I know now that I have been hiding from myself – okay, that’s not entirely true. It’s not that I’ve been hiding per se, but I think I’ve been attempting to sometimes allow my heart to be dictated by what I supposed I should be. I didn’t really realize that I been held captive within the confines of my own restraints. I’ve built walls, I’ve put up fortresses around pieces of myself I didn’t know I was trying to hide from others. I pride myself on loving people completely, always being myself. Despite my complete idiosyncrasies of not being able to handle silly things like weird noises that people make with their mouths, or the irritation I feel when I hear “I love you” carelessly tossed about one’s lips, almost in the same tone as “Hey, what’s up?” – cause then I don’t feel it necessary to reciprocate the phrase, which can come across as heartless. And pondering all of these little things, I have, somewhat unknowingly, kept friends apace with my non-compliance of the heart.
I have often said things as removed from emotion as: “I love you as much as my inability to love allows me to.” – which isn’t quite truthful in concept. I have a lot of love to give. I love everyone. In fact, sometimes I think I love too much, but when it comes down to the pressures of love, the expectations of love, I fall apart. Sometimes I can be so affectionate, and sometimes receiving affection is like hearing someone relentlessly fumbling with a candy wrapper during a production of Swan Lake, when the music is lilting and mesmerizing, as the ballerina is fluttering to her death amongst a pile of feathers on stage, and all you can focus on is that damn candy wrapper being tormented between the weathered hands of the idiot behind you. Yeah, sometimes love is like that.
I know I don’t have to hide anymore though. It’s okay to feel love differently toward different people, and it’s okay to express it glowingly on some days, and cinch it closed beneath pursed lips on others.
The leaves are falling outside my window right now, and as each branch becomes less clothed with it’s summertime companions, the tree seems a bit lighter, a bit more free; yet all the leaves seem to chase the others as they glide through the wind, gathering in sepia piles at the tree’s roots. No matter how hard they try to cling to his limbs, they can’t help but let go eventually and fly away with their seasonal pals. After all the leaves are gone, the tree is still there, still watching the world go by, still welcoming the birds to his branches, and the squirrels to his nuts (sorry, I couldn’t resist) - warming his soul in the sun, and sleeping in the moonlight, keeping post in the neighborhood under the street lamps. I wonder if he’s happy. For so much of the year, he has no choice in the matter of friendships. The leaves stay with him whether he welcomes them or not. But when winter teases their loyalty, they find humor in providing piles of fun for children’s games, as their little hands and feet scamper through the crispy outlines of the parched foliage. As the tree stands through the seasons, he meets so many. And knows that next spring, a whole new gathering of leaves will join him, and remain steadily loyal throughout the fall.
I feel as though, perhaps it’s always a bit like fall within my heart, never wanting to have anyone cling to me too tightly, so that as they fall away, I can smile and watch them from afar, admiring the qualities I’ve loved of them, and knowing that a piece of them will always remain with me. But it’s nice to love and let go, to have friends who come and go. It’s nice to endure the seasons with different picturesque views, each one different from the one before it, and yet equally as beautiful. And sometimes, there are leaves so spectacular that you can’t help but want to keep it pressed tightly within the confines of your scrapbook; but that’s when you examine it carefully, place it amongst the others, and know that one day, when you’re walking down the street, and you stub your toe, and mumble curses about how awful your day has been, the wind will blow just right, and that leaf will be at your fingertips, reminding you that even when you let go for a while, the most beautiful things will return to you -- if you hope, love, and allow your heart to believe that the fates do exist.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
after a guilded butterfly ~ coriolanus i.iii
For Denice Hicks, my mentor, my muse, my friend.
January eyes swimming in a dark roast
beneath cerulean skies,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts dance between her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.
Cobblestones and weary bricks
measure a lonely street,
counting patterns,
counting feet.
Awaiting that forgotten man
who comes to sit awhile,
burbon tears slipping through his broken smile,
forget-me-nots reaching for his sole
breezes pushing past his shadow-
fireflies on patrol.
January eyes, an unmasked Muse,
in disguise,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts woven through her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.
Concrete steps and paper bags,
a simple home this lonely street,
quieting his whimpers,
quieting his feet.
He's forgotten life,
no more to dream,
newspaper headlines cushion his sleep,
burbon tears fall silently
down his wrinkled face,
no one to care for him;
his soldiered friends turned to epitaphs,
left alone-
battlefields haunt his shadows,
no more to love,
not even a trace.
January eyes drowning in blackened waters
beneath the ashen skies,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts mending through her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.
Stepping stones bound with leather and spines,
covered in dust;
words within,
words to trust.
A fairy queen and lovers' quarrels-
stately kings, crowned with laurels.
A ghostly father,
a son's murmured speech,
a tempest whirling 'neath a nectarine sky,
breezes sifting through the pages-
this Muse awakening moments
within reach.
January eyes, uplifting yesterdays
in humbled reprise,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts beating with the rhythm of her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.
A pebbled past and wearied soul,
overcome by poetic measures.
He's counting sunsets,
counting treasures.
He longs to remember tomorrow,
pushing past his sorrow.
Sunny tears encircle his crooked smile.
She reaches for his soul,
whispering music past his lighted shadow;
she has played her role.
January eyes peering through a locked door,
beneath the Poet's skies,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts unlocked with her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.
January eyes swimming in a dark roast
beneath cerulean skies,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts dance between her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.
Cobblestones and weary bricks
measure a lonely street,
counting patterns,
counting feet.
Awaiting that forgotten man
who comes to sit awhile,
burbon tears slipping through his broken smile,
forget-me-nots reaching for his sole
breezes pushing past his shadow-
fireflies on patrol.
January eyes, an unmasked Muse,
in disguise,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts woven through her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.
Concrete steps and paper bags,
a simple home this lonely street,
quieting his whimpers,
quieting his feet.
He's forgotten life,
no more to dream,
newspaper headlines cushion his sleep,
burbon tears fall silently
down his wrinkled face,
no one to care for him;
his soldiered friends turned to epitaphs,
left alone-
battlefields haunt his shadows,
no more to love,
not even a trace.
January eyes drowning in blackened waters
beneath the ashen skies,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts mending through her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.
Stepping stones bound with leather and spines,
covered in dust;
words within,
words to trust.
A fairy queen and lovers' quarrels-
stately kings, crowned with laurels.
A ghostly father,
a son's murmured speech,
a tempest whirling 'neath a nectarine sky,
breezes sifting through the pages-
this Muse awakening moments
within reach.
January eyes, uplifting yesterdays
in humbled reprise,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts beating with the rhythm of her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.
A pebbled past and wearied soul,
overcome by poetic measures.
He's counting sunsets,
counting treasures.
He longs to remember tomorrow,
pushing past his sorrow.
Sunny tears encircle his crooked smile.
She reaches for his soul,
whispering music past his lighted shadow;
she has played her role.
January eyes peering through a locked door,
beneath the Poet's skies,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts unlocked with her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
and proofs as clear as founts in july ~ king henry viii
5.July.2010
It’s a Rufus Wainwright kind of day. Before I continue, perhaps I should credit Mr. Wainwright for the soundtrack of my afternoon journaling. Here’s to you, Rufus.
I finally - stopped. By that, I mean, I’m through with bustling throughout the house. I’ve been away all weekend, living the good life at Casa del Sol Resort & Swim Spa. I had the most wonderfully relaxing weekend. Okay, so it wasn’t really a resort, but I did spend the weekend at Tim Larson’s - dear friend, confidant, and theatrical consort. He and his brother have a beautiful home in Bellevue, and they invited me over for the weekend.
Surprisingly, after the night I previously mentioned in my other entry, I somehow still managed to wake up and head over to Tim’s house by 11:00am. We were in the pool by noon, margaritas by two o‘clock, wine by six o‘clock, dinner by eight o’clock, night swimming to commence shortly thereafter, followed by a poolside nightcap, preceded by late night television comedies and deep discussions of sordid lives; then off to bed by two o’clock in the morning.
Fourth of July brunch was served at eleven o’clock, and by eleven forty-five, me, Laura, Morgan, Tim, Kenny, and Ted were all floating in the pool, laughing, talking, playing games, and simply relaxing hopelessly on this gorgeous, July afternoon.
After yet another incredible dinner, Laura, Morgan, Tim and I traipsed off to the front yard to enjoy the panoramic view of the neighborhood, fireworks display, making a marvelous game out of guessing the color of the firework-yet-to-come. Of course, five year old Morgan seemed to truly delight in this game, which made the three of us adults enjoy it’s silliness even more.
The shooting stars of light soared elegantly through the shadows of the skies, arching gracefully above the treetops, lighting up the heavens as they couldn’t soar any higher without bursting into unexpected colors through the starlit evening. A cerulean hibiscus, fuchsia starfish; illuminated baby’s breath, and more fairy dust than I’d ever seen, poured down upon our eyes of blue and deep brown.
Even sillier than the color guessing came was the shadow creature game that we played on the lawn, creating stories to match our elongated, moonlit silhouettes. Sometimes my quiet silhouette was overtaken by Tim’s monstrous one, as he chased it about the lawn, and sometimes Morgan’s five-year-old, diminutive outline seemed to pounce on mine even more-so than the six and a half foot Tim’s!
I went to bed that night, completely content and full of magical stories. All that previously seemed to cause me anxiety, and all of those disparaging thoughts that had previously overtaken my consciousness throughout the earlier days of the prior weeks before me, somehow found a different residence for the weekend, leaving me freed of my previously heavy mind.
I’m home now. The kitchen’s tidied. The living room is picked up. I’m unpacked from my weekend away - my room is as pristine as if Mary Poppins herself had been here, snapping her fingers and singing about spoons and sugar, while chirping birds sat perched on her outstretched fingers - my clothes put away and pillows fluffed. My bronzed skin seems so foreign against these ecru cushions of my writing chair, my hair highlighted by the sun’s tickling right arm. (In order to understand that slight inside joke, you’d have to ask my mother about the story I dictated to her, that she wrote on a napkin when I was merely four years old and too young to write for myself. Simply mention “Sun‘s tickling arm“ to my mother, and she‘ll gladly tell you all about how I started writing stories, once I figured out I could translate my imagination into scripted words. She LOVES to talk about that.) All the creatures of the house are curled up in my room, apparently also fans of Rufus, as they are quietly snoozing - one at my feet, two on the bed, one on the window sill, and one beneath the chair - as Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk plays on in the background.
It’s been a wonderful weekend. I know I only have four more days until the week is over and I can perhaps try again and have just as exciting Saturday and Sunday at this week‘s closing, but I just don’t want this magical weekend to end…
It’s a Rufus Wainwright kind of day. Before I continue, perhaps I should credit Mr. Wainwright for the soundtrack of my afternoon journaling. Here’s to you, Rufus.
I finally - stopped. By that, I mean, I’m through with bustling throughout the house. I’ve been away all weekend, living the good life at Casa del Sol Resort & Swim Spa. I had the most wonderfully relaxing weekend. Okay, so it wasn’t really a resort, but I did spend the weekend at Tim Larson’s - dear friend, confidant, and theatrical consort. He and his brother have a beautiful home in Bellevue, and they invited me over for the weekend.
Surprisingly, after the night I previously mentioned in my other entry, I somehow still managed to wake up and head over to Tim’s house by 11:00am. We were in the pool by noon, margaritas by two o‘clock, wine by six o‘clock, dinner by eight o’clock, night swimming to commence shortly thereafter, followed by a poolside nightcap, preceded by late night television comedies and deep discussions of sordid lives; then off to bed by two o’clock in the morning.
Fourth of July brunch was served at eleven o’clock, and by eleven forty-five, me, Laura, Morgan, Tim, Kenny, and Ted were all floating in the pool, laughing, talking, playing games, and simply relaxing hopelessly on this gorgeous, July afternoon.
After yet another incredible dinner, Laura, Morgan, Tim and I traipsed off to the front yard to enjoy the panoramic view of the neighborhood, fireworks display, making a marvelous game out of guessing the color of the firework-yet-to-come. Of course, five year old Morgan seemed to truly delight in this game, which made the three of us adults enjoy it’s silliness even more.
The shooting stars of light soared elegantly through the shadows of the skies, arching gracefully above the treetops, lighting up the heavens as they couldn’t soar any higher without bursting into unexpected colors through the starlit evening. A cerulean hibiscus, fuchsia starfish; illuminated baby’s breath, and more fairy dust than I’d ever seen, poured down upon our eyes of blue and deep brown.
Even sillier than the color guessing came was the shadow creature game that we played on the lawn, creating stories to match our elongated, moonlit silhouettes. Sometimes my quiet silhouette was overtaken by Tim’s monstrous one, as he chased it about the lawn, and sometimes Morgan’s five-year-old, diminutive outline seemed to pounce on mine even more-so than the six and a half foot Tim’s!
I went to bed that night, completely content and full of magical stories. All that previously seemed to cause me anxiety, and all of those disparaging thoughts that had previously overtaken my consciousness throughout the earlier days of the prior weeks before me, somehow found a different residence for the weekend, leaving me freed of my previously heavy mind.
