I just spent 15 minutes trying to remember the password to this blog. I suppose that means that it's been awhile since last I logged in. That or my old age is taking it's toll on my memory. Perhaps both? Needless to say I remembered it and here we are. I meant to blog exactly one month ago because exactly one month ago was the one year anniversary Sexless in the Boroughs. But I forgot. So let me raise a glass to one year of being out of the old virgin closet and my half assed upkeep of the blog! Here's to you! Or me? Us? It doesn't matter, I'm not actually raising a glass, I'm just drinking Diet Dr. Pepper, in solitude, on a Friday night. Did I mention I am an old virgin?
Well I am...
Contain your shock.
Time flies though. Does it not? A year ago things were pretty different. I'm no longer a student and I no longer feel in control of my life. People have been calling this period of life my 'transition' phase, and I am here to tell you, I don't transition gracefully...at all.
This transition from student to 'real' person is kind of terrifying. Instead of easing myself into it, I've jumped right into the pool of the non-student world...except I forgot how to swim. And now that it's not everything I dreamed it would be I am desperately trying to swim to the ladder to pull myself back to safety...except I can't find the ladder. But the good news is, is that the people I love are throwing me floatation devices and kind thoughts and words, that are making it easier for me to tread water.
All that said, it's hard treading water when all you want to do is go back to the kiddy pool. Because you have to be a complete idiot to drown in a kiddy pool.
Are you tired of the pool metaphor yet?
But speaking of complete idiot...I accidentally dyed my hair black. I look jaded and angrier. It's really pleasant. Want to date me?
Before you say no let me explain...
If you know me, or if you've kept up with my past blog entries you will remember that I've chosen to be an actor, which qualifies me to be moderately to mildly and some days severely insane. For example, I've been out of school for two months and within those two months I've spent an ungodly amount of my time looking for a waitress job (a job that I would rather have my eyeballs spooned out of my head than do) and a multitude of auditions. I've auditioned to be an animated donut and some days I sit in line from 5am-3pm to not even be seen for an audition and I've been so poor that some days all I will eat is a can of soup, if that. And despite all of this, I'm still 100% sure it's all worth it and that it will all work out in a storybook kind of way.
Like I said...insane.
But I really do believe it will work out.
Why you say?
Well because if I needed a reason to give up, to throw in the proverbial towel, to wave my white flag and surrender the other day would have completely provided every reason to do so.
I was going out for an EPA audition. The way EPAs work is like this.
-If you are a member of the union you get a set time to audition. You show up. You audition.
-If you are a candidate for the union you show up early and get put on the candidate list and if they have room for you they see you. (which I am but when I got mugged my card was in the wallet that was stolen and the process of getting validated again has been stupid hard)
-If you are none of the above you show up and pray to god that there will be room for you after all the union members and all the candidates have been seen. (I fall into this category without my EMC card, DAMN YOU MUGGER!)
Got it? Yeah you're right it's the crappiest of crap shoots.
ANNNNYWAY...
To ensure that I get high on the list I seat myself outside of the building where the auditions take place at 5am. Certain I would be the first in line you can imagine my surprise when I see an old man already camped outside of the building. Due to him being completely passed out asleep and pretty disheveled. I debated whether or not he was homeless but his 'Les Mis' tote settled the debate. So I sat next to him. He growled good morning to me. Pleasant. So there I am, sitting on the street with this strange old man and marveling at my life. The line starts to get longer as 8 am (when the actual building opens) approaches. Around 7 am Mr. Old McLesMislover starts making some pretty disturbing grunting noises. Just when I was about to ask him if he was having a heart attack, my nostrils became infected with a smell that could be deemed as... well I mean...how do I? He um...I'll just come out and say it. The man had to of pooped his pants. That or something unnatural happened within him. I just don't know. The point is I sat for an hour tolerating the smell this old man unleashed.
...if I am ever that old and in line on the streets of NYC and pooping my pants before my auditions, please shoot me. Please.
So the building opens and we are let in. Mr. Old McPooper then flashes his Equity card and is the first one seen that day (of course he is) and since he is Equity he can use the bathrooms in the building (maybe he forgot that?) but us non-equity folk must go to the McDonalds if we want to take the chance of leaving the auditions and missing our opportunity. So I wait...and wait...and wait until 3pm only to be sent home after being told all morning that I will more than likely be seen.
Hungry. Tired. Defeat.
Now, I've been on EPAs before but they didn't hurt as badly as this one. And I really think the fact that my old fecal friend got seen and I didn't is what hurt the most.
So naturally, after I went to McDonalds to pee, I went to Duane Reade and I bought a box of hair dye. Nothing gives you the sense of control over your life quite like a box of hair dye. I immediately went home coated my hair with the dye, washed it out and BAM! Black as the night. It was supposed to be dark brown. Black and brown...the theme of my day perhaps.
