Saturday, August 30, 2008

Oh for Palin's Sake!

So first up, let's all take a moment and appreciate my friend Lee's blog Cupcake Monster, highlighted on today due to her witty and spot-on take on Republican Vice Presidential Nominee Sarah Palin:

Cupcake Monster!
"According to Dana Perino, the White House is "energized" by the Palin pick. Yeah, you get pretty energized running around screaming "WTF."

Aaaaand...last night was our opening night of Fringe Play, which was actually a dress rehearsal/first read/tech rehearsal. It went off okay. Although, talking about 9/11 for 6 hours is exhausting.

Friday, August 29, 2008

Naked & Fringed

So Fringe Play opens tonight. It might be scary, given that we've never had a full cast rehearse together. Or that I've never met several of the cast at all. Or the costumer designer. Or had tech. Hm. But Super Director/Writer/Actor Charles gave us a pep talk last night before we started a run, and he reminded us this is a workshop. It's a play in progress, and what matters is that we are true to the characters. So what if there's no blocking in the last scene? So what if we have new pages of monologues a day before the show? So what? An interesting experience, no doubt. But a challenging one, and, fittingly, a scary one. True enough.

We fling around the term 9/11 like dirty laundry. We use it every day. Cars wear "Never Forget" bumper stickers like elitist band-aids. (I loathe those bumper stickers. You think your peice of sticky plastic on your ugly truck is going to jog my memory? I seem to remember...oh, that's right, I remember all about it just fine without your egotistical help.) I think the problem is (and one which I had forgotten until rehearsals started)that we wall ourselves over in order to toss around our dirty laundry memories. It's human instinct.

Super D/W/A Charles sent out some videos yesterday of the initial news reports on September 11th. I had 15 minutes between work and my commute to Philly, so I started watching, thinking this will be good to see some of those news reports I hadn't looked at in years. Usually, I don't do a huge amount of research, relying instead on that Mamet-ian thinking that what is essential is the analysis of the scene, the understanding of the character's objective rather than what kind of bacon she ate for breakfast. (Organic. Pleeeease.) So, in a rather stupid move, I watched these two little videos, and I immediately started to freak out. I think what I did forget, instead of the general idea of 9/11 itself, an idea that can only be eloquently illuminated by a cheap-ass bumper sticker, is how terrified I was that day that we were all going to die. I was a senior at Upper Merion High School in King of Prussia, PA, in acting class of all places, when the first plane hit and we turned on the television. At first, it was a horrible accident, smoky and so strange, and sad. But when the second plane hit, suddenly the world started to cave in on itself. Were all the planes going to start falling from the clouds? Would all the buildings start collapsing into their roots out of terror? When Flight 93 crashed into that field in Pennsylvania, looking at my own mortality, even sitting at my faux-wood desk in Room 909, was my only option.

So. I watched those videos. Drove to rehearsal. Found a fantastic parking space. (Thank you, Julie, for your excellent karma.) Got to rehearsal. Ate a yogurt. Started the run. Listened to my castmate Michael's speech about making a decision between burning to death in a fire or jumping out of the 99th floor window. And I lost it. I started shaking. I was listening to the other speeches, and when I got up to do my 2nd monologue, I thought I was going to pass out. At the end of my speech, my character dies. I barely finished it. I kind of sped off stage. Which, fine, as an actor, what I should have probably done was lived in that moment, and breathed it in, and shared it with my castmates, and let it be what it was. And I did, for the most part. But in popped that human instinct, to shut it off, to hide yourself when you're vulnerable. So I ran offstage, huddled in the dark, and sobbed.

When you're onstage, and you find yourself finally tiptoeing into the picture, and you yourself are poking your timid little feelings out into the light, it can be utterly debilitating. It's not anybody's natural state to let it all out. Except for crazy people. Which is why crazy people are usually great actors. The trick is finding the balance between crazy and socially existent. (All my actor friends are nodding.)