I’m home now. The kitchen’s tidied. The living room is picked up. I’m unpacked from my weekend away - my room is as pristine as if Mary Poppins herself had been here, snapping her fingers and singing about spoons and sugar, while chirping birds sat perched on her outstretched fingers - my clothes put away and pillows fluffed. My bronzed skin seems so foreign against these ecru cushions of my writing chair, my hair highlighted by the sun’s tickling right arm. (In order to understand that slight inside joke, you’d have to ask my mother about the story I dictated to her, that she wrote on a napkin when I was merely four years old and too young to write for myself. Simply mention “Sun‘s tickling arm“ to my mother, and she‘ll gladly tell you all about how I started writing stories, once I figured out I could translate my imagination into scripted words. She LOVES to talk about that.) All the creatures of the house are curled up in my room, apparently also fans of Rufus, as they are quietly snoozing - one at my feet, two on the bed, one on the window sill, and one beneath the chair - as Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk plays on in the background.
It’s been a wonderful weekend. I know I only have four more days until the week is over and I can perhaps try again and have just as exciting Saturday and Sunday at this week‘s closing, but I just don’t want this magical weekend to end…
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
to our gayness and our gilt ~ king henry V
Friday night I had a Gayte (gay date) with one of my best gays, Christian. We met up for Appletinis at his gorgeous West End town home, and then took a cab to Bound’ry for dinner, sharing a crisply refreshing bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, and devouring a scrumptious dinner of Cajun trout and sautéed vegetables. Then onward to TRIBE (my most favorite gay bar in town), for an evening of dancing, martini-ing and gaiety. (no pun intended)
One White Gummy Bear Martini later, and the muted colors of the overhead lighting poured through the room as the gay heavens opened and all of my dearest friends emerged from the neon-lit Church street,. John-Todd and Eric were there, perched at the corner of the bar beneath the magenta lights; five minutes after we connected, I could almost hear a chorus of Lady Gaga, Ke$ha and Shakira, uniting as one untouchable trinity, as yet another group of friends came into the mix, making me as giddy as a twelve-year-old getting to meet Justin Bieber. We all ventured into the side bar area, only to discover Joe-The-Opera-Singer, and Lee Druce, one of my most favorite people of all time.
My phone started to “teleport” (that’s the text tone I have set to go off when I receive messages) - “Hey gorgeous! I‘m outside TRIBE. Where are you? - Shawn. He had been at the movie theater with friends, seeing that god-awful “Eclipse” movie - or whatever the latest “Twilight” film had been released in theaters, and knew that I was going to TRIBE, and decided to come too! Christian was having a difficult time keeping everyone’s names straight, not that there is anything straight about being in a gay bar. His eyes widened as our Gayte turned from a quiet night out, to a small group of people conversing at the bar, to thirty-five people taking over the entire establishment.
I was too busy playing “catch-up” with everyone to realize that Eric bought me a shot. If I could just shut up long enough to drink it, that probably would have been nice, I presume. Several taps on the shoulder, and I came around, but I don’t really enjoy “shots” as they are intended - well, no, it’s not that I don’t enjoy them, it’s that it’s just too much for me to swallow all in one gulp (that’s what she said), not to mention, shots like “Lemon Drops” are so delicious, it seems a sin to waste the tastiness of it by swallowing it too quickly (this is the last time I swear - that’s what she said). I wouldn’t drink it all in one swig, so I casually sipped it throughout the next two conversations.
By this point of the night, with what to my wondering eyes did appear, Holy Bejeezes, Judson. It’s been at least a year since we’d seen each other, and here we were, on a random Friday night, at TRIBE, finding the smiles and chatty reflections of ourselves in the corner of our favorite meeting place.
Christian, by this time of the evening, turned to me in disbelief, and with no abandon proclaimed: “We OBVIOUSLY need to hang out more often. How is it that you know EVERY gay man in NASHVILLE!!?!?” I laughed. Then, I pondered this quandary of a notion. You know, I have absolutely no idea how I have so many gay male friends in Nashville, but it’s true. I knew nearly thirty gay men at the bar, all whom are astonishingly handsome, and always know how to make me feel like the queen of queens. Ha. That was COMPLETELY an unintentional pun.
I didn’t get home until nearly a quarter till four in the morning. I hardly ever stay out that late, but I was having so much fun, that taxiing up in a Checker Cab and heading home seemed so dull, and thus, we kept the night rolling. When I finally got home though, after deciding my night had gone on long enough, I put in one of my favorite Judy Garland movies of all time (I suppose that’s a little cliché after spending the evening at a gay bar), “The Clock”, and fell asleep to my dearest Ms. Garland. How is it, that no matter what time of day, the sound of her voice is always so comforting?
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
coral is far more red than her lips red ~ sonnet cxxx
14.June.2010
1:53am
Lying here in bed, my head seems to be prisoner of thoughts inconsolable. Racing, tumbling, falling, they gather about my head, hopeless and in need of comfort.
Anxiety seems to be the captor of my soul. Barbed wire intertwined with daffodils and lemon Jasmine encircle my heart.
Ivory silk and black lace fall discreetly about my figure. A simple bow tied at my breasts. I feel so beautiful. How is it that I am so content to lie here alone; though the silence seems broken as Ms. Savignon Blanc seems to chatter on quite significantly at my bedside table.
Last night's chiffon, raven woven frock sits smugly in a heap near the corner of my room. With gathered stories of a bachelorette, red lipstick and five hands grasping five blue cocktails, it rests, exhausted from dancing and whirling about the city, now laying undisturbed, with a slight breeze periodically questioning its early morning silence.
I was her maid of honor. How silly that seems! I am no maid, (as it were), and honor only lies within the definition you yourself define as such. She who stands next to the bride on her wedding day should be a best friend, a lover of all that encompasses this bride's life...
A couple weeks have passed, and that little black dress still lies helplessly in the corner. That night, two weeks ago, I was the one who was to stand beside her on the best day of her life. The wedding is in three days time and I have now been asked not to attend at all. I have been deemed an uncaring friend. I have been scolded for not "loving" her as she loves me. I have been left to feel as though I could never reciprocate her love. Is it terrible that I'm not phased? Is it awful that I don't feel as though I'm going to miss out? Should I be ashamed that I am so far removed from the idea of EVER being someone's "best friend" that I feel relieved not to have to be there?
Here's something twisted to ponder. I received a letter sent through priority mail, including a few mementos - almost as though I was getting a break-up letter and my belongings returned to me - and in the letter, she apologized for the fact I had bought a dress for her wedding; one to be worn as I stood next to her at the alter. She hoped that I would find another time to wear it. I chewed on the inside of my lip uncomfortably as I read and re-read this excerpt. I received this letter Monday, and the wedding is to take place five days from the day I received it, also five days after I was asked not to attend the wedding. Is this the wrong time to mention that I still haven't bought a dress? I was to be her maid of honor, and out of her six bridesmaids, I am the only one who hadn't found "the perfect dress", yet the wedding is less than a week away. I just...didn't...feel right about purchasing one. I knew something didn't seem right about the situation, and I kept putting off the search for a dress.
Listen people, I am NOT cut out for best friend material. I have never had a "best friend" nor do I intend to. There are too many expectations involved and I don't aim to disappoint. I am quite content being your number three friend. Just please, don't ask me to be more of a friend than I can comfortably commit to - you'll be left unsatisfied, and at this point, I'm more likely to hand you a box of tissues and check on you the next day when you come crying to me about your woes in the middle of the night. And when you ask me to hold your hand, I'll pull out the hand sanitizer and ruin that tender moment completely.
My wiring is off. I get it. I admit it. I don't want a best friend and I don't want to be your best friend. Please just accept it. Number three is about the best you'll get from me, and if that isn't enough, don't waste your time because I'm letting you know right now, I don't know how to be anything other than that.
1:53am
Lying here in bed, my head seems to be prisoner of thoughts inconsolable. Racing, tumbling, falling, they gather about my head, hopeless and in need of comfort.
Anxiety seems to be the captor of my soul. Barbed wire intertwined with daffodils and lemon Jasmine encircle my heart.
Ivory silk and black lace fall discreetly about my figure. A simple bow tied at my breasts. I feel so beautiful. How is it that I am so content to lie here alone; though the silence seems broken as Ms. Savignon Blanc seems to chatter on quite significantly at my bedside table.
Last night's chiffon, raven woven frock sits smugly in a heap near the corner of my room. With gathered stories of a bachelorette, red lipstick and five hands grasping five blue cocktails, it rests, exhausted from dancing and whirling about the city, now laying undisturbed, with a slight breeze periodically questioning its early morning silence.
I was her maid of honor. How silly that seems! I am no maid, (as it were), and honor only lies within the definition you yourself define as such. She who stands next to the bride on her wedding day should be a best friend, a lover of all that encompasses this bride's life...
A couple weeks have passed, and that little black dress still lies helplessly in the corner. That night, two weeks ago, I was the one who was to stand beside her on the best day of her life. The wedding is in three days time and I have now been asked not to attend at all. I have been deemed an uncaring friend. I have been scolded for not "loving" her as she loves me. I have been left to feel as though I could never reciprocate her love. Is it terrible that I'm not phased? Is it awful that I don't feel as though I'm going to miss out? Should I be ashamed that I am so far removed from the idea of EVER being someone's "best friend" that I feel relieved not to have to be there?
Here's something twisted to ponder. I received a letter sent through priority mail, including a few mementos - almost as though I was getting a break-up letter and my belongings returned to me - and in the letter, she apologized for the fact I had bought a dress for her wedding; one to be worn as I stood next to her at the alter. She hoped that I would find another time to wear it. I chewed on the inside of my lip uncomfortably as I read and re-read this excerpt. I received this letter Monday, and the wedding is to take place five days from the day I received it, also five days after I was asked not to attend the wedding. Is this the wrong time to mention that I still haven't bought a dress? I was to be her maid of honor, and out of her six bridesmaids, I am the only one who hadn't found "the perfect dress", yet the wedding is less than a week away. I just...didn't...feel right about purchasing one. I knew something didn't seem right about the situation, and I kept putting off the search for a dress.
Listen people, I am NOT cut out for best friend material. I have never had a "best friend" nor do I intend to. There are too many expectations involved and I don't aim to disappoint. I am quite content being your number three friend. Just please, don't ask me to be more of a friend than I can comfortably commit to - you'll be left unsatisfied, and at this point, I'm more likely to hand you a box of tissues and check on you the next day when you come crying to me about your woes in the middle of the night. And when you ask me to hold your hand, I'll pull out the hand sanitizer and ruin that tender moment completely.
My wiring is off. I get it. I admit it. I don't want a best friend and I don't want to be your best friend. Please just accept it. Number three is about the best you'll get from me, and if that isn't enough, don't waste your time because I'm letting you know right now, I don't know how to be anything other than that.
Monday, May 17, 2010
to make me blest or cursed'st among men ~ merchant of venice
I've been having some dark reflections on my life recently, and so unsure of how I'm supposed to be dealing with these thoughts.
I try so hard not to point fingers in other people's directions when things go wrong in situations, but when it comes to conflict resolution, I just can't let that go. I need for those with whom the conflict has arisen, to not shut down and shut me out. It's not that I wish to find resolve so that I can lay blame on one particular party or the other, but when someone completely walks away, I find myself more upset at that, than I do at the problem itself. Turning your back on someone and just leaving, is the most difficult concept for me to understand, as I would never want to turn my back without fixing the situation. This only happens with me when it comes to the men in my life, and I just feel...abandoned.
Something isn't right, when I feel like all the important male figures in my life would be happier without me. There's just something so completely wrong with feeling that way. Maybe I just need to be single. I think that I'm so happy, but I wonder how much fabrication my brain throws my way. It's as though my brain takes control of my heart and twists everything into a confusing mess. I can't decipher my desires from my needs, and my needs from my obligations, and I feel completely lost in a haze of disillusion. I understand that all relationships have ups and downs, but the outcome of all of the relationships with the past men in my life have been stitched with the same patterns.
My ex-husband, Chris, used to walk out on me when a disagreement arose between us, and he would never stick around when things hit a rocky path. He turned to alcohol and anger, depression and violence. I wanted to help soothe the situation, not irritate it, but he just kept walking away, never giving me a chance, and always leaving me alone, and in tears. I vowed never to put myself there again. And yet, recently, I found myself there again with someone I love tremendously, but who chose to walk away from me, leaving me surrounded with the warm evening rain, and a glass of wine to comfort my anxiety.
The men I have ever loved the most, have always abandoned me.
My biological father left me when I was six months old. He chose drugs and alcohol over me. I found my way back into his life, and I couldn't have been happier to have a second chance at being his little girl. I had always been so curious about my "daddy", but my "dad" made me feel like such an outcast in my own family for not being his biological daughter. For the strength and obligation I felt for my family, I put my own curiosities and desires that every little girl has about her daddy, under a mound of unanswered questions for far too many years. When my biological father and I finally reconnected and found a beautiful relationship that was restored and inexplicably magical, I awoke one day to find out that he had taken a gun to his chest and taken his life from me. When I was born, I wasn't enough for him to sustain sobriety, and then, I wasn't enough for him to sustain life. I never took first place when fighting the battle for his heart.
My "dad", who adopted me when I was three and married my mother, seemed to be the daddy I always wanted. He adored me. I was his little girl. That was, until he and my mother had another little girl of their own, and I was no longer the light of his life. I fought for his love, and I never won. I always had to say "I love you" first, he always turned his head away when I went to kiss him goodnight, and he made to sure to let me know I was never good enough. My heart ached for years. All I wanted was to be "daddy's little girl", and I was there, with open arms, waiting for one of them - somebody - to scoop me up, hold me tightly, and kiss me goodnight.
