Must Be Present to Win

There’s a parable that goes something like this: A man in Italy goes every day to a statue of Jesus, and prays every day, “Jesus, please let me win the lottery, please let me win the lottery.” This man, every day goes to the statue with the same prayer. “Please let me win the lottery.” One day, the statue comes to life and says back, “Then buy a ticket.”

So, today I bought a ticket. Metaphorically. I threw my hat in the ring. … Also metaphorically, I really like my hat.

If my audition back in April or so was a belly flop with my eyes open (OUCH), then this was a belly flop with my eyes closed. So, it means, I’ve learned ;)

On my way out, I texted several friends to say I sort of blew it – my 2^nd monologue went better than my 1^st, the first being too much of a Shakespearean tongue twister I just couldn’t get memorized. But, that I did it.

A friend then called me and told me her story of her first audition and not even knowing what they meant when they asked what she’d “prepared.” And so, we learn. I learn. Sure there’s a twinge of disappointment, but more than that twinge I feel like I now know several things: first off, I know how long it takes me to memorize something – and it’s more than 12 hours!! Yep, I really only started to memorize today, although I chose the monologues…yesterday? Friday? So, yeah, good to know. and then also good information to not beat myself up. I gave it a really good go. But it was also, as I’ve said, a week of insanity with school and work, and so, good enough is good enough here.

I give myself an “A” for effort. And next time, perhaps I can prepare longer in advance.

The other things I’ve learned are, a) I can show up (Hurrah! good for me!) :) b) where to get headshots done; c) I have allies.

More than any of my other times of leaping off a cliff, this time I asked for more help, followed through on those suggestions, and reached back out to people – this is a newish thing for me – as I sometimes feel that if I’ve asked you for help once, that’s it, my lifetime supply of asking that one person that one favor or for one bout of help is used up. No more, well dry, try someone else.

That’s.Not.True. Sure, some people aren’t the giving type, but for the most part, the people in my life are invariably giving, kind, supportive, and generous. So, I asked for help a second time, and my acting friend showed up for me. And you know what? She’ll probably even take my call next time too ;)

So, that’s the end of this one round (at least I believe so – callbacks are tomorrow, so I’ll know soon enough whether I am or not). But it’s one round, not the match, or game, or series.

I’m also more willing this time to “fail,” which I’ve heard is the key to any success. Being willing to stumble is the only way to learn to walk, right? Persistence. Patience.

And maybe my next belly flop will be a cannonball instead. (Whether that’s a “better” thing or not, I have no idea) ;) (thank you friends, for your support)!!

Somebody feed the models.

welp, if i still took drugs, tonight would have been a nice night to do it. as it was, i was perfectly present for the shrieks of the event coordinator, the reverberations of increasingly drunken model cackling in a room the size of a postage stamp, and the soreness of my toes.

That said ;) It was pretty cool. It was just a long night – from 5 – 11, and I left just as things were really getting “swinging” – there was a band who was just getting their gear set up on the runway we all walked – I more like ran, than walked. I was first, and I felt like I didn’t have anyone’s cues to follow, and just sort of went, spun a few times and left! I’m sure I did just fine :P

I did meet a lovely man as I was passing out chocolate balls. (yes, but, no, they were not schweaty.) But as I was leaving I didn’t see him, so what will be will be. It was nice to flirt in a very light-hearted not too serious way. Just talk-ish as we watched the other models in the non-profit clothing.

I also wrote out my monologues for tomorrow, as I’m one of those kinesthetic learners, and need to write something down in order to really remember it – tell anyone who has seen me with a sonnet of scribbles on the back of my right hand (I’m lefty – and I won’t lose my hand – perfect note-taking).

It was intense with a lot of chaos happening, but it was a gorgeous old Victorian house in San Francisco right on Alamo square park – near the Painted Ladies aka the Full House houses.

There’s not much else to report today. I’ll get to see if any of the photos will be useful for my portfolio, but really, I’m more intrigued by acting these days than modeling. I did see one girl I’d done modeling with earlier in the year for the same non-profit – this sort of very Kate Moss accented blonde model…who is studying to be a teacher at this really prestigious union of schools. So, she said she’ll let me know next time she does stuff, and sometimes she even gets paid ;)

It was my first “runway” show – I’d done a little bit of photo modeling before, but mainly for friends, and nothing “serious”, really. I do have a profile on a professional website for photographers and models, but, hell if they’re not really creepy.