It's exactly like being in a romantic relationship. How much do you let out in the first month of love? How much can you let out to your partner when you want to marry them? How much can you let out at all? What if they stop loving you? The goal, I guess, onstage, and in life, is to keep no secrets at all. To be truthful and to be naked. In this case, I actually I had no idea I was covering anything up at all. But crouching in the black backstage, once I let out some tears over my freakout feelings about 9/11, suddenly I got this rush of freakout feelings about a whole buttload of issues. I hate planes. I hate heights. I love New York, I hate New York. I believe in Obama so much. What if Obama doesn't win? I hate this war. I protested this war. I held up the sign with my brother and sister at the front of the March 17th March in Philadelphia on the 1st anniversary of the war, and screamed, "What do we want?! Peace! When do we want it?! NOW!" until my voice was gone and tears were streaking my cold face. My grandfather walked beside me in the January march on DC in 2004, and he started to cry when he realized he'd fought in WWII because he thought it would be the very last war. Oh's 2008.

Doing a play about 9/11 is doing a play about today. Literally, I'm speaking lines about my life. I didn't know that when I signed up for this shindig. I thought, "Ah. Fringe. Another goal for the summer checked off!" It breaks my heart to think about the what if. What if Al Gore had won in 2000? What if we had protested the war more? What if I'd given up my artistic life and become a soldier? The day John Kerry relinquished the election to George Bush, the only person I could reach was my brother, Michael. He told me that we had to keep working for the America we were raised to believe in. Even if it doesn't exist, we have to keep believing that dream is possible. Even when bad things happen, and planes fall out of the sky, and our cities change, and our fears are released into the world, and we crack open our chests like dusty attic trunks, we have to keep believing in the possibilities of hope, and change, and America. That's the best part about Obama. He's not the keeper of hope, he's just a person who reminded us it's okay if we each have some.

I'm a little scared about our opening night. I'm a little nervous about how I'm going to react. It is my story, after all. And you know, this reminds me that I truly look forward to my drive across America in a month. I like looking at my country. I'll put on a bumper sticker that says, "Obama Biden 2008."

Tuesday, August 26, 2008


Now that my Hell Job has entered a new era, I'm hoping that I will be able to settle down for my remaining weeks in King of Prussia before I head out west. (EEEEE!!!! That's my happy/scared/excited/peeing in my pants noise that erupts out of my throat when I talk about LA. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEee!)

My To Do Lists are overwhelming. I like to categorize them, type them up, print them out, and paste them in books. The most organized TD I've ever worked with would carefully handprint every single one of his lists and put a tiny little box next to each item, so that he could carefully X it when he had completed his task. I like doing that too. I looooooove X-ing out To Do tasks. It's because it rarely happens.

Which is why my lists are overwhelming! I have my "To Do for LA" list, my "To Do for LA Before I leave PA" list, my "To Buy in PA for LA" list, my "To Buy in LA" list which is attached to my "To Buy in PA for LA Roadtrip," list, my "To Stay in PA" and "To Bring to LA" book lists, and my "What to Do in LA When I'm Poor, Sad, Hungry, And/Or Unemployed and Miss PA" list.


However, last night I stumbled onto Nicole J. Butler's blog on's Unscripted section. She's celebrating her 10th Anniversary of moving to LA. I particularly felt it when she said, "I arrived as an artist, and along the way I discovered that I needed to become a business woman as well." And she so neatly broke it down into this handy equation: "Success = Preparation + Opportunity." (I love blogging.) I feel like this is a reminder from some higher power that I'm not going to die. Just because I have NO CLUE what I'm doing, doesn't mean I'm going to move west and fall down dead. I do know what I'm doing. Roughly. Hey! I've made lists! Many, MANY lists!

In other news, I got a $300 check for my contract buyout from the Indie Film. Money!

