One of THOSE Posts

Well, kids. I hope you had a Merry Christmas and are planning on having a good New Year.

I spent the holidays at home, trying to keep it together. I'm not sure what "it" is. All I know is that things have been rather blah lately and I've been struggling to keep afloat.

I finally hit rockbottom on Christmas Day, around 6:30 pm when I decided it was time to drive home. My mom stood a few feet away and asked me, "Okay. So you're going to go? Do you want to take some cookies home? Do you need help packing up the car?"

I just sat at the kitchen table and shook my head side to side.

"I don't know."

"You can stay!" she said. "You can stay and go to bed if you're tired! You can drive to work tomorrow! You can have dinner! Do you want some dinner?"

"I don't know. I ate a lot of cookies..."

"Well," she said. "Have some protein! Some real food! Let's have dinner. Can I make you some soup?"

"No," I said slowly, staring at nothing.

"Okay. Well. What do you want to do, Laura?"

It was then that I faltered.

"I...don't...know..."

And finally, after months of feeling numb and apathetic, weeks of walking around not recognizing the person in the mirror, I burst into tears. It was totally pathetic, you can imagine. (And I am a musical theater actress, trust me, I do pathetic very well.) I wearily rested my head in the nook of my forearms, which were crossed in front of me on the table and sobbed and wailed that I didn't know what to do, never knew what to do, needed help and needed help now.

And my family encircled me.

My father and younger brother sat across from me at the table.

My sister sat down next to me on my chair and gripped my shoulders.

My sister-in-law knelt down in front of me, a tiny hand on my knee.

My older brother stood across from me, mute, hands at his sides, looking worried.

My mother stood right next to me, stroking my hair with her hands.

The people I love, the family that I would die without, they let me cry. They voiced their concerns. They listened. They offered to help.

The tears were a welcome relief to me. I am usually a very emotional person anyway (HA! SURPRISE!), quick to cry, quick to laugh. And lately, there is nothing inside of me. There is a void where my emotions used to live. And to combat this apathy, which makes me very uncomfortable and afraid, I have been resorting to some very, very self-destructive behavior. Maybe it is about control. Maybe it is about trying anything and everything to make myself FEEL something. Either way, my mother said it best when she said that the coping mechanisms I have created are failing. Whatever they are, they are not working. Or they are not enough. And back to therapy I go. With the added bonus of a possible trip to a new clinic.

And oh, does this embarrass me. I mean, okay. This is my blog. You can find this if you google my name. I don't exactly paint myself in a flattering kind of way. And yeah, 99.9% of the people who read this are people who know me in real life and don't judge me...too harshly anyway. And whatever, maybe it's too personal for the internet. But when have I ever cared about THAT??

Honestly.

My mom gently suggested that maybe this is just down time for me--a time with a mundane job, a time when nothing major or exciting is going on, a time of just being. And that is important. My life can't always involve earth-shattering moments or profound rewards and accomplishments. Sometimes I just get up and go to work and come home and go to bed and that is my life. Nothing wrong with that. My family offered up some ways to help me, mostly designed to rid my life of pressure, a pressure which I put on myself at all times. And yes, other times, pressure put on me by others.

Mom ordered me to stop reading financial planning books (thereby relieving the pressure to measure up to society's ideas about money), to stop tracking every morsel I eat (self-explanatory), to get away for awhile (retreat? vacation? move?), to stop auditioning for awhile, etc. Some of these are valid. Very valid. Others are not.

I feel like if I moved away, it would be running away. The city is not the problem. I still walk around this town and love, love, love it. Along those same lines, auditioning and pursuing this crazy career are choices I still want to make. Whether I get a callback or a job or not, auditions are still something that bring me focus and joy and drive. I'm starting some new classes next week and that excites me.

And so, I don't think the career or lack thereof is the problem here. Nor do I think my environment is toxic and needs to change. Maybe I do not have any problems and I just need to sit down and eat a rather large piece of vanilla cake with vanilla frosting and have a Christopher Guest movie marathon. That might work. Also, upon further reflection, do I seriously have to give up Suze Orman? Because, for real, I LOVE HER.

