I won’t talk too much about it because I don’t want to jinx it and also I would rather not bore you to tears.
Without a shred of exaggeration, this was one of the most grueling call backs I’ve ever experienced.
To their credit, though, they did their best to keep everyone busy and give everyone a fair shot.
Early on in the call back process, I took a gander at the competition and made a very bold choice – throwing myself out there for one of the lead females, a comedic role.
Boy, it would sure be nice if I got it. But I certainly won’t be holding my breath.
They are supposed to let us know by Friday.
However, I’m relieved that the hard stuff is over with. Now, I just have to wait…
Today , April 26th, is also a special day because it marks my second wedding anniversary.
As a testament to Mr. Surly’s awesomeness, he not only avoided complaining about me being out all evening but also managed to both clean the fish pond and pick me up the most beautiful bouquet of flowers. (At least I think they're for me. They were on the counter when I got home. Hope they weren’t for his girlfriend!)
Man, I stink. I owe him big time.
I had hoped to shower him with grateful hugs and kisses upon my late-night arrival but found him asleep all nice and snuggly – in the middle of the bed.
I suppose my present to him will be sleeping in the guest room.
Well, good night, Mr. Surly. I love you very much. Thanks for making me the happiest woman in New Jersey!
Sorry. I haven’t been too chatty lately. Just a lot going on. I’m not usually big on using my blog as a means of emotional catharsis. However, I figure it would really help me put this down on paper. Thanks for bearing with me – poor spelling and all.
As you’ve may heard me mention before, I spent a good part of my formative years on the stage singing and dancing my way through a variety of regional, college and community theater productions. Paper Mill Playhouse. A teeny little bit of TV work. (My first kiss was actually in front of a camera.) Lots and lots and lots of musicals.
As is often the case with hobbies, my love of the theater took a backseat to living my life – college graduation, first job, first apartment, graduate school, marriage, buying our first home, etc. In the meantime, the ham in me would sneak in a gig whenever I could – singing the national anthem at a political convention or tearing up at one of my friend’s karaoke nights.
However, I miss being on stage. I miss working with other actors. I miss that feeling of being worn out after a long dance rehearsal. I miss that rush you feel as you take your first step out in front of the crowd. I miss it so much my heart hurts.
I also had the fortune of often getting cast in my desired roles. I think that was due to a combination of luck, decent resume, countless hours of practice and a reputation for being a hard worker.
But now, here I am: A very humble but enthusiastic 29 year old looking for another shot.
Back in the day, I would (shamefully) balk at a chorus part. Now, I would be tickled just to be up there singing my little heart out.
So, while I’ve been kicking around getting back into it, I’ve been scared. Very, very scared.
I’m scared I’ve somehow lost my skills. I’m scared they’ll laugh me off the stage. I’m scared of the scheduling woes that will happen as the result of being a professional by day and actress by night. I’m scared that girls younger and prettier than me will swoop in and make me feel old. I’m scared that a local community theater won’t let me be part of a show because I haven’t “paid my dues.” I’m scared that I’m scared.
I didn’t use to be this way. I was fearless – absolutely fearless – when I walked into an audition. I oozed confidence.
But this morning I made a decision. I found an audition that’s happening tonight at a community theater about 20 minutes from my house – and I’m going to go.
My character shoes are at my parent’s house, so I will have to dance in my socks. I don’t have sheet music anymore, so I will have to sing something from the show – usually a no-no. I haven’t really prepared. I haven’t gone to an audition in years. I am absolutely terrified.
But I need to go. I need to push my limits. I need to prove to myself that I can still do it.
Even if I don’t get a part, even if they burn my phone number and resume, I have to go. I just have to. I need to.
Right now I have butterflies in my stomach. And that feels uncomfortable but oddly familiar.
A recent Thai food and board games night at my parents’ house had re-kindled my love of Boggle.
For those of you unfamiliar, it’s an old-school word find game. You shake up a special container filled with letter-covered dice. Then, the object of the game is to make as many words as you can out of a series of connecting letters and then tally your points. Big words get mondo points. The person with the highest number of points after a set number of rounds wins.
