Life of Barter?

I got fired yesterday.

For the first time in my life (by someone other than a horny restaurant manager with a "brunettes with bangs" fetish (no seriously, everyone who worked there looked exactly like me...but uglier, of course) ) I've been fired from a job. You want to know why the crazy doctor who made me write letters on a typewriter chose to let me go? Because I asked for today off. No...sorry, not because I asked, because I didn't just ask, I covered all of my bases first by calling the temp agency (rrrrigght because this is a temporary-see: not permanent, job) and asking my contact there if she could find a replacement for me and then agreeing to train her for the last hour of the day yesterday. And it wasn't like I was asking for the day off to go to the beach (although it now occurs to me that she might not have believed me and assumed I was just lying), I legitimately got a call to work on a movie today. Now, there is nothing exciting or glamorous about working as an extra on a film, nor anything exciting, but it certainly pays a lot more than $65 (which is what I make...err, made...in my five hour Friday shift at Dr. Lunatic's office) and since this week was incredibly slow and my weekly income was looking like $175, I figured I should go for it. Well, that didn't go over well. The Doctor called me "not very nice", which coming from an old person with an accent translates into "you fucked me over you little fucking bitch", so I was pretty upset. She told me that I shouldn't bother coming back. Awesome.

In light of losing, literally, the only steady work I had, I've been thinking about what I should do. I was thinking I could barter for things. For example, would anyone want to come over and bring me fresh vegetables in exchange for yoga classes? I mean, I'm not certified, but my living room can fit two yoga mats and I can totally teach a class. Also, I was thinking that I could do my friends' laundry for them so they didn't have to drop it off or spend their weekends doing it...you know, in exchange for enough quarters to do my own along with them. Just trying to cover my bases here. Okay, yeah, I'm totally kidding about all of that stuff...unless you're up for it, in which case, call me.

So I'm actually going away this weekend, which is something that I never do. I'm going to spend the weekend with some of my college friends at their house (aaaah to have an actual house) in New Hampshire. Well, in preparation for our arrival my friend went out to go grocery shopping and GChatted me about it:

yesterday i was buying food and deciding which block of cheddar to buy for this weekend, then thought, adria is coming, and bought the much larger one bc i love you

I know you're jealous of my reputation. 

Now, if you'll excuse me my living room yoga student should be arriving any moment and I still need to brush my teeth. Shut up, I know it's noon. I got fired yesterday and don't need to be on set until 2:30. Deal.

Happy White Pants Weekend!!! 

A

PS: I want you all to know that I gave in yesterday and bought one of those "Panama Hats" that everyone...no everyone is wearing. I usually ignore really trendy items because they're a waste of money and I end up resenting looking like every other twenty-something (or in this case, just everyone) in the city, but I just like these hats. I've always liked hats and they always look good on me, so if you're looking for me this weekend I'll be in New England wearing white pants and a stupid hat...

I'm Pronouncing My Name Wrong

So today I was having a conversation with someone about the origins of my name, which happens at least once a month since I have a rather unusual name, and I was explaining that most people from other countries pronounce it Ahh-dree-uh as opposed to Aaay-dree-uh (European long "A" versus American short "A"). It occurred to me that I've never looked up the pronunciation of my own name. I know that it's latin, and means "dark" (I know, I know...), but I've never looked up the pronunciation. Well, look what I found on Namipedia:

Adria

Pronunciation: AHD-ree-ə

 

Welp, fuck me running, I've been pronouncing my own name wrong for just about 24 years. Thanks for doing your research Mom and Dad. Damnit. Also, now I'm on BabyNames.com and the day will never redeem itself. It's like when you log on to TextsFromLastNight and you're stuck reading that bullshit all day.

A

I have a COUCH! (and other victories)

Words cannot express how good it feels to be sitting on a couch in my living room. After living here for just about a month it was long overdue. So I'm very happy. I'm still broke, but I'm happy.

The show last night went amazingly well! I want to thank Lauren for her super encouraging comment. I surprised myself with how much I diverged from what I had planned, and how confident I felt onstage. We'll take that as a super victory! I'm going to try and do more shows...and am very excited about it

I also figured out how to use the camera that I ordered. It's a film camera and I just shot my first roll of black and white film and am looking forward to seeing if the shots are any good. This was a big thing on my to do list of things I've always wanted to do...and now I've started to do it. So I'm on a roll here and pretty damn proud of myself.

A friend of mine gchatted me today to say the following, "I think I'm going to get a therapist...I mean, I have insurance, and I live in NY." At least some Woody Allen stereotypes never die. This city really does make you crazy though. Since I've been typing this I've burnt a whole pot of rice and shellacked beans to the bottom of a pan. Not that you need a therapist because you ignore the smell of burning from your kitchen...but you know. Now my food tastes like charred South American fare, which is bad, real bad, but I swore I wouldn't spend any money today so charred beans, burnt rice and undercooked asparagus it is. I really do pity the fool who hangs out with me later tonight...