Aaaand...9/11 Fringe Show is moving along. Kind of. I will literally be going into our opening night performance with 12 hours of rehearsal MAX. We won't even have the entire cast until our first performance. Last night I was done 1/4 of the way through the rehearsal, and tonight's rehearsal was cancelled. The writer/director is adding lines/scenes/monologues (uh, when am I getting that new scene? Um, okay...) and rewriting old ones. The twelve actors are all sort of rolling with it, because he is so calm, so not worried. Maybe it's because it's the Fringe, and it's low stress, or maybe because this is the truest Work in Progress ever. Every year we'll have a 9/11 anniversary, and every year he'll do this play, in new and varying forms. Last night he even said, "We're not going to do it this way this time, but next time I'm doing this and this..." Uh. Okay....Other than that, it's great! Everybody's very nice, of all different backgrounds, and I'm really enjoying just jumping in to a little adventure. I've worked with so many crazy people at this point in my life, and there really aren't crazies in this. Maybe it's because everybody's so damn professional, so desperate to do this play and this story some kind of justice, that even though no one knows which way is up, we're rolling with it like pros, letting the crap roll of our backs. And I'm looking forward to a free trip to Penn State on a game weekend...


Saturday, August 23, 2008

Where Fantasy RULES!

Call me a psychic, but as soon as I finished my last post, lo and behold I had the shittiest of shit days. This was followed directly by another shit day. Moral of the story: Procrastination is useless. When working for Hell Bosses, shit days are predictable and constant. Stop working for Hell Bosses.

Howeveeeeeer....this is not what this post is about. Nay, my friends! This post is about:


Huzzah and Hallelujah, today was the annual trip to the Renaissance Faire to see our friend Seth prance about in tights and sling faux Elizabethan insults at similarly dressed thespians in Tuxedo, New York. One of the happiest and most ridiculous days of the year. This year I was again accompanied by my friends Beth, Randy, Gillian, and Teddy, all of whom are actors as well, none of whom have acted in a Renaissance Faire.

(For all you Ren Faire virgins, let me set the scene for you: Picture a forest in modern-day suburbia, where a small village of squat, thatch-roofed cottages (If you just sang out the word "Burninating," you just got an extra ten points. All others, please refer to Strongbad.) lie nestled around several mossy ponds, the green waters rippling with paddle boats and a floating dragon head. There is a maypole, a human chess board, stocks, pony rides and knife-throwing games, several taverns advertising "mead" and "steak on a stake," as well as a real-life sword in a stone. Wizards wander around and buxom young wenches cry out as they sell their wares, items that range from roses to elf ears to broadswords. Food tents offer such delicacies as "The Cone of Cookies," "Spycey Potatoes," "Flavored Snow," and turkey legs the size of a small dog. There are flush privies for those who prefer to not use the Port-a-Potty, and Ye Olde ATM for those who have forgotten to pack all their dubloons. This is not a place for the normal.)

There are several things that fascinate me about the Ren Faire, first of which are the actors themselves. These are people who dress up in leather and canvas in the thick of summer, and force generalized British accents through their modern American lips. They perform for 9 hours a day, and not only "onstage" as they perform huge amounts of stage combat in sweltering heat and pounding rain. They perform whole Shakespearan plays in an outdoor theater, fast, intense scenes on bridges and in wooded glens that further the plot of the entire day's overarching theme, but they also are consistently improvising as they move constantly through the audience. Most importantly, they work diligently and genuinely to create a magical foundation for their audience: Yes, you did stumble onto a lost Tudor age in upstate New York. Yes, we do all exist simultaneously in a mish-mash of history, including all of Robin Hood and his Merry Men, Elizabeth I's entire court throughout her entire life, as well as a hodgepodge of other cast members such as Ivanhoe, Sir Ulrich Von Lichtenstein (which I'm fairly sure is the name of Heath Ledger's character in "A Knight's Tale,") Lucrecia Borge, Anne the Pirate Queen, and Mary, Queen of Scots. Yes, we do use a strange perversion of Elizabethan language. (Par example: "I thank thee, milady," "Where art mine mead mug, thou lump-headed dog?" "Thou shalt be mine champion at the joust, Robin of the Hood, at 4 of the Clock!") Yes, we do invite our audience to interact freely with us, onstage and off. Yes, we do invite the exploration of the bawdy side of England's court life by showcasing our breasts and making jokes with a really-not-so-vague sexual innuendo punchline. Yes, we do encourage you to wear your own homemade armour.