Maybe I am blowing this whole thing out of proportion and am just dealing with typical 20-something Alone in NYC Things and trying to pass it off as OH MY LIFE IS SO HARD! I AM SO LOST AND ALOOOOOONE. (Again, I do pathetic and dramatic equally well.) And yet...and yet...while I have sometimes gotten myself into a funk of sorts (who hasn't?), I have never quite dealt with it like this. I have never before had my mother tell me that she will not watch me self-destruct, that she will physically take me and watch me twenty-four hours a day if I continue my behavior.

So I am treading carefully here, believing that maybe, this time is not like other times. And I think it's okay to take that precaution since depression runs in my family and if I had to mark a dot on the chart of my life, this particular time would fall rather low. Worse than the time I smashed my car into a cement wall in JFK Airport and that time my co-worker told me I had really wide hips.

And the thing that pisses me off the most?? I cannot find the trigger. My mother can't either. No one can. "But when did this START?" they want to know. "What HAPPENED?" And I draw a blank. There was no monumental crisis. Looking back over the past few weeks or last month or two, my life has been rather uneventful. Maybe it's that little things started to add up and compound on top of my head, like bricks. Maybe it was honestly nothing at all, just an altered chemical state in my brain, brought about by unlucky genetics and aggravated by a severe sensitivity to fluctuating hormones.

On a daily basis, I would be okay. I would talk to friends or see a play or run for miles and miles and feel temporarily revived. I was okay. And then suddenly, I was not. A few weeks ago, there were three days in a row where taking a shower seemed too hard a task to complete. I turned the water on, started to shampoo my hair and gave up. So, I just sat down in the bathtub, with the shower pouring over me and I just stayed there. I did not cry. I did not feel sad. But I did not feel strong. I just stared at the pale blue tiles and felt the pelting of the droplets on my naked back. And that was all I could do.

And maybe that's just all I can do right now--get up and get into the shower and force myself to move. Smell pretty, get out, towel myself off, get dressed, go to work at 9, not 10, not 9:45, not 9:30 but 9. Either way, I'm drawing on all the strength I have to turn this around and make 2008 a really, really good year, complete with 10 minute or less showers because come on, that's just a darn good waste of water.

There's something about the impending change from December 31st into January 1st that makes me feel all refreshed and calm. I already bought a new planner. I already registered and paid for classes and scheduled auditions on my calendar. I have a job. I bought a new purple sweater today. And a grande Berryblossom White tea.

With my family surrounding me, I'm gonna get the hell out of this funk, whatever it is and start kicking some major ass. And inflate my self-esteem bubble because I am awesome at lots of things, including but not limited to wearing very pretty shoes and alphabetizing books by author. Also, I think the upcoming visits with my therapist will make for very good blog fodder.

See? I'm always thinking of you. Here's to a New Year.

Merry Christmas, I Got Feetie Pajamas

Happy Holidays

Dear Santa,

This year, I would like world peace, a coat and a warm meal for every homeless person, a happy family for every child in foster care and lots of cold hard cash for me.

Also, these shoes.

I wear a size 7.

LYLAS,

Laura

Where I Am The Definition of Klutz, Spaz and Loser All At Once, As Usual

I am always stumped when somebody brings up the "What's Your Most Embarrassing Moment?" question. Not that this is the kind of question that comes up every day. (That would be a tad weird, no?) But when it's come up in the past, I've never known what to say. I think the thing is (and with me, there is always a thing): I do many embarrassing things on a daily basis and so I have a hard time thinking of just one huge, I WANT TO DIE moment that encapsulates the everyday way I spend my life.

It's hard for me to get truly embarrassed when on any given day, I will trip UP the subway steps or when walking home from doing laundry, my bra will fly off the pile of clean clothes in my arms and land at the feet of an elderly gentleman. This, I have decided, at the ripe age of 24, is just me. That is the thing.

However, I am pleased to report that I now have a very good "MY MOST EMBARASSING MOMENT" story. And I am so honored and excited to share it with you, dear readers, because I will stop at NOTHING, you hear me? NOTHING!!! to humiliate myself for your benefit.

Enjoy.

My Most Embarrassing Moment
by Laura Elizabeth, Age 24

It was a typical Monday evening at the gym. Typical in that it was crowded with lots of young people trying to undo weekend damage. I was among them, of course, though I usually avoid the gym during the hours of 5 and 8 pm whenever possible. I prefer off-peak hours, wouldn't you know it since lots of people in one place make me nervous. I realized on Monday night that there was a benefit to being there during Prime Time and this benefit would be, of course, Hot Boys.

