One of those f-ing days.

Yeah, I said "f-ing." So what? Fuck you.

I had one of those one-day jobs that actors sometimes get for pharmaceutical companies. This one was a training video-slash-interactive CD . I played an ambulance paramedic. ("You're OK. You're in an ambulance going to a hospital. You're safe here.") The day started out okay before I left the house. My call was at a decent hour so I didn't have to wake up while it was still dark outside. On the way to the subway I realized I forgot my Metrocard. Damn it. Instead of going back home to get it and risk being late, I decided to just buy two trips' worth of rides. I thought, just eat the $4 and have peace of mind, whatever. I met a van at 10:30 AM in Manhattan that took three of us across the Holland Tunnel to an abandoned hospital in Jersey City. A five-minute ride. I got into my paramedic outfit, the "doctors" and "nurses" got into their scrubs, and we proceeded to sit around all day. I finally got done with all my stuff at 6 PM while everyone else was still waiting around, frustrated that the day was taking this long. One of them was planning to take her daughter to dinner and a play. She was fuming.

I hoped that the van would drive me back to the city early. They said no; they'd hit traffic both ways and not be back in time to bring everyone back later. They offered to drive me to the PATH train. Fine, I thought. I'll eat $1.50 and not be stuck in Jersey. Well, because I'd left my "small bills & change" wallet at home with the Metrocard, I had no cash on me. I went to an ATM to get cash and was socked with a $2 fee. My own bank charges $.75 when I go to the ATM of another bank. So, that's $2.75 more I fricking ate. Down in the station, of course, I only had $20 bills, so I bought a People Magazine for $3.49 to get exact change for the PATH. If you're keeping score, that's $11.74 I didn't want to spend today.

Finally, before going home I stopped off at my neighborhood supermarket to buy some ingredients for some treats I'm going to make and bring to a party tomorrow. I thought, I did it. Day is done, the other actors are miserable, I removed myself as soon and as best as I could. I opened my wallet to pay for my groceries with my debit card and guess what I learned?

I left my debit card in the fucking ATM in fucking Jersey City.

It was one of those ancient ATMs that actually eat your card and spit it back out at the end! I hate those! I always lose my cards in them because I walk out of the bank before realizing anything's amiss! So I called my bank's 800 number to block the card and tomorrow have to go order another one and hope that no one was able to use mine before I canceled it.

EAT ME, PEOPLE!

So now the road less traveled was the one where I wait for my colleagues to get done, maybe an hour longer tops, ride with them in the free van back to Manhattan, debit card intact, make some treats, sweet dreams. But no. I tried to be a hero. And now here I am.

AAARRRGGGHHH!

Imaginary friends

When I was in nursery school, I had an imaginary friend named Erin. She was based on a real classmate named Erin, but I was too shy to ask her to be my real friend, so I "played" with her at home and stuff, but she wasn't really there. (Awwww.) Now, the 21st century has spawned a new kind of community, one that interacts in cyberspace. I tell people I actually have "blog friends" who I've never met or talked to. And I realize how corny it sounds, and my "real" friends say, "Uh, that's nice," probably hoping I'll get past this "phase." Well, back in January I was mentioned on Trixter's awesome blog. Oh, you didn't read the actual post? Well, lookee here.

Today I got another shout-out on Kirk's site. He wrote about how he reads me pretty regularly and...oh, *sniff*...I think I got something in my eye...why don't you read it for yourself here?

See, Mr. Snuffleupagus is real, Mama!

Uncle Dog

American Idol? Just a talent show. Amazing Race? Buncha couples squabbling at each other. Gauntlet? Schmauntlet. When my channel-surfing lands me on Dog the Bounty Hunter, I practically dance a jig of joy. Oh, Dog. You and your mullet-wearing, cigarette-smoking, Pidgin-speaking, criminal ass-kicking, caring, loving, family man-being self. You're a tough sonofabitch when you go hunt somebody down, but then you get 'em in the car, and you show 'em how much you care, you tell 'em how you turned your life around, how they should too, and they start blubbering like little babies. And you're out on the field with your bro, your sons, your wife, it's a beautiful thing. And the drama! Instant. I mean, you're chasing down fugitives. That's the whole show. There he is! No, there he is! You seen this guy? He's over here. Get in the car! Get down! Don't move! Suspense, and release. Good show, brah. Good show. Aloha.