Whaaaaat?! Who makes homemade armour?! This audience does. Oh yes.

Second to speaketh about, my lords and ladies: the audience. It's as if the Ren Faire banners proclaim: "Bring me your oversexed dorks, your hopeless medievel fanatics who polish their own dagger collections, Bring me your crazies who own their own doublets, plaid hoop skirts, farthingales, petticoats, partlets and bumrolls, fairy wings, thigh-high leather boots, and corsets meant to be worn over top of your smock (your shirt, you 21st century loser)." These are men who grow their hair long so they can braid it like a "Scotsman." These are families who dress up their babies like pixies, shove their boobies into small strips of woven cloth, and whip out their handmade metal as decorative clothing pieces. They do not work at the faire. They come, they drink a ton of mead, they make lewd jokes. It's a strange, safe world, here at the Ren Faire, where anybody can be anybody. A tall, thin girl with too much acne can be a princess. A large man with copious amounts of hair can be a Celtic God. Couples come and dress in matching belted & tied fashion get turned on by the overwhelming amounts of cowhide and copper. Within the Ren Faire's thatched and paper mache walls, whatever we want to be is not only welcome, but stronger. Even if it is a wizard. It's a wizard with confidence. This is the place where you, my friend, are the coolest.

Third, I must clarify, I LOVETH THE REN FAIRE. I don't know what it is, whether it's being aware of the incredible acting challenge these people work through valiantly and energetically, whether it is observing a truly involved and passionate audience, or whether it's the knowledge that I am one of those people who so desperately want to believe in that strange, safe world where magic IS possible, where heroes DO fight tirelessly for love with swords and bare fists if necessary, where food is plentiful and entertainment is constant, and everything is tinged with sex and humor. We all belong, all children, all adults, all the weirdos, all the fatties, all the shy, all the brave. There are no boundaries. Fancy is free, and we are all part of the story.

They say in acting that when you go to a play, you are watching the action occur because an ordinary character is placed in an extraordinary circumstance. You are watching the normal within an urgent and dangerous abnormal. You go to see yourself be brave. You go to see yourself feel something. Hopefully, it'll rub off a little. We can hope. And here, at the Ren Faire, you are so a part of it, you can't help but feel that this urgent story they are telling is one which could not exist without your presence. You help the story along, by standing next to the actors while they cry their lines into the sky as they run through the town square, by cheering them on when they need you as they battle for the crown. We offer them advice as we pass by them, and while they can't change their scripts, they can hear us, react to us. The heroes themselves are so familiar: Robin Hood, Maid Marian, Little John, Queen Elizabeth. The villians are more varied: the Duke of Northumberland, of Percy, of Norfolk, the Sheriff of Nottingham. The prize is one that none of us have ever fought for in our lifetime: the throne of England. These are old stories that we tell and retell, embellish and choke. Shakespeare himself did the same thing, he stole old stories, well-known stories, and retold them. It's not the story itself that's important, but the retelling, because it gives us another opportunity, as audience and, in this case, as partners, to change the ending. I always thought I could save Romeo, could stop Juliet, but every time I watch it, even when I act it, no matter how I cry, they always die.

So, what is the Moral of Today? To seek out loving, passionate audiences who need you as much as you need them? To always tell a story in a new way? To foster safe spaces to tell the stories? To get archery lessons because I suck at shooting a bow-and-arrow? True, true, but without a doubt, I know the Renaissance Faire is beautiful and necessary, because we all need a place where fantasy rules (that's their motto, btw). Sure, it's not historically accurate, or even relevant. Sure, it's Six Flags on crack, with dragons instead of rollercoasters. Sure, I will never dress up like a wench to get a discount when I go there, but I will always always enjoy myself. I will always always cheer on the Queen's Champion when he gallops his horse down the jousting field. And I will always always wish I was dressed up in my own petticoat, calling out, "What ye olde fun we art having!"