I straight up looked like a black widow with my black hair and red scalp. But I lack the conviction of a black widow and I did not go out and lure men into my web, have my way with them and then kill them...if only that cute British guy at the audition who asked for my phone number had called...has anyone seen my 'regret' list??
So right now is a time of paying my dues to the acting gods and learning how to transition into what is my ever so interesting life.
With that said, I will be modifying this blog a bit to chronicle my struggles and triumphs in all aspects of life and while being sexless is one aspect I need an outlet for my non-virgin related fiascoes. I promise I will try to keep the bodily functions of my fellow human stories to a minimum...mostly because I hope that it won't be a common theme in my day to day life. God willing.
I was thinking about changing the name of the blog to 'Eat, Cry, Mope' but I am going to think on it a little while longer, after all patience is a virtue...right? Totally.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
Hobobait.
My roommate calls me "Hobobait." I feel like this is generally a very well earned nickname, because I have a down right GIFT of being approached by men who could be deemed as a hobo. Just this week I've had at least 4 encounters with such gentleman.
There was the guy with who came up to me outside the subway stop at 49th and our conversation went a little something like this:
"Hey lady, give me a smile."
(Pleased that he didn't ask for money or a piece of 'that ass', I obliged.)
He then proceeded to show me his bank statements and an application for a loan that he needed so he could take 'the ladies' out and treat them real good. I quickly tried to find an exit out of this situation, because well, I just wasn't ready to show him my bank statements. I'm a lady after all.
Then there was the guy who yelled at me while I was trying to cross the street on 26th. I was just minding my business, drinking my morning coffee, listening to some pretentious indie music, when this man with maybe 3 teeth just starts yelling at me. I believe it was along the lines of:
"WHERE ARE YOU GOING WOMAN?? WHAT?!!? YOU TOO GOOD TO TALK TO ME?! Hope that coffee tastes real good!"
I was all together offended that he thought I was too good to talk to him (just because my taste in music is pretentious doesn't mean I am...right?) I was also angry that he referred to me as 'woman' (like I said before, I am a LADY) and that he made me feel guilty about my coffee. Coffee and I have had a beautiful co-dependent relationship. It's been there for me through thick and thin, my dependency on it makes me feel like I am truly an adult, it's my fuel, it's my fire, it's my one desire....How DARE he? And even though I just expressed my co-dependent relationship with coffee doesn't mean I enjoy co-dependency in men. Needless to say, me and hobo #2 would have NEVER worked out. After all, he was so concerned where I was going and we hadn't even had a first date. Overbearing people are so unattractive.
My next encounter was in bowels Harlem...at 1am...waiting for the bus alone. You're probably thinking I am stupid or that I was secretly hoping to be harassed that night and maybe I am and mayyyyybe I was, but that's neither here nor there. But this particular gentleman was actually pretty nice. He told me I had the face of an angel and although I'm sure that's what he says to all the ladies (the ladies like me, who when you compliment her and then ask her for a dollar she feels guilty in some way and will of course give you a dollar.) While he seemed nice, I didn't foresee a future for us. Not only because I feel like our relationship would really take a toll on my bank account but mostly because he was wearing workman's gloves and if I've been taught anything about future mates, it's not to trust a man who wears workman's gloves on a warm spring evening at 1am in the bowels of Harlem...Mama didn't raise no fool.
The final encounter of the week happened this morning while I was walking to the train. This man simply growled at me and then started making uncomfortable noises with his mouth. There was no chance for him...A man who can't use his words? I mean COME ON...at least be creative when you are objectifying someone.
I know what you're thinking. "It must be so hard for you, how do you manage?" And you know what, I manage. I do. Because I just know one day I'll meet the hobo of my dreams and we will read each others bank statements over coffee every morning in our very own cardboard box under the Triborough Bridge, while planning all the romantic dates we will go on with the millions of dollars the government will loan us and I won't care if he demands to know where I am going, as long as he accepts my pretentious taste in music. I will eventually be charmed by his vulgar animal grunts and mouth sex noises and yes I will pay him everyday for making me feel so beautiful. However I will not accept the workman's gloves but we will get past that. I am a woman after all, and if there's not at least one thing about him I feel like I can change then it will CLEARLY never work.
What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic...
There was the guy with who came up to me outside the subway stop at 49th and our conversation went a little something like this:
"Hey lady, give me a smile."
(Pleased that he didn't ask for money or a piece of 'that ass', I obliged.)
He then proceeded to show me his bank statements and an application for a loan that he needed so he could take 'the ladies' out and treat them real good. I quickly tried to find an exit out of this situation, because well, I just wasn't ready to show him my bank statements. I'm a lady after all.
