I was speaking with a friend the other day, and he made a comment about my blog, basically implying that the title was misleading. The entire blog has been about my childhood, not about my life in the city. So I have decided to share with you my most recent night out on the town.
Last week I celebrated my birthday, and I decided to stay in Astoria. The number one reason being, Manhattan has too much competition. Women in New York City are gorgeous. Many times I'll go out, dressed to the nines, feeling good about myself. Only to get to my destination to find all these other women dressed to the nines, but all these other women have smaller waists and bigger breasts. Personality just doesn't seem to count for much in moments like these. Even if it did, at some point in the evening, my personality would probably become more drunk and mean than anything.
So I thought, why not stay in Astoria for my birthday? There are less people, meaning less competition, and hopefully, more attention for me. I always did have a knack for statistics. The first bar we arrived at had a total of five other people besides my party. Four of them were women, the fifth, the doorman. The second bar we hit was much more crowded, but I'm pretty sure the man who approached me had bodies buried in his backyard. Of course my roommate stated that I was being ridiculous; he probably didn't have a backyard.
The third and final bar was one where I feared for my life. It should have been a dream, seeing as my two friends and I were the only females in a bar full of men. But this was two o'clock in the morning and these boys looked hungry. A certain expression in their eyes led me to believe that my friends and I might be offered up as a sacrifice if we stuck around much more.
The night then came to a close at a diner. Comfort food is always nice after a night of drinking. As I was leaving my table, a couple was staring and laughing. I still can't figure out why,I know I didn't trip until after I got outside. Maybe my spanx were showing, or it could have been the fry that fell out of my dress upon standing. One thing is for sure, my brilliant idea for finding romance that night had failed. It looks like I better try meeting men the old fashioned way, Craigslist.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
Money Doesn't Grow On Trees
Recently I celebrated Father's Day. Not that I was near my father or that I sent him a gift or a card. Okay enough, I'll be more prepared for his birthday but I digress. I woke up the other morning with a thought, "What the hell am I going to do for my dad?" And as I was racking my brain I started to think of my father, and reminisce about our times together.
My dad is someone who has always been a bit of an enigma, we run on different circuits. When I was a little girl I can remember watching him just walking around smiling,I'm not even sure he was happy. He loved mowing the lawn in yellow pants and a Hawaiian shirt. And please don't even get him started on vacuuming. If I were to write a biography of his life I could dedicate a chapter to his obsession with the vacuum cleaner. The whole room could cave in and my father's number one thought would be, " Where is the vacuum cleaner?".
As children my father had sayings that he would love to repeat again and again and again. Whenever one of us would be in front of the television, the words "you make a better door than a window" would ring out. My brother went through a phase as a child where he didn't like to take showers and my father's response would be "you're going to smell like a brick shit house". And then there was the old saying that my father quoted as though it was a bible verse, "You kids seem to think money grows on trees, I am not made of Gold Bullion." If only that last sentence could be in audio.
My father fought in the Vietnam War and loved to talk to us kids like we were soldiers. He woke me up every morning for school to, "On your feet trainee, position of attention, who told you you could move?" And whenever we were lazy or out of line he would like to remind us of how easy our lives were and we should have seen what it was like in Nam.
At the time it went in one ear and out the other. But as I get older these are things not to be taken for granted. The fact that my father was a man's man and sported around yellow pants, is very admirable. He hated animals, we had four. He loves to save money, the fam loves to spend. I could go on and on about all the things he gave up for us but I don't have the time and at this point in my life I don't think I can even fully comprehend all the concessions he made.
My father is a man of few words, not because he doesn't like to talk he just likes some words more than others. He is also man a lot of character and a great sense of duty. I'm not sure I could face the things he has had to face and has done so with such courage. He went to war and will still say that he had it easy. I'm so grateful for his love and devotion and am learning he had some valid points. I still can't find a tree from which to pick dollar bills.
Happy Father's Day!
