I was telling my Mom about a curious phenomenon, yesterday. You see, I often have this thing called "Internal E-mail" or, sometimes, "Internal Text Message" and, most often, "Internal Blog Comment Response".
It's where I read an e-mail/text message/blog comment, think about it, and respond to it in my head. The trouble being, of course, that not everyone can reach into my head and read said response. I didn't say the system was perfect. So, if you've ever sent me an email/text message/ blog comment, and never received an actual flesh and blood (or, at least, ones and zeros) response, I apologize. Trust me when I say there was one, it just didn't make escape velocity on the way out of my brain.
Which is why I'm responding to some comments now!
*I'm trying to think of a witty comeback you can use that won't get you fired!*
We've already discussed this, but upon thinking it over, I still think "Yeah? Well so's your face!" is a good comeback for just about any situation.
Observe.
Customer: $80 for a t-shirt??! That's outrageous!
Julia: Yeah? Well so's your face!
Hmm...the spell-check does NOT like "so's" but I think it's a valid contraction under the Smack Talk dialect.
*I also watched the first episode of Wonderfalls the other day and thought it was great! Unfortunately, I'll have to wait until I get back to the states to finish watching it, since none of the other episodes are posted online! ^^; (tear)*
Yay! I'm glad you liked it! Boo! You have to wait!
*P.S. remember when I worked at that horrible retail store for 5 years? Yes...at least you have cool store owners and whatnot. I still get a twitch or a convulsion or two every time I hear the name of the store...*
You mean....Elderly Dark-Blue? Yeah, that must have been terrible. Especially when you had to wear that stupid headset in case of a fashion emergency. Come to think of it, why DID you have to wear those stupid headsets?
*p.s. you should watch pushing daisies if you haven't.*
I haven't watched it, but I've always wanted to. I'm sure I'll get to it eventually.
Well, that about wraps things up. I should do this more often, it saves me from having to write a real entry...
MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Later,
Jules
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Venting
I'm just going to keep posting, even though my Mom is the only one reading...
You know what's annoying about retail? Or, at least, retail in a high end boutique? The fact that I sometimes have to explain why things are expensive.
It's not that I blame these people for being a little shocked when they see that the price of a t-shirt can be from $40-78. That seemed rather extravagant to me at first, also. But then you realize that we're talking about a t-shirt that is made of quality materials which will last for 10 years or more without fading or getting strangely stretched out. That, and the company from which we buy our t-shirts is an American company. All of their shirts are made in the US, from materials that were also made in the US. Sure, t-shirts from some third-world country are half the price, but they're probably made by slave children. OK, that might be exaggerating just a smidge.
Huh. My spell-checker doesn't recognize the word "smidge". Is that a legitimate word, or just something my family made up? It's so hard to tell...
Anyway, I hate having to explain all this to people, and they still look angry and incredulous and say things like "that's outrageous" and throw the t-shirt, all crumpled up, back on the table and then storm out of the store. (I actually had someone do that to me, before I even had a chance to explain about the slave children.) Now, I understand if that's too much for people to pay. Heck, even with my discount it's too much for ME to pay, so I really can't blame them. But do they have to be rude about it? To me? It's not MY fault. The company gives us suggested retail prices, and we're not, technically, supposed to change them. Plus, we buy these t-shirts and need to make some money from them. Our store, in particular, doesn't use a very high markup. A lot of stores mark their merchandise up way more than we do, so it's unfair to treat us like it's our fault. If you want to go to The Devil, I mean, Walmart, and buy clothes that will fall apart after one year, then fine. Do it. There's no need to be rude to me over a t-shirt.
And then there are the dressing rooms. I'm not saying you have to put all the stuff you tried on back, (that's my job), but you could at least put the $200 dress back on it's hanger instead of leaving it huddled and quivering on the floor in a crumpled heap. You may not want to buy it, but someone else might. Come on people! Make an effort! Take the time to be courteous! It doesn't take much time at all, and the world will be a better place if you do.
You know how I was going on about how beautiful New York is in the Spring? I seem to be allergic to one of those "bursting with color" trees. My eyes are itchy, I keep sneezing, and my nose is running. And it happens at 3:00pm on the dot, every day. Must be something that blooms at that time. Once I've been indoors for a while, it's OK, but spending anytime outside is less than fun.