Then there was the guy who yelled at me while I was trying to cross the street on 26th. I was just minding my business, drinking my morning coffee, listening to some pretentious indie music, when this man with maybe 3 teeth just starts yelling at me. I believe it was along the lines of:
"WHERE ARE YOU GOING WOMAN?? WHAT?!!? YOU TOO GOOD TO TALK TO ME?! Hope that coffee tastes real good!"
I was all together offended that he thought I was too good to talk to him (just because my taste in music is pretentious doesn't mean I am...right?) I was also angry that he referred to me as 'woman' (like I said before, I am a LADY) and that he made me feel guilty about my coffee. Coffee and I have had a beautiful co-dependent relationship. It's been there for me through thick and thin, my dependency on it makes me feel like I am truly an adult, it's my fuel, it's my fire, it's my one desire....How DARE he? And even though I just expressed my co-dependent relationship with coffee doesn't mean I enjoy co-dependency in men. Needless to say, me and hobo #2 would have NEVER worked out. After all, he was so concerned where I was going and we hadn't even had a first date. Overbearing people are so unattractive.
My next encounter was in bowels Harlem...at 1am...waiting for the bus alone. You're probably thinking I am stupid or that I was secretly hoping to be harassed that night and maybe I am and mayyyyybe I was, but that's neither here nor there. But this particular gentleman was actually pretty nice. He told me I had the face of an angel and although I'm sure that's what he says to all the ladies (the ladies like me, who when you compliment her and then ask her for a dollar she feels guilty in some way and will of course give you a dollar.) While he seemed nice, I didn't foresee a future for us. Not only because I feel like our relationship would really take a toll on my bank account but mostly because he was wearing workman's gloves and if I've been taught anything about future mates, it's not to trust a man who wears workman's gloves on a warm spring evening at 1am in the bowels of Harlem...Mama didn't raise no fool.
The final encounter of the week happened this morning while I was walking to the train. This man simply growled at me and then started making uncomfortable noises with his mouth. There was no chance for him...A man who can't use his words? I mean COME ON...at least be creative when you are objectifying someone.
I know what you're thinking. "It must be so hard for you, how do you manage?" And you know what, I manage. I do. Because I just know one day I'll meet the hobo of my dreams and we will read each others bank statements over coffee every morning in our very own cardboard box under the Triborough Bridge, while planning all the romantic dates we will go on with the millions of dollars the government will loan us and I won't care if he demands to know where I am going, as long as he accepts my pretentious taste in music. I will eventually be charmed by his vulgar animal grunts and mouth sex noises and yes I will pay him everyday for making me feel so beautiful. However I will not accept the workman's gloves but we will get past that. I am a woman after all, and if there's not at least one thing about him I feel like I can change then it will CLEARLY never work.
What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic...
Friday, April 1, 2011
Mousehole McRomance
When I was a little girl I was notorious for locking myself in my room and disappearing into my own little worlds. My dad used to make fun of me and the common joke around the house was:
"Where is Colleen?"
"Oh she is just in her own little mouse hole."
My mouse hole was pretty magical...(that's what she said.)
But really though, it was. In there I was able to be the sassiest Spice Girl I could be. I starred in thousands of gripping and tragic episodes of Rescue 911. Sometimes I was Celine Dion, sometimes I was Whitney, sometimes I was Annie Lennox and most times I was Meatloaf (circa Bat out of Hell).
This past week my thoughts have been consumed with something I forgot that I used to transform into in my mouse hole when I was a kid...
I would elaborately act out my wedding.
I know, I know...a little girl dreaming about her wedding? So original and unpredictable.
I completely forgot how often I did that when I was young. I assume it's my irrational desire to seem like an self sufficient cynic and hater of all things love, that suppressed the memory but I can't help but be charmed and a bit saddened about it in retrospect.
I would strip my "Little Mermaid" pillow case off of my pillow, carefully construct my bouquet of tissue roses, slip into my favorite red polka-dotted dress and grab my favorite teddy bear and stand in the mirror and let my imagination take hold.
My pillow case would suddenly become the most beautiful lace veil, my bouquet transformed into the most luscious and vibrant red roses, my polka-dotted dress turned into the white version of Belle's ball gown in Beauty and the Beast...and my teddy bear...oh what my teddy bear became was the most special of all. He became my very own prince and I loved him. I loved him passionately, I loved him innocently and I loved him joyously. I was my very own version of a Disney princess with my very own prince charming.
After the vows were made, the marriage sealed with a kiss on the cheek, I would put my pillow case back on, throw away the bouquet of tissues, keep the dress on (it was a really great dress), and put my bear back in his appropriate spot and I would wonder about the day I would actually be married. I just knew it was going to be the most remarkable day ever and I was so excited for it to come.
