UNRELIABLE

To make myself feel better, I just posted this on a review site for the Blackberry Pearl that I own:

"This morning I relied exclusively on my blackberry pearl alarm to wake me up and the this piece of crap did not work. Now I learned my lesson never to rely on this piece of garbage I call my blackberry again.
Summary: slow on internet, no memory (I only can save about 5 pictures in it), UNRELIABLE, it's so easy to accidentally press the stupid button that let's it voice initialize and then it takes forever to get it to stop."

I had volunteered for this program where professional artists go to a school where the kids write original short plays and we (the actors) read them and perform. I was asked to do this through contacts I made at an audition. Although I thought it sounded fun as well as understood how it could be beneficial to me (experience, rewarding, credit, networking, a chance to work with this reputable company), I was regretting (a little bit) agreeing to this because it was all the way out in Princeton, NJ. Princeton is an 1 and 15 mins. to get to by train from Penn Station, I live in Westchester, where I would have to take a 6:48am train from here to catch a 7:53 train to Princeton from Penn Station. I am not a morning person at all, and so, I was regretting the fact that I agreed to do it. However, I was all set to do it and make the best of it. I had to wake up at around 5:30-5:45am to fully get ready to catch the metro north train that would get me to the NJ transit train that would get me to Princeton in time for the car to pick me up and take me to the school.

I usually set both the regular alarm, as well as my blackberry alarm. Last night, after a long day of auditions and a friend's father's funeral, I was ready to try and get an early night sleep while my significant other watched TV outside (he has the week off from work and has been enjoying sleeping in everyday). "What time did you set the alarm for?" he asked me from out in the living room.

"I didn't set the regular alarm," I replied, "Just my blackberry."

I do not know why I did this, I just thought one would be enough, since having both of them go off is normally more then enough.

On my own, I woke up this morning at 7:30am, and in a panic realized there was no way I could make the 7:53 train from Penn at that time, that I had totally missed the train. I walked over to my piece of shit Blackberry Pearl and it was inititalizing. Is that why this stupid piece of crap did not go off?? After yelling at, I called my contact person for today. I told him the truth of why I couldn't make it today, and how this never happens to me (it doesn't - I am always little miss prompt and dependable). Lucky for me, he was very nice about it, and said he appreciated me telling him. I love when people are nice to me!

However, today, my blackberry and I are both rendered unreliable.

CLASS ACT

It is time to go to acting class. My throat feels dry and my hands are clammy. The butterflies that are supposed to be in my stomach have moved up to my chest and it feels tight and constricted. My temples begin to throb. I don’t want to go to class. I know what is ahead. The berating, the indignation, the reminders of how much harder I need to work to achieve my goals. I walk in the entrance to the school on the 2nd floor of the shabby office building in midtown Manhattan. The kitchen area is to my left. I see her – my teacher and school’s owner- at the sink fixing herself a cup of tea. “Hello,” I gamely say to her, knowing she will not say “hello” back. She responds with her trademark greeting that is somewhere between a sigh and a “mmm” as she turns her back to me and retreats into her office off of the kitchen. I walk into the theatre. Some students are already there warming up. Making non-sensical noises as they stretch. I put my stuff down and do the same. Not feeling connected, but simply copying what they are doing. The teacher walks in, with her straight posture, fiery red hair, and icy blue eyes, observing us as we do our warm-ups. Eventually, it is time for me to get up and do my scene.

“You have not incorporated any technique into this,” she admonishes.

“Yes I have,” I defensively reply.

“Well then, maybe you have no talent,” she says.

One of my classmates raises her hand. Students are encouraged to critique other students at this school.

“I agree that she has no talent. This is supposed to be a dramatic piece, but the way she played it, it looked comical.”

“Why am I here?” I think to myself.

I did not study theatre in college, but at 11-years-old I studied at a Musical Theatre Performing Arts Academy. This was followed by many performances in community and regional theatre productions, private singing lessons, a year of concentrated training in drama and musical theatre at a Performing Arts High School, followed by performing in an off-off Broadway musical, which subsequently won an award. Naively, I believed my limited experience and training was enough to get me cast as Nessarose in Wicked on Broadway, or Penny Pingleton in Hairspray, followed by a contract role on One Life to Live.

