The long way home

The eyebrow raised, the narrowing of the eyes, and a skeptical smile spreads across their face as I answer their questions...
Interviewer: "why did you move to Seattle"
Me: "oh, you know, I was curious. Always have wondered what Seattle was like"
Interviewer: "And you're an actress?"
Me: "Yes. I act... sometimes. but yes I am an actor."
Interviewer: "And how long do you see yourself in Seattle?"
Me: wheels turning in my head, do i lie, do i lie, yes, you must lie or you will not get a job... and therefore be broke, and you will have spent every dime you have saved so you could do something responsible, like make a deposit on an apartment in NYC with your husband... Not so you could randomly follow the small voice inside your heart saying, go to Seattle... Seattle. Seattle... and see what you can find...
"At least till the end of the year... next year. not this year in 2009.. ending. but like a school year? um. I'm renting... I'll be here... for... not sure.. but long enough... to... make it worth your while..."
just smile... smile really big and really long, and maybe he will believe me.

It's raining, and i don't have a raincoat on. The sun has set and the lights from the city are smeared white, red and yellow in the rain that covers its glow. The smoke billows out of the factory pipes around the edges of the highways trafficking people into the heart of downtown Seattle. But I am up on my hill, my west Seattle hill removed from the chaotic flow of headlights reflecting off the slick roadways. My socks are wet. I am clutching onto a paper bag, journeying home from the grocery store with some rice and red wine. Even though it is raining, I choose to take the long way home...even though i have never felt so alone, i turn down the darkest streets. I don't worry about the sketchy hooligans that might be out, because I am one of them tonight. with my hood up, my clothes sopping wet, my gaze turned down, and my steps heavy with unpredictability. I am left to wander, to wonder, to think up and create a solution. Fitting money, time and necessities to the beat of vision, desires, goals, intuition, guidance, teachers... it's a rhythm I have yet to choreograph a dance to.