Silence in my heart, and tears in my eyes proved to paint a could picture of a lost childhood for a father who never truly wanted me; or should I say, "fathers", plural?
What is a man's love? A marriage to the love of your life at age 20? Apparently not. I wasn't enough to engage his love forever. Chris left me for another woman. And another. And another. I wasn't enough. I don't even know what constitutes enough. I don't know if I ever will know. I don't know if I'll ever accept the fact that I just don't know how to fix everything and make it right. I feel like I attract those who can never choose to stay.
I suppose I just have to learn to let go and to close my eyes as the shadows haunt my destiny of an uncertainty within tomorrow's memories. Wake me up when his arms are strong enough to hold me - not even for a day - but for a moment of unobstructed harmony. I ask for just one moment. The rest of my life I can bear with the strength of my soul, but I simply ask that for one simple moment, someone else bear the weight for me and lift me up to a height they hold so dearly within themselves.
I try so hard not to point fingers in other people's directions when things go wrong in situations, but when it comes to conflict resolution, I just can't let that go. I need for those with whom the conflict has arisen, to not shut down and shut me out. It's not that I wish to find resolve so that I can lay blame on one particular party or the other, but when someone completely walks away, I find myself more upset at that, than I do at the problem itself. Turning your back on someone and just leaving, is the most difficult concept for me to understand, as I would never want to turn my back without fixing the situation. This only happens with me when it comes to the men in my life, and I just feel...abandoned.
Something isn't right, when I feel like all the important male figures in my life would be happier without me. There's just something so completely wrong with feeling that way. Maybe I just need to be single. I think that I'm so happy, but I wonder how much fabrication my brain throws my way. It's as though my brain takes control of my heart and twists everything into a confusing mess. I can't decipher my desires from my needs, and my needs from my obligations, and I feel completely lost in a haze of disillusion. I understand that all relationships have ups and downs, but the outcome of all of the relationships with the past men in my life have been stitched with the same patterns.
My ex-husband, Chris, used to walk out on me when a disagreement arose between us, and he would never stick around when things hit a rocky path. He turned to alcohol and anger, depression and violence. I wanted to help soothe the situation, not irritate it, but he just kept walking away, never giving me a chance, and always leaving me alone, and in tears. I vowed never to put myself there again. And yet, recently, I found myself there again with someone I love tremendously, but who chose to walk away from me, leaving me surrounded with the warm evening rain, and a glass of wine to comfort my anxiety.
The men I have ever loved the most, have always abandoned me.
My biological father left me when I was six months old. He chose drugs and alcohol over me. I found my way back into his life, and I couldn't have been happier to have a second chance at being his little girl. I had always been so curious about my "daddy", but my "dad" made me feel like such an outcast in my own family for not being his biological daughter. For the strength and obligation I felt for my family, I put my own curiosities and desires that every little girl has about her daddy, under a mound of unanswered questions for far too many years. When my biological father and I finally reconnected and found a beautiful relationship that was restored and inexplicably magical, I awoke one day to find out that he had taken a gun to his chest and taken his life from me. When I was born, I wasn't enough for him to sustain sobriety, and then, I wasn't enough for him to sustain life. I never took first place when fighting the battle for his heart.
My "dad", who adopted me when I was three and married my mother, seemed to be the daddy I always wanted. He adored me. I was his little girl. That was, until he and my mother had another little girl of their own, and I was no longer the light of his life. I fought for his love, and I never won. I always had to say "I love you" first, he always turned his head away when I went to kiss him goodnight, and he made to sure to let me know I was never good enough. My heart ached for years. All I wanted was to be "daddy's little girl", and I was there, with open arms, waiting for one of them - somebody - to scoop me up, hold me tightly, and kiss me goodnight.
Silence in my heart, and tears in my eyes proved to paint a could picture of a lost childhood for a father who never truly wanted me; or should I say, "fathers", plural?
What is a man's love? A marriage to the love of your life at age 20? Apparently not. I wasn't enough to engage his love forever. Chris left me for another woman. And another. And another. I wasn't enough. I don't even know what constitutes enough. I don't know if I ever will know. I don't know if I'll ever accept the fact that I just don't know how to fix everything and make it right. I feel like I attract those who can never choose to stay.
I suppose I just have to learn to let go and to close my eyes as the shadows haunt my destiny of an uncertainty within tomorrow's memories. Wake me up when his arms are strong enough to hold me - not even for a day - but for a moment of unobstructed harmony. I ask for just one moment. The rest of my life I can bear with the strength of my soul, but I simply ask that for one simple moment, someone else bear the weight for me and lift me up to a height they hold so dearly within themselves.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
there sleeps titania sometime of the night ~ a midsummer night's dream
Godspeed, Titanic.Today marks the 98th anniversary of the sinking of the White Star Line's "unsinkable ship", and tragic loss of 1,517 passengers who were aboard that journey.
Faretheewell, and may God's heaven be your blanket as you softly sleep...
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
dreams indeed are ambition ~ hamlet
This was an email I sent to the owner of the Titanic Museum for which our theater company recently performed the opening number of our production in conjunction with the Grand Opening of the Titanic Museum in Pigeon Forge. You never know the outcome until you ask the question. Ambition leads you down very winding roads of inspirational and exciting journeys...Mary -
We can not express to you how powerful and meaningful it was for our cast to be a part of your Grand Opening. Getting to tour the museum and perform during your program was just so magical, and seeing the history of the Titanic unfold before us in a way we hadn't imagined possible, was truly awe-inspiring. Getting to meet the descendants of the Strauss' was almost too emotional for me to handle. I had a very difficult time with that, as it brought a different sense of reality to our show, which I already take very seriously. So thank you so much for bringing us into your Titanic world, even if only for a day, for it has made a lasting impression on us all.
Also, I know Tim has extended an invitation for you to come to see our production, and of course, I know we would all love to have you there. I can only imagine how busy you are right now with the opening just recently behind you, but if you can find a time to make it out, just let us know so that we can make sure you have a great seat!
One last thing. I know this is, yet again, another shot in the dark, but after the success of the last random chance that I took in asking if you would like our theater company to be a part of your Grand Opening (which was completely off the cuff when simply calling to get information on group rates), I am going to jump feet first and set out on another venture. I found out that James Cameron is going to be in Nashville on April 23rd for a fashion show, and I would love to extend an invitation to him to come see our production. I know he's probably on a tight schedule, and may not even be slightly interested in seeing Titanic: The Musical, but I thought that perhaps he might take some stock in the idea since he knows you, and if you believed in us enough to invite us to perform at the museum, that he may be curious enough to want to see the show. If you have any information on how I may be able to get in contact with his manager and shoot him/her an email without bothering him, please let me know. Or, you and John could just get together with him and make it a big evening out on the Nashville town and all come together! ;) It was just a thought. But one rule I live by is that "you never know until you ask, and the worst thing anyone can throw back at you is 'no'". :) Anyway, thanks again for everything - It truly was an amazing experience.
Lauren
Needless to say, not 20 minutes after I sent this email, she replied informing me that she forwarded all the information about the show to Jim Cameron himself and that even though he's on a tight schedule while in Nashville, he didn't blow off the idea completely, and is going to call me directly if he can make it.
There is no such thing as an impossible dream...
Monday, April 12, 2010
in his moan, the ship splits on the rock ~ king henry vi
I don't even know where to begin. Life has taken so many twists and turns and so many beautiful moments have occurred in the past several weeks that I feel like I could write a novel and still not capture the experiences that have put such detailed footnotes in the chapters of my oh-so-intricately woven life.
Let me start with the beginning, and hopefully, this entry won't be too terribly lengthy by the time I come to a conclusion.
On February 24, 2010, I was doing some research on the character whom I'll be portraying in Titanic: The Musical and I stumbled upon a website for the Titanic Museum in Branson, Missouri. I thought, "wow!, this is so amazing!" I didn't know there was a museum there, and I was contemplating the idea of a small road trip with several of the cast members. I thought perhaps it would make for a neat bonding experience, it's an 8 hour drive, we could stay the night, go through the museum - and so I perused the website looking for information on group rates. When I got to the section with the rates, there was an error in the website's functionality, and so I picked up the phone and called them.
"Thank you for calling Titanic, this is Carol, how may I help you?"
"I was calling to get information on group rates - I tried looking online, but I think there's something wrong with the website."
"Oh, well, I can surely help you with that!! Are you looking for information on Titanic Branson, or Titanic Pigeon Forge?"
My eyes widened. Titanic Pigeon Forge? That's much closer than Missouri...
"Well, I didn't know there WAS a Titanic Pigeon Forge!! I'm in Nashville, so that's MUCH closer!!"
"It sure is!" she replied, "That location isn't actually open yet, but the grand opening is April 8th, 2010."
Carol then proceeded to give me information on the museum and told me all about how Regis Philbin was going to be christening the ship, and that there were going to be all sorts of artifacts, and dignitaries, as well as descendants from some of the ship's passengers!! I was getting so excited, especially since our show, Titanic: the Musical opens on April 15th, 2010 at the Nashville Dinner Theater. I was hoping that perhaps we could take a group "field trip" and tour the museum - I knew it would be such a great experience for everyone and bring us all closer together. Then something clicked inside my brain. Wait a minute. We're about to perform this big musical, we already have a cast and costumes for this show -- the only thing this Museum Grand Opening is missing, is us...
"Carol, I know this is a complete shot in the dark, and you probably aren't even the person I would need to talk to about this, but, have you ever heard of Titanic: The Musical?"
"Yes, I have, actually, though I've never seen it myself."
After explaining it to her and elaborating on fine tuned details about the Broadway show, I continued to paint a picture for her of how magical it truly is to see in person. I then said:
"Carol, I want you to go on a journey with me. Picture the cast of Titanic: The Musical performing right there, in front of the replica of the Titanic, at your grand opening of the museum. I mean, imagine all of the actors, performing the opening number from the musical, recreating the actual boarding of the ship, and setting up this magical event in front of the hundreds of people watching! They would feel as though they were actually there at the dock of the ship, watching the real people who once boarded the Titanic all those years ago."
"Wow, you seem so passionate about this, and it does sound like a lovely idea. Let me get you in contact with our Events Coordinator."
As I waited for her to get back with me and give me the phone number of Gayle, the Events Coordinator, I hear: "Hi, this is Gayle, how may I assist you?"
Wait a minute. I thought I was going to simply get a phone number or contact email, or a voicemail - but no, I was actually on the phone with the Events Coordinator herself. Oh dear Lord, Lauren, what have you gotten yourself into...
I go into the same spiel that I verbalized with Carol, only I embellished it a little more, and did my best to paint a very convincing picture. I was even getting misty-eyed at my own dance of poetic words during this description, and at the conclusion of my speech, she said: "Well, this really and truly is intriguing and you seem so connected with this idea: I need to get you in contact with the owner of the museum, Mary Kellogg." (yes, that is correct, Kellogg as in the cereal company - this woman was also the vice president of Disney for 14 years as well as the producer of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire and Regis & Kelly)
After getting through to the right people, I was asked to put together a first proposal, including what our cast would be providing for the opening of the museum, and she wanted to see different examples of media for our production, including our promo reels, publicity shots, and sample tracks of our vocals...it was 11:00am, and she wanted all of this by 4:00pm Central time. Holy ship. Tim Larson, director of Titanic: The Musical, was out of town and I was doing my best to track him down. I first needed his approval to move forward with this, not to mention I needed the approval of not only the theater company, but the rights to perform the show at a public event. Somehow, I managed to get through to Tim, get the email put together with the photos and reels, and emailed it on time. Within an hour and 40 minutes, I had a return email from Mary Kellogg, requesting a conference call set up for two days later.
Needless to say, after a great deal of back and forth, proposing, getting together transportation with the help of Jane Schnelle, lodging with the assistance of Laura Amond, lots of manpower from Brad Kamer, the dedication from our costumers, Cat Eberwine and Jennifer Kleine, not to mention all the time and energy spent with the rehearsals lead by Tim Larson and John Kennerly, we were given a large budget from the museum, and the cast was asked to be the highlighted feature at the Grand Opening of a $25 million dollar museum!!
We left for Pigeon Forge at noon on April 7th, arriving in time for mic checks, tech runs, and a rehearsal on stage. Exhausted yet excited, we made our way to the 16,000 sqft mansion on the mountainside, in which we were staying, and had a wonderful time bonding with one another through our Pigeon Forge adventure.
The day of the grand opening, we boarded our bus at 8:30am and made our way to the Titanic Museum, and despite the rain, had a beautiful time experiencing this journey together.
Above all, we were the first to tour the museum, in costume of course, and we were also fortunate enough to meet several of the descendants from those brave souls who were lost at sea 98 years ago. The famous "Ida and Isidor Strauss" - the founders and owners of Macy's Department Store were brought back to life as I shook the hand of their great-great granddaughter, and heard her story, and the beloved story of her great-great grandmother. And as I watched her embrace the two cast members who take on the two Strauss characters aboard our own Titanic (Mary Corby and Steve Luboniecki), I saw haunted memories pour from the tears that rolled down Mary's cheeks as the feeling of human connection was brought to her character, and to her heart. She was embracing the great-great granddaughter of a woman who chose to stay with her husband as the ship sank far to the depths below, instead of taking a seat in the lifeboat with all the other first class women. At that moment, I didn't see Mary Corby, I saw Ida Strauss, caressing someone who, until then, had only been embraced by memories of her great-great grandmother, and yet, was now being embraced by one who seemed to capture the heart of a woman she never had the pleasure of knowing.
