State of the Union

Get it? I'm so broke its painful. All I wanted to do was work one day this week before going away and no one will hire me. I've put myself out there in every capacity and there's just nothing for me to do. So I thought I'd give a little Adria's State of the Union address to catch up on what's been accomplished since I started this blog.

• I successful quit my restaurant job, burning no bridges and having very few regrets.
• Since leaving I've become better friends with some of the other waitresses
• They let me come back and work a couple of shifts here and there
• I have a lifetime discount/can get a free salad if I come in alone anytime.
• I ran the half-marathon in 2 hours and 7 minutes and I can still run
• I haven't run more than 4 miles since I completed the race.
• I have been involved in two unpaid theatre productions 

• Not a single agent or manager has come to see said productions
• I made a slew of hopefully helpful contacts through these theatres
• I finally did stand-up, I didn't suck at it, and I'm doing it again twice in July!
• I've taken vacations. Real vacations! I went to Portsmouth, NH (where I ate the best lobster roll ever-->) 

• Rockport, MA-->
• And I'm going to Atlanta/Florida!

• I have managed to scrape by on making less money by things like:
• Getting my security deposit back on my old apartment
• Getting a part in The Smurfs
• Prostitution
• Oh, I'm kidding, get over yourselves.
• I nagged my way into getting a line in a movie.
• I did not whore myself into it.
• I'd like to think I did a good job.
• The director was incredibly nice to me.
• Who cares, they paid me.
• I had fun, too.
• I just spelled paid wrong 3 times (payd, payed, paiyd)...I'm a moron.
• I got:
• A raincoat
• An umbrella
• Rain boots
• Luggage
• Inducted in the "I might be an adult now" hall of fame
• We finished "Seeking", the play
• AND had a reading!
• I moved to midtown, and I don't like it. And that's okay. Because I love my apartment, I love my roommate and I don't hate the neighborhood.
• I'm "moving" to LA...in August.

So yeah, that's where we are right now, folks. That and I saw myself in the trailer for The Sorcerer's Apprentice last night before Toy Story 3...it's kind of lame, but it's definitely the first trailer I've been in. And it was a Principal role, so what if we didn't talk! Here's the screen shot:

I'm in the cardigan with the glasses on behind the gorgeous blonde, and R is to my left, your right...behind the gorgeous blonde. Sigh.

Okay, off to bed in hopes of not staying up until 3:30 am tonight and starting my new book, Just Kids by Patti Smith. 

A

PS: I just watched Being John Malkovich for the first time (I know, 11 years late, I know. I know) and umm, wow. Charlie Kaufman–just too good.

To Infinity...and Neil Young

I'm on a Neil Young kick, it just won't stop. He's kind of a scary looking dude to put a picture of on the blog, but I'm not going for aesthetics here, if I were I'd figure out html or something, so I give you, Neil Young:

It might have something to do with this lyric that hit me the other day

Old man look at my life,

Twenty four

and there's so much more

I'm into poignant-age/lyrics related to recent birthdays. For example, on my twentieth birthday I spent half the night crying because the last verse of The Circle Game is  So the years spin by and now the boy is twenty. It just ends there, like that's the oldest he can be. Great, thanks Joni. I've been thinking lately about getting Circle Game lyrics tattooed on my person. The current idea is we can't return/we can only look behind from where we came , but that might be too depressing to have tattooed on one's rib cage, so the royal we is still in negotiations here.

Anyway, I'm blogging at 3:30 am because I just got back from seeing Toy Story 3. Which was...fucking bomb. Like da bomb, not a bomb. Like awesome. 

I didn't even know that I missed Buzz Lightyear and Woody, but apparently I did. Oh, and it totally made me cry. Pixar are a bunch of assholes, that's all I have to say. How do they keep making movies rated "G" that make every adult I know cry? They're like made out of fairy dust and hired puppeteers to tug at our heartstrings (what in the name of Christ/Allah/Moses/L. Ron Hubbard am I talking about? "puppeteers to tug at our heartstrings"? It must be 3 am because that was purely nightmarish writing.)

Birthday weekend was a huge success! I had really low expectations and as a result, had a really great time. I made so much food yesterday that I didn't know I could ever pull off, so for that I am proud. The zucchini tarts were fucking magnificent. I'm serious, if there were any left I'd be lying here with them all over my chest, pie crust in my belly button. It's too hot for human contact, but I'd take contact with a pie crust tart. I'm not going to lie to you people, I'd take it.

In other news, the race between myself and The South is still pending, tied 1-1. There was a close call today where I pronounced cottage cheese COT-age cheese, and there was discussion of it sounding Southern, but I wasn't sure if that meant that I was winning, or The South was, so we called it a draw and I had a spoonful of 1% with pineapple. Unless something dramatic happens between now and Thursday night I'm pretty sure that the competition will remain tied until I actually arrive in The South, when we can resume the tally. Not sure if I'll be blogging from down there, mostly because my boyfriend makes fun of me when I talk about my blog. He's just jealous that 14 people like me on the internet. 

