“The Girl On The”Subway/Alice

 

As I sit on a train ride to Brooklyn, I think, Why is every get together in Brooklyn? Have the other boroughs just vanished? No need to answer, that was a rhetorical.  I  look up and see a guy checking himself out. Physically, he is perfect. Jude Law handsome. He knows how good looking he is, which makes him so unbelievably imperfect and unappealing. He’s a banker in midtown but says, “I work on Wall Street.” His office is on 53rd and 6th. He’s a total prep but would never admit it to himself, or others. He rents a one bed room in Williamsburg, just so he can assure himself  that he is a true hipster. He constantly talks about buying in New York but knows “it’s not the right time.” He says this as though he’s some genius who came up with the  smart conclusion.

I notice him laughing at a text really loud. There isn’t service on this train so I realize he’s one of those people who want others to hear them. The person in the gym who screams when they lift weights and looks around to see who has heard him. He has multiple hooks up and labels girls as #crazy when they show any sort of emotional interest. Most of his women are the Chloe’s, Madison’s and Jo Jo’s. Any cute name from the 90’s. The Lindsay’s and Jessica’s are way too old for him. He’s slept with almost every Charlie or girl with a cutesy “boy  name” in Manhattan. He always explains to his bros, “It’s not as though I plan to hook up with Mikey’s, it just happens.”

I can hear him talking now, “Dude, now she’s obsessed with me. I actually thought this one was normal.” They all laugh, but there’s that one good guy who always looks guilty for laughing. He probably has three sisters. “Crazy.” That term thrown around continues to make me fume. There isn’t one man I know who hasn’t at one point said to me on a date, “Yeah, my ex was crazy.” You realize there are other words to describe women, right?

However, his soon-to-be girlfriend is arriving in less than a year. His player days will be history, just like that. She has sweet blue eyes. Not bright or big like Cameron Diaz eyes, just sweet, like Lauren from Ben’s season on The Bachelor. Her hair is naturally brown, but she dyes it blonde to make herself look younger. Really, it makes her look washed out, but her friends are the kind who only tell her what she wants to hear. She’s 31, kinda old for him. He meets, in his words, “Bat shit girls” on rooftop bars but will meet her at the Stumble Inn on 76th Street and Second. I know how the scene plays out.

She’ll be wearing a light green dress and gold strappy sandals and holding a Stella. She answers questions in two words. “How are you?” “I’m good.” She has the personality of my toe and he’s super into it. She just came from her weekly Dry Bar app, so her hair looks #amazing. She wouldn’t dare tell anyone that she gets blow outs so often. I don’t blame Alice. Yes, her name is Alice. Her entire life she went by Allie, then after moving to New York started using her proper name.  She’s a PR girl who  recently quit Equinox and now only does “Soul Cycle.” She grew up watching Fox News and when forced to talk she tells this story, as if it makes her so different from every other woman in America. “Can you believe I grew up watching Fox News?” Only after two months of dating the  “I love you’s” and romantic getaways start. They pretend like they are the first people to have ever taken vacations. They make this very clear on Instagram. “We’re in love with Nantucket. He’s such a keeper #blessed.”

In six months, their relationship will be tested and he’ll have to move to LA. She freaks out. “OMG. California, that’s so far! Oh gosh, he’s gonna  forget about me. My life is over- I hate him for taking this job.” But she just says, “Wow, congrats! Guess we’re gonna do the long distance thing.”

Not showing any emotion regarding the move makes him want her more. He ends up renting “the cutest place in Venice.” Each time she visits, she pretends to love it but really thinks it’s fake. Every time she leaves, they get in heated arguments and she finally admits her hatred for the entire LA scene. One night, after an argument via text, Alice goes to a wine bar in the lower east side. She gets spring break drunk and cries to a cute Irish bartender.

She has a one nighter and feels horrible after. Poor Alice. Only two of her girlfriends know this secret. The “adorable couple” decide to take a quick break, her choice. He has no idea why, and the man, less than two years ago, who disposed of females is  heartbroken over one. He’s even doing poorly at work and ultimately moves back to New York.