My dad is someone who has always been a bit of an enigma, we run on different circuits. When I was a little girl I can remember watching him just walking around smiling,I'm not even sure he was happy. He loved mowing the lawn in yellow pants and a Hawaiian shirt. And please don't even get him started on vacuuming. If I were to write a biography of his life I could dedicate a chapter to his obsession with the vacuum cleaner. The whole room could cave in and my father's number one thought would be, " Where is the vacuum cleaner?".
As children my father had sayings that he would love to repeat again and again and again. Whenever one of us would be in front of the television, the words "you make a better door than a window" would ring out. My brother went through a phase as a child where he didn't like to take showers and my father's response would be "you're going to smell like a brick shit house". And then there was the old saying that my father quoted as though it was a bible verse, "You kids seem to think money grows on trees, I am not made of Gold Bullion." If only that last sentence could be in audio.
My father fought in the Vietnam War and loved to talk to us kids like we were soldiers. He woke me up every morning for school to, "On your feet trainee, position of attention, who told you you could move?" And whenever we were lazy or out of line he would like to remind us of how easy our lives were and we should have seen what it was like in Nam.
At the time it went in one ear and out the other. But as I get older these are things not to be taken for granted. The fact that my father was a man's man and sported around yellow pants, is very admirable. He hated animals, we had four. He loves to save money, the fam loves to spend. I could go on and on about all the things he gave up for us but I don't have the time and at this point in my life I don't think I can even fully comprehend all the concessions he made.
My father is a man of few words, not because he doesn't like to talk he just likes some words more than others. He is also man a lot of character and a great sense of duty. I'm not sure I could face the things he has had to face and has done so with such courage. He went to war and will still say that he had it easy. I'm so grateful for his love and devotion and am learning he had some valid points. I still can't find a tree from which to pick dollar bills.
Happy Father's Day!
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Beautiful Ashes.
I was walking down the street during rush hour and saw a woman smoking a cigarette while standing at the side of a busy sidewalk. I noticed a fourth of her cigarette was in ash. It caught my eye like, a delicate paper mache would. One little movement and the ashy tail would scatter. For me, everything about smoking is a fine line between glamour and a terrible death.
Ever since I saw Cruella de Vil I knew I wanted to be a smoker. I didn't care that she was evil. I didn't care that she killed puppies. The only two vivid images that still come to mind, are black and white hair and grey smoke. I tried to smoke a pen for weeks after seeing the film. When I was a little girl I would sit with my eighty year old grandma at her kitchen table, mesmerized by the fancy french circles she would exhale after each puff of her cigarette. I could have sworn she once made smoke come out of her ears but after years of trying, I never could manage that task.
I knew I was going to be a smoker before I knew I would smoke. I would buy the candy cigarettes and walk around like a mad woman pretending that I just needed to get one little puff to get through that tough day of first grade. At the age of twelve, I began smoking butts with my neighborhood friends. It was pretty gross, we would go digging through the ash tray my elder brother had made of my parents garden and would look for the longest remains. We would then hide in my garage and commence experimenting with inhalation. I still can feel that light-headedness that came along with a full breath in, it was brilliant. But then I started hanging out with "good" kids and I dropped the habit before ever actually smoking an unused cigarette.
But then that fateful day came. I was sixteen and had just gotten my license. I got behind the wheel of my brother's car and was looking around in the glove compartment when I spotted a Marlboro Red box. Upon opening it, I found one single, untouched cigarette. I couldn't resist. The temptation was too great. I was driving by myself and had the opportunity to have one hand on the wheel and the other casually smoking. I don't remember really liking it, however I do remember trying to throw the cigarette out the window and feeling a burning sensation on my back. The wind had blown the cigarette back in to car and it had landed between the car seat and myself. I later played dumb when my mother inquired about the burn mark.
From then on it became a thing. I would sneak smokes here and there. I had a connection at the local grocery store so I didn't need to be eighteen to buy. Smoking was my rebellion, I never drank or lied to my parents, but I lit up like a chimney. Over the years it went from being my statement to an incessant need. The anxiety that came along with an empty pack of cigarettes was equal to that of almost getting hit by a car. After college I was so poor at times that I didn't know how to afford my next meal but if need be, I would put the cigs on the credit card. I began getting sick every month like clock work. I would open my closet at home and my coat would emit the smell of an ash tray.
