Lady-Like

Alright friends, since my last few bloggy blogs have been nothing but sad, sad stories, I have decided to switch things up and be not so depressing. [however: the fact I am blogging at 2 in the morning, chiefing my peace pipe while watching Say Yes To The Dress is in fact incredibly sad news]

MOVING ON!

Tonight/today/this morning… whenever the fuck you decide to read this, I am here to give you all some lovely little lady-like advice. Those of you who know me, know I am quite the woman, but I certainly ain’t no lady. REGARDLESS! I am here, and I am willing and I am ready {Side Note: These are the words I said to the first man I slept with after my ex, and it was wet, wild and worth it!, granted I was on my knees wearing nipple pasties and an edible thong, but you get the idea].

  1. e551991c8f7d806c962b0c8069cb96f2Be straight-forward. Don’t be some pansey lil’ asshole that beats around the bush. You want something, take it, you want to say something, say it! Some fucker keeps hollaring at you and you ain’t interested, kick the clown in the fucking pecker and be done with it. No bullshit ladies! No fucking bullshit! Ain’t nobody got time for that, especially a lady.
  2. Honesty. If I ask you if you masturbate and you say no. You are a goddamn liar and certainly no lady. Be honest with yourself and others. It doesn’t mean we want to listen to your ETrue Hollywood Story (chances are we don’t and no one gives 2 shits about it), it means be HONEST.
  3. Leave a little mystery. You want men to say Who is this girl? I want to know more? Oh the things I would do! etc.etc. Trust me, mystery is key and the longer you keep it going the better. Sure, if you shacking up with some fellow over and over again, the mystery may fade, fuck the mystery could be over the first time you play anal acoustics, but alas leave a lil something something to keep those boys wanted more. (Side story: I totally was vibing this one guy and he was vibing me, and this had been something going on for quite awhile, when we finally did the deed. That was it, he was done with me, no mystery left in his mind. I was left with no respect and a sore vagina)
  4. Be short. Not as in pint-sized, but as in how you verbalize your thoughts. So for example: Him: Where were you last night? Me: Out. Him: Did you have fun? Me: Sure did. Him: Do you care to share? Me: Not really. Now I know this may feel like it’s coming off as a bit dickish, but it’s not, it’s lady-like. Why? Because you aren’t giving away to much and it’s no one’s business anyways. Plus, the moments you do decide to divulge a little more, they’ll either appreciate or not fucking listen.
  5. Never stay the night. NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER!!! Stay the night, don’t do it. That has been probably my number rule in life and in being lady-like. Now, I am definitely a sucker for morning sex, it’s totally my jam. I love waking up getting a nice, lazy shag going on and then bounce. HOWEVER, these moments needs to happen before the early birds make it for 5$ breakfast. Reasons for this: 1) After a night of whatever my make up and hair is no more as mint as it was prior to. Half the time, I resemble a sad panda already regretting past shenanigans. Not ideal, not sexy. not lady-like. 2) If you leave before him waking up he’ll either appreciate your kindness and will want to see more of you, or he will wish you stayed and still wants more of you. win/win.
  6. e14cd95a68c4bbe95d829d6b48715722 (1)Lingerie (spanx included). Always, have some lingerie floating around. I know I do. I have some on hand just in case. Men, love it. Even just having dudes know you have it around is good. Here’s why and I’ll explain this by sharing a little antidote in The Life of Cait. I once had a friend you was fuck buddy. One day he saw lingerie in my car, he inquired about it, and immediately I saw his eyes light up. But every time we  bumped naughty bits, I never wore it. UNTIL …..(drum roll please) ….one day, after countless games of hide the sausage I finally had it on and the look on his face, was fucking worth it. He went wild, that night we banged until the sun came up (may of broke my not spending the night rule). Lingerie ladies. L-I-N-G-E-R-I-E.
  7. Pay your own way. There is nothing worse than a thirsty bitch. No guy needs some cunt soaking up his hard earned $$$$$. Pay your own ladies. It really is that simple. When I go out I always pay my own. Once in a while, when then man I’m with takes a wiz, I’ll pay his too. It shows mutual respect, and whether we are a couple or not, he can always get me back next time. No biggy. Now, sure if I am out on a date, and he wants to pay, I’ll let him, but I always offer. (I GIVE, I GIVE, I GIVE!)
  8. Let a man feel like a man. Now, I am a huge fan of bringing a man down, but when I do, I build him up just so I can bring him back down all over again haha! KIDDING! Nah, I am not that rude. What I mean to say is, let the man you are with (whether your friend, boyfriend, or whatever) feel like what he is. A FUCKING MAN. Let him make the moves and let him lead the way. And if for whatever reason he can’t and he is struggling, guide him, but let never take the lead.
  9. Be free. Don’t let anyone, let alone a man tell you how to live your life. Do it your 26POP-master768way. My way is usually slagging it up at the local pub, but every lady has their own way of expressing their freedom. I choose free love man. FREE FUCKING LOVE!
  10. Own it! And owning shit involves a multitude of things. Whatever shape or size you are. Be proud girl, love yourself completely! You make a mistake, own up to it. Acknowledge your faults, it’s okay. Everybody has fucked up, don’t hide it. Be the first to say sorry if it comes down to it. You bought a dress a size off, wear that shit like no other (but return it the next day) haha.

