There's one question I can always ask myself when times get tough in NYC - WWCD - What Would Carrie Do? Shop. And, like in Season 5 (probably my favorite), date the city. So I curled my hair (gotta be curly Carrie - none of that straight Season 2 bullshit), put on my pink coat, and t-strap (fabulous!) low heels (business. I had shopping and walking to do.)
It started out bad. On the subway, this man made me give up my seat to make room for his girlfriend. I almost pulled an SWF Rosa Parks and refused to move, to make a stand for single women everywhere. But decided I couldn't be that crazy - at least until I hit thirty. Anyway, they proceeded to hold their stupid hands and giggle their stupid happy giggles. Gag me.
But the minute my heels hit the 5th Avenue pavement, everything was suddenly better. I felt like instantly wonderful. Carrie was so right! There I was, right outside the Paris movie theatre where Carrie went on her "date with New York", and all I could think was, as always, Ms. Bradshaw was right - it's the greatest city in the world. And that is true love. I know money can't buy happiness. But I think a keen eye for fashion can. Gucci. Pucci. Prada. Louis Vuitton. Hello, lovers. To channel that omnipresent inane Confessions of a Shopaholic ad, "Becky Bloomwood has lots of men in her life (Ralph Lauren! Calvin Klein! Giorgio Armani!) but no romance..." As long as Marc Jacobs is the man in my life, I am so fine with that.
Mostly I windowshopped. But then I found a two floor, crystal chandelier, pink pink heaven complete with stuffed poodles and giant plastic ponies - the Juicy Couture store - "for nice girls who like stuff." Um, hello, it was like made for me! I grabbed a giant pile of dresses I can't afford, and camped out in the giant dressing room (fairytale toile wallpaper! Huge mirrors! Chaise lounge!) for a really, really long time. Glorious. And the salespeople didn't even bother me, because they were too busy like peeing themselves over how cute my shoes were and dealing with all the heinous bridge and tunnel tweens.
So I shopped my way out of my valentine's day funk, and headed home to cook myself a romantic dinner, throw myself an in-room dance party, and do the Carmen Electra aerobic striptease routine, for a little sexy time. And now I have a date with Jonas Brothers on SNL, and am taking way too many "Which Jonas Brother Should You Marry??!!" quizzes online. Apparently, Kevin is my best match, but I just really prefer Joe's hair...tough call.
Regardless. Lesson learned. Boys come and go. Couture is forever.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Men Aren't Necessities, They're Luxuries
True dat, Cher. True dat.
Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! For the first time in my life, I find myself officially bitter. Single, alone, and dangerously hostile towards my attached friends, who would be - oh wait - all of them! Like I said. Bitter. I must be growing up. Tape a Cathy comic to my fridge, bust out the Haagen Dazs and buy me a cat - it's over. It's funny, because I've been single for almost every Valentine's Day of my life (there's one lone pink rose shining like a beacon in my pathetic past) and it never really bothered me until now. Probably because I've had almost two months of life among the smugly coupled feeling like I'm branded with a scarlet S (for single) building up to it. See? Hostile. This is bad, negative energy.
I went to step class this morning to try to work off some of my rage, and my teacher told us that "you need to love yourselves, honeybunnies, every day of the year. Don't just say 'give me a card and treat me like crap the rest of the year!' Love is every day.'" I'm trying to go with that. Not working so much.
Anyhoo, if I go with my old standby, theatre is my boyfriend, this is a very happy valentine's day indeed, yet like most of my romantic experiences, the past week has been an emotional roller coaster, and freakishly bizarre. In review:
1. Every little girl dreams of playing Juliet, right? So when I saw a noneq Romeo and Juliet audition out in Jersey, I decided to make the trek. Turns out it was way, way, WAY out in the middle of nowhere in jersey (like no public transportation - I had to drive all the way to Mt. Olive. It's not even a town. It's a township.) And the theatre was on a lake. And it was...a castle. Yes, a castle. A fake mini castle built in the 70s. It was the weirdest thing EVER. And I thought, how many people could have reasonably dragged their asses all the way out here to bumblefuck? Turns out, every little girl does dream of playing Juliet. There were 50-plus prospective Juliets there. And about 30 wannabe Romeos. All waiting inside this castle that was all fake tudor wood on the inside, complete with throneroom and suits of armor. It was so f-ing weird. When I made it past the first round of callbacks I was sort of happy, but when I got cut in the next round I was actually kind of relieved.