After two months back in the same city he proposes in Central Park behind the Alice In Wonderland statue. They both tell this story  as if he rented a plane and wrote “Marry Me, Alice” in the sky. As he explains the proposal to people she shakes her head and says, “Ya know, ’cause my name’s Alice.” This is the most Alice has ever spoken to more than four people at a time. They buy a home in Greenwich, CT and say they moved so they would be closer to her parents, but really they just don’t want to admit that they want their kids to have a backyard with a swing set. However, they do see Alice’s parents often, but his parents they rarely see because he has several daddy issues. Oh, that might explain the “no remorse” feeling that girls questioned during his highly promiscuous twenties. Eventually, he becomes a die-hard Republican like her father, who always wears a Polo sweater tied around his shoulders. Their adorable four boys and one girl grow up watching Fox News. Yes five kids. They don’t believe in climate change. And so it goes on. 

But, as I watch him tonight, he’s not thinking about his future, or Alice or children or a home in the ‘burbs. He’s not even thinking about who he can sleep with tonight.  He’s thinking only of work, the stress and clients’ demanding phone calls. He’s tired. There is nothing more atractive then a man who is focused on work.

What’s his name? He’s too handsome for a cute name like George or Mat. Wait, I hear Alice saying it, “Jamison.” I’m so happy he turned out to be an okay guy. Well, apart from his barbaric political views. I can’t hold it in anymore, I look up at him and smile. “He looks down at me and rolls his eyes. Oh that’s right, this is still young player Jamison, not grown up, committed-to-Alice Jamison. 

He notices I’m not entirely hideous, so he looks back and gives me a half smile and says,”Why are you smiling at me?” Oh no, this can’t be good. To be continued.

It’ Ain’t Bad To Smile.

In 1872 Charles Darwin said “The free expression by outward signs of an emotion intensifies it.” Studies today support this. If you smile the tiniest smile, you will become a little happier. Smiling makes you happy! I try to smile a little more when I’m stressed, which is often. Sadly, many New Yorkers don’t practice this habit. I get it, you’re tired, over worked and under paid.  You’re very sad. You have real problems, and I’m truly sorry. However, there is no way that so many people are miserable every day, all day. To quote the film “Peter Pan” #disneyclassic, “any happy little thought” has to enter their mind at least once throughout the 24 hours.

I was once told that my resting face is a “neurotic, worried face.” This bothered me for years. Then I realized I’d rather that than the mean resting bitch face. I would tell myself  the looks I’m getting back from these people aren’t directed towards me. Yes, they’re usually not, but that doesn’t mean that angry looks can’t bother us. It’s upsetting. I’m smiling at you, there’s no need to look at me so coldly. A nod of a head, a slight grin would do.

The look of death from my fellow females used to  bring me down. Then I realized,  it’s the guys that really get me.  If Stanley Kowalski is your muse, I suggest you get a new one. So many men look like they are saying, “Oh you think you have a chance with me?” My face acknowledging your existence  is not a face of wanting you. Actually, I’m not at all attracted to you; I don’t want anything to do with you.

Yes, there’s a balance and a huge difference between the plastered, fake smile you see at an audition, and just returning a smile after accepting one. Oh believe me, I’m totally guilty of not smiling back at someone. Especially when I’m late, sad or over analyzing a text message; my mind is elsewhere. I usually catch my rudeness and run back to apologize and thank them for showing me kindness. Then, afterwards I feel so self-absorbed and stupid to actually believe that I, one ordinary person could affect their day. After many eye rolls and “go f yourself” looks, I’d lay in bed feeling sexist and paranoid. This isn’t in my head.  Why are so many people making horrible faces at me when I look at them? Is God punishing me? #catholicguilt. Do I look like a member of Isis/Isol whatever the hell those jag-offs are going by?  