I think its bedtime, the Neil Young playlist is about to end and I've got very few words left in me that don't pertain to the baubles of sweat forming under my knees and dripping down my legs right now. With that image, I bid you adieu.

A

Keeping Score

The South-1, Adria-1


My new luggage order came the other day, to my parents' house (NJ taxes=way less than NYC taxes). As someone who generally travels by loading up her old gymnastics team duffel (circa 1995, this is NOT a joke) and throwing the rest of the stuff in some sort of large purse, or for a short time rocked an awesome vintage leather duffel bag (courtesy of the "Across The Universe" props department), until and following the point when the leather straps broke, were then tied back on, and then duct taped back on. There was also the time when I went to London for a semester and brought two huge rolling suitcases and upon arrival at Heathrow realized that the metal rolling handle was about to...OH SHIT IT BROKE! Yeah, that was fun. You'd think I'd have repaired it, but no, I just waited until it was time to fly home, took a cab to the airport and then paid for a dolley to carry it. Totally would have been cheaper to buy a new suitcase and take the Tube. Dumbass. So yeah, on this note, I am kicking The South's ass by having actual luggage!

Sure, it's small, but it's a carry-on and sure beats my ratty old Herve Chapillier shoulder bag. And plus, it was $75 and is DVF, so suck on that, label whores. It's not quite as cool as the vintage leather, but it's also probably not stained, broken, and full of hippie-background actor pubes.

Tales of Yore

Today, while I have another hour and twenty minutes of temping ahead of me I'm going to tell you another story from the vault. Before I do that, however, I just want you all to know what I'm doing right now, just so you can adequately appreciate the ridiculousness that is our current society: I am taking an insurance reduction driving safety course online. I literally just have to have the window open for the alloted time period and answer questions about driving like someone who is not walking through life with a hole in their brain. And pay $35. And then my insurance goes down. Because I have a disgusting number of points on my license. Because I was speeding like I have a hole in my brain. Just kidding, it was over the course of a few years and about 10 too many road trips.Whatever, when I go to LA I need auto insurance and since I don't have any right now (did you seriously think that my parents would keep me on their plan when it was going to cost them an extra $1 trillion because their dumbass daughter is one point shy of losing her license? When she lives in Manhattan? Yeah. No.) I need to reduce that cost. So I'm keeping that window open until my 6 hour driving course is complete. Baller. No more speeding, by the way. Duh. So, anyway, back to days past...

My birthday is on Sunday, which I've mentioned, and in preparation for the 24th anniversary of that 17 hour labor I'm going to present you with a slideshow (except I don't know how to do that, haHA!) of photos from my birthdays throughout the years. Enjoy.

 

3rd Birthday (R+C always there)

 

6th Birthday? (Flanked By R+C)

 

9th Birthday (Stonewashed much?)

 

21st Birthday

Early-22nd Birthday (college edition)

 

22nd Birthday (NYC edition)

And finally, 23rd birthday. Oh, that's not me. That's a visual depiction of what I felt like the next morning, with me played by Really Bear. Whom you have all heard tales of, and now you get to see him. He was hurting that morning. But at least he had his Blackberry.

On my 21st birthday I kicked over a homeless man's change can and ran away laughing. He almost beat up my friends. On my 22nd birthday I called my dad at 4 am while sitting on the curb somewhere in the city (still no idea where) saying "I don't know where I am", and when he almost called the police, my friend found me and was then able to get on the phone and assure him, "Richard, I am with Adria, she is fine, we're taking her back to the apartment now." And then she tried to get us a cab but no one would let me into their vehicle. Last year was pretty tame though, unless you count the thunderstorm that ruined my whole "east river park picnic" motif, and my dress (although, not really because I'm actually wearing that dress today). Here's knowing (not hoping) that this year will be tamer, healthier and less drama-ridden. (Because this year, for the first time in far too long, I finally can't spend the second half of my birthday crying about the guy I like not showing up...actually, scratch that, I could, but he'd be introducing his bruised face to his family next week instead of me if he pulled a stunt like that. Especially since I spent his birthday making him dinner and then trudging around in the snow to a bar.) Here's to growing up! Gross-but kind of necessary, considering those stories, yes?