Now, my roommate always comes home from the gym and announces that there was a REALLY HOT guy there, HIS SOON TO BE HUSBAND FOR SURE, and oh GOD was he HOT and he was wearing a HAT and on and on. I will nod slowly as my roommate acts out the gym encounter of who looked at who while so and so was waiting for the legpress. "There was a LOOK, trust me, we had this LOOK going and it was like this, see? Like, HOW HOT IS THAT?!" I will kind of sigh tiredly at this point and wonder aloud, "Why??? Why do YOU always see good looking people at the gym? THEY DO NOT EXIST FOR ME."

Not that I would care, of course. Since I don't want to ever date "Gym Guy" but hey, if there's something fun to look at while I'm jamming out to Lesley Gore on the treadmill, so be it. Anyway. Now I had the answer: the good looking people are the people with JOBS. 9-5 JOBS. And they tend to go to the gym...wait for it....AFTER WORK.

So okay. I was feeling okay, being at the gym around 6:15 on a Monday night, ready to get my cardio on. I came out of the locker room and looked to my right and realized that every single treadmill was being used except the one on the very end, closest to me. I made up my mind right then and there to claim that treadmill for my very own because damnit this is my time and my workout and I WILL NOT WAIT FOR A CARDIO MACHINE.

While walking towards the treadmill, I glanced down the row at all the other good looking people on the treadmill and I kind of stopped short when I swore on Madonna that I recognized a girl I went to high school with. It was HER! How WEIRD! She lives in QUEENS!? I wonder what she's UP TO? Those are cute RUNNING SHORTS!!! This was, of course, my train of thought, where every sentence and question ends in capital letters.

Guys? I was not wearing my glasses. Upon later inspection, it was confirmed that it was most certainly NOT the girl I went to high school with. She couldn't have been FARTHER from the girl I went to high school with. BUT THIS IS NOT THE POINT OF THE STORY.

The point of the story is that I was looking at The Girl Who Was Definitely Not The Girl From My High School while I simultaneously stepped onto the treadmill to begin a lovely 5K jog. There was one small problem with this unfortunate series of events.

The treadmill I stepped onto?

Was still in the on position.

That's right. The person before me had gotten off the treadmill and LEFT IT ON.

So I stepped onto it while looking the other way, oblivious to all of this (OF COURSE I WAS! FOR I AM OBLIVIOUS TO EVERYTHING ALWAYS!) and what followed next should've been captured on video. My feet, obviously, tripped on the moving treadmill belt and I fell forward with nothing to grab onto since I was still thinking of The Girl Who Oh My God Honestly Didn't Go To My High School and also because I was holding my iPod in one hand and a towel in the other.

So my feet, well they kept right on running, attempting to catch up to the speed of the belt and failing miserably. My arms just flopped all over the place, knowing that I was near imminent death but refusing to let my precious iPod fly out of my hands. And my mind, after it caught up with the situation (because there seemed to be about a 30 second delay) was basically just, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?!??!!? as I flailed about like a muppet. Because that is what happens when you are born with long, long limbs and you get on a treadmill that is already moving. Congratulations, you look like a muppet. Cheers!

I finally was able to shut the treadmill off, not before nearly flying off the back of it and crashing against the gym wall a la an NBC Sitcom, which was in my mind since it would've probably been easier to Let Go and Let God instead of struggling to catch my breath and balance for about five minutes. I should've just thrown my hands up and plummeted off the back and ended in a crumpled heap on the sanitized floor. But I didn't. I kept what was left of my dignity (2%) and remained upright.

Now, while I was flailing about, Muppet Style, the four or five people closest to me, FLIPPED OUT and started shouting, OH MY GOD ARE YOU OKAY? IS SHE OKAY? HOLY COW! SHE'S STILL...WOW..YEAH..YEAH SHE'S STILL TRIPPING! HOLY SHIT. ARE YOU OKAY???? which caused everyone who maybe HADN'T caught sight of me, to CATCH SIGHT OF ME and stare. After I shut the treadmill off and stood on it, I took a few deep breaths, believing that if I just kept my eyes shut, a trap door would appear underneath me and I would be swallowed whole by New York Sports Clubs Inc.