Civic doody

There's an organization that does my taxes for free. The catch of course is that I have to set aside an entire day to get out of the house at crack of ass, hope that I'm one of the first 25 to get there to get on a list, and then just wait until I meet with an accountant. I'm usually good about getting my taxes overwith by the beginning of March but this year time was a-wasting. I got to the place at 7 AM, was number 18, and then sat around eating breakfast, daydreaming, nodding off, reading the New York Times, Entertainment Weekly, Us Weekly, New York Magazine, thumbing through a neglected Food & Wine Magazine, longingly desiring someone else's New York Post, and playing with my greasy unwashed hair until I finally saw someone at 2:30 PM. "Couldn't you have signed up, gone home, and come back later," you ask? In hindsight, HELL TO THE YES. Even if I signed up and conservatively came back at noon or 12:30, two and a half hours of waiting beats seven and a half any day. I'll try to remember this next year. Oh, and happy ending? Nah. I get a bit of a refund from federal, but I owe $61 more to New York State than what I'm getting from federal. Boooooooo. I gotta give 61 more bucks TO THE MAN! Argh, government! (Insert heaven-bound fist-waving motion here.) Part of why I owe New York so much is because I worked for a bit last year in Alaska, and they didn't take any taxes out. Yeah, it doesn't make sense to me either. Argh, Alaska! (fist-wave) You will rue the day!

How to pick the best headshot

Skip home with 470 high-resolution pictures of yourself on a CD.
Gleefully download them all to iPhoto.
Start the unnatural process of looking at yourself for hours.
Make a folder of favorites.
Print out your favorites.
E-mail your favorites to some agents and casting directors for their opinion.
Don't hear from most of them.
Worry.
Lean toward one shot and hope it's the one.
Ask some friends.
Listen as they like other ones better.
Worry.
Go to an audition with a makeshift 8x10 copy of your favorite.
Listen to the crickets as no one says anything.
Worry.
Ask other friends.
When anyone says, "What's been the consensus?" fret that there isn't one.
Wait impatiently for your photographer to get back from LA so you can discuss.
Take your casting director friend out to coffee.
Listen to her rave on and on about the shot that's "the winner."
Feel good about yourself.
Get back on the computer and look at the shots taken immediately before and after The Winner.
Notice that they're comparable to The Winner.
Worry that now you have to choose between three Winners.
Print them out as 8x10s and spread them around the house.
Walk by them and agonize.
Try to remember that headshots are merely a tool and try not to pin all your hopes and dreams on the eventual one you pick.
Wish you didn't have to make any decisions about anything and everything would just work out the way you want them to.
Have your friend over and ask him to compare the three Winners.
Listen to his reasons for sticking with the original Winner.
Breathe a sigh of relief.
Notice along with him that it's actually a little bit blurry.
Hope it's fixable.
Think out what you're going to say to your photographer about your Winner being blurry.
Continue counting the days until her return from LA.
Try to relax.
Eat a lot of Reduced Fat Oreos.

I love to type

I imagine it's a weird thing to love, but I do. Typing enables me to pay rent and put food on my table. When I was 11, my grandmother had an old-fashioned How to Type book. It helped me memorize the keys and practice. You know, you'd use one finger at a time, like the right index finger, and go up and down: jujmjujmjujm, etc. To practice, I would gather up my Archie comic books and transcribe them on my typewriter. Which is when I learned something I never noticed before: comic books use mostly exclamation points at the end of any sentence. Check out a comic book. You'll see what I mean. I kept it up, and years later I was the fastest in my high school typing class at 75 words per minute. Now, I'd guess I'm in the 90s. At work we have a shorthand, so I'm faster there.

The last few days I've been like lightning. Keyboard in lap, leg propped up, fingers gracefully flying, like playing a piano. It's not always that way. Sometimes I get to work and I'm all thumbs. Typos up the wazoo, inserting numbers by accident, reversing characters. One can only type for so long. After hours you get loopy and not productive at all. Even if your wrists don't get tight, you hit a wall mentally.

There used to be a woman at work who would type and read a magazine at the same time. I did a double-take when I walked by and saw her doing this. Amazing! I can certainly type and daydream at the same time, but I need to take my hands off the keyboard to read about Britney and Kevin.

