like, isn't scared by it.
At least, he wasn't until a couple nights ago.

I admit, I let it go too far. When you get two actors together, and then let the fantasy world take over, it can get intense. That's as much as I'll say about what happened, but suffice to say it shook us both up.

However, I got over it a little quicker than he did.

My dark side is my friend. I understand it, and I understand how to handle it. I have learned that it is a part of me, that it is something I should embrace and not be scared of.
But that is not the case for everyone.

Some people never address their dark side. My mother is the sanest person I have ever known. I know somewhere, she must have a dark side, and I've always wondered what I would find there if I ever asked, and if she ever felt comfortable enough to tell me. But part of me suspects that she doesn't even know what her dark side entails. And I guess that must be true for many many people.

I have learned to deal with my dark side in a way that does not harm myself or others. I think it one of the more interesting things about me. The reason I'm so OK with it is that I know my dark side does not define me. It is only part of who I am as a person.
And who I am as a whole is a pretty awesome gal.

Explore your dark side. It does not define you. But it may give you insight. Just a thought.

10 Things I...

I know what you're thinking. At least, if you A: read the title of this blog and B: are anywhere near my age bracket I probably know what you're thinking. The answer is no, I am not writing a blog about 10 Thing I Hate About You. Nice try.

I enjoy and admire many different types of performance, but there is one in particular that I hold exceptionally close to my heart. The one that I constantly search out, not in public (at least not often enough) but in the privacy of my home, when the boy is gone and it's just me. I spend hours surfing youtube, TED, and the few private blogs I know trying to hunt down my next favorite... spoken word poem.

Also sometimes known as slam poetry, there is something I love about the combination of poetry and theatre. It somehow insinuates that the poem, like Shakespeare, is not satisfied merely being read or studied on a page. For it to be truly understood, it must be spoken, performed, given a voice to let it breath and live and be heard.
And, if I'm being truthful, for me, there is something otherworldly about it. I can never seem to write artistically, and even if I let myself try, I would never take it seriously or let anyone else see it. (Note: this blog doesn't count. This ain't art, kids.)
But, while I may not be able to understand the creation of it, if the writer has done their job, I can understand and, best of all, connect to the message.

I just watched 2 poems and a TED lecture by Sarah Kay. She started writing when she was 14 and has since created a program wherein she travels around trying to teach people how to start writing poetry. In her class, when mere mortals such as myself bring up the usual complaint of not knowing what to write about, she has them write down a list of 10 things they know to be true. To one girl named Charlotte, who continued to protest that she had nothing interesting to say, she kept giving lists until the one that produced her first poem: 10 things I SHOULD have learned by now.

I thought they were really interesting, and got me thinking. I highly doubt that this will start me on my way to spoken poetry stardom (if there is such a thing), but it's something interesting to think about, something I can learn from, and who knows? Maybe down the road it will inspire... something. And the chance for inspiration is always worth it.

So, without further ado, my 2 lists for today...

10 Things I Know to be True
1. No matter what I may or may not do, my parents will always love me.
2. If you want true love, you must be truthful (to both your loved one and yourself).
3. Changing a habit, good or bad, will always be uncomfortable.
4. For every person on earth, there is at least one book that they will enjoy reading.
5. One of the quickest pick-me-ups is to think of things you are grateful for.
6. Spring will always follow winter.
7. Humans are much too complex for anyone to ever know everything about one person.
8. You have something in common with every person you will ever meet.
9. A little makeup in the right places works wonders.
10. It never takes too much effort to be nice to strangers.

10 Things I Should Have Learned by Now
1. If something you have to do pops into your head, do it at that minute if you can.
2. Men and women communicate differently.
3. Doing nothing will never solve a problem.
4. Save money for a rainy day.
5. Just because someone was important in your past does not mean they have to be a part of your present.
6. Asking friends for help when it is truly needed is not burdening them.
7. Keeping your personal space the way you like to see it helps your frame of mind.
8. How you think you look will affect how other people see you.
9. Exercising your body will remind you of how miraculous and wonderful your body is.
10. Embrace the individual person you are. No one else can do it like you.

Sarah found in all her classes that there were 4 intersections where different lists met:
Everyone had something on their list that was almost identical to another item in the class.
Everyone had something on their list that was the exact opposite of another item in the class.
Everyone had something on their list someone else had never even heard or thought of.
Everyone had something on their list someone else had never thought of in that exact way.

Try a list yourself. See what you can learn.

Or, just do something to be inspired.

Workin Hard for ?

Hello hello! I've been gone for a while, but per Emily's request (I have a fan! Yipes!) I'm determined to blog about something....

Hm.

Well, new years was pretty recent. Shall I write yet another blog about how I'm determined to change, how to form my life into what I want it to be, how I'm just the MOST positive person ever and how I CAN do it!!!!????

Or at least something like that.

Based off the phrase "You can have anything you want, but not everything you want." I was recently asked what I would wish for in my life RIGHT NOW if I could have anything. I definitely had to think it over, or rather think carefully how to word it.
Unsurprisingly, it had nothing to do with my personal life. That usually takes care of itself sooner or later; and anyway it never happens when you're looking for it. Waste of a wish, if you ask me.
Somewhat surprisingly, it had nothing to do with my state of mind either. I know my mind has gone a bit twisty and dark in the past, but I know my patterns well enough by now to catch it before it really starts going to the bad place where dead baby jokes make me cry instead of laugh.

Probably similar to most NY women, my wish was for my professional life. It is not an unreachable goal, and it doesn't even seem to be incredibly difficult when you just say it out loud:

I wish I could earn a living, modest or not, solely off of acting.

But saying and doing, my little darlings, are two very different things.

I know every profession has some sort of ladder you must pay your dues at and claw your way to the top of. Unless you have some amazing luck or connections, (in which case go fuck yourself, you know you don't deserve it) it is expected and necessary. You put up with crap, you learn a lot, you take a step up, you put up with more but slightly different crap, you learn more, you take another step, yada yada yada. That's how it works. I know that.
But man, sometimes it seems like that first crappy step goes on for a little too long.

If I count doing commercials as a kid, I have been acting for somewhere around 15 years.
I'll repeat that. 15 years. More than half my life.
Shouldn't that be worth something?

I know, we don't act because we want to be rich. We do it because we feel a need to; because something in our soul yearns for expression and cannot achieve it any other way; because we have serious mental issues, whatever. And all of that is true.
But we shouldn't be chastised for wanting to be paid for what we've been trained to do. There are few things in this world that are more satisfying than someone thinking you're so good at what you love most in the world that they will actually PAY you to do it.

Don't get me wrong, I don't mind doing free theatre and film. I love it. I love getting to work with new scripts, to reinvent a well known character, to bring beautiful language and stories to tens and tens (not a typo) of people at a time. And I know I didn't study Shakespeare, movement, and stage combat to talk about how Vagisil makes me feel just SO comfortable.
But a few years ago, when I booked that commercial, I couldn't remember the last time I had felt so, well, validated.

I'd really really like to feel that again. Also, if my grandfather tells me he wants to see my name in lights before he dies one more time, I'm probably going to have a seizure and bite my own tongue off.

So I'm going to do what I have to. I'm not a pushy person, but I will be pushy and relentless if I have to be. I'm not a fearless person, but I will not let fear get in the way. I'm sometimes clueless, but I'll figure out a way.

Because even if my wish did somehow come true through magic... it would feel so much better if I did it myself.