I finally opened up my eyes and, finding an entire group of people staring at me, said, "Guess what? This treadmill was on!"

And everyone resumed their workouts.

Except the person next to me.

Who just happened to be the most beautiful man I'd ever seen.

Now, I am probably making this up because yeah, he was a great looking guy but certainly not THE MOST BEAUTIFUL. I just think that he looked especially good since I had almost gone to meet my maker at the gym by catapulting off a treadmill at warp speed. So. He was tall. He was sweating. I wanted to kiss him on the mouth but I couldn't because I just made a complete ass out of myself and also? because he was kind of, still running.

He took an iPod bud out of his ear, slowed down his treadmill and said, "Seriously, are you okay?"

I nodded, face bright red.

And then I burst out laughing and I couldn't stop.

"I'm sorry, yeah, I'm fine, it's just, wow. That was so amazing."

He looked at me with a twinkle in his eyes and said, "Don't worry. I do that all the time."

I stared at him skeptically and then said, "Well...thanks for lying."

He laughed and said, "No problem! Thought you could use it."

And I could, Hot Gym Man. Ohhhhh, I could use a lot of things. You and me and that exercise mat over there....wait. What? Sorry.

It would be such a good story if Hot Gym Man and I laughed for hours and hours and then went for coffee and tonguekissed on the way home and now we are married.

In truth, he ran for 4 more minutes while I jogged to "Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows" to make myself feel better. Then he went over to stretch and I never saw him again.

It was all good though because maybe talking to him longer would've ruined the story. It's safe to say that I have officially found the Embarrassing Moment story, no small feat. And when I got home, I saw the roommate and finally, finally, I had a Hot Man At The Gym Story to share too. And after I told him about it, we both agreed that my story was so so much better than his.

Recovery

I'm headed to bed to recover from a spontaneous holiday party we had here at Chez Spectrum last night.

I just wanted to post an entry so that the lovely post about my gas could slowly make it's way off the mainpage.

Anyway. OUR PARTY. I wanted to talk about it because we decided to make sure our party was as eco-friendly as possible. There were no plastic or paper products used or thrown away, quite an amazing feat!! We used our regular reusable ceramic plates and bowls, our everyday silverware, cloth napkins and cloth towels in the bathroom for drying purposes. The tableclothes were resuable as well and the lightbulbs that we used around the house were of course, CFL's. (Which, incidentally, have reduced our monthly electric bill by $10!)

To keep going with our lovely DO GOODER/LOOK PRETTY theme, the entire menu was vegan. (You knew that was coming? Didn't you? HA HA HA!) It consisted of the following:

Homemade guacamole
Salsa
Chips
Edamame
Veggie Platter
Pita bread with Roasted Red Pepper Hummus
Whole Wheat Penne Pasta Salad with Balsamic Vinegar, Green and Red Peppers
Sweet Potato Chili w/ Black Beans
Vegan Mexican Cornbread
Vegan Sugar Cookies
Vegan Peppermint Patty Bars
Vegan Peanut Butter Chocolate Chunk Cookies



I did all the baking and cooking and the Roommate handled the cleaning and obtainment of alcohol which included various wines, champagnes and apple cider with cinnamon and rum.

In the style of Amy Sedaris, we also offered a 25 cent table, where we sold knick-knacks and other odds and ends for 25 cents. We offered used lotions, pencils, a balloon, a Jack-o-Lantern PEZ dispenser, a packet of ketchup and autographed headshots. It was an hilarious way to reuse and reduce and recycle!




I'm so proud of us over here and for those lovely guests who joined in and purchased some one-of-a-kind gifts. I'm kind of sad no one bought the ketchup packet. It looks so lonely still sitting there on the table. As usual, I wore cute shoes:



Here's the link to the rest of our Eco-Friendly Vegan Holiday Party Extravaganza 2007 Photos! Enjoy!

Too Much Info

** Disclaimer: I wrote this a few days ago and now it's especially apropos thanks to Deanna's recent post. Thanks for the shout out, Dee!**

Okay, so I'm going to get personal.

