Getting my act together and taking it on the road...

Why hello there, blogosphere!

My one reader Kitty Kat will be thrilled to see I've returned to the world of blogging. Other than that, who the hell knows or cares.

I've once again been on a blog reading kick, and I feel like mine deserves some love. And a tiny bit of an image makeover. Or a direction shift at least.

I still love navel gazing and bestowing my asinine thoughts upon you, the good people of the internet, but I'm also thinking that as I try to make something of an internal makeover, this blog could actually be a tool to keep me accountable to myself. Sort of a combination professional/personal/attempted health and fitness/theatre/asinine ramblings about life blog. Gotta keep that last one in there - I am who I am, after all.

It's been an eventful, crazy fast summer.

June saw the beginning of rehearsal for a summer show that I loved, the beginning of rehearsals for a summer show I did not, and a lot of the requisite craziness summer in this city seems to require. Getting myself in a little trouble, watching the sun rise a few too many times... the usual. Perhaps most importantly, June saw the going away party of one of my oldest and dearest friends in New York. Ridiculous, tearful, and drunk are the words I'd use.

July brought me to Bermuda to see the aforementioned friend (hint: this friend is my one reader!) and the second time I've left the continental US in 2012 (win!) and the second time in two years I've actually used my passport (double win! doubling the amount of times I used it in 2007-2011). Sunny, touristy, drunk again, and BIRTHDAY ON AN ISLAND. Returned from Bermuda, celebrated again in New York, dropped out/got asked to leave the show I did not like. Mixed results and feelings about that. Did the show I did like and got to get down and dirty with some fake blood, a teddy bear as a weapon, and lots of not a lot of costumes. The fam came, there were limos and brunch and baseball and it was fantastic. I took another job and watched a lot of eurocup at Manch and served a lot of tourists some autogratted beers. Whoops.

August saw me shoot a tv show for the first time (look out for me as a dead college student on Biography's Celebrity Ghost Stories! I'll be on imdb and everything!) and go down to Edisto South Carolina for DAYTONA 94. Sun, fun, friends, Dunworkin, road trippin, boozin', eatin', cookin', skinny dipping and turning myself brown as our hardwood furniture. And in the meantime, a wee bit of soul searching brought back a Siobhan I've actually really missed for a long time - the happy, positive, focused girl I've lost track of for a while. She's not perfect and she's still definitely going to fuck shit up on the way to reclaiming this better self. But god, it feels really good to work on it.

Oh, right, and it was my five year anniversary with New York. Which is pretty huge, I think?

And that sort of brings me to where we are today.

It's September. Rather than wake me up when September ends, I like to wake up when September begins. Who knows? Maybe my brain still operates on a back to school pattern but I find myself more motivated in the fall than around New Years'. Took a week in California to see my family and puppies and some baseball and do all the touristy things with one of the (New York) usual suspects, and reconnect with some old friends.

I guess I do sort of still measure my years in the school way, because it seems difficult to wrap my mind around everything that's happened this time last year that I still think of as only a few months ago. Time flies when you're alive, I guess.

I mentioned the refocusing of the blog. Professionally, that means reports on auditions and castings and career related things. Keep me accountable to myself. Health(ily?), that means I'm doing this new thing where I'm going to really work on eating better... and I have this crazy idea that I want to run a 5k. Stay tuned for that party (oh. oh wait. no that sounds like the exact OPPOSITE of a party). Personally... well we'll have to see. And in the meantime, expect my usual share of asinine ramblings.

xoxo
gossip girl

...No I'm totally kidding, I just didn't have a witty sign off prepared.

keep it positive (as you pull her hair and call her whore)

Kidding!

There are no girl fights in my life at present, I promise. But sadly when I was thinking about how to title this post I kept coming back to Legally Blonde the Musical, so... that's that.

For those of you keeping track at home, the last two posts have been... kind of a downer. WHOOPS Y'ALL. I swear to you that good things did happen to me between November and April, and that good things have happened to me since April. I did not (entirely) let some guy ruin my life for four months.

If you know the song "Somebody that I Used to Know" (and if not, what rock have you lived under since like last September? Shit is allllll over the internets), you might know that there's a lyric that goes "you can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness." I think that's true, and frankly I think that's in part what I did - I think I got stuck on the idea of being upset about this guy, because it was easier to be upset about him than... well, to work on a way to move out of that part of my life. But move I did, spurred by someone on Facebook checking in about their New Years' Resolutions. Why, you ask? Because mine was to be more positive.



...No seriously. It was.



I've given you ample space for laughter, so I'll continue. OBVIOUSLY, for those of you keeping score with the blog and/or those of you who've talked to me since... say, February, I haven't been doing a great job of that. But I've realized it is important to me and since I've made at least a somewhat conscious effort to focus on this again, I really have been happier. Who knew. It actually is that simple.