Soon, reality hit. Once I began attending every audition and open call I could, I realized I was way out of my league. In the audition room I felt helpless, and even embarrassed. And finding an actable objective after reading a script was foreign to me. I realized I needed an acting class, but I was confused on what kind to take, and where. I knew other performers, but they had all attended college for acting or musical theatre, or full-time three-year conservatories. I was intimidated, and I didn’t want to show my lack of knowledge by asking for advice on a school. “I can research and decide on my own, without anyone clouding my judgment,” I justified.
When I googled: “acting class NYC” tons of hits came up. But me being as green, desperate, and unfocused as I was at that time in my life, I did not establish any criteria for myself for choosing a school. I simply looked at the various NYC acting school websites that came up in my search, and narrowed them down by the ones with class descriptions that resonated with me. I signed up for a class at a well regarded school. Unfortunately, the class did not meet my idealistic expectations (to have a wonderfully fulfilling creative experience with kind people who would become life-long collaborators, and to emerge with a solid acting technique). When this class was finished, I felt uninspired, and confused as ever.

I did some more internet searching, and found myself frequently returning to the website of one school in particular. Not only did this school use the technique I was interested in learning, but it promised to train actors in a supportive environment. It boasted that it taught actors a process they could use for any performance or audition situation, and any medium. After sleeping on it for a few days, I called the school for an interview with the school’s founder and sole instructor. We’ll call her Ms. Teacher. A tall, striking, red-head in her late 30’s, she had a sophisticated British accent and she believed I would do well in her classes. It would be a challenge, she said, but she thought I would fit in there. So I enrolled. I felt like I was starting an exciting journey.

Initially I felt like I was learning a lot about the acting technique that was followed at this school. I was motivated to commit and do the work. But this quickly changed. Ms. Teacher was easily angered and annoyed when students asked questions. Frequently refusing to answer, shouting: “read the book!” She often cracked jokes at student’s expense, and did not interject if a student critiqued another student in an unprofessional way. Actually, she would chuckle when this occurred. Whatever happened to the supportive environment that was advertised? When I worked in class, she would remind me of how much more training I needed. That if I wanted to be a good actor who could work professionally, I MUST stay in her school. When I initially signed up for classes, Ms. Teacher told me it was normal to feel uncomfortable when one begins this training. But was it normal that I continually felt discouraged, and dreaded going to class?

“This is my school, this is my school,” was the mantra I kept repeating to myself. I was sick of waffling. I wanted to make a commitment to something. I wanted to find a teacher, a school, a technique, I believed in. I wanted to feel confident as an actor, to make up for my perceived mistake of not studying acting in college. It took a year of being told I may never be ready for a professional acting career for something to snap in me. Why am I wasting my time and money on studying here, when it’s making me miserable? Before leaving the school, I spoke with Ms. Teacher. I told her why I was leaving. She told me it was not her intention to make me feel discouraged and unhappy, and that she was sorry to see me go.

I never did find that one acting school to spend years of training at, but since then I have taken many different classes which have taught me much. And eventually, I developed a technique to rely on. In the class I’m currently taking, I feel supported, and I walk away each week feeling energized and excited to work further on my craft.

I do not regret the year I spent at my former acting school. Among other things, it taught me that I do not have to feel like the girl who has no control over her fate. If I don’t like the way I am being treated, I can stand up for myself, or I can leave. Eventually I did both. And if I want more training, there are numerous schools (with wonderful instructors) in this city where I can get it.

Sexually Frustrated

I am super freakin frustrated right now. Basically - my live-in boyfriend does not seem to want to have sex with me. A little background - I am a hot 29-year-old who looks about 21, and he is 45.

Before I moved in with him, we had sex 1-3 times a week, on the weekends when we saw each other. Now that we live together, I am lucky if we even have it once a week. I have talked to him about my concerns, and despite a trace amount of effort on his part here and there, the problem has not gone away. He is always tired, or has a stomach ache, or is congested, or some other tired old man excuse. On my 29th birthday this summer he did not give me sex because his stomach hurt. "I'll make it up to you. I promise." But he never did.

Normally we have sex about once a week, initiated by me. The sex is always pretty good and he seems to enjoy it, so I don't understand why we don't have it more often. I have discussed my frustrations with him. Told him I'm sick of being the one to always initiate it. That I feel if I didn't initiate it, we would never have it. That his lack of initiation makes me feel unnattractive. I HAVE ALREADY TOLD HIM ALL OF THIS.

So now, here is the latest. It's been well over a week since we last had sex. This past Sunday, even though he was complaining of being tired and congested, I snuck under the covers. It started with light strokes, then I was full on touching him and made my way under the covers and put him in my mouth and he came pretty quickly. "That was amazing. I want to take care of you now."

"Great," I thought.

"But I will do it tonight. I'm tired now."

Night came and went, but nothing happened because he had a tummy ache. "Tomorrow will be our night," he said.

"You mean MY night," I replied. Gosh - how much effort does it really fuckin take to fuckin reciprocate?

