Quarter of a Century

I am 25 years old today and if I get hit by a bus tonight, I would like to be remembered like I am in the photo my roommate took of me this morning: unshowered, ready to go outside for a run, prepared to greet the morning, making an unattractive face mid-laugh.

Happy Birthday to me and my fierce calves!

Theater Nerd Humor

Actual text conversation between me and my roommate.

Me: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROOMIE

Roommate: Is this Laura? I lost all my numbers! 

Me: No, this is actually Broadway. But I think I got the wrong number. Is this not Gavin Creel?

Roommate: BROADWAY!?!? No, this is TV's talent-free Ashley Parker Angel.  Do I get the job!?

Me: YES. YOU WIN.

Roommate:  Thought so.  I feel a sense of undeserving accomplishment.

Me: As you rightly should.

This Is What Happens When I Forget To Shave

Apparently, Owen has the same problem.

Thursday Sucked. Here Is Why.

A few years ago, someone gave me a ring.

It was not the ring, an engagement ring, but a small silver ring with tiny diamonds across the top of the band. It was a remarkable gift in many ways. There was the giver of the gift, who meant a lot to me at the time. There was also the fact that I never bought jewelry for myself ever except some dinky earrings at Claire's in high school. I still don't. I guess I never think to spend that kind of money on myself.

Also, it has to be said that my family has never been great gift givers. When I get things that I like or that I want, it's usually because I had to specifically mention them. We spend time, we are good at cooking dinner and laughing and talking and debating and hugging and crying. We don't really make a big show of gifts and so it's a special, rare thing when someone gets me something perfect, something that I would've picked out for myself if given the chance.

A few days before I received this ring, I was at my very first NYC audition. I was very naive and full of hope and I waited eight hours to be seen. Around 2 pm, I was waiting in the hallway with a group of older girls, who couldn't have been older than the age I am now. One of the girls lived in Westchester and she made a big point of saying this, Westchester, noting that she would never live in the city, there's not enough trees. She spoke loudly to her friends about how young the girls at the audition were and how they didn't know anything because my God, how old could they be? 21? 22? Don't you remember what it's like to be that young?! My God, these girls are BABIES.

I envied this girl though I saw right through her insecurities. She seemed to know everything. I watched her hands move animatedly as she talked, two tiny rings with diamonds across the bands, sparkling in the light. Someone asked her about them and she mentioned how she had found them, some great deal at a department store. And it was shocking to me then to realize that girls could have money, that kind of money (she spent $200 on each of them! Imagine that!) and spend it on themselves. I never had money that way.

Incidentally, I remember getting the chance to finally sing at 5:10 PM, after arriving at the audition studio at 6:30 AM and how no one looked up from the table and no one cared. And that was the first time I realized that it was all going to be harder than I originally thought.

Later that week, I went to go visit my boyfriend for Valentine's Day and he presented me a box, with a ring inside it. I couldn't stop crying when I saw it because I never told anybody, not even him, about the girl in the hallway and how badly I wanted a ring like that. And he had known, somehow. Someone in my life had understood me and paid attention to me and had given me a gift that I didn't have to ask for.

On Wednesday, I took a shower after my workout at the gym and I took that ring off to apply some lotion. I put it down on a bench near my clothes in the locker room. And I forgot to put it back on.

I realized this around 2 AM on Wednesday morning, shortly after publishing my last post here. I didn't fall asleep until 5:30, tossing and turning about it and some other things I couldn't get off my mind. I woke up at 8 AM for work, delirious, eyes burning. I went straight back to the gym and inquired and begged and everyone told me what I already knew: it was gone.

That same day, I found out that callback phonecalls were made for a certain show I had gone in for a few days before. The audition, for me, had gone so well. They seemed so interested, I sang a few songs, the director worked with me a bit. I left feeling secure and proud and everybody reassured me, telling me "You are getting so close! So much closer to finally getting something!" And I knew it. I waltzed back to work from that audition, light as air.

And that phonecall never came. It did for other people, but not me.

I could've cried at any moment on Thursday, from the exhaustion, from the stress, from the anger I was feeling at myself for the audition, for the lost ring. But I kept it down.

I went to yoga on my lunch break.

I came home and made vegan pizza.

And while I was kneading the pizza dough, standing besides my roommate in the kitchen. It came bubbling up and I could no longer keep it in. I slid to the kitchen floor, sobbing uncontrollably, feeling like a failure, like a forgetful person, like someone who was never going to book a show again and who was certainly never going to be loved enough to be entrusted with another ring. Or another heart.

It's odd to tell you that I'm still reeling from Thursday. I think some of it is the way my hormones are causing me to sink into a low depression once again. But I just wanted to post this because I'm feeling rather blue. And a week before my birthday, I'd rather not feel this way.

I want to post this because one day, when I find The Ring and when I book That Show, I will want to re-read this and remember to be grateful. As sure as I am that I want to keep going and want to keep trying, I would be lying if I said that the constant rejection never causes me tears or pricks away at my heart or that there are never days when I want to give up. There are so many days like that. I hope they end soon.

2 AM and I'm Still Awake Writing This Post

I bought brand new rainboots. They are purple.  They came in so much handy today as I splashed around in puddles while everyone else tiptoed. Ha ha, suckers.

I've decided I need "my drink". As in, the standard drink that I order when I go to a bar.  I would prefer this drink to be non-girly AKA no pineapple and rums, cosmopolitans, etc. It was pointed out to me this evening that it is downright embarrassing that at 25 I do not have "My Drink".  I do not have My Drink because though I am 25, I am a loser and I never go to bars so what the heck do I know? Tonight I had a whiskey sour.  And some club soda. And 10,000 french fries. Let's all pitch in and help me pick a drink. Suggestions? Keep in mind that I cannot do vodka, so that is off the table.