I feel better now. Hopefully my next entry won't be so whiny.
Later,
Jules
You know what's annoying about retail? Or, at least, retail in a high end boutique? The fact that I sometimes have to explain why things are expensive.
It's not that I blame these people for being a little shocked when they see that the price of a t-shirt can be from $40-78. That seemed rather extravagant to me at first, also. But then you realize that we're talking about a t-shirt that is made of quality materials which will last for 10 years or more without fading or getting strangely stretched out. That, and the company from which we buy our t-shirts is an American company. All of their shirts are made in the US, from materials that were also made in the US. Sure, t-shirts from some third-world country are half the price, but they're probably made by slave children. OK, that might be exaggerating just a smidge.
Huh. My spell-checker doesn't recognize the word "smidge". Is that a legitimate word, or just something my family made up? It's so hard to tell...
Anyway, I hate having to explain all this to people, and they still look angry and incredulous and say things like "that's outrageous" and throw the t-shirt, all crumpled up, back on the table and then storm out of the store. (I actually had someone do that to me, before I even had a chance to explain about the slave children.) Now, I understand if that's too much for people to pay. Heck, even with my discount it's too much for ME to pay, so I really can't blame them. But do they have to be rude about it? To me? It's not MY fault. The company gives us suggested retail prices, and we're not, technically, supposed to change them. Plus, we buy these t-shirts and need to make some money from them. Our store, in particular, doesn't use a very high markup. A lot of stores mark their merchandise up way more than we do, so it's unfair to treat us like it's our fault. If you want to go to The Devil, I mean, Walmart, and buy clothes that will fall apart after one year, then fine. Do it. There's no need to be rude to me over a t-shirt.
And then there are the dressing rooms. I'm not saying you have to put all the stuff you tried on back, (that's my job), but you could at least put the $200 dress back on it's hanger instead of leaving it huddled and quivering on the floor in a crumpled heap. You may not want to buy it, but someone else might. Come on people! Make an effort! Take the time to be courteous! It doesn't take much time at all, and the world will be a better place if you do.
You know how I was going on about how beautiful New York is in the Spring? I seem to be allergic to one of those "bursting with color" trees. My eyes are itchy, I keep sneezing, and my nose is running. And it happens at 3:00pm on the dot, every day. Must be something that blooms at that time. Once I've been indoors for a while, it's OK, but spending anytime outside is less than fun.
I feel better now. Hopefully my next entry won't be so whiny.
Later,
Jules
Friday, April 25, 2008
Golden Silk Spider
Clearly none of you were expecting another entry quite so soon. It wasn't even all that soon! Still, I can see that I will have to work to bring you back to a place where you are checking this blog every day!! Well, okay, maybe not EVERY day. I recognize that you have lives. But now, you are going to have to catch up. So go read my last entry first, and then you can read this one.
*Jeopardy music plays*
Good.
Now let me tell you about a show you should all go out and rent. It's called Wonderfalls, and it only managed 13 episodes before it was canceled. I've only seen 4 of those episodes, but I can see from those that it should not have been canceled. It's sort of a cross between Arrested Development, Daria, and Scrubs. With a bit of Joan of Arc thrown in for good measure.
The story centers around an intelligent but disaffected 20-something woman named Jaye, who works retail at a souvenir shop in Niagara Falls. She's an Ivy League grad, whose parents are a successful author and doctor, sister is a successful lawyer, and brother is working on his doctorate in comparative religion. They can't understand why Jaye (who is so obviously intelligent and meant for greater things) would choose to live in a trailer park and work in a souvenir shop.
Then something happens. A wax lion statue talks to Jaye. Then a monkey bookend at her therapist's office. Then a group of plastic flamingos. They all want Jaye to do things for them, and if she refuses, they keep her up all night singing annoying songs. But when she does complete her tasks, she actually manages to help some people, and maybe even herself. And she begins to realize that she might be "destined for an offbeat kind of greatness." (It says so on the Netflix sleeve.)
So check it out.
