Kimmy in the City

When did we get to a place where restless legs became a syndrome?  Is that what we’re doing now? Making the mobility of limbs [that I'm pretty sure were originally intended to be moble] into a disorder?  What’s next?….Obsessive compulsive breathing disorder?  We are apparently doing this for depression medication, too.  They now advertise prescription pills by showing us symptoms like eating & being a human so we will look them up on WebMD and diagnosis ourselves with disorders that probably shouldn’t be disorders and then go into a doctors office and tell him we are convinced that we have either Depression, Autism, or Chlamydia and demand the doctor give us a prescription to treat all three (which he will gladly do) whereupon we pay $300 [out of pocket] and wait patiently until we feel fantastic.  When this does not work, we turn the TV back on and find another commercial with a cute little butterfly that tells us everything will be calm and serene once we have [insert controlled substance] in our blood streams, which makes us excited but then worried that we are getting medical advice from a butterfly, which makes us log back onto WebMD and learn that talking to imaginary objects means we are almost certainly schizophrenic, manic depressive, or have rabies, so we call the doctor back up and get more prescriptions in hopes of feeling the bliss that those nice white people in the commercials feel but we don’t so we just give up and go to Chilis.

And that is why I love America.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned….it’s been 2 years since my last blog.  And I’ve done a lot of real dumb shit since then.

I wish I could say that the reason for this aforementioned lapse in time is due to my fast-paced-obscenely-famous-doing-really-important-shit-that-famous-people-do lifestyle, but the reasons have more to do with napping and sandwiches.

So much has happened to me in the last two years…I scarcely know where to begin.  Because of obvious time and space constraints (and the fact that I have to pee pretty badly), I’m forced to give you the truncated version.  So, without further adieu, I present to you [in no particular order] my life in summary 2009-2011 edition:   love, loss, Justin Bieber, tampon, hamburgers, tattoo, puppy, mid-terms, crippling diarrhea, Charlie Sheen, laughter, tears, tequila, unicorns.  How must it feel to live the life of a Rockstar, you ask?  It feels good. thanks for asking. And while we’re on the topic of sexually-addicted United States Representatives with ironic names…..Anthony Weiner.

Hm, what else? Well, I don’t have an iPhone yet.  or aids.   So…..there’s that. And oh, I got my school-based internship for next year….turns out I’m gonna be a career counselor which, if you know me, is pretty awesome.

Eager College Graduate: “What should I do with my life!?”

Me: “Marry well?”

Wide-eyed Graduate #2: “How can I be successful and afford to live in Manhattan??”

Me: “Um, duh….ask your mom for money.”

I’m obviously very excited for this new endeavor. There’s a good chance I may ruin some careers and/or lives….but on the upside, I’ll probably get some great blog material……worth it!!

Ok, I must leave you now. Parting is such sweet sorrow. Which rhymes with tomorrow. Which means that it’s laundry day. Which means….well, nothing really.

Don’t fret, my friends….I will be updating my blog each and every fortnight from here on out…..just as soon as I figure out what I fortnight is.

Before I go, I’ll leave you with this timeless proverb by one of the most insightful, enlightening artists of our time..

“My Neck, my back. Lick my p**sy and my crack”  ~Khia

Ahhh Summer….so many truly awesome things about summers in New York.  Here are some of my favorites;

Women busting out their summer whoregear attire, everyone migrating to the Hamptons on weekends while my broke ass can barely afford to sit on the roof of my building gazing at the picturesque view of a gas station, flawlessly applying makeup only to have it melt down my face 3 minutes after leaving my apartment, being in a subway car shoved up against sweaty tourists wearing fanny packs from Duluth, the smell of bubbling horse poo wafting in through my windows, and sitting on the great lawn in central park crazy-watching.  Here are some of the things one can expect to see on any given afternoon in Central Park (photos were taken yesterday…..thank God for camera phones);

1) Weird half naked overweight men taking naps.

2) Couples dry humping one another as if the park is a setting for a cable access porno and they are the stars.

3) Upper east side “I’ve had so many plastic surgery procedures that my face now looks like a science experiment gone retarded” women pushing their dogs in strollers.

4) Musicians with random instruments like, say….bagpipes (which inevitably reminds me of that episode of “friends” where Ross plays ‘celebrate’ on the bagpipes….see video below) strolling up and down the paths.