I will never forget going through the museum, seeing the artifacts, the original newspapers that went to press after the tragedy hit the public, standing in the third class corridor, stuck between the stairwell and the gate, watching as the water flooded through, feeling what it would have been like if I truly had been trapped on board, reading the poetry from a survivor who found it easier to account for his experience through prose, walking down the grand staircase, strolling through the captain's cabin and onto the promenade deck, where the temperature of the room dropped to a chilling 32 degrees, and the water on the other side of the ship was at the same temperature as it was when the passengers froze to death as they tried to swim to safety, and seeing the memorial wall with the names of everyone who was lost at sea.
It was emotional, breathtaking, and horrifying, all at the same time. Our cast was brought closer together than we hoped to be, and a more human connection surfaced through the discovery of the life of these passengers, as we saw through story and historical memorabilia the hearts and souls of the lives of those who boarded the infamous Titanic on that unassuming morning of April 10, 1912.
To all those who lost their lives, and to all those who continue to share their legend, godspeed.
"Yes, I have, actually, though I've never seen it myself."
After explaining it to her and elaborating on fine tuned details about the Broadway show, I continued to paint a picture for her of how magical it truly is to see in person. I then said:
"Carol, I want you to go on a journey with me. Picture the cast of Titanic: The Musical performing right there, in front of the replica of the Titanic, at your grand opening of the museum. I mean, imagine all of the actors, performing the opening number from the musical, recreating the actual boarding of the ship, and setting up this magical event in front of the hundreds of people watching! They would feel as though they were actually there at the dock of the ship, watching the real people who once boarded the Titanic all those years ago."
"Wow, you seem so passionate about this, and it does sound like a lovely idea. Let me get you in contact with our Events Coordinator."
As I waited for her to get back with me and give me the phone number of Gayle, the Events Coordinator, I hear: "Hi, this is Gayle, how may I assist you?"
Wait a minute. I thought I was going to simply get a phone number or contact email, or a voicemail - but no, I was actually on the phone with the Events Coordinator herself. Oh dear Lord, Lauren, what have you gotten yourself into...
I go into the same spiel that I verbalized with Carol, only I embellished it a little more, and did my best to paint a very convincing picture. I was even getting misty-eyed at my own dance of poetic words during this description, and at the conclusion of my speech, she said: "Well, this really and truly is intriguing and you seem so connected with this idea: I need to get you in contact with the owner of the museum, Mary Kellogg." (yes, that is correct, Kellogg as in the cereal company - this woman was also the vice president of Disney for 14 years as well as the producer of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire and Regis & Kelly)
After getting through to the right people, I was asked to put together a first proposal, including what our cast would be providing for the opening of the museum, and she wanted to see different examples of media for our production, including our promo reels, publicity shots, and sample tracks of our vocals...it was 11:00am, and she wanted all of this by 4:00pm Central time. Holy ship. Tim Larson, director of Titanic: The Musical, was out of town and I was doing my best to track him down. I first needed his approval to move forward with this, not to mention I needed the approval of not only the theater company, but the rights to perform the show at a public event. Somehow, I managed to get through to Tim, get the email put together with the photos and reels, and emailed it on time. Within an hour and 40 minutes, I had a return email from Mary Kellogg, requesting a conference call set up for two days later.
Needless to say, after a great deal of back and forth, proposing, getting together transportation with the help of Jane Schnelle, lodging with the assistance of Laura Amond, lots of manpower from Brad Kamer, the dedication from our costumers, Cat Eberwine and Jennifer Kleine, not to mention all the time and energy spent with the rehearsals lead by Tim Larson and John Kennerly, we were given a large budget from the museum, and the cast was asked to be the highlighted feature at the Grand Opening of a $25 million dollar museum!!
We left for Pigeon Forge at noon on April 7th, arriving in time for mic checks, tech runs, and a rehearsal on stage. Exhausted yet excited, we made our way to the 16,000 sqft mansion on the mountainside, in which we were staying, and had a wonderful time bonding with one another through our Pigeon Forge adventure.
The day of the grand opening, we boarded our bus at 8:30am and made our way to the Titanic Museum, and despite the rain, had a beautiful time experiencing this journey together.
Above all, we were the first to tour the museum, in costume of course, and we were also fortunate enough to meet several of the descendants from those brave souls who were lost at sea 98 years ago. The famous "Ida and Isidor Strauss" - the founders and owners of Macy's Department Store were brought back to life as I shook the hand of their great-great granddaughter, and heard her story, and the beloved story of her great-great grandmother. And as I watched her embrace the two cast members who take on the two Strauss characters aboard our own Titanic (Mary Corby and Steve Luboniecki), I saw haunted memories pour from the tears that rolled down Mary's cheeks as the feeling of human connection was brought to her character, and to her heart. She was embracing the great-great granddaughter of a woman who chose to stay with her husband as the ship sank far to the depths below, instead of taking a seat in the lifeboat with all the other first class women. At that moment, I didn't see Mary Corby, I saw Ida Strauss, caressing someone who, until then, had only been embraced by memories of her great-great grandmother, and yet, was now being embraced by one who seemed to capture the heart of a woman she never had the pleasure of knowing.
I will never forget going through the museum, seeing the artifacts, the original newspapers that went to press after the tragedy hit the public, standing in the third class corridor, stuck between the stairwell and the gate, watching as the water flooded through, feeling what it would have been like if I truly had been trapped on board, reading the poetry from a survivor who found it easier to account for his experience through prose, walking down the grand staircase, strolling through the captain's cabin and onto the promenade deck, where the temperature of the room dropped to a chilling 32 degrees, and the water on the other side of the ship was at the same temperature as it was when the passengers froze to death as they tried to swim to safety, and seeing the memorial wall with the names of everyone who was lost at sea.
It was emotional, breathtaking, and horrifying, all at the same time. Our cast was brought closer together than we hoped to be, and a more human connection surfaced through the discovery of the life of these passengers, as we saw through story and historical memorabilia the hearts and souls of the lives of those who boarded the infamous Titanic on that unassuming morning of April 10, 1912.
To all those who lost their lives, and to all those who continue to share their legend, godspeed.
Monday, March 22, 2010
here is a silly, stately style indeed! ~ king henry vi
I was sitting on the floor of the playroom with Clara this morning and I had taken my shoes off downstairs. She and Ben decided to make a game out of putting stickers on my sweatshirt and were completely engulfed in this game as I sang silly songs to them or periodically attempted to grab them and snarffle their bellies. They were running back and forth from the sticker sheet to me, when Clara stopped in her tracks, halfway across the room. Her eyes widened and she pointed to my feet. "Yaren!" she says, in her high-pitched, three years old voice, "Your socks are matching today!! Your socks don't ever match!" It's true, I typically pull out the first two socks from my sock drawer, without a care in the world if one matches the other, and she always thinks it's the funniest thing that my socks don't match. What she doesn't know, is that I think it's the funniest thing that a three year old child noticed that I was actually wearing matching socks.
I gobbled her up and squeezed her as she squealed with laughter, and she wrapped her arms around my neck and said "I yuv yew Yaren and yer silly socks!" - she's a smart little girl and too adorable for words.
These are the moments that make up for all the other exasperating ones of nannyhood.
Friday, March 19, 2010
that we adjourn this court till further day ~ king henry viii
Yesterday I went to court to sort out the issue with my driver's license.
It took 4 hours. It should have only taken 4 minutes, but the lady on the end of the judge's bench didn't like me. She gave me the LAST number to be called to talk to the DA, after I had been told I would be the 5th person to see the judge. I ended up being the FORTY-SIXTH person to see the judge. When I finally got before him, the judge looked at my paperwork, smiled at me, probably wondering why I was STILL there, and said, well, now that you have the paperwork from your lawyer, just take it to the DMV, get your license, come back in three months and we'll drop the case!! Really? Four hours for THAT?
Needless to say, I got a really good laugh out of the day. Beyond the people who were in and out, looking absolutely cliche to every movie I've ever watched involving red-necked criminals, I also encountered a tasteless individual who, decidedly bored out of his mind, and who was tired of conversing with his friends about baby-mamas, how many credit card frauds he had committed, how many chicks he'd banged and hadn't used a condom, and about the delicious meals one could receive from Taco Bell, he fell asleep in the row behind me, and proceeded to snore...loudly.
I, of course, was attempting to present my best foot forward, dressing up in nice clothes, hair perfectly coiffured, and polished pumps finishing off the outfit, sitting poised in my really uncomfortable seat, when something caught my eye and I guffawed, blatantly out loud, somewhat disrupting the courtroom. All eyes turned to me. I couldn't help it. This gentleman (of sorts), walked into the courtroom and took a seat in the row next to me. In his hands, he was carrying a book titled - (now, this isn't a lie, and I'm not trying to be funny with this one) - How to Rob an Armored Car. As soon as I saw this book, I sputtered and laughed, almost choking on my Orbit : Sweet Mint gum. With wondering eyes upon me, I stifled my laughter to mere shoulder shaking as I cupped my hand over my mouth, keeping the sounds of laughter from escaping.
I mean, wow, really?
And what was his charge you ask? Trespassing of property, and attempted theft.
I'm just sayin'.
It took 4 hours. It should have only taken 4 minutes, but the lady on the end of the judge's bench didn't like me. She gave me the LAST number to be called to talk to the DA, after I had been told I would be the 5th person to see the judge. I ended up being the FORTY-SIXTH person to see the judge. When I finally got before him, the judge looked at my paperwork, smiled at me, probably wondering why I was STILL there, and said, well, now that you have the paperwork from your lawyer, just take it to the DMV, get your license, come back in three months and we'll drop the case!! Really? Four hours for THAT?
Needless to say, I got a really good laugh out of the day. Beyond the people who were in and out, looking absolutely cliche to every movie I've ever watched involving red-necked criminals, I also encountered a tasteless individual who, decidedly bored out of his mind, and who was tired of conversing with his friends about baby-mamas, how many credit card frauds he had committed, how many chicks he'd banged and hadn't used a condom, and about the delicious meals one could receive from Taco Bell, he fell asleep in the row behind me, and proceeded to snore...loudly.
I, of course, was attempting to present my best foot forward, dressing up in nice clothes, hair perfectly coiffured, and polished pumps finishing off the outfit, sitting poised in my really uncomfortable seat, when something caught my eye and I guffawed, blatantly out loud, somewhat disrupting the courtroom. All eyes turned to me. I couldn't help it. This gentleman (of sorts), walked into the courtroom and took a seat in the row next to me. In his hands, he was carrying a book titled - (now, this isn't a lie, and I'm not trying to be funny with this one) - How to Rob an Armored Car. As soon as I saw this book, I sputtered and laughed, almost choking on my Orbit : Sweet Mint gum. With wondering eyes upon me, I stifled my laughter to mere shoulder shaking as I cupped my hand over my mouth, keeping the sounds of laughter from escaping.
I mean, wow, really?
And what was his charge you ask? Trespassing of property, and attempted theft.
I'm just sayin'.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
the casting forth to crows thy baby-daughter ~ the winter's tale
I'm having yet another lousy day.
Today seems worse than yesterday. I just can't seem to get the thunderstorm out of my brain. The the rain is cold and the thunder hurts my ears. I just want the grey clouds to scatter. I don't even need the sunshine, just leave me with a melancholy sky.
I had a strange dream last night.
I was pregnant. Five months pregnant and you could see where the baby was positioned in my stomach. It wasn't a normal pregnant belly, it was almost non-existent, but with a clear definition of the outline of a baby's body could be seen just below my belly button. I went to the doctor, and they told me she was a girl. I was going to have a little girl! But before I could enjoy the moment of pictures of a beautiful life together, he told me that she had lost her battle for life within me, and I was to give birth to a stillborn. I cried. Hard. I wanted to hold my little girl so badly, but not without the breath of life.
I went home - I just wanted to be alone with my daughter, to say my last goodbye to her, to tell her everything I thought I would have a lifetime to say. So I made a pot of tea, and sang to my her, knowing this was to be the last time I was to ever have her close to me. I held her through my stomach, caressing her tiny body with my hands. I felt movement. I pulled my hand away, and yet she moved again. My heart started racing. Could this be my mind playing tricks on me, or was she really alive? I started having contractions and her movements became stronger. My body took over and I was in labor. No one was around. Right there, in the comfort of my bed, amongst a sea of pillows, she was born. I reached down to pull her close, her little hands almost reaching for mine, grasping for life. She was tiny. Almost too small to be real. She came four months too early, but at least she came. Eve. I wrapped her pink body in a blanket and rocked her to sleep, smiling at my little girl. They were wrong. She hadn't given up. She was just enjoying the quiet before she entered the world that is never still.
It was just her and me. Together. And we couldn't have been happier.
Today seems worse than yesterday. I just can't seem to get the thunderstorm out of my brain. The the rain is cold and the thunder hurts my ears. I just want the grey clouds to scatter. I don't even need the sunshine, just leave me with a melancholy sky.
I had a strange dream last night.