I went for a run along the river today, it was more of a "run, stop because you think you're going to pass out, run, water, run, breathe, find shade, run, tan on a pier" than a run, but whatever. Anyhoot, I saw a guy in a wet suit jump into the hudson and swim, thought it was DISGUSTING, and then was appalled when he came over to "talk" (read: hit on) me still wet from the river. Yeah, sure, dude, I'd love to call you, someday we could swim in garbage and dead bodies together. Yuck. I mean, I'm no Snow White, but you've got to draw the line somewhere.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a gross dinner that makes no sense "culinarily" to get back to...adios.

A

Baahahahahahahaha

All I can hope is that I am surrounded by infectious laughter in about four hours...you see, my stand up performance is tonight. I'm not sure if I'm shaking right now out of nervousness or because I just went for a run and its 80º and the sun was beating down on me. Regardless, I'm fucking nervous. And I never get nervous. I'm serious...my heart usually beats double time as I'm about to walk onstage for an acting performance, but the nerves usually subside by the time that I've spoken my first line. This is so different, and I really think I might vomit before I go onstage. I'm not even exaggerating. Also, none of my friends can come because everyone is broke or busy so I'm super nervous that I'm not going to get the required 7 audience members and then I won't even be able to go onstage...which would be super embarrassing. 

Okay, before I go force feed myself dinner and clean myself (no one likes a smelly comic), I just want to relay what just happened. I'm broke, so naturally I ordered myself a dress off of one of those sale sites (ideeli.com) and it came in the mail yesterday, but I wasn't here to sign for it, plus my buzzer is broken, I can't buzz anyone in, even though I hear the buzzes, and I live on the 5th floor of a walk-up, so how would I know anyway? So I left a post-it on the door before I went out for my run, just in case, saying "Dear UPS, The buzzer is broken and I can't buzz you in, so please buzz and I will come down to sign for my package, Thanks, 5N". So, of course, as soon as I got back from my run and was covered in sweat and standing around chugging tap water in my sports bra, the buzzer rings. I SPRINT into my room, grab a tshirt off of the floor, take the closest slip-on shoes out of the closet (girl looks good in running shorts and black flats, lemme tell you), and BOUND down the five flights of stairs just to retrieve my package. I felt really, really stupid in front of that UPS guy, who laughed at me. Good thing I didn't leave my keys in my apartment. And now I have a pretty new dress, that I cannot afford.

If anyone at all reads this before 9:00 pm, EST, tonight, say a little prayer for me, my bank account, and my stand up routine. Full report tomorrow.

A

Typewriters? And other Friday Goodies

I could try and organize my thoughts into organized paragraphs resembling some sort of coherent, interconnected blog post, but I'd rather not put the energy into that right now, so you're getting a bullet point list of things that are overwhelming me today.

• I'm doing a paid audition seminar type thing for an agent tonight and I have to read commercial copy for a Hershey's bar. I'm nervous, but I feel like I could sell chocolate to an Easter Bunny, so we're good.
• I cannot (literally) stop listening to "Aeroplane" by The Everybodyfields. It's so perfectly sad and gorgeous.
• The way that Bloc Party reminds me of last summer is probably the way Passion Pit will remind me of this summer. I got excited realizing that today.
• Why is my calendar full up until mid-July? Why don't I have any time?! What is going on!?
• I won $100 in an online contest on NakedPersonals.net. If that sounds skeevy, even for me, know that I submitted one of the personal ads that I wrote for my play, and it was [partially] fictional. But I totally got paid through PayPal today (because I was too sketched out to give the guy my address, for fear of a large man in a furry dalmation costme coming to my apartment-see, last night's "Community") and that is very exciting.
• Speaking of my play, how is it still not written? Why can't I just sit down and figure it out?! 
• I've been working on my stand-up routine (mostly in the shower) and I've come to a conclusion...I'm going to cry onstage, out of fear and embarrassment when no one laughs. I tried to write out my opener but typing "Hey guys, how are you doing tonight" makes me feel like a tool.
• I'm mad at my parents for being unemotional fucks right now. Which is rude of me.
• My boss told me yesterday to type a letter for her. On the typewriter. And after I started trying to do that she came over and told me I could use the computer. And then, when I printed her letter she had me edit it for formatting and reprint it. And then, she read it and realized she wanted to change what it said, and had me change it and reprint it again. And then, she thought the formatting was still off so she had me fix it and print it again. If you need a scapegoat for the lack of oxygen on the planet due to deforestation in a few years, find her. 
• Today, boss also made me roll down the sleeves on the stupid white labcoat that she makes me wear. Because she's crazy. And then I alphabetized hundreds of file cards. $13/hour is bullshit for someone with a college degree, no matter what the job, but this woman is nuts. She's just used to her other receptionist and adverse to change, I guess. Because she's old. Ugh.
• It recently occurred to me that while I've spent the past two years staying up all night, cultivating an interest in non-mainstream music, listening to Lady Gaga anyway, complaining, quitting a perfectly good job, trying to write a play and taking fucking forever to do so, pretending to be funny, and (the only actual accomplishment) losing 15-ish pounds, my friends have been doing actually amazing things. Two of my closest friends are going to law school in the fall, another is going to medical school (after having just received a Masters in Public Health-so while she's an MPH MD, I'll just be your average BA, JO<---that stands for Jerk Off). Two more close friends are enrolled in graduate programs, one while working a full time job and still finding time to read this blog, indulge my relentless gchatting and needy relationship questions. My roommate got a bonus the size of her boobs (har har har) last year, another friend decided (with a little help) that her life was unsatisfying and unhealthy and she up and 180-ed the bitch around and then got a job at a major magazine where she scores free stuff and gets to oogle Anna Wintour in the elevator. Another got her dream job at a certain conservative entertainment, BAH, I mean News Network and wakes up at ungodly hours to commute down from her awkwardly adult cohabitation apartment to get to work (even if she bashes my head in with her hours on a daily basis). Basically, I'm really proud of all of my friends for their pursuits of "something greater", whatever that may be.
• What the fuck was that above? Who am I, the Lifetime Channel? UGHHH, I'm like a vat of nacho cheese today.
• When I work at the Drs office I no longer eat lunch...I buy a banana and an apple from the fruit vendor outside of the Met and proceed to eat York Peppermint Patties (a delicious, low fat candy-just practicing for later), Tootsie Rolls (poop in wax paper!), and Hershey Kisses (cue dramatic "mmm" face) all afternoon until I feel sick and forget what real food tastes like. Gross.
• I just tried to turn my head and answer the phone at the same time and ended up bashing my nose with the receiver. What's wrong with me?