So in my contemplative mood, still no day job, still no tangible sense as to where I am heading, I sit in a coffee shop... yes it's the deliciously brewed organic, sipped in a real mug, we don't won't to create more waste, drip coffee,(americanos are for people with jobs), type of Seattle coffee shop you would imagine... so many individuals being expressive and unique that they accidentally start becoming exactly alike, that the individual is going to have to turn back around and become the one who goes to Starbucks and wears clothes from Old Navy or the Gap to be unique. OR maybe just maybe, it will turn into something more beautiful, past the clothes we wear or the newspaper we read or the name of the grocery store we shop at or the co-op we belong to or what activist group we are apart of, and we start concentrating on the real issue at hand, the real reason for protest and radical change. I am an individual, who is sick of individuals who think they are individuals when they are just following the fad of being an individual. or maybe I've just lived in cities for too long where the option for self expression is taken for granted.. i don't know.
Anyhow, I told the director of Hot Babes this evening that I am unable to continue rehearsals as Serendip. For several reasons, for reasons that I am sleeping on a couch in a living room, for reasons I eat rice for dinner, for reasons that I have the ghosts of Eleanora Duse and Stella Adler visiting me at night questioning me about art and feminism, and truth and justice. And having just listened to a song by Nick Drake I feel there is no need to explain why I said no... I don't feel the need to rationalize my decision any further, however i do feel the need to talk about how I ended up in the exact Coffee house that my cast had spoken about two days earlier, saying it was a good place to do a table read, and that the director fully agreed, as they didn't have the theatre for the next two days and would need to find another location... I look at my watch... it's 6:50pm. Rehearsals start at 7pm... shit... F***.... shit... damn it. Did I really need to come to the ONE coffee shop In ALL of Seattle, the Town of the MOSt coffee shops ever... where I might run into the cast, the director that I rejected less than 24 hours ago... and put everyone involved in an uncomfortable situation. Yes... yes i did. Because it was down the street from the Film Forum where I was going to see Beeswax, a film, part of the mumble core movement, which is what I really want to be doing with my art, not prancing around the stage talking about how amazing my tits are, which is fine, I like tits... they are a necessary and a very fun aspect of life.... anyway... I really really don't like confrontation, and I don't like making other people embarrassed because it embarrasses me that they are embarrassed... and you know, i know i need to get over that, and I am working on it, but right now, that moment in the coffee shop... I was dying. I quickly scope the scene... decide to stay downstairs because if they come in they will go upstairs where the music and crowds will be less noisy, and the opening and closing of the door won't be a distraction. Okay, so downstairs, in a corner... no corner available... okay so a chair closest to the wall... facing away from the door... but what if they see me and approach me from behind? I will be completely caught off guard and that would be even worse!... okay SO facing the door, so I can See them approaching... I will undoubtedly see them first, and have time to hide... or at least time to think up a good excuse as to why I am here.... like, Oh i know I am not in the play anymore but, i thought i would come and say goodbye properly... or provide...some...sort... of morale encouragement...? So i position myself facing the door and window area... I try to relax, and enjoy my drip coffee and free newspaper... just then a couple clears out and a table to the back, not exactly a corner, but closer to the corner of the store with a fairly decent view of the floor and window area opens up... I gather my things and surreptitiously move to settle down again, pick up my newspaper and begin to spy at not only the door but every patron in the area, they could have slipped in without me noticing and be sitting right next to me... While I am mostly gazing the scene and not reading my newspaper at all, I see the table I have been waiting for... yes... they are leaving... It's in a corner, the corner of all corners in the store, it's own little cubby hole practically... where you can see everything going on, but be almost invisible if you try hard enough. SO i again scramble together my coat, and bag, and newspaper and my coffee, and phone and wallet... and like a cat pounce on the corner table... I pull my beanie further over my forehead and tuck my hair up inside it, I might look like a boy now even... perfect. The evening moves on, and I finally settle down... my interests don't lie in reading tonight however, i remain intrigued by the door, and the people, and the small interchanges between the strangers that pass one another sharing this evening coffee drinking ritual.
I'm not going to lie, I feel a bit stoned as this tribal dance song captures my imagination. All of a sudden I am a spectator to this two gentlemen in a coffee shop dance. One has a very long mustache, as if he glued it onto his upper lip just for the occasion. he is hunched over his newspaper, nose two inches off the page, while his partner in dance is placed one table in front of him. sitting erect. bringing his coffee up all the way to his lips without as much as a bend in the spine. one is in black the other in white. they face the same direction, on the same line. their movements are completely in tune with the music, yet are as different as night and day. Then suddenly another man runs outside past the window with his brightly colored dog eared hat on and turns his head in slow motion towards me... and smiles from ear to ear as he swings his arms, pumping his knees in a jog while the sides of his hat are flapping against his face. The song fades, and I come back down to the coffee shop, and I thank god for that little display of life.

It's time to leave Seattle. I have no job, and no more money. So the winds have shifted and my time here is over.
It has been 6 months. 6 months, 4 states, 3 jobs, journeys on planes, shuttles, cars, trains, and foot... to get to where I am. Penniless and Happy. Alone, yet so full of love. Blessed with friends who are family... and friends who are strangers who took me in... I have had good food, and warm beds. I do not know much... I know that. But I do know that Love and stories, and fire and food, and laughter, and life is why we are here. to share these things with one another. I feel so full. So blessed. So broke! Yet again. Ah tis the story of my life.
I have taken the long way home. I... Take... The... Long... way... Home.... dot dot dot... and fill in the blanks as I go along.

Are strangers really so strange?