So then the following night: "I know this was the night we were supposed to get romantic, but I'm so mad about things going on at work. You're just going to have to be patient."

I am incensed. I understand he is unhappy over his job, and if this was the first of the sexual problems then I would be patient and understanding. I am still trying to be. But last night was just a new excuse to me. There is always an excuse. I can understand maybe being too tired for full-on intercourse, but he can't even make the smallest fucking effort to make me feel good?

Eventful Month

I am currently in a children's theatre show in NYC encompassing the month of January. It has proved to be rewarding because I like the show/script/my part, most of my fellow actors in the cast, plus it is extremely heartwarming to perform for adorably enthusiastic children. However, this is the type of project I regretted the moment I accepted the role, and also the type of project I swore I would never do again. Why? Because for a mere $100 stipend, I (along with the rest of the cast) am expected to perform a show EVERY SINGLE DAY - 7 DAYS A WEEK for the month of January. On Saturdays and Sundays we peform in the afternoon, and Monday - Friday we peform in the morning for schools or other groups.

When first starting out in the NYC theatre world about 4 years ago, I was happy to accept any role offered to me without complaints. I had a good attitude and I wanted to learn. Over time, however, I became more experienced and more ambitious with my acting career (understandably). And as a result of seeing actors (myself included) get their time wasted and be taken advantage of, I started to become more choosy with my theatre and film projects. And also set certain guidelines for myself, such as: 1)if there is a heavy time committment it should pay, 2)The people involved should be talented and know what they are doing.

So....I finally made piece with the inconsiderate performance schedule. But I feel with this project when I make peace with one aspect of it, other frustrations arise to test my waning patience. First, we were asked to set up and break down the set each and every day. This was something not outlined in the casting notice. The director/producer asked us actors to do this on opening day - what other choice do we have? We have to do it now! Furthermore, there is an ex-con (in the cast) with a heavy Staten Island accent, where every other word out of his mouth is a curse (did I mention this is a CHILDREN'S SHOW), who can't act for shit, and has never been in a theatre production before. As if that wasn't enough, the elevator in this supposedly handicapped accessible space has been broken for a week now, so every day we have to carry a disabled cast member up and down 5 flights of stairs. What will happen next - will we have to climb the facade of the building in order to perform this show?

Eater's Remorse

Do any of you - dear readers - ever experience eater's remorse? 4+ years ago, when my disordered eating was in full swing, I obsessed over (and often regretted) everything I ate after breakfast. I still experience eaters remorse time-to-time, but nothing like I used to. I also do not obsess over my weight or strive to be a size 00. But now I'm experiencing that familiar uncomfortable feeling. I am currently living with my boyfriend in Southern Westchester - just a 30 min. train ride to Grand Central Station. I am in rehearsals for a professional children's theatre show, and since we only had a week of rehearsal before opening we have been rehearsing 4 to 5 hours every day. Today - New Years Day - we had rehearsal from 6:30-10:30. Because it is New Years Day, the train was running on a Sunday schedule, with trains only once an hour, and after 10:30pm even more infrequent.

Rehearsal is at the theatre 5 blocks away from Grand Central. If I had thought to check the return schedule I would have asked the Director if I could leave a couple minutes early so that I could make the 10:32pm train. I did not think of that today, so though rehearsal ended at 10:30, and I got to Grand Central at 10:35, I was stuck waiting for the train - not departing until 11:45!! What did I do with my extra time? Did I use it to go over my lines or blocking, think about my character and her arc in the play, write in my journal and work on my memoir? No! I did not. Instead - I walked into Hudson News, the only overpriced vendor opened in Grand Central at that time,bought a 3 servings bag of Burger King flame broiled potato chips, and proceeded to complete the entire bag before my 11:45 even pulled out of Grand Central. I feel disgusting.

Why did I do this - why did I eat 450 calories of preservative laden packaged food when I wasn't even hungry?

1) First of all, I have been craving steak cut french fries and/or cheese sticks for the past four days, and since I have not been able to attend an establishment that could help me satisfy this craving I have been trying to find "the next best thing." Lesson learned: there is no "next best thing." If you have an intense craving (especially for something junky) lasting longer then 24 hours, then satisfy it. Even if you have to wait a week until it gets satisfied, know that nothing else will do, so don't even try.

2) I was bored, frustrated, and after a tedious 4-hour rehearsal, I didn't feel like doing any of the above productive things to fill the hour of time I had to wait for the train in Grand Central.
Lesson learned: eating will not solve your problems.

3) Finally, even though I feel absolutely disgusting, I will try not to be too hard on myself, because (what I've learned from past experience) the worse I make myself feel, the more likely I will be to partake in emotional (and thus, remorseful) eating next time the opportunity presents itself.