Sure it’s important to be aware of your surroundings and look out for danger. However, I think it’s equally as  important to show a little bit of respect. Perhaps, open the door for the person with the baby carriage. Help someone who has fallen. Don’t push an innocent child out of your way because you’re in a hurry. If you have to move past an annoying slow walker say “excuse me. “ These are just little tactics that would bring some positivity and love into this universe. If you think about it, people are much safer walking down a crowded street in Midtown , than being alone in a Target parking lot. Do you not watch Dateline? So why not once in a while acknowledge humanity.

 

“The Girl On The” Subway.

It’s an “I’m over New York day,” and as I sit on the train ride to Brooklyn a cute couple strolls on. They both are wearing skinny jeans and have great shaggy hair! They sit down and adorably cuddle. There are two kinds of cuddling: adorable happy cuddling, where you smile and share looks of gratitude, or obnoxious cuddling,  the couple flash superior looks  and roll their eyes at everyone around them. These two have got it down just right. It’s obvi they just decided to become exclusive, so the I love you’s and talk of ever after are months away. However, they only have eyes for each other. 

To my right, there’s a two year old boy laughing very loudly, touching things and just being cute. He is the perfect reminder of innocence and beauty. His dad says loudly. “Touch with your eyes not with your hands.”  What? I don’t really understand wha that means, so I imagine  a toddler doesn’t either. The girl across from me notices the baby also and she’s beaming. I see her boyfriend’s face, his smile goes from “I like this girl,” to “this girl is freaking me out.” Yes, she’s made the very common mistake of showing her strong maternal instinct. She adores children. In the 1950’s this was a great trait, exposing it was a bonus. Today not so much. A man translates a woman  admiring a child to, “I want two kids today, and I want you to be the father.” 

He lets go of her hand and is looking  around. Oh no poor guy, just breathe man.  Shit, this could be the end of their budding  relationship. How can I get her attention, distract her,  say I love her jeans, but I don’t, so that would make me a liar. Yes got it. “I have to say you two make an awesome couple.” “Awww thanks.” She smiles at me the kindest smile with the cutest gap in her teeth. I look at him and he’s almost shaking. Oh gosh I’ve made it worse, he’s feeling trapped. They arrive at the stop and she says bye to me and the baby. “Bye.” 

All the happiness I was feeling has completely turned into anxiety.  He’s breaking it off with her tonight and she has no idea why. Or worse, he’s going to fade her out. Text less everyday, no phone calls and constantly cancel #hangingout. She’ll get it soon enough, or she likes him so much she will just go with it and text more, call more!  She tells her friends, “I feel so stupid, he didn’t text me  back.  What did I do wrong?” Now he has an excuse to officially break it off and tell everyone, “dude she’s crazy.” 

What A Disgrace For Our Nation?

Hmm. He sure doesn’t  look like terrorist to me.  What do you think?

#BeautifulBeautifulBeautifulBoy is my only answer.

Jagoff!

Jag-off  is a phenomenal word originated by Pittsburghers in the 1980’s.  It quickly traveled to the suburbs, and then eventually, it made its way to the country folk.  Almost every Western Pennsylvanian uses the word daily.  Once I tried to go without saying it for an entire day, and I made it three hours. Jaggoffs come in all different shapes and sizes. They are both good and bad looking, Wall Streeters or hipsters.  Wikipedia defines the word as “inept” or “stupid,” but native speakers do not necessarily mean that all the time.  At home, a jagoff is usually the truck driver that wants to race you, or the kid who brags about the buck he killed.  Honestly, though, jagoffs are everywhere, and being a jagoff can be a temporary state or a personality type.  Surprisingly, the jagoff population is massive in New York.  I met three today, but that’s neither here nor there.  Here is a good example of a New York City Wall Street Jagoff.