One day I was walking with some friends...they were strangers actually... Well, one I had met once, introduced to me by my roommate, who also happened to be a complete stranger, but she's more like an old friend I haven't seen for years. The other two were complete strangers. One was a russian- a gypsy, who lived in his van and wore sequinced scarves tied around his forhead. The other is a hippie, who calls herself raven, who is a self professed rapper... who can freestyle like nobodies business... I know, because she broke out into several raps along the way.
So myself, and this new band of eclictics meander down to the georgetown art walk. It's a gorgeous fall day, and our moods are light. We stop to eat some Dim Sum, and a buttered pastry. We continue on to frolic through the chinese market drooling over the delecious foods, trying to work out what some of the foods where, and petting the massively disugsting cucumber fish living in a massive tank... I then get to witness my first episode of Ravens rapping talents unfold, right there in the chinese market. I desperately try to hide the fact that I am actually quite shy and rather polite due to my southern christian upbringing. Yet I am not one to stifle any artistic expression, even if it is very loud, in public, and might be hurting someone elses feelings... So I stand and observe as this wonderful hippie chic preaches to the crowd about sustainable fishing, greenpeace, and love and kindness to all... even to the big slugs in the fish tank... right on sister... I stand awkwardly extremely jealous that I can not jump in, providing some sort of beat boxing at least.... ah who I am I kidding... I am me... and she is she, and I am happy we are friends/strangers.
We then make it down to the beginning of the art walk. The warehouse stands bleak and alone dressed with broken windows and chipped Brick. It's delapidated rooms have been taken over by artists, turning its darkness into action, and it's gloom into passion. what was once deserted and left to waste is now alive with color and ideas moving the stagnent energy, and stirring up old tales long embedded into the bare walls and rusty pipes. As we walk through I allow the expession of each piece to take me on each artist's emotional journey... from Bright Canvases portraying the pull of the Moon and the healing attributes of the Sun, to the use of tangled barbwire, peering into dark faraway places. One artist painted faeries. She said that the faeries appeared to her as they played games around her studio... tricking her, and turning things over, spilling paint... not to mess her up, just to give her a new perspective... delightful I thought. I too wanted to play in her studio tipping over paint cans, and smearing them all over the walls to see what new perspectives I could come up with.... but i didn't, as I am not so mysterious as a faerie... and would have to deal with the consequences of ruining a legit studio. Faeries get away with everything, Humans nothing. Instead I simply said... "Love your work, thank you for sharing."
We stumble into a side room, nothing formal or labled. Just a man sitting at a lone desk in a dark room, working on a man of wire. He has 4 or 5 small pieces hung. Incredibly detailed incredibly wrenching and chaotic pieces. Yet the man who produced these immensely painful images, sits there... calmly. All thoughts are tucked away from the average mans stare. He offers us a can of Beer, and we all except, thank him, and sit on the cold wooden floor at the feet of his workshop desk. We don't know what to say, nor was there any need to say anything. The work said it all, and his solemn glare and steady hands reaffirmed our questions. He finally mutters "got to drink this beer cold or it tastes like shit." we all nod, make remarks about cold american beer, and fall silent again. Beers are finished, we are cold, and we say our farewells. I praised his work and shook his hand, he keeps my hand for what seemed like an hour, and looked deep into my eyes. He had soft blue eyes and a orange beard, with soft warm hands. which i thought strange, since he worked with wire, and drank cold beer in a cold warehouse room. He had a profound sadness about him, the sadness of the world, of it's future and it's past. Yet he seemed to be completely at peace. He reminded me of an old tree. A tree that has witnessed many wars, many storms, and many deaths. Yet remains kind and generous, providing everyday through out his long life... rooted. solid. wise. I will always remember that man who shook my hand for a very long time.
We leave that room, and come across A great Big Space with Japanese Lanterns and Screens, and Old trunks, and Rugs, and Pottery... and Kimonos.
Everything is stunning, delicate, intricate, ancient. I am mesmorized by everything I see. But above all, the Kimonos. The satin flowing satin robes, oh so delicately painted. Ohhh sigh. Must try one on.
So the Electronic DJ, the Russian Gypsy, the Raven Rappper, and myself pile into the Kimono dressing room area. Raven has already picked her Kimono out. It's beautiful, it's delicate, and it's authentic. While the japanese ladies flutter around Raven dressing her like a japenese princess, I go on a search for my Kimono. The Gypsy, says in his thick russian accent "Emily, Come Eeer.... Let me look at your eyes" I go over to him and he pulls me dramatically towards him with both hands on my waist and touches my nose with his.. "Ah yesss, Blue. Eeer... this is yours. YOu must put it on." So I slip the robe on and look in the mirror, and I do, in fact feel like a goddess. He comments with an all knowing gaze in my direction "See eets Blue, Like your Eyes." Meanwhile Raven is decked out with all the accessories that go with a Kimono, and she is rapping out how beautiful it makes her feel although she has always felt she had more of a muscaline engery. Of course the ladies love her, and as we both gluide out of the Japanese Antiques Art show wearing our Kimonos they enthusiastically wave us goodbye standing shoulder to shoulder in a line as our gentlemen friends follow behind. I promised myself right then and there, If I am ever nominated for an oscar, I will wear my Kimono on the red carpet. Raven shook hands with me. and so it is.