Enough was enough. I needed to quit, but how? How do you quit something you love, something you live for? I didn't know. I was desperate. I picked up the book "The Easy Way To Stop Smoking." You smoke while reading the book and when you finish you stop smoking. The book is approximately two hundred pages, or so. It took me three months to read. The first day off you would have thought somebody amputated my left arm and I'm left handed. I didn't know how to function. There was no hope left in my life. No room for joy without the light. I lasted for about seven weeks and then read the book again. The second time, was the last time. I did it, after about six years and thousands of dollars, I quit smoking.
I now find it hard to believe that I ever smoked at all. I'm appalled by the smell and find smokers walking in front of me incredibly rude and inconsiderate. How could someone be so thoughtless? Vickie, how could you be so thoughtless?
Taking this little walk down memory lane makes me so relieved to not need to smoke anymore. I do believe my quality of life is much better and I really don't miss it. But there is also a part of me that looks back on those stubborn days of addiction with pride. I don't know why, maybe the fact that I actually stuck to something or that I was doing something I wasn't supposed to, that was bad for me. Or maybe it just forced me to see the beauty in the ashes of an unflicked cigarette.
Ever since I saw Cruella de Vil I knew I wanted to be a smoker. I didn't care that she was evil. I didn't care that she killed puppies. The only two vivid images that still come to mind, are black and white hair and grey smoke. I tried to smoke a pen for weeks after seeing the film. When I was a little girl I would sit with my eighty year old grandma at her kitchen table, mesmerized by the fancy french circles she would exhale after each puff of her cigarette. I could have sworn she once made smoke come out of her ears but after years of trying, I never could manage that task.
I knew I was going to be a smoker before I knew I would smoke. I would buy the candy cigarettes and walk around like a mad woman pretending that I just needed to get one little puff to get through that tough day of first grade. At the age of twelve, I began smoking butts with my neighborhood friends. It was pretty gross, we would go digging through the ash tray my elder brother had made of my parents garden and would look for the longest remains. We would then hide in my garage and commence experimenting with inhalation. I still can feel that light-headedness that came along with a full breath in, it was brilliant. But then I started hanging out with "good" kids and I dropped the habit before ever actually smoking an unused cigarette.
But then that fateful day came. I was sixteen and had just gotten my license. I got behind the wheel of my brother's car and was looking around in the glove compartment when I spotted a Marlboro Red box. Upon opening it, I found one single, untouched cigarette. I couldn't resist. The temptation was too great. I was driving by myself and had the opportunity to have one hand on the wheel and the other casually smoking. I don't remember really liking it, however I do remember trying to throw the cigarette out the window and feeling a burning sensation on my back. The wind had blown the cigarette back in to car and it had landed between the car seat and myself. I later played dumb when my mother inquired about the burn mark.
From then on it became a thing. I would sneak smokes here and there. I had a connection at the local grocery store so I didn't need to be eighteen to buy. Smoking was my rebellion, I never drank or lied to my parents, but I lit up like a chimney. Over the years it went from being my statement to an incessant need. The anxiety that came along with an empty pack of cigarettes was equal to that of almost getting hit by a car. After college I was so poor at times that I didn't know how to afford my next meal but if need be, I would put the cigs on the credit card. I began getting sick every month like clock work. I would open my closet at home and my coat would emit the smell of an ash tray.
Enough was enough. I needed to quit, but how? How do you quit something you love, something you live for? I didn't know. I was desperate. I picked up the book "The Easy Way To Stop Smoking." You smoke while reading the book and when you finish you stop smoking. The book is approximately two hundred pages, or so. It took me three months to read. The first day off you would have thought somebody amputated my left arm and I'm left handed. I didn't know how to function. There was no hope left in my life. No room for joy without the light. I lasted for about seven weeks and then read the book again. The second time, was the last time. I did it, after about six years and thousands of dollars, I quit smoking.
