Wednesday, March 31, 2010

What Goes On: A Humpday Reflection

As the title would suggest, this post is an ode to the Velvet Underground.

No. No it is not.

It is, however, two things. One being musings from me, transitioning from one lifestyle to another thus far, and Two being what's gone on photographic detail.

Alright, so I've been institutionalized, errr, office-ized (and ostracized, if you want to be dramatic) for Nine Days now. Wow, I totally capitalized that because I was thinking about how there used to be that band called Nine Days, you know, they sang "The Story of a Girl" (who cried a river and drowned the whole world). Yeah, institutionalized, 9 days...and as a result of this newfound use of my time I've discovered a few things that I like and dislike. I am WAY more tired! I know this sounds crazy, because before I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off for eight hours a night or frantically pouring [overflowing] mimosas all afternoon, but I seriously am more tired. Things to consider: it HAS been god-awful outside, I did overeat to the point of regurgitation, and yesterday I woke up with an inflamed throat gland. But I stand by my point that sitting at a desk for eight hours SUCKS, and makes you tired. I get home feeling like the laziest person alive. Like I spent all day downing cheese doodles in my sweatpants, except less comfortable. When I was waitressing I was always kind of irritable because there were constantly problems being chucked at my head (sometimes literally-hey, prosecco corks are feisty), but I was almost always engaged in something. Here, I am almost never engaged in anything. Example: Today I spent 2 hours doing an online makeover to see what I'd look like blonde (Rebecca Romijn blonde=good, Taylor Momsen blonde=suicidal), another hour in an email chain with a bunch of girlfriends with the subject "Too Many Vaginas" in which we covered topics like, the Self Magazine workout day in Central Park, auditioning to be the third party in a threesome, and why my friend works for a company that sounds like an eating disorder. This is all before I even remembered that I could read recaps of last night's Lost episode. And I got a few audition submissions in.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, I feel less productive with a day job than I did without one. And more dead. Like my soul is dying. Not that the people here aren't amazing, because they are. It's just that they have important things to do, like get people out of jail, and they'd rather not spend 15 minutes talking to me about how my dress is see-through (which it totally is today, by the way. I'm avoiding standing where the light hits me in the thigh region).

However, on the plus side, I am getting more auditions than ever before. I am not sure what to credit this to, but I have two ideas. 1) All I do is sit at a computer all day, so I submit to things almost immediately after they are posted, and I submit to anything and everything I am age and hair color appropriate for (what will this potential dye-job do to my "career"?) and 2) I've taken a new approach to submissions. Instead of writing a cover note in an official manner, I'm much more succinct and to the point. I have a feeling that casting directors/producers appreciate this brevity and are more likely to respond to those submissions. Either way, more auditions are great, landing some roles would be even better.

And now, some pictures I've taken in places that are way more interesting than where I am right now:
My brother, Hanalei Bay, Hawaii, Aug 2009

My hand, Hanalei Bay, Hawaii, Aug 2009

Boy feet, Stream, Geneva, NY, April 2009

Me, Motorized Scooter, Rhode Island, Labor Day '08

Mom & Brothers, Anguillara, Italy, July 2006

9:50 am Beer Pong, Lake George, July 2008

Sunrise after graduation, Seneca Lake, May 09

I have a thing for lakes.

Happy Hump Day!

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Why I Suck

If you haven't noticed yet, you probably will now; I believe in multiple titles. How often does something only address one matter? Rarely (never if you're a master of digression, like me). So, children, today we will be dealing with two distinct topics. Take notes.
In celebration (or disgustation-I know, I made it up) of today's inclimate (read/see: hellish and impossible) weather

