Precious

Ninny is my 4 year old cat. Previous to her I was NOT a cat fan whatsoever. When my mom told me we were getting a cat I reluctantly accepted the fact and helped decide what kind of cat it should be and what it should be named. Mom, Aj, Cj and I decided that this cat should be orange and named "pumpkin". You can imagine my disappointment when Mom came home with a small black kitten. It wasn't long before I was head over heels for this small, fury animal. She quickly became adored by everyone in the household. We named her Pumpkin, which slowly became "punkin" because it was more cute, and easier to say. Unfortunately, that same cat no longer goes by that name. My mother and I often talk in a baby voice to each other and after calling the cat "kitty kitty" the phrase developed into "Ninny Ninny"- long story short my, now, 4 year old, black cat is named Ninny. After all of this rambling I will provide some pictures.

I recently moved Ninny to HE's house after my mother moved. HE is taking her in and housing her for me, as my current roommate is allergic to kitty cats. In order to transport her to HE's house I placed Ninny in a cat carrier. She's never been in one before and FREAKED out when I put her inside. During the 20 minute drive to her new residence Ninny clawed so ferociously at the metal grate that she started to bleed. Turns out she completely tore apart her nails and nail beds. HE and I spent three hours in the vet @ 12am to fix Ninny's predicament, and $200 later she was nearly cured. After thrashing around in her carrier for 20 minutes Ninny was exhaused... here are some pictures of her pooped out at the emergency vet. 

Because she was such a good kitty we bought her a new collar and kitty bed, courtesy of my mom! Here is Ninny adapting to her new home =) :

Life on Mars

It's odd to see a house you've lived in for four years filled with so many memories and then emptied. I don't like walking around my, now, empty house. Mom left on the 27th and now I reside in a city without her- who I have lived with for 17 years. It's not so much that I haven't ever been away from my mom, because I have. I have spent summers with my dad, weekends at my friends' etc. It's not that I don't know how to carry on without her in the next room over. It's more of the concept that she's physically not here anymore. She has taken up residence a good 8 hours away and though I can reach her 1 hour by plane ride, it's not the same as driving 20 minutes uptown. "It's as if you'd gone away to college" she said, but it isn't really that at all. Part of the sadness I feel is for the house we no longer inhabit. For the four walls and ceiling I had come to love so very much. More than anything it's the fact that I can't go back to the place I call home. Sure, I will come to find a new home, but I've never been a fan of change. During my childhood I moved upwards of 8 times, just because my stepfather found it necessary to buy a brand new home every couple of years. Yeah, it was traumatic- but I've yet to come across someone who hasn't had a traumatic childhood in some sense. Anyway, I just HATE moving and thus, I abhor the fact that my mommy has moved away. 

It's a little surreal, a little like life on Mars. 

18

I'm 18 today. I've been waiting for this day for a very long time. 

Lunch with HE, getting my nails done, then dinner with Mom, Aj, Cj, RJ and CC. =D. 

Today will be a great day. 

Happy Birthday to me. 

55 minutes...almost.

My last final. 

I feel like (insert bad word here). 

I received NO visit from the Sandman last night.

I'm worried.

My mind is not focusing.

Yesterday was not a good day to receive bad news.

BUT: On the brighter, much brighter, side... I get to have a movie night with Dg5 and Wg3 tonight. Do you know how excited I am!?!?!?

I have something to blog about.

In my life, I have been fortunate enough to never have had any serious illnesses or plights that caused me to take up residency in a hospital. I have never required special medical attention, nor any medical procedures (thank goodness). (side note: My mother is a nurse and I have an incredible fear of hospitals, go figure.) I have an immense (probably irrational) fear of hospitals and of anesthesia, a terrible fear.  So you can imagine the exact reason I was brought immediately to tears this morning when some DOCTOR guy told me I HAD to have surgery. My mother was quickly irritated with my childish behavior in refusing the procedure. "You can't REFUSE a surgery you NEED to have" she says. *sigh*. So I sit and listen to how disgusting this process is going to be. So all the way home I'm shaking uncontrollably, like a five year old, and on the verge of throwing up my breakfast. This must be the biggest thing to happen to me in... well, a long time- hence its being in my blog. The cause of my surgery shall remain unsaid, as it is rather unimportant to this post. The point is, I AM FREAKING OUT. I watch far too much Grey's Anatomy to be put under anesthesia and cut open. Don't fool yourselves surgeons... I know EXACTLY what goes on in those ORs........

In your name I find meaning

Doesn't want to blog anymore,. 

Convergence

2008 is coming to an end. I hate to think about it, really. I feel like I'm not finished with 2008 quite yet, it's not time for it to go. I guess I'd better buck up and say my goodbyes in the next 20 days or so. 

RJ is coming into town this Friday. I haven't been so ecstatic since... since I got my Macbook. I am driving up to Phoenix Saturday to pick her up and bring her home :D. 

Got some disconcerting news from the doctor today. I have to go back in for more testing. I hate testing OK? I HATE IT. The word "doctor" makes me weak in the knees. This appointment is one I will dread, irrationally, until it's completely over. 

Mom is moving away in less than two weeks. HE is buying a house & HE will possibly be providing housing for my cat (fingers crossed), because I've got to take her when my mom moves away- and my roommate is allergic. Go figure. 

I've been sick as a dog lately. Some cold flu crap. I slept 15 hours last night. I haven't slept for that long in.... forever?

Last day of classes tomorrow!

Also: I am on a Jewel binge (the artist, not shiny stones... although I wish that were the case). I can't stop listening to her brilliance. I do believe it was my Dad who turned me onto her so many years ago. Thanks, Pop. 

Boredom.

I took a Twitter.com survey asking people to list random facts about themselves-- some pretty cool folks on Twitter. It made me think of these stupid surveys: 

Would you rather....?
1. Pierce your nose or tongue? Nose
2. Be serious or be funny? Funny
3. Drink whole or skim milk? Skim
4. Die in a fire or drown? Drown
5. Spend time with your parents or enemies? Parents
6. Flowers or candy? Flowers
7. Gray or black? Black
8. Color or Black and white photos? Black & White
9. Lust or love? Love
10. Sunrise or sunset? Sunrise
11. M&Ms or Skittles? M&Ms
12. Staying up late or waking up early? Staying up late
13. Sun or moon? Moon
14. Winter or Fall? Winter
15. Left or right? LEFT
16. 10 acquaintances or having two best friends? Two best friends
17. Sun or rain? RAIN
18. Vanilla ice cream or chocolate ice cream? Chocolate Ice Cream
19. Vodka or Jack? BELGHH. Neither. 

Random...
1. Do you twirl your spaghetti or cut it? Twirl
2. Have you ever eaten Spam? No!
3. Favorite ice cream: Cake Batter from Cold Stone Creamery
4. How many kinds cereal are in your cabinet? 7
5. What's your favorite beverage? Top 3: Sprite, Cinnamon Dolce Latte and Black Tea Lemonade
7. Do you cook? I've attempted it, yes. 

Who is the last person who...

1. Slept in your bed besides you? RandiJo
2. Saw you cry: My mom
3. Went to the movies with you? Taylor
4. You went to the mall with? Myself? 
5. You went to dinner with? Daddy
6. You talked on the phone? RandiJo
7. Said 'I love you' to you and really meant it? My mom

Reflection

Eng 103H prof. is requiring of me an assignment entitled "Reflection". It is supposed to be a reflection on all of the writings we've done in our lives and how they've contributed to the writer we are today. It can be in almost any format not excluding videos, songs, dance performances etc. She said it should reflect you. Well, I think I'm going to do mine in the style of a blog.


On another note: My fingers are so cold I can barely type this. Crap. DECEMBER.

Diction

Word choice. Diction. Whatever.

So I write this 10 page review on a biography of Queen Caroline for my Euro. in Western Civilization class. I turn it in online, yadda yadda. Professor S emails me yesterday to tell me he can't open it. Figures. I resend it in a more compatible format. He replies to my email and says,

"Nope, it is still garbage. Bring it on a disk to class tomorrow and I will load it onto my computer."

Why did he have to use the word garbage? It's so... rude. Yes, rude.

Furthermore... this having nothing to do with his word choice: I hope he realizes that it won't make a difference whether it's an email attachment or on a disk... if it's in the wrong format he's not going to be able to open it either way. Duh.

ugh.

crying

Never been so unhappy in my entire life.

We're Different

We're both sitting in his bed, on our laptops. I'm looking at shoes, bras and duffel bags. He's playing some shoot 'em up game.