Thursday, August 21, 2008

I hate to say it...but this is another Procrastination Post

I don't want to go to work! So I'm writing this post. Good things happened today! (Maybe deep down I'm worried once I start working, all the good things will be erased by bad, bad things. A viable outcome.)

1. Aetna loves me! Finally! I have health insurance! The only problem...I kind of lied on my application AND on my phone interview. And I'm afraid they're going to find out and kill me. Or not kill, but let me slowly, painfully die and not pay for any of it. Aetna hates me! Still!

2. The sweet IRS man fixed my economic stimulus payment! FREE MONEY!!!! Plus, it turns out I still had more of a refund coming to me, so that means: FREE MONEY + MORE FREE MONEY!!!! (that was actually my money before it was free. hm.) PS who knew the IRS actually had offices?! I just figured there was some windowless building in iowa that you could only reach by telephone.

3. Sweet yoga class that consisted of: ME! $15 bought me my own private session huzZAH! I'm going to be sore tomorrow though. And it turns out, I rely way too much on the other people around me to copy off of. Yeesh. I'm a yoga sham. Then, on my way out, while talking to the owner and my yoga teacher, I made a joke about how I was really just moving to LA to get rich, and they kind of stared at me and then I realized these zen people thought I was the devil and then I quickly left.

4. Almost done my friend Amy's wedding present! Even though the wedding was a week ago...

5. Drinking with the Theatre Horizon theater teachers tonight! woooooo!

6. Took my favorite puppy for a walk this morning. He's a dream.

7. Okay. Time to go to work. Shucks.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

IMDB stands for I'M the goshDarn Best!!!!

Well what the fuck, people, I made it on to IMDB!!!! Maybe this shouldn't be quite as monumentally exciting as it is...but....IT IS! IT IS!

Ah. AAAAAHHHHHHH. I feel happy! I feel pleasantly surprised. Shit, I'm ecstatic! Elated! Go look at my IMDB profile here, motherfuckers: I ROCK.

"Why?" You might ask. You might shake me while you ask, as I bounce around the room, giggling. (Then you tell me to "take a chill pill," at which point I mime tossing an entire bottle down my throat. You know what that was? MAD ACTING SKILLS.) "Big whoop. IMDBoring."

To which I reply, "Too often have I turned to IMDB to compare myself to my other more successful friends. Too often have I turned to IMDB to scan a celebrity's backstory, in hopes it resembles mine. TOO OFTEN have I turned to IMDB out of procrastination, out of loneliness, wishing I too could be profiled and, in turn, stalked. And now, now my friends, I can be stalked with the best of them. Because I was in A MOVIE! Mwahahahahaaaaaa!"

Ah. Not only that, I'm listed as a lead. For being in one scene, and standing in the background of another. I loved Happy Indie Movie. Loved it. AH. I'm so content right now. Speaking of Happy Indie Movie, last week I was talking to one of my wee small campers about swimming, and she confided to me how much she loved hot tubs, to which I responded, "Oh God, I hate hot tubs now, because I was just in this movie and I had to sit in this hot tub with a bunch of other people for, like, seven hours all night long. Oh god, we had a great time...." Immediately thereafter I realized this small child was going to think I was filming a porn. Sweet. What an awesome teacher I am.

In other No other news. I'm happy to be forcing myself to write here again. I missed it. I'm starting to panic a little bit about the impending move (Josh bought his plane tickets today to come help me move! aiee!) and once I get out there I'm going to freak out and just write in my blog whenever I get scared, which will be all day long.