Alright, I think we've all had enough of the ramblings for this Friday, plus I have to go YELP a restaurant for dinner tonight, so I'm outie, Cher.

A

[Circle of Life]

My maternal grandfather died when my mom was twelve. My paternal grandfather died when I was six, and I remember being at his funeral, very vaguely. I have few memories of him alive, but I remember that the funeral was the first time I saw my Dad cry, but only for a second (the second time, and possibly only other time I've seen this is when my brother pushed me into a mirror and broke my front tooth when I was 8). Strangely enough, and I may be mixing memories here, I remember standing on the church steps and looking up to watch the pallbearers carry the casket. Memories are so weird. My maternal grandmother died when I was a sophomore in high school, living with the after-effects of a pretty serious stroke for a few years. I regrettably remember being upset that I had to leave for the weekend for her funeral and miss a stupid high school event that the guy I was dating was hosting.
The older people in your life are supposed to die. It is not something that we like to think about, but we know it. When you're a kid and your grandparent gets sick it is upsetting but your bond with this person, for the most part, has been a child-adult bond and you've expected to outlive them by many, many years. My relationship with my Mom's Mom had, fortunately, had the chance to go beyond the child-adult bond a little bit before her stroke. She knew a little bit about the me that I would eventually become, but mostly I was still a child. It wasn't until later that I learned what it was like to feel the loss of someone you care about. This isn't to say that I don't think about my Grandmother or Grandfathers and miss them and wish that we could have relationships now, but it is just simply different.
Since high school, my aunt, uncle and a very close friend have all passed away. No death is easy to come to terms with, but the inevitability of it is mind-boggling to me. I don't know what to do with the information. Obviously, losing a friend to a drunk driving accident was a whole lot more difficult to come to terms with than losing my sick grandfather, but it's the thought that that person is never going to be around to talk to, see, call, etc anymore is what's the hardest.
My last remaining grandparent passed away this afternoon. My dad's mother was 95 and a half years old (I think you should give the children and the elderly those halves to celebrate). I didn't want to write about this today, but I think it is helping me to put it down into words. I was waiting in line at Dagostinos on Lexington and 82nd when my Dad called. I don't think there is any good way to hear information like that, but waiting in line at a supermarket cannot be among the best. I waited until I was off the phone to start crying (I think I thought it would be rude to cry when my Dad wasn't crying...which is ridiculous), but mostly just thought about how it came out of nowhere. We had just moved her from her apartment to a more assisted living facility, and with the move she had given me a big living room chair and a bunch of cutlery items (among them a nutcracker, which is totally useless, until you accidently buy whole walnuts and realize that you're trying to open them with a can opener-not that I've ever done this). My dad said, "We knew this was coming", but really, I wasn't ready for it. It's amazing the things that start running through your head when you hear news like this. What measures goodness? What of a person carries on? How can we move on when people we love keep getting taken from us? What is going to happen for holidays? Thanksgiving and Christmas used to be littered with my aunt's laughter and phone calls from my uncle in California bragging about how he was sitting on his patio drinking wine in a pair of linen pants while we were all wearing sweaters, and we'd respond that he wasn't lucky enough to be eating my grandma's Braciola.
I want to go back to what I was saying before, though, about having an adult-adult relationship with an older family member. November 2008, my parents asked me to do them a favor. My grandma had just gotten eye surgery and needed someone to pick her up from the doctor, drive her home, and stay the night. Kicker: it was election day, and my grandma was a 94 year old, Roman Catholic, Sicilian, widow of a Conservative, District Attorney/Judge. Needless to say, she and I were voting differently. There was something amazing about sitting with someone who was born in 1914 and, when Obama was announced victorious, said, with no hint of judgement or dissatisfaction, "I can't believe I'm alive to see a black President".  Of course I was upset I wasn't in the city celebrating with hoards of young people drinking to a "new era" and "change", but it may have been cooler to be where I was, talking to my grandmother one-on-one about one of the (arguably) most important moments of both of our history.
The selfish feelings won't go away, though. The feeling that no matter what, I will not have any grandparents at my wedding has been rumbling around my head all day and I hate it. Why does it matter? Why is it so important? Why do I need validation? What about the story that she told me about how she first started going out with my grandfather? Why can't I remember it? Can I go home and smell the chair that she just gave me? Am I being self-indulgent with my feelings? Am I not upset enough? What can I do? What should I do? How do I act? Should I keep my mouth shut, or should I tell people what happened? What happens next?
But most of all, without necessarily believing in God or Heaven or anything like that, I know that she is with her husband and her two eldest children now, and that she had been waiting for this day for a long, long time. She can tell them about the rest of us now, tell them that the babies are healthy, that Isabel is just like Judy, tell Papa that the Mets still haven't won a series since '86, so he's not missing much, and then they can all sing Sinatra together while Papa smokes a pipe in the corner.