"Travel?" I ask him.
"Yeah, I was hoping someday I could travel."
"With me?" I ask coyly.
"No. You wouldn't like the places I'd want to go."
"Well, how do you know that?"
"You wouldn't like going to the jungle, and not using bathrooms and sitting in the mud all day...Oh shit artillery."
Like I said, shoot 'em up.
He continues, "Sitting in the mud all day doing nothing."
"Why would you sit in the mud all day doing nothing?"
"Because that's what you do in the jungle."
"Oh."
He says, "I bet you'd like to do touristy things like go to Hawaii..."
"And Paris, and Italy" I finish his sentence.
"Yeah, that's not my bag."

This concerns me, a little. He won't think twice about it. I know that because he then says:

"Look at that, you couldn't have survived a missile hit. Look at that, I ditched out of my helicopter. You have a man who can kill virtual people, how about that?"
"You couldn't do that" He says arrogantly.
"I'll have you know I'm pretty good at James Bond"
"Well this isn't James Bond honey cakes."

"The S is about to hit the F here. Because I'm large and in charge."
Ugh, what a boy.

Oral Fixation

Overeating is a symptom of oral fixation. In lab mammals (rats, mice, dogs) oral fixation seems to be related to lack of physical contact. Interesting.

The Shade of Poison Trees

The decisions I very consciously made are coming back to haunt me now; they're ever present in the words you don't say-or in text messages at 12:03am.

I did some things-over and over- that I'm not proud of. Things I tried to justify, things I kept secret. Things that ate away at me from the inside out until I eventually had to tell you. And every time I told you, for whatever reason, you sighed, cried, then told me it was OK as long as I didn't do it again. Each and almost every time, I did. I did do it again, and there you were like always- forgiving me.

So you see, though you've always been faithful and forgiving I still can't sleep at night when I think about her- and the way she likes you. I can't help but worry that you'll realize I'm really not worth the time. I can't help but think that in reality, this is what I deserve. And I can't handle it. It's all I'll think about for days. I'll dwell on it, and on the fact that I'm not good enough. I'll think about all the things I wish I was, could have been and will be. All of the things I could of changed, and how much better I could have been. And I know that it's all a lost cause, because what's past is past, but it still haunts me. So much so that I can't look myself in the mirror somedays. So for now, I close my eyes and try to think of other things. But I'll tell you, it's easier said than done.

Little Shop of Horrors

My new obsession.

Little Shop of Horrors is a wonderful musical.

Let's Pout

I studied for this past exam in Phil110. I studied hard, and long. I recieved a C-. The previous exam, I didn't study, not one bit... and what grade did I recieve? B+.

Different class same situation: Eng103H- I worked really hard on a paper we did and got an 82%. One night in the middle of the night I woke up, remembering I had a paper due the next day, quick wrote it in fifteen minutes and recieved a 97%.

ugh. >.<

Let's Observe

David, my Phil. professor is wearing a creme colored sweater with navy blue stripes on it. He looks nice today. Our blue books (things we take our tests in) are sitting so quietly on his desk. He is passing them out today. Gosh, I'm nervous. I actually studied for this one.

Good Family Pictures (Thanks, Dad.)

I was wrong. There IS something worth writing about. Here goes.

I am a lazy person, very lazy. More so than lazy I am selfish and stubborn. Oftentimes I dread doing something, not because it's going to be awful in the least, but because I just don't want to do it. Silly things, like voice rehearsals, class, grocery shopping etc. Stupid things I shouldn't fret about. Nh called me quite a while ago and asked when would be a good time for me to participate in the taking of family pictures with her, dad and the boys. The date, though changed once or twice, ended up being this past Friday. Family pictures were to be taken atop a mountain about 45 minutes away. I must admit, I was not very keen on the idea of driving up a winding road for 45 minutes in the back of my Dad's van to take family pictures for three hours. << This is me being stupid, because I ALWAYS have a good time with my family, I must just forget every time I leave them.

Anyway- to the good part. C is my aunt. C is a brilliant photographer (click the link to check her site). She often photographs the smaller families within my larger family (does that make sense?). Aunt C and Uncle E drove in front of us up the mountain, (Uncle E acts as her assistant, apparently). Upon arriving at the green, tree filled part of the mountain we exited the van, and stood at the side of the road awaiting our direction. To be clear these are the models: Km17(me, duh), Dad, Nh, Wg3, and Dg5. Here we are, semi-matching at the side of a road lined on either side with beautiful trees. C took a couple of pictures of us all holding hands walking down the road (so cute). Uncle E stood further down the road and yelled, "CAR" every time he heard a vehicle coming towards us. What a good guy.

That's not the juicy part, though. You see, none of us are really dressed to "hike". I have on open-backed shoes, Nh has on some dress shoes, and all of the boys are in nice dress shirts. C surveys an area off the side of the road and into the woods, taking us with her. She looks around for a moment, looks at us, and points to 4 trees sitting on the top of a VERY steep hill. "Go up there", she says. ... Uh, say what Aunt C? I don't think she realized the severity of the slope here. It took Dad and Nh about 10 minutes to get the little ones up, slipping down a foot for every two they climbed. I thought I would be a genius and try a different way up- really I just made things exponentially more difficult for myself. With the help of Uncle E, I was safely on top of this wretched cliff/mountain/hill with my family. A few pictures of this scariness (scariness because the flat part [the SAFE part] wasn't too large on top of this cliff/mountain/hill), Uncle E points to a log. This log is very long, and very large. It is lodged in some dirt crossing a ravine. It's a good 20 feet off the ground. "Stand on that" Aunt C says. Crap, what? And again, my family is risking their lives for artsy pictures. Wg3 and Dg5 are frightened. Dad compromises with C and sits the boys on the log- it's too high up to stand, too scary, too dangerous. I somehow sit myself on the log as well (again, taking a long ridiculously difficult route thinking it'd be faster/easier etc.). I sat down next to Wg3 and he requested in a little bit of a panic that I hold his hand. Gladly, I did this. We spent some time up on that log, but in reality spent more time attempting to get on and off of it.

On the way down, we traipsed through a deeply cut ravine that went on forEVER. We were not that far from the road, but all of the little white rocks lining the bottom of this crevasse made it difficult to keep one's balance. Nh and I came through the ravine almost side by side. Both struggling to place our feet strategically on what seemed to be stable rocks, preferably the larger ones. My father, bless his heart, picks up this huge stick. When I say huge I mean LONG. About six inches wide and, hm, I don't know, SEVENTY FEET LONG, and he lifts it up. "I'm moving it out of our way", he says... because the stick ran directly down the middle of our path. We could have easily worked around it- it was doing us no harm, nor was it creating any REAL obstacle. I quickly concluded that Dad just wanted to pick up a big stick (what a boy) because he lifted it up and dropped it vertically back down... exactly where it was before, only further down the path. Interesting, right? Immediately after, Dg5 picks up a large stick and begins to do the same thing. 3 adults, almost at once, tell him to put it down. Uncle E says, "Monkey see, monkey do" and Nh and I laugh in agreement.

I always have a good time with them, and I always enjoy having them around, or rather, them having me around. I think about the four of them every day, and think to myself, "I must change my lazy, stupid, college kid ways, call them up, and hang out."

I will post any pictures I can here... you must see the final product to understand just exactly what we were willing to do for good family pictures.

There's nothing worth writing about lately.

A Dear Friend

Tim,

If you still read this, I want you to know that I miss you dearly.

Sincerely,
Kaitlyn

(Check out Tim's blog)

The Hulk

AJ: When Mommy leaves I'm gunna kill you.
Me: That's not OK, don't say that
AJ: Ok, fine, when Mommy leaves I'm gunna hurt you.
Cj: That's fine, because I'll get angry and you'll get scared.

Ahh, love visiting Mom's.

The President Elect

I am currently watching Barack Obama on CNN. They keep addressing him as, "Mr. President Elect".

In watching him speak I feel proud. Proud that our nation has elected this poised, seemingly intelligent, level-headed man as it's leader. He answers the questions as every "Mr. President Elect" before him. It almost seems that they repeat the question, add in some pretty words, then re-repeat it. It's awfully funny. "Do you feel rushed to choose certain cabinet members?" O: "[Blah Blah Blah]- I am confident we'll have a great team!" Uh, Mr. Barack Obama that was not an answer to the question.

Something I find cute: One of the reporters asked Mr. President Elect what kind of dog he was going to purchase for his girls once in the White House. He answered something like this, "Well, there are two criteria to be reconciled. The first is that Melia is allergic, so the dog will have to be hypo allergenic. The second is to get a shelter dog, but a lot of shelter dogs are mutts... like me. But whether were going to be able to balance those two things, I think, is a pressing issue in the Obama household right now."

Today in my History of Western Civilization class my TA compared Obama to Hitler. As did my hair dresser. This concerns me greatly.

Just some thoughts.