Alright ladies. These are just a few tips to being a true lady (at least in my world). In the words of Storm Large “What the fuck is lady-like if ladies like to do the fuck they like”just like me!

Times Are Tough

So here is a little secret friends, or perhaps it’s not a secret but something that has always been spitting up lately. I am going through another tough time, and yet my tough time is nothing compared to the issues that go on in third world countries, it is not as devastating as the fire’s in Fort McMurray, I am not homeless, nor poor, I am (for the most part) in good health, have great friends, and I am not nearly as traumatized as others with the whole HODOR/HOLD THE DOOR phenomenon.

My problem friends, is as social as I can be, I crave my alone time. As happy as I may seem I am very sad. Some days I wake up and just want to go back to sleep, some days I wake up and I am the happiest I can be and sometimes I just want to end it all. I loathe waking up because I’ll never know how I’ll feel. The feelings I like, are ‘notfeelings’, numbness, indifference etc, etc.

I have not been clinically diagnosed with ‘Depression’. In fact, I’ve avoided going to the docs just for this reason. I hate talking to people, I hate showing weakness, I hate crying, and I hate to admit that I am really just a sad, sad sac of shit, stewing in absolute and utter sadness {howmanytimescaniusesadinasentence}. I don’t want to be labelled, I don’t want to be judged, I just want to either be or to either not.

***

Beginning of this year, I received a letter from seventeen year old Caitlin. (True story). The letter said something along the lines of: If you are not rich and famous now YOU ARE A LOSER! You are probably serving tables and being a wait….for….it…..LOSER! Then it was followed by some cheesy song lyrics of a song I don’t even remember. Fack!! I was/am such a bitch to myself. Seriously, who writes a fucking letter to them self only to tear them down! Uncool seventeen year old Caitlin, uncool. Now, the kicker in all this is: I AM WAITING FUCKING TABLES!!!!! I work five nights a week serving!!!! Would you like another beverage,sir? How is the food tasting? Oh, you didn’t enjoy your food and when I went to do a quality check you said everything was tasting okay and now you don’t want to FUCKING TIP!? Another beer, coming right up, or how about a tall glass of SHUT THE FUCK UP AND FUCK OFF! My smile is wearing thing fuckers!!! Now, having said all that, I enjoy my job. It also allows me  the opportunities to work in shitty low budget films and cheap modelling gigs, but hey every little step counts towards something, right?

***

One thing I pride myself on is that I am able to crack wise about myself. I make ‘two-finger diet’ jokes about my history and somewhat present love affair with bulimia, I joke about the days I am driving to work crying my eyes out, I joke about miscarriages and abortions and not being able to have kids. This is what I do, I make jokes. But sometimes it’s hard to have only myself as a scapegoat.