This weekend is jam-packed so I'm going to tell you about it. After I get out of this office (which seems pretty gosh dern empty already) I'm headed to the bar on a boat (Frying Pan) for some outdoor drinking, then tomorrow I've got to treat myself to my yearly manicure-pedicure (okay so I get more than one a year...but not that many more...usually like, 3, a year. Gross, I know. I need to budget this into my life before my toes fall off and I get angry), and then I'm forcing labor upon others to mount our flat screen into the brick in the living room so we can stop using a night table as a tv stand. Then Saturday night I've got my last performance of the show I'm in, followed directly by the wrap party for the movie that I was in, at The Bowery Hotel. Then, on Sunday I'm having birthday brunch with my mom (because my dad has once again opted out in favor of my brother's baseball games...Dear Freud...) hopefully at a venue that overlooks the gay pride parade, but more likely, here because it's closer to my apartment and way closer to my parents' place in NJ. AND THEN, I get to go home and start cooking for my dinner party. I'm making this and this and some variation of this, so my oven better work. Just kidding. No, seriously though I've yet to use my oven. I'm totally fucked if its broken. I'm also totally fucked if any of you are stalkers because you know where to find me this weekend. Except that the frying pan will be full of roughly 700 people who look just like me, the wrap party is going to be seriously bounced (like, security, ya hear?), and there's a good chance I'll end up getting brunch somewhere else. So basically, you can just have food envy.

I'm curious what your favorite birthday stories are...share in the comments!

A

You Probably Think This Song Is About You

I'm just going to metaphorically masturbate this whole post. I'm just going to be so unapologetically vain that if you can't deal with it, you can leave. I don't care. It's also gonna be a long one...so brace yo'self. I'm temping today and I'm just very bored.

I feel like Tina Fey. We had our first public reading of "Seeking", the play that I've been writing with Rosie, last night, and it went great! I only say "I feel like Tina Fey" because people laughed. People laughed at things I wrote, when I said them. This is a fairly (although, not really) new concept for me and damn does it feel good! I feel like when you spend 9 months working on something you don't really know what they hell its going to look like anymore and you just need other peoples' feedback at that point (no, I'm not having a baby, people, just a play). There were so many lines that I just completely forgot were funny because I've read them and said them and edited them umpteen and a half times, but when people laughed it was like, well, it was like my head had been under water for months and I finally got to the surface and could take a breath. It felt awesome.

In other news, I'm temping today at an office building in Long Island City, in Queens. The morning started off more like being waterboarded than taking a breath of fresh air. Want to hear about it? Of course you do! Hopstop said to take the R to 36th st...so I get in the subway and the W comes (which is being discontinued on Sunday, so I figured, hmm, one last ride?) , I look on the electronic map quickly and see that it stops at 36th so I get on. I get off at 36th with 5 minutes to spare to get to the office. Awesome. Then I realize that the stop I got off at was 36th Avenue, not 36th street. Fuck you Queens. Thank GOD for Mapquest on my Blackberry, because I quickly pulled up a map of the area and realized that I could walk (very quickly) to my actual destination. So I did. And then when I got there I could not for the LIFE of me find the address. Why not just have normal numbers instead of 36-02, 36-20, 37-10, 37-18?! I was 20 minutes late and as soon as I walked in the building my temp agency contact called me to see where I was. Great. I fixed things, told her I was here and that all was well. It was not. I was dripping with sweat. I don't know if you've ever hustled your ass around in 98% humidity on a 90 degree day in this city, but it does not bode well for heavy sweaters (like people who sweat, not the winter articles of clothing, although that too, but you'd be fucking insane to be wearing a sweater today). My contact here tells me my duties, "sit at this desk, smile at people when they walk in, if they look nice be nice, if not, don't. If the phone rings answer it and take a message. The electronic directory is across the wall, just tell people to look at that. Shut the loading dock door with the open/close button. There's coffee and breakfast upstairs on the 3rd floor. There's a garden on the roof. Bye!" Ummmmmmmm, take a message on what? For whom? Where is the button? Why a garden!? Huh?Where's the BATHROOM!? AHHH he ran away so fast. So I go upstairs to get coffee and water, because I'm half asleep and my mouth feels like the Mojave from all the running in circles. I take the stairs...I walk halfway down EVERY hallway on the 3rd floor until I find the cafeteria, which costs money and my wallet is downstairs. Deep breath. I get on the elevator to head back down, but its going up. No big deal. I ride it up to the 6th floor with 2 other guys who are getting off there, and then I press the button to go back down to "1"...a little too soon. The doors shut before the guys can get out and now we're headed back down. They are pissssed. So what did I do? I started to cry. Yup. Cry. Again, more proof that my 24th birthday need not happen yet.

Everything is fine now, though. Some guy brought me a coffee and a water bottle and I'm settled and hitting up Google Maps big time in anticipation of my trip to the South next week. I mean, I'm going to Atlanta, it's not that crazy, BUT my knowledge of The South (yes, capitalized) is restricted to the following:

• Middle school class trip to Williamsburg, VA, one stop in Busch Gardens
• Family vacation to North Carolina at the ripe age of 3
• One trip, driving, with my mother to North Carolina to look at a college. Pretty sure I slept the whole way.
• Washington, DC (that absolutely cannot count, right?)
• Disney World
• And three trips to Miami.