5) Hasidic Jews with ear curls wearing 907 layers of thick black clothing sweating like whores in church in the 90 degree heat.

6) Men from Staten Island with gold chains around their neck staring at exposed bikini breasts shouting things like, “hey sexy….wanna come to papa?”

7) Trasian (trendy Asian) tourists taking a break from shopping at Fendi, Henri Bendel, and Gucci in 6 inch heels.

and

8.) Me walking around taking pictures of all the weirdos.

I feel, as well as many of my fellow actors at the present time,  like I am having either a delayed “I’m 18 and I don’t know what to do with my life” crisis, or an early midlife crisis….and It came as a TOTAL shock to us music school graduates that we actually have NO skills outside of singing, and dancing. SO what happens when we want to live in the real world? Answer: we are screwed.

 I mean…..I love theater but I am just not making enough consistent money to survive as a functioning adult….especially in this balls economy. So the next logical question is ok……what else do I want to do with my life? This shouldn’t be too hard!  I mean…I am REALLY talented and good at SO many things.  I am quite optimistic!

 So, at 12:00 PM I open a new document on my computer with breathless anticipation and gear up to start writing all the things, aside from theater, that I am good at!   This is how the session went:

(after 10 minutes staring at the blank page) I exclaim,  ”I know…..no WONDER I haven’t been thinking of anything….I haven’t had my coffee yet!!!”

20 minutes later I return with coffee in hand and snuggle back into my chair and write “Kimmy’s alternate career choices” 

After staring at the blinking curser for 30 minutes, I realize that I MUST be hungry.  Everyone knows you can’t properly think on an empty stomach, after all.  Eating will DEFINITELY get my neurons going.

After Eating giant sandwich, chips, milkshake, ahd half a pint of Phish Food ice cream, I am full.  Reeeeeeeally full.  So, I again sit down in front of the blinking curser and begin to brainstorm…..but my belly is so full and I am just uncomfortable sitting in front of the computer.  I have no choice but to move to the couch.  Hmmmm, maybe I should watch some TV to get ideas about different jobs that I’d be good at!  I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of that before!

 So I watch a 3 hour marathon of The Real Housewives of New York City and then an hour of Toddlers in Tiara’s (the show really SHOULD be called “I was ugly and fat in high school, so I am living vicariously through my toddler…..and ruining her life).  They should just take those kids straight from the pageants to the psych ward, where they will all eventually end up anyway.  A stitch in time saves 9, right?  SO why not cut out the middle man and put those girls behind padded walls now.

Ok back to the topic at hand….. I finally feel READY to figure out my life.  I am once again in front of the blinking curser. It is 6:00 PM  

Ummm well…. I’m  really good at facebook. YES I AM!!  I’m good at facebook!!!…so I write it down 

1) Facebook!

Hmmmm I am good at singing!  wait….this is a backwards step.  OUT of musical theatre OUT of musical theater OUT OF THEATER!

I am good at making people laugh.  yes! Ok making people laugh is a go.  So I can make people laugh….on stage.  DOH!!!  

Oh yea!  I am REALLY good at Scrapbooking!   Scrapbooking for…….myself……..for no pay.  K, that’s not gonna work.

Urgh now I am hungry again.  (I take 30 minutes to eat) It’s now 6:30 PM

Back to the grind……I am going on Craigslist to see what jobs are out there;

1) Bloggers! (ooooh blogging job!!) “Bloggers must be comfortable blogging topless”  oh, um, no

2)Personal assistant! “7-10 years support experience at the C – Level or Chairman” (I don’t even know what this means) aaaaaand…thats out.

3) Personal Shopper!  I mean…..I LOVE to shop!!!!!! I’d be PERFECT  ”Qualified candidates must have a client book with their own loyal customers.”  Well, since all of my friends are broke out-of-work actors, this maaaaaay be an issue.  wah wah. onto the next.

4) Babysitting? “applicant must love children”   crap.  

K, I’m starting to get discouraged.  And realizing the only things I am good at pay 0 dollars a week. 

OOOH I got it!  I can be an egg donor!  I hear it pays SO well. “Donors will have 4-5 doctors appointments a week, be on very high estrogen birth control to sync you up with person receiving your eggs, go through at least 2 extraction surgeries which are extremely painful, complete medical history of donor and every family member……” Ok they lost me at extremely painful and 4-5 doctors appointments a week. scratch that.