I've developed a little feature I like to call "Why I Suck". But why? Because I have a problem with being adequately prepared for things. I always seem to be lacking specific "pieces" that make living easy. I'm just a general mess. And I spill everything. But that's a topic for another time.
  • I do not own an umbrella. I know, easily redeemable, right? NO! Because the last four umbrellas I've owned have been strays left at the restaurants I've worked at. I don't work at a restaurant anymore and the only time I seem to remember that I don't have an umbrella anymore is when it is raining. I don't know if you know this, but when it's raining in NYC, umbrellas are really easy to come by. Really easy to come by and sold at highway robbery prices. Fo sho. That being said, it was freakin pouring and all I had was a hood on my thin raincoat. Needless to say, my pants suffered this morning.
  • I do not own a raincoat. "But, you just said you have a hood on your raincoat!" False. There is a hood on my roommate's extra raincoat, which she has so kindly donated to her sucky friend in times of need.
  • I do not own rain boots. I used to have rain boots (As opposed to a raincoat, which I literally have not owned since my mother bought my clothing-aka middle school), but they developed holes and I had to throw them away last summer (I don't remember, but I would assume this occurred in June, when it rained every day. But I probably just wore flip flops and yelled "I don't care!!! AT LEAST ITS FINALLY WARM!") However, it was pouring this morning and aforementioned roommate and I made the sadistic promise to each other last night after eating a Jewish feast of matzoh balls and matzoh polenta (ummmmmaaaazing-but more on that later) that we would go to the gym this morning before work. At 6:30 am we headed out in the throes of the rain (seriously, I think we deserve a 6 pound weight loss just for going), and when we arrived I blow-dried my sneakers. And since I don't have rain boots, when I left to go to work I did this morbidly embarrassing thing that I swore I would never, ever, ever, do. Wanna see a picture?
  • Those are my slacks (haha, I said 'slacks' again) tucked into my running shoes. I felt like such a dweeb (because the word 'dweeb' is reserved for things like this alone) that I had to take a picture.
  • Side Note: I just noticed there's some guy in DC whose blog is called Color Inside The Lines. Ugh. Fail. Why am I so unoriginal? Would you all be confused and hate me if I changed the name of this? Why can't I ever be prepared?! I guess that's not a side note after all. I'm adding a bullet point to this.
I'm rethinking this whole "Why I Suck" topic. It's making me feel really bad about myself and my inability to function normally in human society. Although, I did say yesterday that I might decidedly become a crazy person. Anywhooooot, I've decided to put a few things down in the vein of "Why I'm Kind of Okay"

  • My "boss" here at the law firm told me that I could leave on Friday for 2 hours for my audition, and that if I had any next week I could leave whenever, as long as I stayed another week. Because I'm worth it. Did you hear that L'Oreal? I'm worth it. So yeah, I'm going to stay another week.
  • At last night's seder I made a new best friend (this guy!)

AND got voted "best Haggadah reader" (not in Hebrew, you fools, I can't read backwards. In ENGLISH) for knowing how to properly acknowledge commas when reading aloud and having a soothing voice (Okay, I made that part up, but I'm sure everyone was thinking it).

  • The previous "win" really isn't worthy of a bullet point, because as soon as we got back to the city (after a trip on the Jew express-seriously the entire train was full of post-seder reverse-commuters. A girl actually exclaimed, "If you ate brisket, move to the left aisle, and no more matzoh balls in the back, the train will tip over!"-I do love Jew Jersey) I disembarked the train and kind of upchucked some charoset. I know that's too much information (ummm waaaay too much) but I'm feeling over-share-y today, so you got to hear about my over-eating and stomach's refusal of excess apples and walnuts. (Again, so sorry...and so sorry that I only am "kind of" okay, as a human)
  • I "took lunch" in the office today since it's monsoon season outside and I'm ill-equipped, and as a result got to sit in an abandoned office for a half hour. Guess what I did? I danced. I'm not kidding. I was feeling ballet-ish so I took off my shoes and did some pirouttes. And you know what? I felt better about life for a few seconds.
  • I've decided I'm going to *maybe* dye my hair blonde and definitely lose 15 pounds. This in no way related to the Lady Gaga article that I read yesterday. Operation starvation begins. Really not excited about this, but really need to do this. Not because I'm fat, but because I want to be on tv.
In other news, I just noticed that there's a hole in my slacks. Guess where? RIGHT at the crotch. You know how I know? Because I just touched my crotch.

and then they fired me.


Monday, March 29, 2010

Weekly Catalogue

As promised, I give you the soon-to-be weekly feature that needs a name, but is simply just a list of things I'm concerned with at the moment. Concerns, I think the kids are calling them.
  1. Recently, I've noticed people (namely those lunching next to me at Pret) "we"ing a lot of things. As in, "We had him over for dinner" or "We want a name for the baby that he won't get made fun of for" (hint: avoid city names and childhood pets). This kind of disgusts me and makes me feel like I'm destined to become a "we can't decide what kind of drapes to get for the study" kind of adult. Although, I probably need a job and to date someone who has a job before I can worry about these looming disasters of normalcy. Still, I'd rather be a "I just got back from Sao Paolo and we're trying to decide where to spend the winter" adult. (Previous mentions of dillusions taken into consideration, please don't repeat yourself, you know who you are.)

  2. I'm not on TV yet. I never used to even want to be on TV and all of a sudden its like my life has been invaded with thoughts of appearing on certain shows. Why is that girl on Parks and Recreation. You know, Aubrey Plaza, the one from Funny People? I mean, I kind of look like her, a little. And we're certainly in the same age bracket. I'm bored, I want to be on TV.