In His Eyes

He stares at me intently. I stare back, surveying his face. His eyes are beautiful. I thought that when I first met him; his eyes are beautiful. They're a bluish green, and they're bright- almost sparkling. In his eyes I see the essence of him. In his eyes I see the boy I fell in love with, and when he looks at me the way he's looking at me now, I fall in love all over again. I lean over and put my hand on his chest. He looks away- shy. He's always been very shy. As I type this he holds onto my arm, gently rubbing it with his hand. I'm watching him lay here in his striped blue pajamas; He's adorable.

I pause my writing to stare at him some more, and when locked in this gaze everything is OK. The only pair of eyes that can ease all the pain. He gets up off of the bed and gets his acoustic guitar. Laying back down he plays while I write, and I'm thinking to myself, "I could do this for the rest of my life". He's handsome- a good looking boy. Dorky in his pajama set, but adorable all the same.

He wrote me a song once, four years ago. I don't remember how it goes anymore.

Tonight, I will go into his bathroom, take off my makeup, come back to bed, lay my head on his shoulder, close my eyes and let him play me to sleep. I can't help but ackknowledge this overwhelming feeling that this is where I'm supposed to be, this is who I am supposed to be, and he is supposed to be here with me, always. Despite everything, all the bad things, it's the moments like this that melt my heart, and make me remember where it all started. In his eyes I see all the reasons why I love him.

Obama, ama, ama, hey, hey, hey.

So here it is, one of the biggest elections ever in history... and who's not at the polls? That's right. Me. I'm not. Ms. Kateonbroadway is not yet considered an "eligible" voter because of her age. Story. Of. My. Life. Needless to say I was there in spirit, encouraging every enthused voter to vote OBAMA. Again, needless to say: it worked.

I'm at a text rehearsal receiving text message updates every four or five minutes from KA and HE. It's lovely to see the landslide victory. I wished so badly I could've watched it on TV. I hate being an actor.

In this moment: I feel... happy. Excited, RELIEVED... safe. Like maybe this is all going to be OK. Maybe Mr. Obama will be the saving grace... maybe not. Maybe McCain would've been better... who knows. But like I said, in this moment... I am ecstatic. If I could give the entire USA a high five right now- I would. Congrats to us for overcoming racism (at least regarding the presidency). It's a step in the right direction, whether you're a democrat or not.

History in the making =).

Obama '08

Maybe it's too much.

Sure, rehearsals are only 3-4 (sometimes 5) hours a day... every day, and sure we get the whole morning/afternoon to live our lives. That's all fine- but the outside commitment is outrageous. To learn an entire script, entire songs, all the right notes, and memorize all the blocking in three weeks (and in my case, while going to school) is intense. It leaves little time for fun things like pumpkin carving, University football games, and visiting family- and of course, that sucks. So in my spare time, I'm punching out papers, napping, memorizing all of my stuff, searching for costumes at countless stores in town, trying to remember to eat, trying to enjoy the process, and ripping my hair out. I'm just busy, that's all. I mean hell, I haven't blogged really at all in the past two weeks. I ALWAYS find time to blog

Last Call

I probably could've killed you. Looking at you out of the corner of my eye, you sitting in the passenger seat, saying things that no one has ever dared to say to me before. There was nothing I could do but keep driving, and bite my lip to keep from crying. Not because I was sad, but because I was afraid, and angry at you. Because there you were- pulling me apart, questioning the things I've ALWAYS done. Forcing me, just a little, to own up to what I've been doing. Something no one has cared enough to do before. Like I said, I could've killed you.

Just a Technicality

The Macbook and I are reunited. *love*

I would never say it out loud, or in front of my Macbook... but... I kinda want one of these:


I saw one when I was in the Apple Store today... and I almost fainted. It's GORGEOUS.


I am sitting in the parking lot of the rehearsal hall. So ready for this all to be over.

With love, Princess

For the last four years, off and on again, (mostly on) - HE has been my partner in crime. HE has been the one I've bounced everything off of, HE's been my love, my life, my best friend, my worst enemy, my parent, my sidekick, my addiction, my suicide, my everything. Somehow, through it all, through the lies and the cheating and the dishonesty I can't shake him. Laying down in bed at night HE's the last thought that flickers through my mind, no matter what. No matter how hard I try, HE's the last thing that crosses my mind before I fall into sleep. I've tried everything, but every time I turn around, there HE is. He is in every song on the radio, every passing glance, every stranger on the street, HE is the one that catches me every time I fall. When I say I love him, I mean it. I couldn't ever explain it to you in words, I couldn't compare it to anything I've ever seen, or felt. I couldn't say it in a song, or with a gesture. But when I look into his eyes and tell him that I love him, I know he understands.

And amidst all of this, something is missing. Something I can't put my finger on exactly. Something I wish I could fix, if only I knew what it was. Maybe it's the inevitable space between two people, maybe it's the groove we fall into. Maybe it's the comfort that comes with knowing someone as well as HE and I know each other. Maybe it's the awkward quiet because you have nothing more to say.

I remember it so clearly, like it was just last night. It started to sprinkle. He was wearing a navy blue Yankee sweatshirt. I was in my pajamas. HE hugged me and tried to keep me from the rain. His hands clasped tightly around the middle of my back, my head resting in the crook of his neck. I was shivering, and standing on my tip toes. It was then that we became us. From that moment on, not a moment has passed when I haven't thought of him. My heart knew, from the moment our eyes met, that this was to be our journey, our challenge, our blessing. That HE and I were simply meant to be. Nothing more, nothing less.

With all of my heart and all the stars in the sky...

Lonely surrounded by you

I am sitting here in my bed eating raspberry sorbet. Ruining my diet- improving my state of mind temporarily.

I've been looking at places to move. Seattle's lush greenery and constant rain seems the most appealing to me. I need a muse. I need something to spark my creativity back up. I told my voice teacher last week that I was unsure if I wanted to continue singing. She started crying and begged me to sing, telling me I had a responsibility to my talent. I am unhappy and I am searching for a change- a dramatic one- a change to fix all things. It starts with little things- dying my hair, perming my hair, cutting my hair; temporarily feeling new. Then I want to pierce my nose and get a tattoo. Then I want to move far away and become a writer. I want change, I need change. Anything but where I am, who I am. It's all very dreary, I realize. I've never been happy in one place. HE could tell you that- I've never been happy with anything steady. I am always looking to run away to something new.

This post has no real point. Thinking aloud.

Hercules and Deianira

Deianira is my favorite Greek Goddess. This is why:
A sword is a man's weapon
She is the only woman in greek history who killed herself with a sword.
I guess usually women hang themselves
but not Deianira
She does this because Hercules was killed by a woman. In killing herself with a sword she is trying to die in the manliest way possible in order to take away the pain from Hercules. Apparently Hercules is in pain because he was killed by a woman, which I guess, for a guy, sucks.
or something like that.


I am so bad at regurgitating information.

The point is: Deianira, Hercules' 3rd wife, was a badass.

5am

The birds are chirping, the sun is rising, and I have class in four hours. WHY AM I AWAKE!? Because after 6 hours of sleep, by body wakes me up. Stupid. Stupid. Ugh.

Lack of sleep

I don't sleep anymore, really. If I do it's between the hours of 6am and noon. I couldn't really tell you what it is I do with all of my extra time either. No sleep, no sleep, just coffee. This can't be healthy.

Carousel, again.

UPDATE UPDATE: My director has YET to be an asshole to me! WOOO HOO. We've been doing music and working mostly with the accompanist while he watches... and he's yet to tell me I suck! Awesome! ... Last night was the first night we actually worked a scene. I was scared out of my freaking mind that he was going to absolutely tear me to shreds- but it was all fine.

I enjoy the direction he gives. I think I'll learn a lot from him by the time this is all over and done with. He didn't direct me really, at all. He directed everyone around me. I've yet to discern, in any show, whether it's a good thing or not when the director doesn't criticize or direct you. Either I am doing exactly what he wants, or he's not paying attention to me. At any rate he's not being a jerk- which I appreciate on all levels.

Let me put the rehearsal process into perspective: Last night there was a scene with Billy and I which begins on page 16 and ends in the middle of page 18. We blocked (laid out, set up) this two page scene for two hours. It took two hours because every time Billy spoke, Mr. Director had another way for him to say his line, or another path for him to walk. I was enjoying this because Julie (me) in this scene is sitting on a bench. So from a safe distance I was able to watch Mr. Director drive Billy crazy by giving him conflicting direction. Needless to say I was rather bored after a while.

The thing I've realized with Mr. Director is you just have to take what he says and to his face, treat it like gospel. "Oh, yes [Mr. Director] that's a great idea, I completely see where you're going with this" and do what he says... word for word. The minute you start to argue, or alert him of the fact that he's giving conflicting direction you have an issue. So, just sit back and take direction... and ignore the fact that he mutters, "actors..." in a very disgusted manner every five minutes.