Weird how things change...
These days instead of pretending to be a future bride, I pretend like I am bad at love and that I simply don't want it. I'm just as elaborate in my pretending though, that has not changed.
For me, hiding behind a facade of the self sufficient cynic is safe, it's comfortable, it's the wall that has protected me from the unknown and the potential heartache.
For me, claiming to not believe that love or marriage is for me, claiming that I am just gonna go to a bar and have sex with the first stranger who approaches me just to prove that I don't care is easier than letting people know what I really believe and how I really want to share that physical connection with someone who I am enchanted by and that I always want to remember fondly.
So what I am trying to say is, all pretending aside, I am a hopeless romantic.
Ew.
But I am. I believe in magic. I believe in soul mates. I believe that I could be special for someone. I believe I am going to love someone passionately, innocently and joyously. I believe in Prince Charming. I believe that one day soon I will be brave enough to let that little girl with the pillow case on head and tissue in hand come back into my life.
I believe that I'm gonna let my magic mouse hole shine...(yes, that's a vagina joke.)
"Where is Colleen?"
"Oh she is just in her own little mouse hole."
My mouse hole was pretty magical...(that's what she said.)
But really though, it was. In there I was able to be the sassiest Spice Girl I could be. I starred in thousands of gripping and tragic episodes of Rescue 911. Sometimes I was Celine Dion, sometimes I was Whitney, sometimes I was Annie Lennox and most times I was Meatloaf (circa Bat out of Hell).
This past week my thoughts have been consumed with something I forgot that I used to transform into in my mouse hole when I was a kid...
I would elaborately act out my wedding.
I know, I know...a little girl dreaming about her wedding? So original and unpredictable.
I completely forgot how often I did that when I was young. I assume it's my irrational desire to seem like an self sufficient cynic and hater of all things love, that suppressed the memory but I can't help but be charmed and a bit saddened about it in retrospect.
I would strip my "Little Mermaid" pillow case off of my pillow, carefully construct my bouquet of tissue roses, slip into my favorite red polka-dotted dress and grab my favorite teddy bear and stand in the mirror and let my imagination take hold.
My pillow case would suddenly become the most beautiful lace veil, my bouquet transformed into the most luscious and vibrant red roses, my polka-dotted dress turned into the white version of Belle's ball gown in Beauty and the Beast...and my teddy bear...oh what my teddy bear became was the most special of all. He became my very own prince and I loved him. I loved him passionately, I loved him innocently and I loved him joyously. I was my very own version of a Disney princess with my very own prince charming.
After the vows were made, the marriage sealed with a kiss on the cheek, I would put my pillow case back on, throw away the bouquet of tissues, keep the dress on (it was a really great dress), and put my bear back in his appropriate spot and I would wonder about the day I would actually be married. I just knew it was going to be the most remarkable day ever and I was so excited for it to come.
Weird how things change...
These days instead of pretending to be a future bride, I pretend like I am bad at love and that I simply don't want it. I'm just as elaborate in my pretending though, that has not changed.
For me, hiding behind a facade of the self sufficient cynic is safe, it's comfortable, it's the wall that has protected me from the unknown and the potential heartache.
For me, claiming to not believe that love or marriage is for me, claiming that I am just gonna go to a bar and have sex with the first stranger who approaches me just to prove that I don't care is easier than letting people know what I really believe and how I really want to share that physical connection with someone who I am enchanted by and that I always want to remember fondly.
So what I am trying to say is, all pretending aside, I am a hopeless romantic.
Ew.
But I am. I believe in magic. I believe in soul mates. I believe that I could be special for someone. I believe I am going to love someone passionately, innocently and joyously. I believe in Prince Charming. I believe that one day soon I will be brave enough to let that little girl with the pillow case on head and tissue in hand come back into my life.
I believe that I'm gonna let my magic mouse hole shine...(yes, that's a vagina joke.)
Monday, March 21, 2011
Oh my actress, why do you act so blue?
I know what you're thinking...
"It's been 6 months since Colleen blogged. That can only mean one thing...Colleen is probably not an old virgin anymore."
You're right. I'm not. I'm an oldER virgin now. I've turned 24 within those 6 months after all.
Ahhh yess...A lot has happened since last we spoke though. I've lost a bunch of weight, I've nearly completed my acting training, had a couple Chekhovian breakdowns and I've become a vegan...sorta.
Change. And lots of it. Some for the good and most for the confusing.
I'm still chaste though...yippppeee.