  3. I can't write stand-up comedy. This is probably one of many causes why #2 hasn't happened yet, but I cannot seem to write a decent stand-up routine. I keep trying and everything sucks. Apparently, it's not really that funny that my dad made me wear a Hockey helmet instead of a bike helmet when I was a kid. (Actually, yes it is, that's just all I've got)

  4. I trained for and ran a half-marathon and didn't lose any weight.
  5. #4 is true, albeit seemingly impossible. What is wrong with me? Also, this would probably aid dramatically in #2...
  6. I literally cannot decide if I'd rather be totally normal or totally crazy. You know, since I'm working on cultivating my image, a la Lady Gaga. Another reason I should probably avoid food. Like forever. Well, if I go with option "crazy".

  7. I've been in rehearsals for this play for a few weeks now, and yesterday was our musical rehearsal. Because there are songs in the play. Because I have to sing in the play. Like in harmony. This is a viable concern because a) In 4th grade I sang a duet with Lauren H. and Lauren E. in front of the whole school. We sang along to the instrumental version of "Always Be My Baby" by Mariah Carey. Well, they sang, I started at my crotch and mumbled into the microphone, b) In my high school production of "Oklahoma" the musical director asked me to kindly mouth the words to the alto harmony instead of actually singing it, c) I will happily put on a pair of bootie shorts and dance to any number of Queen songs for a personal, or sizeable audience with no shame whatsoever(inquire within if you desire this particular service), but singing in front of anyone makes me turn beet red and suddenly feel the urge to hug my teddy bear and cry, and d) I've already talked too much about this play to too many people, and reneging invitations "because you really don't want to hear me sing" would only inspire my friends to decide to get really drunk first and laugh at me throughout.

  8. I'm in need of a very serious bender. I'm talking 48 hours of binge drinking. I've been a really good girl lately and as mentioned, I haven't lost any weight or felt particularly good about myself. Looks like Girls' Night this Saturday is going to lead in to a festive Easter with the family. Not to mention next weekend's trip to ye olde college for a rugby alumni weekend (no, I didn't play rugby...but I know how to drink like I did).

  9. Dear Liver, Take note of #8. Respectfully (even though it seems otherwise), Adria

Major concern...what if they doesn't resolve the show the way I want them to? What am I going to think about 83% of the time when it's over? Will Desmond appear shirtless one more time? Can we please kill off Jack? And Claire? Can we make sure they never make a Lost movie, no matter how tempting. Also, if somebody ends up being "God" I'm going to throw a dharma beer at my tv.

That's all. Off to jew it up!

Lady Gaga, Today I'ma be a Jew, and other useless Monday-isms

Today is dreary in New York, it's gloomy, humid, and raining, and I think the good people of New York Magazine purposefully released their cover article "From Goo-Goo to Gaga" today, knowing that the masses of the city needed incentive and motivation this morning. The article is eight internet pages long and effing amazing. I know, I know, you could spend all day discussing the things about Lady Gaga that you don't like-and that's the point. Whether you like her or not, she's worth discussing, which is half her genius. Literally just now, as I typed that sentence the Attractive Office Girl (who totally befriended me on Friday, by the way, and we're the same age, it's all good-which, yes, also makes us the same age as Gaga) said, "I don't like this article on Lady Gaga at all...she's trying to sound like she was poor. This sucks". You might be putting something down, but you're still talking about it. And everybody is talking about her. All the time.

I guess I'm just trying to say that what I like most about her is her dedication. She's totally committed to her art, all the time. And I don't mean that in the way people are like, "oooh I'm an artist, I live for art, I go to cafes and write poetry and please don't call me a writer because I'm an arrrrtist." I mean that her entire public image is performance art, and that makes her arguably the most successful performance artist ever.
                  ******************yes, i'm just jealous*********************

Moving on, today marks the beginning of week two at the law firm. Yes, I'm bored, but I am also getting used to it. I even got up at 6:30 this morning to take a yoga class before work (I know, shameless boasting). They want me to stay a third week, which would definitely turn into a fourth week, and before we knew it I'd be answering phones here for $13 an hour everyday. No thanks. I'd rather sing the national anthem, naked, for Martin Scorcese (and believe me, that's my worst nightmare. Nothing would ruin my chances of "making it" more than the blatant display of everything unattractive about me in front of one of the most important directors of our time). So yeah, I'm going to tell them tomorrow to count me out for next week. As a precautionary measure to avoid impending office-dom/doom. Do you get it? Ugh, I'm getting less and less funny with each passing day.

