What's Next?

I'm finally joining the Screen Actor's Guild this week. It's been a long time coming!! I have been acting since I was 3, working on being a "working actor" as an adult in TV, Film, and Commercials since 2011, eligible for SAG since 2012, and just waiting until I HAD to join. That happened last week when I was cast on a new sitcom with just one day of shooting...not enough to cover my dues, but enough to get excited about, the acceptance of which meant I had to finally take the plunge. So I rallied some friends and family to help me cover the expense, and I filled out what felt like 20,000 pages of paper, and then spent the equivalent of 2 months of my mortgage to get my SAG card. I know I should be breathing a sigh of relief, but here's the thing...I don't know that actors ever get to do that.

When I came back to the world of theater after a post-college hiatus, the thing I noticed pretty quickly is how all conversations with actors or people in the business have the question "So, what's next for you?" in them. If you notice, even red carpet announcers and late night talk show hosts do it. If you're not in a show, you should be rehearsing a show, or preparing for an audition, or waiting to hear back from some project you worked on, or something.

My main background is theater. TV and film is such a funny, different world. No idea what is coming next at this point, I find out about auditions mere hours before, and booking is next to impossible.  I'd love to be at the point in my TV and film career where there is even an answer to that question... but right now, all I know, all I have some kind of control of is live theater.

I closed my last theater show in July.  I had an incredible start to the year...2 dream plays and a dream role in a third...When people asked me what was next, I was honest and said that after 3 back to back shows I needed to have a little hiatus to spend summer vacation with my kids and that I wanted to be writing my one woman show...summer turned to fall and I got busy sewing, as I do.  When I auditioned for a show in November, I was pretty certain I was going to get it...a part I'd be great for, a director I love who loves me back, and a theater I've worked at...and I didn't get it.  Couldn't have lost the part to a better actress, so that part was fine, but if I'm going to be honest, it messed with my mojo more than not getting a part usually does.  The universe tried to fix my mojo by offering me an unexpected part in another show a few days later, but I wasn't able to take it because of conflicts, and I decided it was time to put my head down, focus on writing MY show, and to take some time to REALLY do all the things my agents keep asking me to do. I've had a few other auditions that haven't worked out since then (one absolutely mortifying) and it's been a bit disconcerting...but at least now I have an answer to the question that seems to appease people: "Next, I'm spending some time focusing on TV and film work."  That seems to satisfy folks, but I don't know how much it satisfies me...especially when I think that the "what's next" questioning will NEVER END.  I mean, Meryl Streep gets asked this question!  Is there any other career where people ask "what's next for you?" ?  Maybe an attorney after they try a huge case, a doctor after they perform a crazy surgery?  A teacher when she is done with her school year?  I mean, I get it...we are never done.  We are actors, we are performers, we are artists...our creative work is never done.  If a person says they're "retiring", people scoff.  You're not allowed to rest...and I think for actors and performers, they call it "retirement" so that people STOP ASKING THE DAMN QUESTION.  I mean, it sucks that even if you get cast in a long running show as a recurring character, it will end.  And then people will ask.  But that's okay with me for now.  I WANT to have a "what's next" and a "what's next after that".  After all, I'm union now.

Ok...Cupid.

A few years ago, to prove a point to a single friend of mine, I went onto OkCupid and created a profile so that I could search the options available.  I used a junk email account, put in the bare minimum of information and promptly forgot it even existed.  A while later, I got asked by a friend to check out his profile and give my opinion, at which point I remembered I had an account...from there I started periodically helping friends edit content, suggesting picture changes, etc.  Michael tried to get me to perform a few social experiments, but I used a variation on my actual name as my screen name, so I was reticent to do that.  

It's been really interesting.  I've actually met a few people there who seem nice enough, some who don't believe the "I'm married" line (or who hope it doesn't matter) and a couple who wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell on their best day.  I eventually put a picture up because I had gotten chatty with one man who told me a LOT of personal information (M said I was his free therapist), and one day, at his insistence, I showed him my picture.  I never heard from him again.  I'm pretty sure I'm not *that* hideous, so my theory is that he somehow knows me in real life and panicked that I all of a sudden had a whole bunch of information he wouldn't want someone he knows to have.  I figured, since I wasn't trying to hide my presence (unlike the other married folks on OkC, who you can pick out by the fact that they don't have identifiable profile pics), that a picture would be fine...so I put up a non-suggestive, but recognizable shot.  That way, I wouldn't hear any more secrets unless someone wanted to tell me.  