My life has been overwhelmingly chaotic these past months. Non-stop. Intense. Stressful. Full of joy. Full of tears. Full of feeeeellliinnngsss. Sooo many actory, self indulgent feeeeellings. It's been nuts and now here I am on the brink of being thrust upon the "real world" where most people don't cry everyday or roll around on the floor painting imaginary walls with open vowel sounds...a shame really.
I moved my life up to NYC two years ago, to train as an actor...and in two months those two years will be complete and the time to truly be what I am and do what I love will rest solely on my shoulders.
Scary.
I feel in my heart an exhilarating excitement for what I can do, what I can become and what I'm capable of as an artist and as a person but my head is full of doubts and mistrusts that I carry with me from the past. And just recently I've come to realize that my head and my heart never truly see eye to eye.
My heart is full of these beautiful ideals. The world through my hearts eyes is a world where anything is possible, where it's okay to be in love, where wanting and needing are not signs of weakness but signs of humanity, where creation and art in all it's forms are the only riches you need to survive. A place where love is always enough...where it's always requited and it never hurts. My heart's world is ideal. Infinitely and beautifully ideal.
My head is full of these unnerving realities. The world through my head's eyes is a world where anything is possible for the "lucky few", where being in love just hurts, where letting people know that I desire affection and I need to be loved makes me feel like I've failed in some way, where creation and art are a quick way to poverty and insanity. A place where love is rarely enough. My head's world is wayyyy too "Debbie Downer" for it's own good.
I've been trapped in my head's perspective for the past couple of months. But I write to you today my lovely readers, to tell you that I want to start changing gears and look with my heart a bit more. To trust my heart. To be a little bit reckless with it. To stop my fears and my clever tricks from sweeping my heart under the perverbial rug of safety and security that I cling to so dearly. To stop only taking risks in my acting but to start taking them in my life.
There is a new chapter about to open up and in it I will say I love you with no regrets or apprehensions, I will step on a ledge and not care, I will paint the sky with sunbeams instead of clouds, I will trust the resiliance of my heart and as cliche as it may sound...I will listen to it.
We all have fears, we all have shame, we all have a lack of trust, we all hurt, we all try to rationalize the irrational but what makes us special is what's in our heart and what we do with it. Right?
How ideal of me.
=)
"It's been 6 months since Colleen blogged. That can only mean one thing...Colleen is probably not an old virgin anymore."
You're right. I'm not. I'm an oldER virgin now. I've turned 24 within those 6 months after all.
Ahhh yess...A lot has happened since last we spoke though. I've lost a bunch of weight, I've nearly completed my acting training, had a couple Chekhovian breakdowns and I've become a vegan...sorta.
Change. And lots of it. Some for the good and most for the confusing.
I'm still chaste though...yippppeee.
My life has been overwhelmingly chaotic these past months. Non-stop. Intense. Stressful. Full of joy. Full of tears. Full of feeeeellliinnngsss. Sooo many actory, self indulgent feeeeellings. It's been nuts and now here I am on the brink of being thrust upon the "real world" where most people don't cry everyday or roll around on the floor painting imaginary walls with open vowel sounds...a shame really.
I moved my life up to NYC two years ago, to train as an actor...and in two months those two years will be complete and the time to truly be what I am and do what I love will rest solely on my shoulders.
Scary.
I feel in my heart an exhilarating excitement for what I can do, what I can become and what I'm capable of as an artist and as a person but my head is full of doubts and mistrusts that I carry with me from the past. And just recently I've come to realize that my head and my heart never truly see eye to eye.
My heart is full of these beautiful ideals. The world through my hearts eyes is a world where anything is possible, where it's okay to be in love, where wanting and needing are not signs of weakness but signs of humanity, where creation and art in all it's forms are the only riches you need to survive. A place where love is always enough...where it's always requited and it never hurts. My heart's world is ideal. Infinitely and beautifully ideal.
My head is full of these unnerving realities. The world through my head's eyes is a world where anything is possible for the "lucky few", where being in love just hurts, where letting people know that I desire affection and I need to be loved makes me feel like I've failed in some way, where creation and art are a quick way to poverty and insanity. A place where love is rarely enough. My head's world is wayyyy too "Debbie Downer" for it's own good.
I've been trapped in my head's perspective for the past couple of months. But I write to you today my lovely readers, to tell you that I want to start changing gears and look with my heart a bit more. To trust my heart. To be a little bit reckless with it. To stop my fears and my clever tricks from sweeping my heart under the perverbial rug of safety and security that I cling to so dearly. To stop only taking risks in my acting but to start taking them in my life.
There is a new chapter about to open up and in it I will say I love you with no regrets or apprehensions, I will step on a ledge and not care, I will paint the sky with sunbeams instead of clouds, I will trust the resiliance of my heart and as cliche as it may sound...I will listen to it.