Speaking of passing days, today marks the start of Passover (seriously, I need to go into bad pun rehab). I like to refer to my religious background as "ecclectic", so grew up celebrating Passover Light. A term I coined, ummm just now, to refer to the kind of Passover seders where my dad would leave the table and return with toasted pita bread, which he would claim wasn't necessary to give up just because the Jews couldn't eat levened bread, "I'm not Jewish, Jill, he'd say, I'm here aren't I? We can have the seder, but I'm gonna have my bread." Needless to say, we stopped celebrating Passover pretty early on. I always missed it though, it stands the test of time as one of my favorite holidays. That's why tonight, I will be accompanying my lovely roommate to her family's seder. Bring on the matzoh balls (and the huge dog, which, let's be honest, might really be the real reason I'm going). I mean, if the Obamas can have a seder, I sure can!

I know the human attention span is roughly one paragraph, so I'm going to post again after I eat my sandwich (the first well-made wrap in the history of my lunch packing<--that sounds dirty) in list form, so as to not lose your attention.

PS: My pictures aren't showing up can I fix that?!

Thursday, March 25, 2010

The Office & "The Office"

Last night I called my parents' house (something I'm less afraid of doing now that one of my brothers is in Spain for 6 months, so the confusion of whom I'm speaking to is lessened) and talked to my 15 year old brother for a few minutes. I try (and fail) to have a conversation with him at least once a week. This is just a little snippet-oh who am I kidding, this is the whole conversation-of our talk yesterday:

Moi: So what's up?
Frere: Nothing.
Moi: Nothing? Something has to be going on, we haven't talked in awhile.
Frere: Yeah.
Moi: Yeah what?
Frere: [55 uninterrupted seconds of baseball jargon]
Moi: Nice. Good luck with that.
Frere: You quit your job?
Moi: Yup. So I get to see you for easter.
Frere: Sweet. Do you have a new job?
Moi: Well, for two weeks I'm the receptionist in a law firm.
Frere: You should get a job as the receptionist at Dunder-Mifflin.
Moi: Like Pam?
Frere: Yeah. You should be Pam.

Obviously, there are three important things to be addressed here. 1) Lil' bro watches far too much TBS 2) The inability to discern reality from fantasy is genetic, and skipped my middle brother, but got me and the little guy and finally 3) He has a point.

Excuse-moi? Numero toi? N'est pas vrai. Non, non, c'est vrai. He does have a point (other than the one that you're about to make-my french sucks). That is, I should be using this time as the Blank and Blank receptionist to be playing a character. I know, I know, this sounds totally LOONY, but think about it for a second. I am stuck at this desk doing very menial tasks for only a short period of time, so why shouldn't I use it as an acting exercise? Granted, I should have started this game earlier, but I can still play. This is not my domain, why not screw with it a little bit.

It occurs to me, as I am writing it that this might not be the best idea. Starting yesterday I began getting praise for my "work". Now I know this isn't rocket science, and it's certainly not something to go around bragging about, but it's really nice when people like you. Especially when one of the partners here (aforementioned "Mona"-who I seriously thought despised me) said that I have a "nice voice and a sweet disposition". I'm wondering if she knows any voiceover agents? So maybe it's a bad idea to come to work tomorrow and take on the characteristics of Lady Macbeth ("Screw you to your sticking place/she's in a meeting") Bad example? Should I have put that in iambic pentameter?
*Return to your reguarly scheduled programming*

Maybe I could just start playing around with stuff. Make it more interesting. Pretend that I'm playing a character sitting at a desk (not the most famous matron villianess, just somebody slightly less "me" than me). Maybe that'd make it more fun.

Or maybe I should just take the LSATs and work here to pay my way through law school and then try and be a partner here.

Kidding. I gave up the idea of being a lawyer when I got a C- in Constitutional Law sophomore year of high school. (It really wasn't all my fault, though, *some guy* decided to tell the whole class that I looked like the kind of girl who liked performing sexual acts (obviously he worded it differently at the time....which is coated in irony, because by sophomore year I had merely kissed, like, 4 boys and cried when one tried to take off his pants).

Point being, leave character ideas in the comment section and I'll let you know what happens when I take them on. Go.

PS: Yesterday I answered the phone saying "Good afternoon....ahh, I mean good morning" twice before 10 am, and then saying "Good morning, whoops, good afternoon" at 12:30. Would have been a lot less embarrassing had it not been the same caller all three times. I'm totally not kidding. He was in hysterics.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010


Remember a few weeks ago when there was that whole scandal at JFK because some morons let their kids direct air traffic? I still think that's pretty funny, I mean, obviously the parent was right there telling the kid what to say, and that kid got to go home and tell all his friends at school that he helped a 747 land! What a great playground story. Anyway, segue please? Yes. I've answered five or six phone calls today from small children. Not teenagers, not even awkward middle schoolers, but KIDS. I'm going to say something here, and you're not going to like it, but I bet that is something that is much more frequently happening here, it being a law firm of predominantly women (all partners are female) than in many other offices. I'm not saying its bad that a four year-old call his Mommy at work, I'm just saying "where's the nanny?" I have a hard enough time remembering the name of ANYONE who calls here (unless I write it down...obviously I'm harboring the short-term memory of someone middle aged, aka my Mommy) let alone the gender of your four year-old.