There's yet another woman who I can't help but stare at when she types. Keyboard in lap, she sits straight up on the edge of her chair to ensure that her hands are heavy on the keyboard, and I swear to god, it's like she's not typing at all, but just brushing the keys lightly from top to bottom quietly. Her fingers don't look for and pound on certain keys. Like a soothing rainfall. I try emulate her because it seems so light on her wrists. But I don't wanna ask her how she does it 'cause she likes to talk. So, there's a tradeoff.

One day I may learn the Dvorak method, where the letters are on different keys then the Qwerty method we're used to (QWERTY are the first six letters on the top row from the left to right). Apparently all the vowels are in the home (middle) row and it's supposed to be more ergonomically friendly. One day, when I have time on my hands and can afford a learning curve of a few weeks. For now, I think I'll stay up to speed.

Ode to you who causes me anxiety

Over the weekend
I e-mailed you
Or so you thought.
I really e-mailed a bunch of you
In a blind carbon copy
But made it sound personal.
Did you buy it?
I just asked for opinions
And hoped for responses.

Instead, you said, "Call me Monday."
Huh?
I don't want to call you.
I was hoping you'd just Reply
With something short and sweet.
Damn.

I didn't call you Monday.

On Tuesday
My not calling you loomed over me.
I e-mailed you
Personally.
"When's a good time today?"
You never answered.
I was relieved.

On Wednesday
You did.
"Just call me."
Dammit!
I don't want to call you!
I don't want to have a discussion.
I'm terrified of talking to you.
That's always been true.
I don't know why.
You hold no secrets over me.
You can't reject me.
And yet I cower at the thought.

On Thursday
I mustered the courage
And dialed your number.
Your assistant answered.
You weren't there.
You'd be back in half an hour.

I didn't try back.

Bed maintenance

Am I the only dork who rotates my mattress?! My little card from Sleepy's says to rotate my new mattress every two weeks for three months, then once every two months after that. I'd never heard that before buying mine. Does anyone bother? I want the most out of my first mattress, by golly! So rotate I will! No premature sagging impressions of my ass on this bed, no way, no how! I also purchased my first underbed storage box today. I stuck a bunch of old journals in it and slid it under. Out of sight, out of mind, and organized. Thank you, Container Store. You'll be seeing more of me.

Celebrate your victories

Just yesterday I had my bloomers in a bundle over having so much to do and not wanting to do it, and I didn't even wanna get dressed, and it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other. Well, I was reminded first of all that moods change. Last night my dear friend Alec, who lives in L.A., called to say he's in town for a week staying in the hotel two blocks from my apartment and what was I doing tomorrow? And miraculously I not only had time to make for him, I had oodles of it. So, it was yet another example of the external (schedules, to-do lists) having zero to do with my internal (feeling either imposed upon or free to play).

Over dinner, we started talking about life and career. We had done a relatively high-profile play five years ago. We can't believe it was that long ago. We then agreed that it's important just to acknowledge that we are still showing up. We are still being brave and courageous and putting our self-esteem on the line daily. Sure, we have friends who are doing higher-profile things than we are, but we're still in touch with our dreams, we're still following the yellow brick road, and we still have faith. It reminded me that most creative people (which is everybody) shy away from creating because they're afraid it's gonna suck. And we need to remind ourselves that we have to create without judgement. All you writers, just write something. Get it on the page. So what if there's no plot or we've seen it before? It's original because it's coming from your mouth. Honor and respect your voice. Take a dance class 'cause it's fun, not so you can master the form. Learn to play just the three guitar chords that most songs are written in. Sing more karaoke. Just draw. Winners fail, my pal Jesse once told me. Losers fail once and quit. Winners fail often until they win. Then they do it again.

Alec reminded me that we need to celebrate our victories. Whatever they are! No victory is too small! Good for me for lugging that damn package to UPS! Celebrate victories to let more in! We earned them! Visualize not only what your dreams look like but what they feel like, and they will more likely manifest.

Yesterday, I didn't even have a schedule that included Alec in it. Now, I can't wait until tomorrow night when we'll be watching the season premiere of South Park (its tenth!) to watch the battle with Scientology further unfold. Life is what happens when you're busy bitchin' and moanin'.