Me and Deda, Christmas 2009

A

Guest Blogger: Jesus

I lost a follower. Moment of silence...

Okay...let's get two more in their place? Losing followers is really sad, I feel like a failed religious prophet or something. Can you imagine if Jesus had a blog? "Today I walked across the dessert and lots of shit went down...my feet are killing me now. Where's Mary Magdelene for a foot rub when you need her, slut. All in the name of Dad. Amen." Sorry, that wasn't meant to be offensive, I'm just really tired. I woke up at 4:50 today to shoot an episode of Boardwalk Empire. It's set in the 1920s so I sat in hair and make up getting LOADS of curlers put in and a kewpie style lip-look done for about an hour, and then I stood on the boardwalk in the rain for hours. It was uncomfortably cold and wet all morning. All in the name of...art? We'll see when the show comes out next fall. Looks good, though. I just wish I had lines in these things, you know just one little, "good morning!" to a main character, because the part was featured enough. I was blowing kisses at the camera for chrissake...oh, sorry. Jesus is going to blog about us assholes who use his name in vain later in the week. I feel like that'd be a good Thursday edition, "People Who've Blasphemed This Week and What I'm Going to do to Punish Them". I digress.

I need a nap immediately. I'm already all set up for it...lying in bed (sans duvet cover, thanks to the stupid cleaners that haven't delivered my clean laundry yet...gawwwwwsh), playing my "jazz" artists on shuffle on ye olde ipod, alarm set for 7:30 pm, already ordered lingerie off Ideeli.com (why? you ask? becaaaauuuse the Jew in me can't resist good bargains. In fact, Jesus probably often found himself buying cloth wraps half-off at discount stores and used the same excuse)

I'm clearly mental right now. I'm calling it quits...passing out until its time to watch Lost. Let's be honest.

A

PS: Gossip Girl just auf-ed (omg, I JUST got that expression. So dumb. Like the time I realized that 'rents was short for paRENTS. Ugh) themselves last night and went the way of The OC. I am no longer a loyal viewer. Ciao, Leighton Meester's waist, you were excellent workout inspiration, I shall look to the "next" Blair Waldorf (just as I looked to the "next Summer Roberts" some years ago-although, Blair will never be as fun as Summer was. I miss Seth Cohen sometimes...for real. I have sad moments when I miss that character) for that extra ten minutes on the elliptical in the future.

Sunday: still my favorite day of the week

First of all, I just want to say that Annabelle gave me an award! And I'm really excited about it, because she's one of my first non-real-life-friend followers! I feel like I've made it, people. BUT I want to nominate people for it, but I really just want to give it to all the blogs I follow right now, because there's only about seven of them and to exclude two people would be so rude! I'm going to give out awards at a later date, when I feel adequately prepared. Just know how super psyched I am about this.

So, when I started this blog I didn't expect to update on weekends, but today has just been the kind of day that you want to write about. Slept late, went running, had lunch at the Boat Basin cafe, sat in the sun, finished painting my room, and now am finally getting down to business starting making my mom an art website! It doesn't sound like much, but there's something about knowing that there's no pressure to do anything that makes a day just perfect.

I promised Mom that I'd spend at least four hours on her website between today and tomorrow so I should get on that, but hopefully you'll all check it out once its up and we can help her become the success that she's always been to the few familiar to her work.

Enjoy your Sunday night, folks. See you tomorrow, where I'll be testing some of my stand-up material and opening it up to your comments.