This just happened:

Me: Good afternoon [it's after 4:00, I've got it by now] Blank and Blank"
Child: Hi, can I speak to my Mommy.
Me: Uhhhhhhh, what's your Mommy's name?
Child: Mona.
Me: And what's your name?
Child: Maaaahhhh.
Me: Ummmmmmmm, hang on.
I press hold, I intercom Mona. No answer.
Me: She's in a meeting actually, do you want me to tell her you called? Is it important?
Genderless Maaaahhh: Just tell her, yeah. Bye.
I reluctantly approach the "Attractive, young-ish woman" in the office, whose desk is close by.
Me: Ummmm, yeah this might be a really dumb question.
Attractive office girl: [blank stare]
Me: So one of Mona's kids just called, and I don't want to tell her the name of the wrong kid, but I couldn't understand.
AOG: Was it a girl or a boy?
Me: That's the problem, cause you know, sometimes you can't tell with kids? Especially on the phone.
AOG: Her daughter is Lily.
Me: Sounds good, I'll go email her.
AOG: And her son is Max.
Me: Oh. Umm, yeah, it was Max.

So basically I'm an idiot. You should see my face when I call my parents' house. Both my brothers and my father all have the exact same voice now that the youngest is properly pubescent (grrrooooosssssss) so when any of them answer the phone I go through all of their names before getting the right one. It's agonizing, I dread it. I just call cell numbers now. My ex-boyfriend once played that trick on me by having his brother call me. Not funny. Especially if you know the whole story. (You don't want to)

In other news, I've gotten a ridiculous amount of menial office tasks today. Alphabetizing? Copying and pasting file labels in roughly 9,000 documents? Affixing file labels? Blaaaahhhhhh. In other news, there's new candy in the kitchen.


Monday, March 22, 2010

Monday Morning

Today I sit at a desk for 8.5 hours. Normally, I think this would drive me stir crazy, however, since I ran the half marathon yesterday morning, I couldn't be happier with this fact. It hurts to cross and uncross my legs under the desk.

Since it is but noontime (now, that is. I'm sure it will be much later when I actually post this) I have decided to compile a photographic journey for you to go on with me. This is a fantastical journey, through space and time. Just kidding, it's really just a journey into someone else's bank account.

When this time of year rolls around I tend to get overly excited about the warm weather, and go on dreamlike ventures into real estate. Right now, as the phone hasn't rang here at the law firm of "blah and blah LLP" (both said in french accents) in about 20 minutes ( literally 20 minutes, actually), the tabs open on the internet browser read: Blogger,, Corcoran-For Sale $3,100,000 Bethune St, and Upper East Side $1,750/month. So yeah, I'm mixing reality with fantasy a bit. I'm getting paid $13/hour here, aint no West Village Co-ops in my immediate future.

That reminds me, I never heard from that director in Bed-Stuy. What a waste of my ghetto time.

I'm really not focused on anything today, so this is just a mess of rambling (not sure how that differs from past or future posts, but bear with me).
OOOH, victory! Phone just rang and I successfully noticed that it was 12:07, and answered "Good afternoon" and not "Good morning". Thank God something happened here, I was beginning to analyze the modern art on the wall (either reminds me of something my brother did in kindergarten or a Cy Twombly).

Okay, back to the photographic journey...the following are a collection of places I'd like to be right now/homes I'd like to own. I' m putting this out in the universe in hopes that a kind soul will donate $10,000,000 to the "Adria-wants-expensive-waterfront-properties fund". See comments for more information on how to donate.

This is a photo of Blue Mountain Lake in the Adirondacks...obviously no real estate is featured, but I wouldn't mind clicking my heels together three times and waking up from a short nap on one of those chairs. Coffee cup in hand, obviously. Golden Retriever at my feet? New York Times on my lap? Sure. Sign me up, and while we're at it, let's add a pretty nightgown, subtract 10 pounds-from me-, and throw a big hooded sweatshirt on top. Mmmmmm.
East Hampton. Seagull sounds. Sitting on the front porch...maybe a glass of white wine, a Chardonnay? White linen pants. Crudite. Maybe some raspberries.