My journey of No

It's an ongoing journey, the one that says I will not be overly accommodating at the expense of myself. The only power I have sometimes it seems, is the power to say No. No, I can't do that, sorry. No, unfortunately I already have other plans. No, I've already committed to something else even though I want to work with you. No, I'm not available. No, I can only see you in the evening. No, I need to sleep instead. No, I'd rather not, thanks. No, I'm going to decline this time. No, I have too much on my plate right now. No, I can only host one of you. No, I have to go home.

And then there's the more subtle but just as difficult setting of boundaries, like not responding at all to some people who I deem flaky or condascending just because they said to call them. Why should I contact them to politely say I don't want to contact them? It feels like I'm leaving them hanging, but you know what? They probably don't notice or care.

These are even harder, but just as necessary: "I know I said yes, but I changed my mind." "I thought I could, but turns out I can't." "I know I've always done it, but I'd rather not do it anymore."

If I don't say No to stuff I don't really wanna do, there will be no room to say Yes to the real Yes's.

Baby steps

I'm feeling very overwhelmed today, by the looming tax date, by a cluttered apartment, by fear of going broke. And I have to remind myself the following things today:

• A good nights' rest has a direct correlation to my mood. If I slept better last night I wouldn't feel so behind.
• Call your friends who are support systems. I've just been reacquainted with a friend from high school named Jesse who lives in L.A. and calls me every week and a half just to tell me what his personal and professional goals are for that week. I don't necessarily have to know all the nitty-gritty details of what he's up to; he just feels better being accountable to me. And he helps me do same with him. Mostly my week's goals are, "I want to not beat up on myself so much." He says, "Why don't you rephrase it, 'I will congratulate myself on all the things I get accomplished."
• Take one step at a time. If a week's goals are too much, make goals for the next three hours.
  
• Just show up. Do the minimal but necessary things and let the rest fall where they may.
• My friend Michael just introduced me to H.A.L.T. Don't let yourself get too Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired.
  
• Everything's going to be okay. Sometimes you wish things will just magically be taken care of on their own, and you're mad that they won't. That's okay.
  

Happy happy joy joy

I waited outside in line in the cold for a bit, and some things were not even on the shelves anymore, but sound the alarm...Trader Joe's opened its first NYC store in Manhattan this weekend! I stocked up on coffee and chai tea and frozen hors d'oeuvres and whole grain chips and Trader Jose's guacamole and sampled some lemon tart cake and looked at, but didn't buy, rows and rows of chocolate. I was so proud walking home with my shopping bags, waiting for someone to "ooh" and "aah." Someone did point to my bags and asked if it was "absolutely crazy down there," to which I replied confidently, "It's crazy, but it's worth it."

Socks

I bought two pairs of socks today from the dollar store, because I have to do laundry. Oy vey.

Take two pillows and call me in the morning

The homemade cough syrup consisting of cayenne, ginger, honey, vinegar and water is quite effective and I recommend it to everyone. However, still, at the crucial time, bedtime, I drank the stuff and laid down and like clockwork, the coughing fits started up again. I finally had to prop myself up into almost a sitting position. Then the coughing ceased. So, I had to fall asleep that way, propped way up with many pillows. Slept pretty well after that. Had a virtual symptom-free day while shooting my headshots, which was awesome. My photographer made me feel really great about myself, which I hope will translate in the pictures. Great spirits today. It's after midnight now so the moment of truth will soon arrive, and I will likely fight with my bronchia again. But it won't be as bad as previous nights. I hope.

Dexter's Laboratory

Okay, seriously now. When the going gets tough, the tough goes on the internet. After over a week of being sick, my days are 85 % back to normal. Normal energy, congestion and cough symptoms fading away...

...except between bedtime and 5 AM! The last two nights have been miserable due to that dry, pesky cough that keeps me awake or worse, when I am asleep, wakes my sleeping ass UP! I have an early-morning photo shoot tomorrow that I'm paying hard-earned money for and I don't want to go on three hours' sleep!

So I just went online and found a home remedy with ingredients most of us already have in our cupboards: cayenne pepper, ground ginger, apple cider vinegar, honey and water. It claims to bring relief to the most desperate of coughers, and I stand tall with my white flag of surrender. The link is below, for all you fellow miserable coughers at 2 AM staring at the ceiling. We shall overcome.