It’s an “I kind of love New York” day.  As I stand on the street asking people to simply save a polar bear, I remind myself to smile.   Remember what you’re fighting for.  I look up and wonder, Is this letting my eyebrows grow out work for me?  Maybe that’s why so many people aren’t stopping?   Oh, here he is coming towards me.  His suit is perfectly pressed, his hair newly trimmed, and he’s washed his face more than once today.  His eyes are bright, and there’s that smile, and those perfect teeth.  He’s, like, annoyingly perfect.  “Hey, take a minute.  Save a life man.”  “Well, I guess I’ll save a life.”  “Great!”   I wonder what this beautiful man does for a living.  Is it finance?  No, he’s too good looking.  “What do you do?”  “I have a hedge fund.”  “Right!  Amazing, I actually don’t know what that is, but I hear it’s a great gig!”  “Would you like to learn…?”  “Honestly, not so much.  But you stopped for a reason, right?  #BecauseYoureAmazing, so let’s just get to it.”  “Of course.  I want to save a life.”  As I proceed to tell him what cause he’s stopped for, I wonder how much female attention he gets.”  So much, I bet.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m gonna sign up.”  “What?  No, why?”  “Because.”  “No,  please stop!  Listen, Jason, right?”  “No, John.”  “Well it’s a J name, isn’t it?”  “Ha, you’re cute.”  “This isn’t a boy/girl  problem like, Oh, did I text him too much?  Did he misinterpret my last text?  Usually you did text him too much because you felt the need to explain yourself because he was most likely being a douche bag, and maybe he overanalyzes just as much as you. Mindless text messaging and gossip made you appear temporarily cray.  It  destroyed what you knew could have been something brilliant.  Either way, you showed your crazy way too soon in the game. In his/her eyes  you are worthless. Two weeks of crying in your room at night, “Why am I such an idiot?”  Then guess what, in a week you’ll be over it. You’ll meet someone who is worthy.  And all those nights waiting up thinking “Why wasn’t I good enough?” will be a distant comical memory!

This is a real problem,  it’s not going away unless you take action.  Save a life, man.  Do it for love,  this amazing universe that loves you.  Because you care, Jason.”  “John.”  “Oh just go with it”  “Okay, I’ll sign up.”  “Really?”  “Yeah, because you’re cute.”  “What?  No, no, I don’t want you to sign up because you think  that.   In order to sign  up, I need for you to tell me exactly why you want to.”  “Are you joking?”  “No, you have degraded me and made me feel very sad,  and I need to be sure you’re not going to cancel your membership.”  “Okay, polar bears, babies.”  “Fine, Jason, that’s enough.“  “I’ll give $20.”  “Wow, big spender, aren’t ya? No, $50!” “Ha what?” “Save 50 babies, or go get wasted at Brother Jimmy’s; it’s your choice man.”  I show him a picture of a starving polar bear.  “Come on, Jason.  Just do it.”  “Haha, you don’t give up.”  “No, I don’t, and I believe in you because you’re a good, beautiful person who loves the universe!”  “right, okay, $50.”  “Yay, well done you!”

As we finish the sign up process, I close by saying, “Peace, man.”  “So am I getting your number?”  “Oh, sorry, I don’t give my number out at work, but thank you, thats very nice”  “Well, what if I met you out?  Would you give it to me then?”  “No, most likely not.”  “Um why?”  “Well honestly, because you’re insanely good looking, and you know you’re good looking, and that kinda turns me off.  Also I’m shallow enough to forget that looks fade.  I could never be seen with you because I’d be the less hot girlfriend.  Ya know?  It would never work.  Why do you want my number really?  I feel like you get plenty of female attention, much hotter then me.” “Yep, and I feel like you’re into me.” “What, why?   Because I was nice to you, because I spoke to you?  How, man?  How is that me being into you?  Oh, that’s just — no, no that — no, but thank you for doing business.” He looks at me up and down, as though he’s memorizing my body. I try not to use the word hate, but I strongly dislike my body.  Is he making fun of it? He can’t possibly like it. “Listen; if you come back to my place tonight, I will do things that you never thought possible.  Then, tomorrow morning you can leave and go back to your everyday life, but let me tell you this.  You will beg to come back.”   And that, my friends, is  a total jagoff.