Two interesting things about Mr. Director: Mr. Director has a Ms. Stage Manager. Ms. Stage Manager sits on the couch and takes notes while we rehearse... blocking notes. Oftentimes Mr. Director stops to give us direction [DUH!] and Ms. Stage Manager will pipe in and try to agree, or reiterate. The hilariousness comes when Mr. Director looks at her and says, "Please." and dismisses her with a wave of his hand. "Please"- pleading with her not to give direction. The look on his face gives everyone, including her, the impression that she's not qualified. If I was Ms. Stage Manager I would be offended by this, hurt, saddened and would surely never make the same mistake again- but I am not Ms. SM and Ms. SM is not me... and time and time again she interjects... and time and time again she is rudely dismissed. I enjoy this interaction between Mr. D and Ms. SM.

The second thing I've noticed is that Mr. D makes incredibly dramatic faces when he watches our scene play out. I can see every emotion that we are supposed to be emitting on his face. When Billy is rude to me [in the scene], Mr. D opens his mouth in SHOCK as though this is the first time he's ever seen the scene. It's like he's watching a very dramatic horror movie, with unpredictable twists and turns. It's almost as though he's trying to be funny. He looks like someone trying to impersonate a very dramatic person- only he's not. I enjoy that he enjoys it so much... watching us every time, like it's the first time.

So far so good with Carousel people. Now that I've written a freaking novel about it... sheesh.

This post off sucks.

It's in my nature to talk a lot, and thus it is in my nature to blog a lot, but I am way too far ahead for this to be any fun.

Greek

Sitting in my Greek Mythology class I realize that I am hardly mature enough to handle the content in this course. I have not yet surpassed the point in my life at which I can control my urge to giggle at the word, "penis". Nor am I yet able to summon the strength to surpress a laugh as we talk about young teenagers knocking the penises off of all of the Greek statues (under what circumstances this happened, I am unsure. Of when and where I am also unsure, as I only started listening once I heard the dirty words). My friends and I duck our heads and laugh until we start to cry. The maturity level in row four on the far right side is just about zero, maybe a little below. The fact that we are not the only ones giggling at the Oedipal nature of some of these Gods is comforting, however it does not change the fact that I feel utterly childish. Oh Greek Mythology, how you slay me.

My favorite time of the day

between 9:50 and 11 I get to sit in the hallway of the SS building and sip hot coffee. I ponder life and its meaning, blog, listen to music, and think about The Coffee Guy. I get to watch people walk up and down the hallway and put a story to them. Some walk so fast you'd think they were late for a funeral or something- Some of them meander through this hallway like they've forgotten where the hell they are. Almost every student that trots down this way is wearing something with our University's logo. From what I observe, it's mostly sweatpants and big sweatshirts. College+Winter= The best wardrobe ever. I'm extremely out of it today.... can you tell??

For kicks and giggles.

All You Have To Do Is Cry

the truth in the words we utter is relative to this moment
the words we speak are fallacies of our imaginations
and feelings only skin deep are pretended to be soul saving
your whispers don’t assuage and the loneliness won’t fade
caught up in the moment we chose save ourselves with three small words
but just like us, darling, they are ephemeral and fleeting, gone with the night
when daylight hits your eyes through the window, I will be gone, and there will be nothing you can do.

I take people and I build them up to be everything I'd ever hoped, only to watch them fall short time and time again. Nothing is ever really as it seems, never as good as it appears to be. In time I always realize that what I'm looking for doesn't exist, what I thought you were, what I think I am, isn't real.

Give me a sign

In my Western Civ. discussion class there is a deaf girl. She has someone come with her to every class to sign for her and I can't help but watch. It's absolutely fascinating. I always think about how difficult it must be to take notes and watch hand movements at the same time.

Because she doesn't speak (or at least I've never heard her speak) she's a little isolated. But, today the boy that sits next to her wrote a note in his notebook and passed it to her. The look on her face was absolutely priceless. Happy. She was ecstatic. I could tell this, not only by the look on her face, but in the way she wrote him back so quickly, as though he might change his mind. They continued to do this for the duration of the class. Her signing person (sorry, not so technical) and the professor saw this going on and ignored the fact that they were distracted and not paying attention. It was all very cute.

Vegetables

When I was younger, about 11, I used to watch AJ and CJ for my mom during the day. She would leave to run errands and I would watch the boys over dinnertime. I used my limited knowledge of the kitchen to prepare Macaroni and Cheese or Spaghettios. Sometimes Mom would make dinner ahead of time, and leave it on the stove for me to serve for them. I remember we had these brightly colored plates with separate sections for food. Two smaller sections, for the dessert and veggies, and one large one for their main entree. Because AJ is the older of the two I used to ban together with him in an effort to get CJ to eat his peas. Two heads were better than one. One day I thought of this brilliant plan: I would call my house (to make the phone ring) and hang up quickly. Then I'd have CJ answer the phone thinking someone was on the line. Because he was 4 he ignored the dial tone he heard upon pressing, "talk". I would sit upstairs on the other phone and pretend I was Hercules. When he was younger he epitomized Disney's Hercules and insisted on having muscles just like his. I, as Hercules, would urge CJ to eat his veggies, and like any good protege would, CJ ate the veggies.

This worked for a while. Each time I would be someone different-depending on the season. Sometimes I was Santa Claus, sometimes the Easter Bunny, sometimes I would even imitate my mom. Eventually CJ began to test the validity of these characters, "No, you're not Hercules" etc. It became harder and harder to execute my brilliant plan.

One evening AJ, my partner in crime, was being particularly ornery. I pleaded with him to eat his vegetables... promising the world on a silver platter if he'd oblige. He refused. Still I asked him to assist me in our phone call ritual. If I could get CJ to down his dinner, all would not be lost. AJ conceded and fulfilled his normal role downstairs while I pretended upstairs. I defaulted back to the almighty Hercules after CJ denounced Santa Claus. AJ, still angry at me for forcing the greens on him betrayed me. I could hear his little voice in the background, "it's not really Hercules, CJ.. it's Katie." I should have known... working with a 6 year old.

It's not definitive

I am trying to study for PHIL110 but I can't stop thinking. I can't stop thinking about the fact that you don't NEED me, you just need somebody. You don't LOVE me, you love the idea of love that I provide. You love the escape from loneliness. You love these things, but you do not love me. And the more you say it, the less I believe you.

I'm trying to forget about the couple having sex next door, but they are so incredibly loud. If half the kids in my theater class had that projection capability we wouldn't have had to use microphones.

I am still wondering about that lizard. I haven't seen him since the other night and I wonder where he is and what he's doing. Today HH made me laugh:
"Have you seen the lizard?"
"No, I didn't see him last night. I don't mind that he's here scurrying around, as long as he doesn't scurry towards my bedroom. Then I would be concernicius."
I love her use of the word she invented: Concernicus (to be concerned)

If I could stop thinking and shake this off I could clearly discern an inductive argument from a deductive argument. There's always that little voice in the back of my head screaming at me from the depths of my brain, "WHO THE &*%@ CARES!?"

This way

"Are you shore fer sertain you love him better'n you love Will?
"Well now that Will's come back he'll start talkin purdy to me, 'n change my mind back."

A Deviation

I hopped up on his bed.
"Hurry up and pick the movie."
"Me? Why do I have to pick the movie?"
"Just do it. Ready? Go."
"Fine." He walked over to the case of movies and began to list them.
"How about... The Secretary?"
"OK."
"No, nevermind. You wouldn't like it. What about Closer?"
"Next."
"What!? Why!? Have you seen it?" He turned to me, squatting down in front of the movies.
"Nope, but I hate Natalie Portman."
"I LOVE Natalie Portman."
"I said, NEXT."
"40 Year Old Virgin?"
"I freaking love that movie."
"Ok then, 40 Year Old Virgin it is."
"God, no. I hate that movie."
He glared at me.
"I'm ONLY kidding, hurry up, put it in."
We both defaulted to the nightly search for the controller. It is our routine and goes something like this:
I lift up the pillow and announce it isn't there.
He checks underneath all of the covers and then underneath me at which point I state, "It isn't under me, I'd feel it."
I look on the floor and again announce that it isn't there.
He lifts up the pillow again and finds it there.
As he puts the movie on I think to myself, "I could do this every night for the rest of my life and be completely content."