I got some more writing done. Well. Not so much writing as note-taking and research. A word of advice, don't research spiders late at night. There are some really frightening pictures out there on the ol' Internet. I came over all paranoid and thought that every skin crawl was a spider trying to skitter up my leg so it could inject it's venom directly into my heart. But it paid off, and I found the info I was looking for: The Golden Silk spider, Nephila clavipes. In my story she is the Goddess of Sleep and Dreaming. Sort of. She's actually more of an ex-Goddess who now just hangs around in the body of a spider. I'm not sure how she fits into the story, or if she'll even be in it at all...but I know she's a character who inhabits this world I've created, and that might be important somewhere down the line....
I don't know. The truth is, I only have a vague idea of where this story is going. I mean, I know how it ends (in fact, I've written the end) but I haven't exactly worked out how we get there, and what sort of info I'll need to sprinkle throughout. Writing about it on this blog seems to help, though, so I guess I'll keep doing that.
And, for those of you who weren't sent this link by my mother (who sent it to just about everybody) here is my store's website: http://ottobrooklyn.com/index.php
Click on Clothing.
That's me.
Later,
Jules
*Jeopardy music plays*
Good.
Now let me tell you about a show you should all go out and rent. It's called Wonderfalls, and it only managed 13 episodes before it was canceled. I've only seen 4 of those episodes, but I can see from those that it should not have been canceled. It's sort of a cross between Arrested Development, Daria, and Scrubs. With a bit of Joan of Arc thrown in for good measure.
The story centers around an intelligent but disaffected 20-something woman named Jaye, who works retail at a souvenir shop in Niagara Falls. She's an Ivy League grad, whose parents are a successful author and doctor, sister is a successful lawyer, and brother is working on his doctorate in comparative religion. They can't understand why Jaye (who is so obviously intelligent and meant for greater things) would choose to live in a trailer park and work in a souvenir shop.
Then something happens. A wax lion statue talks to Jaye. Then a monkey bookend at her therapist's office. Then a group of plastic flamingos. They all want Jaye to do things for them, and if she refuses, they keep her up all night singing annoying songs. But when she does complete her tasks, she actually manages to help some people, and maybe even herself. And she begins to realize that she might be "destined for an offbeat kind of greatness." (It says so on the Netflix sleeve.)
So check it out.
I got some more writing done. Well. Not so much writing as note-taking and research. A word of advice, don't research spiders late at night. There are some really frightening pictures out there on the ol' Internet. I came over all paranoid and thought that every skin crawl was a spider trying to skitter up my leg so it could inject it's venom directly into my heart. But it paid off, and I found the info I was looking for: The Golden Silk spider, Nephila clavipes. In my story she is the Goddess of Sleep and Dreaming. Sort of. She's actually more of an ex-Goddess who now just hangs around in the body of a spider. I'm not sure how she fits into the story, or if she'll even be in it at all...but I know she's a character who inhabits this world I've created, and that might be important somewhere down the line....
I don't know. The truth is, I only have a vague idea of where this story is going. I mean, I know how it ends (in fact, I've written the end) but I haven't exactly worked out how we get there, and what sort of info I'll need to sprinkle throughout. Writing about it on this blog seems to help, though, so I guess I'll keep doing that.
And, for those of you who weren't sent this link by my mother (who sent it to just about everybody) here is my store's website: http://ottobrooklyn.com/index.php
Click on Clothing.
That's me.
Later,
Jules
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Spring
There is something indescribably beautiful about New York in the spring. After months of dreary winter, with nary a snow shower to blanket the gray, lifeless landscape, it is a relief to see the trees suddenly burst into a riot of color. And it's not just the trees. New Yorkers also shed their winter blahs and suddenly appear in color where they had once looked like they'd stepped out of a Tim Burton film. There are vibrant blues, shocking pinks, and yellows that are nothing to sniff at. It's a bit like how Dorothy must have felt when she reached the other side of the rainbow.
Okay, the thing about horseshoes...I did promise to explain, so here it is.