It is way too late for me to be awake on a Wednesday night when I have work the next day, I just want to throw that out there.

My birthday is coming up.  I thought I had a plan of what I wanted to do--dinner with friends, drinks after with more friends in a mellow loungey bar and now I have scrapped that idea entirely and am left with...nothing?  I wish I was in 7th grade and I could have a sleepover and we could all sleep on my living room floor in sleeping bags and watch The Breakfast Club.  And then around 2 AM, my mother would come downstairs and tell us to shut up, she's trying to sleep, there's church in the morning.

March 1st marked the end of my Abstain From Boys For Six Months extravaganza.  

In honor of this, I have developed a somewhat alarming crush on a very very tall boy who eats lots of meat.

I'm going to just go with this and not overanalyze it or make a big stink about it.  Instead, I will just try to keep my cool when I see him.  And maybe, possibly, try to get close enough to him to sniff his armpit because ohmigosh his armpit? It smells SO GOOD.

I'm leaving for Italy so much sooner than I thought. I thought May was like, I don't know, in 2009 or something. I didn't realize May of 2008 is actually, like, in a few weeks. My bad!

I don't speak any Italian nor have I read any of the books Alayna gave me. I have not bought a rail pass or finalized where we're sleeping our final night in Rome or bought a backpack or figured out anything really at all.  If you ask me, I'm in real good shape.

All I know is, I'm going to get on a plane, get off the plane, wave to the pope, pop a Lactaid and shove some fresh mozzarella in my mouth.  And that is going to be the extent of my trip to Italy, I can promise you that. And yeah, y'all be crazy if you think I'm going to freaking ITALY and NOT EATING CHEESE.

I will be eating The Cheese. Mark my words. And the Vegan God will shudder and strike me down in some piazza somewhere but SO HELP ME LORD VEGAN GOD, it's Italian CHEESE!

I think, when I start praying to a vegan God, it might be time to go to bed?

Because it's kind of awkward.

Also awkward? The fact that I just sliced a piece of skin off my face with my very own fingernail.

Happy Thursday, kids. It's good to be back.

Lucky One

I will never understand how a woman can stand up on her own two legs and talk to people and hug them and nod with a slight smile through mascara-ed eyes while standing a few feet away from her husband's casket.

I do not know how a daughter does it either, standing solid and tall in high heeled black shoes, looking calm and beautiful.

I do not know these things because I have never been robbed of someone so close to me. Somewhat close, yes. But not that close.

And I do not know why I can drive back from the funeral home and stare into space as my stomach moves silently in and out with each breath and the green digits on the car clock burn neon against black.

Or why I can park my car in my parents' driveway and walk into the house while the dryer hums, lazily tossing about my yellow bedsheets.

Or why my father will stand, reading glasses perched on his nose and ask, "How was it?"

And I will shrug and say "fine" because I can't believe he is talking to me and I can't believe I am answering him and I can't believe I rarely ever notice how much I love the sound of his voice.

He settles back on the couch then, newspaper resting on his knee.

And I want to tell him that he can never die, that he is not allowed. The only part of him that I will allow to die are the cancer cells that reside in his prostate. The rest of him must live forever because I am not that strong. I cannot stand straight and tall in black high heels while he lays still a room away.

Instead, I say it's fine. And I pick up the laundry off the floor, still warm, and press it to my cheek. From where I stand, I can see the back of his head rising up above the couch, the hook of his eyeglasses around his ears and his elbow snug on the armrest. He takes a sip of coffee and I stand there in socks and stare.

To Do List

43. Book trip to Italy

Stand Clear Of The Closing Doors Please

Tonight after philosophy class, I waited for the 6 train to come to a full stop before walking through the open doors. As soon as I did, I was nearly knocked over by a strong citrus scent that was wafting towards me in a thick haze. I turned to my right just in time to see a homeless man standing next to me spraying himself up and down with an aerosol can of what had to be some type of lemony household cleaner.

I quickly made my way to the other end of the car to join the rest of the people already there and we all stood and stared unabashedly at the scene going on a few feet away. The man was muttering to himself and spraying the can up and down and all around. Another woman boarded after me and as she walked toward me, the man stuck out the spray can and sprayed her back. None of us could help laughing. It was just that absurd.

I debated my options--staying on this car for two stops before transferring or getting off at the next stop and switching cars. I always feel bad backing away from homeless people, whether they smell rancid or like a gallon of lemonade. I can't help but feel sympathy and sadness for their situation and so on a crowded train reeking of body odor and urine, I try to breathe into my arm and stay in the car if I can, just to prove something. But what?

I debated staying on this train because hey, at least the smell was tolerable. Hell, it would've been downright pleasant if it wasn't continually pouring out of the can in copious, maniacal amounts, filling an airtight train car. But then the man stopped muttering and started speaking louder.

I'M GONNA USE THIS CAN RIGHT UP.

We all nodded. Oh yes, sir, yes you are.

Then he held the can in front of his nose, almost struck down in awe that more product was still coming out of it.

DAMN. THIS CAN IS NEVER ENDIN.

This was true. There's a lot of stuff in those cans.

I'M GONNA USE THIS CAN RIGHT UP, he repeated.

There was a pause before he continued and he turned to face all of us.

I'M GONNA USE THIS CAN RIGHT UP, he said again.

AND THEN...

I waited, curious.

AND THEN I'M GONNA TAKE A SHIT OUT MA ASS.

The subway groaned into the next station and at that point, I decided that no matter how nice the scent was, it was not going to last much longer and even if it made me a bad, cold person, I was gettin' ma ass off that train.