WELL.  The messages started coming in like crazy.  Pictureless, I got very little attention.  With a picture, despite the clarity in my profile, the messages came.  Most people tentatively checking in to see if married meant I wasn't actually looking...then one day a young man asked how much I charged for editing services (I mention in my profile, in the "you should message me if" section, that "you should message me if you want me to edit your profile.)...I had no idea how to respond, so I asked if he was looking for grammar/spelling or content editing.  He responded "Content.  I need someone to take a good, long, hard look at my...content."  Aha.  Okay.  I told him I didn't provide the sort of services he was looking for and we both moved on.  

But today, it finally happened!  A "gentleman" wrote me, seemingly simple, just a "good morning, how are you..." and when I responded...well.  That's when the fun started.  

Silver

When I was 13, I challenged myself to stop being judgmental.  It stemmed from a challenge posed to me to strengthen a relationship with my beliefs.  Fresh out of a horrible Catholic school experience, I wasn't ready for that challenge to be religious, despite the spiritual focus intended.  My mentor through the process was patient and kind and suggested I challenge myself to figure out WHAT I believe in and to come up with a challenge that would help support that.

Sitting on a red rock formation in the desert at dusk, watching my friends prepping their camping equipment and settling in for the evening, I was asked "What DO you believe in?".  I remember pondering that question.  I remember jokingly answering "pre-marital sex!" (I was years away from it, but not that far away from being a smart ass.)  And then, while watching the antics of a person who has stalwartly stayed one of my closest lifelong friends, but had a tendency then (and sometimes now) toward the annoying...I said, quite simply...I believe in the goodness of people.

I continued (although without the gravitasse of Kevin Costner's BULL DURHAM speech or even a Chuck Lorre vanity card) to explain.  My recollection of what 13 year old me is strengthened by the fact that I was a writer, even then...and my journal explained it quite clearly.  Too lazy to find it and recount it verbatim right now, I hope you'll trust my paraphrasing... I decided that while I believed that all people were INHERENTLY good, their actions didn't always add up...but that I needed to force myself to stand by my beliefs.  To recognize that a person acting in an annoying or mean fashion may be doing it because of any number of reasons.  It could be because of their upbringing, fear, insecurities...any number of reasons over which they did not have control. And while every human can control their ACTIONS, that I needed to realize that no one was perfect and not judge them.  The 13 year old who had been judged since the 3rd grade for her weight, her unruly hair, her dramatic flair, her Jewish background, her Latina heritage, her general lack of cool points, her economic level, and her parents' divorce decided while sitting on that rock that she wanted to believe that people were good and her challenge was to NOT judge them when they acted in ways that were annoying, mean, or "bad".  Instead, to have patience and not "talk behind their back" and to hope that they would be able to learn the errors of their ways and find their way back to good.

Grownup me has trouble with this sometimes.  First off, certainly, in the wake of such serious current events like the uprising in Ferguson, or the domestic violence issues in the NFL, it's hard for grownup me to think anything but anger and frustration towards the people responsible.  13 year old me may have not been thinking about criminal activities, exactly, so it's possible her theories aren't foolproof.  But this morning, I found myself getting all worked up about a person's status update on Facebook.  A status so judgmental and self serving it made me want to punch something.  Or someone.  And then, as I do, I felt 13 year old me wearing the silver piece of cloth, symbolic of my challenge, tapping me on the shoulder and reminding me that anger and annoyance and frustration would not benefit me. 13 year old me reminding me that this person lives their life in fear.  That their status isn't INTENDING to hurt anyone.  And so, as she often does, grownup me calmed down and stopped judging and moved on.  Well, first I blogged.  But now I'm moving on.

Enough with the Blessed, Already

Stop saying you feel "blessed". You're not blessed. You can feel fortunate, lucky, humble, grateful, appreciative, thankful… But stop feeling so "blessed". You were NOT handpicked by the universe to get that new job, get that new car, go on vacation, see that sunset, have good cholesterol, sleep through the night, find your partner, have a healthy family, or what ever else you think you've been blessed with.
You.  Were. NOT.