 Therefore, I'm psyched and going to instate a new game to play over the course of the next two weeks (I'll be gone July1-7 in Atlanta then Destin, Florida-because I'm singlehandedly trying to bring tourism back to the gulf by swimming with tar balls) called Adria vs. The South. Right now we're at, The South-1, Adria-0, because in my forays into googlemapland (more specifically the Florida Panhandle) I realized that Florida borders Alabama. I'm no dummy, and I used to think I new my geography (can we write a new song, like a Weird-Al cover of 2Gether's "Calculus" called "Geography"?-"I know my geography, it says Alabama and Florida touuuccch..." No? Okay. Leave that one alone) but apparently I'm a big failure at knowing where things are in that particular area of our country. Oh fiiiiine, anywhere but the Northeast and the greater Chicago area.

Look for blog post segments in the coming weeks with possible titles such as "The Confederate Flag Highway Counting Game", "Going To An Oil Slick Beach With A Southern Belle and Her Husband", "America, Fuck Yeah-The Coca-Cola Factory", "Mullets and Fake Tits-A Panhandle Tale", and "What did y'all just say?-Trying to Understand My Boyfriend's Family".

I think that's enough of a marathon of a post. Tune in next time for more fun, games, and southern accents, y'all!

A

PS: This might be the coolest temp job in awhile. The guy not only talked to me for about twenty minutes about his music career and how he used to live in LA and blah blah blah, BUT he took me up to the roof where there is a legit FARM! Like a farm. Like a for profit FARM, where they grow carrots and beets and bibb lettuce and have an irrigation system and views of the Manhattan skyline. I shit. you. not. If I can get up there before the end of the day again I'll take a picture and put it up here later. xA

NAKED POST

Let me just clear this up right off the bat. I'm not naked now, this is just a post about being naked that I thought of when I was in the steam room this afternoon at my gym. (I mean, I am half naked, but that's besides the point, it's hot, wearing a bra while typing is totally acceptable). Let's get started, it's Tuesday and I don't want to waste any time.

I've never been one for being naked, but I've always been one for partial clothing. There I said it. I'm awkward about being in my birthday suit (side note: my birthday is this weekend, feel free to send red velvet cupcakes and diamond rings in the mail...I won't be upset about the calories or heavy finger weight), I've never enjoyed walking around naked or taking my clothes off in front of people. I will walk around in my underwear, short shorts, bathing suit, bra, you name it, in front of just about anyone, but anything more than that has just always made me super uncomfortable. Until recently. I made a conscious decision a few years ago to become okay with being naked, if only around myself. At the time I was studying abroad in London and living in a flat in the center (centre, if you will) of the city with 5 other girls. At the very end of the trip I found myself at home alone in the flat, whose large living room windows faced a law firm across the street. I had just come out of the shower and I decided to take a walk through the living room, sans towel, and face the windows. The street was not wide and those stuffy English barristers had an interesting view that afternoon. I like to imagine Colin Firth (circa: Bridget Jones' Diary) sitting at his desk preparing a brief and looking out the window to see an awkward naked, American girl grapevining across her living room. He wouldn't know I was American, of course, but whatever.

I digress, the point is...I realized in the steam room today that I have successfully become much more comfortable with myself. I had no problem just lying topless in the humidity, not knowing if another woman was going to walk in or not. Granted, most of the women who use my gym in the middle of the day are old (not like 55, but like OLD, like pruny, getting-senior-discounts-since-the-80s old) and also tend to be fat. At first I had a really hard time not scrunching up my face and looking at them, exclaiming, "HOLY SHIT WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE THAT?!", but eventually I've started to appreciate my non-wrinkly skin more. It's both a little compliment to myself, and also a sad reminder that it's all downhill from here, and that I should probably try and be as skinny and hot as I'm ever going to be now, because someday some stupid kid born in like 2035 is going to be all googly eyed looking at me the locker room and say, "hey, lady, can you pull your tits up off the floor, they're trying to mop in here".

Gross.

A

TGIF. Summer Edition.

Good Friday, all. I'm on a ridiculous temp assignment today, filling a spot in an office to make it look less empty on this summer Friday. Silly. Foolish. Fine by me. Except I'm tired and hungover from my foray into Brooklyn last night. I'm so pathetic lately, I drink a glass of wine before dinner and I'm drunk as a skunk by the time dessert rolls around. Drunk enough to order it at least.