A

I Like New York

Living in New York, to me, has always been like being in love. I walk around and I'm completely overwhelmed by my feelings of love for this place...but lately, I kind of just like it. It's like I was in love with someone completely and totally and then he sort of started to let himself go. He started wearing lame outfits and stopped making me laugh as much. Not to get all down on my new neighborhood (agaaaainn), but I know this is why.
People fall in love with this city every day, but no one falls in love with the same things. People love their neighborhoods, their restaurants, their grocery stores, their manicurists, their homeless people (or lack thereof). I miss my homeless people. I actually got really excited the other day becaues I saw the same lady that was drinking Kombucha out of a trash can in Union Square a month ago up in a park off the West Side Highway, I wanted to say hi...but I didn't.
It's just that I miss my New York...I don't feel like I'm not at home, I just feel like my home isn't as cool as it used to be. I care less about what I look like leaving the house (no joke, I've gone out in sweatpants twice. TWICE!), the service at the restaurants is impersonal and awkward, I still haven't done laundry because I miss my Polish laundry friend (and I don't really know where the closest place is. Still.) The New York I love is awake late at night (and not full of tourists trying to find their hotels), it's colorful and alive and confident and young.
I'm headed downtown after work tonight, so hopefully I'll feel better after I get a little dose in. Don't get me wrong, there's a lot to love, but my new new york isn't the same as my old new york. Maybe I'm just nostalgic, or being overdramatic, but I think I just know where I belong, and it's not where I am. Mistakes and steps in the wrong direction aren't a big deal, though, I'm glad that I know this now and can take the right steps and not make these mistakes again. Because I miss my stretch of Avenue A. A lot.

And so, the following is a list of The Only Places I Would Ever Want to Live In Permanently:

-New York City (below 23rd st, possibly Brooklyn, TBD)

And The Only Places I Would Ever Want to Live In Temporarily (up to five years):

-London

-Los Angeles

 Call me closed-minded, I think I just know what I want. I'm also oddly practical (in this respect) and know that these three cities are really the only cities that you can live in and have a prosperous acting career in. By prosperous I mean ever-evolving and growing, which is what I want.

Have a good weekend everyone! I'm sure as hell going to try to!

A

Indecent Proposals

So I was over at 2birds1blog reading about Meg's Dickelodeon channel (90s Nickelodeon shows go porn) and it got me to thinking about my sordid past. Roommate and I, as previously mentioned, have been friends since the dawn of time (see: 1987) and have our share of embarrassing kid stories x 287 (seriously), but this one is something I haven't thought about in a long time...so I'll share.
As slightly awkward pre-teens (I put the "slightly" in there for her, I was just straight up embarrassing to be around) we were obsessed with sex (we were obsessed with sex as 4th graders, high schoolers, high school graduates, college sophomores and umm...always, too). But before you knew what it was like (I mean, at ALL. Before any of your friends were having sex) it was really exciting to talk about it. And think about it. And draw it. Yes. Draw it. Roommate and I would sit in my basement drawing pornographic situations on my dad's office stationary. We called ourselves "XR PORNO PICS, as in X-Rated. As in, children, please. But the pictures were pretty graphic, which leads me to believe we were older than I originally remembered us as being. We must have been at least thirteen, because I did not know what certain things were until middle school. Example: In fifth grade, Scott [insert obviously Jewish last name here] thought it was soo funny that when he asked me to pick a number between 1-100 (I don't remember why, what do you think I am, magical? This was 13 years ago!) I picked 69. He laughed and laughed and laughed and I stood there picking my nose and twirling my "curls" (read: frizzy, triangular head of hair). So yeah, roommate and I thought XR Porno Pics was just about the funniest thing ever, which is ironic, because it kind of is...now. In retrospect. We buried a time capsule around this time and I'm pretty sure it has some XR Porno Pics drawings in it, along with RMAB (our singing group from the mid-90s, comprised of our initials) tapes and song lyrics, and photos of posed Barbies doing it. Seriously, we have Barbie porn. We tried to dig up said capsule after high school graduation (like RIGHT after, actually. We graduated, went to my house, picked up shovels and ruined my parents' backyard.) We couldn't find it, at all. The map we made as children was off of a tree that had apparently moved, or our "3 steps to the left of the tree" directions were slightly off. Either way, underneath the stone patio that my parents have since put in lies a treasure of perverted girl shit that we have to dig up before my parents move (which they shouldn't be doing anytime soon).
Before I wrap up this edition of "why I was a sick fuck as a child and/or why roommate and I have to be friends forever because if we're not we have waaaaay too much blackmail", I just want to add a little post script. My senior yearbook from high school is a memory that I will treasure forever, but unfortunately, it is something that I can never show my future children. Why, you ask? Because after everyone had signed, and graduation day was looming, I let roommate have the book for one last little note. The only space left was on the "teachers page", and it was but a small corner next to a touching message from my choral director and words of encouragement from my English teacher. And guess what she did? She drew a masterpiece...the most detailed, specific, and realistic looking depiction of a blowjob that I've ever seen. Kudos, bitch.