Which brings me to the actual idea of this post. Today I was at the gym (as part of my "positivity" plan I've realized a somewhat shocking thing - I'm the kind of person who likes working out and actually needs activity to keep me sane) when I realized that... the gym's kind of strange, guys. I understand the concept, but when you consider the abstract idea of paying money to do something you can do for free in nature (or concrete, if you also reside in New York City), the specifics that come together there seem that much odder.

To begin with, in the locker room I saw a woman coming out of class in an honest to god thong leotard over biker shorts. Y'all it is 2012. I mean I look like a scrub at the gym but the shit some people wear to work out baffles the hell out of me - from the people who still legitimately believe this is a gym look to the people who wear the shapeless vaguely plastic looking sweat jackets to the people who spend an absurd amount of money on matching Nike or LuluLemon athletic wear, gym fashion is a strange, strange animal.

The aforementioned woman then struck up a conversation with another woman who she had just come out of class with - but both were in the NUDE. In what other environment would this be okay?!? Call me prudish but I found this incredibly strange.

This of course sends my highly analytical self on a strangely detached observation of this odd collection of strange machines and smells and noises that, somehow, are one of the most "normal" people of everyone's daily life. Strange the weird things that become routine.


...But I've gotta say, sweaty and disgusting though I was when I left, I did feel better about my day. Positivity, indeed.

zen and the art of being single in manhattan, or why i can never go above 96th street again

This is usually the place where I'd put a disclaimer about how I suck at having a blog, and that's true, but I frankly can't say I'll ever get better.

The truth is I've had lots of blog-worthy thoughts since November. There are notes on my cell phone, little ideas that come to half-fruition in my head but never see the light of day in print, so to speak, because I get lazy or I (so I claim) don't spend a whole lot of time in front of my computer during the day.

But the simple truth is for longer than I care to admit, I haven't returned to this blog because I re-read that last post and realize I haven't gotten anywhere. Sure, I've accomplished a reasonable amount in the new year since that time - I've left a job I hated, I've joined a theatre company with whom I've done two shows, I've gone on vacation, I've auditioned, I've job hunted, I've done a reading and gotten cast in a second, and I've gotten (shockingly) back into a workout routine and even become one of those people that enjoys exercise. It's not a bad tally for barely four months. And yet... I come to my blog and I see what I wrote last and it's still too true.

Some of you are probably rolling your eyes at me, calling me pathetic and wondering why in god's name I'm not over this yet. You wouldn't say it to my face, of course, and I appreciate that. Because the fact is I levy the same judgement at myself. That's part of the "zen and the art of being single in Manhattan" bit. You're supposed to hate it this much but accept it with a sort of world-weary complacence. Because of Sex and the City it is somehow more glamorous to be single here than in, say, San Jose California (just as a for instance) so therefore it can't really be as bad as all that, right? And therefore I judge myself for my own... well... misery. Besides, I think, I am the kind of career minded single girl who in truth doesn't really have time for a boyfriend, particularly not to still be somewhat hung up on someone who in all likelihood never really cared too much in the first place.

That's the catch, you see, though. The zen is disturbed by what seems so much more common here than anywhere else - that tantalizing almost. That place you get to where you believe you may not be in it by yourself for that much longer. That terrifying but terrific place where you ACTUALLY get to hope for once. The place you get to look back on four months later with a gaping sense of emptiness and your own patheticness when you realize it's very possible it was all in your head. And so you find yourself, in spite of maintaining your own firm "I'm so over it," doing things like, say... hating the 2 train. Refusing to go to Morningside Heights when not ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY and bitching about it when it is. Holding a grudge against a certain university in that Manhattan locality. Instinctively hating the Orlando Magic. Realizing you somehow find a breed of dog you never liked adorable and then punishing yourself for that thought.

Realizing, in the end, that all these small things remind you of someone who was for all intents and purposes never there. Was never worthy of this level of your concern and yet... there was that hope. There was that blind, irrational, STUPID fucking hope - which is a word I also hate right now, by the way - which is the hardest thing of all to let go of.

This isn't the first time this has happened to me, of course. But at that time those things that I couldn't stand, those things that made me want to simultaneously cry and scream and puke - and frankly, in a far worse way - were also things I absolutely couldn't avoid. Call it immersion therapy but mere exposure made it get easier faster.

So yes. I should be over it. I'm sorry that I'm not, because I thought I was doing okay. But mostly because I've learned that the "zen" in being single in Manhattan is not really zen at all, it's just re-training yourself not to care over and over and over and over and over and over and over again and finding each time it works just a little bit more, but not quite enough.