It is important to dissect situations I regret, so that I can learn from it and not repeat my mistakes. Pray for me.

Hopefullness

So the three days since the dermatologist told me I had female pattern baldness, even though I'm a healthy 29-year-old with no family history of any such thing, have been a wave of emotions. The next day I had a commercial audition. I was so supposed to look cute, but here I was, feeling disgusting. It was frightening for me to apply the rogaine to my scalp where I saw a widening part and small bald spot on the back of my head. I've been going out a lot this week with friends. It's been helping. Unless I go to the bathroom and see my head in the mirror. My boyfriend - who I live with - has also been very supportive and helpful. I saw my primary care physician Friday morning, to get her opinion. She took a vile of blood from me to test it for possible causes, such as a thyroid condition and hormone imbalance. Surprisingly, she said at least once a week she has someone coming to see her with this concern. But then, "how many people do you see walking around with this problem? Not many." Meaning, often times it is shortlived.

My bf and I got back from dinner and drinks with friends and he saw how concerned I was about my hair. So he got on the internet to do some research for me. I have already done some on my own, but ever since the dermatologist apt. on Wed. I've been overwhelmed. It was helpful to have my significant other do the work for me. As he began to do some research just now, he asked me: "and your not on any new medications?" About a month ago, my primary care Physician prescribed me the Advair inhaler when I complained of shortness of breath. I stopped using it when I noticed my hair coming out. I mentioned the Advair to the dermatologist, but she said it wouldn't affect it. Apparently she was wrong, because when bf googled Advair - hair loss, tons of hits came up. He checked a message board, where hair loss on Advair seemed to be a recurring theme. So...it seems we got to the bottom of it! I will see what my doctor says when my blood panel comes back, but I have a feeling it will be normal. Obviously, I will never use Advair again. I am very grateful to all the individuals who posted on that message board, because hair loss is not listed as a possible side effect to Advair on their website or in their packaging. I'm lucky I didn't actually need the Advair. In the meanwhile, I will continue using rogaine until my hair fully grows back. I feel hopeful.

hair loss

I've noticed something funny lately. My hair's been falling out, and I don't know why. Now don't get all of these horrific images in your mind - you can't tell from looking at me that anything is wrong. But over the course of a few months my hair has subtly been getting thinner. The amount of strands that come out each day in the shower has been more plentiful, and I feel like I have less of it to have to style each day.

I'm a girl with finely textured hair with a slight wave, and in my teens through early 20's it was quite thick. I know it's normal for a gal's hair to change, and so I didn't spend too much time freaking out (which I often do), when that thickness began to shift away. The exception to this aforementioned statement happened in the winter before my 25th birthday, after getting kicked out of law school to face an uncertain future. I felt like life had been sucker-punched me in the stomach. I spent a lot of time staring at myself in the mirror, and panicked at the amount of scalp I saw in my part-line. Ever the dutiful hypochondriac, I promptly made an appointment with a dermatologist who assured me that my hair and scalp looked healthy.

So, this time - 4 years later, I did not freak out so much when it seemed I could easily see my scalp through my hair when I looked in the mirror while holding my head at certain angles. My hypochondria has improved with age. I told myself I would make an appointment with a dermatologist and see what they said.

I walked into the doctor's office feeling secure, but I left feeling shattered. The dermatologist I normally see in the practice was booked until January, so I took whoever they would give me. In walked a young, pretty blond in her doctor's coat and the hot fall '09 trend, black heeled short-boots.

"Good to see you!" she perkily greeted me.

I had never met her before. I first started hearing the term, "good to see you" from people who have just met me when I worked in politics. And so I do not trust it. Hearing someone say, "good to see you" when I am just meeting them sets alarms for me. I find it disgenuine. But anyway, I give everyone a chance so I didn't hold it against her. As I faced her, I contemplated her youth.

"She is my age, or possibly a year or two younger," I thought ruefully.

I told her about what brought me in to her office as I sat on the examining table and she felt around on my head. I couldn't wait for the reassurance. That I am "fine." A word I am so used to hearing doctors tell me. A word that, coming from their lips, brings me so much comfort. I was expecting it. I am also used to my friends and boyfriend telling me I will be "fine." Not taking my complaints seriously because they have heard it all before. I was trying to be easy on this new young dermatologist. Let her know what she was in for with me: "you know...I can be neurotic. I often imagine things-"

"No, I totally see what you mean," she said.

I inhaled sharply, "what?!"

"You have female pattern baldness," she told me bluntly. "I'm glad you came in to see me. You need to use rogaine - the highest strength..."

And with that, my whole world changed.