All I can think is- how long does a stranger remain a stranger. Does a stranger become an acquaintance after a handshake? Do they become friends after a drink? How about a smile, a shared joke, or a connection. I understand the definitions of friend and Stranger. But I suppose, that we are not all so strange from one another. Maybe we are more connected then people care to admit. Or are we as Rilke states "unutterably alone" disconnected beings floating aimlessly about. Therefore, remaining strange forever...

Hot Babes in Toyland... and that's a wrap

Lets take a few moments to be honest with ourselves... Am I going to be cast as a super hot model, sex toy making elf...Possibly??
DO I however sign the contract, Show up for rehearsals, wear the red spandex pants on opening night, knowing full well that any hot babe off the streets could pull off the line " do you want to wrestle in Jello?? I like jello, it's sticky." Now, just as a reminder, it is a PAID gig, and it takes place INSIDE a THEATRE... imagine that. I actually asked the director, having read for both HEAVENIQUE and SERENDIP... and having cooed, and ahhhed and ooohed, and even put my hands on my hips and did a little shimmy once or twice... I asked him If i could read another side. simply because i was so giddy to be on stage. Hell I think I would have taken off my cardigan, European pits and all if he would let me stay for another half hour. I should think that might be sad to some of you. But trust me, there is nothing sad about embodying a Super hot Sex toy making Elf. No, some might say liberating even. Because at the end of my 45 minute audition, (he let me read for Mrs. Claus AND Rudolf) I walked out, made my peace with the other whores awaiting their turn, and was yet again alone on the streets of Seattle with my knee high cherry socks, my pasty hairy knee caps, my red velvet belt, my cardigan tied tightly under my breasts, and my big bright shining sense of self. Because I know without a doubt that I love what I do. I love being an actor, I love pretending to be a hooker, and I love that i can stare crosseyed at a midget whilst making crude elf jokes and that be okay... encouraged rather.

I walk slowly this time, with no where in particular to go. It's dark now. I pass a grocery store and consider buying a cake. But decide against it, and continue on down the hill I had anxiously been jogging up an hour ago. I come up to my bus stop. It's in front of a Wallgreens, and there is a notice on the door. I stand, staring into the window at my reflection, and the notice which is taped onto a neon pink poster board. NOW HIRING. Suddenly I had an instant gasp of hysteria as my life flashed forward 20 years to a broken down desperate actor working at Wallgreens. The thought is too much to bare... So I pay close attention to the tree with gorgeous orange leaves dancing, then i quickly turn my gaze down towards the end of the street ligned with warm yellow lights to the big red sign reading PIKE PLACE MARKET... I run to it. To the water. to the wind to the mountains... and i sigh. Fear, it was fear that showed its ugly face and grabbed me from behind blocking my air passage. It tells me that my dreams are ridiculous and childish, that I need to face reality, and stop "trying" to be an artist. Then I Have HArOld Ziegllars face from Moulin ROUge pop up saying "we are creatures of the under world we can not afford to Love" and then i have an image of Ewen Mcgreggor saying, "All you NEED is Love" and then smiling at me with his big cute dimples... and because of that... because of Moulin Rouge... all is right again in my world. I am now able to turn around and walk back to my bus stop, and not only face the fluorescent lights of Wallgreens, but face my calling, face my purpose for being, and face the fear of a future, which is unknown and unpredictable as the wind.

Hot Babes In ToyLand Part TWO.

Of course it's not so simple to just show up for an audition. It's always somewhere in town you've never been or on a bus line you're not fimiliar with, or they ask you for a hard copy of your resume, which I'm like really? you have it in your email, print it out... or just look at it next time you're on your dang computer. Anyway, So i planned out my route, using the only bus route I know... and it turns out that the Public Library is on the same Avenue as the audition... given it's still several streets away, but i only have to walk down that ONE Avenue, how convenient.