It's too much, and not enough.

why it still really sucks to get pseudo-dumped by someone you were "sort of seeing"

(Giving credit where credit is due: I've been reading a lot of Thought Catalogue lately, so this post is largely inspired by them, though not as well written.)

Take this formula: girl meets boy in bar, thinks nothing of it. Ends up casually seeing this boy for several weeks. Refuses to decide if she think it's anything more than casual, even though it seems like he'd like it to be more than casual. Grows unwittingly (or wittingly but without admission) more attached while maintaining to herself the relationship's casual nature. Continues "casually" seeing this boy for several more weeks, verging into the multiple months territory. Suddenly becomes wittingly more attached/admittedly attached at the precise moment when the boy starts to ignore her. Decides to, as best as she (in a somewhat emotionally stunted about relationships way) can, put it out there that she'd like to make this less casual. Learn he did make it less casual. With someone else.

The argument could be put forth that, since while it seemed he was looking for something casual she was looking for something less casual, she sort of had it coming. On the other hand, the argument could be put forth that she misread the signs and had no real reason to be surprised when this abruptly blew up in her face. The argument could be put forth that at least she tried, and isn't that something? And all these arguments have their merit.

The thing about these arguments is they don't account for the part where the girl can't help but just not get it. What changed, and when. They don't account for the part where the girl always assumed that if and when this DID blow up in her face, it would be because he was bored or busy or not looking for anything serious. They don't account for the part where he was looking for something - just not with her. They don't account for the part where she can't stop asking why not her. They don't account for the part where it's about him, but it's more about the deflation of that scary but great feeling where she thought this could really be something.

But these are all feelings contingent upon a real relationship, she'll think. These are all feelings she doesn't necessarily deserve to have, so she'll stuff them down as best she can when talking to friends and pretending that she knows she's making it a bigger deal than it really is. These are all feelings she shouldn't have when being blown off by someone who very likely didn't care very much in the first place, or very likely wouldn't have mattered much in the long run.

The trouble is, the girl is me. The story is, the girl is me. And the trouble is it's not a story at all. So for the next few days, I won't send the passive aggressive text and I will continue pretending it's not a big deal. But it turns out? This still kind of blows.

People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone.

When we first moved to California and I was miserably, desperately homesick, my dad - no stranger to the relatively nomadic lifestyle already being bred in his then 8 year old child - would remind me that my friends may no longer have been physically close, but it was no reason for them to no longer be close friends. "How do you get mail? Send it" was the refrain, and it instilled in me a fairly important lesson at a young age - that friendships, no matter how close, take work. They take putting in the time and the effort.

I mentioned in my life recap that I recently reconnected with someone I was fairly certain I'd never speak to again. And it's funny, actually, because years and years ago when things first started to go south with this friend, I believe I said something to the effect of "I've never let somebody walk out of my life, and I'm not about to start with you." Only... I kind of did just that. Whoops. Now as is always the case, the falling out wasn't nearly that simple, but it's also not the point of this post.

Rather what's been floating around in my brain is the process of reconnecting - because I feel like it's supposed to be awesome, right? And it is nice, but you know what else? It's fucking WEIRD.

Because everything feels like it should be easier. Because somehow you're supposed to ignore that time where you weren't in one another's lives, but it's impossible to pretend time hasn't passed that you didn't know each other. Because there's a trust that has to be rebuilt, and yet it's supposed to already exist. Because everything seems the same, but nothing is.

To be honest, I never thought I'd be here - certainly not with this person, but really in general. I thought I had taken that lesson to heart when I was a child, thought I was a better "friend" (in the abstract) than this, extenuating circumstances in this case notwithstanding.

I realize now, a good deal older and a (only a little) more mature than I was at 8, that our California move had to have been harder on my parents than it was on me. Their friends too were all on the other side of the country (world, it might as well have been to me then), and they of course 1) didn't have the luxury of school and 2) had already left everything behind only six reasonably short years earlier. And yet they spoke to those friends almost everyday. Still do, and they are still across the country from those people. It's something I admire immensely, and something I often feel I should work harder at.

For a lot of reasons I'm glad the person that inspired this post has come back into my life, and as I said I was pretty positive that wouldn't ever happen. It took a lot to get to where I am now, to be glad instead of to be afraid it would all go to hell again. But that's the risk, I think. Of relationships, but of friendships too - those wounds can sting just as deeply as a relationship gone wrong, and often sticks for a lot longer.

The quote that titles this post is by Audrey Hepburn, and like the right quote does, rang very, very, almost painfully true to me the first time I heard it. It still does, but I haven't done quite as good a job with it in recent years. This situation is specific unto itself, but has in a larger way reminded me that that's true. To extrapolate from what my dad said those many years ago, how do you keep friends? Be one. 8 year old self with the silly email address and horrific long distance bill (sorry family!), you might have been onto something.