Anyway, I wanted to share a favorite little summer romance story with you all today, since its so beautiful out and I'm feeling...well, not shitty. Don't worry, it's not about now, let's not be gross. It's about when I was 16...[cue fade to black and white]

The summer before senior year of HIGH SCHOOL (am I on crack? how did I write this wrong and just realize it now?6/23) I went away for two weeks to a dance intensive program in Philadelphia. At the time I acknowledged that I made the wrong choice and should have gone to the theatre intensive, but I was big on making the wrong decisions then (something I've been trying to remedy by choosing the things that I really AM pursuing instead of the things that I just wish I was pursuing). So I rolled up in July with a room full of what I thought was cool (ie: Sublime poster, All American Rejects Poster, photos of me and my friends jumping around on a bed, my little gold Nokia, a bottle of red hair dye, and enough dance clothes to outfit the rockettes, just waaaay different sizes). I thought I was really finding my groove that summer. I met my roommate, a girl named Chrysta from Scranton, PA. She was a normal sized girl, and I was thrilled when I noticed this and went so far as to say, "Oh thank GOD! I was so scared I'd get some crazy eating-disorder-ridden roommate!" and she responded perfectly with, "HAHA! Well, I am bulimic." Awesome. Thanks. Great. Mom? Dad? COME BACK?! I'm going to be murdered in my sleep.

I wasn't though. Chrysta and I got along really well. She even did strip teases for me in front of our large Blizzard fan, I still have pictures actually. I'm sure she's in a mental institution by now, which is sad to say, but she was a real nutter-as the Brits say.

Anyway, romance. I met a guy named Zach who was in the jazz music intensive program. He had long, stringy, bleach blonde hair, carried around an upright bass, had to have weighed less than me, had HUGE blue eyes, and wore big aviators. He was soo cool. He introduced me to Weezer and played "The Sweater Song" on the guitar for me and I just about fell in love. We went to Cosi once with a bunch of his punk-y friends and he put a breadstick up his nose and then folded the paper napkin ring into the shape of a heart for me. We used to make out in the stairwell. At the end of the two weeks we promised that we'd keep in touch. In late August he came to visit me at my parents' house in Northern, NJ with a friend of his. As soon as I saw that stringy, dyed hair, skater sneakers, and frayed jean shorts walking up my front lawn I knew it was over. He was 100% South Jersey and I was 100% North Jersey.

And if you know anything about New Jersey, you know that South and North don't mix. Korea, I get it.

A

PS: This post was not intended, in any way, to harm or punish any persons from Southern New Jersey. Apologies, in advance in case offenses have been made.

Episodic Living

Yesterday I had a super indulgent movie moment on the subway...so I'm going to share it with all of you.

Coldplay's "Fix You" came on my ipod on shuffle and instead of automatically skipping it, I decided I'd give the song that made the world fall in love with Seth Cohen and Summer Roberts a second listen. In retrospect I don't even remember if that song was played on "The OC" in reference to their relationship or not, but I think it was. It was for me at least. So I let myself listen and watch the people in the train; two asian children sharing a haagen daaz mini-pint (I know, it can't be a mini pint, it's either a pint or not...it wasn't a pint), a drunk French teenager trying to keep conscious his even-drunker-passing-out French teenage friend (no doubt a result of World Cup festivities), and the opposing B train traveling on the next track. For some reason, then, I started crying. Well, not for some reason...it was like I was slowly making love to the city, gently and carefully, and trying not to hurt its feelings. I don't know what my point is really...maybe it's something about the song sung by the father of someone named after a fruit, or just that I'm letting myself let go of the city a little bit in anticipation of my eminent move (is it eminent? I think so). More on that later.

Now I have to go babysit for six children.

I'm not even kidding you.

Oh the things we'll do for cash when we don't have any.

A

PS: Remember when Seth and Summer made out upside down and everyone made fun of that episode? 

PPS: I have it on dvd, wanna come over later and watch it?

Beach Writing Retreat?

So the productivity wagon has started up again...

Last night I drove out to Westhampton with R to finish writing the play we started eight and a half months ago. "Slackers!", you say? Well, yeah, you'd probably be right, but guess what? We finally found a weekend (erm, Sunday/Monday combination) that worked for both of us and we're here, and we're writing. We spent the entire car ride out (with the exception of the time we got lost in the Bronx and couldn't figure out how to operate the gas pump–insert generic Jersey Girl joke here) outlining the play, and guess what? We did it. Got out here around 9 and were up until 3 am writing. Damn it feels good to finally do something you've been trying to do for, umm, more than half a year. 

"Why aren't you writing now?", you say? Because, fool, I missed you. Kidding, the internet sucks and we're trying to email drafts to each other, that's why. It's hard to get off track when the only noise you can hear is the gentle chirping of birds and the crash of the waves. I need to move to the beach.

So, "SEEKING–The Play" will be finished by tomorrow morning, we'll be setting up dates for a reading in the next week, and your hard earned investments (seriously, we had a fundraiser in December and all our friends donated money, therefore are investors in this production) will come to fruition.