I was pregnant. Five months pregnant and you could see where the baby was positioned in my stomach. It wasn't a normal pregnant belly, it was almost non-existent, but with a clear definition of the outline of a baby's body could be seen just below my belly button. I went to the doctor, and they told me she was a girl. I was going to have a little girl! But before I could enjoy the moment of pictures of a beautiful life together, he told me that she had lost her battle for life within me, and I was to give birth to a stillborn. I cried. Hard. I wanted to hold my little girl so badly, but not without the breath of life.
I went home - I just wanted to be alone with my daughter, to say my last goodbye to her, to tell her everything I thought I would have a lifetime to say. So I made a pot of tea, and sang to my her, knowing this was to be the last time I was to ever have her close to me. I held her through my stomach, caressing her tiny body with my hands. I felt movement. I pulled my hand away, and yet she moved again. My heart started racing. Could this be my mind playing tricks on me, or was she really alive? I started having contractions and her movements became stronger. My body took over and I was in labor. No one was around. Right there, in the comfort of my bed, amongst a sea of pillows, she was born. I reached down to pull her close, her little hands almost reaching for mine, grasping for life. She was tiny. Almost too small to be real. She came four months too early, but at least she came. Eve. I wrapped her pink body in a blanket and rocked her to sleep, smiling at my little girl. They were wrong. She hadn't given up. She was just enjoying the quiet before she entered the world that is never still.
It was just her and me. Together. And we couldn't have been happier.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
but that one half which is unsatisfied ~ love's labour's lost
My purple fingernails look shiny and confident as I tap out these words.
I can't help but stare at them.
Can one actually be vain about something as trivial as fingernails?
Mine are actually looking quite lovely - though this purple seems to be somewhat of a storm cloud purple. A bit of a gloomy shade I suppose, confident, but gloomy. A bit like I'm feeling today.
Weird day today.
The weather, too, is gloomy. I typically fall in love with gloomy days. Not so much love for this one.
I want this day to be over. I want something new to come my way. I want to act for a living. I don't want to be a nanny anymore. I want to put away the bottles, the bouncy seats and the baby books, and sip on a glass of pinot noir, lay in a hammock beneath the afternoon breezes and read scripts. It's just so difficult to be a professional actor in Nashville, and to be one full time. In fact, I don't think I can count on two hands how many actors in Nashville don't have to have a second income. I'm well rounded. And not in the sense of scenes and scripts, but in the area of marketing, PR, working with customers, working with children, speaking in front of people, choreographing - I would love to get with a company that would let me act when the show was right for me, and let me work administratively or creatively when the stage was dark and the patrons have left the theater to the ghost lights and church mice.
I feel like I belong here right now, but I still feel, well, a little out of place, like I haven't quite found my niche yet. I'm working on it. For the time being, I'm focusing on creating a dance, an interpretation of a flamingo's courtship ritual. Well, actually, for the time being, I'm waiting for Annaliese to awaken from her afternoon nap, and then I'm going to entertain her by practicing my audition monologue and showing her my dance. I'm sure she'll love it. Most 7 month's old children love just about anything.
I want to finish my degree and get a job in advertising. I love school. I LOVE to learn. Absolutely love it. I suppose that's why I have educational, daily devotionals*, and have my Droid loaded with learning applications, I simply can't get enough.
I'm a nerd. I get it. I embrace it. I fulfill it. And then I act nonsensical in public places and make my friends laugh and the people around me look at me sideways with their lips puffed out in confusion and the hoods of their eyelids arching forward as if to protect their vision from the oddity at hand. But, it's me.
I made an entire pot of coffee this morning and I'm more than halfway through it. But I somehow forgot that one should eat meals along with the consumption of coffee. Well, I didn't really forget, I just can't find anything worth eating. Nothing sounds appetizing. Not a damn thing. I didn't want my morning eggs, I haven't craved my usual peanut butter toast topped with dried cranberries, no spicy pasta, no pickles, no hummus - not one thing sounds delicious. So, I'm picketing outside the pantry until my taste buds decide they've gone off strike, and then I shall delight in some tasty morsel. Until then, the coffee will just have to do.
*The daily devotional I'm reading is titled: The Intellectual Devotional, Modern Culture
I can't help but stare at them.
Can one actually be vain about something as trivial as fingernails?
Mine are actually looking quite lovely - though this purple seems to be somewhat of a storm cloud purple. A bit of a gloomy shade I suppose, confident, but gloomy. A bit like I'm feeling today.
Weird day today.
The weather, too, is gloomy. I typically fall in love with gloomy days. Not so much love for this one.
I want this day to be over. I want something new to come my way. I want to act for a living. I don't want to be a nanny anymore. I want to put away the bottles, the bouncy seats and the baby books, and sip on a glass of pinot noir, lay in a hammock beneath the afternoon breezes and read scripts. It's just so difficult to be a professional actor in Nashville, and to be one full time. In fact, I don't think I can count on two hands how many actors in Nashville don't have to have a second income. I'm well rounded. And not in the sense of scenes and scripts, but in the area of marketing, PR, working with customers, working with children, speaking in front of people, choreographing - I would love to get with a company that would let me act when the show was right for me, and let me work administratively or creatively when the stage was dark and the patrons have left the theater to the ghost lights and church mice.
I feel like I belong here right now, but I still feel, well, a little out of place, like I haven't quite found my niche yet. I'm working on it. For the time being, I'm focusing on creating a dance, an interpretation of a flamingo's courtship ritual. Well, actually, for the time being, I'm waiting for Annaliese to awaken from her afternoon nap, and then I'm going to entertain her by practicing my audition monologue and showing her my dance. I'm sure she'll love it. Most 7 month's old children love just about anything.
I want to finish my degree and get a job in advertising. I love school. I LOVE to learn. Absolutely love it. I suppose that's why I have educational, daily devotionals*, and have my Droid loaded with learning applications, I simply can't get enough.
I'm a nerd. I get it. I embrace it. I fulfill it. And then I act nonsensical in public places and make my friends laugh and the people around me look at me sideways with their lips puffed out in confusion and the hoods of their eyelids arching forward as if to protect their vision from the oddity at hand. But, it's me.
I made an entire pot of coffee this morning and I'm more than halfway through it. But I somehow forgot that one should eat meals along with the consumption of coffee. Well, I didn't really forget, I just can't find anything worth eating. Nothing sounds appetizing. Not a damn thing. I didn't want my morning eggs, I haven't craved my usual peanut butter toast topped with dried cranberries, no spicy pasta, no pickles, no hummus - not one thing sounds delicious. So, I'm picketing outside the pantry until my taste buds decide they've gone off strike, and then I shall delight in some tasty morsel. Until then, the coffee will just have to do.
*The daily devotional I'm reading is titled: The Intellectual Devotional, Modern Culture
Monday, March 15, 2010
how many children hast thou? ~ king henry vi
When I arrived this morning at work, I was greeted by Phoebe, (Ben and Clara's mom) who looked undeniably frazzled and was wearing a hideous combination of clothing. (Typically she dresses adorably, but today was not one of those days) Phoebe was wearing a burgundy red wrap dress, that wasn't tied right. It in fact, looked awkward, as though she forgot she was tying it mid-bow, and went with a loose loopy effect instead. I have a feeling if she doesn't notice it soon, it'll come undone and she'll lose her garment. Her 5 month's pregnant belly is starting to round out and look quite precious, as she carries her baby weight completely in her belly. She was wearing light blue and pink jewelry, which I think might have been intended for a different outfit, and she was wearing pumpkiny-orange colored loafers that otherwise might have looked quite couture with the right slacks; but certainly not with this red wrap dress. She had started to put on blush, but missed a cheek.
She opened the front door with a forced smile and said: "Good Morning, Lauren, how are you?" I replied that I was great, a little tired and worn out from the usual stresses of my every day life, but otherwise, okay. She cut me off saying: "Lauren, I'm going to work today, and I'm never coming back. You can have the children...FOREVER." I laughed as she said this, thinking it must have been a hectic and crazy weekend for her, when she continued. "I'm serious, they're driving me crazy. I can't take it. I can't. Ben somehow crawled onto the kitchen counter, got in the sink and started washing his pacifier with the spray nozzle. I don't even know how he got up there. Clara goes in her closet every hour and changes outfits. They run around like banshees and -- they're yours. You get to keep them. Your birthday's next month, right? Happy early birthday..."
So, my day has been crazy. They're supposed to be down for a nap at 12:15-12:30, and I just got them wound down enough to go to sleep. It's now almost 1:45. I'm definitely worn out. "Let's play this", "I wanna eat that", "pick me up", "Ben stole my Barbie", "Clara has my train", and on and on and on and on...wow...and Phoebe's pregnant. AGAIN. That means, starting in August, I'll have three toddlers under the age of 3.
Anybody looking for a nanny job?
She opened the front door with a forced smile and said: "Good Morning, Lauren, how are you?" I replied that I was great, a little tired and worn out from the usual stresses of my every day life, but otherwise, okay. She cut me off saying: "Lauren, I'm going to work today, and I'm never coming back. You can have the children...FOREVER." I laughed as she said this, thinking it must have been a hectic and crazy weekend for her, when she continued. "I'm serious, they're driving me crazy. I can't take it. I can't. Ben somehow crawled onto the kitchen counter, got in the sink and started washing his pacifier with the spray nozzle. I don't even know how he got up there. Clara goes in her closet every hour and changes outfits. They run around like banshees and -- they're yours. You get to keep them. Your birthday's next month, right? Happy early birthday..."
So, my day has been crazy. They're supposed to be down for a nap at 12:15-12:30, and I just got them wound down enough to go to sleep. It's now almost 1:45. I'm definitely worn out. "Let's play this", "I wanna eat that", "pick me up", "Ben stole my Barbie", "Clara has my train", and on and on and on and on...wow...and Phoebe's pregnant. AGAIN. That means, starting in August, I'll have three toddlers under the age of 3.
Anybody looking for a nanny job?
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
I'll prove a busy actor in their play ~ as you like it
It has been far too long since I visited my thoughts, engraving them to everlasting life with art of the written word.I haven't journaled. I haven't blogged. I haven't written a poem. I've signed my name on the dotted lines of the "Merchant Copies" of wine shoppes and fine dining establishments, but that's about it.
In the past month, I have not had one day off from work, dancing, acting - performing, rehearsing - nothing. It's my own fault, but I've traded in one passion for the other, leaving the pen to rest and my keyboard dusty, as my body has grown weary and my brain is on autopilot; learning lines, remembering choreography, trying to remember blocking and vocal inflection. Trying not to have a mental breakdown backstage during tech rehearsal as I continued to drop my lines on stage. It's been a really long year already, and yet, it somehow has flown by all too quickly.
SWING! opened and closed after a three week run and packed houses, great reviews and the like. I even got mentioned in a review being noted as: "If an award were given to the cast member who perfectly captures the look and vitality of the swing era, I'd have to give it to Lauren Atkins*, who looks as if she just stepped off a bandstand of the era, right after sending her beau off to do battle with Hitler himself."
I found this flattering, albeit a tad funny, as from thenceforward on, before we performed the USO numbers during the show, I made it a point to exclaim to everyone that I was sending my beau off to fight the fuhrer... Ah! The life of an actress!
Of course, once SWING! was up and running, I started full time rehearsals on my off days for Fat Pig, leaving practically no time for myself, let alone anyone else. I've been tired, and well, run-down to say the least. The week before SWING! opened, I found myself really sick with walking pneumonia, and it lasted throughout the entire run of the show, and I didn't find myself pneumonia free until three days before the opening of Fat Pig. Thank goodness. Three weeks of pneumonia was more than enough.
We have four more performances of Fat Pig left, and then I'm setting sail for America on board the ship of dreams, as Titanic the Musical opens in April. We've been in rehearsal for a couple weeks, though I've missed most of them due to performances.
I even had to create a calendar of the next three months with my schedule, just to combine all my separate lives that I somehow lead, and I sent it to Billy with a note saying, in a nutshell, "Honey, I love you, I know my life is crazy, but if you see empty spaces on my calendar, please pencil yourself in." Pathetic. I think I have 2 days off until the first of May.
My ventures lead me astray and I feel like I'm constantly waving to him from a distance. I'm lucky that he keeps his horse saddled and ready at a moment's notice, galloping at full speed toward my rescue if my life takes an unexpected pause. Perhaps I should slide up there next to him and let him ride me off into the sunset -- but that would just be too perfect wouldn't it? I'm never going to be able to jump on that horse when I love to feel the earth beneath my feet. I feel so grounded and steady, so strong and ready for anything that comes my way. I don't know that I could trust a horse to lead me down the path I have already decided to follow on my own.
I digress.
I don't suppose there was a rhyme or reason to this entry, but I've been feeling disconnected from my heart and needed a little space from my other life. It's nice to slip away into the world of thoughts and wade through the sea of word puddles for a little while. But now I have to brush up on my lines for the show, as I have a performance later, despite the fact that Annaliese should be waking from her afternoon nap at any moment, and I will have to sit cross-legged on the floor with an adorable eight month old and play peek-a-boo until her parents get home from work.
Peek-a-boo...I see you...you know, we unknowingly play this game with ourselves and others and forget that even when we put our hands over our eyes and can't see past the darkness, the light is all around us and eyes are always watching, smiling, peering into our world. You may close your eyes and shut out the world, but when you open them and smile, the world breathes you right back in...