So back to the bus, flipping my phone every two seconds to check the time... NEVER BE LATE FOR AN AUDITION ringing in my head from the young naive and ever so hopeful days of drama school... My stop comes up?? i suppose i didn't really know... i'm going by the seat of my pants a lot these days. so i jump up, "OH this is my stop!" yes i said that out loud, in my hooker outfit. so the bus driver kindly reopens the door for me to let me out. I pick up a slight jog up the hill. I have my map out, I am prepared. I make a couple of turns and Voila, There is the majestic looking Library. I love Libraries. They're so vast, and mysterious. It's only a good library if you can get lost in it... figuratively and literally.
I swing open the Library door, I go up to the front desk and ask politely as i can,
Me: "I just need to print off something from a computer, how do i go about doing that."
Librarian: "do you have a library card?"
Me: "No, you see, i just moved here.."
Freaking Libraries they make out that they are there to serve the public, and to provide knowledge and... cerebral generosity (if that even makes any sense)... So as she is taking an hour explaining the procedures and the directions to get to the application center, TO PRINT OFF A PIECE OF PAPER... I am already trying to think of ways i can get around the system. But Habits are things you should try to break. SO i listen patiently, and follow her directions... i do in fact get my library card for the Seattle Public Library, yea... however I am still Late and I am still dressed like a hooker in public.. around a lot of intellectuals. I must get to the Theatre ASAP. for they will understand.
With My new Library card in tow, I find a computer, locate my Resume and hit print... it's pending... i go check the printer.... nothing... i go back, try to hit print again... nothing... i go up to the other front desk and ask a sweet very smart looking boy... " HA, sorry, i am late, and I am flustered, this usually wouldn't be an issue, but i can't get my damn resume to print, is it just me, or is it really just "pending". Poor sweet guy, he walks over to the printer... asks me if i have money on my card...
Me: "I need MONEY on MY LIBRARY CARD?? what? where are the good old days where you save change for this shit... gone, that's where." Sweet guy, I think he was about to pass out.

So a sort of dance around the computer printer area begins, as I'm running back and forth from my computer spot to the printer, "Oh I need to grab my library card for the login code"... "oops i need my dollar bill", "Oh right, I need to press print"... again i say, "I am sorry, i'm not usually like this, I AM LATE YOU SEE, and it's MAKing me Quite flustered." all this would have been almost normal had i been dressed like a normal person, but no, lets remember, i do look, i mean really look like a hooker. and with my desperation, and urgency to follow, the act was... very believable.
Finally, I have my resume, and I am headed up that ONE Avenue towards my audition.. Madison Avenue, actually was its name. if that means anything to anyone... good.
I get to my audition... It's normal, I come in, wait in the lounge area, try to have casual friendly chats with the people in the room, all of us resisting looking each other up and down, and repeating to ourselves over and over, it's the EXPERIENCE of auditioning that counts, not the RESULT... So it's my turn, I enter the theatre, a deseptively large black box type... it warms my soul to be in it's space... all insecurity of my dress, and how sexy I am or not dissappear. I am in a theatre, with it's red stadium seats, all wood painted black... lights hang sleeping from the ceiling awaiting their cue to capture the magic that is about to happen... I am in love and entranced, for those few seconds of my entrance...
THEN I am handed the script... I look over it, chuckle occasionally just incase the director was also the writer... ??
So okay, do you want to start, or shall i begin, I say.. He starts with the first line... we're reading and I am being seductive or a bimbo, does it really matter at this point? And then there comes a point in the script where it is making fun of an elf... a short person... a midget... and well, the director happens to be a midget... the man that i am reading with... and I don't know, am i suppose to direct the question at him... or look out into the void, where there could possibly be another midget?... Or is he just trying to see how daring I am, and if I confront my fear, and make a stand against what is PC or polite, or the way society expects us to behave... ?? so trying not to embarrass myself anymore, i stare cross eyed into the space directly above his right shoulder... maybe I am looking at him, maybe I am not? there, Now how does HE feel about THAT.
the only thing i can say to end the story is this...

"To live a Creative Life, we must lose our fear of being wrong."
-joseph chilton pearce

Hot Babes In Toyland

A) I realize how pink my blog is
B) The Title comes from a play, i recently auditioned for... hold any forms of judgement that may be creeping up your spine right now, because it's a funny story.
C) I am following "The Artist's Way" at the moment, so ultimately i am unblocking any artistic flow that might have been jammed, and I now have an overwhelming desire to celebrate my vagina. hence the pink blog. again no judegement i pray thee, it is all part of the process of getting back in touch with my inner artist child. yes the one who used to paint the walls with poop. that one. Hello.

going back to point A. which is explained in point C. So on to point B.

