what's my age again?

I acted like a nineteen year old last night. Its about time, right?

Note to self: THE KRACKEN is deadly.

I believe I surprised myself as much as I surprised other people.
I danced.
like a freak.
and I was foolish and nineteen.

There isn't anything wrong with that.
I want so many things that are going to happen eventually.
EVENTUALLY ISN'T SURE OF ITSELF.

its snowing.

as I said, last night I had my first callback here.
I felt cool. really cool. sitting in that room with all those upperclassmen. We walked around the room and greeted each other and at first I awkwardly shook hands with everyone feeling self conscious. Then I realized, I had as much right to be there as all of them did.
I was sure that I needed to be there. after doing scenes for ten minutes I knew I had to be there.
All of the sudden, I was on the mainstage reading for a part that was the complete opposite of me. I ruled. I was better in those twenty minutes than I had been in a long time. The only problem, I was reading with someone that clearly didn't want to be doing a love scene with me. we were reading for the two most grounded characters in the show and yet he was playing it CRAZY.
Callbacks are a funny thing. They're all about timing. What if I hadn't read with him? What if I read with someone else. What if he gets cast because they were better friends and had better chemistry?
But I shouldn't focus on the fact he didn't help me at all. I did well. I wouldn't have changed anything.

the problem now is,
I just want more.
is it possible to have an addiction to acting?

but its snowing.

but i hate being a freshman at this moment.
I wish I wasn't.
I wish I had some street cred here.

hfjdlsgj;osijwrklsdf;fds;k

AHHHH!
FIRST CALL BACK AT SOUTHERN OREGON UNIVERSITY IN LESS THAN AN HOUR.
I SHOULD GET DRESSED, I SHOULD READ MY SIDES, I SHOULD STOP WRITING IN ALL CAPS!



I hope hope hope hope hope.

cute text from my mom:
Give them no choice! xoxoxoxoxo

Mom. I'm going to kill it.

yes and...

first of all, why am I awake? its seven am.

Yesterday I spent most of the day in the library attempting to find meaning in my research paper. The funny thing is, if it wasn't in stupid MLA format and you know...in RESEARCH form I could write about my topic for days. I know its a requirement, but in all honesty, it doesn't do anything for me academically. Plus, I wasn't taught how to write an effective research paper....ever.
You know, high school didn't teach me anything. Literally. nothing. I know that I've ranted about this before but really, looking at it now, THATS A PROBLEM. perhaps it was my fault. My focus was always social. it was always on getting cast [which it probably shouldn't have been because that turned out to be a joke too.]
Seriously though. the way education is going is down, down a bad bad bad BAD dark hole.
Apparently, as early as elementary school, they have teachers reading scripts out of books to teach Math and English. I mean, SERIOUSLY? that is creating a system of children growing up resenting education BECAUSE IT PUTS THEM TO SLEEP.
If I were to count the number of truly inspiring teachers who have shaped me as a person from elementary school, middle school, AND high school, I do believe the number would be four.
FOUR.
My research topic is how improv, specifically the teachings of Viola Spolin shape human behavior and should be utilized by everyone, not just actors.
Improv has taught me everything about myself. Because of improv I am becoming the kind of actor I want to be and because of improv I am becoming the person I want to be. I wish I could just write an eight page love letter to improv rather than finding evidence and all that bull. evidence dehumanizes what I really want to say about improv.

I felt this overwhelming urge to stand up and scream in the silent busy library. Right in time I got a text from a friend using the mainstage to rehearse his pieces for auditions.
Whenever I enter a theatre, I always take a deep breath, as if to smell the theatre, swallow it whole. Strange I know. Its just a habit I've never been able to shake, nor do I want to. Its comforting.
He and another actor were there already working on pieces.
I wasn't even going to do my monologues. I just needed to get out of the silence and hear people talk, watch people create. But I stood on the stage and did my pieces, the same spot I would be standing in two days. They both gave me very helpful notes. An outsiders prospective is always helpful. They were both good. I mean, really good. Older, had already taken class here and I appreciated them listening to me.
The other actor left to write a paper [probably in STUPID MLA format] but the other asked me to hang back. I got all freaked out. Didn't know why or what he was going to say. We sat on the stage and he said, "so how come I didn't know you were such a great actor?"
"uh, what?"
"I envy how natural you are"
"um. well, thanks" I didn't know what to say. I don't always know what to do with positive feedback. "Its all about the improv man. it taught me everything I know"
As I walked back to the library to face the six more pages I needed to bullshit, I got all emotional.
Improv has truly changed my life. It has changed my life in ways teachers haven't. It ultimately has been my greatest teacher.
Thanks Viola Spolin, Keith Johnstone, and especially Comedy Sportz.
I have a lot to learn still. A lot. I just want to learn it.

monster hands. hands monster.