I’m pretty average at most games. However, I found that I have a goofy talent for Boggle, much the same way my mother does for Scrabble. (When she opens up a game with “Quinine,” you know you’re in for it. Did I mention it involved some triple letter and a triple word score?) At Boggle, I reign supreme! Muh-ha-ha-ha-ha.
However, I must be slipping because Mr. Surly beat me pretty soundly last night. I knew it was bad when I, following him to bed, was shaking the Boggle thing at 12:30 a.m. pleading with him for “just one more round.” I was a woman possessed.
I had the Boggle jones on so bad that when he came home for lunch this afternoon, I made him play me – again. Sandwich be damned, your wife gotta get her game on!
Mr. Surly and I are the (reluctant) owners of 10 fish. When we first bought our house we were charmed by the beautiful backyard along with its adorable little pond.
It was only during the walk through – 1 day before the closing – that we were handed a plastic container of fish food.
So, instead of just the two of us, it would be just the 12 of us sharing this nice little piece of land and sea.
I’m not a pet person. This is not to say I don’t like pets. In fact, I had a great dog when I was growing up, a pure-bread cockapoo named Barney. Black as coal with a healthy appetite for cheese and chocolate (bad for dogs, I know, but that didn’t stop him from hitting the bowls of still wrapped Hersey’s Kisses at Christmas time, ensuring his now-sparkly poop was very easy to find in the yard), he was smart as can be and one hell of a dog. We all loved him.
As a kid I begged, begged my parents for a pet. Finally one day I cajoled my folks into looking at dogs. (Warning to Parents: Trust me. There’s no such thing at looking at dogs. If you look, you will take one home. It’s inevitable.)
When we got to the breeder, I felt Barney put his little paw on my eight-year-old foot and looked into his sad, hopeful eyes. We looked kind of similar with our skinny, little bodies and long, long legs. We knew right away that he should be a member of the family.
I swore I would take care of him better than anyone in the world. But, as the story often goes, I didn’t. I whined when it was cold outside and he needed a walk. I bitched and moaned when I had to fill his bowl. In other words, I was a typical kid. So, Barney – while he always had a special place in my heart -- quickly became my mom’s pet.
The Barney experience also taught me the most valuable lesson of all: I make a crappy pet owner.
Now, fast forward to the fish.
During the fall as the weather grew colder, I begged, begged Mr. Surly to get rid of the fish. I thought a trip out to sea (read: flush down the toilet) would be cruel. The next best option seemed to be an adoption by a local condo development, which has a nice groundskeeper and well-kept koi pond on premises. (We would even have visitation rights!) However, he wouldn’t hear of it. Mr. Surly had become attached to our little, underwater friends.
So, I relented and we did an abundance of Internet research and several trips to the local Petco. And, by some miracle, the little buggers survived the harsh, New Jersey winter.
Now comes the big challenge: readying the pond for spring.
Tonight we have to:
Capture the fish using our brand-new net ($15).
Carefully place them in a similar-temperature holding vessel, in this case a brand-new Home Depot paint bucket ($5.99). (Mr. Surly voted for the bathtub. I figure they can last a ½ an hour in a clean bucket, right?)
Bail out the putrid-smelling water by hand.
Carefully scrub out the pond and rocks without tearing the lining.
Refill the pond with clean, not-too-cold, not-too-hot water.
Move the now-totally-pissed-off fish to their newly clean pond.
Drop in a healthy sampling of chemicals (~$25) and fish food ($5.99).
Go shopping for farookin’ accessories, including a filter ($69.99) and probably a fountain ($39.99).
Talk to an electrician about putting an outlet by the pond so we can plug all this crap in ($? – I don’t even want to know).
Due to a labor shortage, these dear number crunchers are being hired in droves. Recruiters are on a rampage. Companies just can’t throw enough money and benefits at these people.
First the urgent need for tech folks (late 90’s), now accountants (mid ‘00’s) …I’m beginning to kick myself for getting that degree in English. (But hey, at least I'll always have something in common with these folks.)