***

So lets get back to the start.

Last year was a rough year for me. Now, I won’t go into too much detail there, but in short, some shit happened, I was sad, I had anxiety, Doc prescribed me a mixture of potions and pills and off I was into the Netherworld. Summer full of nothing, but rainbows, unicorns and David Bowie’s Goblin King’s bulge.1200

At some point, the rainbows and unicorns disappeared and Bowie’s bulge started to resemble Danny DiVito. I realized, fuck this Cait, you are a big girl, pussy up and do this on your own. No drugs.

So in the fall, I went off completely against Docs orders. (I know, I am such a rebel).

It sucked at first, but day by day, I was slowly finding myself.  I socialized more often, I went to the gym (sometimes seven days a week), I made an effort to be a real person. It was actually quite exciting. It’s like when you first masturbate or ‘discover yourself’, you just want to keep doing it over and over and over and over and over….

Sure, I had bad days, but I would cope with walking my dog or watching my daily dosage of Dr.Phil. I found things to do,to occupy myself.

So…..

At some point this year, my progress into becoming a real person again, was retrograding.

  • I was/am drinking quite often (a girl with three years of sobriety),
  • Hated/hate being at home, so usually a drive or a stop at the pub was my go to,
  • The should’ves, would’ves, could’ves started creeping back into my life,
  • My family back home seemed like they were/are growing without me,
  • I am working 24/7,
  • I am homesick
  • I am lonely
  • I am falling back into a sad, sad, place and all I want to see are rainbows and unicorns and David Bowie’s bulge all over again!

New prescription-complete.

Diagnosis-self-diagnosis.

Anywho, there is more I care to say, but this medication are making the little gnomes on my computer angry and I am pretty sure my titties are lactating….whattheactualfuck!

funny-side-effects-to-medication

Emotional Blue Balls

Okay, ladies and gents I need to vent. I know what you are thinking, “Cait? Vent?” ALWAYS!!!

I don’t know what it is, but it seems to me that there are some serious relationship problems floating through this spring, honestly the birds and the bees are on a hiatus FOR REALZ!.Let me divulge a little, just a little, about my relationship with my honey boo boo child! (31 year old child).

Typically, many women see men as emotionless beings. That’s typically. Unfortunately for me, I was blessed with having no emotions (for the most part), but because of this I feel my man makes up for my lack of emotion. Honestly, I have my rag-time girlfriend visit me once a month and his is 24/7.

Ever since he decided to venture into a new business he’s had more time on his hands. I on the other hand have been incredibly busy working 3 ½ jobs (yes 3 ½). When I do come home he’s upset I don’t spend time with him, and instead I choose to workout, pet my cat, read or write. HOLD THE MOTHER FUCKING PHONE YA’LL! Let’s get some things straight here.

  1. When I do come home, I’m tired. All I want is a little bit of time to settle in, get into my sweatpants, pull a nice cold brewsky from the fridge and mellow the fuck out.
  2. I don’t want to talk about work when I get home. Work is work, work is always work, work is left at work straight up. Sure, ask me about my day, I’ll tell you it was “good,” “bad” “wild” “shitty” whathaveyou. But I am not content, nor up for telling you a play by play about my workday.
  3. I’ll be honest if I come home and there isn’t some sort of supper being cooked up I’m definitely pissy. Sorry but tumblr_lw677pFqFG1qikj2so1_500if I am the sole provider of this god damn relationship, and you are at home picking your nose, yelling at 13 year old kids on the Xbox, you definitely have time cook up some food. If I’m bringing home the bread, all I ask is you bake it.
  4. DON’T BE UPSET THAT I EXPECT YOU TO COOK AND CLEAN! If you ain’t working fucking do something to make this relationship work. I clean constantly when I am home. I’m not asking you to swap the deck like a mother fucking lone pirate, I’m just asking you do the dishes once in awhile, clean the cat’s shitter when it starts to stink, and vacuum. In fact, I can never tell if someone has vacuumed, just tell me you did and I’m kosher baby!
  5. When I am home and at you leisure, I don’t consider watching you on your computer quality time. I would rather be out enjoying life; walking, dancing, playing vids together, fuck and FUCKING! THAT WOULD BE GREAT! That would be ideal. One of the best ways to spend quality time together is to fucking get it in.