Home Remedy for Cough

Crawling back to life

Slept better! After attempting to knock myself out with TheraFlu at around 1 AM, I still coughed with sound and fury til 4:20-ish AM, but then came the sweet sound of silence and real sleep for at least a few hours. Then a fitful sleep for a few more hours. But I'll take it. I feel a bit rested now, which I haven't felt in awhile.

So on Monday I was called last-minute to audition for one line on a TV show. (Yes, they audition for one-liners. You get dressed, put makeup on, get your ass out to, in this case, Queens, NY, anxious from running late, to read one line for the casting director, the director, the producer, and their assistants.) On Tuesday, I was told I booked the one line and that I'm shooting next week. This morning, turns out in a script revision my character has been deleted completely. The casting director sounded like she felt really bad for pulling the one-line rug out from under me, and said that she'll do her best to find something for me in the next couple of episodes. I hope she does, and I cross my fingers for a bigger part. But I'm in a great mood, because it was still worth getting noticed by that office, and I slept better last night.

Ah, the biz we call show.

Full on insomnia

You heard me. Just when I thought it was gonna get better. Just when I vowed in yesterday's post not to complain anymore about being sick, this was my night last night. "Wow, tired. I should turn off the TV and go to sleep. It's almost 1 AM."

HACK HACK HONK HONK BARK BARK - clear throat
(that's me coughing and not finding a good position to sleep in)

"Hm. Let's surround myself with Robitussin, Ricola, melatonin, water, tea, and honey. It's 2 AM."

HACK HACK HONK HONK BARK BARK - clear throat

"Hm. What's that fire truck doing outside my window all quiet and ominous? It's 3 AM."

HACK HACK HONK HONK BARK BARK - clear throat

"Finally, the fire truck is gone. Oh, now a quiet ambulance is outside. Hope no one's seriously hurt. It's 4 AM."

HACK HACK HONK HONK BARK BARK - clear throat

"IT's 5 AM."

HONK

"It's 6 AM. The sun's coming up."

HACK BARK - flow into a fitful sleep until 10:30 AM. And here I am in the office, yawning like a mo-fo, surrounded by my own personal pharmacy, wondering what it's like to feel like an actual human being. Ridiculous.

Slowly but surely

Still congested, still coughing, but I can tell my energy level is somewhat like it is when I'm healthy. That's something, anyway. I feel more like myself, albeit bogged down by mucous. And who a girl gotta sleep with to get some real rest around herrrre? The day I wake up feeling rested will be a day to celebrate, indeed. Great news though, I sat myself down, and even though I procrastinated like a champ (where's my cat's brush? It's lost. Hm, what's on TV right now? Oh, I should draft an e-mail to my mom...), I added together all my deductions for my 2005 tax year, organized my W-2's and am ready to bring it to the accountant! Very exciting. For a freelancer whose income comes from many different sources, I sure know how to put a cap on my yearly salary. I don't think I've ever made more than $33,000 a year, ever. I've lived on it fine, in Manhattan mind you (for over a decade!), but I am making a promise to myself that I will now allow myself to make more, and that I will manage it fine, and that it won't scare me. And that I deserve it. No more of the same ol' same ol'. I'm right on your heels, $40,000!!! Anyway, my reward for getting my deductions all squared away was to watch my good friend Cindy kick ass playing Malcolm McDowell's wife on Law & Order: Criminal Intent. Then I called her, we laughed at how "Syriana" her episode was (the ending went right over my head and she had to set me straight), and then, as usual, I attempted to sleep for hours. But today is a new fucking day! From the moment I type the last character on this post, I will not complain about being sick! I will fake it til I make it! But I will walk, not run.

Smart/not smart

Today I finally, finally, finally canceled absolutely all social obligations and am not getting out of my pj's no way, no how. Last night my cousin Denise and I dined and drank and toasted to both our March birthdays and I didn't sleep well at all last night. Trying to get well and martinis, fricking amazing as they were, do not work together very well.

And today, instead of staring at my own blog, I am determined to organize my taxes for the purposes of filing them next week. So, I need to stop procrastinating by talking about it and get cracking.