I have often divulged things about myself that one would consider "personal". I mean this is my BLOG. I try to strike a balance between the tough stuff I go through and the more typical every day things I find amusing. Today though, I have to tell you, I'm about to get pretty serious.

Let's back up a little bit first. I HATE to bring up veganism AGAIN, I know, it's like WHO CARES, EYE ROLL, SHUT UP. But this time, it's just for a reference point. When I became a vegetarian and then a vegan, I noticed that when deleting meat and cheese from my diet, when it came to my intestinal tract, I had a lot less...control than ever before. (Am I really going to go here right now?! YES. YES I AM.) I don't know if it had anything to do with my intestinal tract operating at optimum level or the increase in fiber due to more fruits and vegetables or what.

(I've been tracking my fiber intake, by the way and as an omnivore, I was taking in about 15-20 grams while now, as a vegan, I intake about 28-40 grams on a daily basis.) It could also be my body not quite enjoying soy. Tofu doesn't affect me but sometimes after I drink soymilk, I experience a definite increase in...you know...gas. (I'm going to attempt to use different synonyms for this, because it embarrasses me to no end and "farting" sounds crude. My favorite so far is my dad's twist on it. He calls it "Putt-Putt-ing" as in, "mini-golfing". You heard that right.)

Let's speak frankly, shall we? Before giving up meat and dairy, if I had to...pass some gas? There was a way to stifle it or suppress it or quiet it. But then, after going veg, I was no longer able to. I suddenly became someone I didn't even recognize--someone who was a PUBLIC FARTER. WHO LET IT LOOSE WHEREVER SHE WAS. I couldn't help it! It came on without warning! I DO NOT KNOW WHY.

I realize I have successfully ruined all chances of finding a husband among this blog readership at this point in time.

I am okay with this.

So I had no control over the flatulence and while we're on the subject of toilet talk, I also found myself running to the bathroom to expel the contents of my stomach far more often than I did as an omnivore. Don't get upset or freak out, it wasn't anything abnormal. It was just more often than usual. (To put it another way, my yoga teacher says that you should be going #2 three times a day. When I heard this, I was like YOU ARE CRAZY. And now? I realize she is not crazy but oh so correct.) But let's leave feces for another day and talk about gas. The putt-putting.

Now, I'm not saying, I'm walking around AUDIBLY releasing noxious gases into the air on a daily basis without a care in the world. It's just that every so often, a sound will escape my body and it will startle me and embarrass me and how do you deal with that when you think someone else heard it? Do you say "EXCUSE ME?" and draw attention to it? I mean what if they act confused and say "Excuse me what?" and then you have to come clean and tell the truth. Or do you just ignore it and pretend it was the sound of something else, say, your chair scraping the carpet or the cap coming off your seltzer bottle. What is the proper protocol here IF things were to happen? Not like it did. That's not the point. BUT IF IT DID?

Now that you know some really super personal information about me and my gastrointestinal tract, I will get to the matter at hand, the serious thing I wanted to tell you, yes you, when I started writing this entry.

When I sat down to write this blog tonight, I realized that I only had one thing to tell you guys. It was a very very important, very serious thing and it has never happened to me before in my life and I just wanted to put it out there in case it ever happens to you. So you can relate. So I can relate to you. I am creating communication you see, reaching out my hand to the universe, to you, to make this world a better place.

You guys?

Last night, I was sleeping. And basically, the story is...

I putt-putted so loudly in my sleep that I woke myself up.

That's right.

I passed gas so loudly while SLEEPING that it shook my room and caused my heart to temporarily stop and I bolted upright in bed, fearing for my life.

Alas, it was not a bomb. Or an earthquake. Or a serial killer trying to light explosives in the living room.

It was just me and my vegan gas.

I think this is going to be the title of my first book. You're welcome.

Theatre Stuff

My acting teacher sent out an email last week asking if anyone wanted free tickets to see the new Broadway play "August: Osage County". I took her up on it and ended up with a totally free Center Row N orchestra seat on Sunday afternoon. KA CHING!!! Just me and a play, the best way to spend a day, in my opinion. The play is a transfer from Steppenwolf in Chicago and though I had read that glowing review, I had also read that it runs about three hours and twenty minutes. Equipped with water and a Luna Bar, I put on my glasses and settled into my seat, unsure of what to expect.