Don’t You Just Love New York?

Sometime in fall  2010.

 

 It’s an “I love New York” morning.  Last night I had a dream that I married Leonardo DiCaprio, and in Broadway.com the title of our story was “Leo Found His Jackie.”  Paul sang at our wedding, which clearly means I’ll run into Paul McCartney on the street any day now.  By the end of our forty-minute conversation, he’ll be begging me to perform with him.  Then, this same week I’ll get cast in a full-length feature film opposite Leo.  I can’t quite figure out what the wedding part of the dream means though.  I’m nowhere near finding a husband, am I?  Let’s face it; I’m no Victoria’s Secret model, and I doubt Leo would settle for anything less.  For  Paul, he’s happily married, and  when “When I’m Sixty-Four” is playing at our wedding for our first dance it would make no sense because he’s past sixty-four.   Is Leo friends with Colin Farrell, Jude Law, or Robert Pattinson?  Maybe all of them, and a love triangle is just awaiting us?  Oh well, not gonna let it worry me on this beautiful day.   As I do a little double check in my phone, I notice my hair is finally long enough for the next “Hair Audition.”  I am just letting the “sunshine in,” sending love out to everyone in this amazing universe, and feeling nothing but gratitude!  Don’t you just love New York?  I will smile at everyone today. 

I walk down the subway steps and notice a homeless man.  He’s new.  He’s begging for money  and is insanely drunk.  He looks at me.  “Why  you smiling?”  “Well, why not?  I don’t have any money, but here’s a Luna Bar.”  I pat his shoulder and leave.  As I walk away feeling guilty because I can’t wait to wash my hands after touching him, I feel something hit my back.  I turn around, i’ts my Luna Bar.  The homeless man threw my luna bar at me and is now screaming!  He says, “I don’t want your effing Luna Bar, you effing slut.”  He continues, “You bitch, I gotta gun.  I’m gonna kill you.”  Is he really gonna kill me?   He then drops the dreadful CUNextTuesday.  This man is not English nor is he Irish.  He is American, and therefore he should consider this word to be one of the most offensive words anyone can use.  There is no excuse.  As I walk away,  I start to cry.  In the distance I can still hear him screaming, and I notice everyone is staring at me.  I look up at the man next to me and say, “Do you hear him?  Why did he have to be so mean?”  “Yeah, I hear him, and had you not acknowledged him, no one would have to hear him scream for the next twenty minutes.”  “Well, I was just being nice.”  “It’s New York.  You can’t be nice.”

Don’t you just love New York?

Life Is A Beautiful Exhausting Worry!

Do you ever just feel so exhausted worrying?  About what people think, about what you think, about your family, your friends, your future?  Do you wonder if there is a God and the exact details of your death? Are you going to hell for thinking you’re important enough that people are actually going to attend your funeral?  Is there a hell to begin with? Is there a heaven?  It keeps going and going. #scary!  My mind takes me back to Joseph And The Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat.  “If my life were important I, would ask will I live or die.”  Joseph knew he wasn’t important.  He was selfless.  Your goal in life is to make the universe a better, more loving and peaceful place– to be selfless.  But if that’s your goal, that means you think you’re so important that you have the power to change things in a meaningful way.  Then, you feel guilty because you think nothing but ill thoughts on every teacher, nun, priest who messed with your mind.

 

In the words of Michael Jackson, “You are not alone.”  I, like you, worry, panic, maybe even more then you.  Believe me; it’s not because I have too much time on my hands.  When I’m not auditioning, fighting for animals, the environment, children, equality, working out, babysitting, and writing this blog in hopes I get a sponsor one day, I’m worrying.  When I’m on the subway, when I’m lying in bed #insomnia, when I’m in the shower.  Every spare moment my brain takes me away from the present, and those worries enter my mind!