Honestly, I am pretty sure my man’s emotions comes from blue balls. Straight up! And he does it to himself. I’m sexual intercourses’ number one fan!! LEGIT! In my ideal world, I would have sex every morning, afternoon delight once a week and finish the day off with a good oral sesh. My man is good once a month. Literally. In fact that last time we had sex beginning of March. The last time we made love with months and months ago. He has so much built up in him, that I swear all his emotions are locked and stocked in his fun stick. Just release baby, release and let go.

Another re-occurring thing that keeps coming up is jealousy. Jealousy gets you nowhere, aside from being a Facebook creeper.  So what, a couple of dudes may think your lady is hot stuff. In case you didn’t notice that is a mother fucking compliment. In my case specifically, I get paid to look pretty, I am aware that my photos will be seen by scholars (haha) and weirdos, but its part of my job. It pays the bills.  I brag about the size of my man’s penis all the time. Any girl would be happy to go for a ride with him, but he’s mine. I’m not scared or threatened he’s going to use his joystick against me (Just happy he’ll use it in me).

Jealousy is a waste of time, effort, and brings out the worst in people. Any relationship with jealousy issues needs to be reflected upon. Like, actually.

I think that all the men in the world are slowly losing their testosterone. Seriously! Ever since Justin Beiber hit the scene, mans vagina has only increased in size!!! (That however is another night, another blog, another story.)

 

Negative Nancy: Suck It.

Negative outlooks on life are overrated. I’m sorry folks, but what the fuck died and made half the world emo all of a sudden? I get it, in some parts of the world and perhaps the majority of the time it’s a shitty place, but it always, always, ALWAYS … could be worse.

Now, I find myself, more or less a positive person. Even in my most down in the dumps, sitting in the shit moments, I always try to find a positive outlook. For instance:

  • Yes I burned my hair with a curling iron, but at least I have hair…
  • Yes, the awkward cellphone tan embedded on my face is embarrassing and potentially cancerous, but at least it’s not raining…
  • Yes, The Beibster is a Canadian brat, but at least we have…Mayor Rob Ford?…and bacon.
  • Yes, sleeping with a Welsh man, 10 years my senior was a terrible highlight of my life and an utter waist of 2 minutes, but at least I’ve been able to warn others of the Welsh…
  • Yes, passing out in the elevator only to be woken up by an old man poking me with what I can only assume is a cane was not ideal at all, but at least my half eaten McNuggets and french fries were semi luke warm…

I think you get were we are going with this. Things could be worse, (yes things could be better), but things can always be worse. Seriously. It is this way of thinking that has allowed me to float through this world like a fart in the wind. “Pfff…”

Now, I am speaking for myself here, and … … … no FUCK IT, I am speaking for a shitload of peeps right now, Negative Nancy’s are not needed in anyone’s life. There is nothing worse than sitting with someone who always bitches and moans about the world, they are always down in the dumps complaining about fucking everything. Fucking die already and stop sucking up human air. Honestly, these people are a real life suck. If you are so unhappy about every god damn thing, acting like fucking ‘Queen of Les Miserables Cunt’, off yourself already please. You are not appreciated or needed.

