Familiarity feels good today

I just got home from that Beauty and the Beast audition I was talking about in a previous blog. You'll never guess what country our director is from this time......ready for it?
OOOOOH CANADA! Even better he knows my teachers and students from my graduating class and can take credit for work with the shaw festival and the charlottetown festival...most importantly, Anne of green gables. He seemed very gentle and it was so refreshing to speak to someone who knows where I'm coming from, literally. Someone who I do not know, yet is familiar and takes me back to the place where I had both feet firmly planted on the ground. The place where I was consistently creating and believing in it and those around me. It's a feeling I feel rather lost without, but I was reminded of it today and it made me feel sheltered and at ease. For a brief moment I was recollecting my past with someone who was interested.
Not sure what to make of the actual audition. We had a great chat and spent ten minutes name dropping after which he smiled and told me I was lovely.

WAIT............Lovely meaning, Belle lovely, or lovely meaning, "Unfortunately you're not talented enough, but aren't you cute and polite!?" lovely?
Who knows?! My accompaniment was rather unfortunate. The poor old man was playing wrong chords all over the place and then when he was playing correctly I was as confused as Eve on mother's day!! But I plowed on through and felt like an idiot. All meaning and any sign of acting in this song were lost after the first verse. C'est La Vie. At least it wasn't TOTALLY my fault......so much for MTP class.

Then when he asked me what I had been doing while I've been on this island for the last 2 years I could hardly think of a good answer. How depressing it was to reply with, "working in a coffee shop".

after which, he said, "You must be going insane!"

You hit it right on the nose, smarty pants.

OH BLOG-DEE, OH BLOG-DA, BLOGS GO O-On, OH, MY BLOGS GO ON AND ON.........

Spare endorphins, anyone?

I have really decided that I hate my job. I had come to that conclusion many many weeks ago but today was the worst. I want to give my notice so badly but i don't want to upset my boss and I don't want to be unemployed. Everything seemed to come caving in at around 4:30pm this afternoon; 2 and a half hours left to my shift and i just wanted to throw in the towel. There I am, standing at the sink, washing dishes in lemon-scented dawn and tears. Then a customer walks in. I take this as an insult. I'm insulted that they've bothered me, intruded on this one quiet moment i've found all day.
"How dare you!!" I want to scream
Instead, "Hi there....what can I get for you?" (my voice is on auto-pilot now)
"a triple, iced mocha with soy milk." (he doesn't say please. I've immediately decided i don't like him)
"Sure. Would you like that to go?" (please say yes. please leave me alone.)
"no, I'm gonna sit."
"Sure thing." (you big fat turd! How dare you?!)

yes. I cried at work today. Out of sheer frustration. I exposed my insecurities to men in expensive business suits buying triple espressos and biscotti. I served cups of peppermint tea through blurry eyes and I didn't even give a shit. I felt like these people should know they make me miserable. Of course, I'm the real source of the problem, but that's how I feel.
Usually, I feel uncomfortable being in such a state of fragility in public, but i felt like i was just floating through some surreal existence and it didn't matter. It's as if work really was a nightmare. You cry in nightmares but then you don't worry about it because you know it's just a dream. I know this job is only temporary, like a bad dream.
However, maybe it wasn't just the job that generated the breakdown. It was a combination of that, living at home and just being insecure. I feel ugly, I feel fat, I feel unworthy, I feel frustrated, I feel discouraged, dispirited......but I know the real euphoric me is inside somewhere. Dripping with spirit and gaiety! Come out, come out, wherever you are!!!
I know I'm not a fucking half-witted, moron and I just wish these people wouldn't treat me like one.
I know I'm worth something, but I just don't know what right now.
I think my poor lovah thinks I'm boringly, bitter. Here we go, another addition to my insecurities........"I'm so insecure and depressed. why should he love me? he's going to leave me for someone happier" waaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhwaaaaaaaaaaah!
Ok, so I know I'm overreacting but do u see the vicious cycle here??? I know my lovah loves me and I love him dearly. I'm glad he puts up with me. I'm glad everyone and anyone puts up with me. hey, that must mean I'm loved!!!! that must mean I'm worth something more.........

HOORAY!