I once met up with a photographer over coffee to talk about his vision, as he’d emailed me, and I was new to the site and thought, well, I’m not going to say yes without meeting him, but sure I’ll meet him – IN PUBLIC. He did a lot of nudity, and I wanted to talk about that, as I wasn’t sure I was comfortable with that (with google these days!! I may be a teacher myself one day, or a mom!). So we met in a café, and he was telling me about his “vision”… and in walks a woman who really seemed surprised to see him there – and he introduces me to his wife. The woman glares at me, then at him with a politely plastered smile on her face. Then when she leaves with her coffee, he tells me that she’s a therapist over at the hospital that’s nearby.

Hm, a guy with a thing for having women place realistic skulls over their vag while otherwise totally naked, and a woman who dives into often sick people’s brains. Yep, a perfectly fucked up match.

In the end, I declined the offer to shoot with him, despite his protestations that his images were “relatively tame.”

So, I sometimes troll my profile on that website, but for the most part, keeping my clothes on when recording for posterity seems like a good idea. Well, that is until the artist’s live model audition in January! (but, it’s paid, accredited, and highly professional – really!) ;)

Undoing Betty Crocker

Almost finished with week one of the end of school insanity shuffle. Tomorrow i do my friend’s fashion show. Sunday I have my audition in SF. and today I did my teaching demo for my Creativity and Spirituality workshop.

It went really well – my professor almost cried as another girl was sharing – and this all about a 20 minute collage. I felt really grateful to be able to share that work with these women. It was good – I did a collage too – and this one also had someone at a microphone. (In the spring when I co-facilitated this workshop, I pasted a rockband mick jagger cartoon yell/singing into a microphone).

But, to get heavy for a minute, that’s not really what’s on my mind at all. If you’re not in the mood for heavy, read yesterday's or check back tomorrow – I’m sure I’ll regale you with something fun about the fashion soiree.

But, for now. This Calling in the One thing. An exercise of a few days ago was about making peace with our bodies, the next was about peace with our sexuality.

I’ve used the terms before “Betty Crocker” and “Vixen” – I vacillate between one and the other. Most of my Vixen happened when I was drinking. It was like the side of fries. The cigarette with a drink. It was just known that if I drank, I was going to sleep with someone – or at least make out – and likely in public, to everyone else’s discomfort.

It was a continuation of “just fucking make me feel better.” The more anonymous, the better, because then I never had to face the shame I actually felt, or the reason I was running with scissors in the first place.

When I stopped drinking, it was like – well, not to be crude, but if you put a plug in the jug, I sort of put a plug in me otherwise. I had a friend around that time who used to be a male prostitute and he told me that he didn’t have sex for a year after he got sober because it was just associated with all kinds of other things. So, I became Betty Crocker again.

Here’s the heavy – add in to this damage and abuse I’m already doing to myself the fact that like one out of six American women I’ve been raped and sexually assaulted, you can imagine the chiasma of all this creates a rather dark misshapen understanding of what sexuality is, or what sexuality can be.

In CITO, she does say that for people who have particular trauma to seek help around this as we move forward, and I’ve been back with my SF therapist for about two months now, since I started keeping track of my money and knew I needed it, and could now afford it.

So, yesterday, I’m in her office, and loathe as I may be to bring this up, I start talking about my feelings of ambivalence around sex – how I dissociate, or how my sexuality, locked in a box, comes striking out in a ravenous bolt of acting out, and then quickly retreats before I can … stop it? question why it…I…need to treat my sexuality like a, well, sin, i suppose. Something you indulge in secretly, silently, shamefully.

We’d been talking about other things, my audition, my new headshots, and then as soon as we begin on this, my body tenses, I stop breathing (or breathe so shallowly, it’s like I’m not), and she says, well, Molly, you have sexual trauma.  --- My brain goes SO WHAT. So do most people walking around. So What?? They don’t all suddenly go all fight or flight.