We all have fears, we all have shame, we all have a lack of trust, we all hurt, we all try to rationalize the irrational but what makes us special is what's in our heart and what we do with it. Right?
How ideal of me.
=)
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Me and Nunny McGee
Hi. It's me again. It's been a while since I've actually took the time out and write, so instead of making excuses I'll just say...my bad and I'll mend my ways. Probably.
When I write I usually get triggered by some kind of outside force that inspires me. A song lyric. A strange encounter. A conversation. A smile. You know, just something. Anytime I schedule a time to write it is usually a pretty big steaming pile of shit. Everybody's favorite. Definitely.
As of today, I have been triggered by a said 'outside force'. Clearly.
I sat by a nun on the train today. If that's not reason to write, I just don't know what is.
Let me explain.
I got on the train today to head to work, completely reeling from my 40hr school week and my 35 hour work week and probably exuding a pretty pleasant "I hate the world and just want sleep" vibe. Just one of those weeks I suppose where everything is a personal offense, and you have to breath and think happy thoughts like Peter Pan suggests. But it didn't seem to be working to well for me today.
And then a nun sits down beside me.
At first, I think I was staring at her like she was Santa Claus, because I mean, I didn't know nuns really existed...let alone rode the train. Then I just started smiling really big.
She was about 55 years old give or take and she was wearing a Jansport backpack. Awesome. And then the thought dawned on me that we both, the nun and myself, were probably both virgins. The thought amused me quite a bit. I was on the verge of outwardly laughing but I figured that would be rude. And then at one of the stops there was one of those ever so lovely "ARE YOU STILL A VIRGIN?" posters and right next to it was a poster for a movie called "The Town." This is funny because the poster for "The Town" has people dressed as creepy nuns on it. I can only imagine that both those posters side by side were very unsettling for my nun friend, while only one of them is unsettling for me. Perspective.
After seeing both those posters my outward laughter was harder to contain. I made eye contact with a guy who was across from me, and he was smiling just as big as I was. We laughed. Little did he know, I was laughing because of the irony of sitting next to a fellow old virgin while he was probably laughing at the irony of a nun sporting a sweet backpack and a swanky wooden Jesus necklace, riding a train. I hope that's why he was laughing.
After the laughing urges settled I couldn't help but watch this woman. She was pretty fascinating. Her smile was one of the most genuine expressions I've seen in a long time. Everything delighted her. A little girl with pigtails, the mariachi band that sang songs for money, the man who gave his seat to a young lady...everything made her eyes turn into little slivers of joy and displayed her many laugh lines on her well lived face. I could tell she saw so much beauty in the everyday things and that made her one of the most beautiful people I have ever observed.
She was the embodiment of joy.
My heart has been kind of heavy over the past two months. I've looking at each day, thinking about what I have to do, what I haven't done, what I want, what I long for, what I lack, the stream of bad luck I've encountered and so forth. And as I result, I've been tired, I've been unpleasant and I've lost track of my joy.
I get on the subway train and I look for the least smelly person to sit by. I get pissed when the mariachi band is playing on the train because I can't hear my i-pod. I fill with rage when the train gets stopped for traffic and I want to throw my shoe at the creepy dudes. And I go through my day taking inventory of all the things I want to avoid and I seclude myself to the world with a cold demeanor.
But this nun. This damn beautiful, happy nun shook me up today.
I live in NYC. I am going to school 5 days a week and being taught by some of the most extraordinary professionals in the theatrical world. I can pay my bills. I am surrounded by love. I am doing what I love. I live in a place I love. So why a I choosing to only search for the moments I am turned off by? Why is it that this nun seems to only see the joyful moments?
Perhaps it's the power of choice. She chooses to see light and joy. She is a real life Peter Pan living in her everyday Neverland because she chooses the 'happy thoughts.'
Sometimes it's easy to forget that we are strong enough to choose our thoughts and see the world as a place we like. And I like this world. And I really like that nun.
If ever our worlds collide again, I hope that when she sits next to me our old virginity isn't the only thing we have in common...but our joy.
When I write I usually get triggered by some kind of outside force that inspires me. A song lyric. A strange encounter. A conversation. A smile. You know, just something. Anytime I schedule a time to write it is usually a pretty big steaming pile of shit. Everybody's favorite. Definitely.
As of today, I have been triggered by a said 'outside force'. Clearly.
I sat by a nun on the train today. If that's not reason to write, I just don't know what is.
Let me explain.
I got on the train today to head to work, completely reeling from my 40hr school week and my 35 hour work week and probably exuding a pretty pleasant "I hate the world and just want sleep" vibe. Just one of those weeks I suppose where everything is a personal offense, and you have to breath and think happy thoughts like Peter Pan suggests. But it didn't seem to be working to well for me today.