You are fortunate. You should feel grateful. You can show appreciation and gratitude and happiness and pride.  But you need to realize that being #blessed means that YOU were better than the person who did not get that thing.  YOU were better than that person who just got a cancer diagnosis, who just had a car accident, who just got hit by a drunk driver, who is getting a divorce, whose child is sick, who just lost their job.  Do you even realize that's what you're saying???
The next time you want to show the world about how you feel "blessed" you feel, I would like you to go down to St. Jude's and say it to all the kids there affected by cancer and other horrible diseases. Tell them you were blessed because you're healthy and your life is good. And explain to them maybe they just weren't good enough to be blessed like you.  Go ahead. Tell them that. I dare you.

Yeah. I'm so brave.

When I wrote my last blog entry, I wasn't sure if I was ready to share with the world. Writing on my blog still feels very insular. If I do nothing but post on my blog, I get at most 10 views. The difference comes if I share it with my Facebook family. Then the view counts usually hits triple digits, and I know people are reading and see it. I posted my blog the day I wrote it, but I didn't share it on Facebook for almost a full week.

I don't know what pushed me over the edge to finally share it. I started off slowly with people I trusted I wasn't thrilled about all of the responses I got, but I respected all of them.

My finger hovered over that post button for sometime. I actually went about my business, getting dinner ready for my family, doing laundry...all the while vacillating as to whether or not to share it. I recognize it seems silly, considering it was already public domain, but something about sharing it on Facebook made it all that much more real. In people's faces, no turning back.

When I finally decided to hit send, it felt something like standing naked in front of all of you singing a song that none of you liked very much in a key that was terrible for my voice. In other words, somewhat humiliating, terrifying, and as vulnerable as someone could be. The slew of beautiful words that followed my post on my private page, alongside private messages that were heartfelt, loving, and supportive should certainly have made the experience feel worthwhile. Unfortunately, that's not necessarily how it works. I still feel naked, I'm still singing that song. I'm certainly unsure of anyone wanting to clean those wounds. After all, it still hurts. And I did it because I knew it was the right thing to do, but it didn't make it any easier.

Several times I heard the words "we should talk about this more" and it occurred to me that all of this was somewhat similar to my lifelong decision to identify as someone who is bisexual. Certainly, married to a man, with children, there is no need to identify myself as anything but a card-carrying breeder. Former PTA president, Baseball and softball mom, minvan-driving straight person. However, I choose to be very vocal and open about it because I feel that if everyone who felt the way I feel did as I do, maybe the world would be a better place. And it is in that connection that I reach my first place of peace with having shared this very personal information with everyone I know.

I really hope those wounds heal soon. But, sometimes, medicine is not easy to take.

You Never Know

If you ask people to describe me, they usually say words like sweet, kind, lovable, outgoing, fun-loving, happy, positive, funny...and I wouldn't say they are wrong.  Most of the time, as my old Myspace account says, I rock.  But, as it also says, often, I'm a mess.

The first time I tried to commit suicide I was 12.  My best friend-turned-nemesis had told me that I should because "the world would be a better place without you in it".  I decided to believe her and went to my mom's bathroom and swallowed a whole lot of Tylenol.  My mom had a moment of parental lucidity and noticed this was happening and made me barf it up really quickly (which is good, I learned as an adult, as acetaminophen poisoning can kill your liver if left in you too long...which means even with emptying your stomach, you could be done for anyway).  She lectured me about being stupid and sent me to bed.  

The next time I tried I was 15 and my best friend with benefits and I were having a huge fight.  I don't remember what he said, exactly, but it was bad enough that I went into the bathroom, got a razor, and slashed my left arm 37 times and my right arm 5 times (I got tired of slashing).  I went and sat in my bedroom to wait.  The problem is, I went perpendicular and nowhere near my veins, as I was using a disposable razor.  But there I sat, waiting to bleed out, fully expecting it to happen...and then the blood trickle slowed down.  And stung like crazy.  It seemed incredibly anticlimactic. So I went into the bathroom I shared with my mom to get some toilet paper to clean myself up, and that's when she came in and saw me.  "You IDIOT!" she shouted.  "You're going to stain your shirt!!!".  Well, that wasn't really what I was expecting, nor was it likely what a psychologist would have recommended, but by the time she finished pouring hydrogen peroxide over my many tiny cuts, I was too annoyed to be worried about what the boy had said.  So it worked, I guess.  