In other embarrassing, "indecent proposal" news, today my ex-boyfriend from high school asked me if I knew any good, inexpensive photographers for headshots. Now, mind you, he and I have been friends for a long time, and I think of him more as a friend than an ex at this point, but as far as things go, he is my ex-boyfriend. So to answer that question, yes, I do know a good, cheap photographer...my current boyfriend. I didn't expect it to be weird, until I thought about the two of them spending three hours together taking pictures. Hmm...now you two boys have fun!

Ugh. Idiot.

A

PS: A BIG happy birthday over to Ali at The Way I See It! Too much time has gone by since I've seen her smiling face...and a gorgeous, smiling face it is!

Is someone secretly praying for me?

So, I wrote this yesterday on my phone while I was at work being a random background Mom on Law & Order Criminal Intent and thought it was erased...but here it is:

Things have been so good today that I don't even know if I should share...
Okay fine.
Yesterday's audition was a blast. Turns out the script is awesome and they gave me a callback for this morning. Excellent? Yes. Until I got a call from Law + Order Criminal Intent to work today. I swore I wouldn't turn down any work this week (remember?) so I took the job, at the expense of the play callback. Well, turns out the call for L+O was 1130, so I went to the callback early, hoping to be seen before my designated time. Once again, luck on my side, I got in with the director at 1030. Annnnd got cast. Its not exactly broadway, but the rehearsal schedule is simple, the monologue I'm doing in the show-perfect, and the space is a 12 minute walk from my new apartment.
That's enough good luck for one morning, right? Nope. I went to grab a coffee on my way downtown and ran into an indie producer I know. He tells me that he sent the casting director of his new film my headshot and resume. THANKS!
Good enough now, right? Not yet. I get an email around 12:30 asking me to be involved in a reading of a new play next week.

That's all I had written when I thought it had deleted itself. Not bad for a Tuesday, huh?

Oh, but after I got home last night I went to go see The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, which had to have been one of the most disturbing movies I've seen in a looong time. It was great, but it's hard to say something is great when you're watching violent woman-beating and sick, forced s&m rape. My review of the movie is as follows: Don't go with anyone you want to have sex with. Don't go if you've recently eaten a big meal and may be prone to indigestion. Have time and money for a strong drink afterwards. Have time to watch cartoons afterwards. Or mindless fluff, like Glee.

It's gross out and I have to go babysit. Happy Humpday suckaaaas!

A

Productivity! (and rotting my brain)

I've been a little bit down lately, attribute it to change, lack of exercise, laziness, instability, etc, etc, but whatever the cause was, I think I shook it. Thanks to an extra early wake-up call this morning (6:50 am!) I have been going since 7 am, and this never happens. I organized my things and then went for a nice four mile run. a) I haven't run more than 3 miles since the half marathon back in March, so this was an especially nice endorphin-builder and b) I've been pretty down on my new neighborhood (read: drinking goblets of wine and crying about not living in the East Village anymore. Literally), but I'm really digging the running accommodations up here. Hello, South Riverside Park, Boat Basin, and Central Park...you've made me a happy girl this morning. I showered, made myself a bowl of oatmeal and a nice big cup of coffee and planted myself down at the computer all by 9 am. I have a table and chairs in my living room now (hello, modern conveniences!)-and the living room has WINDOWS to the OUTSIDE, unlike my old apartment-so this was a lovely little morning of catching up on casting websites, emails, checking my checking account balance (okay, that was not lovely, that was scary, but we'll let it slide), and some nice blog reading.

I'm scared about my financial situation, though. I really am not making enough money each week, and this needs to be remedied. I'm not turning down another job until I can open a savings account. Seriously. And I'm working two shifts at my old restaurant job this weekend (actually excited about that). But yeah, if anyone out there needs a babysitter, someone to do their laundry for them, someone to organize/alphabetize their cds/dvds/books, or just someone to keep you company...hit me up. Cash only. Lies...I'll take anything. Change. Checks. MetroCards. That gum that they keep advertising as payment on TV.

Speaking of TV, I'm watching way too much lately. I used to pride myself on not really watching tv (which isn't really a point of pride as much as pretentious "haHA I like movies and books and TV is for poor people" bullshit), but now I would be lying through my teeth (and probably checking my DVR in the background) if I tried to tell you that. I watch: Gossip Girl (pretty sure I'm abandoning this one in the very near future, Lost, Glee (ugh...it's like the sun, I can't turn away), Parenthood, The Office, 30 Rock, Community (if there was a way for me to convey just how much I love this show right now it would be happening right now...BALKHLG::JSDFJDLSJJOELMCHALE), Family Guy, and occasionally SNL, South Park, Parks and Recreation, and all Fresh Prince/Friends/Seinfeld reruns. With that amount of television a week I don't need a job. And people just keep telling me about new shows and old shows that I should watch. At least I'm starting to take advantage of my $114 cable bill.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go audition for a play that I was supposed to read already. Red leather, yellow leather, red leather, yellow leather. (no amount of vocal exercises is going to make up for the fact that I didn't even read the play...oh well, here's hoping!)