*Atkins was my married last name and I still use it for the stage as of now.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
white, cold, virgin snow upon my heart ~ the tempest
Snow, snow, SNOW!!
Alas, the gathered snow is melting from the world of alabaster, leading it's inhabitants to a greener life; leaving behind it's glistening treasures in puddles of stolen memories of a once frozen world...
Okay, so that would be the poetic way to say it, or I could be a bit more realistic and say:
"Well, there's a little snow left on the ground here and there, but mostly everything has turned to cold mud."
Yep. That's probably more like it.
You see, this was my first REAL snow experience. Little 'Ole Nashville received about 10 inches of snowfall, and for a Florida-girl-gone-San-Diego-then-on-to-Nashville transplant, this was a pretty amazing experience of a weekend. The snow started falling on Friday morning, and literally didn't stop until Sunday.
Friday night, about four inches had fallen and I was in awe. Melissa and I didn't have rehearsal and decided to brave the winter chills and blustery snowfall for a night at the theater. Nashville Shakespeare Festival was performing The Tempest (one of my favorites) and I was determined to make it to the show.
When we arrived, covered in snowdust, the girl behind the ticket counter told us that their ticket machine wasn't working right, and that we would have to use sticky notes as our stubs (she wrote our seat numbers on them and that we had paid). So, with our programs in hand, and our sticky notes attached, we went up the staircase and into the upper lobby. The ticket-taker, looked at our sticky notes, and then politely asked us if we needed help finding our seats. Now, normally, this would seem to be a noteworthy question, however, there were not even 15 other audience members in the theater, as it wasn't exactly a night for travelling outside the home. (Nashville pretty much shuts down at the mention of snow.) Melissa and I looked at each other, then turned to her and said: "Well, can't we just sit anywhere?" To which she sweetly replied: "No, you have assigned seats, but feel free to move when the overture starts, if the seat you wish to occupy still isn't taken." Melissa and I proceeded into the theater, looking at our sticky-notes, when we realized that each of us had been assigned a seat in different rows! We weren't even sitting together! So, as we laughed and stumbled through the theater giggling, we started scouring the rows for our respective letters and numbers, pausing at row "K" accidentally. A lady sitting in the seat at the end of row "K" looked at us and quickly said: "Oh, am I sitting in your seats? I just took a seat on a whim, and didn't look to see where I was supposed to be assigned, so I'll be happy to move if--" We cut her off, with a smile, and said, "No really, we don't know where we're supposed to sit, and according to our sticky-notes, we aren't even sitting together!" So, I looked up toward the front of the theater, and seeing that the ENTIRE front row was empty and the time was 7:29pm and the show was to go up at 7:30pm, I grabbed Melissa's arm and we sat down front and center.
Amidst the magic of the scenery, and the flight of the mischievous spirit Ariel, played by Denice Hicks, and the eloquent and wonderfully talented Brian Russell who played Prospero, and the humorous Trinculo and Stephano, it was a play to watch again and again. My only complaint was that I got to see it only once. I should give the cast their due honor by writing an audience member's review, which perhaps I shall, and send it to them for their own personal gain. For too many times, we tend to watch a show with a critical eye and dote upon the mistakes, yet this cast proved to take a well-beloved Shakespearean play, and bring it to life with a new light and much needed rekindling to a show that can be performed with a mundane routine about it.
After the show, we stood outside the theater on the street corner, throwing snowballs at the passing cars. It was, after all, my first real snowfall, so throwing snowballs at oncoming traffic was a must! Luckily the drivers waved and smiled at our revelry, instead of stopping the car and chasing after us! We grabbed a bite of sushi and a small carafe of sake at PM, right across from the Troutt Theater, and then headed home for a midnight stroll through the snowy streets, taking pictures, making snow angels, and running after late-night passersby with our snowball ammunition.
In bed by 2am, no doubt to be awake and at rehearsal the next day, I dreamed of dreams I hadn't yet lived in my sleep, for now my head was filled with wintry thoughts and icy memories of a tempestuous, winter's night.
Alas, the gathered snow is melting from the world of alabaster, leading it's inhabitants to a greener life; leaving behind it's glistening treasures in puddles of stolen memories of a once frozen world...
Okay, so that would be the poetic way to say it, or I could be a bit more realistic and say:
"Well, there's a little snow left on the ground here and there, but mostly everything has turned to cold mud."
Yep. That's probably more like it.
You see, this was my first REAL snow experience. Little 'Ole Nashville received about 10 inches of snowfall, and for a Florida-girl-gone-San-Diego-then-on-to-Nashville transplant, this was a pretty amazing experience of a weekend. The snow started falling on Friday morning, and literally didn't stop until Sunday.
Friday night, about four inches had fallen and I was in awe. Melissa and I didn't have rehearsal and decided to brave the winter chills and blustery snowfall for a night at the theater. Nashville Shakespeare Festival was performing The Tempest (one of my favorites) and I was determined to make it to the show.
When we arrived, covered in snowdust, the girl behind the ticket counter told us that their ticket machine wasn't working right, and that we would have to use sticky notes as our stubs (she wrote our seat numbers on them and that we had paid). So, with our programs in hand, and our sticky notes attached, we went up the staircase and into the upper lobby. The ticket-taker, looked at our sticky notes, and then politely asked us if we needed help finding our seats. Now, normally, this would seem to be a noteworthy question, however, there were not even 15 other audience members in the theater, as it wasn't exactly a night for travelling outside the home. (Nashville pretty much shuts down at the mention of snow.) Melissa and I looked at each other, then turned to her and said: "Well, can't we just sit anywhere?" To which she sweetly replied: "No, you have assigned seats, but feel free to move when the overture starts, if the seat you wish to occupy still isn't taken." Melissa and I proceeded into the theater, looking at our sticky-notes, when we realized that each of us had been assigned a seat in different rows! We weren't even sitting together! So, as we laughed and stumbled through the theater giggling, we started scouring the rows for our respective letters and numbers, pausing at row "K" accidentally. A lady sitting in the seat at the end of row "K" looked at us and quickly said: "Oh, am I sitting in your seats? I just took a seat on a whim, and didn't look to see where I was supposed to be assigned, so I'll be happy to move if--" We cut her off, with a smile, and said, "No really, we don't know where we're supposed to sit, and according to our sticky-notes, we aren't even sitting together!" So, I looked up toward the front of the theater, and seeing that the ENTIRE front row was empty and the time was 7:29pm and the show was to go up at 7:30pm, I grabbed Melissa's arm and we sat down front and center.
Amidst the magic of the scenery, and the flight of the mischievous spirit Ariel, played by Denice Hicks, and the eloquent and wonderfully talented Brian Russell who played Prospero, and the humorous Trinculo and Stephano, it was a play to watch again and again. My only complaint was that I got to see it only once. I should give the cast their due honor by writing an audience member's review, which perhaps I shall, and send it to them for their own personal gain. For too many times, we tend to watch a show with a critical eye and dote upon the mistakes, yet this cast proved to take a well-beloved Shakespearean play, and bring it to life with a new light and much needed rekindling to a show that can be performed with a mundane routine about it.
After the show, we stood outside the theater on the street corner, throwing snowballs at the passing cars. It was, after all, my first real snowfall, so throwing snowballs at oncoming traffic was a must! Luckily the drivers waved and smiled at our revelry, instead of stopping the car and chasing after us! We grabbed a bite of sushi and a small carafe of sake at PM, right across from the Troutt Theater, and then headed home for a midnight stroll through the snowy streets, taking pictures, making snow angels, and running after late-night passersby with our snowball ammunition.
In bed by 2am, no doubt to be awake and at rehearsal the next day, I dreamed of dreams I hadn't yet lived in my sleep, for now my head was filled with wintry thoughts and icy memories of a tempestuous, winter's night.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
that she is busy and she cannot come ~ taming of the shrew
So now I'm feeling the pressures of a life which I love, and yet have set aside for so long.
I took a break from theater and dance for an entire year. AN ENTIRE YEAR. That, in itself, is almost a lifetime in my book. I was up to performing/directing/choreographing anywhere from 8-13 shows a year, and up to 5 shows at a time!! Between a 40 hour work week and 40-50 hours of theater, I was never home, and never relaxing.
Things changed this past year. I became happier in a way that I hadn't experienced before. I learned how to s l o w
d
o
w
n which was not necessarily an easy accomplishment. At times I felt sluggish, and lazy, I felt like I wasn't doing enough, but overall, I realized that there are other things that are important in life. Like sleep. Ha. I have never valued that before. Now, I seem to grasp its importance in allowing me to have a better head on my shoulders (for the most part).
I also learned that when you love someone, you truly LOVE spending time with them. And then you actually desire to have spare moments in time. I used to devour the fact that I would race from work to rehearsal, rehearsal to another rehearsal, go home, spend a few hours learning my lines, wake up, do it all over again - day after day after day, leaving no spare time for anything else. Now, I have seen the other side. I kinda like it. Kinda. I mean, I really enjoy spending the time with B, he's been the best thing that's happened to me. I hate it when I have to say "Sorry babe, I can't make it, I have rehearsal" - but on the other hand, sitting on my shoulder, there's this little green worm with a uni-brow twitching his fuzzy little mustache, eeking out an evil laugh while saying: "But Lauren, you LOVE this life!! You love being taken over by your schedule and you delight in its demands. Welcome home...(evil wormish laugh)"
Yeah, that little green worm is probably right. I do enjoy it. Sigh. I think right now I enjoy it because I've been away from it all for a year. Possibly it'll wear off. Who knows. I seem to be happiest when I'm the most busy. Although, this past year has been amazingly lovely in a way I never expected it could. I mean, with all the ups and downs and all the disasters and potholes into which I fell. But this year off, proved to help me, okay FINE, I'll be cliche - GROW, a little.
For now, the things that are going to suffer are my other creative outlets - poetry, writing, READING!! Poor George*!! He's stuck by me these past three days when I've been trying to get through being sick!! He stayed by my side every minute and told me stories. I've got to at least do him the respect of sharing his stories with everyone else. But first, I have SWING! rehearsal tonight and we had the read through for Fat Pig last night, and I found out that I have to be off book in two weeks for Fat Pig, so I have to start working on that immediately!! I have some terrifically long monologues (rants if you will) to learn, so I need to step up my game and get on it!!
And so, it continues...
*George Washington is the reference here. For more understanding, please refer to my other blog, "Trading in the Tudors" for which you will find a link to the left.
I took a break from theater and dance for an entire year. AN ENTIRE YEAR. That, in itself, is almost a lifetime in my book. I was up to performing/directing/choreographing anywhere from 8-13 shows a year, and up to 5 shows at a time!! Between a 40 hour work week and 40-50 hours of theater, I was never home, and never relaxing.
Things changed this past year. I became happier in a way that I hadn't experienced before. I learned how to s l o w
d
o
w
n which was not necessarily an easy accomplishment. At times I felt sluggish, and lazy, I felt like I wasn't doing enough, but overall, I realized that there are other things that are important in life. Like sleep. Ha. I have never valued that before. Now, I seem to grasp its importance in allowing me to have a better head on my shoulders (for the most part).
I also learned that when you love someone, you truly LOVE spending time with them. And then you actually desire to have spare moments in time. I used to devour the fact that I would race from work to rehearsal, rehearsal to another rehearsal, go home, spend a few hours learning my lines, wake up, do it all over again - day after day after day, leaving no spare time for anything else. Now, I have seen the other side. I kinda like it. Kinda. I mean, I really enjoy spending the time with B, he's been the best thing that's happened to me. I hate it when I have to say "Sorry babe, I can't make it, I have rehearsal" - but on the other hand, sitting on my shoulder, there's this little green worm with a uni-brow twitching his fuzzy little mustache, eeking out an evil laugh while saying: "But Lauren, you LOVE this life!! You love being taken over by your schedule and you delight in its demands. Welcome home...(evil wormish laugh)"
Yeah, that little green worm is probably right. I do enjoy it. Sigh. I think right now I enjoy it because I've been away from it all for a year. Possibly it'll wear off. Who knows. I seem to be happiest when I'm the most busy. Although, this past year has been amazingly lovely in a way I never expected it could. I mean, with all the ups and downs and all the disasters and potholes into which I fell. But this year off, proved to help me, okay FINE, I'll be cliche - GROW, a little.
For now, the things that are going to suffer are my other creative outlets - poetry, writing, READING!! Poor George*!! He's stuck by me these past three days when I've been trying to get through being sick!! He stayed by my side every minute and told me stories. I've got to at least do him the respect of sharing his stories with everyone else. But first, I have SWING! rehearsal tonight and we had the read through for Fat Pig last night, and I found out that I have to be off book in two weeks for Fat Pig, so I have to start working on that immediately!! I have some terrifically long monologues (rants if you will) to learn, so I need to step up my game and get on it!!
And so, it continues...
*George Washington is the reference here. For more understanding, please refer to my other blog, "Trading in the Tudors" for which you will find a link to the left.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
my sickness grows upon me ~ king lear
I'm sick.
Tissues don't seem to be bountiful enough and it's so difficult to keep my eyes open.
That's about it for today.
Tissues don't seem to be bountiful enough and it's so difficult to keep my eyes open.
That's about it for today.
Friday, January 29, 2010
and birds sit brooding in the snow ~ love's labour's lost
Today is a beautifully picturesque day.