Adulthood did not miraculous fix me.  Nor did marriage.  Nor did my kids.  I'm not fixed.  I have demons.  Sometimes they whisper, sometimes they yell.  Sometimes I'm everyone's inspiration and the life of the party, and every once in a while I spiral downward until I lie crying in fetal position on my bed truly believing that everyone's life would simply be better if I were gone forever.  

I don't know what to do with that.  When my aunt died in 2008, it kept the demons at bay for a long time.  I thought there was NO way I would put my grandmother through losing me after she'd lost her daughter.  I absolutely didn't want to leave my mom alone with my dad and brother.  Weirdly. it helped.  For a while. And usually I'm fine...but sometimes I'm not. 

For a long time, I thought this was the way everyone felt sometimes.  I didn't realize there were people who honestly couldn't fathom it.  I think Robin William's death hit me as hard as it did because I SO understand.  The world is confused.  The world doesn't understand and is reeling that this funny, wonderfully talented, kind man could have those kind of demons and have them so badly that he'd rather die than keep fighting them.  I'm not confused.  I'm sad.  I'm somewhat terrified.  I'm happy that my demons are leaving me alone right now.  But I also understand...and recognize that you just never know what's going on in someone's head.

I don't know what the answer is.  I was so touched by the viral images with the images of William's "Genie" with quotes to the effect of "Genie, you're free."  Then I was sobered by the suggestion by a group of experts that likening suicide to freedom is unwise.  Commenting upon that perspective led to a discussion so emotional, it ended with a family member "unfriending" me then blocking me on Facebook, so angry with me, his parting words to me were meant to cause me pain, before he went and deleted them.  Clearly, there is no right answer...but what I do know is in these days following this event, while I completely sympathize with Robin Williams, and have felt the way he likely felt, I think in his death, I found a reason to keep fighting with those demons.  For the sadness I have felt over the last few days is nothing I've ever felt for a celebrity, or for anyone I don't know.  If his actions caused this much of a reaction in me, I can't imagine what his family must be going through...or what mine would go through were I to do the same.  For years, I used the duty I felt to my grandmother as my lifeline.  The last year or so, that's been less helpful...so now I guess I have another one.  So I'm thankful for it.  

Not Excited

It’s not that I don’t appreciate getting auditions.  I do.  I bend over backwards, change whatever schedule needs changing, make time, bend time, drive in ways that break laws, change clothes in the car…I’ll usually do whatever it takes to make the audition happen and happen well…even those times I don’t think I am right for the part for which I was submitted.

And don’t take my blasé, throwaway attitude regarding each audition that I’m lucky enough to land as me not caring.  I care.  I want that MOTHEREFFING JOB like a Texan wants meat (I’ve never been great at similes).  I obsess over what to wear.  I practice my sides like I’m about to perform Shakespeare for William himself.  I take more time to do my hair and makeup than I take in 4 days to get ready for the day.  I’m all in.  Game face on. Costume approximated. Lines learned.  Character considered (even when the character’s name is just “unkempt woman”.  And yes, I booked that one.). I really, really care.

But, also, I don’t. Yep. Contradictory. What gives?

I’ve spent much of my acting life on stage, in a theater.  My auditions, while varied, all carried similar amounts of going through the wringer.  I have sung songs I learned 5 minutes before to strangers 5 feet away from my face…I have performed choreography that I have NOT learned (no matter how hard I tried) as though I’m in the Alvin Ailey Dance company..all out, the right attitude, performance level (even if I’m making it up).  I have read scenes I have never seen before with strangers who are supposed to be my lovers, my children, my parents…and when I do any of these things, I see each time as an opportunity to play.  I get to go on stage and be whoever and do what I love and what I’m good at for a theater full of (almost entirely empty) seats and the production team and even if it’s just for a few minutes and even if I’m not ultimately right for the role, I am being considered and having fun and sharing my talent.