Epic. Audition. Fail.

This Thursday, I had the absolute worst audition of my life for Northern Stage's upcoming production of Annie.

Let me first preface this by saying that I'm not rock solid on why I submitted for this in the first place as 1) it's Annie and I didn't even really like the movie as a kid, 2) it's in Vermont in December and I'm cold enough in New York as it is, and 3) doing the show would mean not going home for Christmas following me already not going home for Thanksgiving. All the same I did, and they called me about auditioning, so I scheduled the appointment and in I went.

Now in my not-so-long and reasonably undistinguished career, there have already been a handful of auditions all ranging from so-so to downright awful, but nothing quiiiiite tops my experience from Thursday.

To begin, I should say the first problem was my own, namely that I was given music to learn and clearly did not do so to the best of my ability. I can blame work and the apartment hunt for taking up all my time and this is true, but frankly, I just should have known the song better. That, plus though it wasn't, say "Tomorrow" or "Little Girls," just about every aspiring musical theatre diva in her right mind knows "NYC" - or at least, every one but me. Nevertheless to be sure it created a not-to-stellar impression when I had to stop and restart not once, not twice, but a record three times. Strike one.

Then I finally actually start singing to discover that I have NO voice. And for no good reason, either! Not allergies, not drinking, not yelling, not sleep deprivation, nor ANY of the other usual culprits (aka really one of the first two but every once in a while a different one). The sounds I was producing in no way resembled good singing but in every way resembled the voice of a person who - to outsider ears - was far, far too sick to have bothered coming to audition that day. And I can't even justify that it was a good acting performance, because my only thought was "please god let me get through the song so this will be over." And we all know I can't keep anything off my face, so clearly that much was obvious as well.

To top it all off, I have (I would later learn) an ulcer on the surface of my right eye, thus making the eye in question at the time of the audition a frightening shade of Halloween costume red.

Not my finest hour. I quite literally apologized on my way out the door and bolted from the building like it was on fire. Humiliating on EVERY level.

But here's the thing - two years ago, if that had happened I would have gone home and cried to myself for an hour or two and then beaten up on myself for the next anywhere between two hours and weeks, convinced that this WOULD happen to me and it was a sign of my general talentlessness. (What can I say, I'm kind of hard on myself.) And I can't say that twinges of that didn't creep in as I called my parents and texted sympathetic actor friends to complain. But my overall reaction was "well fuck, that sucked, I'm fairly well humiliated, but I'll get over it." This is BIG, people. It means I might actually - finally - be learning something about the game I'm playing here. And so on to the next.

oh hello there, blogosphere!

Lately, I've been on a blog reading binge, which lead me to remember, oh right! I have a blog!

Out of curiosity I added my own to my reading material and lo-and-behold, noticed that I haven't updated since July. Whooooops. (And crapped out in the middle of my second 30-Day-Challenge that I made it only like 6 days into. Double whoops.)

So what have I been up to? It seems like it hasn't been that much time since July, but it would appear I've done quite a bit.

Since July I've:

Quit a job that was making me slowly but surely completely insane.

Seen three Broadway shows.

Looked manically for a new job and perfected the art of lying through my teeth/convincing people I am a far more competent waitress than I appear on paper.

Did a show!

Procured said new job!

Met a nice Irish boy.

Said goodbye to the nice Irish boy a few weeks later.

Braved a (totally uneventful/lamest ever) hurricane.

Signed on to do a show that, I thought, was totally not me at all.

Reconnected with someone who I was pretty sure I'd never speak to again and became, it seems, pretty good friends with that person again.

Finally saw an actual baseball game at Yankee stadium.

Joined a new gym.

Quickly realized I had transitioned to working all the time.

Actually opened that show I thought was totally not me at all and completely fell in love with the show, the creative team, and just about everything about it.

Danced in the rain, performed for the New York Times, wore a prom dress in public at age 22, and learned to operate a puppet.

Wrote my own love letter to New York.

Discovered that I really, really hate brunch.

Discovered that I really, really love fall.

Had a lovely albeit brief visit with my family, both biological and otherwise.

Turns out, met another boy. More on that later.

Made significant headway on my student loan debt (perk of working all the time).

Fell down on the job a little with the whole audition thing - downsides of doing 7 shows a week and working all the time.

Began to plan to move to my 12th address in 22 years.

...And the usual shenanigans with the usual suspects and a new cast of characters at work, and about a million and a half other things. There are some entertaining anecdotes, some things I need to puzzle through, and some reflections. And I figure since I've spent so much time reading blogs lately, it's probably time I gave my own a little more love.

I can't - and won't - promise consistency, but hey. Who knows? Maybe someone out there (besides my dear friend Kitty Kat) will add me to their compulsive blog reading!