P2

"Tell me what you were going to say!"
He laughed.
"No way!"
"Please? Please, please? I'll tell you what I was going to say..."
"You promise?"
"Yep!"
"Ok, then."
He pulled her in close and whispered,
"I love you"
He took her breath away. She was silent or a second. She had seen it coming, but even still she couldn't have prepared herself for the way it would sound, spoken aloud, by him.
"Say it again."
"I love you." He paused, "I love you"
She sat up and pulled her knees to her chest.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing"
Silence.
Again, it was pitch black- except for a candle. She watched the shadows on the walls. They danced anxiously, waiting for someone to put them at peace, to blow the candle out.
"What's wrong?"
He crawled up in front of her and put is back against the wall, also pulling his knees to his chest.
"I told you, Nothing. I just have a hard time...-Everything is absolutely fine."
"What?"
"Nothing, I should go."
Resting her head on her knees she closed her eyes. Soon enough she smelled the smoke from his cigarette. She looked up to find him on the balcony again, sitting in the dark. She could see the red end of his cigarette glittering through the black.
"Come out here, Baby"
He called to her but she didn't budge.
"I should go"
"Please baby, please don't go"
She reasoned with herself. Maybe this wasn't so awful, that maybe she could love him. Maybe she could find the strength to formulate the words and say it back. Maybe she could accept the fact that he loved her. Maybe not.
"How many girls have you said that to?"
Silence
"Three"
She wondered if he meant it. She tried to believe him, but it wasn't happening. She knew what love meant, she'd been in love before.
He stood up and walked inside. She slipped off the bed and threw her hands around his neck as he was coming in. She rested her head in the crook of his neck and sighed.
"Well, I suppose it's only fair... since you told me what you were going to say, that I should tell you?"
He nodded gently. She whispered softly, almost inaudibly into his ear,
"I love you"
He squeezed her tightly.
"Do you mean it?"
"Yes"
She surprised herself in saying it, even more so in feeling it. He was everything she was looking for. She liked to sit out on the balcony with him and watch him speak. His words were captivating- as he spoke, she hung onto every word tightly, as though she was afraid it would be the last. She liked to watch the way his hands moved when he talked about the things he felt passionately about, and the way he gestured with a cigarette in hand. He was sweet, the way he gently pushed the hair out of her eyes and held her face when he kissed her. She liked that when he laughed, he meant it. She wanted to explain this to him, but she didn't know where to begin.
"Don't let me fall asleep, I can't stay here."
Face to face and inches apart the sound of his breath lulled her to sleep with the comfort of knowing he was right there.
Between the place of sleep and wake she felt a hand on her forehead pushing the hair out of her face. She felt him kiss her forehead gently, pull the blanket up over her, and pat her back softly. He walked over, blew the candle out, then laid back down beside her.

I GOT IT.

We did a full read through of Carousel tonight. I'd never read the script in full... and I ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT. FINALLY I have something to attach myself to, something to care about, something to create a character out of. All hope is not yet lost, I may love musicals as much as I thought I would. Thank you, Carousel. *whew*

"The only thing I could ever really need, only one good thing worth trying to be"

I want to know where I got the idea that I won't be happy unless there's a man in my life. Where I picked up the notion that without a boyfriend, significant other ... whatever, I wouldn't be content. I want to know what it was that made me so afraid to be alone. All I know, folks, is that it sucks. It sucks to be dependent on everyone else. It sucks to never be able to fully attach myself to someone because I'm afraid they'll leave, yet never be able to fully be without them.

Dear Mom & Dad,

What exactly happened here?

Love,
Your Daughter


:P.

What should we name the 3rd roommate?

Apparently, unknown to me until this morning, HH and I have acquired a third roommate. He's small, thin, and doesn't make much noise. He's gone all day and slips in through the door at night to take up residence beneath the couch. Oh, did I mention he's A LIZARD!?

I'm watching The Hills at 2am this morning when I see something scurry across the floor. My first thought is that it's a cockroach, it must be, but just as he passed by my feet I caught a glimpse of him just enough to tell that it was a freaking lizard. I took my 30 seconds to freak out and then reasoned that I shouldn't wake HH because she'll tell me she's not going to touch it, and thus it will not be removed by either of us. I took the advice of a friend (the only one awake at 2am) and left it there. Upon exiting the shower this morning I say to HH, "Just so you know, there's a lizard in here... he's under the couch right now." She replies, "Oh I know, he slips in underneath the door every night. I watch him do it. Then he leaves during the day." It's not that I'm AFRAID of lizards, I just don't like small, fast, slimy things that I can't see very well. Small things that I could wake up to find in my bed, or on the wall above my head.

At any rate, now we have to buy groceries for three, make room for him on the couch, and split the rent, cable and electricity in thirds. At least we don't have to make him a key... he just slips in through the door whenever.

The Coffee Guy

He's probably about 5'10, has very curly blonde hair and listens, constantly, to indie music- The Coffee Guy. I enjoy watching him interact with all the kids that come by. Every day he has another question to ask everyone, "If you could listen to one song for the rest of your life, what would it be?" and the next day, "If you could listen to on album for the rest of your life, what would it be?" He makes a point to ask EVERYONE that comes to his tent. While preparing my HOT Vanilla Latte he can tell me his life story and then some without even looking down.

I see the same people every day at 9:58am. The tall boy in the blue baseball cap (who, for some reason, is always directly in front of me in line) orders very quickly in a monotone voice and almost always ignores The Coffee Guy's questions. "Iced Coffee" he says. The little blonde girl always orders something different, and always takes 5 minutes to decide. As for me, I order the same thing every day, and occassionally if I am hungry, I'll tack on a bagel to my order for a HOT Vanilla Latte. Every time I order he has to reaffirm halfway through making my latte that it was HOT and not iced. Today a boy I'd never seen before walked past The Coffee Guy's tent and talked with him about going to Mexico. Like always, The Coffee Guy didn't miss a beat making my Latte and spent the entire time with his head turned in the opposite direction talking to this boy about Mexico. All of these things that I observe and all of the events that occur take place in a time frame of maybe two minutes. Today was special because The Coffee Guy wasn't paying SO much attention to my latte and put in extra Vanilla. This makes me happy.

It's all just really stagnant

I am pretty sure (though my math skills are lacking) that I am in the middle of my 7th week of college. First of all- where did those 7 weeks go? Secondly- where was I during those 7 weeks? It's all the same and literally nothing has changed. I am so lucky to have been cast in these two shows, because without them I would be absolutely no where. They're the only things I have to look forward to. Well, them and my birthday.

In other news my dear mother has decided to flee the state come January to be with her fiance in CA. When she asks me how I feel about this I simply reply, "Does it really matter?" Regardless of what I say or think she's going to go. But because this is my blog, and I have nothing better to do right now I'll divulge my feelings. It's sucks. It sucks that she's leaving, though I knew it was inevitable. Upon moving here we had every intention of leaving when we got the chance. I knew this. I know this. This doesn't change the fact that I will miss the house that sheltered me throughout my high school years, or that I won't miss the people who live inside of it. Granted I am in college and supposedly "independent" I still depend on my family. If for nothing else I depend on my mom for emotional support. When I freak out because I all of a sudden hate my apartment, miss my best friends and want to drop out... I call Mom. She invites me for dinner and suddenly everything is good again. Sure, I want her to be happy, I do. But this is really going to SUCK. Miss Co-dependent me is going to have to suck it up and learn to live without Mom.

Short Post

I think I finally found the missing piece. I think I finally found the friend I've been looking for.

The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

I just received an email from my voice teacher that one of her student's 15 year old brother killed himself a few nights ago. Of course, this made me think of when ER killed himself.

I remember the phone call I got at 9am, from Lauren. I remember not being surprised at all. After she told me we sat on the phone in silence and CC beeped in on my other line. "Did you hear?" He asked. He was out of town at the time and was extremely upset about it. We calmly discussed how our friend was found, hanging, from his bunk bed. I remember telling CC I'd call him if I heard anything else. It was fine. I was fine. I walked out into the living room to put the phone back on its charger and all of a sudden, like a ton of bricks, it hit me. ER was dead. He was dead and he wasn't ever coming back. ER was dead and gone. I sat on the floor in the middle of the room and sobbed uncontrollably. Completely unable to catch my breath, or stand up. CJ walked in the room, concerned. I tried to explain to him what happened but I couldn't form the words. I couldn't bring myself to tell someone he was gone. I called Nana. There was nothing she could have said that would have made it better, and there was certainly nothing she said that led me to believe she understood. It was four days before my birthday.

I had just seen ER a week prior when he was suspended from school for possession of some sort of knife, I think. He and I had been inseperable in Drama Class and partnered up for just about everything. I didn't know ER as well as the rest of my friends knew him, but all the same, for the next few months I didn't know what to do with myself. I remember thinking how odd it was that the world just kept turning, the TV running, the radio playing, people laughing when a human life had just been put to rest. How odd it was that such tragedy could strike and virtually everything was unaffected.