In other news, roommate is out of town and she needs to come back. I'm sure Egypt and Turkey are exciting, but the subletter watches far too much reality tv for me to be able to handle. 

Okay, there's a large cup of coffee and a document titled "FINISH THIS FUCKING PLAY" (just kidding, it's not, but it should be) on my desktop that I should start working on again.

Cheers and happy Monday!

A

Friday: A List

I'm sick of complaining and whining on here, so here is a list of things that are currently making me happy:

• Looking through old notebooks
• Mojitos
• Those who are unashamed to wear sunglasses inside
• A good, thorough apartment cleaning
• The beach rocks that I collected are now on display in a vase on my kitchen peninsula...looking good
• Atlanta 4th of July flight booked...new cities in 2010!
• Summer bbq season in full swing...along with colorful sunglasses, straw hats, sundresses, and sockless sneaker weather
• Fondue. Just cheese, always
• My *just* purchased Amazon order: "Just Kids"-Patti Smith's book (highly recommended by my Mom), "Clueless", and "Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion", I mean, how have I not owned those dvds!?
• Knowing that my brother will be back in the country SO soon (semesters abroad are supposed to be four months, not six, I'm sick of this)...even though he gets back from Barcelona the day I fly to Atlanta.
• Cereal. All the time.
• Realizing that so much of what I have right now is exactly what I've always wanted (even if just as much isn't quite there yet).
• Knowing that even though I have way less money than I had when I was working at the restaurant, the freedom to audition, travel, and just live my life within the terms that fit my particular lifestyle is priceless.
• "Pretty Woman" on TV right now
• Listening to loud music and staying in bed for far too long.

Have a great weekend everyone! I'll be at a BBQ in Connecticut tomorrow...what are you doing? Leave it in the comments, I'm curious!

A

New Format?

I got bored...it still is boring though. Anyone know how to make this blog non-standard? I can't do computer things...help.

A

Reality: A left hook to your happiness

So here comes the honesty, it's apparently pouring out of me this week like Franzia in an all-girls dorm. I feel stuck. Stifled. Confused. Unsure of what I want. I'm basically a bit of a wreck, and I only think that I can write about it now because I've come to terms with some realities:

1. If I truly want to pursue an acting career, and have the career that I've always wanted, I am going to have to abandon any notions of having a normal life. It simply will not work. This one hurt the most. I've always sort of walked the tightrope between *artist and civilian (not that artists are not civilian, but it's definitely a different lifestyle) and recently realized that that is not going to work. The nature of the business is unpredictable, unstable, and always moving, and therefore I am going to be unpredictable, unstable, and always moving, and therefore I probably am not going to be able to meet my friends for a drink at happy hour and then go home and eat dinner with my family and have weekends out of town. Sometimes? Yes. Regularly? No. Am I okay with this? I can be. Am I freaking out a little bit that these thoughts are entering my mind so soon after my mentality was "coooollllegggeeee"? Yup. Is that okay? Yes'm. So, with this in mind I've realized that in the process I may lose some friends, not that I want to, but it will probably inevitably happen. Just last week when I was preparing for my film debut I turned down at least three social activities because I either a) wasn't drinking alcohol b) needed to go to bed early or c) needed to go to the gym/my wardrobe fitting instead. If I was a regularly working actor (and please, can that happen soon!) I would have weeks like that, ummm, always. Busy, self-indulgent, anti-social weeks. The reason actors get such a bad rap is partially because we tend to be self-absorbed, narcisistic, assholes, but also partially because to be good at what we do, and to look good doing it, we need to be self-indulgent and a little bit selfish with our time. That's sort of reality #2, but it's a subcategory of #1, so we'll let it slide. *I feel like it sounds so pretentious every time someone calls themselves an "artist", but for the sake of making a point, I made an exception here.
2. I'm not magically going to fall in love with my new neighborhood, it just isn't going to happen and I need to come to terms with that. I don't hate living here anymore, I just don't like it. I miss living in a neighborhood of primarily young people, primarily "offbeat" people, and most of all just a place that feels like a neighborhood. That being said, knowing this now and just acknowledging it instead of pretending like I really don't miss living downtown is probably going to help me cope with living here better.
3. Los Angeles. Typing this makes it kind of more real, which I suppose it is becoming, so I guess I'll try and get it out. Let me put it this way, I am all New York. I never even seriously considered living anywhere else, this place pumps through my veins. I know a lot of people say that, but the thing is, it's true for a lot of people. New York City is like a drug, once it's in you (and you're in it) you can't imagine life any other way, but I might have to. Realistically speaking (and isn't that what we're doing here), I don't see a way to achieve the success that I plan on and hope to achieve unless I go to LA at some point. Not forever, not this moment, but for a semi-significant amount of time, and soon, before I stop being young and pretty. I know that I need a push, or rather one of those leashes that they put children on to get them to do what their nasty, evil parents want them to do to pull me out there, because if not I'll just never leave NY. And fortunately (or unfortunately, depending which side of my current mind-fuck-migraine you decide to take) for me, I have just that pull...it's starting out as kind of a gentle tug, but I have a feeling that it's most likely going to turn into the force of an team of sled dogs at some point in the next few weeks. And since I already said "yes" to going, it's going to be the point of no return. Talk about starting a blog at what felt like a small, but pivotal life moment and turned into a huge turning point in my life. Or not. We'll see what happens, but I'm on LA Craigslist and West Coast Backstage.com as I type this, so...yeah.