Yes, I know, I'm certifiably insane. Two more.
Farmhouse. Technically located somewhere in England, however, in my mind this is in Connecticut. Or England, I guess. Sure, England, let's roll with it. So, this is definitely the one where I get the English Sheepdog, and red wine, and a dress. And I get to make tomato sauce in the kitchen. Oh, the kitchen looks like this:

You can all come to the dinner party, since you're funding this home.
Interesting. Email received from co-worker at ex-restaurant. It appears that my last day of work at the restaurant was Saturday...and I didn't know this. Great. I love finding things out through email after the fact, especially when the reason for it is because I did not receive two voicemails!!!! What?! My phone works. It was on. Frustrating. Very, very frustrating. I wonder how many other messages/calls/voicemails I did not receive. Grrrrrr.
I'm going to have to look at all those photos again to put myself back in a relaxed zone. [time lapsed: 30 seconds to stare at photos] Much better. Definitely like the first one and the last one the best. Too bad I have to look for a new apartment by May 1st and probably have to downsize/move out of my amazing neighborhood. Money sucks. Unless you have it.
Positive note for a Monday. I'm going to go get a sandwich. In the rain. This was truly incoherent. Great.

Friday, March 19, 2010

From BET to LLP

Here I am, sitting at the reception desk at a law firm in the financial district, wearing slacks (that word cracks me up...say it a few times: slacks. slacks. slacks. hahahaha) and a blouse (another ridiculous's just a shirt, just a nice shirt) and answering phones. It is now noon and I'm very concerned with switching over from "Good morning, BLANK and BLANK" to "Good afternoon, BLANK and BLANK". Oh, it's the little things. The notepad next to the phone is covered in notes like "guy with glasses whose office is to the right went out...back at 1. Who is he? ASK!" I mean, it's no good if someone walks out of the office and says "I'll be back at 1" and I have no idea who they are. Pretty useless.

God this is boring. How do you people do this all the time? I thought I'd have funny things to talk about. There's nothing funny here. The couch is red and has big red buttons. The chairs in the waiting area are 60s style and really uncomfortable. Blah, blah, blah.

BUT, yesterday was exciting. Yesterday I had an adventure. Would you care to hear about it? No choice, here goes. I found an audition for a a film on Craigslist a few weeks ago and reluctantly submitted. Normally Craigslist creeps me out, but occaisionally they do have really legit postings, so I gave it a shot. I got an email back from the guy saying "send pics". Uh-oh...creeeeepyville here we come. But, after I sent him my headshots I received an email back with his IMDB credits. Okay, legit. So I get an audition for the film, and it's in Brooklyn, no biggie, I'm a big girl, I can have outer-bourough adventures. It's in Bed-Stuy. Errrrmmmm, okay. So yesterday afternoon I take the J train to Bed Stuy. Whoops, no wait a sec, I take the J train to the Financial District and then get out, walk to the other side and take the J train back past the 4 stops I've already gone in the wrong direction and head to Bed-Stuy. Fail #1-my fault. So I get off the train and follow the directions to get to the audition. This is a loooong walk. Good thing I'm wearing my Sperry's and have my heels in a bag. Fail #2: Their fault, my redemption. This is a long walk through an interesting neighborhood. I feel like I'm walking through a Spike Lee movie. I smile at everyone so as to not play the role of "scared white person in black neighborhood". People smile back, they have cute dogs and pleasant demeanors. I relax. It's still light out. I get to the address. This photo is on the doorbell--->

It is the director's home. I'm going to die here. Fail #3: Even. I'm being melodramatic. He's having a casting at his home. He comes to the door, looks nice, seems professional (except that he's wearing a tight, vneck shirt that exposes part of his chest. At least he seems more gay than serial killer). We go upstairs and into the "waiting room". Oh, holy hell. I'm the only white girl. These are some GHETTO black chicks. How are we up for the same part? It immediately feels like 1st grade again, when I was the only white girl in my class. If it weren't for chubby, smelly Chris I'd have been the only white person in my class. (Edit: My current roommate, and lifelong friend has pointed out to me that she was also in Miss Hugget's-with her perfect handwriting-1st grade class. I pointed out that leaving halfway through the year rendered her useless to me, but she insisted that I edit the post. So I used her favorite color. We're in love. Obviously) I'm not trying to be racist, I just feel very out of place. The walls are painted in flourescent colors (VERY lime green, VERY eye-popping blue) and there's a movie on the tv...something with Denzel Washington. The girls have press-on nails and large tattoos on their chests/arms. It's all such a cliche. Of course I wore the preppiest thing I own today. Of course. I think about how I'm reading "Malcom X" by Alex Haley and whether or not I really am the devil. I decide to stop thinking about ridiculous things and focus on just getting this part. Because if I get it I can come to Bed-Stuy for filming...and I love Bed-Stuy now.