THIS IS IT!!!  Someone needs help with his “booming film career” I could be his Production Assistant! YES!!!  I could totally do that. “Must be familiar with the adult film industry” aaaaaand scene

So, it’s 12:46 AM and so far I have ;

Kimmy’s Alternate career choices

1) Facebook.  

Fuck.

Soooo contrary to what one would think, it is INCREDIBLY difficult to date in NYC.  Even though there are millions of people crammed on this tiny island, meeting a possible love interest is as difficult as catching a NY bus that does NOT stop every single block for a wheelchair to be moved in and out on a hydraulic lift that takes at LEAST 20 minutes. (this happens EVERY SINGLE time I get on a bus….like it’s some cruel karmic joke)

    I mean, if you are say, a cute, spunky, theater girl surrounded by anti-vagina theater gays in her profession who also refuses to go online and date again…..what are your other options?  I mean….when someone who I don’t know approaches me on the street, I automatically think they are crazy and walk briskly away, or pelt them with my bag.  We are so conditioned to think that rapists are lurking around every corner just waiting to mug, rape, and pillage us. So our natural inclination is to flee that situation by walking/running/skipping away as fast as we can while ignoring the poor person who was only going to ask us directions to the Shubert theater.  Yes, this is probably a useful survival technique, but NOT a good dating one.  

I was on a train last week making very blatant eye contact with a cute man across the aisle just waiting for him to give me his number and tell me I am OBVIOUSLY the woman of his dreams. I naturally start making a list of my bridesmaids, and mentally trying on several wedding dresses with similar plunging necklines. So… the train stops and he gets up, walks directly towards me, puts his head next to mine (I turn my head ever so slightly and pout my lips in anticipation for the kiss that will end all other kisses) and says, “Excuse me maam, can you move your head a bit to the right so I can see the map behind you?”  MA’AM!!??  When did I graduate to Ma’am??!!!? First stop “ma’am”, second stop Adult diapers and metamucil.  So, ok, the train is out, the sidewalk approach is out, internet is out, and musical theater is certainly out (no pun intended).  Where does that leave us single girls??

I read in New York Magazine that the number 1 pick up joint in New York city Is……..wait for it………Chipotle.  Chipotle?????!  So, I am supposed to go sit at chipotle alone and wait for an attractive man to come sit next me and stuff his face with a burrito the size of a full grown pit bull?  As he is shoving copious amounts of bean cheese, sour cream, and guac in his mouth, I can only assume the conversation would be like this:

Me: Hi!!! My Name is Kimmy!  Nice to Meet you!!!

Mouth full cutie:  Shwah fgam huwads Davidh (tiny piece of sour cream glops into his lap)

Me: Um…k….good talk.

So, that seems highly unlikely too.  New York Magazine also suggests dining alone in a nice restaurant so men will approach you.  Ok First off, I probably can’t afford this restaurant.  Secondly, when I see people sitting alone at nice restaurants I just feel bad for them. Ya ya so maybe they like dining alone blah blah blah, but I can’t help it….I feel like they must not have one single person in the word to eat with, and if that is the case, they are clearly bat shit crazy homicidal maniacs who chop up little children and make them into soups.  And I never really liked soup,  sooooo….. that’s out.

So what are we left with? Bars? Christ.  So you walk into a loud bar dressed in your whore gear and battle 30 other girls in similar whore gear for the bar tender’s attention. After you elbow the blonde bitch next to you who CLEARLY got here AFTER you, and has wedged herself between your vagina and the bar, you finally get his attention by pushing her head to one side and talking before she has a chance to react.

Me (over bass so loud my body is thrashing up and down): Can I have a vodka soda?

Bartender: a WHAT?

Me: a vodka soda!!

Bartender: GIN AND TONIC???

Me: V O D K A   S O D A!!!!!! (my voice starts to get hoarse)

Bartender: THAT WILL BE $27 PLEASE!!!

Me: (cries on the inside as she forks over the money and is handed a thimble full of ice and a splash of vodka. )

So, then you and your friends take a lap around the room and see drunk men’s eyes go directly towards your breasts and stay there for the remainder of the night.  You finally stumble upon a group of young professional guys laughing and having a good time.  You start up a conversation with said men;

Me (Screaming to be heard over 50 foot subwoofers playing Kanye West): SO WHAT DO YOU DO??