Here is an ordinary morning, It’s taken from a journal entry, and a very accurate memory from Fall 2013.  Wasn’t that yesterday?  Time is just flying!

 

It’s  7 am.  As I get out of bed, I do my normal routine.  Send love out into the universe and list everyone and everything I’m grateful for, including that perfect stranger who complimented me on my dress.  Or did she compliment me because she felt sorry for me?  I look at the cold temp on my IPhone.  Twenty-two degrees out, really?  I jump in the shower and start doing vocal warmups.  Then, the worrying starts.  That was loud.  I totally just woke up my neighbor.  I’m so rude.  They are  going through a mid life crisis, and were finally able to sleep. I ruined it. That poor thing.  They’re now plotting my murder, they should.  I’m a horrible person.  I get out and dry off.  I haven’t heard from my friend since yesterday.  She was out for drinks — oh, gosh, I hope nothing happened.  What if she was drugged like the girl in  that episode of SVU last night?  Oh, God, it should be me in that alley!  No, she’s fine; she’s texted me!  Or maybe that was her abductor tricking me?  Stop: breathe. I didn’t text my mom back; she’s gonna freak.  What if the last batch of vegan cookies I made for the homeless gave them food poisoning?  I need to do laundry.  I’m a bad person.  Flash back to Sister blank, “Why are you looking at yourself in the mirror?”  “Because I look fat.”  “You are so ungrateful, there are people who don’t have food.”  Who says that to a kid?  I really do look bad this morning though.  Maybe it’s because I drank like a college girl on Spring Break last weekend. I still haven’t recovered.

Then the anxiety  starts.  Another healthy animal is getting euthanized.  Another child is getting harmed.  Why, how can I stop it?  I shouldn’t even go to this audition, it’s already cast. Is my left leg bigger than my right? Gosh, stop feeling sorry for yourself; be grateful you have legs.  I think I used the word “ironic” wrong yesterday.  That’s embarrassing.  Flash forward to today. Recently, I found out I’ve been using the word “bit” wrong.  My Irish girlfriends always say, “her bit, his bit.”  I thought that was just another cute term in their vocabulary for girlfriend/ boyfriend.  No, it means a s.. buddy.  I’ve only used the phrase wrong for a month now.  Imagine the embarrassment.

I bundle up and it’s so freezing my face is getting numb already. I walk to the subway jamming to Spring Awakening.  When will Spring Awakening come back to Broadway?  Flash forward to today.  It is coming back, and I still haven’t gotten a call back!  As I approach TDHI AKA  the “don’t text after 10 douche” building, I switch to Paulie.  He knows how to relax me.  A really pretty blond walks out of his apartment building.  Well, isn’t that just great.  He probably slept with her last night.  No, he’s dating her. Well, didn’t he get over me quick.  They’re getting married at St. Pat’s!  The reception is at the Palace.  No, not the Palace and not St. Pat’s. The Church of The Holy Rosary, and the reception is at  Ashford.  He’s even flying out both of their families.  Ashford Effing Castle!  Oh God, this can’t be happening.  No Ashford is mine!  She’s wearing a Monique Lhuillier gown, my dream gown, and her mother’s veil and grandmother’s rosary draped around her pink and blue bouquet.  Oh, well, isn’t that just great.  TDHI is getting married to a tall blond with blue eyes and a Barbie doll figure at Ashford Castle on October 9th 2014.  There goes my fairy tale superficial wedding!  And in a few years, the cute mental video I have of him running through Central Park with the jog stroller and our baby boy with dark hair and dark eyes that looks sooo my side, and a glance at my baby girl who has blond hair and bright blue eyes.  She has a pretty pink bow and princess dress my dad bought her, and because why not?  And, of course, our family dog.  Even after two kids, several dramatic arguments, he winks at me like  “check out my wife,” and in only a week we’ll have baby three.  Yes, we recently decided to adopt.  Oh well, would have been a nice love story.

 

Now that was just the morning.