Now, some may speculate some of this Negative Nancy-‘esque’ quality is due to low self-esteem (I am definitely part of that some). The way to fix your self-esteem is to keep your head up kid! If that doesn’t work here are a few things I do to ditch my low self-esteem:

  • Bust a nut/bruise the beaver. If anything, masturbation is the ultimate body booster.
  • Cat Videos. Straight up.
  • Watch videos on Save Children in Poverty. Yes, it’s grim, but hey it’s not you. Didn’t I saw it could be worse?
  • The Human Centipede, you’ll hate me for watching it, but always thank me, because that shit ain’t you and if it is, your self-esteem issues are a loss cause.
  • The realization you are waking up in your own bed, hammock, futon, whatever the fuck you have.
  • Remember you can’t put toothpaste back in a tube. You aren’t toothpaste.

Honestly, it’s little thoughts and things like this that will brighten your spirits. LEGIT!.

You could do the Poe thing and emo the shit out of your poetry, but there are only so many words that rhyme with death, egregious, and fortnight. It’s not worth it, really.

You see, the thing with both negativity and positivity is they are contagious. Which would you rather spread?

I Do Not

Every girl dreams of this day. At some point in their lives they picture a man on their knees, with a sparkling rock asking the one question every girl deserves to be asked. Then from there on it’s a whirlwind of engagements, planning, appointments, planning, bookings, dress shopping, planning, food tasting, bachelorette party, and constant planning and planning and planning and then…..at the very end of the aisle…. marriage. Many girls dream of this day, this moment and yet here I am, saying; Fuck. This. Shit.

I’m not marriage material to put in plainly.

31109-1461-khkys-aFirstly, I am selfish. Marriage is not just a commitment but it’s me fully giving myself to something and someone else. This is not to say I’m a total cunt and deserve to be treated like a princess. I’m not and I don’t. This is also not to say I don’t want a family. I do, in fact I plan to shit out a kid in the next 8 years or so. However, I do not believe I can be completely and utterly ‘self-giving’ (at least not now in my life). Now, having said this, I will say I have been with my man now for nearly 6 years. I love him, I am in love with him, I am committed to him, BUT I also make sure to take care of myself, to give myself love (no, not talking masturbation here).

Perhaps part of my being selfish is I just want to be happy. And I don’t want to ever hold my partner in crime accountable for my happiness. I can make my happiness on my own. I can make it with my man. I can make it on acid, I can make it throwing bread wafers at alter boys. Maybe it’s not me wanting people to know, but I want to know I can create my own happiness and at times just have this happiness to myself.

This brings me to my next point. Dependence or shall I say, independence. For years and years I’ve always depended supermomon other people to help me get through life. My mom did everything for me and at times still does. She sang ‘Rock-a-bye-baby’, threw the monsters out from my closet and under my bed all through junior high. She paid my bills for a time, she enrolled me in school, she booked my doctor, dentist and eye appointments, she still picks me up from the air port, she is what all mothers should be, WONDER WOMAN.

It wasn’t until I came out here on my own and lived by myself; I began to become my own person. I taught myself, to manage my own finances. I paid my own bills, I learned to take the bus on my own, or ask strangers for directions when I was lost. I guess in some way, I fear marriage may take this independence away from me. (At least on paper it does).

Speaking of paper, I am proud of the money I bank. I’m also very aware that I cannot always go Dutch the rest of my life. I am very protective of my finances. Having gone to school for five years I have a debt I would like to pay off before menopause hits. I also do not want any debt I have, become my man’s debt and vice versa.

Plus, my idea of a wedding if I ever got married is, BYOB, Potluck party in the backyard and town hall marriage license. My honey’s idea of a wedding is the bigger the better. This is not my style, nor is it my wallets style. I can’t justify spending 20, 000$ let alone 125$ on a wedding/marriage certificate. To me it’s simply not worth it. Perhaps it’s because I don’t have dollar bills hanging out of my bra and coinage tucked up in my keester. But wedding ceremonies and paying for wedding ceremonies is not in my stars.

PLUS! And this is just straight up. Marriage is a contract, it really is that simple. The last contract someone asked me to sign I ended up in a glass window modeling clothes for Sears (FML).