Yuppie #1 (speaks to my breasts)1: OH I WORK IN BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH WALL STREET BAH BLAH SECURITIES BLAH 

Me: UM..YA! THAT SOUNDS….INTERESTING?

Yuppie(again…directed to my breasts): YES, IT IS…WE ARE WORKING ON A BLAH BLAH BLAH MERGER BLAH BLAH. I’M REALLY EXCITED ABOUT IT.  BLAH!!

Me: YA. THAT DOES SOUND REALLY UM, EXCITING.

Yuppie: WHAT DO YOU DO??

Me: MUSICAL THEATER

Yuppie (at breasts): (Blank look) OH. IS THAT LIKE A PLAY OR SOMETHING? AREN’T THERE A LOT OF GAY DUDES IN THAT?

Me: (gives the universal “save me from this douche” signal)

Yuppie#2 (subtly slips his ring finger into his pocket) Side Note: this really happened: HEY! WHAT’S YOUR NAME?

Me: HI…NICE TO MEET YOU, MY NAME IS “NEVERGONNAHAPPEN”. (I walk away)

So, the chances of meeting a guy at a bar who understands what we do for a livingare slim to none.

Sooo back to the online drawing board we go. I did Match.com once a few years back and met some…um….interesting people, to say the least. One guy and I had been shooting witty emails back and forth for weeks which, of course, was awesome because I dig funny guys.  The pictures he had up on the site were literally abercrombie modeling shots from an ad campaign a few years back. I was skeptical that this guy was a real abercrombie model (and didn’t like-a-the-penis), so I prepared for our meeting by telling myself  he would most likely not look anything like those pictures. I was just hoping he’d fall somewhere into the “Not totally deformed and hideous” category.  Well, I was wrong.  He looked BETTER than the pictures.  I was shocked. He sounded a little like Donald Duck, but I quickly looked past that into his dreamy green eyes and pretty, PRETTY face.  SO, the night went surprisingly well.  We went to a bar with a fireplace and got to know each other over many glasses of Shiraz. The witty banter was flowing with the wine and we were in Defcom Phase 3 flirtation mode. I was almost giddy…this guy was too good to be true! Model turned wall street broker from the midwest who is close with his family and FUNNY. So it’s getting late and he had to get up for work ,so he put me in a cab…..but not before he insisted on making our next date.  He PAID the cabbie and I drove home. I called my mom on the way;

Me: Mom! I just met my future husband!

Mom: Oh Great!! SO the date went well?

Me: SOO well, he’s from the midwest, loves his jo……hold on mom I think he just text me.  Aww I bet it was so say goodnight 

Me (looks at phone and reads text aloud)  ”Hey baby (aww!) I can’t wait to see you tonight and cum on your t^$#@ in the kitchen floor next to the refrigerator. And then we’ll ********** (content censored from this point)

Me: Um mom, gotta go.

I analyzed that text for a great while trying to rememer if I had gotten so drunk that I didn’t remember having a conversation about sex next to a refrigerator…or near any kitchen appliance for that matter.  Nope…..pretty sure that NEVER happened.  He was Sexting someone else!  30 seconds after our date he was sexting some other girl.  I decided to text him back and tell him he had accidentally written me instead.

me: Ummm just to let you know, you just text Kim.  I don’t know if that was on purpose or not.

He was never to be heard from again.

Moral of that story??? Move to one of those adorable polygamist compounds and have your marriage(s) arranged for you.  MUCH easier.

I feel there should be some kind of test one has to take to live in the city of New York, because I think we have successfully hit our idiot quota.  

Me ordering a sandwich at subway yesterday: “Hi, can I have a 6 inch turkey on wheat, no cheese”

Sandwich artist with IQ of a retarded chimp: “Do you want cheese on that?”

Me: “No.”

Sandwich artist: “lettuce/tomato?”

Me: “Yes”

Sandwich artist: “what kind of cheese?”

Me: (blinks) 

Or this verbatim conversation that happened yesterday in my bank;

Worried woman (rushing up to the bank teller window): “Did you find a phone here? I think I left my blackberry this morning. Did anyone turn it in?”

Bank teller: “No, but what’s your cell…..we can call you if it turns up.”