The story I'm working on (you know the one, right?) stalled again for a while. It happens. In fact, it is probably why I may never finish any piece of writing longer than a blog entry. For a few weeks, I thought it was really over. I had absolutely no inspiration or desire to write. You'll notice that my blogging dropped off as well. But then, out of the blue, I was at work standing around, waiting for a customer to come in the shop (we are a very successful boutique, but even the most successful stores have downtime) when I was struck with inspiration.
I grabbed a piece of scrap paper and began writing. The writing consisted primarily of horseshoes, hence the title of my last post. And, to give you a brief glimpse, I will copy it down here.
As you can probably tell from this paragraph, it is a fantasy that I'm writing. Fantasy is what I understand, and I think if I tried to say the things I wanted to say in a realistic setting, I would be lost.
With this small burst of creativity, came other inspirations. I made another video (my best so far, if I'm to go by the comments I've gotten on it), and bought a coloring book. Yeah, yeah: "a coloring book? At your age?!" But I find it rather soothing, and tend to make up stories about the My Little Pony I'm coloring. And, of course, I've started blogging again.
I leave you today with my new video. Enjoy.
Okay, the thing about horseshoes...I did promise to explain, so here it is.
The story I'm working on (you know the one, right?) stalled again for a while. It happens. In fact, it is probably why I may never finish any piece of writing longer than a blog entry. For a few weeks, I thought it was really over. I had absolutely no inspiration or desire to write. You'll notice that my blogging dropped off as well. But then, out of the blue, I was at work standing around, waiting for a customer to come in the shop (we are a very successful boutique, but even the most successful stores have downtime) when I was struck with inspiration.
I grabbed a piece of scrap paper and began writing. The writing consisted primarily of horseshoes, hence the title of my last post. And, to give you a brief glimpse, I will copy it down here.
Horseshoes made popular talismans, and were just as likely to carry a powerful curse as a benevolent charm. Horses, in general, were perfect targets for some of the worst curses. After all, an opponent on horseback was at least twice as dangerous as one on foot. In the war, horseshoe cursing was so problematic, it became common practice for armies to keep several low-level magic practitioners whose sole job it was to sift through every last horseshoe made by the smiths. Many fifth and sixth level practitioners were killed this way, for while almost any level can identify a curse, only the higher ones can protect themselves from the really bad ones. Curses, once detected, have a tendency to lash out at whoever has discovered them, often to devastating effects. With typical government bureaucracy, neither side could find enough funding to get a higher level to check the horseshoes, and so they simply kept throwing more and more "expendable resources" at the problem.
As you can probably tell from this paragraph, it is a fantasy that I'm writing. Fantasy is what I understand, and I think if I tried to say the things I wanted to say in a realistic setting, I would be lost.
With this small burst of creativity, came other inspirations. I made another video (my best so far, if I'm to go by the comments I've gotten on it), and bought a coloring book. Yeah, yeah: "a coloring book? At your age?!" But I find it rather soothing, and tend to make up stories about the My Little Pony I'm coloring. And, of course, I've started blogging again.
I leave you today with my new video. Enjoy.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
The Thing About Horseshoes...
Got your attention? Good.
Sorry for the mislead, but what I really want to talk about is time. It's a fascinating thing. The way it can drag like a turtle carrying a cement block through partially hardened molasses, or gallop like a stallion wearing roller blades with a jet pack strapped to its back. You know what I'm talking about. I can remember being 20 and thinking how far away 21 (and legal drinking) was. Yet, by the time I reached 21, I had grown past the fantasy of all-night drinking parties (I never even had one of those, but I remember thinking how cool it would be once I was of legal age. Sigh. I was so young.)
I guess my point is (and, yes, I am aware that I have wandered a bit) I'm sorry it took so long to update.
I have just reread the sentence above, and laughed out loud. I may have even snorted. Sometimes I am entirely too impressed with my own cleverness... Still, I suggest you take a moment to reread it as well. Go on. I'll wait.
Now that that's out of the way, let's go to the very important news that I have.
Some of you already know this, so feel free to skip ahead.