Therefore, today, when thinking about singing this song I haven’t rehearsed for class – to prepare to perform in one of the most vulnerable ways there is – to sing – there’s no hiding in that. It’s just your voice, your breath, what you are able to pull out from your soul, and sorry lady, my soul is just a little too rattled for that today.

I asked her if I could sing next week – and lovely woman, she said yes. (She asked if I were well, and I said, “Physically” – she understood immediately.) I’ve been a mess all day, the dragon at the head of the cave having been poked wide awake and sensing impending approach. So, yes, I rented a zipcar to get to class (and to get, finally, to the grocery store and get much yummy food) – but I needed the cocoon. I needed to not feel more jostled by the world today. 

So, why tell you? Why “reveal” all this? All this hard, and yucky, and “nobody wants to hear about this stuff” – Because that voice is the voice of my pain and fear, and it has kept me a wounded antelope for years. Repression, denial, they’re our natural responses, but this has outlived its usefulness. So I’m seeking help; I’m giving voice.

I don’t want to be Betty Crocker, nun of the knitted socks and rom-coms. I don’t want to be the Vixen, fly-by-night assassin of self-esteem.

I want to be Molly – human – with scar-tissue – but preeminently, whole. And available for the wonderful thing sex can be.

The girl just wants ta dance.

I just came back from a Keb’ Mo’ concert. if you don’t know him or his music, I highly encourage you to youtube him. It’s delta bluesy funny + sad + honest. I don’t know how I found out about him, but I’ve been listening to him for at least 6 years now, and he's in my top at least 5 musicians.

The show was incredible.

He was funny and humble, and so freaking talented (a steel guitar could melt my soul). and his voice. what emotion that man has. I actually welled up a few times in the beginning when it was just him and his guitar – just out of pure joy and appreciation that a man, and music, like this exist in the world.

It was wonderful. I smiled til my cheeks hurt, I stood up with the two ladies next to me when no one was dancing yet, and just clapped and hooted and shimmied till… well, not till anything. I just did. I just was. I was happy.

The only downside to any of it is that I yelled and howled so much that I think I strained my throat and I have a vocal performance for my singing class tomorrow! But – It was so worth it – it was worth being out on a “school night”. Worth taking BART home from the city. It was worth it to be able to sit at the bus stop with an older African American lady who’d been in my row at the show and gush about how just tickled pink we were.

I won’t go on about his music, but well, everyone left feeling joyful – that was the palpable emotion. The induced and provoked and invoked emotion. And not all music shows are like that. I do also love the harder more rock-y stuff to dance myself out to, but that produces a way different emotion - more RWAHH!! LIFE IS LOUD AND RIGHT NOW!!! Lol, but then again, you can't really dance to punk rock either – it’s more like snap your head in time with the fastest beat, throw in some shoulder, and occasionally shimmy some hips. I dance at the shows. I’m that girl now.

I used to not be – or only when I was drunk and became … well, let’s just say lecherous and often involving Elaine-like flailing (and falling). So when I wasn’t drinking when I went out anymore, at first I felt I had to be “super cool” by not acting like I was into the music – which likely I wasn’t cuz I was probably too busy thinking about what everyone was thinking about me. Yeah, I have that kind of self-centeredness. But, it’s gotten WAY better. And I love to dance. Perhaps I’m not a particularly good dancer (I hold with the view that the best dancer is the person having the most fun) but I do have rhythm of sorts and I just love to let my body just get into the stream of the music, to just let it do what it wants to do in response to what I’m hearing, what I’m feeling from the bass and the crowd.

So, yeah, me and two middle aged white ladies stood up and danced. Eventually more people did too – the domino effect, because likely I’m not the only one who thinks about what other people will think of me. But this is certainly a period of “but do it anyway” for me.

On the way out, a guy asked me out – and I said Not right now but thanks. On the way to BART a guy told me he liked my outfit and that he had “nothing to follow that.” It was sweet.

It appears to be true – the happier I am, the more approachable I am. Not that that’s the end goal – it’s just interesting to notice.

The last thing is, Keb Mo’s last song of the encore went, “She’s not lookin’ for a lover/She’s not lookin for Romance/The girl just wants ta dance.” Amen.

"This Rare Human Life" - P.C.