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Double-Post Friday

I wanted to honor Mother's Day for real this year, instead of just showing up at home and handing my Mom a homemade card, so I tried to think about what my Mom meant to me...and I ended up writing this, which I intend on giving her on Sunday (don't ruin the surprise, kids! Not that you could anyway, because she's probably sitting in a Spanish airport waiting to board the plane back from Barcelona right about now).

When you're a little kid your mother can do no wrong. She has all the answers and a simple "it'll be okay" is enough to reassure you in your darkest moment. Growing up, however, changes that. As a girl transitioning from child to teenager it seems at times that your mother is your worst enemy, and your father, useless. The agony that comes with bullying, zits, shaving your legs for the first time, trying to figure out why anyone would want to use a tampon, and the belief that none of the cute boys even know you exist is only exacerbated by an inability to use your mother's advice properly. But, once you come into your own and your skin clears up, the hardest part of shaving is being able to afford the blade replacements, tampons are second nature, and the cute boys actually come to you, your mom has somehow become a person. This realization is one of the most beautiful and eye-opening moments in life: the acknowledgment that your parents are just people.
For me, this realization occurred in the middle of college and has been a continuation of smaller, equally eye-opening moments. As I grow up, my mother has gone from someone I can't live without, to someone who won't let me go, to someone I resented for her [what I now see as] guidance and wisdom, to a friend. Calling my mother a friend is something that I'm not sure I've ever done before, but it feels good. I speak to my Mom on the phone almost every day, but I am not, and have never been someone who needed to talk to her Mommy every day. The phone calls are brief and cover important topical issues and events. I let her know when something happens, when I need something, when I have something for her, or when I'm upset. More than anything, I find that I call her when I'm overwhelmed. That motherly reassurance is something that you never grow out of.
I've always known I was loved and cared for by my family, but we are not a mushy bunch. A genuine, heartfelt Hallmark card was something that was either given as a satirical joke or because it was the only thing lying around on a forgotten holiday. In college, my friends would receive care packages on Valentines Day filled with cookies and cards and rainbows and kisses and my mailbox would be empty until the next week, when I'd have a newspaper clipping about which vegetables to eat to avoid x, y, and z. It's not that they didn't care, it's that they did. I've come to appreciate this brand of mutual understanding and love. I'd rather have useful information at my disposal than an extra 5,000 calories and a fluffy heart card.
As I trudge further and further into adulthood I realize just how much my Mother has done for her family. I won't use the word sacrificed because that's not appropriate, she didn't sacrifice anything for us, but simply put our needs before her own. A truly good parent is a person who knows and understands how to be selfless without sacrificing their own dreams. I have always known that my mother was an artist, and she has never had to give that up, but she certainly put her work on the back burner for many years so that I could pursue my interests (and my brothers, theirs) and develop a foundation for the person that I would become. And in the past few months I have developed an increased interest in my mother's work and have even decided to help her build a website and promote her paintings and other works. I feel no obligation to take on this position, nor do I feel that I owe her, persay, but I have a vested and genuine interest in the person that my mother is, other than my own "mother" figure.
This mother's day, I don't want to honor my mom for the mother that she is, because I've done that for twenty-four years, I want to honor her for the remarkable, beautiful, genuine, smart, open-minded, compassionate, selfless, talented, caring, practical, honest, too-honest, funny, silly, forward-thinking, Green, and loving person that she is.
I love you, Jill.

Have a very Happy Mother's Day, everyone!

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Mama, ooh...Didn't mean to make you cry

In honor of Mother's Day, and nothing to do with Freddie Mercury, I've had Bohemian Rhapsody stuck in my head all day. Try mouthing "scaramush, scaramush" at your desk and see the kind of reaction you get.

After my student film audition this morning (held in the home of neither director, writer, or any sort of film student, but in the walk-up apartment of two young chaps who clearly (I say "clearly" because they told me) had just woken up to answer the door in their "pajamas" (read: jeans that they passed out in) and ushered me into the living room adorned with Jack Daniels bottles and not a single upholstered surface that I would even consider sitting on before the director/writer/producer arrived, flustered, and told me that the auditions were held here because he hadn't gotten organized in time to reserve a room at school, and had promised these guys beer in exchange. Fast forward to the end of my audition,when I am reciting my glorious comedic monologue for the aspiring little Altman, and the door to the bedroom opens (right in my eyeline) and one of the inhabitants comes out, groggy, and laughs and says "totally forgot this was happening today...". Ahh, the life of an actor. I could have shared that I was up until 2 am looking at tagged facebook photos of...me, drinking the world's largest glass of wine (preceded by the world's strongest dark and stormy), and laughing at myself for not knowing how to use my new camera (why won't the film advance?), but I went the professional route and turned on my heels (cute black ones, to be exact), thanked them for the use of their apartment, laughed to myself about how I used to sleep on the floors of apartments like that all too recently, and went on my way.)

 Wow...I can't even finish the sentence I started before I typed that paragraph. I now feel bad putting any heartfelt article about my mom that I decided to write after that audition in the same blog post as this garbage. So it's looking like a double-post Friday.