I tried to get you guys a picture of what these girls looked like, but it seems like a bad idea to google image search "ghetto" or "black chicks" at my first day in a new temp position. In other news, I just successfully transferred a call to a voicemail for one person and answered another line before it rang twice. I'm super-reception Adria. Remember, little things.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Early bird...?

This week is starting to feel a bit like a marathon. Which is fitting because I'm finishing off the week by waking up at 5:45 am Sunday morning, and running 13.1 miles. Well, officially the NYRR Half Marathon starts at 7:30 am...but since I'm not running it with a friend (ANYMORE) I'm going to have to get up at 5:45 to eat a properly carbo-loaded breakfast (seriously, what am I supposed to eat?) and make my way to Central Park. Alone. I'm petrified. I'm spending the week trying to get up earlier and earlier in preparation, but since I normally go to sleep between 1:45 am and 4:30 am, this is difficult. Last night a pipe decided to go all Old Faithful on me in the bathroom and "early to bed" was delayed by about 45 minutes of towel wrapping and contemplating calling that emergency maintenance number.

Anywhoooooo, this week is jam-packed with exciting, new life activities. My first play rehearsal was Monday night, and it proved to me that I'm not exactly theatre royalty (it took me three tries to spell royalty...mornings are rough). Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful beyond belief for that part, but it's not much of a part. Also, I struggle with the eternal question: Do I hate most theatre actors? The people that I was working with were really nice, and smart, and good at what they were doing, and I liked them, but I definitely walk into every new theatrical experience with a whole lotta judging going on inside. Guilty.

Today I have a meeting with a babysitting agency and a paid seminar/interview with an agent through Actors Connection. Tomorrow I have an audition in, forgive my french, bum-fuck Brooklyn for a film. An audition I found on Craigslist. If I end up in a dumpster somewhere with my legs tied behind my head, you will all know why. Side note: I should've bought an unlimited MetroCard this month.

Now, off for that run I got up so early for...(motivation: large iced coffee at "finish line"<---read: cafe on Ave B)

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Stars Align...a little bit.

I knew when I went to work Friday night that I had to tell my manager that I was quitting. The following chain of events is an ACTUAL timeline of the events that transpired between 3:30 pm and 7 pm on Friday night:

3:30 PM: I decide to take a nap before work.
3:44 PM: My alarm goes off (a tropical steel drum-esque ringing, meant to induce feelings of warmth and happiness-I've come to resent it) and I realize that even though my nap was 14 minutes long, it was restful enough.
3:59 PM: I leave my apartment to go to work.
4:07 PM: I arrive at the restaurant, already tired, make myself a coffee and begin setting up for the night.
4:44 PM: I notice my phone is ringing just as it comes up as "missed" on the screen. It's from a 646 number and I wait to see if they've left a voicemail.
4:46 PM: No voicemail.
4:48 PM: I take the phone to the "office" with me while I make photocopies of the night's specials. I call back, realize it was one of the temp agencies I've interviewed with. They had a position for me, but it has been filled already. "Call back immediately next time", says the receptionist. Are you serious? It was FOUR MINUTES!
4:50 PM: Return upstairs, wondering if I should really quit tonight or not, since I apparently have just "lost" work for the coming week.
5:30 PM: Secretly check my phone again (boss has threatened to permanently remove me from the schedule if he catches me with my phone one more time. Too bad I don't care since I'm leaving anyway). I notice this time that I have just missed a call from an unknown 845 number and have a voicemail.
5:32 PM: I go to the bathroom and listen to the message. "Hey Adria, I got your number from -----, who is a good friend of mine [----just auditioned me for a role in a play he's directing, did not cast me, but was super nice about it...uhhh great] and he recommended you for a role in 'The Good Woman of Sezchuan' which I'm currently directing. I have a girl who just dropped out, so give me a call and hopefully you're interested in the part".
5:32:45 PM: I'm shocked. ----really recommended me? That's soooo nice!
5:33 PM: "Uhhh, I need to step outside to make a phone call", I say to my co-waitress/friend, "It's really important that I call her back now. It's for a role. I never get cast in anything, so I don't want to fuck this up". She nods, gets it. I run outside.
5:40 PM: Just spoke to director. I tell her I'd be happy to come in and read anything for her, she responds, "No, no. ---- recommended you so highly, and he's one of my best friends, I totally trust his judgement"
6:30 PM: "I QUIT!" and run out of the restaurant, naked and chugging a bottle of Prosecco.

Okay, so the last part didn't happen. I stayed. And worked yesterday and today's brunch shifts, too, but wouldn't that have been amazing if I did run out naked and drinking??

