Thursday, August 24, 2006


I've taken to commenting on Zach Braff's blog. My IM away messages are about Zach Braff. In between writing administrative emails about scheduling EDPL Department Orientations (EDU 1210B? Not suitable!), I look at his face. It is a comfort. I'll probably dream tonight about the enviable, desirable, yearning-ful-able...reciprocal comment.

I don't even really like MySpace.

This is because I don't have a love interest at the moment. My long distance relationship fell apart, as it should have I guess, ending in a way it shouldn't have. I'm at home with my parents, working fulltime at an office, until I leave for Shakespeare & Co. They're not sexually satisfying, thank god.


I must be ovulating. Sigh.

Let me just turn this love-yearning inward to my heart and I'd realize God within a half-second. I'm working on it.

frustrated yogi

Friday, July 07, 2006

So, Georgia and New York have joined in paving the way to a ban on homosexual marriage. Or rather, paved the way to limiting marriage to the union of man and woman. Call it what you will, marriage, civil union, forever-togetherness under the eye of the IRS. Homosexuals should have the right to have their lifelong union recognized by every state in this country, should have the right to the same protections as men and women who also choose these lifelong unions, and should, above all, have all the rights that heterosexual parents have. Because this includes protecting their children. Children, above all, should be protected! They are all ready hurt enough in our irresponsible society. To further this hurt because our justice system is too afraid to challenge outdated laws is despicable.

I read these articles--a triplicate of the Georgia and New York situation and an analysis on New York--and felt the moistening of my eyes which comes of PMS and actor training, meaning my close connection to the pulse of life, meaning my recognition of human dignity and my striving for compassion. I'm sorry. Just because a legislation has been leaning toward a certain social rule for 200 years does NOT mean this social rule is just! How long was slavery a social rule? How long was segregation a social rule? Is it right? Of course not!

And then when lawmakers question the right of homosexual parents to have children, I practically lose it. There is such a shortage of loving, devoted parents in this country, that to limit the number even more--cutting off couples who would be taking in those children in need of adoption--is mean. It's mean. Yes, you're being mean. All you lawmakers are MEAN. Please think of it in these very black and white terms. You are making a whole part of society feel alienated and wrong.

You didn't pick them for Team America and now they have to go stand against the wall. Watch out, because they'll start their own game, and you won't have so much room on the field.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Bathroom crying.

Going into a bathroom, at work, at school, at an anachronous musical theatre frat in Philadelphia. Walking--or schlepping, or rushing--into a stall, and sobbing, snotting, tearing up and hastily wiping away.

My mom does it. I do it. I'm sure my sister's done it. I'll have to ask my other female friends if they have, and maybe I'll ask my dad too. The deal is that crying in public is just not suitable. Just not allowable. Horribly embarassing and excruciatingly personal.

When I was in middle school--maybe eleven years old?--I started crying at a piano recital. It was another moment of "messing up," after weeks of practice and a minute of nervousness. I hated crying in the audience, ashamed of my performance, wondering why it had to be this way and, now, wondering why it meant so much to me. I started crying even more because of the fact that I was crying.

Then there was the time Mom told me that I had betrayed her trust, all because of a miscommunication (I had not in fact betrayed anything), and I started sobbing, unjustly accused and hysterically worried for my mother's love. I was on the metro bus back to school. I hopped out, went to a tree, and cried into the phone to my father. People stared. I then went to the Animal Sciences building and cried to my sister. I was crouched over sobbing and my underwear showed. In the midst of telling me that this would blow over (I was sure it wouldn't), Emily told me to pull my skirt down and sit up.

And now, sitting at the office, so ashamed to be tearing up and wondering if I can handle a long distance relationship. I feel sick. I went into the bathroom and sobbed for 30 seconds, but that was cruelly short. And will I be able to cry when I finally have the space to?

Wouldn't it be nice if we could just get these tears out when they wanted to come, instead of saving them for a public toilet? Or a nervous breakdown in middle age? Wouldn't it be nice if every office had a Room for Tears where if you felt like sobbing, you could just go and sob, and be hugged or not, depending on how you felt. I'm sure I could get Kleenex in on this.