2. I went straight from R and J to my Shakespeare in Hollywood callback - to try to fight my way into the high heels of Lydia Lansing, brooklyn chorus girl turned blonde bombshell. CThe show has 8 male parts, 4 female parts, 2 of which are for 20-something girls. There were 7 girls called back for my part. And everyone had to do their scenes in front of eachother, which was sort of weird. After the first round of readings, the director cut it down to me and two other girls, both of whom were nearly six feet tall, model-thin, and had huge boobs. Clearly, I was freaking out. In my heels I was like as tall as their belly buttons. And I never say this, but this time, I can honestly say, that I was the best one there. They were just hot. And after the second reading, Director sends home me and one of the bimbos, keeping only bimbo-with-the-really-bad-roots. So I was SURE I didn't get the part, as the whole thing had been running american-idol-elimination style. I sort of had a meltdown, about the unfairness of the world, and how talent should trump t and a, and no matter what I did my legs would never be that long, and I hate everything, and bla bla blaa, and I baked a batch of stress cupcakes, and as I was up to my elbows in vanilla cream cheese frosting, my phone rang - Unknown Caller - it was the director - I got the part.
Stunned silence, tears, jubilation ensue.
Rehearsal starts on monday...I'M SO EXCITED!!!!
Okay. I'm going to go put on a pink sweater and shoot surly death glares at anyone I see holding hands.
Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! For the first time in my life, I find myself officially bitter. Single, alone, and dangerously hostile towards my attached friends, who would be - oh wait - all of them! Like I said. Bitter. I must be growing up. Tape a Cathy comic to my fridge, bust out the Haagen Dazs and buy me a cat - it's over. It's funny, because I've been single for almost every Valentine's Day of my life (there's one lone pink rose shining like a beacon in my pathetic past) and it never really bothered me until now. Probably because I've had almost two months of life among the smugly coupled feeling like I'm branded with a scarlet S (for single) building up to it. See? Hostile. This is bad, negative energy.
I went to step class this morning to try to work off some of my rage, and my teacher told us that "you need to love yourselves, honeybunnies, every day of the year. Don't just say 'give me a card and treat me like crap the rest of the year!' Love is every day.'" I'm trying to go with that. Not working so much.
Anyhoo, if I go with my old standby, theatre is my boyfriend, this is a very happy valentine's day indeed, yet like most of my romantic experiences, the past week has been an emotional roller coaster, and freakishly bizarre. In review:
1. Every little girl dreams of playing Juliet, right? So when I saw a noneq Romeo and Juliet audition out in Jersey, I decided to make the trek. Turns out it was way, way, WAY out in the middle of nowhere in jersey (like no public transportation - I had to drive all the way to Mt. Olive. It's not even a town. It's a township.) And the theatre was on a lake. And it was...a castle. Yes, a castle. A fake mini castle built in the 70s. It was the weirdest thing EVER. And I thought, how many people could have reasonably dragged their asses all the way out here to bumblefuck? Turns out, every little girl does dream of playing Juliet. There were 50-plus prospective Juliets there. And about 30 wannabe Romeos. All waiting inside this castle that was all fake tudor wood on the inside, complete with throneroom and suits of armor. It was so f-ing weird. When I made it past the first round of callbacks I was sort of happy, but when I got cut in the next round I was actually kind of relieved.
2. I went straight from R and J to my Shakespeare in Hollywood callback - to try to fight my way into the high heels of Lydia Lansing, brooklyn chorus girl turned blonde bombshell. CThe show has 8 male parts, 4 female parts, 2 of which are for 20-something girls. There were 7 girls called back for my part. And everyone had to do their scenes in front of eachother, which was sort of weird. After the first round of readings, the director cut it down to me and two other girls, both of whom were nearly six feet tall, model-thin, and had huge boobs. Clearly, I was freaking out. In my heels I was like as tall as their belly buttons. And I never say this, but this time, I can honestly say, that I was the best one there. They were just hot. And after the second reading, Director sends home me and one of the bimbos, keeping only bimbo-with-the-really-bad-roots. So I was SURE I didn't get the part, as the whole thing had been running american-idol-elimination style. I sort of had a meltdown, about the unfairness of the world, and how talent should trump t and a, and no matter what I did my legs would never be that long, and I hate everything, and bla bla blaa, and I baked a batch of stress cupcakes, and as I was up to my elbows in vanilla cream cheese frosting, my phone rang - Unknown Caller - it was the director - I got the part.
Stunned silence, tears, jubilation ensue.
Rehearsal starts on monday...I'M SO EXCITED!!!!
Okay. I'm going to go put on a pink sweater and shoot surly death glares at anyone I see holding hands.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
So, What Do You Do?