They're just like us

I have no context for this picture of Jake Gyllenhall crashing a picture of Ang Lee and Uma Thurman (huh?), but as usual Trixter has supplied us with entertaining Hollywood fodder. Stars. They're just like us. After a few too many, they wanna par-tay. Screw formalities! Oscar Shmoscar! I won a BAFTA, beeyotch!

Still not well today!!! Congested, low energy. Didn't go into the office. But I'm looking forward to seeing my cousin from LA who's in town for a tradeshow and hasn't been to NYC since my dad's funeral in 1983. Very frustrating that I'm not 100%. I'm not worse, I'm just impatient. Gorgeous outside, though. Got my eyebrows and lip waxed. For once, they didn't pluck my lip afterward. That always hurts. I can get through the ripping the hair out part, and the plucking of the brows. But the lip? That's where my pain tolerance starts to run low. Slather some lotion on that mother and call it a day.

Spring...like

Who needs to travel to Colorado and then Miami for climate change like this? It's almost 70 degrees. I'm walking around in my skivvies because the heat is still on in the apartment. How am I supposed to get over my cold??!! Luckily though, this night's sleep was the closest I've come in over a week to feeling like myself. It was restful, even though I woke up a lot during the night. You'll all be happy to know that no matter what kind of fitful night you may have had last night, you didn't have some woman talking to the neighborhood for hours in the dead of night, right underneath your window nonstop, singing "In the Air Tonight" by Phil Collins. If it weren't for my ear plugs I might've had to tell her to shut the hell up. I didn't because it may have motivated her to stay there to spite me until the sun came up and then what kind of rest would I have had?

Blah

Morning sore throat, congestion, cough. This coupled with the five-day trip I just went on means I haven't had a really restful night's sleep in over a week. Boo. Well, this extra time at home recovering means I can spend more time delving into the book my mother not-so-sublety sent me for my birthday entitled, "If I'm So Wonderful, Why am I Still Single?" Which is an embarrassing-enough title for me to not read on the subway, but apparently not embarrassing enough to keep a secret here! It's actually good, anyway. But there ya go. I said it. And the sky didn't fall down. Now, back to recovering/reading.

Things I should be doing other than blogging

• Unpacking
• Working on my taxes
• Writing out a check to my therapist
• Looking into classes for the purpose of...
• Losing weight
• Balancing my checkbook
• Sorting through mail
• Thanking a friend for her b-day present
• Drinking lots of water
• Changing into my pj's
• Throwing lots of stuff out
• Not obsessing about getting cancer because Dana Reeve died
• Keeping track of my menstrual cycle
• Exercising
• Replacing my DVD players
• Promoting world peace
• Saving money
  

Must...lie...down...

I missed you, my blogheads! I just sifted through over 70 e-mails after landing at La Guardia, after flying in a holding pattern for a long time then waiting to park at the gate after hanging out on the runway for another long time. All that after a heavenly couple days in Miami where I got to wear flip-flops and swim in a bathwater-temperature pool, and salsa with my colleageus in South Beach (all the men could dance and most of them are straight!). Miami is also the place in which one of my colleagues ended up in the hospital with what may or may not be a blood clot in his lung (???). That drama, after flying all day from Steamboat Springs, Colorado with a layover in Dallas where we went from cold weather to summer weather in one fell swoop. This was all after spending a couple days in cold, snowy Steamboat Springs ("The Boat," as the locals call it) watching people ski and having amazing local trout for dinner, and being so high up in the mountains that I was really winded after climbing one flight of stairs. All this after flying all day from New York to Colorado with a layover in Chicago.

And oh, the presentations were fine. We're a hit. They're adding a date in April. I'm going to Chicago. Yippee! It's the job that never ends!

Way too much traveling. I'm all planed out. No more planes.

Must lie down. With my cat. Later, dudes. And happy birthday to me today.

Oh. Nevermind.

A couple of posts ago I was complaining about all the traveling I'll be doing in the next few days. Well, all of that whining has been dispeled now that I've seen where we'll be staying. Check out this picture of the hotel in Steamboat Springs. People ski right outside the hotel! And they offer, like, tennis lessons! And check out that pool in Miami! There are spa services for that massage I will need, and plenty to keep me happy. Now I can't wait to pack and get outta here. Later, beeyotches!