When I got my first few tv/film/commercial auditions as an adult, I was beside myself.  BESIDE MYSELF.  So excited.  I was also nervous.  Like, couldn’t hold my sides when I read for the part hand shaking nervous.  This never happens to me at theater auditions so I was perplexed by it.  I walked in to my first co-star audition, dressed the way I would dress for a theater audition…neutral, so they could see what I looked like.  Basic makeup, basic hair, knee length skirt, black top (fitted but not tight), neutral shoes.  I was the first one there, I didn’t want to be late…I found the casting office and as I was signing in, the casting assistant looked me up and down and said “Um, you know…she’s supposed to be white trash.  I mean, she’s nice and all.  But white trash.” I’m bright, so I realized right away what he was saying.  I was not dressed for this part.  I was supposed to be actually DRESSED for this part.  “Oh” I said.  “Thank you!”.  And I went to the waiting room, took as much of my hair to one side as possible and teased it up as far as I could,  then found the darkest shade of lipstick in my purse and applied.  Meanwhile, girls who knew the drill walked in looking like guest stars on Jerry Springer during Mississippi week.  I lived through the audition, sitting on a couch across from the casting director, then fled, having learned a good lesson.  Needless to say, I didn’t book it.

By my next audition, I was ready.  I was supposed to be a mail carrier, and so I cut off a pair of overalls until they looked like blue shorts, and wore a grey button-down top.  The other women there for the part were in black slacks and blue shirts, clearly there is a uniform for this…and I was slightly off…but at least closer.  The casting person was an ass, made me feel like an idiot, and I walked out of the room  after taping my audition realizing 2 buttons on my blouse had opened while I was doing my part.  I have never felt more “tail between my legs” as I did that day, walking back to my car…I was certain that I was making the wrong decision to do this “for real” again.  Then I booked it.   So I decided to keep trying.

Now I’ve figured out what you are supposed to do.  I read the articles from casting people saying please do this and please don’t do that, and sometimes I learn stuff and sometimes I’m pleased that I don’t.  I don’t get nervous anymore going to film and tv auditions like I did when I started up again.  I am finally looking at them like I’m playing I get to do at theater auditions…only it’s harder to do that when you spend 4 hours of your day preparing, getting ready for, driving, parking, walking, sitting, waiting…all for the opportunity to be one of 25 chubby redheads all hoping THEY will be the one chosen to say “Egg white frittata?” on that new cable show.  (That really happened.  Twice, actually, cause I got a callback. The first time was on 3 hours notice to get from Van Nuys to Hollywood, then I had to go back the next morning.  AND I WAS THRILLED FOR THE OPPORTUNITY.)

When I started this journey again, I decided I would NEVER stop being excited.  That I wanted to have SO MANY AUDITIONS that it’d feel like they weren’t a big deal, but I wanted to make sure I appreciated each one for the big deal that they are.  And excitement was the way to do that.  BE EXCITED.  But I’ve learned that there’s a better way to be.  Be thankful.  I’m thankful for each and every one of my auditions…but I’m not really excited about them anymore.

It’s hard to get excited, because excitement brings the dreaded hope.  Hope is never far away, mind you.  You have to have hope, otherwise WHY are you doing these ridiculous things to yourself?  But hope is scary.  Hope brings disappointment.  The more excited you are about something (What? I just got an audition to play Cam’s sister on Modern Family??)(Yes, I have great representation), the harder it is when that phone call doesn’t come.  So, I squelch the excitement.  I temper it with preparation and professionalism and poise.  But it can come off as blasé.  My mother in law asks me to do something for her and I can’t because I have an audition.  “WHAT!?” she exclaims.  “Why didn’t you tell me!!!” and I explain that it’s just a commercial for this or that and I hadn’t thought to call her and she admonishes me in the most supportive way possible, telling me that she would pray for me to get the part and I need to TELL HER…and while I adore her for it, it’s too hard to get excited for each audition like that.  I’ll tell her when I get a callback, or when I’m put on avail.  When it’s just a little bit closer.  When I can let hope peek around the corner just a little.  Just pray for me in general, I tell her.  I’ll take all the help I can get.