In February, a few days before my birthday, I went to an audition. I had seen a post on Backstage.com which simply said, "Myers International Management, casting for it's upcoming season." I didn't really know what it was all about, but I submitted my headshot and resume anyway. I then received an e-mail with an audition date and time which happened to be the same day that I was getting on the train to spend a week in PA. The time they had given me was just early enough that I could do both, but even so, my initial reaction was to just cancel the audition altogether. "I'll be stressed out about traveling, anyway," I thought. But then I stopped and reconsidered. It would probably be a fairly simple audition, just go in, sing, get out, and then I'll be on my way home without a care in the world and won't feel guilty about skipping out on an audition. So, I responded that the audition date was fine, but could I move my time up a little?
I didn't get a response, and once again, I almost gave up. But my stubbornness superseded my reluctance, and I decided that I would just go to the audition at the time that I wanted, and see if they could see me early.
I went to Penn Station first, to drop off my bag (ticketed passengers of Amtrak can leave their bags in storage for up to a day) then headed to the audition.
They were running behind when I arrived, but the monitor promised to make space for me. Originally, we were supposed to sing two songs. That had been pared down to 16 bars of two songs. As I waited, it became "one song, and keep it short." I went in with 16 bars of my best piece: Say That We're Sweethearts Again. When I finished, they asked me for a second piece. This is always a good sign. It's also why shorter is better; you should always leave them wanting more. I sang Wild and Reckless for my second piece, but messed up the beginning the first time, and had to start again. "Great," I thought, "now I've blown it."
One of the men behind the desk asked me when I had graduated from high school, and I told him. He nodded, made a note, and thanked me for coming in.
I was free.
At the time, I really didn't care how I'd done, I was just glad it was over, and that I would be spending a relaxing week with my Mom and sister.
Almost a month later I received an e-mail. "We were very impressed with your audition and would like to add you to our roster. Please let us know a time when we can meet to discuss this further."
Huh?
I immediately typed in "Myers International Management" to the Internet and found their website. It's very impressive. Go check it out sometime. Really.
However, it didn't actually provide me with the information I wanted. Who are these people? Are they a theatre company that puts on productions? Are they a talent agency? And, more importantly, what do they want with me?
Long story short: I met with John Myers, the head of the company. They are agents to actors, managers to opera singers, and producers of several independent films. And they want me. They only want to sign about a dozen people (only three of which are non-union) and they want ME!!
So, I have an agent now.
I'm not sure I can explain just how rare this is. To get an agent before you join the union, or, in fact, do any performing outside of school, is frankly incredible. Not only that, but they are genuinely nice people, very encouraging, and very laid back. John told me he has a knack for finding talent that go on to have great careers, which is both flattering and sort of frightening. And here we come to the reason that I haven't written about this until now.
After that first meeting, I was happy. I was glowing with shiny, sparkly happiness that fairly dripped off of me. But that passed within a half hour. And then I wasn't happy. I wasn't excited. (I'm happy now, so I've gotten past this, I'm just giving you an honest account of what was happening in my life a few weeks ago.) I kept trying to get the euphoria back. "They want to sign me," I would say to myself, "that's a VERY good thing!" But no matter how I tried, I couldn't feel happy about it. I thought calling my family or telling my roommates would do the trick. I arrived at my apartment, opened the door and called out in a hopeful tone. No one was home. Secretly relieved, I went to my room and tried to work up the proper excited tone to call my Mom. I called, but no one answered, and once again, I felt a little relieved. I left a cheery message, then tried my sister. Same story. I tried to call Kathleen, but couldn't make myself. I was too exhausted, too frustrated with myself. "What is wrong with me?" I couldn't help thinking. "I should be jumping for joy. Why can't I just feel happy?!"
The trouble with big life changes (and yes, this counts as a big life change) is that they bring up lots of different emotions, and not all of them are good. Moving, for example. Maybe you've bought a beautiful house in your dream city, and now you get to move out of your cramped apartment and leave the dreary city that has been your home for the last three years of your life. You're happy to be moving out. Thrilled that you will be living like a king as opposed to the least favorite cow. And yet.
That was your home. That cramped apartment sheltered you. There are memories there, good and bad. You find yourself missing the tiny kitchen, and the incredibly loud Mexican music that your neighbors played EVERY weekend. The same songs. Over. And over. And, annoying as it was, it was your life. The one constant in your constantly shifting life.