Cutie and the Beast

So, I'm auditioning for the part of Belle in a community production of 'beauty and the beast" on tuesday that is being done here this year. As i said a second ago, community theatre. amateur theatre. I've been walking around the last couple days thinking, 'hell yeah i have a shot at a great part....why wouldn't they cast me as belle?' then reality set in later on this afternoon as I was desperately trying to soak up the late afternoon soleil; what if some other chick appears from nowhere and blows them all away and they cast her and ask me to be bar maid #3....one of Gaston's ugly castoffs??????????????????? what confidence would i have left then? how do i pick myself up and move to new york and audition for professional theatre when community theatre in BERMUDA won't showcase me?? maybe i shouldn't audition.

see??? that fear of failure is immortal. it will endure until I can find a way to vaporize it. How about i just try to subdue it by potentially knocking their socks of on tuesday?

and if they don't cast me i will be sure to tell myself it was because i don't have brown hair. My ego might still be mendable that way.

personally, i think a blonde Belle is long overdue.

:P

Make your own double skim latte, extra hot, no foam!

Saturday morning and I'm bored. I have to go to work in an hour and pour cups of coffee for hungover soccer moms and accountants. There seem to be a lot of tourists in town and they for the most part, bug me too. We are not starbucks. we do not make cookies and cream mocha-frappacinos and we do not have an ounce of whipped cream to put on top of anything...so don't be greedy and don't ask. I work at a great little independently owned coffee shop that has a great deal of character. There is an open, artsy sort of feel to it. I like the establishment and i enjoy my co workers. I do not enjoy the service industry itself. I do not like serving people day after day. I often want to throw their caramel latte's into their faces rather than gently place them on the counter. I want the people who like to "get rid of their change" by giving me 30 cents in pennies to choke on them. I would like for them to all catch venereal diseases. ok, maybe that's overboard......but.....
I'm not a violent person. I'm not aggressive, for the most part, but these people have been bringing out the worst in me lately. Can u tell?

It's a beautiful, cloudless, blue skyed beach day and I don't want to go to work today.

There is no failure in virtue

I cannot bear the thought of failure. In anything. I hang onto relationships even if they are meant to be broken because I feel like if they end, maybe I have failed in some way....that I have done something wrong and that it is indeed a sign of my shortcomings; That i am in some way or another incapable of making someone happy enough for them to make me happy. What is that about?
Again, I'm afraid to put myself out there and really submerge myself in my art because I am haunted by the thought of exposing weakness.....shining light on my flaws. I know I am not perfect and that as a person I have flaws, but i more afraid of failing in my creations.
I want to create art...good art.....but I have a hard time understanding that good work ultimately emerges from not-so-good work. But then again....who's judging?? who are these expert critics who decide what is good and what ultimately stinks?

maybe i'm dwelling too much on the words of oscar wilde....."bad art is a great deal worse than no art at all".................perhaps bad art in his books meant art with no heart. art written by unmoved stiffs.

as long as i'm pouring my heart and integrity into my work it shouldn't matter, right? I should stop wasting my time and just start.

sorry. that really was a blabbersplat.

WARNING!!!
If you are one of those people who jumped on the da vinci code band-wagon a couple years ago and read the book back to front in a matter of hours, you may be tempted to see how this story progresses on the big screen.

DO NOT.

Rent Ernest goes to Jail instead.

The Blog Premier

So, I have arrived to this handy blog site and here I leave you with my very first posting. I've been back home here, in Bermuda, for almost two years after a lovely few years in Toronto......some of my gorgeous, talented friends still there frequently blog here, so that excites me.
If you have not been to Bermuda, I must first of all do a deserving service to our island's tourism industry and convince you that you must make a visit at some point in your life. It's a place of unmatched beauty and simple, gentle people. The Island's diversity and culture intertwine with exquisite waters and architecture to mimic something out of a fairy tale...It's very satisfying.
With that said...........I need to leave!!! I love my home but I'm losing my noodle here!
I know many people have left home, never to look back on the possibility of residing in the home of their parents again and yet, somehow, it happens to the best of us. I can't afford to live on my own (rent prices here are comparable, if not worse than those of Manhattan) and my sensitive, generous parents are more than happy to supply this sturdy roof over my head and yet.......I can't stand this and rarely can i bear to be in the same room as them for more than 10 minutes. Sometimes I even fantasize that they'll kick me out and i'll be forced to find other arrangements......occasionally a cozy cot at the salvation army sounds tragically appealing.
Oh I love my parents dearly and we have a golden relationship but this situation is detrimental to any of my existent well-being. I have decided to move to Manhattan (how ironic) and finally bask in the ever-lingering scent of insecure actors and out of work musicians. I have given myself a good few months to prepare.

How do you prepare for starvation?