In other news, I decided to take an impromptu vacation to Rockport, MA Monday and Tuesday...and I sure am glad I did, look how pretty:

I'm going to leave you with lyrics to a song I completely forgot about, and then recently heard again and just...resonated with my current feelings...

And as the spotlights fade away,

And you're escorted through the foyer,

You will resume your callow ways,

But I was meant for the stage.

-The Decemberists

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I'm Too Famous For You

Sorry I haven't been here for a few days...I decided I was getting WAY too big waay too fast and needed to take a break from my fans. Oh wait, sorry, I was dreaming again, but I really have been filming my Smurfs scene!
It was an experience both ridiculous, and something I could get used to. I've worked 13 hours the past two days starting at 6 am though, so excuse me if I casually sip on my huge beer whilst penning this epic tale of my rise to stardom.
Here's a picture I took in my "trailer" (term used loosely as it was about as long as I am tall and as wide as...um, narrow) of my costume, just for, ya know, posterity (vanity? eh, I'm sticking with posterity):

So, the thing is, I like feeling special, because who doesn't? But you know what I don't like? Being babied and wondering if people are being nice because they like you and you're being nice, or because it's their job to be nice to you (and your dad has the power to fire them). These are stupid complaints, but honestly, I like to think that I am fairly pleasant to be around and I'd like to gauge whether or not that's reading with people without questioning their motives. Regardless, it was kind of (see: really) awesome to have someone else worry about me looking good at ungodly hours of the morning. Gotta love that hair and makeup trailer! I got a free haircut, which I really needed, and some seriously kick-ass makeup tips (Maybelline is really the best mascara out there, bar none) and got my makeup done next to Sofia Vergara and then...TIM GUNN! He literally could not be a nicer man. I just want to be his best friend. The director was also unbelievably friendly, helpful, and not scary, which was a help because I really did want to have an actual line on camera, and I did! I said good morning to Neil Patrick Harris' character as he walked into the office, as I was the receptionist. Other than that, highlights include Hank Azaria's baby boy coming to the set with his mom and being petrified of his dad's intense Gargamel makeup, shaking hands with NPH and helping him figure out how to get rid of the 106 people pretending to be him on Facebook (oh, real problems) on his iPad, and then, as I was leaving today I went to say goodbye to Tim Gunn and he shook my hand and said, "It was great working with you." Ummm, YES IT WAS! Make it WORK, Tim Gunn.

All-in-all, a VERY pleasant experience and one that I would absolutely like to make a regularity in my life, but I don't know how! Being a principal actor on a major feature film is just about the best job out there, but this was a lil' fluke and I need to make sure that everyone I know in this industry knows I've done this, takes me more seriously as a result, and hires me for more jobs. I want Tim Gunn to take me under his perfectly tailored wing. Not that he's an actor or anything, but he's pretty rad.

I'm going to have to dedicate a whole post to this at a time when I'm not deliriously tired, but I feel like all of a sudden shit is getting real in my life. Like I'm realizing that I need to start thinking about what kind of life I want to make for myself and how I'm going to do that, because if there's a time to think about these things, it really is now rather than later. You can all laugh and say I should buy a designer luggage set and a ticket to the Caribbean with the paycheck from this weekend, but I really should just throw my old duffel to the leather repairman and open a savings account for things like, but not limited to: trips to the caribbean, the wedding I may one day want to have on a beach, that Michael Kors watch I've had my eye on, erm a mortgage, a new laptop, a dog, and ummm, maybe some kids somewhere along the line...like in a million years. But yeah, we'll save that for another day, because I'm starting to sound like an adult and for some reason I feel like these conversations shouldn't happen until I'm comfortable not sleeping with a teddy bear...and Really Bear is still very much in my life. And I'm almost 24. Things that I'm NOT embarrassed about for $200, "What is 'Really Bear', thank you Alex." And today's daily double is "Do you define it, or does it define you?", ummmmmm, "What is Facebook.""Correct for today's daily double. Adria, you unfortunately do not have enough points to make it into Final Jeopardy tonight but you've played a great game, now go the fuck to bed."

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PS: When life gives you Alex Trebek, make Tim Gunn.