Before I go any further, I must report the variety of references that occurred in tonight’s Shakespeare class:

Zombie Romeo, Dr. Who, the youtube video of a gosling falling asleep, The Twilight Zone, and a graphic novella by Neil Gaiman.

And, most surprisingly, were all pertinent to our discussion – well, except Zombie Romeo – he’s just fun to talk about.

Grad school is weird.

Next, it’s a very good thing that the topic for today’s Calling in the One was about Abe Lincoln’s quote that we are “all as happy as you make up your mind to be,” and to actively practice being happy in the situation we are in, in the life that we are in no matter what it includes or doesn’t include.

This is a very good thing I read this last night before bed, as when I woke up, I did a dumb thing – I looked at an ex’s facebook page. Now, now! I had good intention, there was this link he just needed to have, it so referenced inside jokes that happened when we were together – it was pertinent…necessary…

I’ve pasted the link into the comment box … and then I see a recent tagged photo of him with a girl. … My gut goes PHOOM – CLUNK – GAK and STAB. Now, I have no idea who this woman is – could be his cousin – though I doubt that. I delete the link. Ack – how that spun me. For several minutes I was … triggered? I guess could be the word there?

Now, yes, I broke off our relationship. Yes, we both know that we weren’t suited for the “long haul.” Yes, I really do believe there are people who we are both more well suited for – but F8ck! did you have to find one first!

Ha, as if it’s some contest. As if “happiness” is a contest. Nannynanny poopoo I got there fiiirst.

So, there were a few minutes of pain that I don’t really know what emotion it was – jealousy, envy, sadness? And I texted a few friends, and then as I was putting my coffee in the microwave, I see on my fridge is a card that has that very same Abe Lincoln quote on it. About being as happy as I make up my mind to be. And I go back to the CITO book and I look at the wording for today’s “assignment,” and it’s to affirm that I am happy with everything that I have and everything that I don’t have. Everything as it is.

So, I say that a few times, sip some coffee, and text my friends back and say, I’m okay, it was just sort of a kick in the chest, but that I know that I’m making myself available for something phenomenal – and, in fact, that I really do wish him to be happy. There’s nothing “wrong” with him – as really, there’s nothing “wrong” with anyone – just things that don't work for me or that I may not agree with.

So, there’s nothing “wrong” with any of this at all. I mean, my life is chock full at the moment. I left the house to go meet with my fellows this morning and had some good chuckles and a dash of support – and I got to hold a two-month old baby and told my friend I’d be happy to babysit – he seemed quite relieved to imagine an hour or more when he and his wife could have silence. Babies sort of readjust your soul I think.

I went to the dentist for a check-up, I ate some lunch, and then I met with my Shakespeare professor about my final project. … It may not have Muppets. Sorry folks. He said, although he loves the um, enthusiasm, perhaps I could thing of a more “robust” frame. So we spoke for quite some time, and I also asked him what he thought of a female monologue from Shakespeare for my audition on Sunday, and gave me some alternative ideas (I still have to get my headshots printed. … gak).

Afterward, directly as I was walking down the stairs from that meeting, I get a call from a girl friend whom I love dearly but hadn’t spoken with in months. We chat for nearly an hour, then it’s time for dinner and class.

So, yeah, my life is full. Of action, activities, love, self-care, friendship, community.

And two of my friends texted back this morning to say that my reaction was human. Just human. Normal, and human. And for me, another thing to accept is that “human” is not a curse word. 

Effective but Wordless Chant

So I did look at one SF apartment ad today. It was through my old employer, a property management company, which is how I got my sweet deals on my SF and Oakland apartments. Granted, it wasn’t a handout-out, I worked well there – maybe not that hard, but it wasn’t that challenging or enticing, and eventually I found myself overcome by the Ugly Cries (maya's accurate term) in my car at lunch one Friday on the phone with a friend having another job existential crisis.

That day I gave my two weeks notice, that night I threw my 1st pre-Valentine’s party, the following day, I went blonde. This was almost 3 years ago now. My boss wasn’t pleased, but he knew I wasn’t happy – that I wanted to do something creative, anything.

So that began several months – two, to be exact – of job hunting. I remember I didn’t even tell my parents I’d quit my job and was looking for work cuz I just couldn’t face their “Are you kidding me, in this economy??” spiel. It was hard then – I had notes all over my SF apartment – "This is a world of grace and abundance and I am letting go."