Woman: (silence)

    If you haven’t yet discovered www.overheardinnewyork.com please run, don’t walk.  This site is genius…..I mean, if you are a New Yorker, you have heard many a dumbass conversation while you are out and about on any given day.  This site provides a sounding board for people to post the hilarious things they hear.  So, I thought I’d dedicate this post to stupid people everywhere…..you know who you are;

Button-down and khakis guy #1: I wish I had a bi-polar friend…it’d be like having two friends in one!
Button-down guy #2, completely serious: Yeah, that’d be awesome.

Three-year-old boy: This is an iPhone, it can play YouTube videos.
Three-year-old girl: I know.

Woman looking for friend who got lost in massive crowd: Marco! Marco!
Massive crowd of people: Polo!

Guy #1: So when’s your birthday?
Guy #2: It’s June 24.
Guy #1: Hey, mine is May 24.
Guy #2: And my girlfriend’s is January 24.
Guy #1: Wow…we should all have sex.

Hobo #1: Britney Spears is a pussy.
Hobo #2: I was tapping her before she got pregnant.

Subway operator: This downtown 1 train will not be stopping at 50th Street. I repeat, will not be stopping at 50th Street.
(a minute passes)
Subway operator: We will not be stopping at 50th Street. There is a stalled train there. We will be going straight to 42nd without stopping at 50th.
(another minute goes by)
Subway operator: This is a downtown 1 train, next stop will be 50th. Shit! 42nd.

Guy #1(in PATH station): I went out drinking last night and didn’t smoke.
Guy #2: Except cock.
Guy #1: Yeah, besides that.

Hobo with cup of change in hand: You have any change?
College kid: Sorry, I don’t have any money.
Hobo: Get a fucking job.
College kid: Fuck you! You first!
Hobo: I’m working right now, asshole.

If you have heard any ridiculous conversations recently, please send ‘em my way.  And, for the love of God, if you are stupid…please don’t procreate.  

  So I have this casting director friend here who told a story about a guy who recently came by the office to drop off his resume, which was packed with assloads of Broadway Credits. Under the “Broadway/New York” category, the guy had like 25 shows with “Original Cast” next to it. Why is this even remotely interesting you ask? Because half of these shows happened before 1975. He was 22 years old. Apparently this adorably delusional psycho honestly believed that he had created these roles…roles that existed long before he was even in Utero. I mean, let’s be honest…..most actors are completely nuts….but this is above and beyond the “I’m a fucking nutbag” spectrum that most of us fall somewhere in the middle of. It also made me wonder what separates us “normal” folk from the crazies in the psych ward where I intern. Most of the internship involves talking with patients one on one, so I have gotten a chance to know them a little. Many of them have simply had a bad year, become depressed about their current situation, and just needed a place to go where they could get help and have people to talk to. Ummmmm…..this sounds like 95% of the people I know. I mean, if I look around while I am at any given audition, I will see a weird guy doing ballet barre in one corner, a girl wearing the whore-gear equivalent of a bra, underwear, and fish net stockings under the guise of “dance wear” doing a comedic monologue to herself in another corner (which basically looks like she is having a really hilarious conversation with a wall), and a “I was a geek in high school, but now that I’m a straight man in theater I get more ass in 1 week than most men get in a lifetime” guy singing a ballad to himself on the opposite side of the room (more to attract actresses who’ll eventually be dropping their panties when they realize this man likes to touch boobies, than to practice for his Miss Saigon appointment). If you think about it, Chelsea Studios is more of a psych ward than the New York State Psychiatric Institute.

On this note, I think it’s kind of funny that boys who perform in theater during their adolescence are generally made fun of for taking part in a “gay” extra curricular activity. But what their naysayers don’t realize is that being a straight man in theater is the proverbial Cash Cow….it’s basically like shooting fish in a barrel. Go ahead and slap it with the stereotype of “effeminate”, but I guarantee you these less-than-extraordinary-looking guys are getting twice the amount of the sexy time than any other guy out there.