PPS: Don't you think that's possible? Somehow? Somewhere?

PPPS: What if I'm married and have kids and my marital bed has Really Bear perched atop the pillows? Does that make me a failure? Can someone tell me how to remedy this situation before it becomes dire?

PPPPS: In case you missed that back there, Really Bear is the name of my childhood lifelong teddy bear that I got as a baby and named as a toddler because "He's really a bear! He's Really Bear." Skewed reality from the get-go, homies. 

PPPPPS: I can't count the "p"s anymore, so that's how you know it's bedtime. Outie.

Reading?

I started to write a post about an hour ago while sitting on my fire escape, but then my computer decided to play one of its fantastic tricks on me where it just turns off...so no light breeze anymore...but this is what it looked like out there, in case you care:

Since I don't have a desk job at all anymore it's been difficult to remember to post everyday, but I promise I'm not deserting you! If you want to know what I've been up to, I shall tell you: I'm reading a book. No, seriously, that's mostly what I've been doing. I bought Little Bee by Chris Cleave on Tuesday and have not been able to put it down since. I only stopped reading to write this because I don't actually want the book to end yet. I go through phases where I just cannot find anything to read that I enjoy, and then I'll pick up a book like this and my faith is restored. Sometimes I really wish that I could just go and live on an island and just read...forever.

Back in the real world, I cannot deal with So You Think You Can Dance right now...I've obviously been watching every episode (and it's on right now), because there's nothing to make you feel fat, old and useless than watching people do things that you used to be able to do (just kidding, I can totally kick my leg up over my head, still....although, it's usually not worth the resulting pain. Usually). However, I'm going to just up and hit a bitch if they rip out emotional information from these poor contestants anymore. I DO feel bad that your dad died/brother is sick/dog committed suicide/goldfish's fin is broken, I feel terrible and that is awful, however, why are we capitalizing on their hurt for the sake of "drama" on tv? I don't care if there's "drama" on SYTYCD, I just care if there's good dancing. Oh NO, they did NOT...there's a rib commercial with a pig angel who hands a man a plate of ribs and watches him eat them? That done made me a vegetarian. Pathetic.

Does anyone have any suggestions for any of the following?:

• Beaches that are easily accessible from NYC
• Ways to not go stir crazy in the city in the summer
• A good tv series to watch on dvd/netflix/hulu
• Beach books

Alright, operation "I'M STARVING" continues now with my lettuce and beet salad dinner and watermelon dessert...it does sound good, though, doesn't it?

And we're back...

Well, it was a lovely weekend, now, wasn't it?

I needed to get out of the city like a fish needs water, like we need air to breathe...actually, exactly like air, to be honest. As soon as we got north of the city on Saturday morning I felt my pace slowing, my shoulders lowering, and my neck...in extreme pain. What is it that they say about finally relaxing? That your residual stress finally shows itself? Needless to say I've had a stiff neck for four days now, I'm sure this was exacerbated by sleeping on a futon, since I'm clearly 230 years old and no longer can just sleep "wherever I end up".

OH! But I ruined the surprise...actually, this blog ruined it. We were going up to New Hampshire to surprise our friend M, for her birthday (which is actually June 27th, the same day as mine), and I figured it was safe to write about this trip because her evil job has blocked the URL, except that she clicked on my blog link and it magically was no longer blocked on Friday, which is good news, except that I said I was coming to New Hampshire. Friend fail.

Regardless of the neck pain (which is finally subsiding), the weekend was amazing. The weather was gorgeous, I really miss living near all of my college friends, and I'm seriously jealous of their lifestyle up there! They pay half of what I do in rent (expected) to share a five bedroom house between four girls! They cook almost every night (like, REALLY cook, not like throw some lettuce into a bowl and toss in a tomato-dinner!), and they have a puppy. Sometimes I wonder if living in the city is really for me, forever, but then I remember that I'd go a little crazy stuck in a small town all the time, and that there's no real room for me to advance my career outside of a select few cities. So thar she blows, I now know (this isn't really a "now" moment, since I've been saying this basically since I came screaming out the nether regions of...yeah, I'll stop) that I need to have an incredibly successful career so that I can afford a summer home on a lake...or on the beach...or both. Oh, here I go with my delusions of grandeur.

However, I scored myself a REAL acting job. A REAL, PAYING acting job. Granted, it was by shamelessly digging into my industry connections...but isn't what they're there for? I have to stop apologizing for this and allow myself to be excited about it. I'll be on set all weekend in a little boutique playing an employee, or something like that. This is hopefully just the first of many, many, many more paid acting gigs...otherwise that lake house is going to be a trash bag fort on the East River, and it will be my only home.

And, in an attempt not be a waste of space I'm going to make myself go to bed now and go to my new gym in the morning (isn't that always so exciting, a new gym?!)

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