Another major factor is I don’t think so far into the future. I live day by day, night by night and la-dee-da. Even though my honey and I have been together for a lengthy time, we could still break up. I’m not saying we will, I’m not praying we do, I’m not saying nothing other than what the fuck do I know? We could be together forever and we could be together for just two more days (in which case he would have read my blogs and realized I ain’t his type and if so….douche bag.) But, and here’s the thing, if we do break up, there is no paper work, there’s no divorce shit to deal with, the biggest issue we would have is who gets the Xbox (and trust me that’s a big enough issue on its own). {Side Note: Xbox is mine, DIBS!}

Well, there are more reasons I really do not insist or wish to get married. Many reasons I also don’t care to get into too much detail with: Reasons like: marriage is an institution that fails half the time, my benefits would not change regardless, marriage will simply not cure loneliness and because Chuck Norris said so.

“Cait will you marry me” Batman says.

“I do not.” Cait replied. “Even though you are Batman.”

love,videogames,raznoe,words,quote,metaphor-08b7f786e076bcdf62a1f9ac570d6636_h

Man.

Straight off the bat I would say: tall, dark and handsome. Aside from that, if he is Batman, then it’s golden, Ponyboy. But okay, for realzies, my ideal man:

  • He will appreciate who I am as a person.
  • He will not try to change me. Sorry I may be a woman, but I am no lady.
  • Be funny.
  • Not take life too seriously.
  • He will be able to laugh at himself.
  • Honest.
  • Direct, but not forward.
  • Doesn’t need a lot of money. Hell, doesn’t need any money.
  • Doesn’t flaunt his money if he has it.
  • Doesn’t flaunt period.
  • Allow me to give him the occasional wet willy and noogie.
  • Get along with my feisty feline, Olive.
  • Takes care of his body.
  • He sets goals.
  • Can carry me like a princess. I’m not a princess, but sometimes piggy back doesn’t cut it.
  • Come to the occasional Yoga class with me.
  • He will need to get along with my family. There are a lot of people in my family, so it is a definite invested effort.
  • Wants children one day (Stella, our daughter will be named after my favourite beer. )
  • Appreciates French fries as much as I do.
  • Enjoys going for a walk.
  • Interests in music.
  • Go ice skating with me on my birthday.
  • Doesn’t hold me back.
  • Pushes me.
  • Makes me happy.
  • Trumps my fart.
  • Come to the golf range with me.
  • Teach me card games.
  • Can go on road trips with me and hold my coffee when I drive.
  • Confident, not cocky.
  • Can cook.
  • Doesn’t need a wife. Just a partner a crime.
  • Give great foot massages.
  • Likes The Mighty Boosh.
  • Will take me to The Nutcracker ballet every December.
  • Lets me sleep on the right side of the bed.
  • Doesn’t snore.
  • Eats his vegetables.
  • Could lie on the beach with me all day, every day.
  • Doesn’t smoke.
  • Drinks in moderation.
  • Someone who is social.
  • Will be a good father one day.
  • Someone who is in no rush.
  • Enjoys a good read.
  • Someone who will always put the toilet paper roll on the holder.
  • Someone who makes me happy, just because.

Just A Little Bit…

288_54038780037_9962_nIn the last 9 years I had done a lot of growing into myself. Hell! Even in the last few months I’ve grown some. What keeps my growing is well….many things. However I would have to say my openness and wanting to learn definitely plays a major impact. I would describe it as a thirst. I get thirsty for knowledge, I’m thirsty to ‘better’ myself and it is this thirst that keeps me growing as an individual.

I find many times, when someone’s ego becomes bigger than a person they close off which in turn impedes their development. I never want to be like this. In fact there are definitely moments in my life that I can vividly recall where my ego completely blocked my way down the yellow brick road.

In dance school, I was well-skilled in everything I did. Tap, ballet, pointe, modern, hip hop, jazz all of it I was top in 261_59872535037_2142_nthe class. Jack of all trades, master of none. Other dancers shined brighter and earned competition solos, and leads in the recitals. It took me all the way until my last dance recital ever to realize why I never got the roles I thought I deserved. It was simply because I didn’t deserve them.