Still waiting to hear about my healthcare. I have a feeling Aetna will be rejecting me again. How upsetting. I have a bump on my knee and I'm trying not to assume it's cancer. I miss New York. I miss Pinkberry. And walking everywhere. I miss my friends. Aw, now I'm getting sad. Think of IMDB! Think of IMDB!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ah. Happy again.

Sunday, August 17, 2008

All Things Grow, All Things Go

As far as music goes, I'm a repeater. I listen to the same song over and over and over again, until the words are so ingrained in my brain I want to throw up. Bile has threatened to rise with "Viva la Vida," "Bohemian Rhapsody," "SOS" (ABBA and Rihanna, woah) and that large Hawaiian man's version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." Right now, it's "Chicago" by Sufjan Stevens, which has as much to do with the fact that I have only two cds in my car (which I currently live in) as it does with the fact that the song ROCKS. Hence the title. Which are the lyrics.


Good things happening lately. Not pee-your-pants-thrilling things, but exciting nonetheless! Number One, I had an uber stressful audition experience last week that evolved into a part in Charles Dumas' "9/11: A Day in the Life of the People," which is good, since most uber stressful auditions just end in either brownies or booze. This one ended in a Philly Fringe Fest show, waHOO! I'm so excited, because it's at the pretty pretty Painted Bride Arts Center on Vine Street, and because Charles is possibly the nicest man ever, and because we get to perform at Penn State, and because everyone is wonderful. Our first rehearsal was yesterday, and even though the rehearsal period is painfully short (like, four days short, yikes) the play is this real living, growing, breathing creation, and the people who are in it are bringing their honest, scary and painful feelings about 9/11 into the room. And frankly, I forgot I myself had them.

Number two, I have a job. It's a crazy, busy, exhausting job, and I am covered in bruises, and I find myself waking up from nightmares about it, but, sadly, it is one of the easiest and least upsetting jobs I've had. And on top of it all, it pays well. Well, thank God! And, fine, I was kind of falling asleep in our first read thru because of said "least upsetting" job, but really, it's been good. It's rather flexible, and I'm working in a beautiful house for a kind family, and I feel like I'm actually pretty good at it. I realized on my way home today that I will always always hate my rent jobs. I won't ever like what I'm doing to pay my bills, because it's not what I actually want to be doing. But this least it's creative. At least it's not demeaning. Ahem. Like others...

Number three. Fun audition tonight! I was totally wrong for the part, and even if I wasn't I wouldn't be able to do it, but the audition came up, and I just made it happen. And I was so so soooo tired going into it, which is maybe why it was effortless to make choices ("Get out of my way, you!!! Oh's just me. Aw crap.") and I found myself laughing with the director, and being really really proud of myself when he thanked me for a "really great read." Hm. Nice. I feel good.

Number four. I'm having a good summer. I'm saving saving! Fine, I don't have a social life at all. (Aforementioned fun/exhausting/creative/stressful job has sucked up my time, life, and energy. I even sleep there. I'm still billing them for that, though...) But I'm working. And I'm working in theater too! I've done two shows and one film in two months. That's ten times better than the last 9 months in New York. And I feel so much more relaxed than I did there. Why is that? Because I don't have to pay rent right now? Because I don't have time to get caught up in all my friends' bullshit? Because my pond has gotten smaller and I've gotten to be a bigger fish because of that? Because I don't do anything fun? Or buy anything? Or have any time to sit around and worry myself into vomiting over music?

I saw some friends from New York this weekend, and in between the friends and the working, I listed to Sufjan sing over and over again, "All things grow, all things grow/All things go, All things go," and felt like that was my summer right there. I guess, my whole life. You fall in love, you make mistakes, you cry, and you fall in love again. I'll always be driving to new cities with new hopes glittering through my windshield, and I'll always get sad, and I'll always get happy again.

This has become a post for a friend, because when I hear the song I think of her, and I imagine it on a stage with a cast of thousands, because we all get scared, and we all get hurt, and then we fall in love again, and we grow, and we go.