The snow is falling like powdered sugar being sifted; it's as though the heavens are dusting gingerbread houses with sweetened snow.
My hands are freezing and my fingers are skipping quickly across the keyboard, trying to keep warm with the tapping out of new words.
A winter's day.
No sunshine.
No rain.
Just white.
And silence.
(Except for the occasional train, crossing the tracks, announcing its passage with whistles and the crossing bells. And of course, except for the pitter-patter of the keys as I type.)
I watched a squirrel run across the road, leaving behind tiny tracks in the snow. And as he sat, alert and unaware of anything else but the acorn he had stolen away from the tree, I watched as his fluffy tail went from brown to white, as he was decorated with snowy fur.
There are three crows causing a scene across the way. They look out of place in this whitened world. I think they are playing some sort of game. They take turns running across the snow covered streets, and then perch on a nearby branch. Then the other two, fly down as if they are looking at the patterns of the other crow's footprints in the snowfall. I wonder if they're playing a silent pictionary game. Perhaps they're making pictures with their footprints, in the snow, and then taking turns guessing what the other drew.
I should like to play too.
I'll bet I'd win.
Though I think it might be difficult to make interesting pictures with my big feet. It might prove to be quite a clumsy attempt.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
that may be, must be, love, on thursday ~ romeo and juliet
How many times is too many to tell someone you love them?
Does it start losing its meaning if it's said too often, or does it deepen each time you say it because you've grown to love someone so much that you can't imagine not telling them you love them when you get the chance?
George Sand once said:
"There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved."
Is that true? What if the amount of love you have to give causes pain to another, because they can't return the love equally? Then is that the paved road to unhappiness for both parties? Or is it an obstacle to be overcome?
"Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence."
~Henry Louis Mencken
Indeed. To love creatively and to find joy in the shadows of pain and sorrows, to seek peace when everything else is at war, is to have put your left brain to sleep for a while and to caress the imagination from within. You can win a battle of right and wrong with facts and proven theories, but to win a battle of wits, you must lead with the proclamations of your heart. To win a battle of the heart, you have to be able to hear the rythm of the heartbeats from the one you love and decipher the code into a lanuage you understand. I believe it's a battle that's won and lost many times over throughout every relationship.
"They do not love that do not show their love.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
Love is a familiar. Love is a devil.
There is no evil angel but Love."
~William Shakespeare
Tis true.
The perception of love comes through the language of love, and as it's been said, there are many love languages. But to not show love at all, proves to be believed that one has no love to give.
Love brings us together, and tears us apart.
There is nothing that makes me grieve more than love, and nothing that makes me happier than being loved.
I sometimes wish I was the Tin Man. Wouldn't life be easier if we were hollow?
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
the web of our life is of a mingled yarn ~ all's well that ends well
Have you ever had a connection with someone you've never even met?
I've been following a blog of someone who somehow, manages to inspire me, causes me to think about things that I might otherwise cluster in the dusty and shadowed corners of my thoughts, provokes me to face things that typically I might turn away from, and yet, we've never even spoken.
Something within me was stirred this morning.
I was reading his blog, and he was telling his story of finally being able to "take the next step", to move on, or, rather, cycle on, I suppose. (he's a multi-talented athlete who views cycling as an escape, as well as a tool for bettering his mental and physical journeys though life.)
Like me, his relationship of many years ended in 2009, and he's been transitioning into a new life. I've always thought of myself as strong: strong of heart, strong of will, strong with determination, strong with character, and I have never really let my guard down long enough to see that it's not always about strength. Sometimes, it's about your ability to put your faith within the strength of others, who are right there, by your side, waiting for you to reach out to them, so that they may share the weight of your burdens.
A quote from his blog: But this has been a year of growth as well as pain. In tearing down my facade of strength and contentment, emotions were released that I had previously pushed down, and I found real strength in letting them see the light of day. It was overwhelming at first, but in dealing with emotional baggage I have been carrying around for far too long, I feel like I have grown beyond simple recovery, and may be coming out the other side a stronger person.
My marriage of 9 years was ended after a battle of love and life was defeated by the darkened shadows of smoke and mirrors. I thought I was so strong because I didn't even shed a tear over the loss of my relationship, when in fact, I think, perhaps, I didn't allow my friends to help me through it. I just pushed everything as far back in my brain as I could, so as not to have to deal with it. And now, I can't cry. My life has changed so much, and there are so many things I've seen again, for the first time. Not everyone gets that chance. The chance to start over, the chance for a new life. I suppose I'm trying to see the brightness through the murky chasms of failure. I felt like I had failed at something that I always knew I'd be able to succeed. And yet, I feel as though, slowly, that failure has turned into an unexpected opportunity to thrive; an opportunity to rekindle life that had become stilted within myself.
It feels so wonderful to be starting fresh. I'm finding my solace within the place that always seems like a second home: in the arms of the theatrical world, fulfilling my heart's desire with my perpetual life on stage. I've always used performing as a way to escape - a way to become someone else and get away for a while - find a new walk, a new way to talk, a new personality, new mannerisms for a person that I would never truly become, yet now, I'm using these characters as a way to discover new things about myself and as a release for my well-being. It's no longer an escape. It feels so strange. When I look back at my tumultuous marriage, I see a beautiful life, a hard life, a wonderfully happy marriage, a marriage of stone lives, a home filled with laughter, a home filled with silence, truthful hearts, a heart of lies and deception, two people bound with love, two people broken by mistrust. For ten years, I was with someone, and we had proclaimed that our together would last forever. Neither of us knew that forever would arrive so soon. Sometimes I regret my decision from 9 years ago to commit my life to him, to join our lives as one. Sometimes I wish that I would be able to say that I had married the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with. But wishing only wounds the heart and my wounds have healed. I have a new love for so many things I felt I wasn't allowed to fully love before. I know what makes me happy, and I can now reach for that happiness without being stopped by the boundaries of my previous life. I have found new love within a heart of someone who has shown me a kind of love that I thought only existed in Jane Austen novels or within the Iambic Pentameter of Shakespeare's sonnets. If I had stayed in the life I once had, I never would have discovered that love could be this good.
I have moved across a world of disillusionment into a land of understanding, and you know what, it feels pretty damn good.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
with eggs, sir? ~ merry wives of windsor
I bought a small fry.
A rather tiny frying pan.
And I also bought a mini spatula.
It makes a perfect egg over easy and holds two well-beaten eggs that can be served up scrambled or in the style of my famous "egg pizza".
It was either that, or continue using a massive frying pan that could scramble a dozen eggs at once.
I just eat two.
No use in dirtying up a huge pan for nothin'.
In fact, for those of you who only make eggs for yourself in the morning, I highly recommend the small fry.
Monday, January 25, 2010
clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance ~ titus andronicus
After a daunting four days, I can finally see the silver lining and it is resplendent.
It was brought to my attention that it seems as if I am the every-always-optimist and that it's alright to have worldly days of disappointment; days when life just sucks and your brows stay furrowed.
How much brighter life seems with arched brows and rosy cheeks though!
Friday.
- mood starting lifting around 7:12pm.
- Candance, Brooke and I went wedding dress shopping with Jess. Fourth dress was THE ONE. Gorgeous.
- smuggled champagne into the bridal shop.
- then realized all we had to conceal the liquid contraband were red, plastic, SOLO cups. could we be any more obvious?
- drinks, dinner & a little bit of girl time afterwards.
Saturday.
- didn't sleep well Friday night, went to bed at 2am.
- woke up at 8am due to a restless night of sleep.
- dragged myself to the noon o'clock auditions for Fat Pig with Groundworks Theatre.
- 12:33pm - have to leave auditions early because of 1:00 rehearsal for SWING! (the auditions went till 5:00pm) I only got to read twice for the role of Jeannie because I had to leave early.
- frustration sets in.
- outlook not so great for getting the role, due to lack of audition time and the fact that by 12:33pm, there were 10 other amazingly beautiful and talented girls waiting with scripts in hand for their audition slot and a shot at the same role.
- 1:00pm - rehearsal, and my quads about to give out on me.
- 7:08pm - completely exhausted and passed out after a 5 and a half hour rehearsal, draped across Billy's lap after two sips of chardonnay.
- 9:44pm - muster up enough energy to go to Drifters for drinks and dinner with Billy and Dave, which turned into a party for 12.
Sunday.
- 10:36am - I awoke well rested and smiling.
- lazy morning in bed, snuggling and chatting with a simple pattern of stream of consciousness banter.
- 11:49am - scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast. (according to Billy, the best cinnamon toast ever)
- 1:33pm - off to rehearsal.
- quads = still hurting, but allowing me to mark through the numbers without too much pain
- rehearsal = extremely taxing as we were all exhausted after a long week of work and evening rehearsals. the heat was on so that we wouldn't encourage pulled muscles and other injuries upon our tired bodies.
- all of our brains felt like the 80's commercial with the eggs and the frying pan. "This is your brain; this is your brain on drugs" - yes indeed. Our brains were the burnt eggs that didn't look appetizing.
- 5:29pm - missed a call from the director of Fat Pig.
- 6:39pm -return missed call.
- 6:43pm - screaming in the car due to the excitement of being offered the role of Jeannie"!
- 8:04 -Margarita's at Rosepepper with Mel & Dave.
- 12:44 - turn out the light and attempt to drift off with promises of the start of a new week.
I guess sometimes those crappy days, that leave lingering pessimism on not-so-dreary days yet to come, taking away the brightness of sunshine, allow you to enjoy the freshened color palate of a brand new day, when you've been staring at a world of white for days on end.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! ~ romeo and juliet
I'm in a funk.
I just want to go home and pour myself a drink, curl up with a book and zone out.
Pity Party of one.
I feel like nothing is going right for me these days.
I don't know.
I'm in a show that I've been wanting to do for a year. I should be happy about that right?
Wrong.
I've injured both my quads and the healing process is really keeping me from learning the dance numbers. I'm wondering if I'm going to be able to do the show.
I just got my hair cut and colored. It looks amazing. Do I feel glamorous?
No.
I feel fat and out of shape, even though I'm dancing 5 days a week and have lost 10 pounds and everyone else thinks I'm crazy for wanting to be thinner.
Then I read a script for an upcoming audition this weekend. "Fat Pig."
Four characters. Two guys, one rather large woman and a skinny girl.
I'm obviously not auditioning for the large woman. But when reading the script, I felt this compassion for this character, Helen. She's living in a world where being fat means being unacceptable and judged.
I feel judged all the time.
But not like this.
Part of me wondered if I would take her by the hand and love her unconditionally, and part of me wondered if I'd talk about her behind her back.
Am I really that shallow?
Another pity party.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I'm not judgemental, I really genuinely love people, and I have unique passions for everyone who comes into my life, on different levels.
Perhaps I need to do this show.
I hope I get cast.
I usually love my job. I love kids. I love being around them.
This week I hate it.
I want to put the baby in her crib, walk out the door and not come back.
Horrible, right?
Obviously I would never do that, but my brain provoked me with the fleeting thought of it.
I have a boyfriend who loves me.
I have never been happier and in love with anyone like I am with him.
But I can't stop wondering if he's really in this relationship.
You know, I asked him wanted he wanted to do for Valentine's Day, implying that I can't wait to do something special. He said he wasn't really into it.
Wow, really?
I like to be swept off my feet and feel like the man I'm in love with couldn't do enough to woo me.
I thought he was like that.
I need that.
I am such a hopeless romantic, and I need those little in between times between holidays and birthdays to feel an indescribable love from the man in my life. I mean, it might be cliche to have a romantic evening on Valentine's Day, but so what. I'm entitled to enjoy that day if I want to.
I have friends coming over tonight because they want to "hang out" and spend "quality time" with me.
I can't help but roll my eyes at the thought.
I don't want to be around anyone.
I don't want to chit chat, I don't want to hear about their day and listen to hapless banter, I want to be alone.
Is it too late to call it off since it's been planned?
Billy wants me to move in with him.
I want to live with him, but I don't want to live 45 minutes away from Nashville.
J is completely happy with everything in her life and I hear about it all the time.
Why shouldn't I?
I'm her maid of honor and best friend.
She is booking lots of commercial gigs and whatnot.
I'm probably upset that I'm not.
But you know what, how am I supposed to book anything when I don't have an agent?
Part of my fortitude for 0-10 get an agent and start auditioning for commercials and film gigs.
I need to do that.
Period.
I'm exhausted and need a break.
A break from life and a break within life's crazy, winding labyrinth.
I need a vacation.
I need for someone else to hold me up instead of me trying to hold up everyone else.
My legs are getting tired and my arms are about to give out.
I just want to go home and pour myself a drink, curl up with a book and zone out.
Pity Party of one.
I feel like nothing is going right for me these days.
I don't know.
I'm in a show that I've been wanting to do for a year. I should be happy about that right?
Wrong.
I've injured both my quads and the healing process is really keeping me from learning the dance numbers. I'm wondering if I'm going to be able to do the show.
I just got my hair cut and colored. It looks amazing. Do I feel glamorous?
No.
I feel fat and out of shape, even though I'm dancing 5 days a week and have lost 10 pounds and everyone else thinks I'm crazy for wanting to be thinner.
Then I read a script for an upcoming audition this weekend. "Fat Pig."
Four characters. Two guys, one rather large woman and a skinny girl.
I'm obviously not auditioning for the large woman. But when reading the script, I felt this compassion for this character, Helen. She's living in a world where being fat means being unacceptable and judged.
