I am so proud of myself this week.

I say this week because it has been a little while since I have felt this kind of purpose. "Purpose". That is a heavy word right there. What is a life without it? Just breathing, eating, napping and shitting. But this week, I am on my grind once again folks. And I'm still scared.

I've been so focused on my acting this week its kind of insane. I went to an audition and rocked it so hard I got offered the part on the spot while another hopeful was on her way. I made a decision to and then mastered a foreign dialect--something I had never attempted before for fear of failure--in two days. I performed a piece in the first day of class at my new acting studio with renewed confidence, and left my professor speechless. I have read more scenes in the past few days than I have in the past few months, and have a whole plate of things I am going to be working on in the next few days, and all that amounts to a huge helping of the "p-word".

But this week only happened because I gave up a few things. I was scheduled to work on Wednesday and gave up in the shift in hopes of finding a way to visit my parents in Arizona, or my boyfriend-esque person in Maryland, or Katie in Connecticut. After none of those things worked out, I went to this audition on Wednesday and landed one of the most amazing roles I might ever get to play. But if this week had gone as planned, I had responsibilities to keep me from doing these things. I had to make money! I had to see my family! I had to visit my friends! I needed to clean my room!

I got a cheesy email invitation yesterday to some financial lecture called "Pay Yourself First". I thought, well if anyone else could teach that class it would certainly be me, cause I spend my money on all kinds of stupid stuff for myself. I don't pay nobody else! Shoooot! But let's pause for a moment to examine my recent shopping experience:

A friend of mine is of moving to NY and calls me. I'm excited because now I am her "Alli House" or "Paco-Chris" ( My names for the two friends who finally convinced me to move here). I convince her to stay on my couch, and then the next day I take her all around my hood to show her NY-slash- show her all the cool stores in my neighborhood. We spend money, she is overly impressed, I am happy to see her happy and ready to move. I have a new coat and three new sweaters. And a pair of boots. All bargains, mind you, but only the coat I really need-needed.

So kids, what do we learn here? Was I paying myself, or paying my girlfriend by showing her a good time? Because she moved to NY, undoubtedly somehow affected by our experiences that day, and I was broke-ish and unable to pay for another acting class. Happy, yea. But without a clear commitment to my own purpose. It was really about making someone else happy, which to my own chagrin I love to do.

So the moral of this class, "Pay Yourself First"--even though I am not going to it-- is to make sure that your mental inventory is stocked before lending yourself to the supply/demand of others. Yes, its okay to buy fabulous boots (I could never advocate otherwise), but buy them because they will fulfill YOU. Don't buy them because the hot guy at work will think your legs will look amazing in them. They will, for sure, but is that hot guy a casting director? How does he fit your purpose?




On second thought, my physical inventory is missing someone to say my legs look amazing in those boots...

So over my time in NYC I have developed something that I think is very typical to New Yorkers and makes me feel like I am a true citizen of the city: an innate ability to look at people do dumb stuff, or to feel personally under attack, or to view homelessness and to display no signs of outward verbal or physical reaction whatsoever. I mean, after a while, you just are like, "Ok, like I haven't seen THAT before in this crazy city". It's almost like nothing surprises you anymore. But for me at least, it's still surprising, I have just learned how to continue through Times Square and not be late for work because I am tempted to take a picture with Spiderman or the Naked Cowboy. However, since I have been holding all these reactions in, I have a few things to get off my chest, and so I present:

To New York with Love
Volumne 1

Dear Bloody Lipped Guy Begging for a Quarter in Popeyes:
Just because the white man in the corner did not give you a quarter to use the payphone to call the cops when you got "jumped", gives you no reason to rip his biscuit from his mouth and call him the "white devil". At least if you are going to take the biscuit, eat it. Don't throw it on the ground!

Dear Fake New York Theatre Companies:
You are not allowed to say "Some pay" and "Travel Reimbursement" in your audition notice if that includes a Single Use Metrocard and a check from your company which won't exist next week after the show closes! And stop calling me back and keep me for hours and teasing me! Actors are people too. See Supporting evidence: " Porn Actors are People, too"
Ok so that's all I could find to support my case.

Dear Real New York Theatre Companies:
*sings* How come you don't call me......anymoooooooooo *end singing*

Dear Hipster Dude on the L platform at Union Square:
1) Your jacket doesn't fit. The back flap on your Peacoat is not supposed the same size as those little handy dandy flaps on the pajamas with the feet. Your whole butt should not be exposed.
b) Stop jumping up and down in a circle while waiting for the train to come! I got to pee too!

Dear Myriad of Hot Hispanic Guys:
Soy practicando mi espanol para ti! Llamame!

Dear Homeless (Yes all of you):
Ok so I filled my pocket with change at the beginning of the day to disperse among you. I don't have any more! I will give you some more if you promise to give me a lil bit next week because I plan to broke then.

Dear Breakdancing Guy at the Times Square Stop:
Ok, I think its fabulous that you said you would carry my babies. I'm just not ready for all that right now. Also, breakdancing in the station is an awesome job, but I don't know if it will support my kids. I am looking for a man with goals. Also, stop trying to holla at me and get back to breakdancing. Breakdancing is cool.


And Finally
Dear New York,
I love you.