Random Person in Social Context: So, now that I've finished telling you all about my boring old work at a hedge fund/law firm/publishing house/hospital/battered woman's shelter/research lab/senator's office/firehouse/bat cave, what is it that you do?
Me: Um...I'm an actress. Tor? Tress?
(feels pretentious)
Me: I mean, I act.
(still feel pretentious)
Me: I mean, I try to.
(nervous giggle)
Me: Sort of. Ha ha.
(more nervous giggles)
Me: Well, not right now. Really.
(frowns)
Me: I'm a dilettante.
(gets blank stare)
Me: I mean, I'd like to be a celebutante. But I can't. Cuz I'm not a debutante. Or a celebrity. And I like wearing underwear. Ha ha.
(really blank stare)
Me: Gosh, where did my drink go?
(exits rapidly in direction of bar.)
So, as I'm not poised to inherit a hotel chain anytime soon, celubtantery is not what I do. What I do, at the moment, besides struggle through power funk hop hoppaerobics while being outdanced by a badass gang of asian legal midgets, is audition. And I have several coming up this week.
You know, getting ready for an audition is not unlike getting ready for a party that you know your crush is going to be at. You have to look perfect. Be charming. And hope above all hopes that someone really, really likes you. It's an all day process. In the morning, I go to the gym to work off some of that nervous energy and get those endorphins flowing. Plus, Cosmo says that if you exercise the day of a party, it makes your muscles pop out so you look more toned. And then if I wash my hair right before lunch, it will be at its golden sunshiny best by an early evening audition. The hair is important, people - shampoo, condition, volumizing mousse, decide whether or not to go straight or curly (time to plug in curling iron)...and then there's tanning moisturizer, vanilla scented moisturizer, outfit selection, makeup application, perfume spritzing, packing up the headshot, resume, and various time occupying activities (book, ipod, knitting.) And of course, in between the various beauty procedures, running the 1 - 2 minute (depending on how generous the auditioners are) monologue about a million times. So much effort! How little they know. Or appreciate it. And of course I spend all day long whining about how stressful/annoying it all is, which the BFF had to endure over Starbucks today.
The only thing that really gets me is how much waiting is involved. Firstly, you have to budget lots of extra travel time if you're going somewhere unholy - like Brooklyn - like I did today. Nextly, it's sort of an unspoken rule that you need to get there like 45 min to an hour early if you want a decent spot, so you have an hour of waiting outside before the audition "officially" begins, than 1 to 2 hours of waiting inside for your monologue - a 60 second shot a part which (factoring in travel time) you've probably been waiting 3 hours for. The sick thing is, I love that 60 seconds so much it's totally worth it. I actually love auditioning, once I get into it.
Tonight was a doozy. I got there a little early, and walked down to the end of the street, which was at the edge of the water. I had this perfect view of Manhattan at twilight, and I got all mushy, looking at that great big city of lights and thinking how unbelievably lucky I am to live there. No wonder people think it's a place where anything can happen - it really looked magical. So I headed up the hill to see if I could make any magic happen.
I was the third girl there, after a brunette and a redhead. Turned out it was good I went early, because another girl (later) did my same monologue! Horrors. It was such a weird set up. The theatre is a converted church (very cool space) but they did the audition in the gutted chapel space which now must host some kind of kid's program as the walls were covered in glitter collages. And they had us all do the monologues in front of eachother, which is NEVER done. Plus the director was totally silent until he whispered your name at which point you had a two-second whisper conversation so nobody had any idea what was going on. The redhead (henceforth known as Puck) and I bonded over the fact that it was the most singularly bizarre audition we'd been to.
However, I made it to the second round - scene readings - and it all became totally worth it. The basic plot of the show is that Oberon and Puck (from Midsummer) show up in 30s Hollywood to cause mischief. And although I thought they were going to read me for the fresh-faced ingenue, they read me for the dumb blonde bombshell sexpot! I may have to change the name of this blog...anyway, the scene was ridiculously fun, as I got to wiggle around and practice my Marilyn voice, and how can you not love a character who's opening line is "I'm a slut!"
So, what do you do?
I am, potentially, the Slut Queen of Hollywood.
Callbacks on Wednesday - keep your fingers crossed!
Me: Um...I'm an actress. Tor? Tress?
(feels pretentious)
Me: I mean, I act.
(still feel pretentious)
Me: I mean, I try to.
(nervous giggle)
Me: Sort of. Ha ha.
(more nervous giggles)
Me: Well, not right now. Really.
(frowns)
Me: I'm a dilettante.
