Fuck fuckity fuck with a fuck on top and a shit in your pants!

For the love of Christ, sometimes talking to my father makes me want to pull my own eyes out!

Last night I flipped my shit while researching (FUCKING EXPENSIVE) alternative health insurance options with my dad when I miserably realized how worth it it is to keep my under stimulating job just to earn the god damned insurance. Papa was silent while I basically conducted an entire conversation with myself about how much I really hate the fucking job with all my heart and soul and about quitting and winging it while unemployed (and being a great deal poorer). I talked to myself about other jobs (for which I have not applied and do not have) and how I basically don't want to do anything at all. I really worked myself into a tizzy. My father remained silent! He wanted me to think it out and make my own decision and some bullshit. I asked him, "Well, what the fuck? You think I'm bi-polar?" to which he replied, "The part that scares me is that you seem more focused on running away from things rather than what it is you're running toward."

EAT SHIT AND DIE! (I don't really mean that. Daddy, if you read this, I'm sorry) Really?!?! You choose to speak with clarity at a time like this!!!!!!!! Uuugh. And he's (kinda) right, he's always (at least kinda) right, that's why I want to slit my throat. He asked me if I hated the people or if I hated doing the job, and the answer was a resounding: THE IMBECILIC, ABJECT PEOPLE. Switch store locations. Problem solved.

FUCK SHIT DAMN. Was it really that easy? As I bitched about on Wednesday October 28, a day job should not make you plan your own suicide. It should ideally be a mostly-painless fact of life, necessary for survival. And, blog-iverse, perhaps I'm fixated so much on my day job #1 because it is that fucking bad right now and #2 I'm not currently working on a really exciting artistic project! STOP NODDING IN AGREEMENT, POP, I know where you sleep! So I should swiftly handle problem #1 and be done with it (and waste no more precious blogging space) and deal with my real plight and passion in life #2.

I HATE YOU ALL.

Head versus Gut

I am so over my day job. I want to put my 2 weeks notice in immediately. I'm entirely too competent for this crap.

To get down to the nitty gritty, my parents are very supportive; more so financially than emotionally, but both nonetheless. They want me to pursue my dream and get what I want out of life. To paraphrase my father: since they are able to help me, my parents are happy to give me that advantage in such a difficult field. I adore them for this while also feeling extremely guilty and pathetic. So, basically, I get a monthly allowance that in conjunction with my blood money enable me to pay my ludicrous rent, eat somewhat sensibly, and take classes every once in a while. My end of this bargain is that I have to have health insurance. To paraphrase my mother: If you lose your insurance, no deal. You're completely cut-off! Pretty brutal. But I get it.

The only reason I still work at this ill-managed, hobo-ladden java joint is because I get part time benefits. I was sure that I could find another health insurance option. There are a few other places that offer part time benefits but I don't want to work at those other places, it would be easier to stay where I am. Paying cobra or independently is mega-expensive and most of the options for freelancers have a super high deductible and cover nothing! I am not overly needy but I'd like to continue getting my twice a month shrink appointments, my kill-the-baby pills, and regular tune-ups.

Here's my crazy plan: Maybe I quit my job and pay for non-sucky insurance. It would be an expense, but I certainly would still have enough money to live if I adjusted my spending in other areas. A chicky in my improv group is a cater-waiter. It sounds like she doesn't mind it, it's extremely flexible, and it pays decently. I also know someone who works for Story Pirates teaching and performing for kids in schools and she loves it! I also have an internet writing gig that pays me on a sliding scale depending on hits, subscriptions, etc. I could milk my connections to get a better job, use my time to build up that website, and maybe even concentrate on getting PAID acting work like commercials.

This plan releases an insane amount of pressure in my chest. But I'm scared! I don't know if I have the balls to do it! I'm not good with change! On the flip side , maybe the desperation will light the fire under my ass to get going in a career building direction.

My parents have advised me to have a plan before I quit my current job. That is the aggravatingly responsible thing to do. I should do that, my brain tells me I should do that. It's just that the rest of me is shrieking to get the fuck out of my current situation as fast as humanly possible. It'll all work out...right?...

Deflowered

My improv group had our first show on Saturday night. It was kinda good! In retrospect I'm embarrassed to admit that my expectations for the night were pretty damn low. C'mon, have you seen those shitty shows at Broadway Comedy Club? They are all uncomfortably awkward. I don't know if it's the table set-up, the extremely shallow
stage, or the drink minimum on top of ticket price for every show but that place has become my nightmare.

We rented out the Producer's Club, invited three other teams and magically we had mini-UCB. It was kind of amazing! It was our first show so I was wary to invite people, but the morning of the show I decided to spread the word to a select few warning them that we could possibly suck. Silly me. Friends, I'm sorry I doubted you! I honestly forgot that you are the most supportive people in the world. Not even kidding. My friends, improv-trained and non-improv trained especially, laughed their butts off, were super complimentary, and can't wait for our next show. Go figure! I forgot that there was a way to watch improv without being super critical!

Our set was fine. Of course, there are things I wish I had done differently but we made it through and hopefully it only gets better from here. It really sucks to feel like you're not that good at something you really want to be good at, but I'm fully aware that just doing it is the best way to learn. Ready, fan club? Here we go!

Bad Attitude

I just re-read my last post. Depending on who you are, you might be judging me and dismissing me thinking I have an attitude problem. I'm even judging me thinking I have an attitude problem.

I'm taking a new class with Karen Kohlhaas. She encourages actors to embrace the unexpected chaos that may arise in even the worst of situations and use it as a gift. She even has a mantra, "Oh, good!" that she encourages everyone to adopt in their career and life in general. For example: There's a window in this audition room, "oh good" I'll look out it and use it for my monologue; A dog busted through the audition room door and bit me, "oh good" I'll use this fear and pain for my piece; My apartment burned down, "oh good" I was dreading carrying that futon down the steps someday in the unforeseen future.

When you boil it down, Karen believes in having a good attitude. By rolling with the punches in an optimistic way, we as actors can contribute to proactively affecting the seemingly uncontrollable audition room. And this, my friends, is the part that really resonates with me: accepting responsibility for your own fate.

Believe it or not, deep down I really truly have a good attitude. I think. I mean, I wouldn't still be here in this insane city, enduring endless crap if I didn't. Oooh oooh oooh, wait, I got one: I'm constantly being beaten down by ridiculous relentless bullshit, "oh good" more fuel for my comedy.

And may I point out, nay-sayers, the final line of my last post was also an "oh good": Alas, pain is good for my art.