A friend afterward told me to change to wording to “--and I allow myself to receive” – more “open.”

Two years before that, I’d been “downsized” from a corporate real estate firm, my first long term gig in SF, and was on unemployment for the full 6 months. The first month? Awesome - yay paid vacation. By the end of six months? I was desperate. I began to answer every ad. The very week my unemployment was going to run out, I had two job interviews one day, and I’m driving to one of them, out somewhere near Bayview, and I’m in my car and I have this mini-epiphany: I had every single thing I needed at that moment. I had eaten breakfast, I had coffee in me, I had gas in my car – I didn’t need anything else at that moment – no money in my hand, nothing. For that moment, I was completely taken care of.

I forget what it was now, but I even began this little chant while I was on my way to that interview. Something about being content and caffeinated, or something? That afternoon, I had my other interview – at the property management firm. And I got that job. The woman I was replacing happened to be out sick that day (she was going on maternity leave), and so I interviewed with the owner of the company – and we got along fabulously. (A big part of me feels that had I met the woman instead, I wouldn't have made it through the door.) The mug that I’m drinking out of now, he gave to me because he got tired of me using the one that had a photo of his kids printed on it for my coffee (it was the biggest mug!, What?). The one he bought has sort of colorful swirls on it, and he said it reminded him of the tattoo on my wrist.

So, yeah, he wasn’t pleased when I left my job with them, but, obviously still liked me enough to let me have parties in my SF apartment, and to move here into the Oakland one on a slight deal.  – actually, it’s a really good deal, i should be (and am!) really grateful – the rent isn’t that much cheaper, but I didn’t have to pay security deposit, or pet deposit, so that’s quite generous.

Reminds me the theme of today’s CITO is generosity …

But, back to grace and abundance, and letting go – or “receiving” rather.

I quit that job with the property management, and spent two months looking for creative work, again. And finally what happened was I woke up one morning and asked myself, still groggy from sleep and receptive to the universe, What else am I interested in?

The reply came, Well, I like being Jewish.  … So I typed "Jewish San Francisco" into Google, and applied to every position there was.

I got one of those positions. (Actually I applied to one I didn’t get, but my resume got passed along to someone else in this Jewish education non-profit, and I got that job – for which I was surely more well suited.) ... 

Then, on a not so whimish been-looking-at-the-college's-website-for-three-years whim, I apply to the MFA program, and get in. (Note, there: I actually intended to apply to the Master's in Literature Program, but didn't have a current academic paper, and am pretty sure none of my professors from college remember me ... but the admissions coordinator for the English Department told me that the MFA program, I just needed 15-20 recent poems. How many did I happen to have recently? 16.) Nudgey McNudgerson, you sly Universe, you.

I dunno. I guess I’m feeling reflective about all of this – about all of my “being taken care of” and steered into a more ... "Molly" direction -- because I have no clue what’s going to happen when school is over in May. I quite imagine that it will work out well – and I also imagine I’ll freak out a bit anyway.

But, if any of the above isn’t evidence that I’m being gently but firmly guided, I don’t know what is.

So, Universe, Let me be receptive to the strange and unusual nudges you have to give me. I sit here, in a heated apartment, with food in my belly, electricity running, December rent paid, and I’m chanting the tune to that chant whose words I no longer remember. Amen.

Alright Sports Fans

You know those montage-y frenetic moments in movies or, well, Looney Tunes, where they play “Flight of the Bumble Bee” and everything starts moving insanely quickly?

Well, it’s sorta like that. I feel like saying, Drivers! Start Your Engines!

This morning, Monday of the beginning two weeks of school/work insanity, I emailed my boss at my temp gig and asked her if I could have Wednesday off. I also asked her to get a little more clear with me on when this assignment ends, as it’s really vague, and I don’t like my income hanging on “really vague.” So she said, Yes to Wednesday off, and that she’d love to keep me into January, so let her get back to me on Thursday. So, Okay.

