The Post You've All Been Waiting For (And, Yeah, Me Too)

I openly admitted in a previous post that I read infertility blogs. I do not know why. Just chalk it up as another thing I do that makes my mother ask me when she sees me, "What on earth happened to you as a child? What did we do to you?!?" Seriously, I don't know. But I read them. I like them. So shut up.

I prefer finding the weblogs that I read (infertility and otherwise) from various sources and then going back to the archives so that I can read from the very beginning. This is my own version of TiVo. I can go as fast as I like, reading one post after the other, summer to Christmas and beyond and I don't have to wait for anyone to update or post a new entry. I don't have to sit and click "REFRESH" over and over, just to see what happens next. By the time I reach the present date for any blog, I am both irritated and weirded out.

I'm irritated because at that point, the TiVo is over. If I want to know what happens next, I have to wait for that person to publish their next posting and I DON'T KNOW WHEN THAT WILL BE. I'm weirded out because it suddenly hits me that it's the current date, the PRESENT TIME, and these magical fake people I've been reading about on the internet are not FICTIONAL but are REAL and are BREATHING SOMEWHERE IN THE WORLD RIGHT THIS MINUTE. When I scroll through archives, I read as if enjoying a good book. When it ends, I'm struck by the realization that other people exist in this world besides myself.

Weird.

My favorite moments in blogs, specifically the pregnancy/infertility blogs that I frequent, are those moments when the waiting is over. Suddenly, the woman who has waited through ten years of scarred ovary tissue and three miscarriages announces the unthinkable: She is PREGNANT. Or, the woman who has waited so long for a baby finally hears that there is a child waiting for her to adopt and that she's getting on a plane to meet him for the first time. It's what makes me come back over and over to those often depressing blogs. It strengthens my belief that miracles happen and that if you just keep holding out and giving it your best, sometimes God comes through.

Well. I am not equating my life with those people who are trying so desperately to conceive life. I would never do that and no, I don't think it's the same. But the waiting is the same. The holding out is the same. The wondering if it's really worth all the hard work is the same. The beating yourself up all the time is the same. And no, I'm not having a baby so CALM THE HELL DOWN Y'ALL. And no, this particular thing isn't a cure-all and it certainly doesn't guarantee me any success in the future, no, of course not.

But it's a step.

A goal has been met.

Nine months ago, (see? the pregnancy metaphor never dies!) I posted this entry about an awful audition I went in for. I was sick, I had the wrong songs, etc. In one of the last paragraphs, I wrote:

"I don't think I'll say that I can turn it around 180 degrees and land a job, but maybe I can just show her [the casting director] that I'm not a horrible singer/actress for future reference."

Oh, Laura. How prophetic you be.

I was called in by the same casting director a few weeks ago. It was the 5th time I auditioned for this company and I told no one. Since previous auditions and subsequent callbacks had resulted in nothing but disappointment and frustration, I kept it to myself. It was my first audition in two full months. I went to the callback on Tuesday to dance, sing and read again. I left and went back to work, vowing that I was soon going to switch careers because really? This acting thing is just too hard.

People tell me that things begin to happen just as you are about to give up hope. Just when you are about to scream "DAMN IT ALL FORGET IT!", God laughs to himself and hands you something you least expect. It's just the way that it goes.

Needless to say, I received a phonecall this afternoon.

I begin rehearsals on the 14th of September for a play. An actual play where I will sing and dance and show my true rockstar roots of awesomeness. When I begin to perform for an audience this fall, it will have been two years since I was last cast in a production of any kind. In approximately two weeks, I hit my One Year of Auditioning in NYC Anniversary. One whole year. That's how long it took. And in the scheme of things, I am one of the lucky ones.

I will be in New York City until October 1st in rehearsals and then I will be leaving to tour parts of the country through December 17th. I have heard most of the places where I am going and am quite thrilled. (Some include Lebanon, Afghanistan, North Korea...oh wait. Wrong tour.) I'll hold off for now on naming any specific details until I have signed my contract, for obvious reasons. Most notably, I'm still paralyzed with the possibility that the casting director will call me back and say, "OH WAIT. Wrong Laura! SORRY!"

In December, provided I can come up with at least $400 out of the $1100 mandatory initiation fee, I will be joining the AEA. That's right, the American Engineering Association. Oh. Wait. Sorry, no. Ahem. The ACTOR'S EQUITY ASSOCIATION. This is a secret, holy organization, created for many good reasons and also able to intimidate young actors with its omnipotent power.

Last year, at a party full of actors, a guy strolled up to me and before he could even ask if I wanted a beer he asked me, "So....are you Equity?"

Uhhhhhhhhh. I was forced to mumble a "no" and find my own Amstel Light.

The Equity building on 46th Street, where many auditions are held, is run like Alcatraz. No one gets in without showing their coveted union card. Wooden benches are provided outside the main doors so that the non-equity actors can sit down and commiserate while waiting hours just to see if they will be allowed in to sing at all. Also, if they ever need to go to the bathroom, they have to LEAVE THE BUILDING and use the one at the McDonald's across the street. No Equity card? No bathroom privileges. I am grateful that when I return in December, my Equity card will allow me to use a lovely, clean bathroom in Times Square, where people actually urinate IN the toilet, should I ever require it.

Other than that, it shouldn't matter. Belonging to Equity doesn't make you a good actor. There are tons of amazing actors that are non-equity. Becoming a member doesn't guarantee you a role in a Broadway show or really anything at all except that you'll pay union dues for the rest of your life, should you choose to stay in it. It's just that to young actors like myself who so desperately want to be taken seriously, Equity feels like peace on the Gaza Strip--totally unattainable.

When I participated in the work-study program at Broadway Dance Center, tons of union actors would come in and flash their cards to get the union rate for class. Equity actors surrounded me at auditions, waltzing in at 3 pm to get an appointment in a room where I had been sitting since 6:45 in the morning. I was so envious and often had to stop myself from blurting out, "HOW ON EARTH DID YOU GET THAT?!" and "WHY DON'T I HAVE ONE!?!?!?"

There is no one way. It's often a lucky chance, a fluke thing, something that just happens. Everyone has their own "How I Got Into Equity" story. And now, provided all goes well, I will have mine. I will post it at a later date and only when I have that beautiful little piece of paper in my hand. And only after I've pinched myself 20,000 times on my thigh, just to make sure that the moment is real and true. I will give you all the details of the audition and the tour and how it felt when I got a phonecall that made me feel alive for the first time in a long, long while.

Thanks to all of the people in my life who have been there for me during all those times when that phonecall never came. Thank you for listening to me cry out of sheer disappointment and confusion, thank you for soothing me. Also, thank you to the casting directors who rejected me over the past year. Seriously. Because then I wouldn't have been here to pick up the phone. And maybe I wouldn't have really understood the meaning of grateful.

Thanks for riding with me on the roller coaster, kids.

I've finally hit the top of a long, steep hill and I'm bracing myself for the thrill of the wind and the breathtaking joy that is sure to rush at me and overpower me on the long way down.

Peace.