A year to the day we gathered around his grave stone. 7 or 8 of us. It was December and extremely cold outside. Adorned in sweaters, scarves, gloves and hats we sat around him in a circle on the cold rocks. It wasn't so much that we talked about him, but that we talked around him and with him. We talked about some funny times we'd had with him, but we felt as though everything had already been said. There was only so much we could say about our friend who we hadn't seen in a year. One by one we got in our cars and left until only ER remained. We laughed at the fact that maybe he wasn't dead. Maybe he was playing a huge joke on us and one day he'd show up at school and we'd all sigh a sigh of relief and move on. This was never the case. ER never walked up the stairs and through the gates again, at least not ER as we knew him. At graduation, three years later, we had a moment of silence for him and a boy who had recently passed away in a motorcycle accident. Even then, May 22nd, three years later, we looked at each other with sad eyes and felt how surreal it all had been, and still was. ER was dead and he still wasn't coming back.

The End.

Oklahoma! ended on Sunday. I could have bawled my eyes out if I didn't have Carousel to think about. For the past eight weeks I've been with that cast 15+ hours a week. There's something to be said about the camaraderie formed within a cast. Being that this was my first lead in a musical (and very nearly my first musical) the entire experience was completely new to me. Reading back on the rehearsal diaries I posted in August and the posts I made after starting the run of the show it's obvious that I was not completely thrilled with the musical experience. In retrospect I can't say that I feel any different now than I did then.

For so long I have put musicals on this brilliant pedestal as being something that only the most talented people can do. I've made them my ultimate goal. All I've wanted for the past three years was to be the lead in a musical- and here it was. The thing about musicals (or at least this one) is that I felt no attachment to the material. This could very well be because R&H have very little meaning or subtext beneath all of their hokey songs and dialogue. When I've done theatre in the past (straight plays) I have become extremely involved in my work and oftentimes so attached to a character that I can't shake it. Maybe it's because this was my first musical, and I'm just barely getting my feet wet. Maybe with more experience I'll be able to pull the same emotion I rely on in straight theatre and plug it into my musical characters. Either way I am willing to be it's going to be difficult. It's hard to sustain a reasonable, believable, meaningful character when you've got to break for song every five minutes and are (at least in my case) semi-worried about what you sound like. We'll see.

Either way I will miss my cast. Eventually I'll miss Oklahoma too... but for now I have heard ENOUGH of those songs. Blegh. Too bad the ones in Carousel SOUND EXACTLY THE SAME.

"Give it to 'em good, Julie. Give it to 'em good!"

Tonight was my second night of rehearsal for Carousel. Naturally, after my rather horrific audition experience I have been hesitant at rehearsals. Last night went well. As a cast we went over all of the group numbers in the show. After the Oklahoma! matinee I was dead tired and standing on my feet and singing for three hours was the last thing I wanted to do... but with that said, Mr. Director was not unkind.

Tonight was a rehearsal for all of the girls, myself, and the other lead, Carrie. Sometimes I wonder what the hell Rodgers and Hammerstein were thinking. In some of my songs I feel as though they ran out of ideas and stuck some lyrics into the song to finish it up. For a girl who loves moving music by the musical geniuses Stephen Sondheim and Jason Robert Brown ... R&H is a little hokey. To their credit, however, the musicals most well known song "You'll Never Walk Alone" is quite heart wrenching and has almost brought me to tears several times (which is completely beneficial to me since I am sobbing throughout the song anyway...).

Tonight I was early to rehearsal just to be sure that Mr. Director has no cause to yell or scream at me. Because I was so early it was only Mr. Director, Beth (a woman from the cast) and I sitting at the table. Beth and Mr. Director have been friends for 30+ years. I watched them sit and talk about previous shows they've done together and try and recount all of the hilarity. In watching them I realized that there's nothing to be afraid of. Mr. Director is just another human being. The ridiculous things he says can be taken in and then let go, just as easy as anything else.

Standing in front of the piano, score in hand, frantically attempting to read my music, I was absolutely thrilled that I accepted the part in the show. For now, everything is good.

Oklahoma! (Oct. 5, 2008)

Today is our last performance of Oklahoma. I think I might have been heartbroken if I didn't have Carousel to worry about. Overall, my experience with this show has been... good. Of course it was not the most professional, or the best by any standard, but I am in love with my cast and my director. It'll be weird not seeing them 14 hours a week anymore.

Our Crimes Have A Reason

She quickly sat up, separating herself from him. She closed her eyes hard and then opened them again, shaking her head.
"Where'd you go?"
"No where. I'm right here. I didn't go anywhere."
"Come back."
Silence.
It is pitch black. The only light in the room is spilling in through a single split in the blinds. It's an orange colored illumination from the street light outside. Only able to see the silhouettes of everything around her she hops off of the bed & fumbles for her shoes. She slips them on, then grabs her keys off of the floor. She stands in the dark and desperately tries to find something to say. Defeated, she sits on the floor. Quiet for a moment.
"You don't feel bad? You don't feel bad at all?"
"I don't feel bad about anything."
Silence.
"You shouldn't feel bad. I'm the one who should feel bad."
"Why?"
"Isn't the answer obvious? What do you mean 'why'?"
Silence.
He's laying on the bed above her and she can't see him. She gets up to leave and then sits down again. She's staring down at the floor, but looks up when she hears his feet hit the ground. He walks out onto the balcony, 3 stories above the ground, and sits down. She turns her head back towards the ground and starts to play with the carpet. Within a minute or two she can smell the smoke from his cigarette. It's drifting in through the sliding glass door that he's left wide open. Now that the bed is vacant she walks over and lays half on it, facing away from him, her feet still on the floor.
"Come out here"
"No."
"Come out here, right now"
"No."
He starts to make small talk. She's listening intently but not responding. She hears him stand up, walk inside, and close the door.
"This is going to be bright."
He flips on the side table light. She buries her face in the comforter.
"It's not that bad."
She's listening to every noise he makes, afraid to look up. Finally she stands up and faces away from him. Afraid of what she'll feel if she looks at him. He walks up behind her and pulls her hands around to her back, putting them inside of his. He rests his head on the back of her neck.
"It's going to be OK"
She turns around and starts for the door. As she reaches to open it he's at her side.
"Hey"
He motions for a hug and she gently, barely hugs him from the side. Never looking up at him. She walks out into the hall.
"Bye"
Silence.
Her pace quickens when she begins to realize the magnitude of the crime she committed.

Again, it's pitch black. Walking through the grass to her car she can only see what is directly in front of her. She twists the key, unlocking the door and climbs inside. The drive home seems to take hours, hitting every red light. Trapped in her car she let her thoughts overtake her. She turns up the radio and rolls down the window in an attempt to think of anything else. Anything but him. Once she's home she crawls into bed fully dressed. She sighs a heavy sigh, and tries to find something else to think about-content as long as he doesn't enter her thoughts. Just before sleep she notices a bright light and opens her eyes abruptly. Her cell phone is flashing "1 text message received". It's from him.
"I think I'm falling in love with you."

(to be continued)

The Keeper Of Secrets

I am making a mistake. Currently, in my life, I am making several mistakes that I am aware of, yet continue to participate in. Like always, I am being selfish. I am torn. I am torn between the life I chose and the life I should have chosen. Being the Keeper Of Secrets I can live them both. I can live the life I've chosen and love while fulfilling dreams from a life I passed up long ago and wished I hadn't. If I keep quiet and tread lightly, for awhile I can have what I want. While I'm keeping these secrets I am, for the most part, content. I can have my cake and eat it too. I can have both of these lives. I can have them both at the expense of those I love. At their expense because I'm lying to them about awful things, heartbreaking things.

While they live in ignorance I carry around an intense guilt. Guilt is the price I pay for doing what I want. A constant battle with myself to choose the right thing, to do the right thing, to be a good person. Constantly torn between what I want and what I want, never really knowing which one I want more. The longer this goes on, the more I start to wonder if I'll ever be able to tell which one is really worth giving up. That scares me. It scares me to know that I may never be strong enough to let go of one and fully embrace the other. There's no telling which decision is the right one, or if after giving one up, I'll realize how much I miss the other.

Carousel

I've begun to make a name playing the Rogers and Hammerstein lead ingenue type. A cast member from Oklahoma! reffered me to another theater company in town (very cool) and last week I went and auditioned. The director ended up giving me the lead that night. I should be stoked... but the director is kind of a jerka complete jerk. Most of the people I've talked to about it bring up the point that if I want to do this as a career I am going to have to deal with stupid directors... so despite my completely unsettling feeling... I took the part. If nothing else, it's another show to add to my resume.




In other news... I am thinking maybe I want to do film instead of theatre. *GASP* I know, I know. For the longest time I have absolutely trashed film. HH and I went to see The Women (so good) the other day and I thought to myself, "Gee, they look like they're having a blast...maybe I want to do that"... then we watched the making of Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist and again I thought, "Shoot, I wanna do that." So there you have it. My thoughts are now venturing into the land of film... where they have never ventured before.