(gets blank stare)
Me: I mean, I'd like to be a celebutante. But I can't. Cuz I'm not a debutante. Or a celebrity. And I like wearing underwear. Ha ha.
(really blank stare)
Me: Gosh, where did my drink go?
(exits rapidly in direction of bar.)
So, as I'm not poised to inherit a hotel chain anytime soon, celubtantery is not what I do. What I do, at the moment, besides struggle through power funk hop hoppaerobics while being outdanced by a badass gang of asian legal midgets, is audition. And I have several coming up this week.
You know, getting ready for an audition is not unlike getting ready for a party that you know your crush is going to be at. You have to look perfect. Be charming. And hope above all hopes that someone really, really likes you. It's an all day process. In the morning, I go to the gym to work off some of that nervous energy and get those endorphins flowing. Plus, Cosmo says that if you exercise the day of a party, it makes your muscles pop out so you look more toned. And then if I wash my hair right before lunch, it will be at its golden sunshiny best by an early evening audition. The hair is important, people - shampoo, condition, volumizing mousse, decide whether or not to go straight or curly (time to plug in curling iron)...and then there's tanning moisturizer, vanilla scented moisturizer, outfit selection, makeup application, perfume spritzing, packing up the headshot, resume, and various time occupying activities (book, ipod, knitting.) And of course, in between the various beauty procedures, running the 1 - 2 minute (depending on how generous the auditioners are) monologue about a million times. So much effort! How little they know. Or appreciate it. And of course I spend all day long whining about how stressful/annoying it all is, which the BFF had to endure over Starbucks today.
The only thing that really gets me is how much waiting is involved. Firstly, you have to budget lots of extra travel time if you're going somewhere unholy - like Brooklyn - like I did today. Nextly, it's sort of an unspoken rule that you need to get there like 45 min to an hour early if you want a decent spot, so you have an hour of waiting outside before the audition "officially" begins, than 1 to 2 hours of waiting inside for your monologue - a 60 second shot a part which (factoring in travel time) you've probably been waiting 3 hours for. The sick thing is, I love that 60 seconds so much it's totally worth it. I actually love auditioning, once I get into it.
Tonight was a doozy. I got there a little early, and walked down to the end of the street, which was at the edge of the water. I had this perfect view of Manhattan at twilight, and I got all mushy, looking at that great big city of lights and thinking how unbelievably lucky I am to live there. No wonder people think it's a place where anything can happen - it really looked magical. So I headed up the hill to see if I could make any magic happen.
I was the third girl there, after a brunette and a redhead. Turned out it was good I went early, because another girl (later) did my same monologue! Horrors. It was such a weird set up. The theatre is a converted church (very cool space) but they did the audition in the gutted chapel space which now must host some kind of kid's program as the walls were covered in glitter collages. And they had us all do the monologues in front of eachother, which is NEVER done. Plus the director was totally silent until he whispered your name at which point you had a two-second whisper conversation so nobody had any idea what was going on. The redhead (henceforth known as Puck) and I bonded over the fact that it was the most singularly bizarre audition we'd been to.
However, I made it to the second round - scene readings - and it all became totally worth it. The basic plot of the show is that Oberon and Puck (from Midsummer) show up in 30s Hollywood to cause mischief. And although I thought they were going to read me for the fresh-faced ingenue, they read me for the dumb blonde bombshell sexpot! I may have to change the name of this blog...anyway, the scene was ridiculously fun, as I got to wiggle around and practice my Marilyn voice, and how can you not love a character who's opening line is "I'm a slut!"
So, what do you do?
I am, potentially, the Slut Queen of Hollywood.
Callbacks on Wednesday - keep your fingers crossed!
... and the City
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that despite years of old
- Become a star
- Fall in love
So here I am, in a picture-perfect pink and white studio, within spitting distance of the undisputed bagel capital of the world and your number one source for all things smoked-fish, looking for a Shakespeare festival in search of a Juliet and a doctor/lawyer/heir to a small European throne/Romeo in search of the same. Like an uptown Carrie Bradshaw, or, if I'm going to be honest, an American Bridget Jones. Perpetually single, and constantly in danger of eating the entire contents of my refrigerator.
But I will wear my badge of singleton-hood proudly (as the only single gal in my charmingly monogamous group of friends) as I focus on the important things in life, like sussing out bars full of Irish rugby players, my quest for the ultimate chocolate chip cookie, and, oh yeah, that whole career thing. Headshot in hand, I will proudly venture forth to the places where dreams go to die - auditions.
Because as long as you're going somewhere in a killer pair of heels, it truly is the journey, not the destination.
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