I'm sitting at my computer desk, doing my usual, drinking tea with my soymilk, just having done my morning pages, I get online to check out the audition page. AH! AN Audition! Tomorrow!! YEA... breakdown reads... "HOT BABES IN TOYLAND, Roles: Serendip and Heavenique... requirements, must be at least 5'7 and supermodel hot." Riiiight. So, desperate for work of any kind, I send off my headshot and resume... And the next day i get a confirmed audition slot that evening. From morning till about an hour before i need to leave, I am going back and forth... should i even go.. I am not super model hot, I'm bloated, about to start my period, I just don't feel cute, what am I going to wear to make myself look tall and seductive... WHY AM I EVEN PUTTING MYSELF THROUGH THIS, I AM AN ACTRESS DAMN IT! Love me for my TALENT not my tits... Well finally I say F*** it.. just go. just go, just go and have fun. ANd feeeeel sexy... all you need to do is FEEL sexy, you don't really Need to BEEE sexy.
I break out my knee high black socks with red cherries on them, a tight blue jean dress, a cardigan tied tightly under my breasts, OH and a velvet red belt to inhance my curves... Of course I end up looking like a hooker... But who cares I am late no time to readjust. I run out the door. I am jogging half way down the block, and reconsider taking my bike it will be faster, so i jog back, but while running, i decided that no way am i going to be able to cycle in this spandex of a dress, so i turn around and jog a little bit faster to make up for lost time. as i am going down my adorable neighborhood sidewalk tucked in the woods of west seattle I pass these two hip indie chicks with their clogs on, and knitted sweaters and scarves, and their raw food cheeks glowing, and their nicely weaved basket, squatting down at their garden picking dandelion leaves, surely to go with their wholesome bread they have cooking, and vegetarian chili on the stove... and i think aw, i like those women, i would like to be their friend... But then I rememeber how i must look with my dark eyeliner and red lipstick, and cherry knee high socks, and i turn red with embarrasement and look down wondering whether or not i should explain that I am an actress... I don't, and as i become more and more flustered I start becoming rather clumsy in my walk and the way I am swaying my hands... needless to say, I am NOT looking sexy, Let alone FEELING sexy at all right now. the opening shot from "Steel Magnolias" comes to mind when the hair dresser is walking down the surburban neighborhood in her heels and tight skirt... awkward.
Finally I make it to the Bus, I end up not having enough change, but the bus driver says thats alright little lady... Yessssss, I am looking sexy... bus driver approaves, check. homeless guy tells me if only he were 20 years younger, double check, and as i move to the back of the bus to avoid any more hooker related insults his friend says, and she smells good too. check check check... I am definitely feelin good.
I'm sitting in the bus trying to cool down realizing that i haven't shaved in over two months, and my knee socks are rolling down to reveal a pasty hairy knee cap, and if i need to remove my cardigan well i'm completely SOL. As I am sporting what i think as a beautiful black main growing, some people (American Men) wouldn't consider that "super hot".

a single wife's life...

Take away sex, take away the option of sex, and all of the pressures that involve having sex away. A wife, a women, a sexy female in her mid 20's is left with a lot of time on her hands. This term a "single wife" comes from my beautiful friend Kelsey who said it just right... spending nights alone, hanging out in groups, dinners cooked for one... a single life... but I am in fact, not single. No, I am married, and having a husband means you do not date other men... and if your husband is not there, and you can not date or pursue other men, then you are single, and a wife. a single wife.

... who is in love with her absent husband.

However, I have decided to spend this time of single wifedom in search for a new way of life, new experiences, new people, interesting souls, beautiful places, creative art, passionate discussions, whilst exploring my own soul and direction... all the while not having sex... Bring on the guidance of Athena, and all that is Woman, and powerful and strong as I embark on this journey of complete independence. A fantastic quote i read... become the man you want to marry.
Also lets just recognize the fact that my room smells like lavender and sweet lotions....