On an almost completely different note... It might be cool to be a history major? I really dig my Euro. in Western Civ. class. I mostly love when we briefly discuss US history. I freaking love American History. But what would one do with such a degree? Teach? Ew.

October Post Off

Just a quick update:

I have joined the October Post Off competition. I will be attempting to post more than my competitors (listed below). Hopefully my life will be eventful enough to have real things to post about on a daily basis.

Others participating:
http://www.taylormakesmesick.com/ (Taylor)
http://http://jacobkarnas.blogspot.com/ (Jacob)
http://mcshowoff.blogspot.com/ (Ryan)
http://brokenmolar.livejournal.com/ (Nikki)
Myself =)

Afternoons

Watching the Sex In The City movie with HH. Makes me miss NYC.

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Things I know for sure

I don't many things for sure. I am not entirely sure that I know anything for sure. I am sure, however, that acting is what I want to do with my life. When I grow up I want to continue to be an actress. I know for sure, that I want you to stop telling me that I can't. I could be a million other things, I know. I could be a writer, a nurse... I could be something that you'd surely be proud of. I could be the journalist you want me to be...I could write articles for a magazine, sit in a cubicle and drink the same office coffee every morning before sitting down in my office chair in front of my computer with pictures of my cousins, brothers, friends plastered around the screen. Post-it notes scattered about, pieces of paper, a telephone. I could work in a huge building with 45 floors. It's not what I want. I want to walk through a large metal door into a brightly lit room, sit down on a stool in front of a mirror with pictures of my cousins, brothers, friends tucked into the corners. Lip stick, sponges, fake eyelashes, hairspray scattered about. I want to walk out onto a stage and make a full house laugh, cry and clap every night of the week. I want to share inside jokes with my fellow actors. I want to work hard every night to find something more inside of me, something new to bring to the show. I want to learn from the people I work with, learn about myself, about my craft. I want to be an actress.

Yes, I am a little fish in a big pond and there are thousands, millions, more just like me but I can do this. Wherever I end up I will know that I followed my heart, I believe in myself and my dreams and at the end of the day, that's what is going to matter. That's what's going to matter to me.

"It's your WHAT!?"

Last night I went to the cast party for Oklahoma. It's nice to be around people who share the same feelings you do about acting. We got to talking about theatre we'd done in the past and upon announcing this is my first lead in a musical my director and several others gasped loudly, asking me how that could be. The oppourtunity has never presented itself, really... until now. I've only auditioned for two other musicals in my entire life. They argued amongst themselves about how it could possibly be that I've never been a lead in a musical before when one of the men in the cast says, "No, no you see... her big career is AHEAD of her. She's only at the beginning just yet!" My career? It's a cool thing, to have someone you look up to say something like that. He thinks I have a career ahead of me? :).

It made me feel good, like if someone else believes in me, then maybe it'd do me some good to believe in myself.

"Uh Oh" just doesn't cover it.

MY MACBOOK IS SICK.

*breath*

I accidentally dropped my precious Macbook on the tile floor yesterday (THANK GOODNESS FOR ITS CASE) ... after which time the CD Drive began to make these awful, annoying noises. There was a CD inside when I dropped it, and it started making weird noises after I pulled it out... so, something broke.

I called apple support. Gosh, they're nice folks. I have an appointment at the Genuis Bar tomorrow at noon so they can look at it. I feel much better after the nice man assured me that I wouldn't have to go without my Macbook for long, even if I did have to send it in. *whew*


iLove my Macbook <3

Mode

Maybe I'm lazy. I am either lazy or stubborn, or both. I hate college.I dislike class. I don't dislike "college" or the idea of college. I am still trying to figure myself out, but it's one of two things... I'm not doing what I love in school (well tough shit everyone has to take these stupid general classes... I know). I'm not doing ANYTHING I like in school and I don't really have a goal. Everything is still up in the air as of now. My major is undecided, and so is my future. The second thing: I am LAZY. All of this college nonsense takes work. "If I'm not getting what I want, I refuse to participate in anything else..."... this is where my stubborn theory comes in.

If I could have it my way like BK promises, I'd take the next year off to do community theatre, dance and take voice lessons. This is the part where I realize that I am both lazy and stubborn. Lazy in that I HATE doing GenEd work, and stubborn in that I refuse to do anything but what I want to do.

This post means nothing, just mindless rambling in PHIL110.

Frenemies

They say that you should keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.... that is JUST what I intend to do.

Everybody thinks I've lost my mind, but I just take it day by day

Sleep. I've been sleeping a good 14 hours a day lately.
Ihatebeingawake...unless I'm on stage.

More to come

We've been two nights running now with OKLAHOMA! I'm happy again. I'm doing what I love. Regardless of all of these other things I've been fussing about, I'm doing what I love. I am doing what I wish I could do every day for the rest of my life.

I'll post pictures later =) and document more of my very first musical experience.

"Hey you,
you
are such
a good you,
for me."

-Kateonbroadway

My Birthday

For my birthday I want this:


in a stocking.

Got it?

"Did you know...."

HE and I used to talk on the phone (years ago... three and a half years actually) for hours. We used to start as early as 9pm and talk until the sun came up. I vividly remember holding the phone to my ear, snuggled up in the sheets, the TV on mute- something to provide light- watching the window...dreading the first ray of light the sun might shed... knowing that, when it did, we'd have to hang up and get some sleep. We used to talk about everything... stupid, stupid stuff. I remember my stomach used to hurt from laughing at him so hard. We were trying to impress each other, i think. There were times when we talked about our most intimate moments and I felt so connected. When we were lucky enough not to have to be on the phone, we'd lay in bed together, late into the night and early into the morning, telling jokes, talking about our theories on the universe, and we were content with that- with each other. I was interested in what he had to say- genuinely, and happy to have someone to talk to... someone who i could tell everything to... bar nothing- nothing at all.

I don't think i will ever be able to describe how close I felt to HE in those moments, how in love I was with my new best friend, how I no longer felt alone- but that I would forever have someone on my team, loyal, always there. Laying next to him in those moments I felt comforted. I meant it so much when I said I could've laid there forever. I wanted to lay there forever. We could have, and we didn't.

Now I sit here and reminisce and I want to know why it had to go away, why those intimate, intense, warm, chilling, electric moments had to fade. I want to know why we don't talk anymore. I want to know why there is no longer someone on my team, I want to know why I am suddenly alone, I want to know what happened to my companion. And to my own question I reply, HE's right here...

...but he's not.

Curtain

Something is wrong. I am sitting here in the dark, on my Macbook at 1am, unable to sleep. I am feeling empty and unfulfilled. A feeling I've been experiencing quite possibly since the minute I was handed my diploma, but more so lately, since I've moved out. At a loss- not knowing who I am, where I've been and what I'm doing. I'm waiting for the stage to save me, as it always does- opening night I walk out underneath those unforgivingly, bright lights and I am home again. I am everything I ever wished I could be and more; I am content, I am at peace, I am in love, I am happy. I am the person I want to be. I am waiting, waiting, waiting, ever so patiently for the stage to save me.

Saying Goodbye

"Hey, I'm around kinda where your apt is. Should I txt you when I'm done with dinner?"-CC
"Yes, please. :)."- Me
2 hours later..
"Hey, I'm done... directions please?"-CC


CC and I have been friends since my freshman year in high school. Despite what we've been through I am convinced he helped me survive what had proved to be a tough year for me. In fact, CC has helped me through a lot... maybe not always intentionally, but nevertheless, he's been a good friend.

CC and I are a lot alike. I think as a result of this we've knocked heads a lot. We are both egotistical, insecure, competitive, controlling, leaders. On the same token, we've been able to sit in a coffee shop for 8 hours at a time and just talk... about everything. CC and I experienced so much together in high school. We fell in love, fell out of sync, cried, laughed, explored, discovered. He used to come over to my house at 12am, knock on my window and stay until 3am. He used to come over and spend the night when my mom went out of town because he knew I was afraid... he protected me- once calling the police because of some weirdos outside my house. He often came home with me after school and raided my refrigerator and ate my Flintstones vitamins. I remember one time in particular he came to my house because neither of us could sleep. We had just explored the basements at school and were absolutely petrified. He sat in the corner of my sectional couch drinking a juice box (his 3rd or 4th I am sure) and eating leftover pizza from the fridge. The TV was on mute. We sat only inches from each other... and I sipped on his juice box and shared his pizza.
CC and I shared the same dreams and aspirations... we used to sit in his car in parking lots and sing along to our favorite musicals, always "practicing" but for what, we weren't so sure. Always asking the other's opinion on our own talents... each other's best critic. We lurked together, many times, in our director's office to find traces of the next (very secret) musical our school would put on ... laughed until we cried, screamed at each other and were completely irreverent, psychotic, irrational, and hilarious. Time and time again he and I consulted each other for advice, looked to one another for a shoulder to cry on... and more often than not, it was there.