And the funniest thing is that manly sports like football, wresting, and gymnastics are actually much more gay than singing and dancing.
Take wrestling for instance….so you have two guys wearing tiny spandex onesies rolling around on top of one another with the other dude’s balls in their face. Ummm…k.
And football….again with the spandex and balls in your face as you jump on top of other spandex-wearing dudes.
And gymnastics? Learning a choreographed floor routine in…..what?…..yup, you guessed it!…..SPANDEX. Im sorry, how are these not homo-friendly extra curriculars? 
Lesson learned today?
1) Join the local drama club and, unless you are a short-bus-riding douche, you will get laid….and probably by a girl that is much more attractive than you are.
2) If you are going to lie on your resume, make sure you research the dates of the roles you “created”. Oh, and make sure the people who actually DID create the roles aren’t extremely famous.
3) If you are a connoisseur of balls, you should join the wrestling team
4) If you are a crazy person you have 1 of 2 choices; commit yourself to a psych ward, or go into theater.

       Since New York City weather is about as predictable as a coked up manic depressive, I decided to soak up the sunshine and take a long walk.  It always cracks me up how fast the  get-out-of-my-way-you-jackass-NY’er mentality changes when the sun comes out.  It’s as if less-than-perfect weather gives us license to be total assholes.  I am sure there is some serotonin/dopamine/norepinephrine/melatonin medical explanation for this, but personally, I think it’s kinda F’d up.  Take today, for instance……there was a woman with triplets that I estimated to be around 3 or so.  These 3 boys (seriously….my worst nightmare…..triplet boys. That would be like Jesus playing a cruel, cruel joke on me) were punching each other, throwing sippy cups at random passerby’s, letting out blood curdling screams, and kicking wildly all while this poor woman was pushing the stroller, talking on her cell phone, picking up her dog’s poop, and feeding them animal crackers.  I mean normally, this NY woman would be in the middle of an all-out nervous breakdown, but today she was smiling proudly as her Rosemary’s-baby-children bit each other and pelted an old woman with their shoes.  I don’t know….maybe because sunshine encourages exercise which releases endorphins which makes us less miserable which prevents us from multiple suicide attempts?  Who can be sure?

    Anyway, so I was walking along happy as a pig in shit, when I am enveloped with the overwhelming scent of marijuana.  I look behind me and there is this attractive, well-kept business man wearing a very expensive suit smokin’ a doobie right smack in the middle of the upper west side.  I mean….just walkin’ along in broad daylight on 72nd street puffin away with a shit-eating-grin on his face.  Even more interestingly, I looked back and didn’t really think much of it.  Then it immediately occurred to me that only in New York would it really not register that a functioning adult using an illegal narcotic in the middle of a busy street at 3PM is probably not normal.  How much weird shit have we seen on a daily basis here to not bat an eye at this? 

    I also find it funny that it strikes me as odd when I meet a New Yorker NOT in therapy and/or on some sort of mood stabilizer.  Here is a recent conversation I had with a friend;

Me: “Ugh, I think I need a therapist I’m totally depressed lately”

Medicated friend: (not missing a beat) “ask for Wellbutrin, Effexor, Paxil, Celexa, or Zoloft….those are a few that have worked for me this year.

Me: (raises eyebrow)”Oh…is that all?”

Medicated friend: “No, but I don’t remember the names of the other ones off-hand.”

So then the logical question is why on earth do people want to live in a city where they need copious amounts of Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors simply to make it through the day without killing themselves?  And the answer is simple…..to live in a city where you can smoke pot in broad daylight on an afternoon stroll while simultaneously walking a dog and waving to your neighbors.

I thought I’d dedicate this post to my fellow recession auditionees. As you can tell from my earlier posts, being in theater is tough enough when the economy isn’t a giant pile of feces and there are more than 2 regional theaters open around the country.  I know this economy is hard on everyone bla bla bla, but I must say we have it the worst.  In recent years, I would simply wait for appointments from my agent, and every once in a while scoot into a chorus call when I couldn’t get appointments.  For those of you who do not know the equity theater audition process, it’s broken down like this;      

If you cannot get an appt from your agent, you sign up on a list the week before the aud and show up that day to get your number. Easy as giving a snickers to a fat kid, right?  Well, since 29834729834723 regional theater’s have closed and the ones still not bankrupt are casting primarily non-equity performers, we sad, broke actors are desperate to work.  So now we are auditioning with the mass influx of recently unemployed broadway actors as well as the usual 300.  Going to a chorus call (which is what many of us have to do now that agent appointments are becoming scarce) is like volunteering to have your arm amputated….without anesthesia. 