And then a nun sits down beside me.
At first, I think I was staring at her like she was Santa Claus, because I mean, I didn't know nuns really existed...let alone rode the train. Then I just started smiling really big.
She was about 55 years old give or take and she was wearing a Jansport backpack. Awesome. And then the thought dawned on me that we both, the nun and myself, were probably both virgins. The thought amused me quite a bit. I was on the verge of outwardly laughing but I figured that would be rude. And then at one of the stops there was one of those ever so lovely "ARE YOU STILL A VIRGIN?" posters and right next to it was a poster for a movie called "The Town." This is funny because the poster for "The Town" has people dressed as creepy nuns on it. I can only imagine that both those posters side by side were very unsettling for my nun friend, while only one of them is unsettling for me. Perspective.
After seeing both those posters my outward laughter was harder to contain. I made eye contact with a guy who was across from me, and he was smiling just as big as I was. We laughed. Little did he know, I was laughing because of the irony of sitting next to a fellow old virgin while he was probably laughing at the irony of a nun sporting a sweet backpack and a swanky wooden Jesus necklace, riding a train. I hope that's why he was laughing.
After the laughing urges settled I couldn't help but watch this woman. She was pretty fascinating. Her smile was one of the most genuine expressions I've seen in a long time. Everything delighted her. A little girl with pigtails, the mariachi band that sang songs for money, the man who gave his seat to a young lady...everything made her eyes turn into little slivers of joy and displayed her many laugh lines on her well lived face. I could tell she saw so much beauty in the everyday things and that made her one of the most beautiful people I have ever observed.
She was the embodiment of joy.
My heart has been kind of heavy over the past two months. I've looking at each day, thinking about what I have to do, what I haven't done, what I want, what I long for, what I lack, the stream of bad luck I've encountered and so forth. And as I result, I've been tired, I've been unpleasant and I've lost track of my joy.
I get on the subway train and I look for the least smelly person to sit by. I get pissed when the mariachi band is playing on the train because I can't hear my i-pod. I fill with rage when the train gets stopped for traffic and I want to throw my shoe at the creepy dudes. And I go through my day taking inventory of all the things I want to avoid and I seclude myself to the world with a cold demeanor.
But this nun. This damn beautiful, happy nun shook me up today.
I live in NYC. I am going to school 5 days a week and being taught by some of the most extraordinary professionals in the theatrical world. I can pay my bills. I am surrounded by love. I am doing what I love. I live in a place I love. So why a I choosing to only search for the moments I am turned off by? Why is it that this nun seems to only see the joyful moments?
Perhaps it's the power of choice. She chooses to see light and joy. She is a real life Peter Pan living in her everyday Neverland because she chooses the 'happy thoughts.'
Sometimes it's easy to forget that we are strong enough to choose our thoughts and see the world as a place we like. And I like this world. And I really like that nun.
If ever our worlds collide again, I hope that when she sits next to me our old virginity isn't the only thing we have in common...but our joy.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Subtle Signs
Last week my good friend Mr. James Ortiz shot me a text and told me there was a phone number for me to call. The "Virgin Help Hotline." Now if you live in NYC or any city with public transit and lots of billboard space you have probably seen the advertisment. You know the big sign that says in big bold writing "ARE YOU STILL A VIRGIN? CALL FOR HELP." Yeah those ones...
When he told me about the signs thought he probably misread the sign. But I guess that would be too weird of a thing to misread because a few days later every single train stop I encountered was littered in the virgin bulletin posters. Sometimes the world mocks me.
Okay universe, I get it...
When he told me about the signs thought he probably misread the sign. But I guess that would be too weird of a thing to misread because a few days later every single train stop I encountered was littered in the virgin bulletin posters. Sometimes the world mocks me.
Okay universe, I get it...
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Cabbage Patch Kid Seeks a Man
I have a mirror next to my bed. It's a cool vintage full length mirror that my grandpa gave to my dad, and then my dad gave to me. Most days I like this mirror. It confirms whether or not I'm satisfied with the outfit I've picked out, whether or not my ass looks like the size of a pickup truck, or whether or not I feel svelte and debonair. But sometimes, when my alarm goes off, I roll over pretending not to hear the dreaded reminder of early morning and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Sometimes I have to blink twice and clear my eyes to ensure what I'm seeing isn't some homeless person who snuck into my bed for a full nights rest, but it is in fact me, hair going in all directions, eyes slightly poufy, no makeup and a pissed off scowl to boot. It's nothing short of horrifying.
You see, from a young age I've always been under the impression that ladies wake up with flowing luscious hair, with a perfectly chipper face and naturally we are supposed to run to the window, spring it open and let the little blue birds land on our finger and sing us a morning song all while the wind blows through our stunning tresses.