I now find it hard to believe that I ever smoked at all. I'm appalled by the smell and find smokers walking in front of me incredibly rude and inconsiderate. How could someone be so thoughtless? Vickie, how could you be so thoughtless?
Taking this little walk down memory lane makes me so relieved to not need to smoke anymore. I do believe my quality of life is much better and I really don't miss it. But there is also a part of me that looks back on those stubborn days of addiction with pride. I don't know why, maybe the fact that I actually stuck to something or that I was doing something I wasn't supposed to, that was bad for me. Or maybe it just forced me to see the beauty in the ashes of an unflicked cigarette.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Paying To Work
I just did it. I just registered for an acting seminar where I pay to be seen by a casting director. Basically, it's like paying someone to look at your resume so hopefully they will consider giving you a job interview. Not a job, a job interview.
Please don't think I'm complaining, I'm merely questioning my life choices. What did I sign up for? That is a very loaded question. I've been acting since I was an adolescent. Being an overweight teenager, theater was like my pom pom. It made me feel accepted, cool, on top of the world. So I decided this is what I must do with my life. And so I went.
I studied and worked hard. And took out loans. And took out more loans. Then five years ago, I graduated from acting school. I thought, this is it, I will no longer pay to act, I will be paid to act. So, I soon will go to my first seminar. Maybe five years too late. Yet another step, another check, to being paid to act.
Please don't think I'm complaining, I'm merely questioning my life choices. What did I sign up for? That is a very loaded question. I've been acting since I was an adolescent. Being an overweight teenager, theater was like my pom pom. It made me feel accepted, cool, on top of the world. So I decided this is what I must do with my life. And so I went.
I studied and worked hard. And took out loans. And took out more loans. Then five years ago, I graduated from acting school. I thought, this is it, I will no longer pay to act, I will be paid to act. So, I soon will go to my first seminar. Maybe five years too late. Yet another step, another check, to being paid to act.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
The Origins Of My Title
Hello and welcome. I am so happy you're reading me right now! This is my first post. I wanted to do something in my life that was mine, unedited, unapologetic and me. However, as I was thinking of what to name my blog, the internal editor went to work.
I went to see the new "Sex and The City" movie today and was pleasantly surprised at the delight it gave me. I've been watching the show since I was a teenager in Iowa. It's not what made me want to move to New York, nor did I think my life would emulate the themes of the show. But since I am a huge fan and a woman, I can't help but compare my life in New York City to the life of Carrie Bradshaw.
It's not the same. I am not working in my desired field, I can't afford to pay my utility bills let alone feed a shoe fetish and well, there is no Big or Aidin in the picture. Hence the name, "No Sex In The City".
I, of course, am nervous to put that down. Is it too revealing? Am I setting myself up for ridicule, judgement? By admitting to all I have not yet acquired in life and am still seeking, have I already sold myself short? Oh, screw it. Here we go. The one thing I have in common with those women, is this city. I have survived in this city for the past seven years on my own. There has been some glamour, tears, laughs, trials, great friends, and no sex.
So here we go. We've only just begun.
I went to see the new "Sex and The City" movie today and was pleasantly surprised at the delight it gave me. I've been watching the show since I was a teenager in Iowa. It's not what made me want to move to New York, nor did I think my life would emulate the themes of the show. But since I am a huge fan and a woman, I can't help but compare my life in New York City to the life of Carrie Bradshaw.
It's not the same. I am not working in my desired field, I can't afford to pay my utility bills let alone feed a shoe fetish and well, there is no Big or Aidin in the picture. Hence the name, "No Sex In The City".
I, of course, am nervous to put that down. Is it too revealing? Am I setting myself up for ridicule, judgement? By admitting to all I have not yet acquired in life and am still seeking, have I already sold myself short? Oh, screw it. Here we go. The one thing I have in common with those women, is this city. I have survived in this city for the past seven years on my own. There has been some glamour, tears, laughs, trials, great friends, and no sex.
So here we go. We've only just begun.
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