Go see The Cassandra Project at the DC Fringe festival in July. It will drive my point intensely, and exquisitely, home.

Sunday, February 12, 2006

It has been over a week since I last updated my blog. I would like to update it more often, with thoughtful, moving, and refreshingly wise insights on body image and self-appreciation. Maybe that's asking too much of myself?

I was thinking how much easier it is to cope with issues, of any kind, when you have good friends around. Loneliness, or feeling alone, is like a magnifying glass that multiples any negative issue a thousand times. Just being with people shrinks my issues, takes away their foundation, gives them no creedence. The danger with this, however, is feeling as if I must be with people so that I can cope with my worries. It's tantamount that I know I can do this on my own, that the love and support I get from my friends is not something that disappears or can be lost, but something that remains with me wherever I am and in any situation.

That's another reason why I love theatre. The community. The need to connect with people and other living things is natural and it's cruel to deny ourselves the beauty of knowing others. Why know others? Because, let's face it, people are infinitely interesting.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Evolution. Whether you believe that a God in Heaven created you fully formed in His own likeness, to rule wisely over the entire world, or whether you believe that the human body is the product of millions of years of refinement and subtle metamorphosis according to the needs and demands of the modulating ecosystems, you must believe that this body is an amazing thing. An honorable thing. A thing to be grateful for.

Ode to My Toe

you are hairy and fat
but i don't try to shave you
or exercise you
or starve you
i may stub you

but that is on accident.

you are covered by a shell
that grows to fast
and unevenly
with some blackness
i may cut it

but that's so i don't cut myself.

oh toe i wish i took care of myself
as much as i took care of you

oh toe i wish i painted myself in the brightest colors, too
so we could be twins in the hottest red

oh toe i wish i could pinch myself and giggle
and think of the little piggly-wiggly toes

and not whether i'm a pig.

So I'm in the process of trying to figure out a process for my post-grad acting life. My ideal would be to attend the Summer Shakespeare Intensive Training at Shakespeare & Co. and come home to a nice admin job, preferably at a place where I can make enough money to soon go out to Chicago (and see and do lots and lots and lots of sexy sexy improv).

I'm in the middle of preparing for a mini-show on February 23rd that will be like The Vagina Monologues for eating disorders and body image issues. And no, it won't be like Ensler's The Good Body, because I could care less about the narrow-minded worries of some old woman whose breasts are sagging. For now, I'd like to focus on the men and women who are cutting years off of their lives and killing so many of the sweetest parts of themselves.

Come to think of it, old women do a lot of cutting too.

Monday, January 30, 2006

My intention for my body is to craft it into a subtle, powerful, malleable instrument of self-expression that can hurl my deepest emotion to the farthest corners or

become a blank granite wall hiding every impulse.

At my own will.

I am an actor and I must overcome all hesitancy about myself and my body so that I can express what I most want to say and what others cannot, or will not, admit.

I am an actor who is overcoming an eating disorder which I have had since high school. At 21 years old, I know that it is time to put my energy into something other than obsessing over my diet and the Socially Acceptable Appearance. The only myths I will deal with are the ones in my Edith Hamilton story book.

This blog will be an open, creative, honest forum about living in this body in this world at this time and with all these other people. You are those other people, so read and post and be as honest in your comments as you are when you look in the mirror. Not so honest there? Yeah, neither am I. Break the mirror and take some time for yourself.

Here are some questions to simmer in your golden mindpots:
If your body could speak to your mind, what would it say?
Trust me! I know MUCH better than you!
Using one word, how would you describe a healthy body?
When was the last time you were really proud of your body?
When I went running to the gym and every part of me tingled with relief and happiness in my own energy.
What is the greatest, most beautiful part of your body?
My smile. That's what everyone says, but I think it's my eyelashes.

Speaking of eyelashes, has anyone ever had a butterfly kiss? It's when you get up close to someone's cheek and stroke them with your eyelashes by opening and closing your eye. It tickles. Try it.

And visit so you can see a small part of where I'm coming from.