As a young elementary dancer, I got leads in shows, solos in group dances, I substituted main dancers, I assisted the dance instructors and whathaveyou. I got this because not only did I work for it, but I wanted it so bad I was willing to do anything. I had a strong passion for dance and saw great things in my future. I wanted to be the Black Swan in Swan Lake, but before I could I knew I needed to earn my way to pointe class. I wanted to be Claire in The Nutcracker, but before I could be Claire I knew I needed to practice my arabesque.

At some point my development as a dancer stopped. It wasn’t because I didn’t have the passion. It was because my ego got to the point where I felt I earned my way up at such a young age, that everything should be handed to me. I felt I put my time in already, now reward me. But this little thought in my mind, 197477_505339769053_2260_nimpeded my learning and growth as a person. This little thought made me a coward, it made me green with envy when attention was handed to someone else. It wasn’t until freshman year, at my very last dance recital, that I realized I missed four crucial years of a dancer’s life, simply by not being thirsty anymore.

My very first year of university was a rude awakening. One however, much deserved. I took theatre courses my first year in hopes to become part of the Contemporary Arts program the following year.

I had two auditions to get into the program. My first audition, was not very good to say the least. I performed my monologue and each time the instructors would give scenarios or critiques and ask for me to perform it again. In my mind as they asked me to do these things I was frustrated. I felt that I had worked so hard on my monologue that who23852_10150108626660038_2231027_n are they to tell how to perform it (especially since I wasn’t in the program yet). In some way I was offended, but I had no reason to be so. Needless to say I didn’t get into the program.

Shortly after my first audition, all the instructors send out advice to everyone that auditioned. They had two words for me: Too judgmental. It hurt seeing those words written down, but I couldn’t argue it. I was. I was judgmental because I had this notion of what I thought acting was. Because I had a certain idea in my head, I didn’t want to even open up to the possibility to what acting was.

For a whole summer, I worked on myself. I set goals. Not big goals, just day to day and weekly goals for myself. I did this so I could learn something new, expand my skills and just experience life. At the end of the summer I headed back out west to re-audition.

37478_10150217679610038_8371467_nThe monologue I chose was from George Bernard Shaw’s Saint Joan:

Yes, they told me you were fools and that I was not to listen to your fine words nor trust to your charity. You promised me my life but you lied. You think that life is nothing but not being stone dead. It is not the bread and water I fear: bread has no sorrow for me, and water no affliction. But to shut me from the light of the sky, and the sight of the fields and flowers, to chain my feet so that I can never again ride with the soldiers nor climb the hills; to make me breathe foul damp darkness, and keep me from everything that brings me back to the love of God when your wickedness and foolishness tempt me to hate Him. All this is worse than the furnace in the Bible that was heated seven times. I could do without my warhorse, I could drag about in a skirt. I could let the banners and the trumpets and the knights and soldiers pass me and leave me behind as they leave the other women, if only I could still hear the wind in the trees, the larks in the sunshine, the young lambs crying through the healthy frost, and the blessed blessed church bells that send my angel voices floating to me on the wind. But without these things I cannot live; and by your wanting to take them away from me, or from any human creature, I know that your counsel is of the devil, and that mine is of God.

This monologue resonated with so much, that ‘til this day, 9 years later I still know it word for word, moment to 28264_10150196016630038_541089_nmoment, breath for breath. That being said, every time I read or recite it I still learn something new, or see something a little differently.

After my first go at the monologue they give me a few critiques and asked me to do it again. This time, instead of not embracing their notes, I took them in. I breathed them in and breathed them out. After my monologue they also interviewed me and asked me what I learned in the time from my first audition to this one. I simply told them I’m learning to be open, and I’m learning to never judge a book by its cover.

I got into the program.

67132_631332483643_5368383_nI am successful. This is not my ego talking, this is my experience talking. I’ve embraced wanting to learn more, see more, do more, I’ve embraced growth. And so I encourage you all to open up a little bit, learn a little bit, just a little bit.