Around 6:20 pm, when it was over, I realized that I could have sat back down in my seat and watched it AGAIN. I could've just pressed rewind over and over and let it keep going. That's how deep I fell in love with it. It opened officially last night and earned this well-deserved review from the NYTimes.

In it, critic Charles Isherwood likens watching the play to "greedily devouring two, three, four episodes of your favorite series in a row on DVR or DVD. You will leave the Imperial Theater emotionally wrung out and exhausted from laughing, but you may still find yourself hungry for more."

Charles Isherwood, you complete me.

If anyone belongs to tdf, they are selling tickets for this week and next for $29.50. If you do not belong to tdf and want to go on a platonic date with me, shoot me an email and I'll get you a ticket and I promise I will not keep turning to you and asking "WHAT DID SHE SAY?" during the performance unlike someone a few rows behind me. Because heck yes, I am going again. If I could, I would go every single day and watch this play and I'm telling you, if I did, I would no longer need therapy. This play...oh Lord...it makes me feel like spinning around in a circle and singing really loud and splashing in the rain and screaming until my voice is gone. It makes musicals look so....unimportant. Which is a topic for another day. But...yeah. Few things get to me like some really serious straight theater. (Straight as in "nonmusical", not as in "gay".)

In keeping with this inspiration, I totally kicked ass in acting class last night. I don't usually say that. I usually come home and tell my roommate that I am the worst actor who ever lived.

But last night, I was given the opportunity to do an exercise on my own, an exercise I created and wrote and performed. Nothing serious, just a few minutes long and it's too complicated to explain but it doesn't matter. What matters is that last night was the first time I ever described myself outloud as a writer.

One thing I'd like to change in this coming New Year is to start describing myself as an actor and a writer without the self-deprecating comments that go along with that. I always feel like as soon as I say "I'm an actor" someone's going to roll their eyes (BECAUSE THEY DO) and so I have to offput that from the get-go by making comments like "I know! Just like EVERYONE IN THIS TOWN! HA HA I'M A PROFESSIONAL WAITER!!! HA HA! HOW FUNNY IT IS TO BE GENERIC AND POOR!" While I was working with the twins and anyone asked me what I did for a living, I immediately said "nanny".

I AM A NANNY.

Somehow, that seemed like a more socially acceptable job than an actor.

Why is this?

So last night, in class, when everyone started praising my performance but more important to me, my WRITING, I was so moved. My acting teacher asked me to talk about the process of the exercise, how I prepared for it and I wanted to play it down a little bit by saying "Well I'm a visual person, so I need to see it in front of me..." and instead, I caught myself and I said "Well. I'm a WRITER and that's what I went to first, the writing."

And then my classmates were so complimentary that my soul started getting full of all the things that are usually absent--confidence, security, pride.

I'm so sick of feeling like I need to justify being an artist.

(Already, I'm making fun of myself in my head. You're an ARTIST? BWA HA HAAAAA.)

Honestly though? I'd like to take a little more pride in the very very difficult path that I've chosen.

I'm so sick of caring what other people might think about me.

If I have to get up every day and wait around with hundreds of girls so I can sing the right words on the right notes or say the right lines with the right intonation and connection to the material, with maybe an accent or two thrown in, all the while looking showered and presentable with makeup and an appropriate dress with appropriate heels, even if it's only for 90 seconds that I'm in the actual room and if I have to do this, MUST do this in order to get a job, if I have to put things on hold like, moving out of town or going on an extended vacation or going back to college or getting a better-paying job or missing time with my friends and family to focus on this, this CAREER, then damnit I am going to be PROUD OF WHAT I DO.

Hi, I'm Laura.

I'm an actor.

I'm a writer.

Sometimes I post here, on my blog.

And if you ever want to know what moves me to do what I do and the kind of feeling that itches at me from the very bottom of my belly, telling me that I'm not ready to give up yet, you can go see that play I talked about earlier. You can go sit through that masterpiece and laugh your head off and sob your eyes out and then maybe you will have a tiny, tiny sliver of what propels me out of bed every morning. You will not be sorry.

Sleep-Ogre

Owen and River's parents were both out of town this weekend so I babysat them overnight from Friday into Saturday.

We had a sleepover. I took video. Enjoy.


Sleepover from The Spectrum on Vimeo.