I feel judged all the time.
But not like this.
Part of me wondered if I would take her by the hand and love her unconditionally, and part of me wondered if I'd talk about her behind her back.
Am I really that shallow?
Another pity party.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I'm not judgemental, I really genuinely love people, and I have unique passions for everyone who comes into my life, on different levels.
Perhaps I need to do this show.
I hope I get cast.
I usually love my job. I love kids. I love being around them.
This week I hate it.
I want to put the baby in her crib, walk out the door and not come back.
Horrible, right?
Obviously I would never do that, but my brain provoked me with the fleeting thought of it.
I have a boyfriend who loves me.
I have never been happier and in love with anyone like I am with him.
But I can't stop wondering if he's really in this relationship.
You know, I asked him wanted he wanted to do for Valentine's Day, implying that I can't wait to do something special. He said he wasn't really into it.
Wow, really?
I like to be swept off my feet and feel like the man I'm in love with couldn't do enough to woo me.
I thought he was like that.
I need that.
I am such a hopeless romantic, and I need those little in between times between holidays and birthdays to feel an indescribable love from the man in my life. I mean, it might be cliche to have a romantic evening on Valentine's Day, but so what. I'm entitled to enjoy that day if I want to.
I have friends coming over tonight because they want to "hang out" and spend "quality time" with me.
I can't help but roll my eyes at the thought.
I don't want to be around anyone.
I don't want to chit chat, I don't want to hear about their day and listen to hapless banter, I want to be alone.
Is it too late to call it off since it's been planned?
Billy wants me to move in with him.
I want to live with him, but I don't want to live 45 minutes away from Nashville.
J is completely happy with everything in her life and I hear about it all the time.
Why shouldn't I?
I'm her maid of honor and best friend.
She is booking lots of commercial gigs and whatnot.
I'm probably upset that I'm not.
But you know what, how am I supposed to book anything when I don't have an agent?
Part of my fortitude for 0-10 get an agent and start auditioning for commercials and film gigs.
I need to do that.
Period.
I'm exhausted and need a break.
A break from life and a break within life's crazy, winding labyrinth.
I need a vacation.
I need for someone else to hold me up instead of me trying to hold up everyone else.
My legs are getting tired and my arms are about to give out.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
she's fraught from candy ~ twelfth night
I am really craving some chocolate covered popcorn.
I'll settle for some Cadbury Mini Eggs.
I'll settle for some Cadbury Mini Eggs.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
to seek new friends and stranger companies ~ a midsummer night's dream
I had rehearsals both Saturday and Sunday which kicked my a**. Toward the end of rehearsal, I pulled a muscle in my quad. I've been trying to nurse my leg back to health with no avail. I should be staying off of it, and keeping the heating pad on it in 20 minute rotations, but instead, I'm chasing kids during the day and dancing on it all night. I have no clue when my leg will get better. Hopefully by tomorrow night, as I have an entire evening of Lindy Hopping.
I have a new and amazing friend who seems to really fulfill me in a different way from the way I feel with most of my other friends. I just love being around her and I can't wait to get to know her even better. Our personalities click in a way that I haven't had in a while, and I genuinely like being around her. (We snuck away and had secret martinis at the bar when we were supposed to be in rehearsal on Sunday)
Sunday night, a few of us went to Dave & Busters and acted like big kids, playing games, running around showing off how many tickets we won, trying to outsmart each other with trivia, shooting whores and gangsters from the wild west saloons. It was a damn good time.
Quote of the evening:
Billy: (after wandering off and discovering a new game that we had yet to play, and then gleefully returning to tell us of this new and interesting game)
"So, I think I found my new favorite game! You see, I was a polar bear and I had this club and I had to beat the fish over the head with the club! It's the best game EVER."
Yes, that's my boyfriend.
And then later on that night, after feeling a little tipsy from our earlier cocktails and beer swilling, we snuggled in with glasses of wine and watched an episode of The Secret Lives of Women: I'm a Husband Beater. Simply romantic, isn't it? There is something so absolutely intriguing about that show. Sometimes you learn that these secret lives of women encompass weird fetishes like wearing diapers and sleeping in adult sized cribs, and drinking from baby bottles, and sometimes you learn that your next door neighbor soccer mom, is really a glorified prostitute who works at a brothel, and sometimes, you learn that there are women who are so controlling that they actually abuse their spouses. It makes my life seem so completely normal.
Since neither of us had to work yesterday, Billy and I went to the Adventure Science Center and were once again, big kids. We walked through the solar system, took pictures in front of dinosaurs and journeyed through the human brain.
I ended the night with a four hour dance rehearsal, and a comical ride home with one of my best friends. We talked of personality match-ups, relationships, how we think the rehearsal went and our sex lives.
I'd say, overall, I had a very eventful weekend.
I have a new and amazing friend who seems to really fulfill me in a different way from the way I feel with most of my other friends. I just love being around her and I can't wait to get to know her even better. Our personalities click in a way that I haven't had in a while, and I genuinely like being around her. (We snuck away and had secret martinis at the bar when we were supposed to be in rehearsal on Sunday)
Sunday night, a few of us went to Dave & Busters and acted like big kids, playing games, running around showing off how many tickets we won, trying to outsmart each other with trivia, shooting whores and gangsters from the wild west saloons. It was a damn good time.
Quote of the evening:
Billy: (after wandering off and discovering a new game that we had yet to play, and then gleefully returning to tell us of this new and interesting game)
"So, I think I found my new favorite game! You see, I was a polar bear and I had this club and I had to beat the fish over the head with the club! It's the best game EVER."
Yes, that's my boyfriend.
And then later on that night, after feeling a little tipsy from our earlier cocktails and beer swilling, we snuggled in with glasses of wine and watched an episode of The Secret Lives of Women: I'm a Husband Beater. Simply romantic, isn't it? There is something so absolutely intriguing about that show. Sometimes you learn that these secret lives of women encompass weird fetishes like wearing diapers and sleeping in adult sized cribs, and drinking from baby bottles, and sometimes you learn that your next door neighbor soccer mom, is really a glorified prostitute who works at a brothel, and sometimes, you learn that there are women who are so controlling that they actually abuse their spouses. It makes my life seem so completely normal.
Since neither of us had to work yesterday, Billy and I went to the Adventure Science Center and were once again, big kids. We walked through the solar system, took pictures in front of dinosaurs and journeyed through the human brain.
I ended the night with a four hour dance rehearsal, and a comical ride home with one of my best friends. We talked of personality match-ups, relationships, how we think the rehearsal went and our sex lives.
I'd say, overall, I had a very eventful weekend.
Friday, January 15, 2010
i am weary; yea, my memory is tired ~ coriolanus
I am exhausted.
As of yesterday at 3:30pm, I had already worked a 40 hour week and then continued to work until 5:30pm, and was back at work this morning for yet another day of work from 7:30-5:30pm.
Last night we had a ridiculously high impact rehearsal that required a lot of energy and stamina. From 6:45-10:45pm, we rehearsed swing numbers, jive, lindy hop -- we basically put the entire first act together with a very short 4 minute break to shove granola bars down our throats and guzzle water - a break just long enough to give us an energy boost that would enable us to keep dancing.
Drenched in sweat, I left the studio exhuasted, body ready to sign out of life for a little while.
With a shower, a glass of wine, an ice pack on the ankle, and an hour of winding down in the arms of my boyfriend, watching Sports Center (okay, so I wasn't really watching, I was in a complete daze) - I was in bed by 1:30am, and ready to be taken away with slumber.
I'm now on my third cup of coffee this morning and have a RedBull waiting for me in the fridge for my afternoon pick-me-up.
Photo/Publicity shoot for the show tomorrow at noon.
Rehearsal from 2:00-7:00pm.
Sunday's rehearsal is from 2:00-6:00pm.
I'm taking the day off on Monday. I think it's necessary.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
but now to task the tasker ~ love's labour's lost
Updates on my 1-9.
1. finish writing my children's book. ~ So far I have been making small changes, but nothing huge. Hopefully my inspiration will magically appear in my brain and translate to paper.
2. hire an agent for commercials and film. ~ I need to get new headshots first. Since I'm really getting into even better shape with SWING!, I'm gonna wait until that's over and then get headshots and hire an agent.
3. voice lessons. ~ Nope.
4. find a way to appear on "Ellen". ~ No clue yet how I'm going to accomplish this one.
5. watch every Cate Blanchett movie ever made. ~ There are 29 movies available to watch at the moment, and 2 more are being released in theaters this year. I watched "Paradise Road" this morning which makes a total of 20 films of hers that I have watched.
6. pour myself into 2 of The Bard's plays. ~ I need to pick 2. I haven't done that yet.
7. start a new and interesting reading project. ~ As I have decided to read a biography on each of the U.S. Presidents, this is the new project I have started. Mr. Washington arrived last night, so it looks like we'll be spending the next 401 pages of his life together.
8. discover new wines. ~ This is something I should do tonight.
9. read 1 play by Christopher Marlowe. ~ I have chosen to read "Edward II".
1. finish writing my children's book. ~ So far I have been making small changes, but nothing huge. Hopefully my inspiration will magically appear in my brain and translate to paper.
2. hire an agent for commercials and film. ~ I need to get new headshots first. Since I'm really getting into even better shape with SWING!, I'm gonna wait until that's over and then get headshots and hire an agent.
3. voice lessons. ~ Nope.
4. find a way to appear on "Ellen". ~ No clue yet how I'm going to accomplish this one.
5. watch every Cate Blanchett movie ever made. ~ There are 29 movies available to watch at the moment, and 2 more are being released in theaters this year. I watched "Paradise Road" this morning which makes a total of 20 films of hers that I have watched.
6. pour myself into 2 of The Bard's plays. ~ I need to pick 2. I haven't done that yet.
7. start a new and interesting reading project. ~ As I have decided to read a biography on each of the U.S. Presidents, this is the new project I have started. Mr. Washington arrived last night, so it looks like we'll be spending the next 401 pages of his life together.
8. discover new wines. ~ This is something I should do tonight.
9. read 1 play by Christopher Marlowe. ~ I have chosen to read "Edward II".
Monday, January 11, 2010
she dances featly ~ the winter's tale
After two days of intense rehearsals this weekend, my mind wasn't synchronizing with my body in the slightest.
In the middle of rehearsal, after learning an extremely fast swing number without the addition of music, I felt confident in my abilities and felt as though I had grasped the steps in their entirety.
Then the choreographer said: "Alright, from the top, with music."
I stood in the middle of the dance floor with my hands in the air, knowing that at some point, I was supposed to end up in that position, my eyes wide with the confusion of realizing I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. So I just stood there in what I knew was supposed to be the ending pose.
When the music stopped I blurted out:
"You think you get the choreography, and then you realize...there's music..."
Life lesson #4,298:
"Just when you seem to learn that 2+2 = 4, you realize that 1 + 3 = 4 and that 20 - 16 = 4 and then you realize that there are so many more numbers you have to understand before you can get the simplest of equations."
In the middle of rehearsal, after learning an extremely fast swing number without the addition of music, I felt confident in my abilities and felt as though I had grasped the steps in their entirety.
Then the choreographer said: "Alright, from the top, with music."
I stood in the middle of the dance floor with my hands in the air, knowing that at some point, I was supposed to end up in that position, my eyes wide with the confusion of realizing I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. So I just stood there in what I knew was supposed to be the ending pose.
When the music stopped I blurted out:
"You think you get the choreography, and then you realize...there's music..."
Life lesson #4,298:
"Just when you seem to learn that 2+2 = 4, you realize that 1 + 3 = 4 and that 20 - 16 = 4 and then you realize that there are so many more numbers you have to understand before you can get the simplest of equations."
Friday, January 8, 2010
one might read the book of fate ~ sonnet 59
I have decided what my reading project is for 0-ten.
I realize that I have always been consumed with European history and find everything about the British monarchy and the traditions of their lifestyles completely fascinating. Every king and queen, every playwright and poet, every folklore and every tidbit of information I can gather on this dusty lives, I will.
This year, I am trading in the Tudors for the Johns, Georges and Jameses.
It's America's turn.
This year I am going to read the biographies of every United States president that has ever been in office. I have already ordered the biographies of the first five. Each book averages about 600 pages. With 43 presidents, including the president incumbent, that is a total of 25,800 pages of the lives of America's leaders.
I'm pretty excited about this reading project. I love biographies. I love history. I can't wait for Mr. Washington to arrive at my house. I'm sure our first date will involve wine, a cozy setup by the fireplace, with my arms wrapped around his spine...very enticing indeed...
I realize that I have always been consumed with European history and find everything about the British monarchy and the traditions of their lifestyles completely fascinating. Every king and queen, every playwright and poet, every folklore and every tidbit of information I can gather on this dusty lives, I will.
This year, I am trading in the Tudors for the Johns, Georges and Jameses.
It's America's turn.
This year I am going to read the biographies of every United States president that has ever been in office. I have already ordered the biographies of the first five. Each book averages about 600 pages. With 43 presidents, including the president incumbent, that is a total of 25,800 pages of the lives of America's leaders.
I'm pretty excited about this reading project. I love biographies. I love history. I can't wait for Mr. Washington to arrive at my house. I'm sure our first date will involve wine, a cozy setup by the fireplace, with my arms wrapped around his spine...very enticing indeed...
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