I've strayed.
What it all boils down to is fear. Fear of failure. It's easier to fail if you haven't really tried. But if you put your heart into something, really make an effort, then it hurts all the more if you fail. I have been fighting such negative thoughts since I moved to NY to pursue an acting career. Heck, I've been fighting those thoughts all my life. I think everyone does. The key is to keep fighting. And I think, for the most part, I've waged my battle well. I'm here, aren't I? And every time I make the decision not to turn off the alarm and pull the covers over my head, but to get up, make myself pretty and go to an audition, is a victory.
And then this magnificent gift was given to me, and for a moment, the negative thoughts won. What if they suddenly come to their senses and realize they don't want me? What if I get a job, and then mess it up? What if I can't do this?
Here it is: my chance for success. I can either take it and run with it, or sit back and watch it pass me by. Well, let the universe witness, I am going to sprint like a long-distance runner being chased by armored, spear-carrying bees. Are these similes doing anything for you?
So there it is. My neuroses revealed. I haven't shared much of my inner feelings on this blog, and even now I bookend it with jokes and silly images, but I think I've grown a lot in the last few days, and I wanted to share.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have comic books to read.
Love,
Jules
PS-I'll explain the thing about horseshoes in the next post. See you then!
PPS-I was unsure about the use of simile versus metaphor, but thought I remembered the simple rule "if you use 'like' or 'as' then it's a simile". I just looked it up on dictionary.com, and I was right. Language is fun!
Sorry for the mislead, but what I really want to talk about is time. It's a fascinating thing. The way it can drag like a turtle carrying a cement block through partially hardened molasses, or gallop like a stallion wearing roller blades with a jet pack strapped to its back. You know what I'm talking about. I can remember being 20 and thinking how far away 21 (and legal drinking) was. Yet, by the time I reached 21, I had grown past the fantasy of all-night drinking parties (I never even had one of those, but I remember thinking how cool it would be once I was of legal age. Sigh. I was so young.)
I guess my point is (and, yes, I am aware that I have wandered a bit) I'm sorry it took so long to update.
I have just reread the sentence above, and laughed out loud. I may have even snorted. Sometimes I am entirely too impressed with my own cleverness... Still, I suggest you take a moment to reread it as well. Go on. I'll wait.
Now that that's out of the way, let's go to the very important news that I have.
Some of you already know this, so feel free to skip ahead.
In February, a few days before my birthday, I went to an audition. I had seen a post on Backstage.com which simply said, "Myers International Management, casting for it's upcoming season." I didn't really know what it was all about, but I submitted my headshot and resume anyway. I then received an e-mail with an audition date and time which happened to be the same day that I was getting on the train to spend a week in PA. The time they had given me was just early enough that I could do both, but even so, my initial reaction was to just cancel the audition altogether. "I'll be stressed out about traveling, anyway," I thought. But then I stopped and reconsidered. It would probably be a fairly simple audition, just go in, sing, get out, and then I'll be on my way home without a care in the world and won't feel guilty about skipping out on an audition. So, I responded that the audition date was fine, but could I move my time up a little?
I didn't get a response, and once again, I almost gave up. But my stubbornness superseded my reluctance, and I decided that I would just go to the audition at the time that I wanted, and see if they could see me early.
I went to Penn Station first, to drop off my bag (ticketed passengers of Amtrak can leave their bags in storage for up to a day) then headed to the audition.
They were running behind when I arrived, but the monitor promised to make space for me. Originally, we were supposed to sing two songs. That had been pared down to 16 bars of two songs. As I waited, it became "one song, and keep it short." I went in with 16 bars of my best piece: Say That We're Sweethearts Again. When I finished, they asked me for a second piece. This is always a good sign. It's also why shorter is better; you should always leave them wanting more. I sang Wild and Reckless for my second piece, but messed up the beginning the first time, and had to start again. "Great," I thought, "now I've blown it."
One of the men behind the desk asked me when I had graduated from high school, and I told him. He nodded, made a note, and thanked me for coming in.
I was free.