I've decided I want to be friends with this monster. I feel like our friendship could be really beautiful. He has to hold his hands up to his eyes to see and I really need to take my hands off my eyes.

Today I have perfected the art of being productively unproductive. The sky has been gray all day, I need some California sun. But not in a "i need to get out of here" kind of way I just want to be sun burnt.



Audition is Tuesday.
I'm full of want.
that's all I should really say on the subject.

heres to tonight being fun
heres to drinking a bottle of captain.
[oh captain my captain]

I have eight arms too

I've decided that I'm just going to kick ass at everything I do.

from now on.

Its time I start getting the things I want. Because, in all seriousness, I've been "paying my dues" for nineteen years. I need to stop settling.

I am done settling.

I'm ready for everything. all at once.

STARTING NOW.

glow in the dark stars standing still

"moans are connected with not getting what you want right away"

This line hit me on Thursday night. I couldn't believe that I hadn't thought of it before.

On Sunday morning, I moaned. Well, more of a sigh.
but not in the way she meant in the monologue.
at all.

After a weekend of fulfilling performances and even more fulfilling conversations, on Sunday morning after not sleeping, and with my head spinning from the copious amount of champagne I drank at the toast, I drew the covers over my head as I heard the door shut and sighed a deep, fulfilled sigh.
We had a decent conversation.
The moan, or the sigh was deeply rooted in finally feeling heard. Rooted in performing in front of a sold out audience. Rooted in sitting on the bottom bunk, discussing expectations and how bizarre they truly are. Rooted in the beautiful things that group of women said at the toast. Rooted in the blissful innocence of falling next to someone at six in the morning. Rooted in not turning my back away.

Rooted in the way my heart leaps at the idea of possibility.

I'm so ready for so many things.

core of it

Creative writing assignment: Write about someone else. how they influence another character

He finished apples. That was the kind of person he was. I felt as though he was trying not to look at me. His quick glance lasted forever even though it happened so fast. He was focused on his apple, or at least he wanted to be. He wanted to not see me. Previously, he automatically would have thrust the apple in my general direction so I could take I bite out of it. I didn’t like finishing apples. I watched him take specific bites around the whole apple. He scratched his head and looked at the apple intently as if it was telling him what to think, what to feel. There was a little piece that somehow got in his hair. I would have laughed and shuffled over and pointed in a sly way but, not anymore. He could walk to his next class with that piece in his hair and have an acquaintance point it out awkwardly. I apparently lost the right to do that. Or, perhaps he doesn’t deserve it anymore. A slouching boy approached me and attempted to strike up a conversation but my eyes were on the apple. The core was visible on the side facing me. He was taunting me. Maybe he was unaware but it stung. It stung like nothing ever had. But it was an apple. The boy with the bad posture left and I made the decision. He was nearly done with the apple, about to pack up all of his books and move on with his day. “Hey. So…”

He looked up and his eyes that use to tell me everything were now replaced with cold, unavailable ones. “Yes?”

“Hope your apple exceeded your expectations today."

"It did."

"redefining rape"

Creative writing assignment: Write a bad poem

Yesterday was yesterday.
Wait is that blue?
The worst thing ever is republicans.
math isn't real and the sky is up there.
can you believe tomorrow is Tuesday?
Clowns and Santa make me angsty.
Maybe you are the worst person.
WHAT?!
Stupid economy and slaughter houses.
Jocks get special treatment for being assholes.
Spinach is good for the soul, I guess.
Can anyone remember the last time I wanted to say something?
Cocksucker.
sometimes I forget why I want to drink water.
And the worst is being the odd man out,
maybe the odd man in.
Or the guy that shovels shit.
We all don't shovel shit.
Elephants.
Friday is more certain than Saturday.
People are douchebags on Monday.
Mega shark should eat them.
Sushi?
flowers on wrong occasions.





PS. Speaking of Mega Shark eating them, today is the birthday of my one true enemy in this world. I shouldn't even acknowledge it but at the same time, I like remembering how I will never be like him and it makes me smile.

running with the bulls

A few nights ago as I thumbed through the pages of my poorly organized, horribly written performance studies text book I turned the page and fixed my eyes on this:

the lascaux caves in the south of France

Two years ago I stood in these caves accompanied by nine of my closest friends. In the cold cave I looked at the first art to ever exist and my hands shook at the sight of the advanced perspective and technique used. The caves made me so emotional I remember little Scotty grabbing my hand. I remember not being able to look at him because on the tears rolling down my cheeks.
I didn't cry.

I let out a sort of high pitched squeak as I flipped the book around showing the room my discovery. As I began to recount my experience to the group I was sitting with not really using words.
It took me back, back to the cave and what happened there.

futhermore,

Last night I sat in the Fishbowl polishing off a bag of salt and vinegar chips and I thought to myself, "wow. this has been the best part of my day"
then, I said out loud, "wow. this has been the best part of my day."
the three people sitting in the Fishbowl looked up at me as I licked each one of my fingers.
"should I worry that this has been the best part of my day?"
The one I was closest to in the room said, "NO," immediately as if it was an impulse.
the mother of the group thought about it and then said, "well, just think about why that is."
finally, the brutally honest one said, "yes."