Oh well! At least I officially quit, and got cast in a play.

PS: The play is totally unpaid.
PPS: Anyone want to donate canned goods/restaurant gift certificates to the "needy"?<--read: me.

Friday, March 12, 2010


So the time is coming for me to officially announce that I'm leaving the restaurant I've been working at for about 16 months, and I'm scared. I know that I have to leave and that it's just not where I want to be anymore, but I'm starting to freak a bit about the whole "not having a job" thing. Maybe I've made the wrong decision? Maybe I should wait?

I've always been really responsible and made "the right choices", contrary to what some of my friends might think (not going to name names or anything, but some people seem to think that I'm a whole lot more "progressive" and "different" than I really have been in the past). With that in mind I'm thinking that the best way to move on to greener pastures, if you will-this being Manhattan and all, that doesn't exactly apply–is to just walk away while I still have a good relationship with everyone at the restaurant, and while I have some extra money (we're not talking drug dealing cash, heiress bank accounts or anything, but the bank account rape-ry that is my rent checks won't go bouncing). I just feel like I've been restricting my potential by staying in the same place for too long and I need to shake things up.

All this being said, the temp agencies that I've interviewed at seemed more interested in me "getting famous" and "seeing [me] at the Oscars someday" than actually getting me temp work. Thanks for the support guys, but can you just throw me into an office a few days a week for now and we'll cover the acceptance speeches later in the program? Come to think of it, maybe they're all part of the plan (the "master plan" that is), and that plan leaves me broke and living off of peanut butter and tuna fish, losing 20 pounds and then getting a role on the next hit HBO show. So maybe I will thank them for not putting me in with the good, working people of New York City, but leaving me home on the couch watching old movies and eating ketchup soup....Or maybe I could use the cash.

Bottom line, I'm tired and nervous about this change. I'm also nervous for the half marathon I'm running next Sunday...I wish someone would pay me to do that. But I guess that's why they call them "hobbies". I don't know, I call it my "run so much that you can eat whatever you want" plan. Okay, going to email myself some promising Craigslist postings while the Trader Joe's frozen peas ice my aching feet. Goodnight blogland.

Monday, March 8, 2010

First Assignment

So, backstory postponed for now because I am currently at my first temp assignment and feel the need to document this groundbreaking event. So lame. That being said, I am literally getting paid to do nothing right now. Granted, they're not paying me much to do nothing, but I'm doing exactly what I normally do on Monday afternoons so it's hardly an inconvenience to be here. It's worth the $12 an hour. The assignment for today is to sit here, at Paul's desk (Paul is an asian intern at this particular ad agency) and appear busy. I am NOT kidding. There is, or so they tell me, a very important client meeting going on about 25 feet to my left and this agency actually hired temps to make them look busy for this client. My first temp assignment is essentially an acting job!

From what I hear about the working world, this is a pretty sweet set up. I'm sitting next to a window with a view of both the Williamsburg and Manhattan bridges, and I'm allowed to wear jeans. When I sit at home on Monday afternoons I'm usually wearing jeans, surfing the same casting websites, but stuck in a tiny little box with a view of, uhh, the building across the street. So I'm okay with this set up. In an attempt at being productive, and a risky move if any of these "clients" came over and saw what was on my computer screen, I'm perusing craigslist for catering jobs and market research studies. I'm really trying to quit my waitressing job in the next few weeks, but I have to make sure that I'll be able to make enough money with my new plan first. With today's job I'll be able to pay my share of the electric bill for the month, so ummm, that's a start.

I've literally been told NOTHING about this company that I'm pretending to work for. If someone came up to me and asked what I did I was told to say that I'm an intern in account management. Whaaa? Additionally, I just heard a champagne cork. It seems that the clients have left and there's a celebratory drinking ceremony going on. It would appear that Mad Men's depiction of the advertising world, although dated, is accurate on the drinking front. Some guy just said, "let's get the beer out". I'm starting to rethink my whole plan about being an actress. Maybe I'll apply for a job here. I love day drinking! There's a guy in a sweatshirt drinking a Heineken, why don't I work here?

So intern Paul just came back and asked when he can have his computer back...oh intern Paul, I don't know! I'm getting paid for nothing, but the one thing I DO know is that I have to get that timesheet signed, and you better believe that I'm not giving you your desk/computer back until that lady comes back and signs off on my being here.

I suppose I should sign off for now, but I'll come back and post some backstory later. The first step in the direction of my new life is almost complete, and I didn't even have to wear a pantsuit. Athankyouuuu.

Now I'm going to try and get someone to offer me a drink. Ciao!