PHEW on Wednesday off – my crazy long day with evening class, and now I can meet with my professor to talk about my final project – due next Thursday. I emailed him this morning too and suggested what I think I might do for my project – it might be a script involving the two heckler muppet dudes. Yep. He wanted creative! I’m thinking of having them, as images of the upper class, watch several scenes from the Shakespeare plays we’ve read this semester – scenes where Shakespeare seems to be calling out the upper class. He’s got a lot of commentary on classism, and I found myself drawn to those pieces in all the works. So, we’ll see. That does not seem like an “easy” thing to do. But, it could be fun – they get all ruffled and heckle-y, and then maybe that bald eagle guy comes in at the end (You can tell I’ve been influenced by the Muppet Movie advertisement at bus stops…)

After I emailed him, I packed up my shit and went to school. I knew that hanging out here would only mean distraction – facebook, cat, tea, nibbling, general procrastinating. Luckily, both the girls I was supposed to meet with this morning cancelled – which was totally HP doing for me what I couldn’t do for myself, as I really didn’t have the time to meet with them, and would likely have been distracted.

So, I went to school, and plunked down in the English Department with my tea, my laptop, and my homework. I got pretty far. (Poem for evening class, two singing critiques for Friday, printed thesis draft.) There’s still a lot to do, but I am feeling better about it.

I have to do a teaching demo on Friday of the workshop I’m piloting in the Spring – “Creativity and Spirituality”. I co-facilitated this workshop last semester with the Director of Spiritual and Religious Life at school, and it went pretty well. So on Friday, I have to demo a portion of the workshop to my professor and my classmates. I’m not too worried about it – but I do need to get my own script down a little more. Leading people through spiritual processes – well, you have to have a degree of confidence in yourself and the work, to come from a calm position, or else people who may already be nervous about WTF is going to happen – am I going to speak in tongues? is there going to be “G-d” stuff? – feel like they are being led by a knowledgeable guide.

Luckily for me, this is all work that I’ve done. Some of the pieces for the full workshop next semester (3 times, 3 hours, for 3 different groups of women) I haven’t done, I’ve created from my own imagination, but I believe in them. The whole workshop is about helping the participants to see that they can access creativity in a variety of modes, and to call that pathway by which they access it “spirituality.” To begin (or continue) to understand that we always have something to say, to give, to create, to invent, because we have the un-tap-out-able well of creativity inside us already – we don’t have to “hunt” for it, “work” for it, we just need to access it.

And sure, it sounds “woo woo” hippie shit, but, I believe it. I don’t always remember it – and try to create from a place of desperation or scarcity – but the real juice is always there.

So, that’s my workshop. I also have 4 reading responses and a final paper to do for this class. … And a final paper and an end of semester portfolio for my poetry workshop.

BUT, on top, next to, in spite of all this – the Universe works without me – often.

I get an email this afternoon while writing with frenzied fingers that a slot opened up in the auditions…and I can get in Sunday at 8:30pm, if I want it.

I want it.

Of course, this week of ALL weeks (cue “Bumble Bee”), I now have to memorize 2 one minute monologues, get my headshots printed, and read up on this Strindberg fellow. But … it’s general auditions for a bonafide theater company in SF for their upcoming season in a bonafide theater – and *I’m* auditioning. Holy Crow.

The very next email I get? From another theater company (no lie) I emailed in my diligent action moment of a few weeks ago. They can’t fit me in this time, but will keep my info on file. Fabulous.

Just when I was beginning to feel like I was watching myself retract from the whole acting thing again, the Universe throws me a bone. I was watching myself follow the pattern of “flurry of action, then nothing, flurry of action, then nothing” – but, this time, with my small little actions, these self care little moments of listening to myself, this comes along. It is just an audition, I have to keep reminding myself, because I get easily scared the f out.

To counter the crazy “I have no idea what I’m doing,” I called in help. I called Lorraine, my acting friend I called a few weeks ago. We just spoke, and she gave me some good tips on the monologues I’m choosing, a classic and a contemporary: Gertrude from Hamlet cuz I just read it– and The Flood from Vagina Monologues cuz I know it, as I’m cast in it at school in the Spring! Plus she gave me head’s up on a place to get my headshots printed in the city, precisely where I will be on Thursday at noon.

So, yeah, I’m alright. A little dazed. But, I did a lot of work today (and some action a few weeks ago) and some unexpected bounty happened. Fancy that.