This has yet to happen in my life.
Like I said a typical morning results in me looking severely homeless, and I'm constantly haunted by certain voices in my family, asking why I don't date or where my boyfriend is, and me giving them a sarcastic response like "Well, if you'd see me in the morning you'd know why I'm single" and they then awkwardly laugh, feel kind of bad for me and then toy with the idea of whether I'm a lesbian or a strange recluse.
I'm not. A lesbian that is.
My sister and my mom gave me a lesbian time limit when I was in high school. My sister, who is absolutely stunning might I add, said "If you don't have a boyfriend by your sophomore year of high school, then you're probably a lesbian." My mother graciously said "No, if she doesn't have one by junior year, then maybe something is up." Thanks for looking out Mom.
Apparently, my ridiculous posters of N*SYNC and my obsession for all things Leonardo DiCaprio wasn't enough to convince them that I wasn't harboring same sex tendencies.
I could just see my mom telling the family, "Yes, Kelley is just as gorgeous as ever, all the boys are drooling over her and Colleen, well, she's just as smart and funny as ever…no attention from the boys, but that's okay, she may be a lesbian, and you know what I support her 100%."
The thought of these conversations happening between my mom and other family members really bothered me, for the shear fact, that I think they aren’t putting all the facts into play. My sister, looks like a Barbie doll with excellent hair and perfect skin and eats whatever she wants and maybe weighs 110lbs, where as I look like a Cabbage Patch doll, and have very bizarre hair and the pastiest skin this side of the Mississippi. Not to mention I watch very carefully what I eat, but I am still convinced my sister did some kind of magic trick when I was born to ensure that whatever she eats, I gain the weight for her. My sister gets hit on by the hot waiter, and I get hit on my the homeless man who really only wants the 50 cents he saw me drop from my purse. My sister has a gorgeous baby, and while I’ve yet to have kids, and won’t for some time, I can only imagine that my child will come out of the womb with his right leg attached to his forehead. You know, for consistency’s sake.
Although it is comforting to know that I have a family that supports me as a lesbian, even if it is a little disappointing to them, that I am as straight as ever.
Coming from a genetically blessed family is a burden.
Just when you thought starving children in Africa had it hard…
You see, from a young age I've always been under the impression that ladies wake up with flowing luscious hair, with a perfectly chipper face and naturally we are supposed to run to the window, spring it open and let the little blue birds land on our finger and sing us a morning song all while the wind blows through our stunning tresses.
This has yet to happen in my life.
Like I said a typical morning results in me looking severely homeless, and I'm constantly haunted by certain voices in my family, asking why I don't date or where my boyfriend is, and me giving them a sarcastic response like "Well, if you'd see me in the morning you'd know why I'm single" and they then awkwardly laugh, feel kind of bad for me and then toy with the idea of whether I'm a lesbian or a strange recluse.
I'm not. A lesbian that is.
My sister and my mom gave me a lesbian time limit when I was in high school. My sister, who is absolutely stunning might I add, said "If you don't have a boyfriend by your sophomore year of high school, then you're probably a lesbian." My mother graciously said "No, if she doesn't have one by junior year, then maybe something is up." Thanks for looking out Mom.
Apparently, my ridiculous posters of N*SYNC and my obsession for all things Leonardo DiCaprio wasn't enough to convince them that I wasn't harboring same sex tendencies.
I could just see my mom telling the family, "Yes, Kelley is just as gorgeous as ever, all the boys are drooling over her and Colleen, well, she's just as smart and funny as ever…no attention from the boys, but that's okay, she may be a lesbian, and you know what I support her 100%."
The thought of these conversations happening between my mom and other family members really bothered me, for the shear fact, that I think they aren’t putting all the facts into play. My sister, looks like a Barbie doll with excellent hair and perfect skin and eats whatever she wants and maybe weighs 110lbs, where as I look like a Cabbage Patch doll, and have very bizarre hair and the pastiest skin this side of the Mississippi. Not to mention I watch very carefully what I eat, but I am still convinced my sister did some kind of magic trick when I was born to ensure that whatever she eats, I gain the weight for her. My sister gets hit on by the hot waiter, and I get hit on my the homeless man who really only wants the 50 cents he saw me drop from my purse. My sister has a gorgeous baby, and while I’ve yet to have kids, and won’t for some time, I can only imagine that my child will come out of the womb with his right leg attached to his forehead. You know, for consistency’s sake.
Although it is comforting to know that I have a family that supports me as a lesbian, even if it is a little disappointing to them, that I am as straight as ever.
Coming from a genetically blessed family is a burden.
Just when you thought starving children in Africa had it hard…
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