Monday, March 28, 2011

How I Failed a Resolution Before the Year Even Started

So at the beginning of the year, in my resolution lineup, I listed this:

Leave myself more free time than last year. I do NOT need to do 2 or more shows at a time, especially when they're not paying me.

Lo and behold, even as I had written that, I was already committed to doing 2 shows. (One which DID pay me!) And I had yet to realize that the week in which I was to be running one of the shows -- daytime performances for school groups -- flowed straight into the weekend in which my other production was going to make up a couple lost performances and do 5 shows instead of 3. Which meant that I was going to be doing 13 shows in 10 days, on top of my 40+ hour a week job.

It was at that point I knew I had to slow the hell down.

But right at the end of all that, I was faced with a possible role in a friend's production (my heart wasn't all in it + small part + unpaid), the chance to take part in a remount of a show I performed in the world premiere of last year for this year's Hollywood Fringe festival (still no pay), and another show (PAID!) for which the AD had personally requested that I come read for after seeing my in the school-group show. All of these would have conflicted with each other in one way or another. I was losing my mind trying to figure out what would be the smart course of action in which I did not anger/hurt friends of mine but did not also screw myself over.

Luckily, it all turned out fine. And now I have free time for a while.

But at the same time, I must look at all of this and say


did I put myself through all that? Is it really worth it?

But then I went to see a few shows put on by various friends of mine this weekend. And after seeing some performances that lacked and yet others that knocked the wind out of me with their power... I remembered,

"Oh yeah. I love this."

So the next time I ask myself WHY I put myself through the stress, sleep-deprivation, worry, rejection, mental anguish, judgement, etc. of doing live theatre, I can just remind myself

that it's because I freaking LOVE it.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Earthquake predictions and things much like them

I'm out with a group of folks from my show at a local watering hole we frequent, due to the sweet and hospitable nature of the establishment's owners, the low price of drinks, and the patio that's outdoor enough to legally allow smoking while being indoor enough to shield one from the harsh Southern California elements. And during the course of the night, we have fun, as people who hang around one another are prone to do. And as all things must, the night comes to a close and we all drift home.

Common tale.

But the second I hit my car, I start running through the night's events in my head. The things that were said; was everything I took in jest SAID in jest? Were there subtle nuances I didn't pick up on? Did I make an ass of myself? Do these people secretly hate me and I'm just too dumb to notice?

And so on and so forth.
But here's the thing.

Trying to figure out what someone else was/is thinking about you is damn near impossible. Re-running the words of another person over and over in your head, trying to glean if there was hidden meaning behind them or if there were irritated glances exchanged behind your back... it's pointless.

Much like worrying about whether or not an earthquake is going to hit tomorrow or not.

(Not that this admission will stop me from worrying about either one, but the realization at least shows SOME self-awareness, right?)

The first time I encountered an earthquake after moving to LA, I didn't sleep for several days; instead, I lay in bed in my first-story apartment, wondering what would happen if The Big One hit during the night. Would I be crushed? Would my neighbor's bed fall on top of me or did he place his elsewhere in the bedroom? What would be the safest place to go? Should I just sleep in the bathtub???

And so on and so forth.

Right before the show today, my friend mentioned to me that several "experts" were predicting a major earthquake to hit California tomorrow, March 19th. (OK, I guess it's TODAY, March 19th now.) This. Distressed. Me. But I shook it off. But now it's back.

Don't get me wrong -- I'm going to find my earthquake kit that a former employer gave me as a Christmas gift a few years ago and put it by my bed, along with a full bottle of water and my laptop, well-packed and protected. But I'm gonna try real hard not to lose any sleep worrying about earthquakes or people secretly hating me. Because if either thing happens, there's not much I can do about it. All I can do is have my shit ready to go if it does.

(If an earthquake hits later today, and this prophetic blog doesn't go viral, I'm going to be really pissed.)

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

White pants -- really?

Does this look really work on anyone in real day-to-day life?

The other day, I was in a store with a pal and commented on how, if I were to put on a pair of the white pants before us (those you see above), I would be terrified that a) I would spill something on them, b) I would sit in something, c) I would spontaneously get my period regardless of the time of the month, and d) that my ass would look like the Great White South. She laughed, but agreed that, no, she would never dare to wear white pants.


I want to speculate on this for a bit.

- The rich, who don't give a crap if they ruin a pair of pants.

- Those with intensely high self-esteem, who know they look hot in the pants and anyone who thinks otherwise can SUCK IT.

- The fastidiously neat, for whom mess is not even an option.

- The immensely zen, who would never consider the list of worries I've mentioned.

- The total disaster, who gets the pants and falls prey to the plagues I listed but is too oblivious to notice.

- The fashion victim, who gets the pants and falls prey to ALL of the plagues I listed after wearing the pants once and never wears them again.

(Uhhh, yikes.)

I know that were I to attempt the look, I'd fall squarely on my Great White South into the final category. Probably onto some gum.

I. Am. Slain.

Madewell. You're killing me.

I adore this skirt found here. Yet I am not prepared to pay that much for the skirt, especially since it's dry clean only.

Really, this entire outfit destroys me. If I were tall enough to pull this look off, I'd wear it every day. (OK, fine, I wouldn't, but I'd want to.) But I can't. Because I'm 5'2" and the skirt is dry clean only.

Monday, March 14, 2011

An open love letter to the notepad function on my iPhone

Oh, iPhone notepad.

In the days before I had you, I relied so much on regular paper. I went through post-its like (insert something else I use a lot; all I can think of now are post-its). My day-planner was littered with things that had nothing to do with my days or planning them but things I just wanted to remember. Trying to check my appointments through a veil of scribblings on songs to remember, restaurants to try, and vinatge stores to check out was not ideal.

Now, I have you.

My incessant and unnecessary list-making feels like less of a vice with you around. I don't have to rifle through my notebooks, trying to remember which week it was that I couldn't stop thinking about making a quinoa-based lasagna item or when it was that I decided that I really wanted to make a rag rug and detailed exactly what I'd need to do so.

Thank you, you electronic enabler.