I drove to New York in a van,

with my friend

we slept in parking lots

I don't mind, I don't mind

I was in love with the place

in my mind, in my mind

I made a lot of mistakes

in my mind, in my mind

if I was crying in the van,

with my friend

it was for freedom

from myself and from the land

I made a lot of mistakes

I made a lot of mistakes

I made a lot of mistakes

I made a lot of mistakes

Saturday, August 16, 2008


So, a lot has happened in the two weeks since I've last posted (eep! two weeks!) but I'll just say this: I'm exhausted. The first thing that goes when I'm stressed and working hard is sleep. I have nightmares, I wake up every hour, I can't sleep later than 7. Right now is one of those times.

I've been teaching two theater camps during the day, the last one which was literal Hell on Earth. Like, very nearly the 7th circle of Hell. Like, some diety loathes me right now. 25 kids, 5 days, three with learning disabilities if not all on the autism spectrum, two others with serious attitude problems that resulted in a lot of emotional and physical injury, and a bunch of other crazies in between. Whatever. It's over.

At night, and all day on weekends, I've been assisting for this old money family on the Main Line, which just barely is better than the teaching. (It only loses out on being Number One Current Suckiest Job because it pays well. And under the table ha cha chaaaa!) That whole situation is too much to be posted now. I'm too tired.

I will say this. Because I've been spent 2 weeks repeating "Say 'Yes, and...' to your castmates" to thirty-eight unruly little beasts of children, somehow it got lodged way into my brain and Teresa the Optimist Perfectionist Who's Afraid of Conflict dug herself into a big fat Mansion-shaped hole. You know, "Yes, And...". It's that thing we do in improv, and as theater professionals. We find ourselves faced with unbearable obstacles, or even more often, unbearable castmates who create unbearable obstacles, and we grit our teeth and say, "Yes. I will help you correct your terrible foresight and will change my plans so you can completely change my rehearsal schedule. AND, I'll even help you out by referring you to my friend the TD because you suck ass and your own terrible TD quit on you." Or whatever. The idea is that you connect optimism and obstacles.

And here I am. Fucked over by Yes, And...

Sunday, August 10, 2008

The ol' watering hole

I aspire to be more like the Beijing Olympic Games Opening: bright, beautiful, joyful, confident. Ah, yes, and I'd like to wear some sort of lime jumpsuit adorned with lightbulbs. At one point, I guess the scene revolved around water, and how vital water is to the Chinese culture. As the NBC announcer said, they believe that water is the perfect objective: we can be strong and supple at the same time, always fluid and flexible, always changing. That's my new goal. How feng shui of me! Or whatever!

In other news, I've lucked into a fabulous job that pays awesome and under the table to boot. My sister hooked me up with this wealthy Main Line family who she assists for, and while they're vacationing in Jackson Hole (so jealous) their friend/interior decorator needs help renovating their house. Enter me. I'm an organizational beast. I'm a researching giant! IKEA: Give me everything you've got. Benjamin Moore: You are my paint slaves.

Unfortunately, the downside to happy fun wealthy job is that I'm spending every free moment there. A panic attack ensued. I don't know what I'm doing! I suck at this! I need more money! I hate my life!!!! Two things happened after that.

1. I realized this is the perfect job for me right now. It's fairly flexible, so I can go actually whenever I want. And one of my goals this summer was to become an organizational beast anyway. So here I am, practicing my skills that I will be employing on my own life. (My goal for my move to LA and subsequent successful business is to be so completely organized it's impossible for me to be lazy.

2. My good friend Julie reminded me that worrying about money is just about the most useless thing ever. I've been worrying about money in earnest since I was 17, and probably actively worrying since I was 5. (I have a clear memory of being anxious over my parents' financial woes and offering them back my $3 allowance. They didn't take it.) And it's never done me any good. I've never had much more money, or much less, than I do now. Oh well.

And now, I'm off to kayak. with my parents! Next up, make my social life more like water: flowing, active, existent. Bah!