I looked at him for a moment and he looked back at me and the corner of a smile flickered on his face.

"You're right."

so, fuck it.

alright.
enough is enough.
I am done with this whole hopeful thing.
its getting to the point where its embarrassing.
my effort is now going to be so minimal when it comes to seeing people. if they want to see me they can.
if not, I'll be a hermit or something.
I like sleeping. in fact, i love sleeping.
I would be happy sleeping all day.
I have things to do. I should do my work. I should study. I should stop being preoccupied with the idea of actually being satisfied.

six word stories

found a rad website while I was stumbling [and procrastinating]
six word stories. here's one of theirs:

They lived happily ever after. Separately.

here are some of mine about the past week:

Just wanted to feel. Oh well.
The heater rumbled. I am cold.
Suddenly responsibility. I am a godmother.
Lets watch Megashark and be sarcastic.
Writers block. Need some help. You?
Third wheel on date. Second wheel?
Left early. Saw snow. Worth it.
Ate too much sushi. Happy full.
Didn't know how to comfort you.
Said the phrase: Lets be friends.
Acted for a minute. Craved it.
First line on a shirt. Cool.
Bought juice. Wasted money. Not there.
Salt and vinegar chips. My hero.
Can't skip ahead. Not this time.
My crush is big. Is yours?
Come see the Vagina Monologues. Please.
Crane Wife 3. My theme song.
Next door neighbor, loud boyfriend visit.
'Try a Little Tenderness" Dancing alone.

the blood of.....

creative writing assignment: Write about the funniest thing you've ever seen.

[and just because I am who I am, mine is a bit morbid. but still funny. and still to this day the funniest thing I've ever seen.]

A kind of numbness had settled over the house. In the past three days I had already witnessed things I never expected to witness. The first was my parents hugging. I was so shocked at the sight of this phenomenon that I nearly dropped my bowl of mac and cheese on the clean kitchen floor. The second was the sight of tears in my father’s eyes. I had inherited his stoicism so this was the more shocking of the two sights. His face was red and he wiped tears from his eyes as he calmly told my sister and I that his sister was dead.

The next few days were filled with white flowers and family meetings. Somehow I became in charge of the well being of all five of my young cousins. I was thirteen at the time, which clearly made me an authority on death. We all sat up in my room as I helped them draw pictures to put in her casket. Then we all sat at the top of the stairs listening intently at the “plan of action” for the service and what would become of her house and cat. My youngest cousin tapped me lightly on the shoulder and whispered, “When does Auntie Melissa get here?” I looked at her hopeful face and said, “She won’t.”

We passed the casket as we walked in and my eleven year old cousin Logan stopped and put his hand on it as we passed. I looked at him confused, scared myself to touch the casket and he looked at me and shrugged.

The two of us sat in the front row on the left side of the church with our older siblings. Everyone was sobbing as the service began but we just sat there, without a sound watching the faces of our fathers as they talked about my aunt.

I myself had made the decision that I did not want to be religious at this point in my life. When the priest asked us to come up to receive the body and blood of Christ I awkwardly stood up to walk up to eat the cardboard like bread. I didn’t want my grandma to have to think about the fact I didn’t want to be Catholic on top of everything else on this day. Logan followed closely behind me, confused because he had never been to church.

As I went back to the pew, I watched Logan receive the body of Christ and then walk swiftly over to the goblet of red wine. He took the glass from the priest and right there, in front of the church, he chugged the wine. The priest looked as though he had just watch him crucify Jesus. Logan looked at me and shrugged the same familiar shrug and I began to laugh. No one could hear me because of the loud organ. He smiled as he sat down and his teeth were stained red from the cheap wine.

and you paint them you say? you'll PAINT it?

I am all too abruptly deeply unsatisfied. It probably hasn't been abrupt it hasn't.
Rather, its been a gradual, deeply rooted state of dissatisfaction.

There is an excitement that builds like towering sky scrapers when I think about little, seemingly unimportant things.
and then, they crumble. They crumble almost as fast as I built them.

Well,
it wasn't for nothing.
but don't DRAW it. Don't paint it. that would be so...strange.
I bet my monologue will be better now because of that.
it was for my craft.
my fucking craft.
the craft I need to exercise.
I'm afraid I'll be out of shape by the time I get a chance.
out of shape in the same way I breathe so heavily as I walk up the library stairs.
Its not the time for thoughts such as these.
it'll happen.

[I need to sing again.]

you know whats keeping me in some little way satisfied?
all the books I have to read.
[!]