    Here is a typical day at a chorus call:

Walk into grossly overcrowded 400 degree room packed with sweaty, annoyed-they-have-to-go-back-to-chorus-calls women who have just woken up and are likely to be wearing curlers and a half face of makeup lugging a giant suitcase full of dance shoes.

The monitor begins reading the 45699298987 names on the list while people push forward to try to hear their name called

There is nowhere to sit, so you cram between two girls you think can support your weight. When your name is called (always at the end) you trip, scramble, push, and choke people to get from the back of the room to get your card.  

You are sweating profusely.

Your card reads 306.  Awesome.

Now you fill out the lame chorus call card with every show you have ever done bla bla bla.

Then you wait……and wait…….and wait.  At any chorus call  you are likely to hear the following topics from the people sitting around to you;

1) Shows they’ve booked.  

2) Shows they’d like to book.

3) Shows that they were down to the VERY end for. And they swear that the only reason the other girl got it was because she knew the director.

4) Diets they are on.  

5) Diets they have tried.

6) Diets they want to try.

7) How fat they are.

8.) Where they got their highlights and tanning bed package.

9) That they heard from Bob who heard from Fred that this casting agent wants to hear legit today. Then will repeatedly ask each other what they plan to sing.

10) How their rep book sucks and that they have no music.

11) How fat they look in this dress.

12) Gossip about other actors. 

13) How they hate the business. 

14) Discussions about alternate careers (subsequently all landing on ones that actually pay LESS than theater, if that’s even possible…ssssssh don’t tell them)

15) Their sex lives. 

16) Their agents.

17) Musical theater men who aren’t gay (this is usually a short conversation).

18) Being in debt.

So, your number is finally called (16 hours later) and you get in line to sing 6 bars of music (the equivalent of 3 words in a sentence).

 You wait in line then open the door to a room full of casting people so bored they want to stab themselves. They are probably also eating sandwiches and Facebooking while you stand before them.

You open your mouth and sing.

You are finished 4 seconds later.

You thank them.

They ignore you.

You leave the room as the next girl walks in.

You  swear you are changing your profession tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes. You go to a chorus call.

I have included some pictures indicative of the mood at recent auditions (generously donated by Ashley Linton)

I have decided that the movie theater in Times Square is my version of hell on earth.  And although this theater is in close proximity to my apartment, I will never ever go see a movie there.  Why, you ask?  Good question.  Here are some of the things you can expect to experience while sitting peacefully in that theater:

1) People answering their cell phones and having conversations (in full voice) during movies.

Obnoxious loud Ringtone: “If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it…….”

Ghetto movie go-er:  ”Hello??  Hey girl!!!!!  Whatchu doin??  Eh..nothin just chillin at da movies.”

Equally ghetto person on the other end: “bla bla bla, bla bla bla”

Ghetto movie go-er:  ”HA HA!  You funny girl!  Ya the movie’s coo.  Supwichyou? Nu-uh!!!!  No she dihn’t!!!”

(This will continue for 5 minutes. You get the picture)

 2) Most of the audience will talk back to/at the movie.

Joshua Jackson in ‘Shutter’: “Hey, come here”

Another ghetto movie go-er from directly behind me: “Donchu go girl!!!  Don’t do it!!!”

Yet another ghetto: “Nu uh!!!!  Get yo ass away from there!!!”

Me: (mentally bitch slapping myself for coming to this theater)

3) A small popcorn and medium drink will set you back $56.00  (see picture below).  This was an actual picture I took of my friend Jessica’s $12.00 meal. The midget sized popcorn was seriously like 8.00)

4) Half of said meal (see above) is likely to be hurled at the screen (or your head) by many of your fellow movie go-ers.  

5) You will probably be on the 266th floor which isn’t such a big deal until the movie is out and you are all forced down 1 skinny escalator which requires you to hit a landing at every floor and connect to another escalator.  Since there are way too many people on each escalator, you will be forcibly smashed into 50 people as you hit each landing.  Not all of these people will be wearing deodorant.  

6) There will be times you will fear for your life inside and outside of the theater.  Your small blonde probably-won’t-be-able-to-defend-yourself life. 

7) At least half of your audience will have come from Dallas BBQ across the street. And will be drunk. And loud.

Lesson learned? If someone suggests you see a movie in Times Square…..punch them in the face.