At the time, I really didn't care how I'd done, I was just glad it was over, and that I would be spending a relaxing week with my Mom and sister.
Almost a month later I received an e-mail. "We were very impressed with your audition and would like to add you to our roster. Please let us know a time when we can meet to discuss this further."
Huh?
I immediately typed in "Myers International Management" to the Internet and found their website. It's very impressive. Go check it out sometime. Really.
However, it didn't actually provide me with the information I wanted. Who are these people? Are they a theatre company that puts on productions? Are they a talent agency? And, more importantly, what do they want with me?
Long story short: I met with John Myers, the head of the company. They are agents to actors, managers to opera singers, and producers of several independent films. And they want me. They only want to sign about a dozen people (only three of which are non-union) and they want ME!!
So, I have an agent now.
I'm not sure I can explain just how rare this is. To get an agent before you join the union, or, in fact, do any performing outside of school, is frankly incredible. Not only that, but they are genuinely nice people, very encouraging, and very laid back. John told me he has a knack for finding talent that go on to have great careers, which is both flattering and sort of frightening. And here we come to the reason that I haven't written about this until now.
After that first meeting, I was happy. I was glowing with shiny, sparkly happiness that fairly dripped off of me. But that passed within a half hour. And then I wasn't happy. I wasn't excited. (I'm happy now, so I've gotten past this, I'm just giving you an honest account of what was happening in my life a few weeks ago.) I kept trying to get the euphoria back. "They want to sign me," I would say to myself, "that's a VERY good thing!" But no matter how I tried, I couldn't feel happy about it. I thought calling my family or telling my roommates would do the trick. I arrived at my apartment, opened the door and called out in a hopeful tone. No one was home. Secretly relieved, I went to my room and tried to work up the proper excited tone to call my Mom. I called, but no one answered, and once again, I felt a little relieved. I left a cheery message, then tried my sister. Same story. I tried to call Kathleen, but couldn't make myself. I was too exhausted, too frustrated with myself. "What is wrong with me?" I couldn't help thinking. "I should be jumping for joy. Why can't I just feel happy?!"
The trouble with big life changes (and yes, this counts as a big life change) is that they bring up lots of different emotions, and not all of them are good. Moving, for example. Maybe you've bought a beautiful house in your dream city, and now you get to move out of your cramped apartment and leave the dreary city that has been your home for the last three years of your life. You're happy to be moving out. Thrilled that you will be living like a king as opposed to the least favorite cow. And yet.
That was your home. That cramped apartment sheltered you. There are memories there, good and bad. You find yourself missing the tiny kitchen, and the incredibly loud Mexican music that your neighbors played EVERY weekend. The same songs. Over. And over. And, annoying as it was, it was your life. The one constant in your constantly shifting life.
I've strayed.
What it all boils down to is fear. Fear of failure. It's easier to fail if you haven't really tried. But if you put your heart into something, really make an effort, then it hurts all the more if you fail. I have been fighting such negative thoughts since I moved to NY to pursue an acting career. Heck, I've been fighting those thoughts all my life. I think everyone does. The key is to keep fighting. And I think, for the most part, I've waged my battle well. I'm here, aren't I? And every time I make the decision not to turn off the alarm and pull the covers over my head, but to get up, make myself pretty and go to an audition, is a victory.
And then this magnificent gift was given to me, and for a moment, the negative thoughts won. What if they suddenly come to their senses and realize they don't want me? What if I get a job, and then mess it up? What if I can't do this?
Here it is: my chance for success. I can either take it and run with it, or sit back and watch it pass me by. Well, let the universe witness, I am going to sprint like a long-distance runner being chased by armored, spear-carrying bees. Are these similes doing anything for you?
So there it is. My neuroses revealed. I haven't shared much of my inner feelings on this blog, and even now I bookend it with jokes and silly images, but I think I've grown a lot in the last few days, and I wanted to share.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have comic books to read.
Love,
Jules
PS-I'll explain the thing about horseshoes in the next post. See you then!
PPS-I was unsure about the use of simile versus metaphor, but thought I remembered the simple rule "if you use 'like' or 'as' then it's a simile". I just looked it up on dictionary.com, and I was right. Language is fun!
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