"I'm almost there, I'll call you."- CC

All of this is running through my mind as I race around the apartment in an attempt to make it look nice. It's the first time he's seen it. I'm picking up the clothes and humming a song from my favorite musical trying to forget that he's leaving in a few hours. Trying to keep my heart from completely falling into my stomach, I am hoping he calls later rather than sooner.

CC and I always planned to go off to college together and I had never, ever, not until this very moment, thought that we would have to be apart. Maybe I avoided the notion.

I answer the phone, "Hey baby"
He responds, "I'm here!!!"
I walk out onto the balcony and lean forward, "I can see you...."
He responds, "Ok... creeper..."
I don't think I had ever been so happy to see him. He looked wonderful, glowing almost. He looked happy for the first time in a long time. Pretending like we weren't here to say goodbye, I invited him into the apartment. I casually showed him around all 544 square feet. Introduced him to the roommate. He sat on my bed with me for a few minutes and we chatted about how nervous he was to be moving so far away, and how much packing he still had left to do. It was already 11pm and he was leaving at 5am that morning. CC and I always had procrastination in common.

"You should get going then, retard" I said jokingly.
He agreed and we walked to the door. We walked outside and down the steps. He took my hand and held it as we walked to the car. I rambled about how far away he parked, avoiding the goodbye. He grabbed me and held me tight saying he'd miss me. I tried to wish him luck, and safety and happiness all through my tears. Reminding him not to forget me, not to fall off the face of the earth, to come home soon, to spend my birthday with me, to enjoy himself... as he was going off to live our dream.


"I love you" He said as he let go and walked to the door of his car.
"I love you, too" I replied

I watched him get in the car and started to walk away, sobbing all the way back to the apartment. I tried to compose myself outside the door, walked inside, and lost it again. I sat on my bed and bawled for a good hour... looking for someone to console me. CC and I had often fought and no one understood why I was so upset about his leaving. The only one who could possibly understand the complexity of my feeling at that moment was CC.

"I miss you already..." I texted him, knowing he'd still be awake
"I miss you already." He replied instantly

Don't Blame Me

It's really not HE's fault, I understand that. I also understand that HE promised he would be there to see me as my first lead in a musical. I can't explain to you how much it meant to me, that HE said he'd go. HE is busy all three weekends of my show. Maybe next time, ... right?

A lot of waiting

I am still feeling this stupid sickness. It's not constant anymore, but off and on. I think that maybe some of it has to do with not getting enough sleep. 2-3 hours a night is not sufficient, and will continue to be so especially throughout "Hell Week".

Oklahoma! opens Friday... holy crap. The time went by so incredibly fast and now I'm scrambling to grasp onto what it is we're actually doing. I'm having lots of trouble finding my character... right now Miss Laurey Williams reminds me of a refigerator in a house full of children. Scattered, colorful, not cohesive.


The battery life on my Mac is dying. I CAN'T HANDLE IT.

The week from hell followed by hell week.

As I sit here and soak my disgusting toe in hot water I reflect back on this past week... WHICH SUCKED.

I have some sort of mysterious illness (possibly... [very possibly] stress induced) in which I vomit profusely every once in a while and have a constant... really constant... stomach ache. This has been going on since last Sunday... so approximately seven days now. I am seriously sick of being sick.

next week I have rehearsal every night... show opens Friday. Holy Holy CRAP. =[

The ties that bind.

I now fear the words that pour out onto this blog. I edit and edit to be sure there's nothing I said, no feeling I've expressed, that may be taken against it's will and made into something it never hoped to be. It is terribly amazing to me, truly, how devastatingly desperate we can be- looking, searching, frantic to find something to create waves that may distract us, or others from the tsunamis in our own lives. Actively looking to provoke a storm in this already raging sea- even at the expense of someone you love.

Pointe

I am officially enrolled in ballet. The last time I took a ballet class (age 6) the teacher asked my mother, kindly, to put me in something else. THAT's how uncoordinated I can be....

Dad- look at me being all pro-active! Even though I should have done this last year when we got back... instead of taking TAP.

Marriage

It confuses me as to why we still practice marriage. Marriage for as long as time can tell has been a means of obtaining status or gaining wealth- not for love. Napoleon married to gain communications with his bride's father... King of a country he sought after. Women often searched for men of higher status so that they could be well taken care of for the remainders of their days etc. ( I am really in no mood to research historical examples-- just please take the college girl's word for it...). Anyway, I am just confused as to why we are trying to adapt this practice, that was so clearly meant for something else, and trying to make it fit into the societal codes of today. Why is it that we commit ourselves to one person and attempt to be happy "forever"? It's just something I was thinking about today... while I was COMPLETELY paying attention in class.

MIA

On the way home in the car, I thought about all of these things to write about, and now I can't think of a thing...

SAY WHAT

Ok- so I am spending my morning applying for schools... ready?

Carnegie Mellon
Cincinnati Conservatory
Boston Conservatory
OKlahoma City Un.
... I can't remember the others at the moment...

But anyway-

last year my kind father drove me to LA to audition for Cincinnati. I seriously failed my dance audition: the solution? Taking ballet... knowing what all these silly french turns are... I'm realizing now that maybe I should wait and audition FALL 2010 ... to get some ballet under my belt. Auditions for Fall 2009 are Feb 8.. too soon to learn ballet?

What do you guys think?

Common Grounds

I'm sitting on the freezing cold tile in a hallway of the Social Sciences building sipping on my "blended vanilla latte". This morning I researched ways to wake yourself up sans caffeine, in vain (obviously). There is nothing particularly exciting about being here. Nothing especially liberating or inspiring. Nothing here that I see any potential in to motivate me to keep on truckin'. So I walk, out of my first class to the coffee cart outside this building, unaffected by my first few hours awake in the world. The line for this dinky coffee stand is 6 or 7 people long and I, with a small sigh, tack myself onto the end of it. After a minute the guy in front of me turns to me and says, " Isn't this great? Monday mornings" and smiles at me. I am not the only one who grudgingly pried themselves out of bed and felt a tinge of bitterness while glancing at her roommate who slept in instead of attending class. In that moment I felt accompanied by the rest of the world who also despised a Monday morning.

Being pessimistic and dramatic as I am I would give my first two weeks at college a C. Average, satisfactory, lacking the ability to go above and beyond. I would say that it has failed me entirely except for the one thing I actually adore about this institution: the people. The people, like the guy from this morning, who notice you, and who notice the camaraderie that is to be had. There is a lack of the idea of the "clique" and a maturity that allows one to converse with someone he or she may not know. Also I've noticed the overwhelming disappearance of social stigmas. This is not to say that social stigmas have vanished all together, but it is to say that they have dwindled to a mere minimum, allowing that guy in front of me to address me casually without taking mind to my social status/group/whatever. In this institution we are all students, we are all wildcats and for the most part, we are all, in some way united.

The other place that this idea of unity is presented and most proudly displayed is at our football games. We have temporarily discarded the notion of studying and learning completely on a Saturday night to paint our bodies, adorn ourselves with beads and stickers, to write obscene comments across our stomachs, point absurdly large foam fingers and to shout obnoxiously above the crowd, "U of A, U of A". My experiences at these sports gatherings are among the best I've had so far at university, I'd maybe even go to so far as to say that they are the best. The unity is what gets me. It's what ups my evaluation grade from an F to a C. It's the short conversations about brutal monday mornings with a stranger who also enjoys coffee that brighten my day and make me think that maybe I can do this, maybe I can do this because I'm not alone.

Send me a sign

HH and I were driving home from my hair appointment on Friday when we saw a young girl, college aged, in a bright red tshirt and white shorts standing on the corner of two main streets. She was holding up a sign that said, "Stundents for McCain!" She was jumping around and waving it everywhere. I tried desperately to recover from my sudden laugh attack before the light turned green. I don't know what Stundents are, but NEWSFLASH: they support McCain.

Again with the toe...

Don't know how I did it but after arriving in my first class today I realize that I've hurt my toe... and it is bleeding profusely. It isn't until after class when I take a closer look that I realize something is protruding out of my toe... a piece of cement, glass, plaster... if you will. Something I can't remove myself because A) I am far too squeemish B) it would hurt like hell and C) I can't really grab onto it... because it's so embedded. ew & ouch. On my way to the emergency room. More later. 

Edits: here is the before and after- 

My wonderful mother, the nurse, (bless her heart) took care of my injured toe in the middle of her shift at the hospital today. Nothing was in my toe... it was just so mangled with skin and such that it looked like it. She opened it up with tweezers and put all this medication inside... I tried not to look so I can't really describe it to you. Yuck. My poor toe =(