Seriously, though, how am I supposed to take myself at all seriously (maybe I'm not?) in this career if I'm going to auditions in Yorkville walk-ups and performing for hungover, half-dressed frat boys? Come to think of it, that's really my demographic. I've been performing for hungover,  half-dressed frat boys since 2004. Ba, da, bum, CHING!

I need a weekend. And I'm glad I've decided to separate my loving Mom post from my fellating frat boy post. Didn't mean to go there, sorry.

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PS: The five year old who talks like a businessman on his cellphone is back in the waiting room today. Anyone want to guess what his dad's home behavior is like? (STEREOTYPING, AISLE FIVE)

May Playlist

So I've been obsessively watching stand-up routines on YouTube in hopes of finding inspiration for my own looming disaster-fail. I found this though, and thought it worth passing on. Additionally, I called my dad last night to tell him that I was doing stand-up and his response basically scared the living daylight out of me (how come I find another phrase that I hate every single day?? daylight? out of me? I don't have daylight in me...what is this, a yoga retreat?) He told me that he didn't think he could come, because it was agonizing for a parent to watch their child try and do that. Thanks for the support, Dad. To be fair, I'm not sure I want my parents coming, especially since half of the act is going to be straight-up making fun of them.

Moving on, I thought I'd give you all a little musical journey today and let you know what's on my "May 2010" iPod playlist, just for fun.

1) ASK-The Smiths. I literally cannot stop listening to this song. I can feel my iPod sighing everytime I put it on (which is at least ten times a day). I also look like a lunatic walking down the street smiling whenever this uber-British sounding verse comes up:

"Spending warm Summer days indoors
Writing frightening verse
To a buck-toothed girl in Luxembourg"

 2) FIREFLIES-Owl City. I know, it's so lame, and practically makes me feel like I have a training bra on and a loose wire on my braces just listening to it..but it also puts a big, dumb smile on my face.
3) HANNAH-Ray LaMontagne.
4) LAYLA-Eric Clapton. I never get sick of this song. Or Eric Clapton. Almost makes me want to have a daughter named Layla, but then I get the feeling that I'm not being fair and would have to have other daughters named Melissa, Darlene, and Sarah. (Allman Brothers, Led Zep., Bob Dylan...in case you were lost there)

5) SUMMER WIND-Frank Sinatra. The next time you want to feel pretty, put this bad boy on while you're getting dressed and putting on makeup. Guaranteed to make you feel classier than listening to Lady Gaga.
6) GIRLFRIEND-Phoenix. Just always, Phoenix, always. This band has been a warm weather must ever since I discovered them last summer.
7) JESUS, JESUS NOT AGAIN-John Bustine. Another song I've been listening to on repeat lately.
8) DIE DIE DIE-The Avett Brothers.
10) THE REELING-Passion Pit.
11) SONG FOR CLAY- Bloc Party. I was on a Bloc Party kick at the end of last summer, especially when I was in Hawaii, and put this on the list for palm tree flashbacks.

12) UPON THIS TIDAL WAVE OF YOUNG BLOOD-Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. Try to be in a bad mood when you listen to this, just try.


There's my list! I'm walking everywhere these days, so if you have more music suggestions put them in the comments.


PS: I tried to make a meatball sub for lunch today but I only had multigrain wraps...so it was more like turkey meatballs and sauce mopped up with parmesean cheese covered cardboard. Great.

Sit DOWN

So I have some exciting news...

Yesterday I saw an ad for comedians for a showcase at a comedy club and decided to bite the bullet and submit myself. So here I am, having never performed a stand-up routine (save for every dinner party I've ever been to, impromptu) with May 25 looming! I've been walking everywhere with my yellow pad of paper with my ideas on it, and every time I'm alone I talk to myself. Yes, like a crazy person, and as if I'm on stage. Great. I'm super nervous (and that's something that I honestly don't admit very often), but very excited that I've given myself this challenge.

In other news, I drank like a fish at a friend's birthday party last night and now have loads of residual french fry/beer-guilt, and a headache. And I have a "yoga date" with a friend from college in less than an hour. I love namaste-ing beer out of my system. What is it about a nice cold beer that tastes all the more delicious (and goes down all the more quickly) when someone else is buying it for you? Probably should have refused the Jameson shot at 2 am, though. As my mother would say, "make good life choices", and then I will laugh in her face and dip another french fry in ketchup and curry sauce.

My yellow legal pad is beckoning, off I go!

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PS: Don't Hoda and Kathy Lee ever get sick of drinking Margaritas and eating tacos at 10 am? Happy cinco de drinko everyone.

98º and Rising

It's not really 98º out, but it is 98% humidity...and the whole city is really ugly as a result. I don't mean that the skyline is suffering, I mean that everyone looks ugly. I know not a single person that can retain their normal level of attractiveness in high humidity. If you find me someone here in New York who looks good today, please take a photo of them and post it here. I look like this:

Oh, humidity, you provide fodder for humor, and further fodder (haha that sounds like a british sitcom) for me considering moving to the west coast.

I can't think...it's too damn sweaty in my life right now. Maybe I'll run my air conditioner and get back to you...

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